It would be easy to scoff and say: “yes, we all know the country is creaking.”
However the facts are now stacking up so high that what was once a worrying trend is turning into almost systemic dysfunction.
The announcement by the Department for Transport (DfT) and the Ministry of Defence (MoD) that 36 military Defence Driving Examiners (DDEs) will be drafted in “one day a week for 12 months” to help the backlog of driving tests is, in its way, emblematic of the deeper malaise.
On the face of it, the government is doing something: up to 6,500 additional tests to be delivered over the next year, new rules to limit test‐rearrangements and cut out the scalpers of learner-slots.
But dig beneath the press release and the cracks widen. For if the government needs to mobilise military personnel to perform what is essentially a civilian administrative function, that tells you everything you need to know about the service-state of the United Kingdom circa 2025.
Service failure on display
Learner drivers have for months been waiting ludicrously long periods for test slots. The fact that this backlog is treated as such a major issue that you must borrow from the armed forces suggests that the usual channels have failed. The DfT’s own language is telling: “We inherited an enormous backlog of learners … who have been sadly forced to endure record waiting times.”
The word “inherited” is a tacit admission: this isn’t just a temporary glitch—they accept the rot has been set.
In practical terms: people ready to pass a driving test and begin independent life, work and mobility are stuck in limbo. Where once getting on the road was routine, now it is a bottleneck, a symbol of a system that simply cannot keep up.
Mis-prioritisation and weakened state capability
The deployment of military driving examiners is more than a gimmick. It reflects a government that lacks both operational foresight and capacity. The armed forces exist to defend the realm, not to plug holes in civilian bureaucracy. But the Starmer administration appears unable—or unwilling—to staff and resource the civilian agency, Driver and Vehicle Standards Agency (DVSA), in such a way that it can meet normal demand.
Indeed, the press‐release says that the DVSA has “nearly doubled the number of trainers available to train new examiners, to help unlock more tests.”
If you are only now doubling examiner-training, you are decades behind the curve. The social contract is being frayed: citizens are paying their taxes, obeying the rules, and expect basic public services to operate. Instead they face delay, frustration, uncertainty.
There’s also a performative dimension. The language of “mirror, signal, manoeuvres” screams theatre.
Deploying 36 examiners may help a bit, but 6,500 extra tests over a year is a drop in the bucket compared to the total demand. Moreover, the new rules to restrict test-rebookings and prohibit third-party bookings are welcome but hardly revolutionary. They underscore one point: the system has been gamed; but making it “fairer” doesn’t fix the underlying backlog.
When reform consists of attractive optics but minimal structural change, the impression left with the public is: “we are doing something” rather than “we are fixing it”. That is precisely the path down which this government appears to be slipping.
The broader systemic implications
Driving-test queues may seem trivial compared with the current British government’s failures on health, defence or the economy. But they are also a microcosm of public-service failure. If a government cannot ensure people can get a driving licence in a timely way, what hope is there for more complex systems—immigration, justice, housing, transport infrastructure? The underlying message to citizens becomes: the state cannot deliver even routine competence.
As the press release concedes, the backlog is worse in “rural areas where a driving licence is vital for accessing jobs and training.” In other words: failure to provide basic mobility disproportionately harms the vulnerable and economically marginalised. This is not just administrative inconvenience—it has real social cost.
Leadership, or serious lack thereof
Here is where Mr Starmer’s weak grasp becomes evident. A government worthy of that name would have seen the backlog coming and anticipated it. It would have maintained reserve capacity in the DVSA, monitored waiting times and acted proactively. Instead, we have reactive crisis-management, borrowing military examiners, scrambling to “unlock more tests”.
This is leadership in name, but not in substance. Ministers promise “decisive action” yet still admit they inherited the mess. One must ask: if you inherited it, why hasn’t it been fixed yet? If you’ve just doubled trainer numbers, how many years of neglect preceded this?
The optics of decline
Even for those who will pass their test, the waiting itself is a blight on the national character. Personal aspirations—and national productivity—are deferred. Traffic builds, commuting becomes harder, young people’s independence delayed. Meanwhile, the state appears less of a facilitator of opportunity, more of a brake.
Let us also not ignore that the reliance on military personnel subtly shifts public expectations. You don’t want soldier-examiner hybrids as the new default. You want efficient civilian state services. When the two merge because the civilian arm is hollowed out, you glimpse a Britain that has lost its spine.
A truly functioning approach would not just add a smattering of extra tests. It would overhaul the examiner pipeline, fix the booking system end-to-end, invest in technological tools to manage demand, and clear the backlog with ambitious targets and transparent reporting. It would treat a driving test not as a luxury but as a step into economic autonomy.
Instead, what we have is tinkering at the edges while the core remains unaddressed. When the government celebrates the deployment of 36 military examiners, you wonder whether the ambition matches the scale of the problem.
The verdict: a Britain slipping
So exactly how broken is Keir Starmer’s Britain? The case of the driving test backlog suggests it is far from healthy. This is not a single administrative glitch—it is a symptom of a service-state that is creaking, a leadership that is reactive not proactive, a public system that is losing its capacity.
Mr Starmer may still enjoy the gloss of office, but the tangible handshake between state and citizen is fraying. If the simplest things—booking a test, getting on the road—are delayed and disrupted, what does that portend for the more important things? The UK is entering a phase in which decline is steadily normalised.
The announcement of military examiners is not a sign of strength. It is an admission of weakness. And in the ledger of governing competence, that is far more telling than any press-release.
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