Keir Starmer entered Downing Street to considerable fanfare. After years of Conservative chaos—five prime ministers in under a decade—Britain wanted calm, competence, and clarity.
Starmer promised just that. A self-styled moderate, he vowed to restore order to the machinery of government, to end Tory mismanagement, and most pressingly, to “take back control” of Britain’s borders.
Yet nearly a year into his premiership, Starmer’s failure to deliver on illegal immigration is both glaring and politically dangerous. Despite pledging during the election campaign to bring Channel crossings under control, the boats have not stopped. The numbers remain stubbornly high, with hundreds arriving weekly. And with the Rwanda deportation scheme scrapped and no meaningful alternative in place, Labour now looks just as rudderless on the issue as the Conservatives did before them.
This failure is not merely a policy problem. It is a political timebomb. For while Starmer remains relatively popular in Westminster circles, out in the country, disillusionment is setting in. His technocratic style—always cautious, often lawyerly—has proved better at avoiding mistakes than achieving results. And, on immigration especially, he is looking increasingly out of touch with the mood of the electorate.
Most damaging of all, Starmer risks repeating the very mistake that helped hand him power: ignoring the concerns of voters on immigration while underestimating the populist forces gathering in the wings. In this case, that means one man: Nigel Farage.
Farage, a perennial provocateur and the architect of Brexit, is now firmly entrenched on the frontline of politics. With the Conservative Party in electoral freefall—fractured, directionless, and toxic to much of the public—Farage spies an opportunity. If Reform UK, or whatever vehicle he chooses, gains momentum, Starmer could face a backlash far worse than anything Rishi Sunak ever had to contend with.
Farage, of course, remains a deeply polarising figure. His critics are right to point out that he is often all style and no substance.
His policy positions tend to be light on detail and heavy on bluster. And his record of building sustainable political institutions is abysmal; UKIP was riven with infighting and collapsed the moment he left. Yet his ability to connect with disaffected voters is undeniable. His plain-speaking style, media savvy, and willingness to tackle taboo subjects give him a potency that Westminster careerists like Starmer cannot easily match.
If Farage does make a serious bid for power, Starmer’s handling of immigration will be the clearest chink in his armour. It was one of the few issues on which he made a firm, unequivocal promise. Now, that promise looks broken. For all the talk of “treating the causes, not just the symptoms,” there has been precious little in terms of real action. The border remains porous, public patience is wearing thin, and Labour’s explanations are starting to sound suspiciously like excuses.
But it’s not just immigration where Starmer is vulnerable. His leadership style, increasingly presidential and centralised, has begun to attract criticism from within Labour’s own ranks. Much like Farage during his UKIP days, Starmer appears to surround himself with loyalists rather than rising stars. Shadow ministers who show too much independence or flair are quietly sidelined. The front bench, while disciplined, is undeniably grey and uninspiring.
This tendency to suppress talent may be rooted in Starmer’s legalistic instincts: control the message, eliminate risk, avoid drama. But in government, it breeds stasis. Without energetic, capable ministers able to drive policy and connect with the public, even the best-intentioned programmes flounder. The result is a government that looks competent on paper but inert in practice.
Should Farage exploit this vacuum, Starmer may find himself facing not just an insurgent challenge on the right, but a deeper erosion of faith in mainstream politics altogether. And while Farage’s track record suggests he is ill-suited to the practicalities of governance, that may not matter. In a media environment driven by outrage and spectacle, style often trumps substance. The question is not whether Farage could govern well—it’s whether enough voters believe he could do no worse than his recent predecessors.
In some ways, Starmer is paying the price for a political strategy built more on not being the Tories than on offering a compelling alternative. That was enough to win power, but not enough to wield it effectively. And now, with immigration spiralling and public discontent rising, his position looks increasingly precarious.
Starmer still has time to turn things around. A robust plan to reduce illegal crossings, coupled with a more dynamic Cabinet and clearer communication, could shore up his authority. But the window is closing. Populism feeds on disappointment—and the British public have been disappointed too many times before.
If Starmer cannot keep his promises, and cannot inspire confidence, he may yet find himself the man who made Nigel Farage electable—not through shared beliefs, but through sheer political failure. The irony would be devastating. After years of decrying populism and vowing to restore responsible governance, Keir Starmer may end up remembered as the man who paved the road for the ultimate protest candidate to walk into Downing Street.
