A VOICE FROM THE STREET

9th June 2026
 
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Time, Chance and Peter Mandelson

By David Selves


Politics is often explained as a clash of ideas. Yet history suggests that it may have rather more to do with salesmanship than philosophy.

The Labour Party's modern dilemma is a good example.

When Michael Foot led Labour to defeat in 1983, many on the Left concluded that the party had lost because it had not been sufficiently left-wing. When Jeremy Corbyn suffered a heavy defeat in 2019, many of his supporters reached much the same conclusion. The prescription after defeat was not moderation but a stronger dose of the medicine that had just been rejected.

Yet when Tony Blair won three successive general elections, much of the Left fell remarkably quiet. Some were placated by the presence of John Prescott as Deputy Prime Minister. Others persuaded themselves that electoral success justified ideological compromise. But perhaps the more interesting question is this: how much of New Labour was really Tony Blair's creation at all?

What if the decisive figure was Peter Mandelson?

Mandelson understood something many politicians never grasp. Voters do not buy policies. They buy confidence, competence, reassurance and, above all, a story. His genius lay not in changing Labour's core objectives so much as changing the packaging. He recognised that elections are not academic seminars. The product must appeal to the buyer.

Labour's traditional Left often viewed this as cynical marketing. Mandelson regarded it as political reality.
The question therefore arises: if Mandelson was instrumental in creating New Labour, how much influence did he have in creating Starmer's Labour?

Officially, Sir Keir Starmer's rise was his own achievement. Yet politics rarely works so neatly. Networks, advisers, donors, strategists and experienced operators all shape outcomes. The remarkable transformation of Starmer from continuity-Corbyn candidate in the 2020 leadership contest into the architect of the most centrist Labour platform for a generation raises obvious questions about who was advising whom, and when.

Mandelson's fingerprints seem difficult to ignore.

Indeed, one recalls the confidence surrounding his appointment as Britain's Ambassador to the United States. "You'll not regret it," was reportedly the message. Such certainty suggests someone whose influence remains undiminished despite decades of political exile and resurrection.

Then there was Peter Kyle's apparent willingness to take a chance on change itself—a sentiment that echoes a wider tendency within modern politics. When established institutions falter, electorates and political parties alike become willing gamblers. Sometimes the wager pays off. Sometimes it does not. But somebody usually calculates the odds.

Which brings us to an encounter from another era.

On 14 April 1987, at Foyles' launch lunch for his memoir Time and Chance, Jim Callaghan I asked what his greatest problem as Prime Minister had been.

His answer was striking.

He said that he had been unable to put into practice what he had learned on his long journey to becoming Prime Minister because those around him whose support he needed had not experienced that same journey.

It was a profound observation.

Callaghan's education had been lengthy and practical. He had served in multiple great offices of state. He had observed crises, compromises and unintended consequences. He had learned the limits of ideology and the stubbornness of reality.

How does that observation apply today?

Keir Starmer's route to Number 10 was undoubtedly impressive, but it was very different. It was shorter politically, more managerial, less rooted in decades of ministerial apprenticeship. One wonders whether Callaghan might have included Starmer among those who had not travelled far enough to acquire the necessary political education.

Or perhaps Callaghan would have directed his criticism elsewhere.

For if power is increasingly exercised through advisers, strategists and special envoys, who is actually governing?

Consider Pat McFadden's comments on taxation, welfare and fiscal discipline. Again and again, Labour's public message stresses restraint, caution and the need to reassure markets. These are not traditionally the themes that animated Labour conferences. Yet they increasingly sound like the operating instructions of government.

So who is steering the machine?

The Prime Minister?

The Chancellor?

Pat McFadden?

The Treasury?

The civil service?

Or the accumulated weight of economic reality itself?

Perhaps the most unsettling possibility is that nobody is fully in charge. Modern governments often resemble juggernauts: vast, powerful and difficult to steer. Ministers may imagine themselves driving while actually clinging to the bonnet.

At this point two long-dead observers might enter the conversation.

Joseph de Maistre would probably be unimpressed by the entire spectacle. He believed societies ultimately get the governments they deserve. He distrusted rational schemes and abstract political projects. Looking at Labour's internal struggles, Conservative disarray, and the broader turbulence of Western democracies, he might argue that political leaders merely reflect deeper social and cultural conditions.

The politicians are symptoms, not causes.

Thomas Jefferson would likely arrive at a different conclusion. He would worry about the concentration of power in institutions increasingly distant from ordinary citizens. Bureaucracies, financial systems and permanent administrative structures might concern him far more than individual politicians. He might ask whether elections still provide meaningful control over government or merely change the occupants of offices whose direction is largely predetermined.

Neither thinker would confine his observations to Britain.

De Maistre would see similar patterns throughout Europe and North America: declining trust, weakening institutions and elites struggling to command authority.

Jefferson would note the growing influence of bureaucracies, courts, central banks, international organisations and unelected experts across much of the democratic world.

Both might conclude that the real questions are larger than Labour.

Yet Labour remains a fascinating case study.

For decades the party argued about ideology. Left or right? Socialist or social democratic? Radical or moderate?

Perhaps those were never the decisive questions.

Perhaps the more important question was always: who understands the electorate?

Michael Foot did not.

Jeremy Corbyn did not.

Tony Blair certainly did.

And Peter Mandelson may have understood it better than any of them.

Which leaves one final puzzle.

If Labour's recent success owes more to Mandelsonian marketing than ideological conviction, what happens when the electorate decides it no longer wants the product?

History suggests that selling is easier than governing.
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And governing, as Jim Callaghan discovered, is easier still than persuading others to learn the lessons of the journey.