Starmer versus the Blob Weak politicians need a scapegoat

Since the onset of the Mandelson crisis, one question has returned to me over and again: how will the Prime Minister reflect on what happened? I fear the lesson he’ll speak about, and the one Westminster will learn, will be the wrong one. Watch the broadcast rounds from this week. Watch the podcasts by former politicians and advisors. Read the opinion pieces. The answer is already taking shape: Starmer, the archetypal man of process, didn’t follow it, then covered it up, and is now suffering the repercussions.

Sir Olly Robbins, the official who allegedly ignored the independent vetting of Mandelson, has said that it was a done deal — already announced to the public and the wider world. Crucially, he claims No. 10 was dismissive towards any vetting in the first place, and that his job, as a civil servant, was simply to accede to the wishes of the Prime Minister. Downing Street, for its part, is claiming that it did not lie; it was just unaware of the vetting outcome. It didn’t ask, didn’t inquire, and therefore didn’t know.

The truth is that the Prime Minister’s excuse for this Mandelson scandal is neither an aberration, nor evidence that the machinery of government requires a small tweak. It is the entirely predictable product of a broken political class, which has spent decades diffusing accountability, and blaming anyone but themselves.

The Conservatives, for they were no different, won four consecutive general elections, held office for 14 years, and cycled through five different prime ministers, yet spent far too much of that time explaining to the British public why they were unable to deliver the commitments on which they were elected. “The system” was blocking them, they said; it was the fault of “the Blob”. They were right, in part, but the blame is misplaced. And if this lesson is not learned, we will continue to spiral into decline.

“The Blob” is a metaphor for the inner workings of the British state. It is deployed by ministers to describe the feeling when they repeatedly pull a lever in government — only to find that nothing happens. This sometimes manifests itself as simple inaction on ministerial priorities by unelected officials; at other times as direct, insidious opposition from within the ranks of officialdom.

“The Blob” was once considered something of a conspiracy theory — the failing Tory government was blaming the Rolls-Royce civil service for its own failings. This view was so strongly held in some quarters that when it came into power, the Labour government of 2024 essentially prostrated itself before Whitehall. There would be no more “gaslighting” of the civil service. Now, finally, “the adults were back in the room”, and officials would be free to work their magic.

Starmer appointed Sue Gray as Chief of Staff to reset relationships between ministers and officials, and create a “positive” culture of “collaboration”. Indeed, her initial words in No. 10 to the elite ranks of the Civil Service were: “Thank you so much for welcoming us into your house… [w]e are really mindful that we are guests here, and this is where you work.” Elected officials and their government, according to Gray, were guests in the house of the Civil Service.

Within months, it fell apart. Gray was forced out in October 2024 by which time it had become clear that Labour had no plan for government beyond letting the civil service choose what it should do. By early December the same year, Labour had begun briefing that Dominic Cummings’ criticisms of the system were correct. A timeline many wouldn’t have expected.

Later, as relations between the Blob and No. 10 hit new lows, Starmer claimed too many in Whitehall were comfortable in the “tepid bath of managed decline”. The response from the civil service was extraordinary. The following day, Robert Peston reported that one official had told him there was “a mood that we [the civil service] should pull the plug on him” — a remarkable threat to make to the Prime Minister, and leader of the party with the largest electoral majority this century.

But rather than pointing out the extraordinary nature of such a claim, with unelected bureaucrats openly threatening an elected government, Peston summarized the news as “another unforced error” by Downing Street. This same pattern holds today. We now read that the civil service has “turned against” Starmer, and that there is a serious crisis in “ministerial-civil service relations”. The Government’s route out, it is argued, should be to work “to rebuild some of the trust lost by the events of the past week”, by treating officials more positively, and leaving the foundations well alone.

Given all this, it should be obvious that the Blob exists. We hear the same stories over and over again from ex-ministers. The Blob can delay ministerial priorities until the point they’re shuffled out; it can direct policy by briefing in particular directions; and it can slow or kill off priorities it wants to. What’s worse is that some senior officials are extremely happy for this to happen (such as those who leak to journalists their praise or condemnation of a particular government).

In the end, though, blame for its existence lies firmly with our politicians. They choose the re-shuffles, they choose to shy away from fundamental changes to the system, they form governments without any plan or direction, they build quango after quango, and appoint unelected officials to positions of power.

But the Blob allows ministers to deny accountability for outcomes, prevent parliamentary debates about trade-offs, and claim that their hands are tied should a decision prove unpopular. The Blob has stepped into the vacuum — making choices, or simply avoiding actions, delaying what they dislike or taking decisions that should have been reserved for our elected representatives. In short, it has provided politicians with the ability to shirk responsibility, to come in without plans, to re-shuffle ministers regularly, and to avoid the hard work of deep state reform.

The Mandelson scandal is a clear example of this: the Prime Minister is able to play on the murky role of the civil service to avoid the fact that he was ultimately responsible for appointing Mandelson. No one denies that No. 10 wanted him as Ambassador. No one denies that they had announced it publicly. The problem isn’t in process, and it isn’t in Downing Street having a preference for a candidate. The problem, in the end, is that the Prime Minister appointed a terrible candidate, and is now reaping the whirlwind of that bad decision.

Today’s system — a labyrinth of bodies, independent panels and commissions, officials, and politicians — ensures that no single individual is ever clearly responsible for a decision, let alone an outcome. In many cases, nobody truly knows who is responsible, if anyone actually is. Every hard choice is outsourced to a wider web; every politically controversial decision is delayed and shifted away from ministers; and every major failure is subject to an inquiry that takes years, whose recommendations are accepted in full, and then forgotten entirely.

Westminster is now moving to insulate itself from any real change. There will be reviews, new safeguards, and rehashed protocols for appointments. Each will be presented as a necessary correction, yet each will fail to solve the fundamental problem. It is no exaggeration to say that finally ending this system is one of the most important pieces of work to be done right now. The future of our nation hangs upon it.

We know, after all, that this system does not work. Low wages, a broken healthcare system, broken borders, a dwindling number of taxpayers, a continuous cost of living crisis, economic stagnation, and declining living standards. The system has lurched us from crisis to crisis and never presented a vision to build a positive outcome for our nation. The best it has achieved is managed decline.

But contrary to popular Westminster opinion, the web can be disentangled. Institutions can be reformed, replaced, or entirely abolished; responsibility for decisions can be given back to our elected representatives. Politicians can take charge by leading and making decisions, rather than accepting the current system.

We must not forget — as our political class has done for decades — that our Parliament is awe-inspiringly powerful. There is no court that presides over it, there is no law that limits it; Parliament is sovereign and supreme. All Acts can be re-written, all laws remade. There is nothing, but the incapacity of our politicians, to prevent dramatic and wholesale change. Leadership, in the end, is simple. You make choices, you take decisions, and you carry the consequences.

Politicians can choose to lead once more. They can reassert where power lies, and to accept the risks that come with it. They can ensure single-person owners of projects. If a minister takes a decision, they must own it in full. If it succeeds, the credit is theirs; if it fails, the blame is theirs. This is the way of the world outside Westminster. Only useless kings get to blame their endless advisers; elected leaders have no one but themselves to blame. No new process can substitute for this principle.

This is not radical, nor is it novel. Ministers should be responsible for their departments. The system should do what a democracy is supposed to — connect decisions to consequences. Only a political system grounded in this principle can reverse our decline and invent a new future. But such an aspiration would require our politicians to take accountability and to act boldly.

I fear, though, that Starmer and Westminster will draw the wrong lessons from this crisis. I fear Starmer will think “if only procedures had been properly followed, or if only we had better procedures, this never would have happened”. He should instead ask himself: “Why did I appoint this man? Why didn’t I just apologise for a bad decision? Why is leadership so difficult?”

I suspect that line of questioning, because it puts responsibility where it should actually lie, is not one he would like to take — nor would other politicians. For ultimately it leads to the most fundamental question of all: “Am I good enough to do this job?” And many, I suspect, will not much like the answer.

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