The political storm engulfing Prime Minister Keir Starmer over his appointment of Peter Mandelson as British ambassador to Washington has exposed a profound crisis at the heart of the Labour government. The revelation that Starmer knew of Mandelson's continued association with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein before sending him to the United States has shattered the Prime Minister's foundational claim to office: his reputation as a trustworthy, scandal-free alternative to previous Conservative administrations.
A Poisoned Appointment in the Shadow of Trump
Ironically, it was the election of Donald Trump that prompted Starmer's fateful decision. Believing that navigating the serpentine corridors of the new Trump administration required a political operator of Mandelson's particular skills, the Prime Minister made an appointment that now threatens to end his premiership. The bitterest irony lies in the fact that the Epstein files, which contain thousands of references to Trump and his associates, appear set to bring down a British leader who is not mentioned by Epstein even once.
The Collapse of Starmer's Core Proposition
Starmer's entire political identity was built upon being the antithesis of political sleaze. As a former prosecutor with an unblemished record, he presented himself to voters as the trustworthy, if unexciting, alternative to the scandal-plagued governments of Boris Johnson and Liz Truss. For this same leader to now be linked, however indirectly, to the Jeffrey Epstein network through his ambassador appointment represents more than mere embarrassment—it constitutes the destruction of his primary claim to legitimacy.
This explains why numerous Labour MPs are privately describing Starmer as a "dead man walking" in anonymous messages to journalists. The question dominating Westminster corridors is no longer if the Prime Minister will fall, but rather when the inevitable will occur.
The Danger of Cynical Generalisations
Amid the unfolding scandal, a dangerous narrative has emerged suggesting that all politicians are fundamentally corrupt, with Mandelson merely representing the most visible example. This cynical worldview, while superficially appealing in its world-weary sophistication, must be vigorously resisted for two crucial reasons.
Firstly, as anyone familiar with Westminster knows, most politicians—while often ambitious and occasionally peculiar—do not operate with the complete absence of scruples demonstrated by maintaining friendship with a convicted child abuser while passing government secrets during a global financial crisis. Mandelson represents the exception, not the rule.
Secondly, this blanket cynicism creates fertile ground for extremist movements like Reform UK and Nigel Farage. Their political success depends entirely on convincing the electorate that all mainstream politics is irredeemably corrupt. By embracing this narrative, critics inadvertently smooth the path for authoritarian nationalism led by figures who openly admire Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin.
The Factional Fallacy Within Labour
Within Labour circles, a more specific version of this argument has emerged, suggesting that Mandelson's behaviour typifies the entire New Labour project—characterising it as fundamentally in thrall to wealth and devoid of values. This too represents a dangerous caricature that ignores figures like Gordon Brown, whose obsession with poverty reduction and disinterest in material wealth were equally defining characteristics of New Labour.
As Ed Miliband discovered during his leadership, trashing the reputation of New Labour does not endear voters to the party—it simply discredits Labour in its entirety.
Starmer's Limited Options for Survival
The Prime Minister faces severely constrained options for political survival. He might encourage allies to warn rebellious MPs about the unpalatable alternatives—whether Wes Streeting (a longtime Mandelson mentee), Angela Rayner (previously embroiled in financial scandal), or Ed Miliband (already rejected by voters over a decade ago).
Alternatively, Starmer could hope that the Labour chair of Parliament's Intelligence and Security Committee takes months rather than days to review relevant documents, allowing current fury among Labour MPs to subside into mere sullen discontent. A more drastic option would involve sacrificing his chief of staff, Morgan McSweeney, who reportedly pushed aggressively for Mandelson's appointment.
Yet all these strategies share one fundamental characteristic: they merely postpone the inevitable day of reckoning rather than addressing the core problem.
The Unspoken Defence Starmer Cannot Make
There exists one argument Starmer might be tempted to deploy in his defence, though political reality makes it virtually impossible to articulate publicly. The Prime Minister could point out that his admission of knowing about Mandelson's Epstein connections before the Washington appointment has provoked particular outrage among his own MPs and the public.
However, Starmer could theoretically respond that this information was hardly secret—it had been detailed in a JP Morgan report covered extensively by the Financial Times two years before Mandelson's diplomatic posting. Why did so few politicians protest at the time? Why did Westminster, including Nigel Farage and most media commentators, largely support the appointment as a political masterstroke?
The contrast with the treatment of Prince Andrew following his disastrous Newsnight interview in 2019 is particularly striking. While association with Epstein after his imprisonment was clearly understood as disqualifying from public life in 2019, this standard appeared to have evaporated by 2025. Just before his Washington appointment, Mandelson served as chancellor of a British university, co-hosted a Times podcast, and featured prominently in the BBC's election night coverage.
The Darker Questions Beyond Westminster
This scandal raises questions far more profound than simply how long Starmer can survive as Prime Minister. At its core lies a disturbing societal question: why did the pain and suffering endured by Jeffrey Epstein's victims register so fleetingly in public consciousness? What is it about the abuse of women and girls by wealthy, powerful men that makes their experiences so forgettable to the political and media establishment?
As Labour MPs calculate their next moves and Westminster speculates about succession timelines, these uncomfortable questions about institutional memory, gender, and power remain largely unaddressed—overshadowed by the immediate political crisis, yet fundamentally more important than any single politician's survival.
