The Man Who Couldn’t Do It

In the past decade, Britain has churned through leaders faster than the average fringe revolutionary sect. Earlier today, Keir Starmer became the sixth prime minister to announce his resignation since 2016. He managed just over 700 days in power.Departures from Downing Street have become so frequent that Starmer’s announcement followed a well-established grammar: A lectern was dragged in front of the black door of Number 10, the doomed leader’s loyal staff gathered at the side of the road, and an irritating protester disrupted the speech by blasting music outside the gates. Two years ago, an activist named Steve Bray greeted the departure of Starmer’s predecessor, Rishi Sunak, with D:Ream’s song “Things Can Only Get Better.” Today he played Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” People often talk about how this is a country paralyzed by inaction, where nothing can get built and, as in the sketch show Little Britain, the computer always says no. Our failure to prevent moments of national importance—and personal devastation for the politicians involved—from being interrupted by one guy with a boom box and a very basic record collection is all the proof you need that this is true.Starmer’s departure became inevitable late last week, when Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham won a special election in Makerfield that allowed him to return to Parliament—a precondition for becoming prime minister. Burnham had framed the election as a verdict on Starmer’s leadership of the Labour Party and the country, and he won even more votes than pollsters expected. From the moment Burnham’s victory was declared—as he stood between a man dressed as a fox, and another wearing a trash can on his head, because British politicians are expected to endure ritual humiliation—he became the prime-minister-in-waiting. Over the weekend, as Starmer considered what one minister called “political realities,” there was a notable absence of any rear-guard action to defend him. In his resignation speech, he said that he ha