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Power reveals, but so too, in the British political system, does opposition. How should a former governing party, recently deposed by a ruthless electorate, react to voters’ collective verdict? When the fault-finding and blame-assigning begins, when suppressed bitterness suddenly erupts, how does a party’s instincts compel it to act? When a new leader searches their party’s soul, as the political cliché insists they must, what do they find? Can they be candid about it?
And finally, after the deluge of claims and counterclaims, on what path does an opposition outfit journey?
That brings us to Kemi Badenoch’s performance at prime minister’s questions on Wednesday, the reviews for which were decidedly mixed.
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PMQs, it is often contended, cannot in and of itself dictate the political weather. (The fate of consummate commons performer and failed Conservative leader William Hague would suggest as much). But with Westminster forced to pay attention to six full questions and probably fewer answers, it is a rare opportunity for an opposition party to share some chosen message. (Poor PMQs performances, of course, can reopen old factional wounds and stir the supposedly supportive MPs behind — or perhaps alongside — an opposition leader).
All this meant that when Badenoch took to the despatch box on Wednesday afternoon for what was effectively her inaugural PMQs (Donald Trump’s victory in the US election overshadowed Badenoch’s official debut), Westminster wasn’t expecting the kind of confident spontaneity that good opposition leaders eventually master. But could Badenoch weaponise a specific message to manipulate Keir Starmer’s political vulnerabilities? That was her first, and probably most important, test.
Somehow though, Badenoch’s performance was both over-rehearsed and stumbling. Her scattergun strategy, bereft of any cohesive narrative, supplied Starmer with ample escape routes — which he nimbly exploited. There was no organising principle dictating the fights Badenoch picked, or hints as to the political direction she plans to lead her party. The Tory chief, instead, confronted Starmer with a list of familiar grievances.
That was, I think, the broader task posed of Badenoch at PMQs: could she demonstrate political and intellectual leadership by saying something new, either about Starmer or her mode of conservatism?
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Badenoch began by blasting the “unilateral” climate commitments Starmer signed up to at Cop29, which, she insisted, “will make life more expensive for everyone back home”. Across her six questions, Badenoch went on to ask about the budget, council tax and a four-day working week. In total, the Tory chief touched on at least four different topics — but barely brushed the news agenda. CCHQ’s press release on “Labour’s £2.4 billion Council Tax Blackhole”, pinged into inboxes at 12.16 pm on Wednesday, was roundly ignored by lobby journalists.
At one point, Badenoch even referred to Rachel Reeves as the “the cut-and-paste chancellor” — an attack line debuted by Jeremy Hunt in November 2023, a full year ago. While it took Starmer some months to decisively pivot away from his ancien régime, he did not prepare for his first PMQs by scanning Jeremy Corbyn’s old scripts.
Badenoch’s PMQs style is an implicit signal that she is relying on Conservative instinct to inform her approach to opposition. Her criticism of the budget, Starmer’s climate commitments and four-day working week proposals required no political innovation or rhetorical nous.
Moreover, Badenoch’s final line of inquiry, on whether Labour will introduce “a four-day week for councils”, was disparaged by Starmer as dishonest. “Questions based on what we are actually doing are usually better than made-up fantasy questions”, the prime minister declared. The exchange mirrored Badenoch’s incorrect insistence last Wednesday, in her actual PMQs debut, that the budget made no reference to defence.
It mirrored, too, the Conservative Party’s recent crusades against Starmer’s alleged (read non-existent) plans to tax meat and force households to own seven bins. In government, the Conservative Party pursued this imagined agenda in lieu of actually seizing the reins of government. In opposition, Badenoch risks embracing easy attack lines at the expense of meaningful, solemn opposition.
Last month, Badenoch promised the Conservative faithful that opposition would be “fun”. Readers may have laughed at the suggestion; well, you’re not laughing now.
There was, in sum, something strikingly Sunak-esque about Badenoch’s performance: the long windup, the edgy demeanour, the flat delivery and resultantly unimpressed backbenchers. Why, we must instinctively doubt, will a “let Kemi be Kemi” strategy succeed where the Conservatives’ “let Rishi be Rishi” approach failed? Especially if Kemi yearns to be Rishi.
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The noisy, heavy-handed politics of Sunak’s premiership, which leapt onto every passing “culture war” bandwagon before eventually careering off course, was roundly rejected by voters at the last election. For all the troubles Starmer has faced in government, his commitment to pursue a politics that “treads a little lighter” on people’s lives successfully capitalised on Britain’s collective fatigue of Johnsonian scandal, Trussite chaos and Sunakian performance.
But the ostensible throughline of Badenoch’s strategy, hailed by her supporters during the recent leadership campaign, is to berate Starmer, according to long-held Tory instinct, until the polls turn.
This, certainly, is no “new Toryism”. And an ideologically static Conservative Party benefits all of its opponents: to the left, centre and right. (For what it is worth, David Cameron — the last Conservative leader to carve a path out of opposition — focused on his support for Tony Blair’s education reforms in his first PMQs outing.)
Old Toryism could work, assuming Badenoch’s delivery improves, in the short term. And already we are seeing polls which place the Conservatives above Labour. But a sustainable lead will only be established when the Conservative Party’s standing and prestige are restored. To do so, Tory MPs need to rethink their instincts — not trust in them.
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Today then, Badenoch’s “Ming vase” — which Starmer escorted across the slicked surfaces of opposition last parliament — already lies scattered on the commons floor.
The problem with this approach is the political signal Badenoch’s fractured porcelain sends to voters. In so enthusiastically drawing dividing lines, Badenoch risks alienating those who might, instinctively, be willing to give a new Conservative leader a closer look. Starmer’s recent travails, reflected in the polls and his favourability ratings, suggest a swathe of voters are already politically homeless.
Opposition, like government, is all about trade-offs. You cannot, as an opposition party, be both restless and disciplined; or chaotic and introspective. You cannot continue to make noise, at similar volumes to the party’s pre-election iteration, and signal change.
The broad formula for a successful stint for Badenoch as Tory leader looks, I reckon, something like this: she must first distinguish herself from the Conservative Party’s toxic reputation (net -42 favourability, according to YouGov); establish her authority over the Conservative Party, (thus proving she is willing and able to change it); and then exhibit that change through policy and harassing Labour.
Roughly, that is the three-stage strategy Starmer says he prosecuted as Labour leader from 2020-2024. The now-PM told Times Radio in 2023: “We had to change the Labour Party at pace and ruthlessly, expose the Tories and the SNP as not fit to govern, but then this stage — which was always the third stage but very important — which is setting out the positive case.”
The bottom line is that a party must pace itself through opposition, remain relentlessly introspective and, in the near term, embrace humility. One risk is that, after months of arguing about “first principles” and penning pamphlets, Badenoch thinks the soul-searching is over — and the necessary internal arguments won.
The wider risk for Badenoch over the coming months — familiar to any fresh leader of a toxic institution — is that her standing (net favourability -20) could be further consumed by the black hole brand of modern Conservatism. That, after all, was ex-PM Rishi Sunak’s fate as his net favourability declined steadily from a peak of -9 in October 2022 to -56 in the weeks prior to the election.
This problem for Badenoch is deeper still when one considers the wider public mood. Badenoch does not just need to cut through waves of dislike and disinterest as Conservative leader — but also a deep cynicism and suspicion. The public, recent polling suggests, does not expect the party to recover or for Badenoch to become prime minister. Voters, at least, are doubtful Conservatism can overcome the structural obstacles confronting it this parliament; at most, they question the inherent worth of the Conservative Party as an institution.
Expectations, of course, have a canny tendency to become reality in politics. And voter’s grim preconceptions will only alter if Badenoch, (1), comes to terms with and, (2), addresses the Conservatives’ lingering brand issues — by eschewing them in no uncertain terms.
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Keir Starmer’s greatest gift in opposition was that he didn’t make an impression for years. His profile didn’t linger in the minds of voters who were, for the most part, non-plussed by him. It meant Starmer’s Conservative opponents found him difficult to pigeonhole politically until, in the wake of Boris Johnson and Liz Truss, it was too late.
Suddenly, Starmer adjusted his political offering to appease the median (or “hero”) voter. That was the magic of the Labour leader’s steadily expanding “small target” which, by the time of the election, included policies such as railway re-nationalisation, the creation of a National Wealth Fund and strengthening workers’ rights — as well as tax rises on non-domiciled residents, oil and gas companies, private schools and private equity executives.
Badenoch, because of her variant style, will lodge herself in the memory of those voters who happen upon her. That fact makes her first impression, and her immediate political choices, even more important.
I have referred repeatedly in recent times to the defining question a worthy Conservative strategy must answer, that is: how does Badenoch, in just five years, convince the public that a party that serially broke promises in power is now suddenly telling the truth in opposition?
It would be unreasonable to expect a clear answer to this question now. But the months-long Tory leadership contest was specifically contrived to enable an eventual leader to come up with a process. At PMQs, Badenoch should have begun to trust it; her line of questioning, however, suggested she is bereft of one.
In time, Conservative MPs could learn to rue Badenoch’s ability to “cut through”. If Tory politics continues to tread ponderously on Britons’ lives, how can the public conclude the party has really, sufficiently changed?
Josh Self is Editor of Politics.co.uk, follow him on Bluesky here.
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