Yet his own account of how he handled Peter Mandelson turns that brand into self-parody — and raises a devastating question about judgment, leadership, and moral seriousness.
Starmer has acknowledged that he was aware of Mandelson’s continued association with Jeffrey Epstein after Epstein’s 2008 conviction for sexual offences involving a minor and public status as a registered sex offender, before appointing him UK Ambassador to the United States. That admission alone should end the discussion. A lawyer who identifies a red flag and proceeds anyway doesn’t get to later plead surprise — not in court, not in government, not in leadership.
And this wasn’t just any figure being waved through. Mandelson is not some naive first-time appointee who made a single unfortunate misjudgment. He is one of the most repeatedly disgraced senior figures in modern British politics: twice forced to resign from cabinet, repeatedly implicated in lobbying scandals, and synonymous with the idea that rules are flexible for the well-connected. This is a man whose entire career has been a case study in how power insulates itself from consequence.
Which makes Starmer’s decision to appoint him after clocking the Epstein connection not merely careless, but actively reckless. What followed compounded the error rather than mitigated it
And that recklessness didn’t end with the appointment. When Mandelson was later removed as ambassador, Starmer still never raised the possibility of expelling him from the Labour Party. No disciplinary process followed. There was no disciplinary push, no red line drawn or no boundary was enforced, no acknowledgement that Epstein-linked behaviour — layered onto an already extensive record and toxic history of malfeasance in public office — might itself be incompatible with party membership. Mandelson was not forced out; he stepped aside voluntarily on his own terms. Starmer did not intervene — he observed.
That detail matters, because it exposes the hollowness of Starmer’s main defence: that Mandelson later “lied.” Even once the appointment had collapsed, Starmer still didn’t treat the issue as grounds for decisive action. That isn’t deception preventing accountability — that’s leadership choosing not to exercise it.
At this point, trusting Starmer as a lawyer becomes genuinely absurd. It’s like appointing someone with a widely known friendship with Jimmy Savile as head of child services, then responding to outrage by saying, “Well, he lied to me.” Not because the comparison is theatrical, but because the logic is identical: prior knowledge removes plausible deniability, especially where sexual abuse is concerned.
Then there’s the part Starmer would prefer to remain sotto voce: his chief adviser, Morgan McSweeney, is a long-time Mandelson protégé. A political inheritor of the very culture now being framed as an unfortunate oversight. The idea that Mandelson’s soft handling occurred in a vacuum — untouched by loyalty networks or adviser influence — strains credulity to breaking point.
So when Starmer asks us to believe he was misled, what he’s really asking us to accept is that:he knew about the Epstein association:
That isn’t legal reasoning. That’s institutional self-protection dressed up as professionalism.
Most grotesque of all is the attempt to spread responsibility so thin that it evaporates. By suggesting everyone — cabinet, party, public — was somehow equally “misled,” Starmer reframes the scandal as a misunderstanding rather than a failure of judgment. In that telling, the real victims are politicians embarrassed by timing, not the actual victims of Epstein’s abuse, who barely register in the calculus at all.
Strip away the spin and what remains is bleakly clear: a leader who knew, appointed anyway, shielded a serially disgraced figure, failed to act even when the damage was obvious, never raised expulsion, leaned on a compromised advisory structure, and now hides behind the idea that lies only matter once they become politically inconvenient.
That isn’t integrity. It isn’t leadership. And it certainly isn’t the mindset of someone you’d trust to defend you when the facts are uncomfortable.
If this is Keir Starmer’s standard of judgment — slow, evasive, internally protective, and morally reactive — then the real mystery isn’t why people criticise him.
It’s why anyone would trust him at all.
Starmer has acknowledged that he was aware of Mandelson’s continued association with Jeffrey Epstein after Epstein’s 2008 conviction for sexual offences involving a minor and public status as a registered sex offender, before appointing him UK Ambassador to the United States. That admission alone should end the discussion. A lawyer who identifies a red flag and proceeds anyway doesn’t get to later plead surprise — not in court, not in government, not in leadership.
And this wasn’t just any figure being waved through. Mandelson is not some naive first-time appointee who made a single unfortunate misjudgment. He is one of the most repeatedly disgraced senior figures in modern British politics: twice forced to resign from cabinet, repeatedly implicated in lobbying scandals, and synonymous with the idea that rules are flexible for the well-connected. This is a man whose entire career has been a case study in how power insulates itself from consequence.
Which makes Starmer’s decision to appoint him after clocking the Epstein connection not merely careless, but actively reckless. What followed compounded the error rather than mitigated it
And that recklessness didn’t end with the appointment. When Mandelson was later removed as ambassador, Starmer still never raised the possibility of expelling him from the Labour Party. No disciplinary process followed. There was no disciplinary push, no red line drawn or no boundary was enforced, no acknowledgement that Epstein-linked behaviour — layered onto an already extensive record and toxic history of malfeasance in public office — might itself be incompatible with party membership. Mandelson was not forced out; he stepped aside voluntarily on his own terms. Starmer did not intervene — he observed.
That detail matters, because it exposes the hollowness of Starmer’s main defence: that Mandelson later “lied.” Even once the appointment had collapsed, Starmer still didn’t treat the issue as grounds for decisive action. That isn’t deception preventing accountability — that’s leadership choosing not to exercise it.
At this point, trusting Starmer as a lawyer becomes genuinely absurd. It’s like appointing someone with a widely known friendship with Jimmy Savile as head of child services, then responding to outrage by saying, “Well, he lied to me.” Not because the comparison is theatrical, but because the logic is identical: prior knowledge removes plausible deniability, especially where sexual abuse is concerned.
Then there’s the part Starmer would prefer to remain sotto voce: his chief adviser, Morgan McSweeney, is a long-time Mandelson protégé. A political inheritor of the very culture now being framed as an unfortunate oversight. The idea that Mandelson’s soft handling occurred in a vacuum — untouched by loyalty networks or adviser influence — strains credulity to breaking point.
So when Starmer asks us to believe he was misled, what he’s really asking us to accept is that:he knew about the Epstein association:
- deemed it acceptable,
- appointed a man with a long record of ethical scandal anyway
- failed to act decisively when the appointment collapsed
- never even raised party expulsion
- relied on advice from a Mandelson-aligned strategist
- and now insists the real problem is that Mandelson wasn’t honest after the fact
That isn’t legal reasoning. That’s institutional self-protection dressed up as professionalism.
Most grotesque of all is the attempt to spread responsibility so thin that it evaporates. By suggesting everyone — cabinet, party, public — was somehow equally “misled,” Starmer reframes the scandal as a misunderstanding rather than a failure of judgment. In that telling, the real victims are politicians embarrassed by timing, not the actual victims of Epstein’s abuse, who barely register in the calculus at all.
Strip away the spin and what remains is bleakly clear: a leader who knew, appointed anyway, shielded a serially disgraced figure, failed to act even when the damage was obvious, never raised expulsion, leaned on a compromised advisory structure, and now hides behind the idea that lies only matter once they become politically inconvenient.
That isn’t integrity. It isn’t leadership. And it certainly isn’t the mindset of someone you’d trust to defend you when the facts are uncomfortable.
If this is Keir Starmer’s standard of judgment — slow, evasive, internally protective, and morally reactive — then the real mystery isn’t why people criticise him.
It’s why anyone would trust him at all.
⏩ Cam Ogie is a Gaelic games enthusiast.
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