On 6 March, before the coronavirus pandemic paralysed Britain and upended the normal rules of the nation’s politics, Keir Starmer travelled to York to address a meeting of his supporters. It was the ninth week of Labour’s protracted leadership contest, and the ninth week the shadow Brexit secretary and former director of public prosecutions had spent on the road, preaching his gospel of unity to party members.
These are not like Jeremy Corbyn rallies. There are no queues around the block – the auditorium of the Yorkshire Museum, a stately Victorian complex set in a city-centre park, was half full. In a room upstairs, several dozen activists had spent the afternoon phone-banking for Starmer’s campaign – he comes bearing boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts as recompense. His campaign team – several of whom have been seconded from the offices of the 88 MPs who nominated him for the leadership, in search of a saviour or merely stability after four draining years of Corbynism – were happy with the turnout: it was, after all, a Friday night. Unlike Corbyn, Starmer was on time, and dressed smartly in his campaign uniform of a navy blue suit and white shirt, always tieless: he is 57 now, without quite looking it (he confesses to moisturising nightly).
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