Category Archives: Politics

The Questions Starmer Would Not Answer

From the Press Gallery, a familiar pattern emerged: precise questions on Mandelson, evasive answers from the Prime Minister, and a growing sense that judgement, not just politics, is now under scrutiny.

By Adel Darwish

From the Press Gallery, certain patterns are becoming increasingly predictable. Prime Minister’s Questions, once an arena of sharp exchange and occasional clarity, now often follows a familiar script: questions asked, answers diverted, and the argument redirected elsewhere. This week, however, the pattern mattered — because it went to the question of judgement at the top of government.

Kemi Badenoch used all six of her allotted questions to focus on the appointment of Peter Mandelson as ambassador to Washington. Drawing on material released under a Humble Address, her questions were structured to test the Prime Minister’s judgement and the basis on which the appointment had been made, and to probe whether his account to the House could be sustained.

Her line of argument was precise: to establish what the Prime Minister knew, what questions he had asked, and how he could now claim that Peter Mandelson had misled him. If, as Starmer suggested, Mandelson had not been truthful about his past association with Jeffrey Epstein, then the obvious question followed: had that issue been put to him directly at the time of the appointment?

The Prime Minister did not engage with that line of questioning. Instead, he repeatedly shifted the exchange onto Badenoch’s stance on the Iran conflict, accusing her of inconsistency and attempting to recast the session as a debate on foreign policy. By his sixth answer, the tone had hardened into outright attack, extending criticism to Reform UK and what he characterised as its proximity to positions he associated with the far right.

The Speaker intervened twice. On the first occasion, he reminded the House that he was not responsible for the Prime Minister’s replies. On the second, the rebuke was sharpened: nor was he responsible for the questions from the Leader of the Opposition. The message was unmistakable — that the exchange was failing to address the substance of what had been asked.

From the gallery, the reason for that pattern was not difficult to discern. The Prime Minister appeared acutely aware of the risks of what he said — and what he chose not to say. Having already faced questions about the Mandelson appointment, his answers at the despatch box now carry potential weight beyond the chamber. With further papers released under a Humble Address, any inconsistency between what he knew at the time and what he told Parliament could invite the most serious accusation in Westminster: that of having misled the House. That risk may explain the caution — and, at times, the conspicuous evasiveness — that marked his responses.

The difficulty for Downing Street is that the Mandelson affair is not an isolated embarrassment but a question of judgement. Documents now in the public domain indicate that warnings were raised about the reputational risks of the appointment. Yet the decision went ahead, and has since unravelled with striking speed. The subsequent financial settlement, agreed at £75,000, has reinforced the political impression of a decision taken against advice and corrected only under pressure.

That question of judgement extends beyond personnel into policy, particularly in energy. The latest tensions in the Gulf — including attacks on gas infrastructure, have revived concerns about supply vulnerability at precisely the moment Britain’s domestic capacity has been scaled back. Critics argue that successive governments once drew the opposite lesson from earlier crises, maintaining both a strategic naval presence in the region and a degree of domestic resilience. The current approach, which combines reduced North Sea production with continued reliance on imports, is now being tested under pressure. At such moments, the balance between long-term transition and immediate security becomes less theoretical and more immediate.

In another era, a foreign crisis might have provided political cover. Governments have often found that external threats rally domestic support and soften internal divisions. This time, the effect has been more limited. While the Prime Minister’s cautious stance on the conflict with Iran broadly reflects public sentiment, it has not translated into any discernible political dividend. Nor has it eased strategic uncertainty. Britain’s role in the region appears more constrained than in previous decades, when a quieter but consistent naval presence helped secure key shipping routes. The contrast is not merely nostalgic; it raises questions about capability as well as policy.

More troubling for Downing Street is that the pressure is no longer confined to the opposition benches. Within Labour, signs of unease are becoming more visible. Angela Rayner’s recent intervention, widely interpreted as a challenge to elements of the government’s economic direction, has underscored the extent to which internal consensus cannot be taken for granted. At the same time, many Labour MPs have signalled resistance to proposed changes in welfare policy, warning that they may not support measures to curb or freeze benefits. These are not yet coordinated rebellions, but they point to a party that is beginning to test the limits of its own leadership.

Even among Labour-leaning commentators, the tone has shifted. Sympathy for the government’s early difficulties has given way to a more questioning assessment of its choices and priorities. That, perhaps, is the more subtle change. Governments can weather opposition attacks; they find it harder to navigate scepticism from those broadly inclined to support them.

The Prime Minister therefore faces a convergence of pressures: scrutiny over decisions already taken, uncertainty over policies still unfolding, and a party that is no longer entirely aligned behind him. None of these challenges is, in isolation, insurmountable. Together, they form a pattern that is becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss.

In politics, individual missteps can often be contained. Patterns, once established, are far harder to break.

Starmer speaking at a nursery school in Belfast 12 March

Even Hecklers Start Small

After a bruising week in Westminster, the Prime Minister found his most honest audience in a Belfast nursery.

By Adel Darwish 

A prime minister who finds himself aligned with public opinion during a foreign crisis might reasonably expect a little political relief. Keir Starmer’s cautious distancing from the American strikes on Iran reflects the instinct of most British voters, who remain wary of another Middle Eastern war. Yet even this rare moment of alignment has done little to improve the government’s political fortunes.

The latest polling suggests a remarkably stagnant landscape. A seven-poll rolling average published this week places Reform UK on 27.4 per cent, Labour on 19.4, the Conservatives on 17.9, the Greens on 14.9, and the Liberal Democrats on 11.9. Despite rising oil prices and the geopolitical tensions surrounding the Iran conflict, there has been no sudden movement in public opinion. Labour has even edged slightly upward over the week. If higher petrol prices were provoking a backlash against the government, we would expect the opposite: a sharp fall in Labour support and a surge for opposition parties. Instead, the numbers suggest voters currently blame global events rather than domestic policy.

That did not spare Starmer a bruising encounter in the Commons. At Wednesday’s Prime Minister’s Questions, Kemi Badenoch used all six of her allotted questions to focus on fuel prices and the looming prospect of higher fuel duty. With Brent crude fluctuating sharply in response to Middle East tensions, petrol and diesel costs are once again creeping upward. For millions of people outside London, Badenoch argued, driving is not a luxury but a necessity — especially for tradesmen, delivery drivers and small businesses whose vans keep the economy moving.

Starmer attempted to deflect the pressure by attacking the opposition’s stance on Iran, accusing Badenoch of shifting positions and suggesting she had previously called for Britain to support American strikes. The exchange grew increasingly heated. At one point the Speaker intervened to remind the Prime Minister that his task was to answer questions rather than ask them of the Leader of the Opposition.

Fuel prices are not a trivial political issue. Rising oil costs ripple quickly through the economy: transport, food distribution, and ultimately inflation itself. Should the surge in energy prices persist, the Bank of England may hesitate before cutting interest rates, delaying the relief many mortgage holders had hoped for this spring. It is precisely this chain reaction that makes petrol prices such a sensitive political subject.

The government’s response has been to summon oil company representatives to Downing Street. Chancellor Rachel Reeves and Energy Secretary Ed Miliband called the industry in for talks at No.11, warning them against “profiteering” by raising prices at the pump. The Prime Minister’s spokesman said ministers were monitoring the situation closely and hinted that companies could face referral to the competition authorities if evidence of manipulation emerged.

The meeting itself became contentious. Retailers accused ministers of using “inflammatory language” about alleged profiteering, warning that it had led to members of the public abusing staff at petrol stations. Some companies even threatened to boycott the talks unless the government agreed that the opening of the meeting would not be filmed by television cameras.

Yet the week’s most awkward development for Downing Street came not from global oil markets but from Westminster itself. Documents released under parliamentary pressure revealed that officials had warned about the reputational risks of appointing Peter Mandelson as Britain’s ambassador to Washington. Mandelson is no stranger to controversy. During Tony Blair’s government he was twice forced to resign from cabinet — first in 1998 after failing to disclose a £373,000 loan from fellow minister Geoffrey Robinson, and again in 2001 after contacting the Home Office about the passport application of the wealthy Hinduja brothers. His post as ambassador quickly became politically untenable once questions resurfaced about his past association with the convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, an association Mandelson had earlier sought to minimise. Despite those concerns, the appointment went ahead. The saga took another turn when it emerged that Mandelson had sought compensation reportedly exceeding £500,000, before eventually agreeing to a settlement of £75,000 — a figure Downing Street insists represented “good value for money” compared with the potential cost of litigation.

The episode culminated in an unusual moment of contrition. On Thursday, the Prime Minister acknowledged that appointing Mandelson had been a mistake and apologised to victims connected to the Epstein scandal. It was a rare public admission of error from a sitting prime minister, though whether it draws a line under the affair remains to be seen.

At Friday’s lobby briefing, Downing Street declined to elaborate on what lessons the Prime Minister had drawn from the episode, with the spokesman cautioning journalists against speculation until the remaining documents are released.

By then, Starmer had already left Westminster for Belfast, that familiar corner of the kingdom where ministers sometimes find themselves dispatched when the political temperature rises in London. Hilary Benn, the Northern Ireland Secretary, stood dutifully beside him like a silent chaperone. The once formidable Downing Street spin machine of the Blair years, when communications were run by Alastair Campbell with Mandelson advising discreetly in the background, might have handled the optics differently. This week the Prime Minister’s team made a simpler logistical decision: Parliament lobby reporters were left behind and Starmer took questions only from local media in an off-camera informal huddle. After a bruising week in Parliament, the controlled environment was perhaps understandable. A nursery classroom, after all, offers a famously undemanding audience — one unlikely to ask awkward questions about fuel duty, oil prices, or the wisdom of appointing Peter Mandelson.

He took refuge in Belfast, well away from Westminster’s turbulence, and, not insignificantly, from the lobby journalists whose questions had been sharpening throughout the week. There, during a visit to a nursery school, he acknowledged he had made a mistake in appointing Mandelson and apologised to Epstein’s victims. Whether the wider public will be quite so forgiving remains uncertain. While he spoke, several toddlers began crying and fidgeting. “I know… I’m nearly finished,” he reassured them. Westminster instincts, including heckling, it seems, can develop remarkably early.

The Seat Labour Forgot to Fix


As Labour chased Reform voters, the Greens patched together a coalition on the left — and breached a seat once thought watertight. Adel Darwish analyses the Gorton & Denton By-Election.

Green’s MP for Gorton&Denton, plumber Hannah Denton

The headline numbers were stark. Hannah Spencer of the Green Party of England and Wales won Gorton and Denton seat with 40.7 per cent of the vote — a swing that carved out 26.7 per cent from Labour’s previous share. Reform came second on 28.7 per cent, some 4,500 votes behind. Labour slumped to third with 25.4 per cent, nearly 6,000 votes adrift of the winner. The Conservatives trailed in fourth and lost their deposit, bleeding support to Reform. More telling still is the combined vote of the three traditional Westminster parties — barely 29 per cent between them. This is not an isolated aberration but part of a longer trajectory that began with the Brexit referendum, when distrust of the political establishment first broke through the surface of British electoral behaviour. A decade on, that distrust has not dissipated; it has diversified. Voters are no longer merely alternating between two governing parties. They are actively seeking alternatives to both.

In a constituency long regarded as a Labour stronghold — one of those seats entered in red ink before a campaign even begins — the symbolism is devastating. For almost 100 years the seat, in its various boundary incarnations, had returned a Labour member. It was woven into the party’s industrial north narrative — mill towns, municipal socialism, trade union roots. That continuity has now been severed, not by the Conservatives, but by a party that until recently struggled to break through Westminster’s first-past-the-post barrier.

The Greens’ victory is historic for another reason: it was only their first Westminster by-election win. Yet it was not even among their top hundred priority battlegrounds. It reportedly sat at 127 on their “target seat” list — a ranking system small parties use to allocate limited resources to constituencies deemed realistically winnable. For readers unfamiliar with the mechanics: minor parties compile internal hierarchies of seats based on past vote share, demographic shifts and organisational presence. Money, activists and leadership visits are funnelled to the top tranche. A win outside that tier suggests either extraordinary local momentum or systemic weakness in the dominant party. Here, plainly, it was both.

Within Labour, the muttering has grown louder. Some MPs whisper to journalists in corridors; others air their concerns openly on radio and television. The charge is blunt: the problem is the leader. They recall how Starmer and the party’s National Executive blocked Greater Manchester’s popular mayor, Andy Burnham, from standing. The implication is clear — a locally rooted, high-profile Labour figure might have stemmed the tide. Instead, the party machine imposed caution where charisma was needed. For a leader already battered by poor polling and a faltering narrative on the economy, this mini-earthquake compounds the sense of drift.

Yet beyond the immediate party calculus lies something more troubling for British democracy itself. Two strata of voters deserve close attention: Muslim voters, particularly of South Asian heritage, and younger voters — including first-time 18–19-year-olds and the substantial student population in the area.

At first glance, this was a protest vote about living standards. The acceptance speech and subsequent press conference by Ms Spencer emphasised bread-and-butter themes: services, wages, fairness, and making work pay. A local plumber and plasterer by background — white, working class, and plainly spoken — she projected authenticity. But here lies the paradox. The white working class who prioritise precisely those issues did not vote Greens in large numbers. They moved to Reform, whose agenda speaks more directly to their anxieties about jobs, wages, immigration and public services.

Reform’s 28.7 per cent suggests a coherent transfer from Conservative and disaffected Labour voters who see economic strain as intertwined with immigration pressures — a subject the Greens largely sidestepped and Labour downplayed. Reform’s disappointment will be that second place is cold comfort, yet the numbers show a consolidated base among traditional white working-class voters.

The Greens’ surge appears instead to have been powered by a coalition of Muslim voters and younger, university-educated electors. The party’s literature was carefully segmented by language and theme. Leaflets in Urdu and Punjabi addressed Muslim voters and highlighted grievances facing Muslims in India, invoking allegations of Hindu nationalism; Gaza and the grievances of fellow Muslims in another land were also featured prominently in this material. English-language leaflets, by contrast, foregrounded Gaza in a broader humanitarian frame and criticised Conservative and Labour policy in the Middle East. For students and younger voters, the message returned to climate, redistribution and social justice, with Gaza again serving as an emotional rallying point.

This multi-track messaging raises uncomfortable questions about whether voters were being addressed as citizens sharing a common civic debate, or as discrete identity blocs receiving tailored narratives calibrated to their particular sensitivities.

First, the use of foreign-language leaflets. In practical terms, community outreach in voters’ preferred languages is hardly unprecedented; parties of all stripes have done so in diverse constituencies. Yet it also underscores a democratic concern: segments of the electorate may be engaging with politics through issue-specific or identity-based lenses rather than through a shared civic discourse. A national democracy depends on common reference points. When campaigns fragment messaging by ethnicity and language, the risk is political balkanisation.

Second, the ideological contradictions are more profound than polite commentary suggests. Some of the Greens’ flagship policies — liberalisation of drug laws, expansive LGBT education in schools, socially progressive curricula, and a broad secular social platform — sit uneasily, and in some cases directly at odds, with the traditional religious and cultural values held by many Muslim families in the constituency.

It may be that, in this election, foreign policy grievances and perceived injustices abroad outweighed domestic social policy differences. But such alliances are transactional by nature and rarely durable. They depend on the continued primacy of an external cause over internal contradictions.

There is also a more delicate question concerning language and integration. When campaign material is issued primarily in languages other than English, it is legitimate to ask whether some voters may not be fully exposed to the wider spectrum of domestic policy debates shaping British society — debates that will inevitably affect their English-speaking children in schools, universities and workplaces. A democratic choice is most meaningful when it is made with full awareness of the broader policy platform, not solely on a subset of emotionally resonant issues.

For younger voters, particularly students, Gaza appears to have been a galvanising issue. Yet foreign policy was scarcely central to the daily concerns of older, economically pressed residents. The divergence between the priorities of students and those of long-standing working-class families reveals a constituency split along generational as well as ethnic lines.

For Reform, the lesson is equally sobering. Their candidate, reportedly an academic rather than a locally embedded figure, may have lacked the personal resonance needed in a by-election where retail politics still matters. More fundamentally, Reform faces a structural dilemma. To broaden its appeal among ethnic minority and younger voters, it would need to soften elements of its platform — particularly on immigration and cultural issues. But doing so risks alienating the white working-class voters who form its current backbone. Electoral arithmetic can be merciless.

For Labour, the strategic quandary is deeper still. If Muslim and younger voters drift leftwards towards the Greens on foreign policy and identity issues, while white working-class voters defect to Reform over economic and immigration concerns, the party’s traditional coalition fractures. Reassembling it requires more than managerial competence; it demands a narrative that bridges class, culture and generational divides. At present, critics argue, that narrative is absent.

Thus the by-election becomes more than a local protest. It signals a fragmentation of the political landscape in which the two historic governing parties command barely a third of the vote combined. The Greens celebrate a breakthrough; Reform consolidates insurgency status; Labour questions its leadership; the Conservatives slide further into irrelevance in a seat they once contested seriously.

Five weeks running, each worse than the last, is not merely bad luck. It suggests structural weakness. Whether Sir Keir can arrest that trajectory — or whether internal pressure will grow for change — remains to be seen. But Gorton and Denton has delivered a verdict that Westminster cannot easily ignore: the electorate is restless, divided, and increasingly willing to experiment.

In politics, by-elections are often dismissed as mid-term tantrums. Sometimes they are. But occasionally they are tremors before a larger shift. This one feels less like a tantrum and more like a warning.

End- © 2026 Adel Darwish. All rights reserved. Quotation permitted only with clear attribution to the author

Rachel from Accounts and the Death of Labour’s Soul

By Adel Darwish

There was a time when the Labour Party could summon idealists, intellectuals, and political giants from the pavements of Britain. The Fabian Society debated the future of civilisation, not the future price of printer toner. Its members wrote books, not bullet points; they dealt in ideas, not invoices. They spoke of building a better world, not balancing the petty cash drawer. Today, the party’s intellectual inheritance has been pawned for a stack of spreadsheets, and its ideological flame entrusted to a woman we now know, affectionately and despairingly, as Rachel from Accounts.

(The Express picture)

Political nicknames rarely land with such devastating accuracy. This one encapsulates not merely her demeanour but her method: the belief that government is a question of reconciled columns rather than reconciled ambitions. The Budget she delivered on Wednesday did not feel like a national plan. It felt like an internal memo leaked from an HR director defending cuts to the biscuits fund. And yet this is the moment Labour promised would herald a “new era” — a Britain rejuvenated, reenergised, and ready to lead. Instead, Rachel Reeves produced the long talked about written with the emotional range of a procurement manual. It wasn’t a Budget; it was a defibrillator applied to the dying political career of Sir Keir Starmer. It bought him time, nothing more. The economy was merely the collateral.

Let us be clear: Reeves did not govern — she bargained. Her primary audience was not Britain but Labour’s backbenches. The Budget was one long bribe disguised as fiscal discipline, designed to placate the party’s left flank, who, having mistaken slogans for policy, now regard taxation as a sacrament and aspiration as a sin. Seven Labour MPs already had the whip withdrawn for rebelling over the two-child benefit policy, only for a U-turn this week; this Budget was the ransom note required to forestall further mutiny.

Meanwhile, Starmer, a man increasingly resembling a hostage reading demands under duress, watched his Chancellor hack away at the country in order to keep the party intact. It is governance in reverse: the Starmer-Reevs regime survives, the nation pays.

Reeves’s media round the morning after confirmed what the Opposition, economists, and even cheery breakfast presenters warned all along: Labour’s election promises were fantasy. Reeves was repeatedly challenged on the simple arithmetic she once dismissed as cynicism. Freezing the income tax threshold at £12,570, she insisted, was not a tax rise. This was a heroic attempt to redefine the English language. Independent think tanks note the threshold freeze will leave families on around £35,000 a year £1,400 worse off — a hit far larger than a modest 1p or 2p rise in income tax would have delivered. In other words, Reeves has achieved the political miracle of taxing the many more painfully than taxing the few.

Then came the leaks — a farce that would embarrass a parish council, let alone the Treasury. Reeves held a Budget press conference two weeks early, despite the long-standing, near-sacred principle of Budget secrecy. Shadow Chancellor Mel Stride pointed out, with barely suppressed disbelief, that releasing market-sensitive fiscal measures ahead of time isn’t merely foolish — it is potentially illegal. Even the Deputy Speaker rebuked her, an act as rare in Parliament as a unicorn sighting.

And then the crowning humiliation: the Office for Budget Responsibility uploaded the entire Budget online forty minutes before she spoke. It vanished shortly thereafter, but the damage was done. Reeves stood at the Despatch Box like someone gamely reading out a surprise party invitation that had already been tweeted by the venue. Ministers once resigned for less. Reeves shrugged.

For context, when Hugh Dalton whispered a few Budget titbits to a journalist while walking into the Commons in 1947, he resigned the next day. When Jimmy Thomas leaked the Budget proposals in 1936, he left the Cabinet and public life. Reeves did not merely whisper; she broadcast — and yet she remains, the beneficiary of a political age that has forgotten what shame feels like.

But the true scandal is not procedure; it is purpose. Labour has raised £26 billion in taxes without allocating a penny to growth. Not a farthing for productivity. Nothing for enterprise. No relief for the industries crippled by the Net Zero policy. Reeves has built a fiscal fortress without an exit — a country where money circulates but does not multiply, where public services are funded but no wealth is created to sustain them.

Consider the property tax raid: heralded as a strike against the idle wealthy, it raises just £400 million — scarcely 1.5% of the total tax take. A drop in the Red Sea. Yet its ideological purpose is vast. It punishes those who are not deemed “working people” — the retired, landlords, homeowners who have saved rather than spent. These individuals will now either increase rents, worsening the housing crisis, or sell assets, withdrawing supply entirely. Schools, orphanages, and hospices with buildings worth more than this arbitrary threshold could be caught in the crossfire. Reeves has taxed philanthropy and called it justice.

Meanwhile, the wealth creators Labour insists have nowhere else to go have, in fact, gone. 10,800 millionaires left the UK in 2024 — many of them business owners and investors. The Adam Smith Institute calculates that replacing the tax contribution of a single millionaire requires 49 ordinary taxpayers. Reeves has effectively exported the fiscal equivalent of the population of Manchester. Britain has become the world’s only country where you are free to make money, provided you do it somewhere else.

Here lies the eulogy for Labour’s soul. The party of Attlee and Bevan sought to expand opportunity; the party of Reeves and Starmer seeks to itemise it. Old Labour asked how to build a future. New Labour asks how to fund yesterday. The Fabians once dreamed of progress. Rachel from Accounts dreams of a tidy balance sheet.

She has not crashed the economy. She has audited it into paralysis.

And the irony? The only growth Labour has delivered is in political nicknames. Reeves may yet go down in history not as Britain’s first female Chancellor but as the woman who proved that when you run a country like a spreadsheet, you eventually discover the nation has clicked “Delete” — and moved abroad.

End

Armistice with Accounting: The Only Gaza Deal That Holds

A failed airstrike on 9 September broke the stalemate, isolated Netanyahu and forced a deal. The only workable outcome now is an armistice with accounting: hostages for corridors, daily monitoring, and real penalties for breaches, Adel Darwish argues.

This frame grab taken from an AFPTV footage shows smoke billowing after explosions in Qatar’s capital Doha on September 9, 2025. Israel’s military said it carried out air strikes on September 9 targeting senior Hamas leaders in the Qatari capital Doha, the venue of multiple rounds of talks aimed at ending the Gaza war. (Photo by Jacqueline PENNEY / AFPTV / AFP) (Photo by JACQUELINE PENNEY/AFPTV/AFP via Getty Images)

Dates matter in the Middle East, and many dates became names of important sites and monuments. 9 September 2025 is one of them. An Israeli air strike on Hamas figures meeting in Doha did not decapitate the movement, but it detonated assumptions. It told Hamas there is no sanctuary left. It exposed the political ceiling facing Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin (Bibi )Netanyahu. And it jolted Washington—President Trump, personally—into blunt engagement that turns fury into leverage. “Bibi, you cannot fight the whole world,” he reportedly said. That is not diplomacy by sonnet; it is the language of a dealmaker who knows when a war aim has outrun the coalition needed to sustain it. The point is not who was persuaded; it is that everyone was cornered by the same facts at the same time.

The strike changed the psychology inside Hamas. Doha had been the last place its leaders believed they could plan and bargain in relative comfort. Once you are targetable anywhere, your margin for waiting it out collapses. Hamas needed a ramp—any ramp—off a burning platform. The same date tolled another bell in Jerusalem. The operation failed to eliminate its intended targets. A failed audacious strike is costlier than no strike at all. It handed critics proof that maximalist rhetoric was outrunning results, while Israel’s allies—from Washington to European capitals—were signalling exhaustion. Several European states then moved to recognise a Palestinian state. Recognition alone does not change realities on the ground, but it sharpened Israel’s isolation just as the war was taxing its economy, its diplomacy and the patience of friends. There is a grim memory in the Israeli debate: when Israel left Gaza, Hamas, the masters of the strip, struck a nasty blow when it had the chance. That October trauma is not a talking point; it is an imprint—quietly understood across regional capitals that will not say it aloud for fear of inflaming their own streets. On 9 September, the arithmetic, not the slogans, mattered: Israel can strike back but cannot, alone, produce an end-state without partners.

Three regional actors suddenly mattered most: Egypt, Qatar and Turkey. Egypt is Israel’s consequential neighbour and Gaza’s only non‑Israeli exit. Since the 1979 peace treaty, Cairo and Jerusalem have been at peace longer than they were at war. Egyptian intelligence knows Gaza inside out and the red lines; when Cairo turns the screws, it hurts. Qatar is where Hamas leaders have sheltered, fund‑raised and politicked. Doha’s leverage is the guest list; without its facilitation, any prisoner‑hostage exchange or stabilisation plan loses the only channel the movement trusts. Turkey is NATO by treaty and Muslim Brotherhood by sympathy. President Erdoğan’s moves conduct Islamists’ calculated steps. Individually, each capital can stall. Together, they can compel. And together is how they came—first separately, then in concert on the margins of the UN—with one message to Washington: do not ask us to defend a process while you tolerate tactics that kill the process. That message landed.

This is the other half of 9 September. The American President’s anger at the strike was not moral theatre; it was transactional. He saw an Israeli move that shredded the coalition needed to stabilise Gaza, protect the hostages, keep the Red Sea from flashing over and prevent Lebanon from sliding from simmer to boil. The lesson of decades of bargaining is simple: coalitions make peace; loners make speeches. A White House that feels its coalition splintering slams the table—and did. Hence the intervention that followed: deal now. Hostages for corridors. Monitors who do monitor. Fuel that goes to bakeries and hospitals—with meters, not platitudes. Sanctions that hit violators, not bystanders. Draw the map. That is not appeasement; it is engineering.

Netanyahu’s critics say he blinked; his supporters say he bought time while keeping pressure on Hamas. Both can be true. What mattered on 9 September was that a loud, visible failure left him naked to his right flank and exposed abroad. A leader can survive one of those, not both. Add the Abraham Accords constituency—Saudi‑aligned and Gulf monarchies that built quiet bridges to Israel. They were livid, not from sudden sentimentality, but because high‑octane strikes with low‑value results wreck the scaffolding they assembled. Those capitals called Washington. Washington called Jerusalem. The conversation was not courteous.

There will be propaganda. Hamas will claim victory; Israeli ministers will claim strategic patience. But the only viable outcome after 9 September was the one that emerged: an enforceable ceasefire with named lines, frozen heavy‑weapon movements and third‑party monitoring that reports daily, not monthly; hostage releases tied to phased opening of land and sea corridors, with barcoded aid and fuel metering at hospitals and water plants; automatic penalties when either side breaches, including suspension of reconstruction funds, targeted sanctions on field commanders and a snap‑back clause for limited defensive action after repeated violations; and regional custodianship—Egypt controlling the Rafah logic, Qatar delivering Hamas compliance, Turkey corralling the Brotherhood wing—while the United States and Europeans underwrite and referee instead of sermonising. Call it a ceasefire if you like; the more honest term is armistice with accounting.

Next? The President’s trip on 12 September to Egypt and Israel will show where the leverage lies. If Cairo publishes corridor schedules and Doha announces a sequence for releases, the hard parts are locked. If Ankara turns conspicuously quiet, pressure has reached where it needed to go. Second, the exchange itself—prisoners for hostages—will test durability. If the first tranche moves cleanly and monitors’ dashboards light with real‑time data, reconstruction escrow can open. If not, penalties fire and we are back to ad hoc. Do not be distracted by triumphalism. The question is not who won. The question is whether enough of the region has decided that permanent mobilisation is more dangerous than managed restraint. On 9 September, that calculus flipped. Hamas learned there is no safe house. Netanyahu learned that bravado without outcome isolates. And the White House learned—again—that you cannot bomb your way to partners, but you can deal your way to compliance if partners know you mean it. The ceasefire is not peace; it is a platform. It buys time for the unglamorous agenda that reduces tomorrow’s violence: clearing unexploded ordnance, restoring water and clinics, reopening schools with real deconfliction and building a border regime that keeps weapons out without suffocating life. 9 September 2025 will sit in the footnotes as the day a strike failed and a deal began—not because anyone had a change of heart, but because everyone ran out of alternatives. That is how history moves here.  // end

Blair, Trump, and Gaza’s Last Throw of the Dice

By Adel Darwish

Donald Trump is a man who prefers the theatre of grand deals, and his latest performance was no exception. Flanked by Benjamin Netanyahu at the White House, the former president rolled out a 20-point plan for Gaza that aspires to achieve nothing less than a ceasefire, the release of hostages, the end of Hamas rule, and the reconstruction of the shattered strip. To lend the proposal gravitas, Trump announced that he would personally chair a “Board of Peace” and that Tony Blair would serve as one of its international members. It is a formula that combines Trump’s flair for control with Blair’s reputation as an experienced fixer of intractable conflicts. Yet for all its boldness, the plan is fraught with contradictions that will test both men’s skills—and the patience of the region.

The merits of the proposal are clear enough. It offers a path out of stalemate: an immediate ceasefire, swift release of hostages, and a framework for reconstruction funded largely by Gulf monarchies eager to stabilise their neighbourhood. It speaks to weary Israelis who long for respite, to Palestinians desperate for aid, and to Western allies who demand visible progress. The inclusion of a technocratic Palestinian committee to manage daily life is an attempt to sidestep factional politics while promising the eventual return of a reformed Palestinian Authority. The deployment of an international stabilisation force, though undefined in composition, is designed to assure both sides that Gaza will not collapse into anarchy the moment guns fall silent.
There is also a method in appointing Blair. For two decades, he has cultivated relationships with Gulf rulers, Israelis, and Americans, even while being despised by many on the Arab street for his role in the 2003 controversial Iraq war. He understands the language of power, the mechanics of reconstruction, and the rhythms of diplomacy. His presence may reassure donors that their billions will not vanish into the sinkhole of corruption that has long plagued Palestinian governance. For Netanyahu, it offers a credible envoy who is not hostile to Israeli concerns; for Trump, it provides a seasoned partner who can shoulder the technical burdens of implementation.

But the liabilities are glaring. Trump’s decision to chair the Board of Peace is vintage showmanship but risks reducing diplomacy to a campaign prop. Critics will suspect that deadlines are timed to his own political calendar, and allies may hesitate to invest in a scheme so tied to one man’s fortunes. Blair’s involvement, meanwhile, revives bitter memories among Palestinians of Western intervention cloaked in paternalism. Extremist factions will seize on his role to argue that the plan is colonialism by another name. The Palestinian Authority, supposedly reformed and waiting in the wings, may find itself delegitimised before it even returns.

The practical hurdles are formidable. Disarming Hamas is easier to decree than to execute. The composition of the international security force is unresolved—will it be a UN-mandated mission, a coalition of Arab League states, or a patchwork of volunteers? Each option carries its own diplomatic baggage. The promise of Gulf funding is real, but conditional; Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, and Doha will expect political concessions in return. Even the ceasefire itself could collapse under the weight of spoilers, from rockets fired by splinter groups to provocations by Iran’s regional proxies. The clause that gives Israel carte blanche to resume military action if terms are breached may reassure Israelis but could also unravel the fragile truce at the first test.

Still, there is a deeper truth in the plan’s logic. Perfect mediators do not exist. Diplomacy is often carried out by flawed men with baggage, and by structures that are improvised and imperfect. Blair’s reputation in the Middle East is chequered, yet his access and experience remain rare commodities. Trump’s methods are brash and self-serving, yet his willingness to act boldly contrasts with the incrementalism that has too often paralysed others. If the alternative is endless war and Gaza’s continued descent into misery, then even a risky, personality-driven plan deserves consideration.

History will not indulge excuses if this opportunity is squandered. The hostages cannot wait, Gaza cannot rebuild itself, and Israel cannot forever live under fire. Whether this initiative proves to be a serious roadmap or another exercise in theatrics will depend less on its authors’ egos than on the willingness of regional actors to seize it. For now, the world can only watch as Trump and Blair, improbable partners, attempt to wrest order from chaos.

Starmer’s Recognition of a Palestinian State ?

The UK’s decision under Prime Minister Keir Starmer to recognise a Palestinian state has drawn sharply conflicting views. Supporters present it as a moral and political step towards peace; critics see it as a symbolic gesture driven by domestic party pressures rather than diplomacy. Most assessments converge on a sobering point: little will change on the ground. Pessimists, who clearly outnumber optimists, argue that recognition will not bring relief to Gazans, will not help secure the release of Israeli hostages held by Hamas, and will not push either side closer to negotiations. Nor, in the current climate of maximalism on both sides, is it likely to revive the moribund two-state solution or lead to Israelis and Palestinians living side by side in peace. Adel Darwish writes

Many observers see Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s decision to recognise a Palestinian state as a misguided step, driven less by principle than by pressure from his own back-benchers, the hard left, and Islamist voices within his party. By framing the move as a response to Israel’s actions — even suggesting recognition as a form of ‘punishment’ when he first floated the idea two months ago — Starmer has turned one of the world’s most sensitive international issues into a political gesture for domestic consumption.
Having reported on the Middle East for decades, I can say with regret that nothing in this gesture will alter the grim realities on the ground. The extreme right-wing settlers entrenched in the occupied West Bank will react in their customary reckless manner, fuelling further instability. Hamas will present it as vindication, declaring that terrorism pays. Ordinary Gazans will see no relief from their misery, and the Israeli hostages still held by Hamas will remain beyond reach. Far from advancing peace, this recognition risks deepening the conflict, because the historic causes remain unresolved and, indeed, inflamed.
The fundamental obstacle is that power on both sides is concentrated in the hands of the maximalists, not the pragmatists who dared to reach an accommodation in Oslo in 1993 between the PLO, led by Yasser Arafat,  and a more liberal Israeli government led by Yitzhak Rabin, who was later shot dead by a far-right religious nationalist law student objecting to peace in 1995. The Israeli government of  Benjamin Netanyahu’s coalition has no intention of entertaining the creation of a Palestinian state. At the same time, large segments of Palestinian opinion, and indeed public discourse in neighbouring countries, still cling to the demand of ‘a state from the river to the sea’ — code for erasing the Jewish presence altogether.
The so-called ‘two-state solution’ — now reduced to an empty slogan — was first enshrined in the United Nations Partition Plan of 1947. It was rejected outright by Egypt and her allies. Egypt, Israel’s most powerful neighbour, mobilised forces from the newly created Arab League — itself a British wartime creation to bolster Allied influence on the southern Mediterranean during the Second World War — with the clear aim of destroying the fledgling Jewish state.
Israel fought for survival and, against the odds, prevailed. The only Arab force to perform with any effectiveness was the Jordanian Army, then still largely officered and trained by the British since it was the empire’s Arab Legion. They held on to the West Bank and East Jerusalem.
Among Arabs and Muslims, a folkloric belief took hold that the whole of historic Mandate Palestine must be ‘liberated.’ Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser transformed Egypt from a Mediterranean state with strong European ties into the spearhead of Pan-Arabism, with anti-Israel sentiment as the adhesive that held his project together.
In 1967, Nasser expelled the UN peacekeepers who had been stationed since the Suez War of 1956, blockaded Israeli ports, and massed his armies. His pretext was a water dispute involving Israel and Syria. The war that followed ended in another devastating defeat for the Arab side. Israel emerged in control of East Jerusalem, the West Bank, Gaza, Sinai, and the Golan Heights. Rather than move towards accommodation, the Arab League met in Khartoum and pushed by Colonel Nasser to issue the famous ‘Three No’s’: no peace, no recognition, and no negotiations with Israel.
Since then, the pattern has repeated itself. Neighbours attack; Israel defends, wins, and gains more territory. For Arabs, this reinforced the belief that Israel was an expansionist colonial project, a prophecy seemingly fulfilled by every lost war. For Israelis, each concession became a source of renewed danger.
When Israel dismantled settlements and withdrew from Gaza, the territory became a launch pad for rocket attacks by Hamas. When Israel pulled out of South Lebanon, Hezbollah filled the vacuum. Iran and its proxies — Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis in Yemen — continue to stoke conflict, deepening Israeli fears of encirclement.
There is little evidence of a change in mindset on the Arab side. Even in moments when Arab leaders issue statements about peace, there is seldom a clear condemnation of Hamas’s terrorism-  including 7 October  2023 massacre, one of the darkest days in the conflict. Without a fundamental shift in Arab political rhetoric, state-controlled media, and public opinion — one that convinces ordinary Israelis that coexistence is truly accepted — it will be impossible for a more flexible government to  be elected by enough number of voters who believe that there is a mass  of public opinion or trends on the Arab side who truly believe in co-existence with a Jewish state .
This is the background against which Starmer’s move must be judged. Recognition at this moment does not advance peace; it entrenches the deadlock. It signals to Hamas and its allies that violence and terror reap rewards. It signals to Israeli extremists that the world will move against them no matter what, bolstering their own rejectionist narrative.
The timing could not be worse. Israeli politics are dominated by Netanyahu’s right-wing coalition, which treats the very idea of a Palestinian state as an existential threat. On the Palestinian side, governance is split between the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank, whose legitimacy is fading, and Hamas in Gaza, which rules by fear and the gun. A gesture from London, or even from European capitals, cannot bridge this chasm.
Recognition, to be meaningful, must come as the product of negotiations and mutual concessions, not as a symbolic flourish to placate domestic party factions. Otherwise, it becomes another brick in the wall of mistrust, another excuse for extremists to declare victory, and another disappointment for moderates who still hope for peace.
I wish it were otherwise. I wish one could say that Britain’s recognition of Palestine will open the way to peace. But history — a history I have witnessed at close hand across wars, uprisings, and failed summits — shows the opposite. Gestures without substance deepen division. Declarations without groundwork create illusions that shatter into violence.
If Arab and Muslim leaders were to openly and consistently condemn terrorism, if they were to shift public opinion towards genuine acceptance of Israel, if Israeli politics were to bring pragmatists back to the fore — then recognition might play its part as the final seal on a negotiated settlement. But in the absence of such changes, it is, at best, an empty slogan; at worst, it is dangerously counter-productive.

–end–

Donald of Arabia: The Art Of The Deal

President Donald Trump’s first tour of Arabia is the start of a new regional realignment, preparing the Gulf area for a profound transformation: A new Middle East is expected to resemble the global structure, divided between advanced and developing nations. By Adel Darwish

Foreign policy as a main tool to serve national interests has always used diplomacy, both public and covert, besides other means to deal with friends and foes alike, so goes the conventional wisdom of big names in the game like Henry Kissinger (1923-2023), both Secretary of State and National Security Adviser in Republican administrations (1969-1977).

Enter Republican President Donald Trump with his Art Of The Deal, as the latest instrument in foreign policy.  The deals over energy and minerals in Ukraine to reach a ceasefire in its war with Russia have yet to yield any results, while the idea to replace the “Two-State Solution” with a (Gaza) “Real Estate” solution to the Israel-Palestine conflicts hasn’t quite taken off.

However, Mr Trump’s high-profile trip to the Persian Gulf appears to be his most successful foreign trip so far. On day one, he clinched a $600 bn trade deal ( $142 bn military equipment) with Saudi Arabia. There was also a $1.4 trillion investment the United Arab Emirates pledged in March, and on his last day of the visit a total of $200 bn deals were anoonuced.

Leaders in the region see a good political return on their hefty investment, say Western diplomats. They see President Trump’s visit as the beginning of a new Middle East realignment and as preparing the Gulf for a profound transformation. A new Middle East is expected to resemble the global structure, divided between advanced and developing nations. The clever leaders of the latter – like the modernising Saudi Crown Prince Muhammad bin Salman, following a path of modernisation and liberalisation, some observers compare with the Egyptian 19th-century modernity project started by Muhammad Ali and his dynasty.   Bin Salman has used the visit to reemphasise his desert kingdom’s role as the rising region’s central power, with Israel as its main contender.  Although some Western diplomats see Trump’s excluding Israel from the visit as a snub to its right-wing leaders, citing the absence of any mention of Gaza or Palestine in the President’s several public speeches.   Other Gulf states such as the UAE and Qatar are joining the ranks of the region’s emerging first-world players.

In contrast, older regional powers like Egypt are slipping behind. The long-standing narrative of Egypt’s military dominance is now obsolete. As the region shifts its focus to artificial intelligence and high technology, conventional armies are losing their strategic relevance. Economic pressure is also contributing to internal decay; local public opinion and social ethos have regressed to pre-First World War conditions thanks to the influence of a reactionary form of Islam. Egypt needs a miracle to catch up; without bold reform or visionary leadership, the country that had led the region for the best part of the 20th century risks entering an uncertain—and potentially grim—chapter in its history, drifting toward the instability and stagnation seen in Libya, Sudan, and war-torn states like Syria and Iraq.

Mr Trump’s surprise recognition of Syria’s new regime led by Ahmed Alshara, who was on the US terrorist list (he led branches of Al-qaeda and Islamic State ISIL) alarmed many. However, the former terrorist rehabilitation makes sense. Trump was persuaded to meet Ashara and lift sanctions on Syria by Bin Salman and by Turkey. Turkey has been pulling the strings of the Islamist groups (including terrorist organisations) in Syria since it facilitated the supplies and arms to their landlocked areas. Those Islamic rebel groups were financed by Sunni Muslim Gulf nations who were wary of Iran’s threats through its regional proxies. Toppling the Iran-allied Alwiyat Shia regime of Assad was part of their long-term strategy to isolate Shia Iran and stop its influence and financing of Shia organisations like Hezbollah in Lebanon and Houthis in Yemen.  Trump’s “renaming” of the Persian Gulf into “Arabian Gulf” was a clear message to Iran on which side he stands.   Regional powers (although not publicly declaring it) are consolidating around Israel and Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Qatar – the first Gulf nation to have an Israel “trade mission”, the function of an embassy and a home to Hamas leaders, thus playing a central role in negotiations.  Qatar, whose leaders signed a $200 bn deal with Boeing, was the only stop where Mr Trump mentioned the Gaza Strip, saying it should be made into a “freedom zone” where he wanted the United States to be involved.  He held a big rally at the large US military base on the outskirts of Doha. Thousands of cheering service men and women were given an impromptu raise in their salary by their Commander in Chief.

With a  new Middle East emerging, placing trade, AI and advanced technology ahead of backward traditions and ideological conflict, there was one important question regarding Islam.  “How will Islamic institutions and Islamists cope with this new world order?” Asked a veteran Egyptian diplomat, adding that Islamic institutions, which have been a dominant force among the masses of populated countries bordering Israel, were the main opponent of many peace plans and for over a century an obstacle to modernisation.

In Saudi Arabia, Bin Salman clipped the Islamic clergy’s wings, disbanding the morality police and putting an end to their interference in public life. Hopefully,  as those rich nations’ (who in the past funded Islamic groups) priorities evolve, funding for Islamist groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood is likely to disappear. Ideologies that insist on Sharia as the sole basis for governance may find themselves increasingly marginalised. The region is not only being economically restructured, but it could also undergo ideological change.

End

FCDO minister Wendy Morton in Evidence Session 13 July

Foreign and Commonwealth Office ( and international development) minister, Wendy Morton, (who is undersecretary of state for foreign affairs), is expected to give evidence on Tuesday 13 July (13:30 GMT) to the Foreign Affairs Committee, as the final evidence session in the committee inquiry into global health security.

The session is the final one a series of sessions that started in March this year and was followed on 30 April and 22 June as part of the committee inquiry into global health security.

Those participants are:  

  • Wendy Morton – Minister for European Neighbourhood and the Americas, FCDO
  • Darren Welch – Director of Global Health, FCDO
  • Robert Tinline – Director for Covid-19, FCDO

The Committee is expected to discuss the lessons learnt from the Covid-19 pandemic, and the prospects of reform to the World Health Organisation (WHO) following criticism of its handling of the pandemic. The session will likely cover the impact of the merger between the Department for International Development (DFID) and the Foreign & Commonwealth Office (FCO), and recent aid cuts. Additionally, the Committee is likely to explore concerns over disinformation and vaccine diplomacy, particularly in relation to Russia and China. The Committee will hear from Minister Wendy Morton, and officials Rob Tinline and Darren Welch.

Wendy Morton is the Minister for European Neighbourhood and the Americas at the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO). Her responsibilities include health, global health security, multilateral health organisations including the WHO, and international organisations such as the Global Fund and GAVI. Wendy was appointed as a Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State in the FCO and DFID in February 2020. She was elected as an MP in 2015.

Tom Tugendhat (Chair) (Tonbridge and Malling), Conservative; Chris Bryant (Rhondda), Labour; Neil Coyle (Bermondsey and Old Southwark), Labour; Alicia Kearns (Rutland and Melton), Conservative; Stewart Malcolm McDonald (Glasgow South), Scottish National Party; Andrew Rosindell (Romford), Conservative; Bob Seely (Isle of Wight), Conservative; Henry Smith (Crawley), Conservative; Royston Smith (Southampton, Itchen), Conservative; Graham Stringer (Blackley and Broughton), Labour; Claudia Webbe (Leicester East), Independent.

Ending the Eviction Ban for Rent Arrears is a Crisis of the Government own making

The latest report from Joseph Rowntree Foundation after a large-scale survey reveals that around 400,000 renting households have either been served an eviction notice or have been told they may be evicted, when the eviction (for rent arrears) ends Monday 1 June, is disturbing, but this is not the full picture especially with mostly leftwing-liberal media demonising landlords .
But the picture is far from what you read in the Guardian or hear on the BBC. It is a complex picture. The majority of landlords are small investors, heavily mortgaged., and the gross income from the property is not much higher than the average income before the British taxpayer starts paying tax, while more than half of landlords’ investment is actually their pension . The crisis if of the treasury and the local authorities making and could have been avoided had they paid the rent directly to the landlords and deducted from the tenants’ benefits.

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