It is a truth universally acknowledged that a political party in possession of a commanding majority must be in desperate want of a suicidal civil war. It is the inescapable gravity of British politics, a system designed to elevate the mediocre and crush the slightly-less-mediocre before they can threaten the status quo. The latest episode in this tedious drama comes courtesy of the Labour Party, currently governed by Sir Keir Starmer, a man who possesses the raw animal magnetism of a damp Excel spreadsheet and the ruthless survival instinct of a tapeworm.

According to reports that are as predictable as they are depressing, Starmer’s allies have officially launched a “Stop Andy Burnham” campaign. The trigger for this bout of Westminster bed-wetting is the resignation of a Manchester MP, which has opened a byelection door that the Mayor of Greater Manchester, Andy Burnham, might hypothetically walk through. And the very thought of this—of a man with actual name recognition and a pulse entering the Commons—has sent the Labour leadership into a paroxysm of bureaucratic terror.

Let us deconstruct the absurdity of this situation. We have a government facing a multitude of crises: a stagnating economy, crumbling infrastructure, and a global geopolitical tire fire. And yet, the burning priority for the ruling National Executive Committee (NEC) is not fixing the nation, but fortifying the castle walls against one of their own. The NEC, a body that functions less like a democratic committee and more like a Star Chamber for the terminally insecure, has reportedly signaled that it will be “impossible” for Burnham to make it through the selection process. Why? Because the body is stacked with Starmer loyalists who view a leadership challenge not as a democratic exercise, but as a theological heresy.

It is deeply revealing of the modern political psyche. The “Stop Andy Burnham” movement is not based on policy differences. It is not based on competence. It is based entirely on the fear that Burnham, often styled as the “King of the North” by people who watch too much HBO and read too little history, might actually be popular. In the warped logic of Westminster, popularity is a threat. Charisma is a liability. If you shine brighter than the leader, you must be extinguished. Starmer, whose leadership style resembles a substitute teacher trying to keep a riot quiet by reading the rules of conduct in a monotone voice, cannot abide a rival who can successfully emote in public.

Burnham, for his part, is playing the role of the martyr-in-waiting with the skill of a seasoned grifter. He hasn’t even officially declared a run, yet the mere speculation has forced the party apparatus to reveal its hand. He sits in Manchester, batting his eyelashes at the cameras, talking about regional inequality, while the London-centric machine grinds its gears trying to figure out how to disqualify him before the starting gun is fired. It is a pathetic dance. Burnham is no savior; he is simply a politician who realized earlier than most that being vaguely anti-establishment while working within the establishment is a lucrative brand. But to Starmer’s Praetorian Guard, he is Lucifer in a windbreaker.

The mechanism of this blockade is where the true cynicism lies. The Labour Party’s selection processes have long been a farce, a rigged carnival game where the prize is a safe seat and the price is your soul. By using the NEC to filter out “undesirable” candidates, the leadership ensures a parliamentary party of nodding dogs and clones. They don’t want talent; they want compliance. The allies of the Prime Minister are effectively admitting that their hold on power is so fragile, so lacking in organic authority, that it cannot withstand the presence of a single ambitious Mayor in the same building. They are terrified that if Burnham returns to the backbenches, the inevitable dissatisfaction with Starmer’s grey, joyless governance will coalesce around him.

This is the state of British democracy: a closed shop run by paranoid managers terrified of their own staff. The electorate in Manchester, who might actually want to choose their own representative, are an afterthought. They are merely the scenery against which this power struggle plays out. The “Stop Andy Burnham” campaign is a reminder that in the upper echelons of power, the enemy is never the opposition party—the opposition is just the sparring partner. The real enemy is the guy on your side who wants your job.

So, we watch as the Labour machine turns inward, devouring its own potential energy in a frenzy of self-preservation. Starmer’s allies will likely succeed. They will rig the shortlist, block the return, and keep the King of the North trapped beyond the Wall (or the M25). They will pat themselves on the back for maintaining “unity,” which is their word for enforced silence. And the public, looking on with the glazed eyes of a populace beaten into submission by decades of this nonsense, will simply shrug. After all, why should they care which specific narcissist is denied a seat on the sinking ship?