Starmer the Cultural Imperialist: Shakespeare Banished from No. 10—But What’s Next?

It seems Keir Starmer has a new side hustle: redecorator-in-chief. His latest target? None other than William Shakespeare, who has been unceremoniously booted out of Downing Street. The 18th-century portrait of the Bard, painted by Louis François Roubiliac, has been stashed away under Starmer’s watch. Shakespeare now joins a growing list of great British figures—including Elizabeth I, Sir Walter Raleigh, William Ewart Gladstone, and, controversially, Margaret Thatcher—who have all been quietly removed from No. 10’s walls.

What’s going on? Did Starmer suddenly develop a taste for minimalist interiors? Is Shakespeare just too much "clutter" for his Labour sensibilities? Or is this, as the Conservatives claim, the latest symptom of Starmer’s own quiet cultural imperialism, reshaping Britain’s identity to fit a new, more “progressive” narrative? And, perhaps more importantly, is anyone really surprised?

Shakespeare? I Barely Knew Ye!

The Bard, of course, is no stranger to political drama. His works have survived centuries of revolutions, religious upheaval, and more elections than Starmer has had hairstyles. Yet it’s under the Labour leader’s watch that the greatest playwright in history has found himself relegated to the shadows of a storage cupboard. This would be funny if it weren’t so indicative of a larger trend. Shakespeare, Elizabeth I, Raleigh, Gladstone—this isn’t just a taste-based clear-out. It’s a cultural coup d’état.

The real twist here is that Starmer, whose election campaign was saturated with carefully choreographed displays of patriotism—cue flags, patriotic speeches, and nods to Britain’s greatness—is now stripping away symbols of that very heritage. Shakespeare’s removal is the icing on the cake. For months, we were assured that Starmer’s Labour was different, that this was no longer the party of cringing left-wing embarrassment about British history. Instead, we were promised the return of a Labour party that “gets” modern Britain—deeply rooted in its traditions but ready to adapt to a progressive future. And yet, here we are, as one of Britain’s most iconic figures is quietly shuffled out of sight.

As Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” Or, in this case, Downing Street.

Starmer's Imperialist Tendencies: Rewriting Britain’s Cultural DNA

Let’s not pretend this is merely a matter of redecoration. Moving Shakespeare out of Downing Street isn’t about making room for some new trendy art installation. It’s a statement. By taking down Shakespeare’s portrait, Starmer is, in effect, launching his own form of cultural imperialism—a top-down re-imagining of Britain’s identity that swaps out the old guard in favour of something more “inclusive,” more “forward-thinking,” and, dare we say it, more politically sanitized.

Starmer’s critics on the right are, of course, pouncing. Sir Oliver Dowden, the former Tory culture secretary, has accused the prime minister of succumbing to the “usual Left-wing cringing embarrassment” over British history. Robert Jenrick, a contender for the Conservative leadership, went a step further, declaring that “no other country would behave like this.” For once, you can see what they’re getting at.

The irony is hard to miss. Starmer—keen to distinguish himself from Labour’s far-left factions—has spent the better part of his tenure trying to appear in touch with British pride, aware that the working-class voters he needs to win over still value their heritage. Yet this decision plays right into the hands of those who accuse him of being ashamed of Britain’s past. It's an odd contradiction: the man who drapes himself in the Union Jack is now evicting the very symbols of the nation’s cultural legacy. Shakespeare’s exile from Downing Street is as much a symbol of Starmer’s own internal tug-of-war as it is a political act.

The Labour leader seems trapped in a peculiar balancing act—wanting to project modernity without entirely alienating Britain’s cultural past. The result? A bizarre limbo where he clings to patriotism while systematically sidelining its icons. It’s as if Starmer is trying to eat the full English breakfast of British heritage but can’t quite stomach the black pudding. Shakespeare? Lovely fellow. But maybe a bit too traditional.

One can almost hear Starmer muttering Macbeth’s famous line: “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”

Cognitive Dissonance on Display

Let’s pause for a moment to consider Starmer’s psyche, or at least the political schizophrenia that drives these decisions. On the one hand, Starmer is a former Director of Public Prosecutions, a man used to rules, institutions, and a rigid sense of decorum. He probably thinks of himself as sensible, practical—a man who wants to "fix" Britain, as his well-worn slogan goes. Yet his actions in this case suggest something else. There’s a discomfort at play—a reluctance to fully embrace the historical baggage that comes with leading a nation as storied as Britain.

Shakespeare is more than just an old playwright. His work is emblematic of British identity—spanning centuries, social classes, and global stages. By boxing him up and shunting him into storage, Starmer might think he's avoiding controversy, but what he’s really doing is displaying a deep-seated cognitive dissonance. He’s leading a country that thrives on its historical legacy, but he’s apparently uneasy about being seen as “too wedded” to that very history. It’s as if Starmer is trying to be two things at once: both the traditionalist who appreciates the weight of British culture and the progressive leader trying to free himself from the dead hand of the past.

In this, he echoes a broader trend seen in many modern leaders: a discomfort with historical complexity. Starmer’s Labour party wants to celebrate British greatness but also feels the need to temper it with a degree of guilt or distance. That’s why removing Shakespeare isn’t just about changing the wallpaper. It’s about repositioning Labour’s relationship with national identity—keeping one foot in the past, but only just.

In his quiet indecision, Starmer recalls Hamlet’s endless vacillation: “To be, or not to be: that is the question.”

The Perils of Playing It Safe

But perhaps that’s Starmer’s ultimate flaw. He is, above all, careful. A lawyer by trade, his political instincts are tuned to avoiding controversy, steering clear of anything that could blow up in his face. Yet this very caution may end up being his undoing. By removing Shakespeare, Starmer is making a cautious move—a preemptive strike to sidestep the “culture war” landmines that inevitably come with Britain’s historical icons. But in doing so, he opens himself up to exactly the kind of criticism he hoped to avoid.

The problem is, when you try to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one. The left sees this as Starmer’s quiet retreat from true progressive reform, too timid to take bold action on Britain’s imperial legacy. The right, meanwhile, views it as proof that Starmer is just another middle-class progressive ashamed of his own country. In trying to be everything to everyone, Starmer risks being seen as nothing at all.

Shakespeare himself warned us of the dangers of indecision in Julius Caesar: “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.”

At the moment, Starmer’s ship looks like it’s stuck in the political shallows—sails half-hoisted, trying to catch a wind that never seems to arrive. He could either steer boldly into the storm or drift, rudderless, while his political enemies seize the moment. Time, like Shakespeare’s legacy, waits for no man.

Is Starmer Fit for the Role of ‘Cultural Leader’?

Ultimately, Starmer’s decision to remove Shakespeare from Downing Street raises a broader question: does he truly understand the power of culture in shaping national identity? Britain isn’t just an economy to be managed; it’s a nation with a complex, vibrant history. Leading the country means engaging with that history—warts and all. It requires more than just shifting portraits around or paying lip service to “fixing” things.

As Shakespeare wrote in The Tempest, “What’s past is prologue.” Starmer might want to remember that as he clears out the past to make room for his own vision of the future. The question is, will it be a future that’s any more coherent than his current cultural policy? Or will Starmer find that erasing the past only serves to make him lose his way in the present?

Shakespeare’s work endures because it speaks to the human condition. It transcends political squabbles and momentary trends. Keir Starmer, meanwhile, seems fixated on navigating those squabbles, tiptoeing around controversy rather than tackling it head-on. Whether or not Shakespeare’s portrait ever returns to Downing Street is almost irrelevant. What matters is how Starmer handles the bigger picture: can he reconcile his technocratic instincts with the cultural expectations of the British people? Or will his cautious imperialism leave him stranded, halfway between history and progress?

In the end, Shakespeare’s words ring true: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” Or, in Starmer’s case, the man who tries to rewrite the cultural script without alienating the audience. Good luck with that.