Starmer’s Grooming Inquiry U-Turn: A Coward’s Panic, or the Politics of Caution?

In January 2025, Labour MPs could be found huddled around the parliamentary bonfire, gleefully toasting marshmallows made from the amendment calling for a national grooming gangs inquiry. All 364 of them—every single Labour MP—dutifully followed the whip and voted against it. The reason? Well, officially it was to avoid delaying the Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill. Unofficially? That depends on whether you think Parliament is a place of high-minded legislative triage or a spin room with oak panels.

In this column, I rightly lampooned that decision as an act of moral cowardice dressed in procedural argyle. But let’s put on our tweed of nuance for a moment, because the reality is greasier and more complex than a Greggs fryer on a Friday night.

Fear of Racism: Not the Only Filter on the Telescope

Yes, fear of being branded racist has hovered over this issue like a stale fart in a lift. And it has shaped Labour’s historical nervous breakdown when discussing grooming gangs—particularly those involving South Asian men and vulnerable white girls in towns like Rotherham and Telford. The cultural paralysis of local Labour councils—many of which tiptoed around ethnic dimensions for fear of feeding right-wing narratives—is well documented. It did create permissive blind spots.

There exists no sanctimonious pantomime quite like that of a left-wing council furiously tweeting about diversity quotas while quietly binning reports that mention “Asian grooming gangs.” These virtue-signalling fortresses—usually run by Labour councillors with hyphenated surnames and degrees in Intersectional Resilience Studies—wrapped themselves in the flag of multiculturalism so tightly they couldn’t hear the screams of working-class girls begging to be believed. In Rotherham, Rochdale, Oxford, Telford—pick your poison—protecting “community cohesion” meant shielding entire networks of rapists from scrutiny because the offenders happened to be from a minority demographic. Instead of confronting the truth, they obsessed over language workshops and cultural awareness seminars, turning public safety into an accidental hate crime. They weren’t safeguarding children—they were safeguarding narratives. And in doing so, they traded justice for optics, letting politics strangle principle in the name of progressive harmony.

But was that the sole or even dominant reason for the national party’s parliamentary shutdown in January? Probably not. Labour’s excuse—however milquetoast—was procedural: the amendment was a “reasoned amendment,” which in Westminster means it wasn’t just a yes/no on an inquiry but a legislative bear trap that could have spiked the entire bill. They argued, perhaps even believed, that child protection reforms already underway would be delayed by dragging everyone back into a formal inquiry process.

Still smells funny. But let’s not pretend every “no” vote was twirling its moustache thinking, “Must suppress truth for fear of Twitter.” Some were simply operating on that classic Westminster instinct: When in doubt, kill the amendment and let comms handle the fallout.

Polls or Principles? Or, Why Governments Do U-Turns at 35,000 Feet

Fast forward to June: Starmer, airborne to the G7, announces Labour will now support a full-blown, statutory, judge-led national inquiry.

The cynic in me yells: This is reactionary politics at its finest. New audit (Louise Casey), Elon Musk fanning flames with all the subtlety of a chainsaw at a book club, Reform UK gaining ground, and even the Home Secretary talking sense for once. Labour had to move. Not because they wanted to, but because staying still was electoral suicide.

But the realist in me whispers: what else should a responsive government do when new evidence emerges, public demand intensifies, and systemic rot is freshly documented? Politics isn’t about heroism—it’s about timing. And while Starmer’s U-turn looks like a panicked backpedal, it could just as easily be described as adaptive governance, albeit performed with the grace of a hungover giraffe trying to use a revolving door.

Yes, he changed position under pressure. But isn’t that what democracy is? Listening, adjusting, implementing?

If Churchill had been as allergic to changing his mind as Starmer is accused of being, we’d all be singing “Mein Kampf: The Musical” in Westminster Abbey.

Procedural Excuses Aren’t Always Bogus, Just Convenient

Labour’s January claim that the amendment was too broad, badly drafted, or dangerous to the legislative timetable isn’t totally baseless. The amendment would have risked delaying the wider child safeguarding reforms—which they argued were more immediately actionable.

The trouble is, they didn’t offer a better way. No alternate wording. No commitment to reintroduce the inquiry separately. Just a bland insistence that “we’re already acting,” which to the average citizen sounds like the mumbling of a teacher who’s just lost the register. And if there’s one thing more infuriating than a bad policy, it’s a passive one.

But should we ignore the practical challenges of parliamentary sausage-making? Probably not. Even if their motives were 40% legislative caution and 60% political cowardice, that’s still a different flavour than 100% evil.

Is the Damage Permanent?

Is this U-turn “deeply damaging” and a “permanent scar,” as I initially claimed? Perhaps not permanent—British political memory is famously shorter than a goldfish on ketamine. By next April, voters will be too busy howling at interest rates and NHS waiting times to remember who said what about clause 4 subsection 3 of a grooming gang amendment.

But the episode does matter. It colours how people perceive Labour’s instincts. Do they lead with courage, or do they check the polls first, then adjust their principles accordingly like a man choosing which pub to enter based on the availability of quinoa?

In the long term, the outcome—a proper inquiry, launched with legal teeth and NCA oversight—may redeem the farcical lead-up. But don’t pretend the road there wasn’t paved with sweaty indecision and media management.

Final Word: Principle Meets Panic, and They Shake Hands Awkwardly

Starmer’s U-turn was both a response to public pressure and a recognition of moral necessity. It’s tempting to cast it purely as panic—but perhaps it was also proof that Labour, under immense pressure, can be dragged into doing the right thing. Not willingly. Not proudly. But eventually.

And in modern politics, maybe that’s the best we can hope for: governments that can still be embarrassed into decency.

Just don’t expect them to admit it.