The reign of Morgan McSweeney

Morgan McSweeney's resignation as Chief of Staff is the single largest change to Starmer's operation since the Prime Minister became Labour leader. His departure is a wise decision, and it goes without saying that his support for Lord Mandelson was a severe and reprehensible mistake. Whether it was a preventable one will likely be clear soon—it is difficult to write about the Mandelson-related aspects of his resignation until the ISC publishes evidence. Ensuing analysis of his tenure at the top of the Labour Party/government is a distinctly political thing—in contrast to the Epstein scandal which is, and should be, above Whitehall politics. 

But McSweeney’s resignation from Number 10 marks the end of a six-year journey at the top of Labour and later Downing Street, seeing Labour reach both an apex and a nadir.

And it all started with a comment from Steve Reed. 

In the sweltering heat of summer 2019, sat around a kitchen table in Camden at the home of now FCDO-minister Jenny Chapman, Reed kickstarted one of the most formidable political alliances of the 2020s. As Starmer’s inner circle plotted a post-Corbyn era for the Labour Party, the former Chief of Lambeth Council, knew what Starmer’s febrile insurgency needed. 

“What you need is Morgan.”

McSweeney and Starmer’s partnership has often been overanalysed, as is fashionable in politics. Some called it mutual respect. None have called it a friendship. According to intimates, the two men are not personally close, despite the length of the political journey they have endured. 

Instead of friendship, Starmer and McSweeney’s partnership was built on a ruthlessly pragmatic strategy—to retake the Labour Party, and re-shape Britain. In mid-2019, McSweeney had understood the Labour Party better than it did itself. He had polled, divided, shaped, thought about the membership, with a project to retake the party. Starmer was the man who chose to lead that project. Some have decried the duo as a cynical ploy by a now-Prime Minister who lacked the political gravitas to authentically attain the office he now holds. Others argue that it is just politics. 

History will decide whether Morgan McSweeney was the right person to fill the Starmer’s Downing Street Chief of Staff role. He did not initially want the job, instead supporting the idea that Brownite veteran and Treasury minister Spencer Livermore should take the role in the few hours that it was vacant after Sue Gray’s departure. Even after Labour won the general election three months earlier, it was unclear as to whether McSweeney would even enter government. Initially Head of Political Strategy, he took the Chief of Staff job when it became clear from all sides that no appointee would be able to exert as much power over Number 10 as him. Such was his influence that even the Cabinet Secretary agreed, remarking to the Prime Minister to “please tell me you are appointing Morgan". when he learned of Gray’s departure. McSweeney’s ascension makes for a potent argument about Prime Ministers’ inner circle that is rarely discussed enough—for all the job titles, structure and assigned briefs, nothing can outweigh personal relationships.

McSweeney has for months been the ire of the Parliamentary Labour Party. His widely-briefed belief that Whitehall is responsible for enacting the will of the electorate, rather than the will of the MPs or bureaucrats in charge, was politics with a populist tinge that frustrated MPs, who accused him of having a “bunker mentality”— as opposed to the political clarity his allies would call it. His electorate-focused ruthlessness stems from his experiences running local Labour campaigns in the late 2000s, where he saw for himself the sheer disconnect between the Westminster politics of New Labour, and the reality on the ground for those who were increasingly desperate for real-terms delivery. What voters wanted reigned supreme. 

Such an approach has meant McSweeney found himself in conflict with the Labour operation he had helped build. In opposition, he was ruthless in purging the hard left and marginalising the Corbynites that he felt had put ideology above the demands of working people- the people he felt Labour ought to serve. Across four years, he worked to consolidate the power of the Labour leadership in Starmer’s office. Policies that slashed vote shares in safe seats were adopted to target swing voters. The sole, unifying purpose of his Blairite-old right coalition of Labour figures was to win. He had little interest in a diversity of views from within the party—his biggest crime according to his detractors. He taunted their opposition as “let’s all be friends” politics. 

In government, this manifested itself more pressingly. He played a key role in orchestrating Starmer’s rightward turn on migration rhetoric, as the issue’s public potency overruled the concerns of the Labour camp in McSweeney’s eyes. Sharp whipping decisions over Winter Fuel Payments, two-child benefit cap and others were in a similar blunt vein to those surrounding candidate (de)selections before the general election, suggesting McSweeney's influence. His refusal to cave to other PLP demands, and his dislike for their internal debate and posturing has seen him lock horns with MPs of all shades within the party and become a lightning rod for frustration. He has been accused by some of holding a vindictive, factional approach to governing with a "boys club" mentality that forced out Sue Gray. Other say he has a critical resolve that is sorely lacking in the party.

Given the recent problems in Number 10 and McSweeney's embattled position as of late January, there is an encroaching narrative that McSweeney 'failed' in the role because campaigning and governing are fundamentally different tasks—but this can be misleading. Good governing is remarkably similar to campaigning. Both require intense focus, prioritisation and clear messaging. They require strict discipline, long-term thinking and conviction over an agenda, especially in the face of opposition—which in government is often procedural rather than political. 

Because the role of Downing Street Chief of Staff is remarkably complicated. It has at times been filled by politically-tinted bureaucrats—such as Blair’s Jonathan Powell and Cameron’s Ed Llewellyn, both of whom hail from diplomatic backgrounds. There has concurrently been a trend of ruthless political operators—(de-facto) Dominic Cummings, Mark Fullbrook and Liam-Booth Smith. The job is the highest-level conflation of politics and government, and is individually shaped by those who hold it. Few positions in government, ministerial or otherwise, have been held by figures of such varying backgrounds. 

And few will deny McSweeney’s influence over the government. After Trump’s victory in 2024, he privately met with Susie Wiles, the incoming White House Chief of Staff. He was in the room for Starmer’s initial Trump meeting in February 2025, and one of the few aides on the PM’s jet during the last-minute August summit of European leaders in Washington. In the runup to the July welfare vote, he personally liaised with MPs to back support for the government. Privately he was reportedly focused on defence, technology and Whitehall reform.

Moreover, recent months did see shifts towards a more consensual governing style that broadened political reliance. Darren Jones’ appointment into Number 10 as Chief Secretary to the Prime Minister conflated much of the Cabinet Office-side of delivery with ministerial power and alleviated the day-to-day issues the Chief of Staff role would face. A recently-bolstered policy unit provided a stronger and broader ideological footing within Number 10, whilst the September reshuffle promoting allies of McSweeney bolstered his platform, but likely reduced his scope as well. So too did policy disagreements—the Prime Minister and his Chief of Staff were said to disagree on various issues, notably the two-child benefit cap—McSweeney felt the issue lacked public popularity that would have warranted its lifting. 

But there are ultimately no masterminds in politics. Isaac Levido ran the Tories’ remarkably successful 2019 general election campaign (contrary to reports, Cummings’ influence was minimal). Levido also ran the Tories’ remarkably unsuccessful 2024 election campaign. That does not make him one of either a mastermind or a failure. McSweeney’ strategy won Labour the 2024 election. It has also seen them crash in the polls and left him teetering as the PLP’s sacrificial lamb for months. Some argue that he is a political mastermind, others ridicule him for it. 

The reality of politics is much less romantic than people want to assume. It would be an act of revisionism to suggest that the McSweeney who saw Labour ahead in the polls by double digits, who told ministers to “govern like insurgents”, and who just days after the election spotted Reform UK as the “real” threat to Labour, was somehow inflated, or different from the McSweeney who finds himself the ire of so many in the party and the country, and ran political strategy for a party polling third. Or that the strategist that won a whopping 411 seats is somehow disconnected from the strategist that won the more tepid 33.7% of the vote that the party’s left browbeat Starmer with. 

Put simply, the man who punched the air screaming on 4th July in Labour’s Southwark HQ as the exit poll dropped, is the same man who became the largest threat to the Prime Minister’s fortunes. Generally speaking, attempts to separate political figures into either purely constructive or destructive fail to account for the complicated intersection of politics and individuals. It is arguably at best divisive, and at worst dangerous. Especially when the government is searching for a personality to front its mission.

Various phrases have entered Labour Party history as a sign of a party that had to change. “Pound in your pocket”, “We’re all right”, and “Hell yes I’m tough enough”.  

Now, another one does. In the impassioned words of Shabana Mahmood’s sister: 

“Answer your f**king phone. Morgan whatever-his-f**king-name-is wants to talk to you.”