David Lammy’s rise to the commanding heights of government tells us much about the new Labour order under Sir Keir Starmer.
Once a fiery backbencher known for provocative – and somewhat fanciful – interventions, Lammy now finds himself burdened with the immense responsibility of shaping Britain’s legal system as Justice Secretary and, more significantly, operating as Deputy Prime Minister. Yet his record of inflammatory remarks and ideological flights of fancy should give pause to anyone concerned with the stability and seriousness of Britain’s public life.
On questions of gender identity and biology, Lammy has already revealed a willingness to indulge fashionable dogma at the expense of basic truth. Asked by LBC whether it was transphobic to say only women have a cervix, Lammy replied: “I don’t know if it’s transphobic, but it’s not accurate … a cervix, I understand, is something that you can have, following various procedures and hormone treatment and all the rest of it.”
In other words, he suggested that a cervix “can be had” post-procedures—even by men. This was not a careless slip of the tongue but a deliberate assertion. Men cannot grow a cervix. To claim otherwise is to sacrifice biology on the altar of political correctness. That Britain’s new Justice Secretary could so casually advance such an absurdity raises troubling questions about his judgement and his ability to uphold evidence-based law.
Lammy has always excelled at creating headlines. His instinct is to reach for the boldest claim, the sharpest comparison, the most arresting soundbite. It is a style that made him a darling of certain corners of the activist left, but one that sits uneasily with the dignity of high office.
Few can forget his remarks comparing Brexit voters—millions of ordinary citizens who expressed a democratic preference—to Nazis and white supremacists.
Asked whether such language was excessive, Lammy doubled down, saying it had not been “strong enough”. Such rhetorical overkill may have once gained him a standing ovation at a Momentum rally, but in the sober environment of Cabinet government it reveals a worrying inability to distinguish between passionate opposition and reckless demagoguery.
On the question of reparations for the Caribbean, Lammy has long championed what he calls “reparatory justice”. In speeches stretching back years, he has demanded that Britain move beyond apologies for slavery and consider compensation. In more recent months, he has softened his tone, ruling out direct financial transfers but still pushing for “dialogue” and “reconciliation initiatives”.
Yet the central point remains unchanged: Lammy believes Britain should accept a form of inherited guilt and place itself under a moral obligation to generations long removed from the past. This is a dangerous precedent. No nation can prosper if it becomes permanently chained to historical self-flagellation. While one may recognise the appalling crimes of slavery, the notion that twenty-first-century taxpayers should bankroll restitution for events centuries old is neither just nor practicable.
There is, of course, a pattern here. Whether on Brexit, biology, or the burdens of history, Lammy’s instinct is to take the most radical, uncompromising line. He flourishes as a campaigner, a protestor, an orator who thrives on division. But the office of Deputy Prime Minister requires something quite different: steadiness, restraint, and an appreciation of the common ground upon which millions of Britons stand.
The danger is that Lammy carries into government the same habits that once served him as a provocateur. That would be disastrous for the administration he is meant to support.
Starmer’s decision to elevate him is therefore revealing. On one level, it is a political calculation: Lammy is seen as a symbol of diversity and progress, a loyal ally who can command international attention. He has cultivated links with American Democrats and the global progressive elite, styling himself as Britain’s emissary to a new liberal order.
Yet at home he remains a divisive figure, admired by the metropolitan left but distrusted by many outside London. For Starmer to place him at the very heart of government signals either remarkable confidence or a troubling disregard for how such appointments will be perceived across the country.
The Justice Department is no minor brief. It is charged with overseeing prisons, courts, and the delicate balance between liberty and authority. It is a department in crisis, facing overcrowded jails, delayed trials, and plummeting morale among staff. What it requires is sober management, not ideological crusading. Will Lammy have the patience to grapple with the tedious but vital reforms required, or will he prefer to grandstand on fashionable causes, jetting off to international conferences to sermonise about historical reparations? His record offers little reassurance.
Nor can we ignore the potential consequences for Labour itself. Starmer has attempted to present his government as pragmatic, cautious, and competent—a deliberate contrast with the tumult of recent Conservative years. Yet the appointment of Lammy undermines that message.
Here is a man whose public statements place him on the fringes of political discourse, now catapulted into one of the highest offices of the land. If his past comments are any guide, controversy will follow him into office, handing ammunition to Labour’s critics and distracting from the government’s core agenda.
To his supporters, Lammy is a fearless truth-teller, unafraid to confront Britain’s darkest chapters or challenge entrenched prejudice. To his detractors, he is a reckless opportunist, intoxicated by his own rhetoric and oblivious to the damage it causes. Both views contain a measure of truth. But the question for Britain is not whether David Lammy can continue to provoke headlines. It is whether he can rise above his own record and govern with the seriousness that the offices of Justice Secretary and Deputy Prime Minister demand.
The burden of proof lies squarely with him. For the sake of Britain’s legal system, its international reputation, and the cohesion of its domestic politics, one must hope that Lammy discovers a sense of restraint and responsibility that has so far eluded him. If not, the country may find that its new Deputy Prime Minister is less a steady hand on the tiller than a storm at the heart of government.
