At a time when public trust already teeters on a knife’s edge, UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer has decided that what we really need is a lecture on “misinformation.” Yes, the same Starmer who spent years navigating political quagmires with the dexterity of a politician reading polling data, and someone accused of lying to the public in the manifesto that got him elected, now fancies himself the arbiter of “truth” and “decency.” And what better way to assert moral authority than by weaponizing one of Britain’s darkest scandals—the rape gang crises—and reframing criticism of government failures as the “poison of the far-Right”?
Criticism: The New Extremism
During his January 6 press conference, Starmer ditched accountability in favor of a moral crusade against critics. He accused them of peddling “lies,” “misinformation,” and—brace yourself—aligning with the “far-right.” “We’ve seen this playbook many times,” Starmer said, oozing conviction.
But the public has seen his playbook too.
If you express concern about how successive governments ignored victims, allowed systemic failures to fester, and dragged their feet on justice, you’re basically a neo-Nazi. Starmer’s rhetorical sleight-of-hand here is stunning—turning widespread outrage into something inherently sinister.
By lumping legitimate grievances in with the ravings of extremists, he effectively tars everyone with the same brush. Victims and their advocates? Extremists. Grassroots activists demanding reforms? Extremists. It’s a brilliant move if your goal is to shut down meaningful conversation while appearing noble.
Blaming Musk: A Modern-Day Scapegoat
But Starmer wasn’t done. Enter the obligatory bogeyman of modern discourse: Elon Musk. When the X owner criticized MP Jess Phillips for refusing to support a public inquiry into the grooming gang scandals, Starmer leaped at the opportunity to accuse him of endangering her safety. Musk, Starmer implied, had crossed some vague and undefinable “dangerous threshold” by calling out a politician’s inaction.
There’s no denying threats against MPs are a serious matter, especially in today’s climate, but let’s not pretend Musk was personally drafting hate mail. Criticism of public officials, even harsh criticism, isn’t equivalent to endorsing violence. Yet, Starmer’s play here is clear: frame dissent as inherently harmful and wrap it in the protective cloak of “safety.” It’s a chillingly effective tactic that sets the stage for conflating free speech with hate speech—a distinction that seems increasingly inconvenient for those in power.
The New Gatekeepers of “Decency”
Starmer’s framing of these issues points to a larger, more insidious trend: the slow, deliberate erosion of public discourse under the guise of safeguarding “truth” and “decency.” Dissenting voices are no longer just misguided or even wrong—they’re now dangerous, toxic, and unworthy of a platform.
What makes this particularly egregious is the context. The grooming gang scandals are a grotesque example of institutional failure. Victims were ignored for years as authorities feared accusations of racism, prioritizing optics over justice.
What Starmer presents as a defense of democracy is, in fact, a calculated effort to consolidate narrative control. If criticism can be dismissed as “far-Right poison,” then any dissenting voice—no matter how valid—can be silenced without debate.
Sliding Toward Silence
Starmer’s approach represents the classic slippery slope of censorship. First, the extremists are silenced (fair enough, many argue). Then, the vaguely problematic voices are muted. Finally, anyone who veers too far from the approved script is deemed an enemy of “truth.”
This isn’t only about online discourse or high-profile figures like Musk. It’s about ordinary people—victims, activists, and concerned citizens—who now risk being labeled as agitators simply for demanding accountability.
The Real Threat: Manufactured Consensus
Starmer’s insistence on equating criticism with extremism creates a vacuum where only the government’s narrative is allowed to thrive. And when the only voices left are the ones singing praises of the status quo, we’re no longer talking about democracy; we’re talking about a PR campaign with parliamentary decorum.
James Cleverly, former Home Secretary, didn’t mince words when he weighed in on the fiasco, summing up what many in Britain are quietly, or not-so-quietly, thinking. “Accusing those who disagree with him, or who seek legitimate answers about repeated failures of child protection, as ‘far-Right’ is deeply insulting and counterproductive,” Cleverly said, in a rare moment of plain speaking from a political figure.
As Cleverly pointed out, branding dissent as extremism doesn’t bridge divisions; it widens them, pouring accelerant on an already polarized public square.
Maggie Oliver, the whistleblower who exposed the Rochdale scandal, spoke for many when she called Starmer’s remarks “insulting in the extreme.” Oliver, who resigned from Greater Manchester Police in protest over their inaction, knows better than most how hard it is to get the system to listen. To see campaigners lumped in with extremists, she argued, “sets a terrifying precedent.”
The “Misinformation” Blueprint: Starmer’s New Censorship Arsenal
If Prime Minister Starmer’s handling of criticism over the UK’s rape gang scandal feels less like leadership and more like a prelude to mass censorship, that’s because it likely is. With the newly minted Online Safety Act and provisions under the National Security Act 2023, Starmer’s buzzword-heavy rhetoric about “misinformation” starts looking less like clumsy damage control and more like the calculated groundwork for a chilling clampdown on dissent.
For years, “misinformation” has been a convenient scapegoat for governments worldwide to suppress inconvenient truths. Now, in the UK, the term threatens to become a legal cudgel, ready to pummel any narrative that strays too far from the government-approved script.
Weaponizing the Online Safety Act
Starmer doesn’t need to introduce sweeping new legislation to suppress dissent—his government already has a powerful set of tools at its disposal. The Online Safety Act, sold to the public as a safeguard against harm, contains provisions that are broad enough to suppress not only malicious lies but also legitimate criticism under the guise of protecting the public. Here’s how it could play out:
1. Section 179: False Communications Offense
This is where Starmer’s “misinformation” rhetoric gets teeth. Section 179 criminalizes knowingly false communications intended to cause “non-trivial psychological or physical harm.” The wording here is as vague as it is dangerous. What qualifies as “non-trivial psychological harm”? If the government decides that criticisms of its handling of the grooming gang scandal cause emotional distress to MPs—or, conveniently, to the public—it could label them as harmful misinformation.
Imagine this: a social media user accuses Starmer’s government of ignoring systemic abuse in grooming gang cases. Even if the criticism is grounded in fact, the government could argue that the way it’s framed constitutes psychological harm. Once flagged, tech platforms—obligated under the Online Safety Act to prevent such offenses—could preemptively remove posts or ban users entirely.
The chilling effect is immediate. Knowing the penalties—up to 51 weeks in prison and unlimited fines—citizens may think twice before questioning the government on sensitive issues. And that’s the goal: silence through fear.
2. Schedule 7, Section 37: Foreign Interference
The National Security Act 2023 adds another weapon to Starmer’s arsenal: the foreign interference clause. This provision criminalizes any “misrepresentation” on behalf of a foreign power, even if the information shared is true. While the law ostensibly targets foreign espionage, its scope is alarmingly wide.
Starmer could use this to neutralize high-profile international critics like Elon Musk. If Musk’s tweets about UK safeguarding policies are deemed to influence British political discourse, Starmer’s government could accuse him of “foreign interference.” The penalties? Up to 14 years in prison for violators and mandatory platform censorship of related content.
Any UK citizen amplifying criticism that the government ties to a foreign agenda—whether real or imagined—could face scrutiny under this Orwellian provision.
3. Section 152: Advisory Committee on Disinformation and Misinformation
Perhaps the most insidious element of the Online Safety Act is the creation of a disinformation advisory committee under Ofcom. This unelected body will have the power to define what counts as “misinformation,” aligning platforms’ moderation policies with government narratives.
Given Starmer’s framing of dissent as extremist “poison,” it’s easy to imagine how this committee could become a government lapdog. If dissenting views about rape gang scandals—or any politically sensitive issue—are labeled misinformation, platforms would have little choice but to silence those voices.
4. Section 165: Media Literacy
Ofcom’s mandate to promote media literacy sounds harmless enough, but in practice, it’s a PR goldmine for governments looking to control narratives. Imagine a state-backed campaign equating criticism of the grooming gang scandal to conspiracy theories, painting dissenters as dangerous purveyors of hate. This would prime the public to distrust any view that deviates from the official line, effectively preempting free debate.
Starmer’s Record: A Preview of What’s to Come
Starmer’s embrace of censorship isn’t theoretical—it’s historical. When riots broke out in the summer of 2023, his government oversaw the arrest of individuals for inflammatory social media posts. While some cases involved genuine incitement, others targeted people simply expressing anger at systemic failures or “misinformation.” The precedent was clear: if your post made the government uncomfortable, you were a target.
Fast forward to today, and Starmer’s buzzword-laden rhetoric—“misinformation,” “extremism,” “poison”—looks suspiciously like a blueprint for round two. His invocation of these terms isn’t casual; it’s calculated. Each one is a trigger for the machinery of censorship already baked into British law.
