In a striking display of public sentiment, Prime Minister Keir Starmer has become the focal point for a crude but unifying national chorus. The chant labelling him a 'wanker' has transcended its origins to become a ubiquitous soundtrack at sporting events, music festivals, and public gatherings across the United Kingdom.
From the Oche to the Terraces: A Chant Goes Viral
The phenomenon was starkly visible at the World Darts Championship at London's Alexandra Palace on New Year's Day. There, darts professional Ryan Searle, then world number 20, paused his quarter-final match to conduct the crowd in a raucous rendition of 'Keir Starmer's a wanker'. This moment, captured in early 2026, symbolised how disdain for the Prime Minister had seeped into mainstream culture. The chant has since become a regular feature at football matches, including during the high-profile Manchester City vs Arsenal clash at the Etihad Stadium on 31 March 2024, where Starmer was in attendance.
This widespread public expression coincides with dismal approval ratings for the Prime Minister. Polls show his popularity plummeting below 20%, a staggering decline that began almost immediately after he entered Downing Street. A recent YouGov survey delivered a particularly brutal verdict, finding Starmer was more disliked by the British public than either Benjamin Netanyahu or Hamas.
Dissecting the Disdain: Why Starmer? Why Now?
Political analysts and commentators are grappling with the intensity and speed of this collective rejection. While previous Prime Ministers have faced public ire, it typically took years to ferment. Starmer has achieved this unenviable status in barely a year, surpassing even the brief, chaotic tenure of Liz Truss in becoming a lightning rod for mass discontent.
The specific insult—'wanker'—is seen as particularly revealing. Columnist Jonathan Liew contrasts it with the term directed at Boris Johnson during the Partygate scandal ('cunt'). Where the latter implied a roguish, almost formidable degeneracy, 'wanker' suggests something more piteous: a bashful cowardice and a person beneath contempt. This perception aligns with criticisms of Starmer's technocratic, managerial style, which opponents from both left and right deride as lacking backbone, ideology, or a compelling vision beyond a vague promise to 'fix things'.
His approach, designed to make him a 'smallest possible target', appears to have backfired spectacularly. Voters seem to have intuited his deep-seated desire to be inoffensive and are mercilessly punishing him for it. The rage is amorphous and catholic, attracting those from the far-right, who slap 'MORE GEAR LESS KEIR' stickers nationwide, to the disillusioned left, who see him as the epitome of hollow, triangulating centrism.
A Unifying Cry in a Divided Nation
Ironically, Starmer's premiership, which began with a pledge to heal national divisions, has succeeded in uniting the country—but only in shared animosity towards him. A recent protest in Bristol saw a far-right march against his government met by a left-wing counter-protest whose banner read: 'We hate Keir Starmer more than you'.
This chorus of discontent, while alarming in its coarseness, represents a rare moment of consensus. In a nation fractured by political and cultural divides, the six-syllable chant has become a perverse unifying balm, a low-effort outlet for frustrations with a broken political system, economic disenfranchisement, and social alienation. It is easier to shout about the Prime Minister than to engage with the complex, systemic failures he is perceived to embody.
As the chant echoes from stadiums to city centres, it poses serious questions about the future tone of British politics and the challenges facing a leader with no obvious political 'ism', a shrinking natural constituency, and an ever-growing chorus of detractors. The howl of change, for now, has found its voice in a crude, but powerfully simple, refrain.
