England fans have turned on Prime Minister Keir Starmer, chanting insults instead of traditional football songs. This unprecedented situation reflects deeper issues of trust and political alienation, highlighting football’s role as a cultural barometer. It serves as a warning against unchecked nationalism.
In a stunning turn of events, England fans have seemingly traded traditional football chants for political commentary, with Prime Minister Keir Starmer finding himself the unexpected target of terrace songs. This shift marks a unique moment in British political and footballing history, as Starmer becomes the first prime minister to be so directly and negatively immortalized in the chants of England supporters.
The phenomenon, observed from Birmingham to Belgrade, involves renditions of insults directed at Starmer, set to the tune of iconic riffs like 'Seven Nation Army.' While initially Starmer might have hoped to curb other controversial chants, he has inadvertently sparked a new wave of football terrace expression. The shift in focus from IRA songs and 'Ten German Bombers' to insults about the prime minister is undeniably a partial success, though perhaps not in the way Starmer intended. 'Delivery. Pragmatism. Yes, I think we can work with this,' might be the internal assessment, but the public perception is far more vocal and less forgiving.
The evolution of these chants is a fascinating study in the oral history of England fandom. Out with the old controversial standards, in with the new, politically charged insults. The 'Keir Starm-muurs aaa waannnker' chant has become a ubiquitous soundtrack to England's matches, echoing from old town pavement cafes to stadium stands.
Variations on the theme have also emerged, showcasing the creativity and adaptability of football fans. The disco version, set to the tune of 'Give it Up' by KC & The Sunshine Band, debuted in Andorra. A newer version heard in Belgrade proclaims, 'We’ve got Palmer/Fuck Keir Starmer,' highlighting the fluid and ever-evolving nature of terrace culture.
Attempts to dismiss these chants as mere banter among bored men or to demonize the chanters as far-right extremists fall short. The reality is more nuanced. Many of those participating are ordinary, solvent adults, organized enough to travel and known for their good behavior. This was even acknowledged by Belgrade police, who praised the England fans' conduct during a recent match.
This unprecedented situation raises the question: Why Starmer? Historically, politicians have maintained a relatively low profile in the world of football. Even during Margaret Thatcher's era, when she actively demonized football supporters, or during the PR attempts of Johnson and Truss, politicians remained largely detached from the sport. Tony Blair's attempts to associate himself with football came across as awkward and inauthentic.
Starmer's active engagement with football at the start of his premiership may have backfired. His association with Jude Bellingham’s 'feel‑bad miraculous overhead kick' at the European Championship, his shirt display with the Dutch PM, and his promise of a bank holiday if England won the final all contributed to a perception of inauthenticity and political opportunism. His presence in a private box at Arsenal further alienated some fans. These actions mirrored broader criticisms of Starmer's political communication style, portraying him as a brand that is vulnerable. He seems eager but comes across like a geography teacher trying to breakdance.
Football's significance as a cultural barometer cannot be ignored. The Starmer chants reflect a deeper sense of alienation, loss of trust, and democratic deficit. They are a manifestation of the 'age of flags,' where national symbols are used to express a range of emotions, from lament and celebration to threat and territorial marking.
The best version of flag culture is not a craven, dog-like 'me and my country' thing. It includes a natural distrust of authority, fondness for home, the memory of resistance and indifference to the National Front trying to infiltrate terrace culture in the 1980s. Starmer, unable to find any kind of path in football, could do a lot worse than to study England football’s management of this.
The situation in Serbia offers a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked nationalism and authoritarianism. While the UK is not yet at that extreme, the chants directed at Starmer serve as a warning. The ability to voice dissent, even in the form of football chants, is a freedom worth preserving. For now, 'Keir Starmer’s a Wanker' is here to stay, and football is, once again, telling us things.