I cannot be the only one who has forgotten about the Lib Dems.
I mean, when was the last time you heard anything about Sir Ed Davey and his party of self-proclaimed liberals? Not a by-election triumph, not a policy announcement, not even an embarrassing interview. For the third-largest party in Parliament, the Liberal Democrats have developed a remarkable talent for political invisibility.
During the 2024 general election, Davey became something of a minor national celebrity. Rishi Sunak was attempting to cling to power, Keir Starmer was promising a new era of Labour, and Ed Davey was throwing himself off things. It was ridiculous, occasionally excruciating, and undeniably effective. The Liberal Democrats won 72 seats, their best results in over a century.
Two years later, I can barely remember they exist.
This is not because the Lib Dems have disappeared from Parliament. But encountering a Lib Dem headline now feels less like following British politics and more like spotting an endangered species — or, more improbably, a fellow Scot at Edinburgh University.
There is, after all, a difference between having a parliamentary presence and having a political presence.
British politics is an increasingly crowded marketplace, parties fighting tooth and nail for public attention. Labour, the Conservatives, Reform UK, and the Greens are all battling to define Britain’s future, offering voters competing visions of what the country should become.
And then there are the Lib Dems: vaguely liberal, vaguely centrist, and vaguely present.
Perhaps they hope that, amid all the shouting, voters will eventually yearn for a little calm. There is certainly a case for a more measured approach to politics; but being sensible is not, in itself, a political vision. When every other party is telling voters what is wrong with Britain, appearing marginally less alarming is not enough to convince them you know how to fix it.
The Lib Dems’ 2024 success was built largely on targeting Conservative-held constituencies and persuading voters to get rid of their Tory MPs. It may have been an effective strategy; however, there is a distinction between persuading people to vote against someone, and persuading them to vote for you. One requires an opponent, the other requires an identity.
So, what exactly are the Lib Dems asking people to vote for?
Of course, Davey’s campaign stunts were never supposed to represent the party’s entire political identity. The paddleboarding, the bungee jumping, the general impression that the leader of the Liberal Democrats had mistaken a general election for an elaborate stag weekend — all of it served a purpose. It made politics entertaining, attracted attention, and gave a party that had spent years in the wilderness a recognisable public face.
But attention is only useful if it leads somewhere. We remember Ed Davey’s stunts. We remember his post-election victory dance. Ask the average voter what the Lib Dems have done with their seats since the election, however, and I suspect the answers will be considerably less forthcoming.
The problem is not that the Lib Dems lack MPs; it is that their electoral success has yet to translate into an equally recognisable political identity. With 72 MPs, they have the numbers to make themselves heard. They should not need to rely on a leader in a wetsuit to remind the public they exist.
I should not have to conduct a small archaeological excavation of the news to work out what the third-largest party in Parliament actually stands for.
So, Ed, if for some reason you’re reading this, please put the bungee cord down. You have made your point about being willing to take a fall for your constituents. Now tell us what you intend to do for them.
I promise we might just pay attention.
“Ed Davey, William Hague, David Miliband, Robin Niblett” by Chatham House, London is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
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I Forgot the Lib Dems Exist
I cannot be the only one who has forgotten about the Lib Dems.
I mean, when was the last time you heard anything about Sir Ed Davey and his party of self-proclaimed liberals? Not a by-election triumph, not a policy announcement, not even an embarrassing interview. For the third-largest party in Parliament, the Liberal Democrats have developed a remarkable talent for political invisibility.
During the 2024 general election, Davey became something of a minor national celebrity. Rishi Sunak was attempting to cling to power, Keir Starmer was promising a new era of Labour, and Ed Davey was throwing himself off things. It was ridiculous, occasionally excruciating, and undeniably effective. The Liberal Democrats won 72 seats, their best results in over a century.
Two years later, I can barely remember they exist.
This is not because the Lib Dems have disappeared from Parliament. But encountering a Lib Dem headline now feels less like following British politics and more like spotting an endangered species — or, more improbably, a fellow Scot at Edinburgh University.
There is, after all, a difference between having a parliamentary presence and having a political presence.
British politics is an increasingly crowded marketplace, parties fighting tooth and nail for public attention. Labour, the Conservatives, Reform UK, and the Greens are all battling to define Britain’s future, offering voters competing visions of what the country should become.
And then there are the Lib Dems: vaguely liberal, vaguely centrist, and vaguely present.
Perhaps they hope that, amid all the shouting, voters will eventually yearn for a little calm. There is certainly a case for a more measured approach to politics; but being sensible is not, in itself, a political vision. When every other party is telling voters what is wrong with Britain, appearing marginally less alarming is not enough to convince them you know how to fix it.
The Lib Dems’ 2024 success was built largely on targeting Conservative-held constituencies and persuading voters to get rid of their Tory MPs. It may have been an effective strategy; however, there is a distinction between persuading people to vote against someone, and persuading them to vote for you. One requires an opponent, the other requires an identity.
So, what exactly are the Lib Dems asking people to vote for?
Of course, Davey’s campaign stunts were never supposed to represent the party’s entire political identity. The paddleboarding, the bungee jumping, the general impression that the leader of the Liberal Democrats had mistaken a general election for an elaborate stag weekend — all of it served a purpose. It made politics entertaining, attracted attention, and gave a party that had spent years in the wilderness a recognisable public face.
But attention is only useful if it leads somewhere. We remember Ed Davey’s stunts. We remember his post-election victory dance. Ask the average voter what the Lib Dems have done with their seats since the election, however, and I suspect the answers will be considerably less forthcoming.
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The problem is not that the Lib Dems lack MPs; it is that their electoral success has yet to translate into an equally recognisable political identity. With 72 MPs, they have the numbers to make themselves heard. They should not need to rely on a leader in a wetsuit to remind the public they exist.
I should not have to conduct a small archaeological excavation of the news to work out what the third-largest party in Parliament actually stands for.
So, Ed, if for some reason you’re reading this, please put the bungee cord down. You have made your point about being willing to take a fall for your constituents. Now tell us what you intend to do for them.
I promise we might just pay attention.
“Ed Davey, William Hague, David Miliband, Robin Niblett” by Chatham House, London is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
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