At the election, Sir Keir Starmer promised change. It was the front page of his Labour Party’s manifesto. A massive photo of him with ‘Change’ emblazoned over it. He has proven good at one form of change; changing his mind.

On the radio yesterday morning Sir Keir Starmer was asked about the number of U-turns his government had made. At that time he had racked up 13. It is worth seeing the full scale written down to understand the real impact: Digital ID cards; Pub’s business rates; Farm tax; Income tax hike; NICS increase; Waspi women compensation; Winter Fuel payments; Benefits cuts; Two child benefit cap; Grooming gangs inquiry; Trans rights defenition; Day-one workers rights; Debt fiscal rules.

He boasted that the reason behind them is because “I am a pragmatist. I am a common-sense merchant”. Would he stick to his course, Starmer was asked: “Absolutely. I know exactly why I was elected in with a five-year mandate to change this country for the better, and that’s what I intend to do.” Rather hilariously when his interview was finished on BBC 2, they played a song by Duffy: ‘Mercy.’

Starmer will be begging for it because just an hour and forty minutes later, he had got to U-turn number 14 – and one of the biggest of them all. Showing he’s not just struggling to control the steering, he has fallen asleep at the wheel. The government threw in the towel under legal threat and restored plans for their cancelled local elections.

“Predictable chaos from a useless government that cannot make basic decisions,” posted Kemi Badenoch, the Conservative leader. “This is a zombie government. U-turn after U-turn after U-turn.”

After spending all the political capital and energy on Labour’s decision to cancel elections to around 30 councils in England and deny some 4.5 million people their vote in May, yet another U-turn took place, leaving local councils having to work against constrained timetables, political parties scrambling for candidates and more government spending wasted first on cancelling them and now hurriedly rescheduling them (the BBC reports £63m put aside to help councils with additional costs). Oh and that is not the end of the extent money has been wasted – the government is now having to pay the legal fees of their challenger: Reform UK.

So ahead of major local elections and an upcoming byelection in what should be Labour heartland, in Manchester’s Gorton and Denton, the Labour government have been forced to U-turn and pay out to one of their political rivals.

Reform’s legal appeal saw lawyers proposing to argue the Government was misusing powers under the Local Government Act 2000 never intended to allow for the postponement of elections, other than in exceptional circumstances. But if there were always legal problems as this lawsuit revealed, it needs to be explained how this got through government processes in the first place. That is something the Tories have already called on.

Shadow housing secretary James Cleverly, amidst calling for Steve Reed’s resignation, wrote to the Local Government Secretary: “What new factors were considered in the re-decision that led to a different conclusion being drawn? (In both cases, whilst the Government does not normally disclose its legal advice, there is a strong public interest for the rationale for the decision-making to be made clear).”

Reed had been defending his decision up until recently as Labour claimed that the looming reorganisation of local authorities would make elections expensive, complicated and unnecessary. But, in a letter published yesterday, he said that he was withdrawing his decision “in the light of recent legal advice”.

With thousands of lawyers at their disposal, we are somehow expected to believe none of them ever raised an issue to Reed’s department that would have prevented it from getting this far. It would have saved a lot of time and money had he sought their advice to begin with. Or, of course, perhaps there is a world where this was a political decision to hide the Labour government’s blushes amid poor results, no matter the legal position, and previous legal advice was ignored.

Polling had shown 10 Labour authorities would be wiped out if the elections were to go ahead.

As the shadow Attorney General questioned: “It’s hard to see what has changed as a matter of law.”

According to The Guardian, government sources say Reed was warned the delays could lead to a legal challenge, but that it only became clear once a review had been lodged by Nigel Farage that the government was likely to lose it. How embarrassing.

For how long Labour insisted it was a decision based on local choice, to succumb to a legal threat shows their claims of regard for local democracy were pure tosh. Labour MPs were right in telling Starmer, these U-turns (and often the policy positions in the first place) do make them look “really stupid”.

Cllr Craig Smith is the Deputy Chairman of the Leicestershire Conservatives Area Executive and a councillor for Coalville North Division on Leicestershire County Council.

As someone who uses social media daily, perhaps more accurately, hourly, for both professional and political purposes, you might argue that I am a fine one to talk.

Social media is now embedded in modern politics. For councillors, MPs and campaigners alike, it has become an essential tool. Used responsibly, it allows elected representatives to communicate directly with residents, explain decisions, counter misinformation, share updates and remain visible between elections. In local government, especially where turnout is low and engagement can be difficult, social media can strengthen accountability and trust.

But it is also a double-edged sword.

One poorly chosen phrase, one comment taken out of context, or one lapse in judgement can spread rapidly and live on indefinitely. Screenshots do not disappear. Nor does the reputational damage that can follow. Any elected representative who uses social media regularly understands that risk.

Yet beyond the danger of accidental missteps, there is a more troubling trend emerging, one that poses a serious challenge to the standards and purpose of public office itself.

Across the political spectrum, a small but growing number of individuals are using social media not to represent, inform or engage, but to provoke. They post deliberately inflammatory content, dismiss serious issues with contempt, or make statements designed to outrage rather than contribute. This behaviour is not spontaneous. It is calculated.

What has changed in recent years is the incentive structure. In the past, such behaviour was often about notoriety, chasing attention, relevance, or the thrill of controversy. Today, it is increasingly about money. Many social media platforms now allow accounts to be monetised. Engagement equals income. Likes, shares, comments and reactions all feed an algorithm that rewards outrage far more generously than nuance. Calm explanation does not travel as far as provocation. Division generates clicks. Anger pays.

For private individuals, this may be distasteful but largely self-contained. For elected officials, it is profoundly corrosive.

Councillors and MPs are not paid to generate engagement. They are paid by the taxpayer to represent communities, to attend meetings, to scrutinise decisions, to work with officers, to handle casework and to solve real problems. Their role is grounded in service, not performance.

Yet when an elected representative becomes more invested in posting daily rage-bait than in carrying out the duties of office, the line between public service and personal profit begins to blur.

This is not about free speech. Elected officials are entitled to hold strong views, express unpopular opinions and challenge orthodoxies. Robust debate is healthy in a democracy. But there is a clear distinction between principled disagreement and deliberately provocative content designed solely to inflame emotions and drive engagement.

The issue becomes even more troubling when those posts target vulnerable groups, trivialise serious matters, or dismiss lived experiences, not as part of a reasoned argument, but as a repeated tactic to provoke reaction. When this behaviour becomes routine, it raises legitimate questions about priorities.

Is the primary focus representation, or revenue?

Local government already faces a crisis of trust. Turnout in local elections remains stubbornly low. Many residents feel disconnected from councils and cynical about politics at a local level. When councillors appear more interested in building personal online brands than in addressing potholes, planning disputes or social care pressures, that cynicism deepens.

Worse still, the accountability mechanisms are weak.

You cannot sack an elected councillor for neglecting their duties in favour of monetised social media activity. Codes of conduct are narrow, slow-moving and often ill-suited to dealing with behaviour that is provocative but technically permissible. Party discipline can be applied only to members of the same party, and even then, it is blunt and politically sensitive.

Until the next election, an elected representative is largely free to continue treating public office as a platform for outrage, regardless of the damage done to public discourse or community cohesion.

This creates a perverse incentive. The most extreme voices receive the most attention. Sensible councillors doing unglamorous but vital work rarely go viral. Meanwhile, those willing to say the most shocking thing possible are rewarded with clicks, followers and, increasingly, cash. The result is a distortion of local political debate. Serious issues are drowned out by provocation. Nuanced policy discussions are replaced by culture-war soundbites. Council chambers become secondary to comment sections.

This is not merely a question of tone. It is about the purpose of public office.

If local government becomes a stepping stone to monetised outrage, rather than a vehicle for service and delivery, it risks losing credibility altogether. Residents rightly expect that the people they elect will focus on local priorities, not on feeding an algorithm.

There is also a wider reputational cost. When a handful of councillors behave this way, it reflects poorly on local government as a whole. The vast majority of councillors, across all parties, work hard, unpaid or modestly paid, juggling employment, family life and public service. Their efforts are undermined when public perception is shaped by the loudest and most extreme voices.

Conservatives, in particular, should be concerned about this trend.

Local government has long been one of the party’s strengths: practical problem-solving, fiscal responsibility, community leadership. That tradition is incompatible with treating public office as a side hustle built on outrage.

If we believe in responsibility, service and accountability, then we must be willing to call out behaviour that corrodes those values, even when it is technically permissible, legally protected or politically inconvenient.

None of this requires new laws or heavy-handed regulation. But it does require a cultural shift. Parties, associations and local leaders need to be clearer about expectations. Voters need to ask harder questions about what their representatives actually do between elections. And elected officials themselves need to reflect on whether their online conduct serves their community or merely themselves.

Social media is here to stay. Used well, it can strengthen democracy. Used cynically, it can cheapen it.

Public office should never be reduced to a revenue stream fuelled by division. Those elected to serve should remember a simple truth: their salary comes from the public purse, and their mandate comes from the people they represent, not from an algorithm that rewards outrage.