Eliminated By The Corporate State

Paul Knaggs writes:

When Louise Haigh stepped down as Transport Secretary this morning, the official story was one of past mistakes catching up with the present. A decade-old spent conviction, already disclosed when she joined Keir Starmer’s team, was suddenly splashed across headlines, and just like that, one of Labour’s brightest rising stars was out. But this resignation doesn’t feel like justice or accountability—it reeks of something far more calculated.

Haigh’s fall comes suspiciously soon after she dared to call out P&O Ferries, the “rogue operator” infamous for its ruthless treatment of British workers. Her stance put her on a collision course with both her boss, Starmer and DP World, P&O’s Dubai-based owner, a corporate heavyweight that just happens to be dangling a £1 billion investment over the UK government. In the age-old battle between corporate interests and political integrity, it’s clear which side won.

The official narrative paints Haigh as someone unfit for high office, her past misstep weaponised to destroy her credibility. Over a decade ago in her twenties, she made an error in reporting a work phone stolen—a “mistake” she explained and for which she has already faced consequences. A spent conviction she had fully disclosed to Starmer way back in 2020. Yet, this trivial and spent conviction, irrelevant to her current role, was dredged up at a time that feels more than coincidental. Why now? Why her?

Haigh stated in her resignation letter:

“As you know, in 2013 I was mugged in London. As a 24-year-old woman, the experience was terrifying. In the immediate aftermath, I reported the incident to the police.

“I gave the police a list of my possessions that I believed had been stolen, including my work phone.

“Some time later, I discovered that the handset in question was still in my house

“I should have immediately informed my employer and not doing so straight away was a mistake.”

Ms Haigh appeared at Camberwell Green Magistrates’ Court six months before the 2015 general election, after making a false report to officers that her mobile phone had been stolen.

It’s understood her conviction is now classified as ‘spent’.

It’s hard not to draw parallels between Haigh’s principled stance against P&O and the timing of her downfall. This is the same P&O that sacked 800 workers by pre-recorded Zoom call in 2022, a scandal so brazen that even its CEO, Peter Hebblethwaite, admitted he’d do it all again.

P&O’s fire-and-rehire tactics didn’t just involve unscrupulously sacking workers only to offer them a new contract on new, less favourable terms. No, P&O Ferries dismissed nearly 800 ferry workers and replaced them with cheaper overseas agency workers in 2022. Sacked P&O crews replaced by ‘Indian seafarers paid £1.80 an hour’ union claims.

Haigh’s condemnation of P&O was no more than what the government itself had declared in press releases about “rogue employers.” Yet she went a step further, calling for a boycott—a line too far for those prioritising corporate appeasement over worker justice.

This affair also highlights Labour’s internal contradictions under Starmer. The same government that touts protections for workers and pledges to rectify P&O-style scandals baulks when corporate donors push back. It’s no coincidence that Haigh was one of the only left-wing voices in a centre-right-dominated cabinet—her principled stance was always going to be inconvenient for a leadership increasingly attuned to pleasing boardrooms.

By resigning, Haigh leaves a cabinet devoid of pushing for public ownership, standing up for workers, and confronting exploitative practices, it’s back to business for Starmer in the literal sense. Her departure feels less like the consequence of a moral failing and more like a reminder of the dangerous ground walked by anyone who dares challenge entrenched power.

The bigger question is what Haigh’s ousting signals about our political priorities. Are we really okay with a system where integrity and accountability are punished while the perpetrators of genuine exploitation—whether it’s rogue employers or complicit governments—carry on unchecked?

Mick Lynch of the RMT called Haigh’s departure a loss for workers and passengers alike, praising her vision for a publicly accountable transport system. But Lynch’s words also underscore a bitter truth: this isn’t just about one minister’s career. It’s about the ease with which corporate power can influence the direction of a government and the willingness of political leaders to sacrifice their own to avoid rocking the boat.

If Haigh’s resignation teaches us anything, it’s this: no matter how hard you work or how principled you are, in a system designed to prioritize profits over people, you’re expendable the moment you step out of line. And for all the talk of Starmer’s Labour being a government of change, this saga suggests otherwise—a government as eager as any other to bend the knee when big money calls the shots.

Haigh deserved better. More importantly, so did the workers and passengers she fought for. But in this fight, as in too many others, it seems the wrong people are paying the price. 

What we witnessed was not a resignation. It was a public execution—a demonstration of how power truly operates in modern Britain.

The corporate state does not negotiate. It eliminates.