Starmer's appointment of convicted Sun editor shows how Britain's elite networks perpetuate themselves
Despite promises of change, the hiring of David Dinsmore reveals the durability of power structures that operate beyond democratic accountability
As the country basked in the afterglow of the Lionesses' triumph—a team embodying merit-based achievement and genuine transformation—Keir Starmer announced an appointment that encapsulated everything that remains unchanged about British power. His selection of David Dinsmore, former Sun editor and convicted offender under the Sexual Offences Act, as permanent secretary for communications represents not just poor judgement but a deliberate signal about whose interests this government ultimately serves.
The contrast could hardly be starker. Whilst celebrating women who redefined leadership through skill and integrity, Starmer simultaneously elevated a man whose career was built on the systematic objectification of women, the industrial-scale violation of privacy, and the persecution of vulnerable victims. This wasn't an oversight—it was a choice that reveals the true priorities of Britain's political class.
The weight of a conviction
Dinsmore brings to this senior civil service role a criminal conviction that would disqualify most people from any position of public trust. In 2016, he was found guilty of breaching the Sexual Offences (Amendment) Act after The Sun published a pixelated photograph that led to the identification of footballer Adam Johnson's 15-year-old victim. Judge Howard Riddle ordered him to pay £1,300 costs and £1,000 compensation to the victim—a teenage girl whose anonymity the law specifically protects and whose privacy Dinsmore's newspaper violated.
The conviction represents more than a technical breach. It demonstrates a fundamental failure to protect the most vulnerable from exploitation—precisely the opposite of what public service demands. Yet this criminal record, rather than disqualifying Dinsmore from government service, appears to have been treated as merely another biographical detail to manage.
During his editorship of The Sun from 2013 to 2015, Dinsmore presided over years of false denials about the newspaper's involvement in phone hacking. Only in January 2025 did News Group Newspapers finally admit what press abuse victims had known for over a decade: that The Sun had engaged in industrial-scale unlawful information-gathering through private investigators. This admission came through a High Court settlement with Prince Harry and former Labour minister Lord Tom Watson, exposing the systematic lying that Dinsmore helped coordinate.
Rather than reform the culture he inherited, Dinsmore defended it with characteristic cynicism. He famously clung to The Sun's degrading Page 3 feature, promoting the publication of topless images as "what readers wanted" long after public sentiment had moved decisively against such practices. End Violence Against Women branded him 'sexist of the year' in 2014 for his resistance to change—recognition that reflected not just his editorial choices but his broader worldview about women's place in society.
This worldview extended to his platforming of Katie Hopkins during her most inflammatory period, including columns that described asylum seekers as "cockroaches" and suggested the government deploy "gunships" to prevent them reaching British shores. Both Hopkins and Dinsmore were reported to police for incitement to racial hatred over these publications, yet this history of promoting dangerous extremism appears to have enhanced rather than hindered his career prospects.
Lessons unlearned
The appointment follows a pattern established most disastrously by Andy Coulson, the former News of the World editor whom David Cameron hired as communications director despite warnings about his role in the phone hacking scandal. Coulson was forced to resign in January 2011 as the scandal widened and was later convicted of conspiracy to hack phones, receiving an 18-month prison sentence. Cameron subsequently issued what he called a "full and frank" apology, describing the appointment as "the wrong decision."
Yet here we are, just over a decade later, with another government making precisely the same mistake with another editor from the same compromised stable. The repetition suggests this isn't poor judgement but institutional design—a system that rewards loyalty to elite networks over competence or integrity.
Promises abandoned
For Labour, the appointment represents a particularly sharp betrayal of stated principles. Under Jeremy Corbyn's leadership, the party pledged to resurrect the second part of the Leveson Inquiry, which had been cancelled by the Conservative government in 2017 following intensive lobbying by News UK. This inquiry was designed to examine the corrupt relationships between parts of the British press and police that enabled systematic criminal behaviour.
However, multiple reports suggest that Starmer's team provided "private assurances" to Murdoch's executives that Leveson Part Two would not proceed, apparently in exchange for endorsements from The Sun and Sunday Times during the election campaign. Labour's manifesto contained no commitment to media reform, and the party voted to repeal key press regulation measures in the final weeks of the previous parliament.
This retreat from reform principles has provoked outrage from within Labour's own ranks.
Voices ignored
Steve Rotheram, Labour Mayor of Liverpool City Region and himself a Hillsborough survivor, issued a withering condemnation of the appointment. "For many people in our city, particularly those who fought for justice for the Hillsborough families, this appointment will be seen as a deeply insensitive choice," he stated. "Liverpool hasn't forgotten. We haven't forgiven. And we never will."
Rotheram's reference to Hillsborough touches the deepest wound in The Sun's relationship with Liverpool. Although the newspaper's most appalling lies about the disaster—including claims that fans stole from the dead and urinated on police—preceded Dinsmore's tenure, his appointment sends an unmistakable message to bereaved families that their pain matters less than elite networking. "The paper Dinsmore once led printed falsehoods that caused unimaginable pain," Rotheram continued. "That shouldn't be brushed off as a footnote in his CV, it should be a red line."
The mayor's final observation cuts to the heart of the matter: "Trust can't be restored by drawing from the same networks that helped erode it." This insight recognises that the problem extends beyond individual appointments to the systematic operation of power networks that protect their own whilst remaining impervious to public accountability.
The impunity these networks enjoy was vividly illustrated by Dinsmore's brief tenure on Parkrun's board of trustees. Even this community running charity proved more rigorous in its standards than the British government. Faced with a petition signed by over 20,000 people condemning his appointment as "a serious misjudgement and an affront to volunteers and ordinary runners," Dinsmore was forced to resign in 2023. The charity demonstrated that proper due diligence reveals disqualifying factors that political appointments apparently ignore.
Campaign group Hacked Off, which represents victims of press abuse, has launched a new petition condemning the government appointment as "a dangerous precedent for democracy" and "an insult to the taxpayer." The organisation points out that this continues what it calls the "revolving door" trend of discredited media figures assuming positions of influence without meaningful scrutiny or accountability.
The system working as designed
The revolving door metaphor, whilst accurate, perhaps understates the systematic nature of what we're witnessing. This isn't random circulation but careful curation—a process by which elite networks reproduce themselves across institutional boundaries. The door doesn't revolve equally for everyone; it admits only those who have demonstrated loyalty to particular interests and ways of operating.
Consider the broader pattern of controversial appointments that have characterised recent British politics. From Andy Coulson's disastrous tenure to the ongoing questions around figures like Sue Gray, the common thread isn't incompetence but institutional capture. These appointments serve to signal that certain forms of behaviour—however damaging to public trust—remain not just tolerable but rewarded within elite circles.
The timing of Dinsmore's appointment is particularly telling. Announced during celebrations of the Lionesses' achievements, it suggests either remarkable tone-deafness or deliberate provocation. Given the sophistication of modern political communications, the latter seems more likely. The message appears designed for internal consumption within elite networks: that despite public rhetoric about change, the old rules still apply for those who matter.
This interpretation gains credence when we consider how such appointments actually function. Dinsmore won't be representing the public interest in his new role but rather managing the interface between government and media elites who share his background and assumptions. His value to Starmer lies not in his communication skills—which any competent professional could provide—but in his ability to signal continuity with existing power arrangements.
The implications extend far beyond a single appointment. What we're witnessing is the systematic hollowing out of democratic accountability, whereby electoral mandates become largely meaningless if they threaten established networks of interest and influence. Voters can change governments, but they cannot easily change the ecosystem of advisers, consultants, and senior officials who shape how those governments actually operate.
This ecosystem has its own logic and priorities, which often diverge sharply from public interest. It rewards insider knowledge over expertise, loyalty over competence, and network position over democratic legitimacy. Within this system, Dinsmore's criminal conviction and ethical failures become assets rather than liabilities—proof of his willingness to prioritise institutional interests over public accountability.
The pattern helps explain why meaningful reform remains so elusive in British politics. It's not enough to change the party in power if the same compromised networks continue to supply personnel and shape priorities. The revolving door ensures that yesterday's scandals become tomorrow's qualifications, as those who prove their reliability in serving elite interests are rewarded with ever-greater influence.
Breaking this cycle would require political leadership willing to prioritise public accountability over elite access—precisely what Starmer's appointment suggests he's unwilling to do. Instead, we see the familiar pattern of campaign promises giving way to insider bargaining, with those who suffer the consequences having no meaningful voice in the process.
The response from Liverpool provides a glimpse of what genuine accountability might look like. Rotheram's statement demonstrates that some political leaders still remember who they serve and why certain lines cannot be crossed. His invocation of Hillsborough reminds us that these aren't abstract questions of political process but matters of life, death, and justice.
Similarly, the families who have called this appointment "a slap in the face" understand what many in Westminster appear to have forgotten: that political power exists to serve the public, not to reward those who have systematically abused it. Their continued fight for accountability offers a model for how democracy should work, even when its institutions have been captured by those who benefit from its malfunction.
The Dinsmore appointment will likely proceed regardless of public opposition. The networks that promoted it are more powerful than the voices that oppose it, and the institutional mechanisms that should prevent such appointments have been deliberately weakened or captured. This reality doesn't make the appointment less scandalous—it makes it more so, revealing the extent to which British democracy has been subordinated to elite convenience.
For those who hoped that Labour's electoral victory might herald genuine change, this appointment offers a sobering lesson. Changing governments is not enough if the same networks continue to shape how power operates. Real reform would require dismantling the revolving door itself—making it impossible for those who abuse public trust to repeatedly profit from that abuse.
Such reform would face fierce resistance from those who benefit from current arrangements. It would require politicians willing to sacrifice insider access for public accountability, and institutions robust enough to prioritise competence over connections. Most crucially, it would demand a political culture that treats service to the public as a privilege rather than an opportunity for personal advancement.
Until such changes occur, we can expect more appointments like Dinsmore's—selections that reveal the true priorities of Britain's political class whilst insulting those who continue to believe in democracy's promise. The revolving door will keep turning, admitting the same compromised figures to ever-greater positions of influence, whilst those they've harmed watch helplessly from outside.
The tragedy isn't just that unqualified people receive powerful positions, but that qualified people are systematically excluded from consideration if they lack the right connections or haven't demonstrated the appropriate loyalty to elite interests. This process impoverishes both government competence and democratic legitimacy, creating a self-reinforcing cycle of decline.
In celebrating the Lionesses whilst appointing Dinsmore, Starmer inadvertently highlighted the choice facing British democracy. We can reward merit, integrity, and genuine service to the public good—or we can continue privileging insider networks that treat public office as private opportunity. We cannot do both, and this appointment makes clear which path this government has chosen.
The consequences will extend far beyond Whitehall's communication strategies. Every such appointment chips away at public trust in democratic institutions, reinforcing cynical assumptions about how power really works in Britain. When those assumptions prove correct—when the same compromised figures keep appearing in positions of influence—democracy itself becomes harder to defend.
This is perhaps the greatest cost of the revolving door: not just the damage done by individual appointments, but the broader erosion of belief in democracy's capacity for self-correction. When voters discover that electoral victory cannot break elite networks' grip on power, they may conclude that democratic participation itself is futile.
That conclusion would be premature, but preventing it requires recognising what we're actually fighting. The challenge isn't simply replacing bad people with good ones, but confronting systems designed to reward the wrong qualities whilst excluding the right ones. Until that deeper work begins, we'll keep witnessing appointments that mock democracy's promise whilst revealing power's true priorities.
The Lionesses won their tournament through merit, dedication, and genuine excellence. Their success reminds us what public service could look like if it operated by the same principles. Dinsmore's appointment shows us what we get instead: the triumph of connections over competence, and the perpetuation of networks that serve themselves rather than the people they're meant to represent.