Posted by: John Phoenix
Photo by Chris Lawton
On Thursday 26 February 2026, the Gorton and Denton by-election could introduce to UK politics a register of despair not heard in Manchester since Joy Division first turned urban dislocation into sound. “This is the crisis I knew had to come,” sang the late great Ian Curtis, and the line fits too well to ignore.
As national coverage now routinely notes, the contest has already escaped from its local cage and become a kind of national proxy war. To be fair to those reports, this is a weakened version of Starmer’s Labour, pitted against Reform and the Greens, sharpened by Labour’s decision to block Andy Burnham, and Reform’s decision to nominate immigration-obsessed Matt Goodwin.
Goodwin is himself freshly endorsed by far-right agitator and Musk idol Tommy Robinson, though Reform has publicly disavowed Robinson. The reason such divisive figures matter is simple: this is the sort of seat Reform must win to prove it is more than a vehicle for harvesting right-wing Tory disaffection and the dangerous hostility it fosters between people.
An urban, historically Labour constituency is the test. Labour dominates local government representation across the seat. “No love lost here,” Curtis also sang.
Moreover, this by-election unfolds against a furious backdrop of Tory defections to Reform. I’m not sure what the collective noun should be, but a wave of defections might work.
To make sense, it probably helps to sort by type: the ambitious, the ideological, the opportunistic, and—most dangerously—the toxic. “They walked in line, they walked in line,” until suddenly they didn’t.
Reform UK leader Nigel Farage has said in the past: “My message to you is clear, plain, and simple. Never trust a Tory…” Of his many ship-jumpers then, let’s start with the latest haemorrhage of sitting MPs, the “real power” moves.
Suella “Cruella” Braverman is the former Home Secretary and current MP for Fareham and Waterlooville. She brings instant name recognition and a kind of culture-war prickliness. Her “Britain is broken” prosecutorial style will electrify Reform’s activist base, but it is sure to create backlash because she is so seriously polarising. Critics cite poor constituency engagement, too.
Her recent defection from the Tories is easily framed as look-at-me career repositioning after years of Tory civil war. Joining Reform at the moment of its greatest momentum, just as the Conservatives continue to linger at its lowest ebb, despite a resurgence of praise for Badenoch, looks less like conviction and more like calculation.
Robert Jenrick, a former Tory leadership contender, defected noisily after a whip row. Also big on immigration, despite the fact that the number of asylum hotels expanded significantly on his watch, he represents the technocratic right. His problem, however, may lie in tone. He exudes calculation. To many, Reform is not a home but a ladder—“directionless, so plain to see,” as Curtis sang on New Dawn Fades.
Then there’s the Romford MP and former shadow foreign affairs figure Andrew Rosindell. Same old Tory—just in louder colours.
Danny Kruger was the first sitting Tory MP to defect since the 2024 election. He may be too ideological for centrists and too policy-laden for populists. “Existence—well what does it matter?” sang Curtis on Heart and Soul.
Or Lee Anderson, the earliest high-profile switch, permanently at risk of gaffes and parody, though grievance politics can mobilise (as well as calcify). Anger is both an energy and a liability.
And what of those with money, networks, and media reach?
Nadhim Zahawi, former vaccines minister and briefly chancellor, was dismissed following a tax investigation. Not forgetting Nadine Dorries, who introduced the Online Safety Act—which Reform broadly opposes.
Beyond lies a trail of other former Tory MPs and ex-ministers—Berry, Jones, Holloway, Caulfield, Atherton, Green, Nici, Gullis, Bradley—names that blur together precisely because they represent continuity rather than rupture.
En masse, however, they risk making Reform look like “Tories, but angrier.”
Most damaging are the toxic ones.
Anne Marie Morris, twice stripped of the whip, including for her use of the N-word in a Brexit debate.
Aidan Burley, permanently associated with a Nazi-themed stag-do scandal.
They sabotage Reform’s attempt to look disciplined, credible, or remotely government-ready. “These days are passing by,” Curtis sang.
At the end of the day, the consensus attack line writes itself. All the worst have jumped ship, complaining about a party whose failures they themselves authored over fourteen years of government.
To what extent is this naked opportunism? Few can read minds, but everyone can read incentives. This looks like opportunism.
A smaller group may be genuinely project-driven, attempting to assemble a governing machine rather than merely surf a grievance wave.
I guess politics always rewards people who can hold beliefs that advance their careers and sometimes not much else. What’s changed here is the volume. The contradiction is no longer discrete. It is amplified.
For Reform, the defections collide with a reputation problem it has not resolved.
Nathan Gill, former Brexit Party MEP and Reform leader in Wales, was jailed in November 2025 for accepting bribes in exchange for pro-Russia statements. The case dragged Reform into a foreign-interference story.
Further questions have surfaced about Russian influence and the narrow Brexit victory. There is also the “ultra-secretive Kazakhstan-born billionaire” reportedly behind recent donations to Reform UK and Farage’s trip to Davos. Most recently, Farage has been defending the UAE over the Telegraph fiasco after once attacking its rulers.
In addition, Farage’s own historic rhetoric on Russia and Ukraine, combined with his previously expressed admiration for Putin, provides critics with a composite attack line. The betrayal here is not ideological but careerist: flocking to a rising party with an unresolved Russia stink.
Reform frames the Gorton and Denton by-election as a referendum on Starmer. This may be true. Starmer is not in a happy place. Labour frames Reform as toxic division. This may also be true. Selecting Matt Goodwin pours accelerant on both narratives.
Reform wants to look like the future. This compels the party to account for its past, its personnel, and its strategic incentives simultaneously. Defections can signal momentum—but they can also reveal character.
If we follow the logic of Farage’s admiration for Donald Trump, it is fair to ask how far this politics of spectacle and punishment is willing to travel. Could this culminate in the emergence of a UK equivalent to ICE?
In the end, all this party-hopping is still a betrayal. Not so much a betrayal of party loyalty as a betrayal of ideological coherence. And politics, like music, eventually punishes those who mistake noise for meaning.
By: Peter Bach