In the grand tradition of British stoicism, we find ourselves once again sipping tea through gritted teeth, muttering darkly about the state of things while doing precisely nothing about it. Cornwall7000, a voice of the ever-exasperated on X, posed the question on May 18, 2025, that has been brewing in the minds of many a disgruntled citizen: “What’s the tipping point for nationwide mass demonstrations against this awful government? I feel it’s close.” Oh, the optimism!
One can almost hear the kettles whistling in unison, a prelude to the revolution that never quite arrives. And then Marks Safaniya, with the weary cynicism of a man who’s seen one too many promises broken, replies: “We are a nation of oppressed people who are so busy and tired feeding and caring for our families that we have no appetite to respond. The government are going to sign us back into Europe against the majority vote and 9yrs of struggle and we will do exactly nothing.” Here, in this exchange, lies the quintessential British tragedy—a yearning for revolt so palpable you could spread it on toast, yet a resignation so deep it might as well be the national anthem.
Let us rewind, shall we, to the heady days of 2016, when the British public, in a rare moment of collective decisiveness, voted 51.9% to leave the European Union, according to the Electoral Commission. It was a decision that sent shockwaves through the corridors of Brussels and Westminster alike, a middle finger to the technocrats who thought they knew better. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the people had spoken—loudly, rudely, and with the kind of conviction usually reserved for queuing etiquette. But oh, how quickly the dream soured. Nine years of struggle followed, a Kafkaesque nightmare of withdrawal agreements, backstops, and betrayals, each more convoluted than the last. And now, in 2025, under the iron grip of Sir Keir Starmer’s Labour government, the whispers of rejoining the EU grow louder, a betrayal so brazen it could only be British in its execution—delivered with a polite smile and a cup of lukewarm tea.
Starmer, of course, is a man of principles, which is to say he has none that can’t be adjusted to suit the mood of the room. As the National Centre for Social Research reminds us, back in 2019, Starmer was the poster boy for a second referendum, a knight in shining Remain armor, ready to lead Labour back into the loving embrace of the EU. Fast forward to 2024, and the man who once campaigned for Europe with the fervor of a televangelist now declares, after securing a majority, that reopening the Brexit debate would bring “turmoil and uncertainty.” How noble of him to spare us the chaos—never mind that two-thirds of his own voters, 66% to be precise, think there should be another EU vote within the next five years. The remaining 26% who don’t are presumably too busy trying to afford their heating bills to care. Starmer’s moral compass, it seems, points firmly in the direction of power, a North Star that never wavers, even as 78% of Labour voters in 2024 would vote to rejoin the EU if given the chance. Democracy, it appears, is a dish best served cold and ignored.
But let us not lay all the blame at Starmer’s feet. The British public, bless them, have played their part in this farce with the kind of apathy that would make a sloth look industrious. Marks Safaniya’s lament on X—that we are too tired, too busy, too broken to rise up—is not just a personal cri de cœur but a national diagnosis. The LSE Public Policy Review paints a grim picture: real wages in the UK have stagnated for the longest period in two centuries, a decline so persistent it’s practically a cultural artifact. Since 2008, average earnings growth has limped along at a measly 0.2% annually, according to the Institute for Fiscal Studies in 2024. Inequality festers like damp in a Victorian terrace, and the labour market institutions that once promised fairness now seem as outdated as a fax machine. Is it any wonder, then, that the British people, once the proud architects of empire, now find themselves too knackered to storm the barricades? The revolution, it seems, has been postponed due to exhaustion.
And yet, the yearning for a “very British revolution” persists, a quiet, simmering rage that bubbles beneath the surface of every overpriced pint and every delayed train. Cornwall7000’s question—“What’s the tipping point?”—is less a call to arms and more a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to light the fuse. But who will do it?
Not the public, apparently, who are too busy Googling how to stretch a tin of beans into three meals. Not the opposition, who are as effective as a paper umbrella in a hurricane. And certainly not the government, who seem to view the will of the people as a minor inconvenience, like a spot of rain on a bank holiday. The Labour government’s rumored plan to drag us back into the EU, against the 2016 vote and nine years of struggle, is not just a betrayal of democracy—it’s a masterclass in moral cowardice. They know the public is divided; a YouGov poll from 2024 showed 55% now favor rejoining, a shift from 2019 when a petition to revoke Article 50 garnered 6.1 million signatures. But to act without a mandate, without a vote, is to treat the electorate like children who can’t be trusted with sharp objects.
The EU itself, of course, is no innocent bystander in this melodrama. For years, it has played the role of the jilted lover, alternately wooing and scolding Britain with the kind of passive-aggressive energy that would make a soap opera writer blush. The technocrats in Brussels, with their clipboards and their regulations, have never quite forgiven us for leaving, and now they sense an opportunity to reel us back in, like a fisherman with a particularly stubborn catch. But the EU’s moral failings are as glaring as Labour’s: a bloated bureaucracy that prioritizes its own survival over the needs of its people, a monolith that lectures on unity while ignoring the voices of those who dare to dissent. If Labour’s sin is betrayal, the EU’s is arrogance—a belief that it knows best, even when the evidence suggests otherwise.
So here we are, in May 2025, teetering on the edge of something that might, in a parallel universe, be called a revolution. But this is Britain, where revolutions are more likely to involve a strongly worded letter to the council than a march on Westminster. The discontent is real—Cornwall7000 and Marks Safaniya are but two voices in a chorus of millions—but the action is lacking. Perhaps it’s the weather, perpetually grey and uninspiring. Perhaps it’s the economy, which has left us all too poor to afford the pitchforks. Or perhaps it’s simply who we are: a nation of grumblers, not fighters, who would rather endure a thousand betrayals than risk the embarrassment of making a scene.
In the end, the “very British revolution” we yearn for may never come. Labour will likely sign us back into the EU, or at least try to, and we will, as Marks Safaniya predicts, “do exactly nothing.” The EU will welcome us back with open arms and a laundry list of conditions, and Starmer will smile for the cameras, secure in the knowledge that he’s dodged another bullet. And we, the great British public, will shuffle on, muttering into our tea about the good old days when our votes meant something.
It’s a tragedy, to be sure, but it’s our tragedy—a uniquely British blend of frustration, resignation, and the faintest flicker of hope that one day, just maybe, we’ll find the energy to care. Until then, the revolution remains a dream, as distant and unattainable as a sunny bank holiday. Cheers to that.