Three hundred and forty-nine Labour MPs have endorsed Andy Burnham for Prime Minister, which is fewer than the total number of MPs but more than enough to make a point: they are exhausted and will accept whoever keeps the lights on.
Burnham, the MP for Makerfield, is on track to become Prime Minister next week. The endorsement is overwhelming in the way a unanimous vote for “let’s just order pizza” is overwhelming—nobody disagrees because nobody cares enough to object.
What explains 349 MPs suddenly rallying behind a man whose defining characteristic appears to be “exists”? Boredom. Pure, institutional, soul-crushing boredom. Parliament has spent eighteen months in various states of chaos, and MPs have concluded that the optimal leadership style is one that requires minimal drama. Burnham delivers this. He is functionally inert in a way that suggests he will show up to meetings and not accidentally declare war on Portugal.
The endorsement is not an expression of confidence in Burnham’s vision. It is a collective sigh. It is 349 people saying “fine, you.” It is the political equivalent of a roommate agreeing to split rent with whoever answers the Craigslist ad first, as long as they have a job and don’t set fires.
Nobody has accused the Labour Party of vision. They have simply accepted that Burnham will sit in the chair, attend the dinners, and sign the things that need signing. His campaign slogan might as well be “I Will Not Embarrass You (Probably).” It would poll well.