The Guardian view on Labour’s semantic shift: it’s the party of work, not workers | Editorial

It is a principle long observed in British politics that the Labour party, when uncertain of its convictions and in search of a popular identity, will reassure itself that the answer lies in a new slogan. That it has chosen to declare itself the “party of work” rather than the “party of workers” is not, on the face of it, a significant semantic shift. But in politics, words matter. And this subtle rebranding effort says a lot – perhaps more than Labour intended – about where the party now stands in relation to class, social justice and its historical roots.

Labour was never merely a party that supported people in work. It was a party of workers – an important distinction. It was not just about wage labour as an abstract good but about those who perform it, their dignity, security and place in society. To be a party of workers was to recognise the structures that exploit them and seek redress. It is a position tied to broader ideals of equality, family life and community identity.

To be the party of work, on the other hand, is to endorse a different worldview: one where economic productivity is an end in itself, where a person’s worth is measured by their output, where those who cannot work – through disability, ill health or old age – are considered burdens rather than individuals with rights. This is the logic in which Labour now finds itself entangled, justifying benefit cuts as fiscal discipline and balancing the books on the backs of sick and disabled people.

This shift signals economic responsibility to business elites, justifies spending cuts as moral imperatives and reassures traditional supporters that the party still values “hard work” – but in a way that rewards business more than workers. It is a rebrand that offers a palatable message to those who own the means of production rather than those who work under them.

This new self-definition conveniently excludes many who once relied on Labour. The party leadership argues that it is reforming the state to broaden its appeal. If this alienates the base, it may backfire – Labour won more than six in seven constituencies in Britain’s poorest half. The Tories, meanwhile, have lost ground in more middle‑class areas, especially after Brexit, but that shift hasn’t been fully captured by either Labour or the Liberal Democrats.

Labour’s transformation can be seen as a quiet coup by the professional-managerial class who prize economic orthodoxy over radical redistribution. After all, they too are “working people” – albeit in the sense that corporate lawyers, tax auditors and City analysts are also workers. Rebadging itself as for “working people” allows Labour to prioritise a managerial elite while purporting to maintain class solidarity.

This shift echoes Thomas Piketty’s analysis of western democracy coalescing around a “brahmin left” and a “merchant right”, where both factions compete for the votes of a modern working class – restaurant staff, drivers and cleaners – whom they neither represent nor truly serve. Labour’s embrace of “work” rather than “workers” is a tacit admission of this: it has become a party that chases middle-class respectability while assuming that working-class voters will fall in line. The irony is that, in making this pivot, Labour risks alienating the people who once formed its bedrock. For all its efforts to appear fiscally responsible and electable, it may find that a party of work, rather than workers, is one that inspires very little passion at all.

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