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Information on the amount of money spent hiring social media influencers to promote their policies has been provided by some government departments – and you may want to know why they’re spending a million pounds on indoctrinating the young.
According to The Guardian, “More than half a million pounds has been spent since 2024 on using social media influencers to promote UK government campaigns on subjects ranging from the environment to welfare.
“The spending has included hiring 215 influencers since 2024, of which there were 126 in 2025 – an increase on the 89 hired in 2024 – and is seen as an attempt to use platforms such as TikTok to reach younger people.
“Among the branches of government that provided figures after a freedom of information request, the largest amount of spending was by the Department for Education, which spent £350,000 since 2024. It used 53 influencers this year, compared with 26 in the previous one.
“The Home Office, Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Defence, and the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) were among the departments using the most paid-for social media influencers to promote their work since 2024.
“The figures were released in response to requests under the Freedom of Information Act by a public relations agency, Tangerine, which said the government was scrambling for the attention of “young and apathetic voters”. Most departments refused to give information, citing “commercial reasons.”
“To critics the model is a way of avoiding serious scrutiny of controversial policy in favour of softball questions from interviewers with little grasp of crunchy technical details.”
This is not civic education in any meaningful sense.
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Civic education is pluralistic, contested and explanatory: it shows how decisions are made, what the arguments for and against are, and who is affected.
Instead Keir Starmer and his government are funding strategic political marketing, delivered through intermediaries whose credibility derives precisely from not being perceived as political actors.
That distinction matters.
When ministers appear before journalists, even hostile or limited ones, they face an expectation of challenge, contradiction and follow-up. Influencer-led communication removes that friction.
The content is curated, the framing is controlled, and the questions – if there are any – are negotiated in advance.
This is not brainwashing in the cartoon sense, but it is narrative management designed to bypass scrutiny while borrowing trust from figures who did not earn that trust through political expertise.
Calling it “engagement” stretches the word beyond usefulness.
It isn’t quite indoctrination either; the more accurate term is asymmetric persuasion.
Young or disengaged audiences are not being invited into a political conversation; they are being presented with pre-filtered interpretations of policy, delivered by people they already like, in environments optimised for emotional resonance rather than critical evaluation.
The power imbalance is structural: the government has money, data and message discipline; the audience has scroll fatigue and limited context.
That does not create informed participation. It creates impression formation.
The choice of influencers is also revealing. Most of those named are not apolitical lifestyle creators with mass reach among disengaged youth. They fall into three broad categories:
First, “explainers” and personal finance figures – people like Mr MoneyJar or Abi Foster – whose audiences are already at least semi-engaged and information-seeking.
These are not politically indifferent viewers stumbling into democracy; they are people who already care about money, policy or public services.
Second, issue-adjacent campaigners such as Mother Pukka, whose following is politically aware and demographically narrow.
Her audience is not disengaged; it is largely composed of socially liberal, policy-literate parents already inclined to scrutinise childcare and education.
Third, niche or professional influencers used for recruitment drives – prison officers, magistrates, defence roles.
That is advertising, not engagement, and it has nothing to do with democratic participation.
Notice who is not prominent: large-scale entertainment creators, gaming streamers, comedy skit accounts, or influencers whose audiences are genuinely detached from politics.
Either the government cannot reach them, or it knows that overt political messaging would provoke backlash and distrust.
That brings us to the most telling detail in the Guardian piece: most departments refused to disclose figures, citing “commercial reasons”.
If this were genuinely about democratic outreach, transparency would be a feature, not a liability.
The secrecy strongly suggests officials understand that paying influencers to carry government narratives is politically sensitive and has the potentional to be reputationally damaging if fully exposed.
So this is less about getting “young and apathetic voters” involved, and more about reshaping how politics is received, away from adversarial scrutiny and towards soft, personality-driven validation.
It is politics by vibe rather than argument.
The irony is that genuinely disengaged young people are often disengaged because they recognise marketing when they see it.
Using influencers risks deepening cynicism, not curing it – especially once audiences realise that the “authentic voice” they trusted was being paid to speak on the government’s behalf.
That may win a few favourable impressions in the short term.
It does not build democratic literacy, accountability or trust.
To read the full analysis, head over to The Whip Line.
A paid subscription unlocks all my analysis and helps keep independent UK political journalism going.
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Government use of ‘influencers’ is replacing informed scrutiny with political marketing
Share this post:
Information on the amount of money spent hiring social media influencers to promote their policies has been provided by some government departments – and you may want to know why they’re spending a million pounds on indoctrinating the young.
According to The Guardian, “More than half a million pounds has been spent since 2024 on using social media influencers to promote UK government campaigns on subjects ranging from the environment to welfare.
“The spending has included hiring 215 influencers since 2024, of which there were 126 in 2025 – an increase on the 89 hired in 2024 – and is seen as an attempt to use platforms such as TikTok to reach younger people.
“Among the branches of government that provided figures after a freedom of information request, the largest amount of spending was by the Department for Education, which spent £350,000 since 2024. It used 53 influencers this year, compared with 26 in the previous one.
“The Home Office, Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Defence, and the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) were among the departments using the most paid-for social media influencers to promote their work since 2024.
“The figures were released in response to requests under the Freedom of Information Act by a public relations agency, Tangerine, which said the government was scrambling for the attention of “young and apathetic voters”. Most departments refused to give information, citing “commercial reasons.”
“To critics the model is a way of avoiding serious scrutiny of controversial policy in favour of softball questions from interviewers with little grasp of crunchy technical details.”
This is not civic education in any meaningful sense.
Civic education is pluralistic, contested and explanatory: it shows how decisions are made, what the arguments for and against are, and who is affected.
Instead Keir Starmer and his government are funding strategic political marketing, delivered through intermediaries whose credibility derives precisely from not being perceived as political actors.
That distinction matters.
When ministers appear before journalists, even hostile or limited ones, they face an expectation of challenge, contradiction and follow-up. Influencer-led communication removes that friction.
The content is curated, the framing is controlled, and the questions – if there are any – are negotiated in advance.
This is not brainwashing in the cartoon sense, but it is narrative management designed to bypass scrutiny while borrowing trust from figures who did not earn that trust through political expertise.
Calling it “engagement” stretches the word beyond usefulness.
It isn’t quite indoctrination either; the more accurate term is asymmetric persuasion.
Young or disengaged audiences are not being invited into a political conversation; they are being presented with pre-filtered interpretations of policy, delivered by people they already like, in environments optimised for emotional resonance rather than critical evaluation.
The power imbalance is structural: the government has money, data and message discipline; the audience has scroll fatigue and limited context.
That does not create informed participation. It creates impression formation.
The choice of influencers is also revealing. Most of those named are not apolitical lifestyle creators with mass reach among disengaged youth. They fall into three broad categories:
First, “explainers” and personal finance figures – people like Mr MoneyJar or Abi Foster – whose audiences are already at least semi-engaged and information-seeking.
These are not politically indifferent viewers stumbling into democracy; they are people who already care about money, policy or public services.
Second, issue-adjacent campaigners such as Mother Pukka, whose following is politically aware and demographically narrow.
Her audience is not disengaged; it is largely composed of socially liberal, policy-literate parents already inclined to scrutinise childcare and education.
Third, niche or professional influencers used for recruitment drives – prison officers, magistrates, defence roles.
That is advertising, not engagement, and it has nothing to do with democratic participation.
Notice who is not prominent: large-scale entertainment creators, gaming streamers, comedy skit accounts, or influencers whose audiences are genuinely detached from politics.
Either the government cannot reach them, or it knows that overt political messaging would provoke backlash and distrust.
That brings us to the most telling detail in the Guardian piece: most departments refused to disclose figures, citing “commercial reasons”.
If this were genuinely about democratic outreach, transparency would be a feature, not a liability.
The secrecy strongly suggests officials understand that paying influencers to carry government narratives is politically sensitive and has the potentional to be reputationally damaging if fully exposed.
So this is less about getting “young and apathetic voters” involved, and more about reshaping how politics is received, away from adversarial scrutiny and towards soft, personality-driven validation.
It is politics by vibe rather than argument.
The irony is that genuinely disengaged young people are often disengaged because they recognise marketing when they see it.
Using influencers risks deepening cynicism, not curing it – especially once audiences realise that the “authentic voice” they trusted was being paid to speak on the government’s behalf.
That may win a few favourable impressions in the short term.
It does not build democratic literacy, accountability or trust.
To read the full analysis, head over to The Whip Line.
A paid subscription unlocks all my analysis and helps keep independent UK political journalism going.
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