They needed ordinary voters to support them, yet despised those same voters
A decade after Britain's referendum, journalist Morgan Jones has written a forensic account of the People's Vote campaign — the organised effort to force a second vote on Brexit — and finds a movement undone not by its opponents but by its own contradictions. The elite architects of the campaign, figures like Alastair Campbell and Peter Mandelson, were simultaneously dependent on and contemptuous of the ordinary voters they needed to persuade, a fatal tension no amount of celebrity endorsement or street theatre could resolve. Jones, herself a Remain voter, argues that Brexit was never merely a policy dispute but a genuine surge of popular will toward national self-determination — and that once such a thing is expressed, it cannot be argued or embarrassed out of existence.
- The People's Vote campaign launched in 2018 with formidable leadership and a clear demand — let the public vote again — but was immediately undermined by activists whose superhero costumes and dog-themed protests seemed designed to mock the very voters they needed to win over.
- Inside the movement, a corrosive contradiction festered: its elite backers regarded their own supporters with undisguised embarrassment, and the Leave-voting public with barely concealed contempt, even as they begged both groups for legitimacy.
- The campaign's internal chaos was vivid and human — chain-smoking staffers in Westminster pubs, operatives burning through hundreds of cigarettes on patches of fake grass, and senior figures fretting over unappreciative tweets — a portrait of a cause consuming itself.
- Despite the full weight of the cultural establishment, from David Attenborough to Gary Lineker, arrayed against Leave, the British public had already made a choice that no star-studded coalition could reverse.
- Ten years on, with a Starmer government quietly edging back toward Brussels, Jones's book lands as a warning: the Remainers never understood that they had lost not an argument, but a reckoning with popular sovereignty itself.
A decade after Britain voted to leave the European Union, journalist Morgan Jones has written a book that answers a lingering question: the campaign to overturn that decision was broken from the moment it began. No Second Chances examines the People's Vote movement — the organised effort by prominent Remainers to force a second referendum — and finds something its own leaders understood but could never solve. They were asking the British public to reverse its choice, while privately despising the very people they needed to persuade.
The movement's architects were formidable — Alastair Campbell, Andrew Adonis, Peter Mandelson — but they were joined by a younger cohort whose methods seemed designed to alienate rather than convince. Activists in superhero costumes crashed Brussels press conferences. Supporters released videos of posh Londoners singing "nothing compares to EU." There was a "Wooferendum" highlighting the plight of dogs unable to cross borders freely, with Campbell photographed backing the canine protest. Jones describes the movement's internal contradiction with surgical precision: the elite Remainers were simultaneously completely dependent on their base and deeply embarrassed by it.
The personalities involved often seemed unaware of how self-important they sounded. One former MEP apologised for being "querulous" after receiving unappreciative tweets. Another justified his commitment by explaining he had simply "done the maths." What united them all was a palpable disgust with the British voters who had dared to assert their political will — a disgust they somehow had to conceal while asking those same voters for a second chance.
Jones herself was a Remain voter, a Dublin-born journalist with left-wing credentials, but she was never persuaded by the second-referendum argument. Her forensic account reveals why the campaign failed: it never grasped that Brexit was not a policy dispute to be relitigated but a revolutionary surge of interest in national self-determination. The cultural establishment was almost entirely arrayed against Leave — David Attenborough, Gary Lineker, the full weight of credentialed opinion — and voters chose Leave anyway. No campaign, however well-resourced or emotionally invested, could make them unsay it.
Ten years later, the book arrives as a quietly Europhile government pursues reconnection with Brussels while avoiding the word Brexit altogether. Many Remainers have never let go of their dream. But Jones's account suggests they never learned the real lesson: the public had spoken, and the speaking itself was the point.
A decade after Britain voted to leave the European Union, journalist Morgan Jones has written a book that settles an old question: the campaign to overturn that decision was broken from the moment it began. No Second Chances examines the People's Vote movement—the organized effort by prominent Remainers to force a second referendum—and finds something the movement's own leaders understood but could never solve. They were asking the British public to reverse its choice, and they despised the very people they needed to persuade.
The movement's architects were formidable: Alastair Campbell, Andrew Adonis, Peter Mandelson. They launched People's Vote in early 2018 with a clear message—let voters decide again. But they were joined by a younger cohort of activists whose methods seemed designed to alienate rather than convince. Femi Oluwole, known online as simply "Femi," and Madeleina Kay, who styled herself "EU Supergirl," became the public face of the campaign. Kay made headlines by crashing a Brussels press conference in a superhero costume. Meanwhile, supporters released videos of posh Londoners singing "nothing compares to EU." There was a "Wooferendum" highlighting the plight of dogs unable to ski freely across borders. Alastair Campbell was photographed backing the canine protest, generating the inevitable headline about "doggy dossiers."
Jones describes the movement's internal contradiction with surgical precision. The elite Remainers were "simultaneously completely dependent on" their base "and deeply embarrassed by it." They needed ordinary voters to support a second referendum, yet they regarded those same voters with undisguised contempt. One former staffer tells Jones the movement's survival was "genuinely impressive" given that "it's f---ing mad." The tension was real. At the Grosvenor pub near Westminster, where much of the campaign's strategy unfolded, staffers chain-smoked through endless meetings. One operative reportedly went through 500 cigarettes on a patch of fake grass outside Millbank Tower.
The personalities involved often seemed unaware of how self-important they sounded. Brendan Donnelly, a former MEP, apologized to Jones for being "querulous" after receiving "unappreciative tweets" following what he considered "good tweets." Femi Oluwole explained his commitment to the cause by saying he "did the maths"—if the British Medical Association warned that a no-deal Brexit would devastate the NHS, then one person's sacrifice was justified. Hugo Dixon, a childhood friend of Boris Johnson and co-founder of People's Vote, embodied the Establishment pro-European to an almost cartoonish degree. Steve Bray camped permanently on Parliament Square, blasting EU songs and shouting "stop Brexit." His second-in-command once showed up with his hair tied back with a yellow scrunchie. Jones notes, with evident amusement, that "hardcore Remain puppetry seems to be a bit of a thing."
What united these campaigners was a palpable disgust with the British voters who had dared to assert their political will. Yet they had to sell those same voters on the idea that a re-run was necessary. The movement was driven by emotion and ego in ways that far exceeded anything Jones observed on the Leave side. It was, she suggests, fundamentally about class—a wealthy, educated elite unable to accept that ordinary people had rejected their vision.
Jones herself was a Remain voter, a Dublin-born journalist with left-wing credentials. But she was never convinced by the second-referendum argument. She makes this clear early: "If you're of the second-vote persuasion, you may disagree with me, perhaps violently, but tough. It's my book." Her forensic examination of the campaign reveals why it failed. The People's Vote movement never understood that Brexit represented something larger than a policy dispute. It was, as Jones argues, a revolutionary surge of interest in national self-determination. Once that genie escaped the bottle, no amount of celebrity endorsements or dog-themed protests could put it back. David Attenborough and Gary Lineker backed Remain. The cultural establishment was almost entirely arrayed against Leave. Yet voters chose Leave anyway—an act of genuine defiance against the credentialed classes.
Ten years later, the book arrives as Sir Keir Starmer's government, full of politicians uncomfortable even saying the word Brexit, quietly pursues reconnection with the European Union. Many Remainers have refused to let go of their dream. But Jones's account suggests they never grasped the real lesson: the British public had spoken, and no campaign—however well-resourced, however star-studded, however emotionally invested—could make them unsay it.
Notable Quotes
They had a tortured relationship with their base, simultaneously completely dependent on it and deeply embarrassed by it— Morgan Jones, No Second Chances
If you're of the second-vote persuasion, you may disagree with me, perhaps violently, but tough. It's my book— Morgan Jones, introduction to No Second Chances
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does Jones think the People's Vote campaign was doomed? Was it just bad messaging?
It was deeper than that. The movement's leaders knew their own supporters were a liability. They needed ordinary voters to back a second referendum, but they looked down on those voters. That's not a messaging problem—that's a fundamental contradiction.
But they had celebrities, politicians, money. How could that not be enough?
Because Brexit wasn't really about trade policy or the customs union. It was about whether ordinary people had a say in their own country. The Remain campaign was asking voters to reverse a choice they'd made. No amount of Gary Lineker or dog protests could overcome that.
The book mentions that even Remain leaders understood they were doomed. So why did they keep going?
Jones doesn't fully answer that, but you can read between the lines. It was about ego, about refusing to accept defeat. These were powerful people used to getting their way. They couldn't let go.
What does Jones herself think about all this?
She was a Remain voter, but she never believed in a second referendum. She's sympathetic to the Remainers as people—she finds them funny, even touching sometimes—but she's clear-eyed about why they failed. They were asking the wrong question of the wrong people.
And now, a decade later?
The genie's still out of the bottle. The current government wants to reconnect with Europe quietly, but the public consciousness has shifted. That's what the book really shows—Brexit wasn't a blip. It was a permanent change in how people think about power.