In the high-octane world of Formula 1, where split-second decisions define legends, silence is often the safest policy for drivers when it comes to internal team politics. However, Max Verstappen, the reigning World Champion, has never been one to shy away from the truth. In a move that has sent shockwaves through the paddock, Verstappen has issued a measured yet scathing critique of Red Bull Racing’s handling of young talent Liam Lawson, exposing deep cracks in the team’s ruthless driver management strategy.

A Champion’s Defense: “Close to Bullying”

The controversy centers on the abrupt removal of Liam Lawson from the coveted Red Bull seat after just two race weekends in the 2025 season. Internally, the decision was justified by Lawson’s failure to escape Q1 in three qualifying attempts—a statistic that, on paper, looks damning. However, Verstappen has publicly shattered this narrative.

The Dutchman’s critique didn’t come in a fit of rage but through a calculated endorsement of a sentiment that many feared to voice. When former F1 driver Giedo van der Garde described Red Bull’s treatment of Lawson as “close to bullying,” Verstappen didn’t just stay silent—he liked the post. When pressed by the media in Japan, he didn’t backtrack. Instead, he doubled down, stating plainly that his social media activity “speaks for itself.”

For a driver of Verstappen’s stature to align himself with such a harsh criticism of his own employers is unprecedented. It signals a profound disagreement with the ethical and sporting fairness of the decision. Verstappen argues that dismissing a driver after two Grands Prix—especially in a car notoriously difficult to drive—crosses the line from performance management into reputation destruction.

The “Max-Centric” Car: A Trap for Teammates?

At the heart of Verstappen’s argument is a technical reality that Red Bull has long tried to downplay: the RB21 is not a neutral machine. It is a highly specialized weapon, evolved over years to suit Verstappen’s unique and extreme driving preferences.

Verstappen prefers a car with a sharp front end, one that can handle aggressive turn-ins even if the rear becomes unstable. It’s a setup that demands absolute confidence and allows him to extract maximum performance. However, for any other driver, this characteristic can feel like walking a tightrope. As Verstappen himself explained, teammates are often encouraged to “converge” towards his setup, a strategy that rarely works.

“Copying setups is not optimization; it is compromise,” implies the champion’s logic. By expecting Lawson to jump into a car tailored for Verstappen and perform immediately, Red Bull was setting him up for failure. The car’s operating window is razor-thin. Without the confidence that comes from a setup suited to their own style, drivers like Lawson—and his successor Yuki Tsunoda—are left fighting the car rather than racing the competition.

The Winter Testing Myth

Perhaps the most damning aspect of Verstappen’s critique is the highlight of a structural failure: the lack of preparation. Lawson wasn’t just thrown into the deep end; he was thrown in without a life vest. He lost the critical winter development cycle—the only time of year when a driver can meaningfully adapt a car to their style through simulator work and engineering feedback.

Lawson was effectively asked to learn the fundamentals of a complex machine in the middle of a competitive season, while his rivals were refining marginal gains. “Missing that phase meant Lawson was not developing performance but merely reacting to circumstances,” observers note. By cutting him loose before he could ever find his footing, Red Bull prioritized immediate, unrealistic results over long-term athlete development.

The Evidence: Lawson’s Redemption and Tsunoda’s Struggles

Verstappen’s defense of Lawson is further vindicated by what happened after the sacking. Red Bull replaced the New Zealander with Yuki Tsunoda, hoping for an instant fix. The result? Tsunoda finished hundreds of points behind Verstappen, unable to bridge the gap or solve the underlying issues with the second car. The “solution” was no solution at all.

Meanwhile, Lawson’s trajectory told a different story. Demoted back to Racing Bulls, he didn’t crumble. Instead, he stabilized, rebuilt his confidence, and delivered a career-best fifth-place finish in Azerbaijan—beating Tsunoda on merit. This resurgence serves as undeniable proof of Verstappen’s core point: Lawson wasn’t incapable; he was underprepared and unprotected.

Verstappen explicitly praised this recovery, noting the immense mental strength required to bounce back from such a public rejection. It wasn’t sympathy; it was “competitive logic.” A driver who can recover like that deserved more than two weekends to prove his worth at the top.

A Systemic Warning

This incident is more than just a personnel dispute; it is a stark warning about the fragility of careers in modern Formula 1. Verstappen’s intervention highlights a dangerous trend where teams demand instant conformity over adaptability. “Once a driver is labeled as having failed at a top team, that reputation often follows them regardless of context,” Verstappen warned.

By speaking out, Verstappen gains nothing personally. He is already the undisputed number one. Yet, his willingness to challenge the narrative exposes a flaw in the system that created him. He is reminding Red Bull—and the world—that even the best machinery needs the human element to be nurtured, not treated as a disposable component.

The “new evidence” isn’t just data; it’s the realization that Red Bull may have thrown away a future star in pursuit of short-term stability that never arrived. As Lawson rebuilds his career for 2026, the question remains: will Red Bull learn from the lesson their greatest driver just taught them?