4 hours ago
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There is truth to Donald Trump’s declaration earlier this week that the UK-US relationship is “not what it was”, although there is no indication that he understands the reasons for the change.
The US president is “very disappointed” that Sir Keir Starmer has been “uncooperative” in the war against Iran, offering only limited logistical support to American forces. The prime minister’s concession that RAF resources can be involved in defensive operations does not compensate for the prior refusal to put Britain’s military assets at American disposal. It came too late for Mr Trump, whose irritation turned to culture-war jibes about “windmills” ruining British landscapes and a false claim about the prevalence of sharia courts.
Sir Keir is not the only European leader guilty of lèse-majesté. Pedro Sánchez, the Spanish prime minister, has been forthright in opposition to the Iran war. In response, Mr Trump threatened to cut off all trade, saying he no longer wanted “anything to do with Spain”.
Sir Keir is right to keep his distance from a military operation with no justification in law and incoherent objectives. But judicious caution doesn’t protect the UK from repercussions if Mr Trump’s irritation should mutate into a longer grudge.
There are important differences between the Spanish and British situations. As an EU member, Spain trades with the US as part of the European single market. Disagreements over Iran will further complicate relations between Washington and Brussels, but Mr Trump will not sever economic ties with the bloc just to spite Mr Sánchez. Post-Brexit Britain is more exposed to vindictive unilateral action. The president’s power to impose tariffs on a whim has been curtailed but certainly not ended by a recent supreme court judgment. Meanwhile, there are other areas of UK-US commerce – a multibillion-pound “tech prosperity deal” currently under negotiation, for example – where a souring of diplomatic relations could have swift economic consequences.
Then there is the problem of military dependency. All European Nato members have relied on US power to guarantee their security, but for Britain, the “special relationship” extended to a thorough enmeshing of systems. The technological infrastructure of UK national defence is wired to the Pentagon in ways that cannot simply be disregarded.
The contrast with France, whose security and defence capabilities have evolved out of Gaullist mistrust of America, is notable. Emmanuel Macron was an early advocate of “strategic autonomy” from Washington, before most continental leaders anticipated a crisis in transatlantic relations on the current scale. Earlier this week, the French president proposed extending his country’s nuclear deterrent to other European countries for the first time.
The asymmetry of military heft between the US military and every other Nato member’s forces remains the dominant material consideration in European security, but the diplomatic and political calculus is changing rapidly. In this context, Britain’s detachment from the European project looks increasingly misjudged and hazardous.
Sir Keir is rightly pursuing a policy of closer European cooperation in defence and security policy, but negotiations are moving slowly. Mr Trump’s erratic temperament and volatile actions make a compelling case for moving faster. The legacy of Brexit complicates the relationship with Europe, but it does not alter the strategic imperative of making common cause with continental allies.
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