Keir Starmer was only the second European leader to visit Donald Trump’s second White House. The first, France’s Emmanuel Macron, had barely taken off when Starmer touched down, but had already raised the bar by behaving regally in front of the world’s media alongside his fellow president in the Oval Office.
In manner, Macron manifested his eight years in office (four of which were already spent with Trump in the White House). Starmer has had a mere eight months. But it was a challenge, judged in its own immediate terms, that the prime minister met.
Raising the curtain, in a highly untypical coup de théâtre, Starmer flourished – as few can – a letter from the King to give to the president, and then effectively forced Trump to read it on camera and agree to the invitation enclosed within.
Starmer of course knew he was nudging an open door: much came down to assiduous preparation. The British Embassy, under a finally confirmed ambassador Peter Mandelson, worked overtime to choreograph and lubricate.
Starmer had been wise in contradicting Trump only indirectly. Nothing could be gained – as president Zelenskyy already demonstrated – from doing so publicly. So early an offer of a state visit to the UK ran the risk of appearing desperate, but was mitigated by its also being “unprecedented” as the second to be offered to Trump. A word recently worn smooth by over-use, there was nevertheless another precedent set in the suggestion of a pre-state visit visit between Trump and the king. With this president, more than any other, royal diplomacy is a critical national asset.
Starmer’s announcement of an increase in defence spending to 2.5% of GDP by 2027 worked similarly well. That funds are to be diverted from foreign aid for that purpose the Labour leadership deemed as being politically cost-free – or at least good value – politically. It was, indeed, almost Trumpian. The relevant minister disagreed.
It is hard to recall greater shifts in a country’s foreign policy in so short a space of time. Insofar as one can discern Trump’s purposefulness, it is to create pandemonium, which has the secondary effect of galvanising actors to act – not least for fear of further pandemonium.
Thus last week the US voting with Russia, Iran and North Korea, and not with Britain, at the UN. The Trump administration’s designation of choice is now “the Russia-Ukraine conflict”, as if it were merely a border dispute.
Therefore, ahead of Starmer’s arrival in Washington, he was faced with the US apparently aligning itself with a country his describes as “the most acute threat” to the UK. “Jaw-dropping” was the adjective of choice for more than a few informed observers who had thought themselves prepared for whatever may transpire.
The actors Trump primarily wishes to galvanise are European leaders, recalcitrants he thinks should do more to keep their own peace. For Macron to have been told that Putin would accept Nato forces policing the peace was scene-changing, but the only witness to the veracity of that news was Trump, who exhales untruths as easily as he breathes. The Russians soon denied it.
Macron’s offer of France’s (non-Nato) airborne nuclear force complemented Starmer’s commitment to British boots on the ground and helped him elicit Trump’s commitment to mutual defence.
But Trump guaranteeing the peace that Starmer and Macron are willing to police was the cherry conspicuously missing from the cake. The suggestion was subject to a classic Trump equivocation (we’ll always support the Brits, but they won’t need our support).
For the British government, July’s election already resembles a hospital pass. The effect of 20% tariffs on GDP growth could be catastrophic. Trump’s talk of tariff-free trade deals was more than expected, but one such was offered last time without much being doing about, before it was cancelled by President Biden. This time, Trump has said his vice president is drawing up a plan, even that being absent before.
And in a categorical demonstration of the benefits of lobbying there was effective presidential approval of the Chagos islands deal, simultaneously shooting one of Conservative leader Kemi Badenoch’s few foxes stone dead.
Warm words
Thus has passed the most potentially difficult meeting of a prime minister and a president since Suez. Nothing else comes close. Cliche – eggshells, tightropes – proliferated in previews.
When Starmer was last at the White House, in September, he had asked Biden for a meeting about Ukraine and received it. However unsatisfactory the outcome, public face was maintained. Trump has the ability – and the form – to have humiliated in a way which would permanently have scarred Starmer. That he did the opposite ought not to distract from the vulnerability of the supplicant.
Instead there were encomia from Trump as to the two countries – “special relationship”, “unique friendship”, “fantastic country”, “I’ve always cared” – and of Starmer – “a special man”, “a very special person”. And in describing Starmer’s accent as “beautiful”, the president revealed the hitherto unknown allure of the adenoidal.
Power plays sit ill with Starmer, but he nonetheless ventured two corrections from his armchiar, one to a statement made by the president and another to one made by the vice-president. The subsequent praise for Starmer’s negotiating tenacity from Trump, that much-vaunted artist of the deal, was as priceless – and unfamiliar – as the following morning’s front pages.
However successful this visit, however, nothing can be assumed, still less guaranteed. That the British government would so extensively war-game a meeting with its closest ally tells its own tale, or, rather a tale perhaps yet to be told. At this moment, for the next four years the relationship at least feels more secure than it did a few days before the trip. By such diurnal turns are the affairs of allies now measured.
Martin Farr, Senior Lecturer in Contemporary British History, Newcastle University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
