My task was to do what Brits are traditionally bad at doing: to listen to what others think of us. Two dozen experts from around the world had gathered at a secluded venue outside London to ponder what the world wants from Britain.
The timing was hardly propitious, coinciding with the dying days of Liz Truss’s short-lived flirtation with power. But this was the task before them, as part of a Chatham House project I have been helping to set up: to cast forward to 2030 and imagine Britain’s role in the world. Where should the country be involved? What should it leave to others? What can it control, and what can it not control? What are its key assets? And crucially, how should it behave?
Why 2030? It is far enough in the future for a major shift in direction to be discerned. Yet it is not so far into the future to be purely theoretical. It is also based on the political calendar: by that point the next government will have served a full five-year term and will have had the chance to leave its mark—Labour under Keir Starmer or the Conservatives under Rishi Sunak (if he transforms his party’s poll ratings, an unlikely prospect). This timeline, of course, assumes a stability and predictability somewhat lacking in recent years.
Britain, to put it mildly, has had a bad rap. Truss and Boris Johnson have been the butt of comedy shows. Diplomats around the world have turned into reputational firefighters. Foreign governments have given Sunak a cautious welcome, but expectations are low.
The participants at our conference—former government ministers from Latin America, Hong Kong dissidents, Europeans of various stripes, an Indian banker, younger contributors from Jamaica, Saudi Arabia and the US—were asked to raise their sights beyond the tribulations of now: to imagine a Britain with fewer psychodramas, a prime minister who was competent rather than cavalier, a government that abided by international law and its own. To imagine a time when the British brand was not being trashed.
Of course, the government has engaged in some strategic thinking of its own. Even in recent times, there has been much good work done by good officials, trying to provide a guidebook for ministers to deal with global threats whose scale and frequency appears to be ever increasing: Russian aggression, the rise of China, nuclear proliferation, disinformation, the climate emergency, migration and the next pandemic. Great power rivalry is making problem-solving all the harder. But it is vital that we try, and in that spirit we asked: where does Britain sit in the world and where can it go next?
Every five years or so, the UK government sets out its strategy for foreign policy, security and defence. The end product is invariably a mix of priorities, resource management and futurology. The last Integrated Review was published in March 2021, a document with no little foresight (the acute threat it predicted from Russia was prescient), marred somewhat by the very British trait of hubris, with much talk of how “Global Britain” can secure its status as a science “superpower” and be truly “world-leading”.
British diplomats around the world have turned into reputational firefighters
The government is now in the midst of a “refresh” to the document. It has held a small number of sessions with outside experts to contribute their thoughts. (The one I attended happened to be on the afternoon when Truss tendered her resignation). A foreign policy update is unusual, but to give the government the benefit of the doubt, circumstances have dramatically changed. The officials must ponder how to beef up policy on Russia, balance the need to be tough on China with economic mutual dependency, de-risk global supply chains and forge a new energy order.
For decades, British politicians and much of the media have exulted in self-delusion. The two most prominent prime ministers of the past 40 years defied gravity, with some success. Margaret Thatcher’s closeness to Ronald Reagan strengthened the west’s role in helping to bring about the demise of communism. As for Tony Blair, I remember countless summits where leaders queued up to talk to him—at least in his early years before Iraq. His charisma and tenacity helped to deliver wide international support for George Bush’s invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. Gordon Brown’s time at the tail end of New Labour was forgettable, except for those dramatic days when he convened leaders of the G20 to stave off the collapse of the banks. It was a remarkable moment, an example of Britain’s latent convening powers.
Boris Johnson’s bumptious personality couldn’t mask the growing gulf between rhetoric and a more prosaic reality. Though, it must be said, his role in galvanising military support for Ukraine just before and immediately after Russia’s invasion was worthy of respect, even if his personal behaviour elsewhere made it harder for others to praise him.
Bashful only gets you so far in international affairs. What therefore is the right balance to strike? How can this country maximise its impact? David Miliband, the former foreign secretary, encapsulated it well during another Chatham House roundtable session. Britain, he said, must find a new way to engage that avoids both delusion and declinism.
There is some discussion among experts and behind the scenes about size. “Middle power”? Too Tolkien. The term doing the rounds is “medium power with global reach”. Descriptions such as these open up discussions around status which are not always productive. A more useful one may be “pivot state”: a country that has a certain limited global role but is particularly prominent in its region. It also invites the idea of agility and flexibility, something Brexiteers are fond of. Who else might be part of this club? Given that it is a theoretical concept, it is impossible to come up with a list that all would agree on, but think Australia, Canada, Japan, South Korea, Mexico, South Africa, Poland and France. It is hard to know where to put Germany or India. The days of Brazil being in the mix seem long gone.
James Cleverly, the current foreign secretary, alluded to the shift in priorities in a recent speech setting out the strategy of the (latest) government. The UK’s future influence, he said, would depend on “persuading and winning over a far broader array of countries”. Many of these “are old friends; others we know less well”. Britain, he said, is no longer interested in “dictating or telling others what they should do”: instead it wants a long-term, balanced and mutually beneficial relationship with its partners, “based on shared interests and common principles.” He dubbed this “patient diplomacy”.
A fascinating example is Turkey, which has assumed an outsized role across the Middle East and into Russia and Ukraine. Recep Tayyip Erdoan’s democratic credentials leave much to be desired and the economy is ailing, but, to use a phrase once beloved of British politicians, in foreign policy his country is punching above its weight. The November agreement to resume grain shipments out of Ukraine through the Black Sea corridor was brokered by the United Nations, with Turkey a crucial player. If Turkey has a major role in Latin America, sub-Saharan Africa or east Asia, I may have missed it. But in its own backyard (liberally interpreted) it has serious clout. Are semi-authoritarian states stealing a march on democracies?
Ukraine has sharpened thinking. Britain, in the words of one Nordic diplomat, “is in a league of its own” when it comes to northern European security. Its role, they added, was “more relevant than ever” even after Brexit, in an area stretching from Norway through to Estonia’s border with Russia, and southwards into Poland and parts of central Europe. The Joint Expeditionary Force between the UK, the Netherlands and the Nordic and Baltic states, launched in 2015, is seen as a success.
Yet among all but the most hardened of Brexiteers, the conclusion is dawning that Britain will struggle to wield wider influence until relations with the European Union are improved. This message is coming loud and clear from the Biden White House, where they are furious at the cavalier approach the UK government has taken to Northern Ireland and the Good Friday agreement. Disaster she may have been, but one moment in the Truss “mini era” has been underappreciated: her decision in October to attend the first meeting of the European Political Community, the new initiative spearheaded by Emmanuel Macron.
In Prague, Truss gathered with leaders from all 27 EU member states and 17 others—from Turkey and Norway to minnows like Albania and Lichtenstein—to “foster political dialogue and co-operation to address issues of common interest” and “strengthen the security, stability and prosperity of the European continent”. All suitably vague. Yet the fact she went was nothing short of remarkable. After all, it was the brainchild of a man she thought could yet prove to be a foe.
This has opened the door for a more structured rapprochement. The starting point is sorting the Northern Ireland protocol. While Sunak felt obliged to promise the most hardline elements of the right-wing European Research Group that he would take a “very robust line”, the mood is starting to soften—even among Brexiteers. With the economy in dire straits, some of them may finally be accepting, if not yet publicly admitting, that the exotic dream on which their adventure was based—their Singapore-on-Thames fantasy—has turned into a nightmare.
Securing trade deals has been far harder than they ever imagined. The most important—with the US—has been put on perpetual hold. Joining the 11-nation Comprehensive and Progressive Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP) is unlikely to add much, especially as our trading relationships with countries such as Singapore, Australia and Japan are already covered by bilateral accords. The government’s own figures suggest the potential boost to GDP could be less than a tenth of 1 per cent. Deals such as these, many of which have been roll-overs from the UK’s time in the EU, are more a demonstration of alliance-building than harbingers of economic transformation.
All this brings into focus the question of priorities. Does Britain want to be a big player regionally (Europe, or rather northern Europe), or does it believe it can still hold sway in all six continents? Cleverly and Truss insist it can, as have all their predecessors. Is any of this sustainable? Or to put it more bluntly: can you have a global foreign and security policy based on a sickly economy? Already the pledge to increase defence spending to 3 per cent of GDP is looking shaky.
As attention has turned to an increasingly belligerent China, it has become de rigueur to talk of an Indo-Pacific tilt. Just over a year ago, the US, Australia and the UK announced a trilateral partnership on defence technology, with nuclear-powered submarines as its centrepiece. The deal also provides a mechanism for joint investment in science and technology, including artificial intelligence and quantum. There are discussions about extending this arrangement to other countries such as Japan.
In 2020, the head of MI5 likened the Russian security threat to bad weather (disruptive but it eventually passes), whereas China, he said, posed a longer-term challenge more akin to climate change. The formulation, made before Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, is based on the assumption that the Chinese model is a systemic rival to the west’s. Russia, however grotesque the recent invasion, is little more than a kleptocracy.
Can you have a global foreign and security policy based on a sickly economy?
A number of other western countries are publishing their own strategic reviews. They are all hardening language on China, by different degrees, partly depending on their levels of economic exposure. The recent US National Security Strategy declared that the 2020s are the “decisive decade” in the competition with China and for stabilising the liberal international order.
Who will Britain be able to rely upon from now to 2030? The Five Eyes intelligence-sharing arrangement with the US, Australia, New Zealand and Canada appears robust. Western cohesion on Putin has been remarkably firm (time will tell whether it continues to be so).
The optimists’ take is that Britain is well placed to take advantage of the fact that—with some exceptions—geographical barriers generally are breaking down over time. Just as Australia helps to arm Ukraine, so Britain pledges to play its part far from its own shores too, reinforcing alliances in Asia and elsewhere. But was the deployment in 2021 of the new aircraft carrier HMS Elizabeth in the Indo-Pacific anything more than performative? What about long-term strategy? I am told that in his first visit in post to east Asia, Cleverly was struck by criticism of British inconsistency towards China. One minute George Osborne is rolling out the red carpet, ushering in a “golden era”; the next Truss is reportedly preparing to label the country an “acute threat”. That hardly had the Chinese quaking in their boots.
Elsewhere, much of the Brexit Global Britain dream was based on deeper relationships with the Commonwealth. Member states’ own strategic considerations were getting in the way of that even before the death of the Queen.
On 2nd March, the UN General Assembly resolution condemning Russia for the invasion received five votes against and 35 abstentions. The abstainers included three of the most important Commonwealth states—India, Pakistan and South Africa. Was this a failure of British and western diplomacy? Or is there a non-alignment movement hardwired to respond in whichever way it sees fit? The answer is a bit of the former, and a lot of the latter, which poses a longer-term challenge.
It is hardly surprising that when the UK comes knocking—telling Commonwealth partners to fight the good fight for democracy against authoritarianism—it struggles to get a hearing.
Geostrategic fragility is being weaponised. The fact that the west behaved lamentably during the Covid crisis, failing to raise adequate funding for the Covax facility for equal vaccine access, while its firms refused to share vaccine technologies, has played into China’s hands—notwithstanding Beijing’s own Covid crisis. Britain’s belligerent and incompetent handling of migration, reducing the problem to an “invasion” by an armada of dinghies, has enraged countries as disparate as India and Albania. The cut in the UK’s international development budget, from 0.7 to 0.5 per cent of gross national income, and the way it was done—including stopping financing for projects already underway—has further harmed the country’s credibility. This inevitably affects our ability to rally international support.
Looking ahead, most of the assumptions on which foreign policy is based are likely to be tested by events. The EU will change fundamentally; if Ukraine does eventually join, its axis will shift. Russia, with or without Putin, will remain a danger. As for China, the “swing states” that it frequently woos are just that. They will not align with either bloc; they will make judgements on the basis of realpolitik.
Yet all is not lost. In a world of greater unpredictably that is based more on flexible alliances, Britain can recover its reputation. To do so it needs to be brave enough to look itself in the mirror and show greater self-awareness.
While the post-1945 institutions are either weak or deadlocked, for historical reasons Britain remains at the heart of them, and this must provide an advantage. All is not lost with the Commonwealth, as long as it changes. The Queen’s brand was far, far bigger than that of the country she ruled over. She inadvertently lent credence to a sense of British, or English, exceptionalism, which is now the source of fury and mockery among the nation’s former dominions. A number of Commonwealth countries may observe a decent pause and then choose a head of state of their own. But they may not leave the Commonwealth itself, if they believe the group continues to serve their needs.
In a world of greater unpredictably and flexible alliances, Britain can recover its reputation
One of the most intriguing suggestions made during our strategy event concerned the business case for an official government apology for colonisation and slavery, delivered in parliament, just as the Australians have done for their indigenous peoples. There was little chance, I countered, that Starmer or Sunak would incur the wrath of right-wing newspapers by doing so. To which the response was: the economics might just force them to do it. Ultimately countries will do deals on trade, defence and diplomacy on the basis of present-day national interest; but the willingness of former colonial powers to come to terms with history also plays a not-insignificant role in the way they are seen as contemporary partners.
Sunak’s arrival at Number 10 reinforced a belief broadly (though by no means universally) shared that Britain “does diversity” better than others. Symbolism does matter, but more important will be how it copes both with asylum seekers (of which we ain’t seen nothing yet, as climate begins to make large parts of the Global South uninhabitable) and legal migration, both for students and to fill growing employment gaps.
What else? The UK could learn from the mistakes of the pandemic, drawing on its strength in medical research and pharmaceuticals, to build greater global health resilience. It has a role to play in global policymaking on data. It could recover its reputation for leadership on international development, not just by restoring the 0.7 per cent target but working more collegiately and consistently with partner countries. It could, instead of flip-flopping on climate, play a leading role in negotiating better climate finance for developing nations, drawing on the financial sector. As for the indulgence of oligarchs, on which much of the City of London’s wealth has hinged over the past three decades, lessons must be learnt. Does the UK believe it has no greater moral purpose than making and hoarding money for the super-rich?
Whenever Britain’s assets are listed, they invariably include “soft power”, a misnomer as there is much that is strategic and little that is soft about it. A number of recent government actions have undermined this key strength. The UK is hardly enhanced by its absence from the US-EU Trade and Technology Council, the Horizon research partnership or the Erasmus student exchange. The creative industries, which I used to lobby for, provide more than £100bn gross value added to the economy; the fishing industry is miniscule by comparison. And yet which of these became the leitmotif for “British values”? The consistent undermining of the BBC is not just cultural vandalism but strategic myopia. Where its international services withdraw, Chinese and Russian state TV fill the gap. As for the UK’s legal and university systems, they may have their flaws, but it is to them that other countries turn. These assets are enormously helped by the good fortune that English is the global lingua franca.
Policy, priorities, projection: if Britain modernised its behaviour, it could still play a significant role in this era of upheaval. In order to do so, it will have to start feeling comfortable with what it is: a postcolonial European nation. There is nothing ignoble in that, but it requires political honesty. As does a realistic appraisal of its economy and infrastructure. External credibility depends on internal competence—on immigration, skills, health provision, pollution, transport and other areas where Britain is currently struggling. Perhaps worst of all are regional imbalances, in terms of investment and growth, that are more acute now than they have been for decades, whatever the rhetoric around “levelling up”. All this, and the vexed question of the durability of the constitution: will the four nations hold together?
Remarkably, at our international gathering there was a curious optimism. Many spoke of a goodwill that has diminished but in no way died. When I asked our group what single role Britain could play at the end of the decade, one said it could yet be “the world’s preferred partner”; another: “the leading defender of democracy in the world”. The formulation that I found most beguiling—ambitious but potentially achievable—was this: “the world’s informer and educator, the world’s convenor, the champion for law and global order.” And what was needed to get there? The responses were almost unanimous: a reputation for reliability and trustworthiness, and to be more sober about what we can do, and what we can’t.
A shorter version of this article is published in Chatham House’s magazine “The World Today”
