In the aftermath of Donald Trump’s presidential inauguration — which was followed by his unprecedented flurry of executive orders — it is unlikely that he is giving much immediate thought to the United Kingdom. But if Sir Keir Starmer is wise, he will be closely considering what may become one of the greatest challenges of his premiership: how to navigate the personal and political relationship with the new and unpredictable incumbent in the White House.
It is difficult to think of two personalities that are less alike in style. Mr Trump favours the grand sweep of narrative over the fine detail of policy, and explicitly values “the art of the deal” over ethical or historical considerations. His first telephone conversation with a foreign leader upon his return to office was with Saudi Arabia’s Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, who promised to invest at least $600 billion in the US after Mr Trump floated the possibility of honouring the desert kingdom with his first trip abroad, as he did in 2017.
Sir Keir, in contrast, comes from a previous legal career which has trained him to be moderate in expression and precise in definition, with a natural suspicion of political showmanship, allied to an ingrained progressive world view. This approach poses particular difficulties in a fast-changing landscape increasingly dominated by the churn of accusation and rumour on social media. The fact that much of it — including highly personal, erroneous attacks on Sir Keir — is either generated or encouraged on X by Elon Musk, a close ally of Mr Trump, adds a freshly uncomfortable element to the dynamics of the UK-US “special relationship”. But it is a political reality with which the prime minister and his team must contend. Without becoming overly distracted, they will have to develop a more coherent, fleet-footed set of responses.
Yet this is not the first time that a US president and a British prime minister have proved awkward bedfellows. When Harold Wilson visited Washington in 1964, he was seeking a closer relationship with the US at a time of economic weakness. Lyndon Johnson tried to pressure Wilson into sending British combat troops to Vietnam, which Wilson resisted. In an era of greater public courtesy such fractious moments avoided excessive amplification. Links between the US and the UK have weathered many such private differences.
These links are forged from decades of close military and intelligence co-operation, and sit solidly below the fluctuating chatter over the state of the Trump-Starmer relationship, with its obsessive weighing of past snubs, present flattery and speculation over precisely what level of warmth was signified when Mr Trump offered the foreign secretary David Lammy a second helping of chicken at Trump Tower last September.
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The British government would do better to focus on bolstering its deeper strategic relationship, which is why its decision to cede sovereignty of the Chagos islands to Mauritius — opening up the possibility of China gaining a foothold in the region — was particularly foolish. Nor can it afford own goals like Labour’s decision to send staff to campaign for Kamala Harris. And the government will have to hope the president’s attention is not drawn to the many insulting tweets directed at him, not least from Mr Lammy among others.
There are, however, some reasons to be hopeful. The UK economy, with its emphasis on services, is less vulnerable to Mr Trump’s threat of tariffs than are those of other European countries. Where the US president does display sentimentality, it is reserved for British history and the royal family: a powerful draw. Diplomatic routes, where appropriate, should certainly be pursued with cool-headed persistence and guile. Yet the UK will best prosper if it also retains a strong sense of its own dignity. This is no petty country: the special relationship, such as it is, should cut both ways.