HMS Dragon being resupplied. Photo: UK MOD © Crown copyright 2026
Writing in the immediate aftermath of the US and Israeli strikes on Iran, I backed Sir Keir Starmer’s position on resisting immediate support for the operations. I did so for two reasons: firstly, there was no obvious strategy in place, and secondly, because I sensed that our ability to sustain any meaningful contribution was seriously compromised by a defence estate that has been hollowed out by 35 years of under-investment.
Credit to Starmer for keeping us out of a conflict that could - and still might - have serious economic and security consequences, especially while sections of the media and much of the political opposition were accusing him of cowardice and seriously damaging the “Special Relationship”. It’s worth re-examining that lazy cliche in the midst of the second Trump Presidency.
The phrase was popularised by Winston Churchill. In 1946, speaking in the famous ‘Sinews of Peace speech’ in Fulton, Missouri, he said:
“Neither the sure prevention of war, nor the continuous rise of world organisation will be gained without what I have called the fraternal association of the English-speaking peoples.”
He then explicitly referred to:
“the special relationship between the British Commonwealth and Empire and the United States.”
Churchill wasn’t inventing the relationship - he was attempting to formalise and preserve the wartime alliance that had emerged between Washington and London. The phrase stuck because it captured a reality that really did exist at that moment.
As a result of close allied co-operation, particularly between the UK and America during WWII, the burgeoning Cold War with Russia necessitated further alignment of military and intelligence resources, which persisted until the collapse of the Soviet Union
Britain became the only ally granted deep access to American nuclear weapons technology, formalised in the 1958 US-UK Mutual Defence Agreement.
The Five Eyes alliance (UK, US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand) became the most integrated intelligence network on the planet, with the UK–US core as the central axis. Britain became America’s primary strategic global security partner through the Korean War, the Cold War, NATO, and numerous intelligence operations. The benefits of this partnership allowed Britain to gain influence far beyond its economic power.
The relationship began to shift significantly from the late 1950s onward. The critical moment was the Suez Crisis (1956).
When Britain invaded Egypt with France and Israel, the US:
refused support
applied financial pressure
forced Britain to withdraw.
Suez demonstrated unmistakably that when British and American interests diverged, Washington would prevail.
From the 1960s onward, Britain increasingly depended on the US while the US depended much less on Britain. This asymmetry widened as Britain’s relative economic power declined, the empire dissolved, and American military dominance expanded.
All of which begs the question, why has the term endured half a century beyond its sell-by date? Three reasons:
1. Political convenience - British politicians use the phrase to suggest continued influence in Washington. It also flatters domestic audiences.
2. Cultural Affinity - The two nations share language, media, legal traditions, and deep financial integration, which keep the narrative alive.
3. Institutional Inertia - Defence and intelligence cooperation remains extremely deep. So while the power balance shifted, the machinery of cooperation remained.
All of these have now been brought into sharp relief by the actions of Donald Trump’s administration. It would be wrong to suggest the relationship is not still important - not least to Britain - but it is no longer unique in the way Churchill meant.
The US now prioritises the Indo-Pacific, strategic competition with China, and regional coalitions in Asia.
The US President has also signalled a new willingness to accommodate Vladimir Putin, a leader openly hostile to Britain and much of Europe.
Britain has value to the US, but is not indispensable.
In that respect, those who questioned Sir Keir Starmer’s reluctance to align immediately with US requests for use of military bases had a genuine concern that refusal might further diminish Britain’s perceived relevance to Washington. However, in my view, Starmer was right to consider the bigger picture of the potential harm to UK interests of being involved in a conflict with no real strategy, together with the economic and security implications such a conflict would pose.
The immediate backtracking of those more strident voices calling for immediate alignment of Britain with the US, once oil prices began to spike, is a strong signal of the realisation that the term “Special Relationship” is now obsolete, and the sooner we - by ‘we’, I mean politicians and the tabloids - can move on and start rebuilding our place in the world.
Which brings us on to Defence. That we appeared to have so few options when it came to military signalling in the region is, ironically, the best thing that could have happened to Britain’s defence estate for decades. Louder commentators than me have been arguing for many years that the peace dividend resulting from the end of the Cold War, which saw governments across the political divide divert defence spending to welfare, has done immense damage to our defence estate.
The defence budget halved from 4.1% in 1990 to 2%, with a corresponding reduction of personnel from 306,000 in 1990 to 148,000 in 2024.
It’s a similar story in asset terms, with around half as many surface ships over the same period and a third as many submarines. The RAF, too, has shrunk considerably, with around 20% of the combat aircraft numbers it had in 1990.
The justification often used is that Britain is part of an integrated defence system in NATO, so it’s not as simple as comparing numbers. While this may be true, the strategic wisdom of that is questionable, given how Western alliances are now being tested. To be clear, I’m not suggesting that we walk away from a relationship that has been the backbone of our security architecture for the past 75 years. Our defence systems are currently too integrated with the American military ecosystem for that to be practical.
I often see references on social media to American ‘kill switches’ that can disable allied equipment at will. The reality is more subtle, but no less significant. Many of Britain’s most advanced systems rely on American software updates, mission data, spare parts and specialist servicing. Aircraft such as the F-35 depend on US-controlled software ecosystems, while the Trident nuclear deterrent relies on missiles maintained and refurbished in the United States. None of this renders the relationship undesirable, but it does illustrate why excessive dependence on any single ally carries risks - particularly when political priorities can change rapidly.
There is also a strategic vulnerability argument. When large numbers of allied countries rely on the same weapons platforms, adversaries can concentrate their countermeasures against a single technological ecosystem. That is one reason why Europe is increasingly discussing sovereign defence industries, diversified platforms and greater strategic autonomy.
There is another important area that is often overlooked in this debate: the hollowing out of our defence infrastructure. Under numerous ‘reviews’, RAF stations and logistics depots were closed, naval dockyards reduced, and training areas sold. It wasn’t just the people displaced by these cuts, but also the loss of their experience and expertise.
One of the most telling images of the past two weeks is that of the British destroyer, HMS Dragon, sitting in port awaiting resupply after emerging from dry dock to be the only Royal Navy ship, at the time of writing, to be sent to the region. So thank you, Donald Trump, for a moment of supreme clarity.
The uncomfortable truth is now visible: Britain is in no position to enter a major conflict without extensive allied support - support that cannot automatically be assumed. Rebuilding credible military capability will take years and will require not only significantly higher defence spending, but a root-and-branch reform of the armed forces and the infrastructure that sustains them.
How this war ends remains uncertain. My own suspicion is that Trump will possibly quite soon declare victory and halt US strikes. The harder question is whether Israel would accept that off-ramp, and whether Iran would take it. Wars rarely end when politicians intend them to.
In any event, Sir Keir Starmer faces a difficult political challenge. Reinvesting in defence, as he knows Britain must, inevitably means confronting difficult fiscal choices at home, and we have already seen how fragile political consensus can be when the government attempts to restrain rising welfare costs. A poor result in the forthcoming May local elections could further weaken his authority inside the party - perhaps fatally - complicating the decisions that must now be taken.
Yet the lesson of the past weeks is unmistakable. Britain must take greater responsibility for its own security. Donald Trump may not have intended it, but his greatest gift to the UK may be clarity that the comforting fiction of the “Special Relationship” can no longer be a substitute for national capability.