America

Britain’s post colonial reckoning can be summed up in a single sentence delivered last June at the Glastonbury music festival when rapper duo Bob Vylan shouted “You want your country back? You’re not getting it back!” to an overwhelmingly white, middle-class audience roaring its approval. The message was unmistakable: Britain has been colonized – and its dominant culture not only accepts, but celebrates, it. Britain’s transformation has been driven not by invasion, but by invitation. The country’s population, political culture and national cohesion has been radically reshaped by immigration – one wave in the 1950s, driven by post-World War Two labor shortages, and another following Brexit.

In the United States, despite an attorney general who appears unclear on the concept, we enjoy the freest speech laws of anywhere in the world. Not so in the UK, where police casually drop by to harass citizens about their Internet activity. They visited the wrong cottage this summer, as we see in a video released this week by the UK’s “Free Speech Union”. The Thames Valley Police paid a visit to the home of “an American cancer patient and Trump supporter,” who wasn’t having it. “You can come in,” she said, “but you’d better have a damn good reason for being here.”They did not. “I’ll have Elon Musk on you so quick your feet won’t touch,” she said, in a statement that may have carried more weight in June than it does today.

From college campuses to the media, socialism is increasingly getting repackaged as a solution to every problem: homelessness, housing, policing and education. For a generation grappling with high rent, student debt and political distrust, the collectivist utopia may sound like the moral, modern choice. But it isn't – and this year’s Socialism 2025 conference in Chicago proved just why it is doomed to failure. The conference brought together scholars, activists and self-styled revolutionaries to sketch out what a “just” society might look like. The vision was as radical as it was impractical.

“I didn’t ask hard questions because I knew I wouldn’t get an honest answer,” said Tucker Carlson, our edgelord Barbara Walters, in the hype-video run-up to his dull interview with Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian. But he didn’t get any honest answers in the interview anyway, so why bother asking in the first place? Carlson doesn’t seem to grasp that America’s geopolitical opponents grant him special access precisely because he won’t ask the hard questions. Carlson’s interviews are valuable because they give us a glimpse into what it would be like if we had an actual state-run media. Our journalism has its ideological biases.

When the first shot rang out at dawn on Lexington Green, a decade of frustration and growing alienation between the American colonies and the British government boiled over into armed conflict. By the time the British staggered back into Boston on the evening of April 19, 1775, having fought a running battle for twenty-five miles from Concord’s North Bridge and losing at least 73 killed, the American Revolution had begun. Like many turning points in history, the encounter at Lexington Green was not planned. British troops acting on the orders of General Thomas Gage were on their way to capture arms and munitions stored by the Massachusetts militia when they ran into Lexington’s “Minutemen” drawn up on the Green.

A few years ago a Marine turned novelist, G. Michael Hopf, captured a classic truth in a pithy formula. Inspired by cyclical theories of history — in particular the generational “turnings” of William Strauss and Neil Howe — Hopf wrote in his novel Those Who Remain, “Hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, and weak men create hard times.” One need not put much stock in Strauss and Howe to appreciate the maxim. It could just as well be derived from Sallust or other classical sources. Or from Machiavelli: in his Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livy, the Florentine philosopher considers where best to build a city.