Doug Stokes

The idea that the United States has been swindled by its Nato allies is not new. Robert Gates, in his valedictory address as secretary of defence in June 2011, warned bluntly that future American leaders might not consider the return on defence investment in Europe worthwhile. He spoke of a ‘two-tiered alliance… Between those willing and able to pay the price and bear the burdens of alliance commitments, and those who enjoy the benefits of Nato membership… but don’t want to share the risks and the costs.’ Gates was no populist. He was a career intelligence officer and establishment Republican, and his warning carried real weight precisely because it came from inside the institutional consensus rather than against it.

The question of whether America is fighting Israel’s war is perhaps the least interesting one. Strip away the noise, and a more consequential picture emerges. The United States has used overwhelming force to dismantle what had quietly become the most significant Chinese forward position outside East Asia. Over the past half-decade, Tehran transformed itself from a regional irritant into a structural component of Chinese strategic architecture. Roughly 90 per cent of Iran’s crude exports flowed to Chinese refineries operating beyond the reach of American sanctions enforcement. That revenue funded approximately a quarter of the Iranian state budget, including the military forces that Washington now considers a direct threat. China, for its part, was not being philanthropic.

The image of Nicolás Maduro in US custody has inevitably resurrected the ghosts of foreign policy past. For the reflexively cynical observer, the narrative writes itself: a Republican White House, a Latin American strongman, and the world’s largest proven oil reserves. As with Iraq in 2003, the slogan of American imperialism and its 'blood for oil' foreign policy circulated on social media before the dust had even settled over Caracas. 'The overnight strikes on Venezuela,' declared the Guardian, and Trump's neo-imperial 'declaration that the US would run the country and sell its oil, have driven another truck through international law and global norms'. This is a comfortable, nostalgic critique, harking back to the heady days of 2003. It is also dangerously wrong.

Donald Trump has this week shown that he cares more about economic interests over inherited commitments – even to allies. By contrast, Keir Starmer’s handling of the Chagos Islands dispute reveals an entirely different approach to power – prioritising diplomatic acclaim over strategic imperatives. His decision to cede sovereignty of the islands has been framed as a moral and reputational victory, despite deep concerns in Washington. While Trump’s instinct is to wield American leverage unapologetically, Starmer has sought to secure international approval at the expense of Britain’s strategic position.

Meghan Markle has reportedly backed calls to ‘decolonise the curriculum’. This campaign to promote ethnic minority thinkers in place of 'male, pale and stale' academics also has support from the Labour party. Angela Rayner, shadow education secretary, has said that 'like much of our establishment, our universities are too male, pale and stale and do not represent the communities that they serve or modern Britain'. If Labour comes to power, Rayner promised to use the Office For Students to change things. But this move to ‘decolonise the curriculum’ is in fact a big mistake. Firstly, the campaign conjures up images of dusty old men engaged in an unconscious conspiracy to ensure ‘non-western’ worldviews are stamped out.