Lee Cohen

I was just waking up last Friday when I heard the news of Ann Widdecombe’s death. It was still very early here, and at first the story didn’t land properly. Days later, counter-terrorism police said they believed it was a targeted attack. That part is particularly haunting. Widdecombe’s kind of redoubtable consistency – the instinctive mix of tradition, order and plain speaking is what marks the best of British conservatism Here in America, while not a household name, Ann Widdecombe was not completely obscure. Not because she spent much time courting American audiences, but because she focused on things that hit close to home for those of us engaged in defending western civilisation. She talked about national sovereignty as if it was still a normal thing to defend.

The King’s address to Congress was a rare and authoritative statement of national and international interest, delivered from a position no elected politician can claim. Before a joint session marking the 250th anniversary of American independence, the monarch spoke of an alliance forged in disagreement – yet repeatedly renewed by deeper common ground. He recalled the shared democratic, legal and social traditions that have pulled Britain and the United States back together after even the sharpest ruptures. He spoke of defense and intelligence ties measured not in years but in decades, invoked the Royal Navy service of his own past, and named the live tests now facing both nations: Ukraine, the Middle East, NATO and the AUKUS pact.

There are many things Americans admire about Britain – Shakespeare, Churchill and parliamentary democracy (on a good day). Above all, we admire the monarchy: that ancient, faintly miraculous institution which maintains its dignity even as the rest of the West dissolves into hashtag-fueled hysteria. What we do not admire, however, is being used as a backdrop for Prince Harry’s increasingly frantic attempts to remain relevant. No, I do not actually wish for President Trump to deport Harry to the Tower of London – although the image is, I confess, delicious, and might conceivably enjoy rare cross-party support on both sides of the Atlantic.

The King acted with decisive authority to strip his brother, Andrew, of his Royal title and evict him from his Windsor mansion. The former Duke of York is now known as Andrew Mountbatten Windsor, and he must vacate Royal Lodge for private accommodation at Sandringham. No formal Letters Patent were issued, nor was parliamentary legislation required; the King’s prerogative sufficed. The action, though severe, reflects a man whose associations – never proven criminal – had become untenable for an institution whose legitimacy rests on public trust. Andrew Windsor’s punishment was just and proportionate. The Sussexes’ case is more complex Yet another challenge persists: the conduct of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

Britain once prided itself on being different from France, Belgium and Germany, where Jewish blood was repeatedly spilled on European streets. Now the same contagion has arrived in your green-but-less-pleasant-land. Britain was never free of prejudice, but unlike Europe, its anti-Semitism never captured a major party or defined the state – until our times. The Manchester attack was not merely an assault on Jews. It was an assault on Britain’s soul I write as an American of Jewish heritage, and a lifelong champion of Britain – the nation that turned liberty into law, and faith into citizenship. I write to offer a warning to Britain’s Jewish community: Don’t flee your homeland, once the envy of the world. Stay and fight.

For much of my career, beginning as a foreign policy adviser to the United States Congress, I have proudly stood as one of America’s strongest advocates for Britain. I have defended her history, her institutions and her role as the original home of liberty. I have championed the UK in forums throughout the US and in publications across the globe, reminding audiences that our shared values of liberty and democracy, bequeathed by our mother, England, form the bedrock of transatlantic strength. Today, for the first time, I find Britain indefensible. The affection and historical respect remains. The confidence is gone. For those of us who have long defended Britain, it is heartbreaking Britain now prosecutes her own citizens, not for violence or treason, but for words.

Jeffrey Epstein’s ghost, a specter of elite scandal, continues to haunt both the American presidency and British monarchy. Donald Trump, embodying the presidency’s assertive role, and Prince Andrew, entangled by Epstein ties, face persistent scrutiny. Court documents from Virginia Roberts Giuffre’s 2015 lawsuit against Ghislaine Maxwell, unsealed in 2024, name both amongst Epstein’s associates, fuelling public demands for clarity. A 2025 poll shows 58 percent of Americans follow the saga, with bipartisan calls for document releases reflecting a quest for justice. Trump’s confrontational playbook and the monarchy’s reserved silence, though starkly different, are each tailored to their institutional contexts, proving appropriate despite Epstein’s lingering shadow.

When Elon Musk tweeted his vision for an ‘America Party’, he ignited a firestorm of hope and scepticism. The idea was inspired by his anger for Donald Trump’s $5 trillion spending bill. In the UK, Ben Habib and Rupert Lowe, formerly figures in Reform, have splintered away from Britain’s populist party over splits with Nigel Farage. Musk, Habib and Lowe are all disruptors united by disdain for broken systems, and all face harsh electoral realities. In the US, a hypothetical Musk-led party could split the Republican vote, potentially handing Democrats victories. Habib and Lowe could dilute the populist vote in the UK, most of which is currently with Reform. Musk’s flirtation with a new political movement stems from his clash with Trump over fiscal policy.

Prince Harry’s clandestine dash to Ukraine this week, trailing last year’s faux royal tours to Colombia and Nigeria, lays bare a brazen hypocrisy. He bangs on about the UK being too perilous for his family, waging legal crusades over security provisions, yet here he is, swanning into war zones and countries with travel warnings, trading on his fading royal luster to clutch at relevance – all while dodging the duties he willingly jettisoned. Bereft of official standing in America or Britain, his quest to play maverick royal smacks of pantomime, one that jeers at his claims of craving a secluded, secure existence. Take his Ukraine jaunt to Lviv’s Superhumans Center, where he mingled with wounded soldiers and civilians.

Imagine Prince Harry and Meghan Markle perched in their Montecito mansion, glowering at Donald Trump’s brazen, rebooted America. They’re not fleeing yet, but as progressive celebrities ditch Hollywood’s hills – Rosie O’Donnell settling in Ireland, Ellen DeGeneres nesting in Britain – might the Sussexes trail behind? We Yanks would rejoice. The spotlight sharpened last week when Harry’s US visa records hit the headlines on March 18, courtesy of a laudable Heritage Foundation lawsuit. The group probed whether Harry glossed over the drug escapades he bragged about in his memoir Spare – cocaine, cannabis, psychedelics – to clinch his visa.

Donald Trump’s campaign manager Chris LaCivita hardly minced his words on hearing that Peter Mandelson had been appointed as the British ambassador to the United States. Mandelson is an ‘absolute moron’, he said. While one might have chosen an alternative rhetorical style, there is no denying that Mandelson’s appointment at this particular moment in history is deeply problematic – it is emblematic of an out-of-touch Labour party incapable of deviating from the ideological misfortunes that have made it unpopular in such short order. The Starmer government’s decision to send this Blair disciple to Washington is extraordinary, at a time when a Trump administration poised for lift off.