Editor’s Note: This piece is brought to you by John McCabe. He is a recent Master’s graduate from the University of St Andrews in International Relations having written his dissertation “British Engagement in the Indo-Pacific: Substantial or Superficial”. Be sure to follow his work here.
In 2016, 52% of the United Kingdom’s population voted to leave the European Union. Nearly ten years later, we’ve been bombarded by new challenges such as COVID, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and an increasingly antagonistic version of international relations. For a while, it seemed as though the UK had squandered what little had left to contribute to, and receive from, the new global order. Yet, in recent weeks and even years, Britain’s demonstration of leadership aiding Ukraine—the diplomatic flurry following Trump’s inauguration in particular—suggests we have gained something from Brexit. The state appears to be reaping the dividends of sovereignty, enabling it to exercise flexibility and decisiveness in crises.
Brexit was more than an economic separation—it was a cultural separation. The British public decided in 2016 that we were not quite as European as the rest, and we had our history to prove it. The Empire was far-reaching and derived profit and power from a base entirely outside continental Europe, such was our maritime dominance. The geography always mattered but it is wondrous what a small body of water enabled, physically, but really mentally. One tussle led to another, and though we emerged victorious from two world wars, it became clear that the country had entered a period of relative decline, marked by diminished moral legitimacy and political capacity for empire. It would be a common sense thing to say that an island containing just shy of 1% of the world’s population would not be its master for long. Nevertheless, the ambition remained.
We ejected our nation into the anarchic arena under a new handle, ‘Global Britain’. This entailed, above all, the highly vaunted Indo-Pacific tilt. We were supposed to have, with this manoeuvre, returned prestige to the country, demonstrating how bold and dynamic we were to sector our national interest to the other side of the planet. There have been fruits borne of this endeavour—CPTPP accession and to some causal extent GCAP and AUKUS—but more backtrack than bananas. To the defence of the Conservatives’ bluster, the European security situation has deteriorated far beyond what anyone expected. The reality is that the UK does not have the means to fully secure the home theatre, let alone any other. More importantly, there is a lesson to be learned that purpose is not proclaimed.
But made. Our policies concerning Europe have resembled something closer to Global Britain than the Indo-Pacific tilt ever did. It became clearer in the aftermath of the Russian invasion of Ukraine that the UK was more committed to defending the free world than many of its counterparts on the continent. Financial and military aid has not been sent just faster, but with greater proactivity too. This is not an easy thing for states to do, which is to find consensus and act decisively in an unprecedented and potentially escalatory manner for (mostly) selfless reasons. Germany classically contrasts and emphasises Britain’s brave inclination with its feet-dragging broaching lethal aid for Ukraine. The well-remembered provision of helmets in the opening weeks of the war was widely regarded as a timid overture to European interests. On the other hand, the UK had at the same time sent NLAW anti-tank missiles—exactly what was needed against the prolific Russian armour. This niche even topped the contemporary American contribution, which was a bit slower to arrive. British initiative expressed itself on a continuing basis as the war escalated, notably, with the delivery of Challenger 2 tanks and Storm Shadow long-range cruise missiles. And in crucial ways, the role could not have been filled from within the EU.
The Brexit campaign successfully sold the public on the promise of sovereignty—that the UK would be able to decide matters for itself and “take back control”. Regardless of the real validity of the claim, this ambition materialised incredibly positively for the defense of Europe. Brexit did enable an independent, consolidated foreign policy. This meant that its alignment was not subject to EU interests, and the UK did not have to balance or even consider them before acting. Military aid, for instance, was not watered down or delayed as would have been the case were the UK forced to manage its obligation to fragmented European consensus and decision-making processes. In the economic vein too, it acted faster and without compromise at every turn. While the EU still debated, the UK had passed measures to sanction Russian interests even before the invasion commenced. Later, the UK more quickly banned Russian ships from its ports, cut off Russian coal and oil imports, and froze major Russian assets.
There’s an obvious bravado associating these policies, especially considering the UK has dropped more than one weight class since its heyday. Russia remains the largest country on Earth and with no less gall than during the Cold War. Its invasion of Ukraine finds no comparison in modern European conflict. What is remarkable is that while Russia is tearing down established norms with its aggression, the UK is also upending norms in its efforts to combat it. In this respect, you could call the UK a ‘norm-setter’; a state legitimising the extraordinary. It has exhibited the relevant characteristics throughout the crisis. Theoretically, this is an extension of soft power: the ability of a state to influence others through non-coercive means. Britain’s soft power has always complemented its hard power unusually well. However, the forceful facts of relative decline—such as austerity—leave a proportionately persuasive cocktail. Brexit only, arguably, strengthens it should the UK successfully mend the rift it created giving itself the opportunity to set norms as it has. Not coincidentally, norm-setting is also a hallmark of leadership.
Since Donald Trump’s inauguration, the US has retreated from its traditional position of leadership in Europe and assumed a conflictual and transactional, revisionist foreign policy. The whole debacle has left Europe in a state of fear and cold realisation of the fact that there is no backstop to its security. For Ukraine, especially, it seems to mean that it no longer possesses the competitive ability to wage war against Russia—Ukrainian arms and operational capacities are overwhelmingly American made. Enter: the United Kingdom. Right into the vacuum. The immediate substitution of threatened capabilities is out of the question; nevertheless, the UK is accumulating what’s being labeled “convening power” as all but its own bridges are stress-tested. Where it may convene, it can also attract, and to norms that prove fruitful for regional security. The ‘Coalition of the Willing’ is the most recent and promising product of a new European convention. Starmer has gathered strong commitments from “around 20” like-minded partners on this platform to, in some cases, deploy troops as part of a post-war peacekeeping force. A tentacle analogy comes to mind but there is nothing so disgusting about laying a new and secure path to peace, all while deftly courting the US on a more solid commitment itself.
The UK is one of the few states the Trump administration is avoiding antagonising, which did become apparent during his relatively well-behaved state visit. Whatever reasons Trump may have to that end are certainly reduced by the UK being outside the EU—the latter takes his expansive criticism on matters of values, unfair trading, and anti-American regulation. The critique is lacking foundation, yet the disposition is clear. The UK is closely avoiding a new trade war between the two, standing closer to an agreement instead, simply because Trump with all his authority has apparently no comparative distaste. US-EU relations are strained more broadly than economically though. The British have manoeuvred intensely to maintain the most basic American interest in Europe, which does have potentially dire implications for NATO and the future viability of a rules-based international order. It’s a sort of mediator role the UK has managed to assume between the two, only so well-fitting because Brexit has painted our picture separately from Europe’s—in an ontological sense, as well as one practical, we have declared a complicated relationship status with our very being in Europe. It is wondrous what a small body of water enables. Therefore, the UK is legitimately engaging both sides, not quite neutrally but at least independent of the US-EU schism. Brexit left us committed no sure way, so that we can align where and when it matters.
Interestingly, the US-Russia rapprochement has thrust the UK into the firing line. Russian officials correctly recognise the UK is “the driving force in the West when it came to galvanising opposition to Russia”—a compliment, to be sure. Brexit was a costly moment of doubt but the question of defeat was, is, left open-ended. The mounting crises call for the kind of character the UK has been left to express in the period following. Though our future capabilities may fall short, we have gathered a Coalition of the Willing to rely upon—if that were in any way providing the security Ukraine needs to be free and prosperous then Brexit will have surely delivered its first dividend.