Category: English

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Chloe Casey, Lecturer in Nutrition and Behaviour, Bournemouth University

People who don’t eat meat may be less likely than meat eaters to reach the age of 100, according to a recent study. But before you reconsider your plant-based diet, there’s more to these findings than meets the eye.

The research tracked over 5,000 Chinese adults aged 80 and older who participated in the Chinese Longitudinal Healthy Longevity Survey, a nationally representative study that began in 1998. By 2018, those following diets that don’t contain meat were less likely to become centenarians compared with meat eaters.

On the surface, this appears to contradict decades of research showing that plant-based diets are good for your health. Vegetarian diets, for example, have been consistently linked to lower risks of heart disease and stroke, type 2 diabetes and obesity. These benefits come partly from higher fibre intake and lower saturated fat consumption.

So what’s going on? Before drawing any firm conclusions, there are several important factors to consider.

Your body’s needs change as you age

This study focused on adults aged 80 and older, whose nutritional needs differ markedly from those of younger people. As we age, physiological changes alter both how much we eat and what nutrients we need. Energy expenditure drops, while muscle mass, bone density and appetite often decline. These shifts increase the risk of malnutrition and frailty.

Most evidence for the health benefits of diets that exclude meat comes from studies of younger adults rather than frail older populations. Some research suggests older non-meat eaters face a higher risk of fractures due to lower calcium and protein intake.

In later life, nutritional priorities shift. Rather than focusing on preventing long-term diseases, the goal becomes maintaining muscle mass, preventing weight loss and ensuring every mouthful delivers plenty of nutrients.

The study’s findings may, therefore, reflect the nutritional challenges of advanced age, rather than any inherent problems with plant-based diets. Crucially, this doesn’t diminish the well-established health benefits of these diets for younger and healthier adults.

Here’s a crucial detail: the lower likelihood of reaching 100 among non-meat eaters was only observed in underweight participants. No such association was found in older adults of healthy weight.

Being underweight in older age is already strongly linked with increased risks of frailty and death. Body weight therefore appears to be a key factor in explaining these findings.

It’s also worth remembering that this was an observational study, meaning it shows associations rather than cause and effect. Just because two things occur together doesn’t mean one causes the other.

The findings also align with the so-called “obesity paradox” in ageing, where a slightly higher body weight is often linked to better survival in later life.

Notably, the reduced likelihood of reaching 100 observed among non-meat eaters was not evident in those who included fish, dairy or eggs in their diets. These foods provide nutrients that are essential for maintaining muscle and bone health, including high-quality protein, vitamin B12, calcium and vitamin D.

Older adults following these diets were just as likely to live to 100 as meat eaters. The researchers suggested that including modest amounts of animal-source foods may help prevent undernutrition and loss of lean muscle mass in very old age, compared with strictly plant-based diets.

What this means for healthy ageing

Rather than focusing on whether one diet is universally better than another, the key message is that nutrition should be tailored to your stage of life. Energy needs decline with age (due to decreased resting energy expenditure), but some nutrient requirements increase.

Older adults still require adequate protein, vitamin B12, calcium and vitamin D – especially to preserve muscle mass and prevent frailty. In older adulthood, preventing malnutrition and weight loss often becomes more important than long-term chronic disease prevention.

Plant-based diets can still be healthy choices, but they may require careful planning and, in some cases, supplementation to ensure nutritional adequacy, particularly in later life.

The bottom line is that our nutritional needs at 90 may look very different from those at 50, and dietary advice should reflect these changes across the lifespan. What works for you now might need adjusting as you age – and that’s perfectly normal.

Chloe Casey does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Are meat eaters really more likely to live to 100 than non-meat eaters, as a recent study suggests? – https://theconversation.com/are-meat-eaters-really-more-likely-to-live-to-100-than-non-meat-eaters-as-a-recent-study-suggests-273861

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Stephen Clear, Lecturer in Constitutional and Administrative Law, and Public Procurement, Bangor University

For the past two years, the Welsh parliament – or Senedd – has been grappling with how to tackle deliberate lying by politicians and how to rebuild public trust in democracy.

There is broad agreement across parties in Wales that the current system offers few real consequences for dishonesty. As one Senedd member put it: “Lying flourishes in politics because we can get away with it”.

That frustration has now translated into legislative action. A bill that would make it illegal to make false or misleading statements during Welsh election campaigns has passed its first stage in the Senedd. But while the principle behind the law commands support, the detail – and the speed at which it is being pushed forward – has triggered growing unease.

The proposed ban will not be ready in time for the next Welsh election in May. Even if the legislation survives its remaining stages, it would not come into force until the 2030 election at the earliest. Ministers have suggested even that timetable may be optimistic.

This has led some Senedd members, including from the governing Labour party, to warn that Wales risks rushing through legislation that may feel symbolically satisfying but is legally flawed. One member cautioned against passing “bad law in a poor way” simply to “make people feel good about themselves”. Others have warned that the bill could unintentionally curtail free speech. If passed, Wales would become the first country in the world to ban political lying.

At the heart of the concern is this: how do you outlaw political lies without undermining democratic debate itself?

What does the bill actually do?

The bill follows recommendations made by the Senedd’s standards committee in February 2025. It called for practical reforms by 2026, alongside longer-term measures to deter deliberate deception by both Senedd members and election candidates.

Crucially, however, the bill does not introduce a general ban on lying by politicians once elected. Instead, it focuses narrowly on statements made during election campaigns. It also gives Welsh ministers the power to create a new criminal offence for false or misleading statements intended to influence election outcomes.

Some safeguards already exist. It is already illegal to make false statements about a candidate’s personal character or conduct during an election. The new proposal goes further. It potentially captures a much wider range of political speech, although exactly how wide remains unclear.

For conduct outside election periods, the committee recommended strengthening the existing system of investigation by the Senedd’s standards commissioner, rather than introducing criminal sanctions.

Why free speech is now the sticking point

The bill’s critics are not objecting to the aim of honesty in politics. Their concern is that the legislation, as currently drafted, does not define what counts as a “false or misleading” statement.

Without clear boundaries, some Senedd members fear politicians may simply choose not to speak – or avoid contentious issues altogether – rather than risk prosecution. This concern is especially acute in areas where evidence is evolving, statistics are contested, or political judgement is required.

Political debate often involves thinking on one’s feet, interpreting incomplete information, or presenting one side of a complex argument. These are not the same as deliberate lies. But critics argue that, without precision, the law could struggle to distinguish between intentional deception and legitimate disagreement.

The Senedd’s standards committee – which was asked by the Welsh government to examine the proposal – went further. It said it was “not convinced” that creating a new criminal offence would restore public trust, warning instead that “the risks and unintended consequences currently outweigh the benefits”.

Among those risks are the pressure already facing the justice system. There is also difficulty proving that a statement is objectively false and there are potential conflicts with freedom of expression.

Under article 10 of the European convention on human rights, people – including politicians – have a right to freedom of expression, particularly in political debate. While that right is not absolute, any restriction must be clearly defined, proportionate and necessary. The committee warned that a vaguely drafted offence targeting political speech could be vulnerable to legal challenge on these grounds.

Even those who support tougher standards in Welsh politics accept this tension. If politicians fear that honest mistakes, forceful opinions presented as fact or strategic campaign arguments could later be judged criminally false, debate itself may be cooled. This may weaken democracy rather than strengthening it.

Read more:
Wales is overhauling its democracy – here’s what’s changing

Supporters of legal enforcement argue that these risks can be managed, but only with a much tighter definition and stronger safeguards. They emphasise that any offence must target deliberate, factual deception intended to influence voters, not opinion, rhetoric or political forecasting.

Drawing that line is easier said than done, however. Would competing interpretations of economic data be criminalised? What about optimistic promises based on uncertain forecasts? If such speech were caught by the law, it could narrow the space for open political disagreement.

For that reason, some experts and policy groups have suggested alternative models. These include systems overseen by independent bodies rather than criminal courts, or sanctions focused on correction and transparency rather than punishment.

The challenge facing the Senedd is a delicate one. It must decide whether it can craft a law that is narrow enough to target intentional deception, robust enough to withstand legal scrutiny, and flexible enough to preserve the rough-and-tumble of democratic debate.

Whether that balance can be achieved – and whether the bill survives its next stages – will determine whether Wales becomes a pioneer in political honesty or a cautionary tale about legislating in haste.

Stephen Clear does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. One country is trying to outlaw political lying, without curbing free speech – https://theconversation.com/one-country-is-trying-to-outlaw-political-lying-without-curbing-free-speech-273526

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Katie Keddie, PhD Candidate, Urban Transformation, Environment and Society, University of Nottingham

Climate targets have long been treated as technical challenges, focused on infrastructure and behaviour change. Yet as climate movements show, people often need to connect emotionally to the facts in order to be compelled to act by them. Whether goals mobilise action or not depends on how they are felt and negotiated in everyday life.

Nottingham, a city in the East Midlands region of the UK, is one of the most deprived local authority areas in England. Yet the city aims to become the UK’s first carbon-neutral city by 2028 by prioritising social justice as well as environmental sustainability.

My PhD research is based on interviews and collaborative workshops with 50 residents, activists, businesses, third sector organisations and elected officials in Nottingham.

My findings highlight how four emotions frequently shape how people have engaged with action towards a sustainable future, be it through love for place, fear of loss or risk, anger at injustice or hope for something better. These emotional reactions reveal why transformation rarely follows neat plans or frameworks.

Many people in Nottingham are involved in climate action because they care deeply about where they live. Love for neighbourhoods, green spaces and future generations motivates people to grow food, protect parks and work together on local projects.

This kind of care helps turn climate change from a distant, abstract problem into something rooted in place and everyday life.

Love here is a verb. It is about taking action with characteristics of care, affection, responsibility, respect and commitment in service of the futures we want to see and the things we want to protect.

Yet love can also exclude. Strong attachments to place can lead to protection in ways that shut others out.

In community green spaces, for example, efforts to protect allotments have led to suspicion of newcomers and resistance to change, resulting in the exclusion of certain community members. Love can both support and complicate just, city-wide action.

Fear and anger

Fear shapes people’s responses too. Worry about rising bills, the knock-on effects of climate change and political instability pushed some people to act, while for others this fear is paralysing.

Activists spoke about burnout, personal risk due to increasingly draconian policing over activism, and feeling stretched too thin when involved in several projects. Fear shaped how people related in communal spaces.

Much like love, fear around “others”, ownership and control sometimes led to exclusion. These anxieties were often amplified by media narratives about threat and scarcity, making collaboration more difficult. Fear can motivate action but can also limit who is allowed or able to take part.

Read more:
Why anger, anxiety and anguish are understandable psychological reactions to the climate crisis

My conversations with people in the city show that anger is prevalent. Citizens expressed frustration with local decision-making, national policy failures and economic systems seen to prioritise profit over people and the environment, signalling important unmet justice claims.

This anger often became a catalyst for action. It fuelled campaigns, community organising and challenges to existing power structures. Yet, if ignored, anger can lead to disillusionment and disengagement.

Hope also plays an important part in transformation efforts in the city. However, citizens note an important distinction between hope and blind optimism. Their hope is often practical and grounded, helping people keep going despite slow progress and uncertainty.

Community gardens, food projects, DIY retrofitting and other local initiatives became places where people could see change taking shape, however small. Yet hope remains fragile – continued austerity, lack of long-term funding and institutional commitments that fail to deliver real change often undermined trust and can threaten hope.

These emotions do not operate in isolation or have fixed consequences. Love often coexists with fear. Anger can fuel hope. Together, they produce complex and non-linear pathways to change.

Nottingham’s experience shows that achieving carbon neutrality is not just about technology or targets. Its success depends on whether people feel included, heard and supported.

When emotions are ignored, climate policies risk becoming superficial or exclusionary. When they are taken seriously, transformation becomes more just and practical for the places in which it is occurring.

This can be achieved through participatory processes and co-production that make space for emotional expression, recognise the labour involved, and resist technocratic approaches that sideline people’s experiences. For Nottingham and other cities around the globe facing similar pressures, attending to how transformation is felt may matter just as much as how progress is measured.

Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?

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Katie Keddie does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Love, fear, anger and hope: how emotions influence climate action – https://theconversation.com/love-fear-anger-and-hope-how-emotions-influence-climate-action-270925

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Brian Thornton, Senior Lecturer in Journalism, University of Winchester

Don’t make the mistake of thinking Saipan is a film about the brutal second world war battle on this small Pacific island. It is, in fact, the tale of a ridiculous and heartbreaking football bust-up that almost tore a country apart.

On one side was Irishman Roy Keane, one of the greatest footballers of his generation. Captain of the Ireland team, he was a man with a volcanic temper and an insatiable will to win. On the other was mild-mannered manager Mick McCarthy, a Yorkshireman of Irish descent who had made his name as a brave, no-nonsense defender during his time as captain of Ireland.

The row that exploded on Saipan before the 2002 World Cup had even started was a slow-motion tragicomedy, lurching from one excruciating episode to the next. It began with a spat between Keane and McCarthy over training facilities. It escalated to a national crisis thanks to an ill-timed media interview – then developed into a full-blown international furore after one of the most brutal personal attacks ever seen in sport.

Now the story is being told in a new film starring Steve Coogan as McCarthy and rising star Éanna Hardwicke as Keane.

The row had – and possibly still has – the power to divide people into team McCarthy or team Keane. At the time, battles raged in pubs, on radio phone-ins and in countless newspaper articles.

The level of antagonism the row ignited underlined that this was about more than just football. The “battle of Saipan” somehow exposed deep faultlines in a country that was at a social, political and economic crossroads.

Before qualifying for the 2002 World Cup, Ireland hadn’t been to a major tournament since 1994. While those were wilderness years for the football team, the country was experiencing an astonishing economic miracle.

This once-impoverished country had transformed itself into one of the richest in Europe. GDP growth regularly hit a jaw-dropping 10% a year. Nicknamed the “Celtic tiger”, this economic transformation turned Ireland into a society that valued ambition and despised mediocrity. Keane epitomised this new Ireland – he was a self-made man, rich and with a ruthless drive to succeed.

McCarthy, though born and raised in England, represented old Ireland. He had been captain of the Irish team led by Jack Charlton that took the country on glorious boozy adventures to the European Championship in 1988 and the World Cup in 1990 and in 1994.

A green Irish army travelled the globe like a vast mobile party, while those left at home watched in disbelief as their little nation took its place among the elite footballing nations. It turned the gruff, flat-cap wearing Charlton into a living saint.

It was almost inevitable that these two versions of Ireland would eventually clash – but no one expected it to happen on a small Pacific island on the eve of a World Cup.

The Irish squad arrived in Saipan on May 18 2002 to acclimatise ahead of the tournament in Japan and Korea. Keane’s mood darkened immediately when he saw the training and catering facilities on the island. The pitch was rock hard. There were no goal posts – or footballs. Breakfast consisted of cheese sandwiches.

Keane was outraged at such amateurism, and the next day confronted McCarthy. He said he was going to leave the camp – but was persuaded to stay by others including his Manchester United manager, Alex Ferguson.

Keane, still struggling to keep a lid on his rage, then agreed to do an interview with two Irish newspaper journalists. He told them in no uncertain terms what he thought of Ireland’s preparations. “I believed the people at home had a right to know the truth,” Keane would later say in his book.

The interview was explosive, and the story blew up immediately – causing a sensation around the world, but most particularly in Saipan. McCarthy, utterly shocked, called a meeting with the whole squad. To clear the air, the Ireland manager thought Keane should apologise for what he had said in the articles.

But Keane, surrounded by the entire squad, saw this as an ambush and lashed out. His visceral ten-minute attack on McCarthy in the ballroom of Saipan’s Hyatt Hotel has become legendary:

I didn’t rate you as a player, I don’t rate you as a manager, and I don’t rate you as a person. I’ve got no respect for you. The only reason I have any dealings with you is that somehow you are the manager of my country. You can stick it up your bollocks.

A visibly shaken McCarthy replied: “Roy, either you go or I go – and I am going nowhere.”

Keane left and returned to his Cheshire home, which was now besieged by reporters. His daily walks with his dog Triggs were broadcast live on rolling news channels, as the world waited to see if the player would rethink his decision and return. Despite an offer from Irish prime minister Bertie Ahern to mediate, Keane made it clear there would be no U-turn.

McCarthy and the Irish team went on to perform respectably in the World Cup, losing in a penalty shoot-out to Spain in the last 16. But how far would they have gone in the tournament if Keane had played?

What happened in Saipan is still hotly debated. In Ireland, it is seen as a battle between old and new – the dynamic new age railing against the staid, complacent past. Outside of Ireland, the story is usually framed as a clash between the ideal and the reality – between purity and pragmatism.

As the Irish journalist Fintan O’Toole wrote at the time: “The battle of Saipan is thus a classical tragedy: the inevitable clash of two inexorable forces, each of which has right on its side.”

Saipan is in cinemas from January 23

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Brian Thornton does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Saipan: the story behind Roy Keane’s World Cup walkout on Ireland’s football team – https://theconversation.com/saipan-the-story-behind-roy-keanes-world-cup-walkout-on-irelands-football-team-273420

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Karl Matikonis, Assistant Professor in Accountancy and Taxation, University College Dublin

When Scotland’s finance secretary, Shona Robison, delivered the Scottish budget for 2026-27 on January 13, she framed it as a budget for families that would ease pressure on household finances. Coming only a few months before the Scottish parliamentary elections in May, this budget is especially significant.

On income tax, the message from the Scottish National Party-led government was clear. Hitting out at recent UK national budgets, Robison argued, correctly, that freezing income tax thresholds means that more of people’s pay is taxed, or taxed at a higher rate. She told the Scottish Parliament: “I am making a different choice.”

While it’s true there is a difference, in reality that difference is limited. The Scottish parliament sets income tax rates and bands on most income earned by taxpayers in Scotland. Unlike in the rest of the UK, there are six rates – starter, basic, intermediate, higher, advanced and top – ranging from 19% to 48%.

What matters is not the number of bands but the size of the jump between them. Income in the intermediate band is taxed at 21% up to £43,662. Income above that point is taxed at 42%.

However, the UK parliament still controls key elements of the system, including allowances, reliefs and tax on savings and dividend income.

While some of Scotland’s income tax thresholds have been raised in this budget, others were left frozen. This means many people will still see their tax bills rise over time, even though headline tax rates have not changed. The mechanism behind this is known as fiscal drag.

Fiscal drag occurs when tax thresholds remain fixed while wages rise. As earnings increase, more income falls into higher tax bands and more people cross into higher rates. As such, governments generate more revenue without any explicit tax rise.

This matters because wages in Scotland have been rising in cash terms. In 2024, the median weekly pay for full-time employees was £739.70 (around £38,500 a year), with nominal earnings rising by 4.3% over the previous year. Median pay for men working full-time was closer to £40,000.

And those figures are already dated. Further pay settlements, particularly in the public sector, mean typical earnings in the years 2026 to 2029 are likely to go up further. Scotland’s higher-rate income tax threshold, however, remains frozen at £43,663.

That leaves a narrow gap between average earnings and the higher-rate tax band (42%). A few years of ordinary pay rises can be enough to push someone over the threshold, even if their job and living standards feel largely unchanged. As a result, fiscal drag increasingly affects mid-career professionals in areas like teaching, nursing and the civil service, rather than solely very high earners.

What the budget changed and what it did not

The recent Scottish budget raises the lower limits of the starter, basic and intermediate income tax thresholds, meaning more income is taxed at lower rates. This goes some way to protecting those whose pay falls in these bands. Ministers can say, accurately, that many lower- and middle-income earners will pay less tax than they would elsewhere in the UK.

But the higher-rate threshold remains frozen until 2028–29 at £43,663. Income above that level will be taxed at 42%. The advanced and top-rate thresholds are also unchanged. By freezing these, the Scottish government is ensuring that rising wages continue to translate into higher tax bills over time.

In design terms, it is using the same fiscal drag mechanism (albeit more selectively) that it criticises when Westminster deploys it.

Here’s a simple example. Consider a full-time worker earning £38,500 in 2024, close to the Scottish median. With annual pay rises of around 4.3%, their salary would reach roughly £40,200 in 2025, £41,900 in 2026, and just over £43,700 by 2027. Note that most of this increase in pay reflects inflation, rather than a real improvement in living standards.

But the freeze on the higher-rate threshold remains in place. So by 2027, the worker is already at or just above this higher-rate threshold. A modest further pay rise or promotion would push part of their income into the 42% band (or potentially 45%), where it had previously been taxed at 21% in the intermediate tax band.

No headline tax rate has changed, but more income is taxed – and taxed at a higher rate. This matters politically because it is the point where economics turns into politics.

Fiscal drag is not a technical quirk. It is a political instrument. As my research on UK budgets shows, when governments commit to avoiding headline tax rises, attention shifts to thresholds and design instead.

Politically, the approach allows the SNP to present the budget as both fair and responsible ahead of the May Scottish parliament elections. Ministers can point to tax cuts for lower earners while maintaining that headline tax rates have not increased.

The strategy is also shaped by tight fiscal constraints. The Scottish budget relies on a block grant from Westminster that has been squeezed by inflation, while borrowing powers are limited and spending cuts are difficult. As such, additional revenue has to come from the tax system, making fiscal drag through frozen higher thresholds an attractive option.

Freezing thresholds while nominal wages rise brings in revenue quietly and predictably, without the backlash associated with explicit tax increases. It also blurs responsibility, as higher tax bills can be attributed to inflation or pay growth, rather than deliberate policy choices. In an election year, that combination is especially attractive.

The budget cuts income tax for many people on lower incomes. Further up, it tells a different story. By freezing the higher, advanced and top-rate thresholds – which include many people who are not what most would consider “high earners” – the Scottish government has chosen to let rising nominal wages do the work of a tax increase. The effect is gradual and uneven – and people often notice it only when it appears on a payslip.

Karl Matikonis previously received funding from the Economic and Social Research Council for unrelated research.

– ref. Stealth tax rises are on the horizon for Scotland ahead of its election – https://theconversation.com/stealth-tax-rises-are-on-the-horizon-for-scotland-ahead-of-its-election-274163

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Nick Whittaker, Tutor of International Relations, University of Sussex

Having thus far taken a highly cautious line with the capricious Donald Trump, Keir Starmer broke with the US president this week over the latter’s desire to acquire Greenland.

With the dust settling on Trump’s address to Davos and his ruling out of military force and tariffs, the UK prime minister congratulated his own approach. Starmer remarked: “We’ve got through the last few days with a mix of British pragmatism, common sense, but also that British sense of sticking to our values and our principles.”

In foreign policy, pragmatism means a lack of ideology or simply “doing what works”. It is related to conservative traditions in political thought, with roots in political philosopher Edmund Burke’s scepticism of the French Revolution.

Twentieth century philosopher Michael Oakeshott characterised his ideal, pragmatic society as a ship in a boundless ocean. The crew should simply be trying to keep afloat and on an even keel, rather than being guided by any grand ideological framework.

Pragmatism has long been associated with UK foreign policy, as both an explanatory framework and something that UK foreign policymakers claim to embody. This was exemplified by Lord Salisbury’s 19th-century posture of “splendid isolation” – having no permanent allies or friends, just permanent interests.

But, as I have written, this approach is problematic – not least because of the significant geopolitical identity that has coloured centuries of UK foreign policy.

All foreign policy is guided by values of some sort, and the UK’s is no exception. Think of the oft-repeated notions of fair play, trading and sovereignty. Prime ministers may come into office wanting to reshape the global or local landscape, only to quickly come up against the need to act in a pragmatic way in response to a sudden crisis.

Pragmatism v idealism

In recent decades, British foreign policymakers have wrestled with an ongoing tension between pragmatism and more ideological approaches. Margaret Thatcher contrasted her own apparently steely-eyed approach to European integration with the “romantic” and “misty” Europeanism of one of her foreign secretaries, Geoffrey Howe.

Thatcher’s successor, John Major, argued that it was his far more positive approach to the EU that represented the truly British posture of pragmatism.

Tony Blair too was wont to burnish his pragmatic credentials, not least over Europe. But this sat uncomfortably alongside his brief flirtation with foreign secretary Robin Cook’s “ethical foreign policy”, and his subsequent part in the highly ideological war on terror, with its unshakeable beliefs in democracy promotion and regime change.

David Cameron rejected the crusading influences of Blair by putting the UK’s involvement in strikes against Bashar al-Assad’s Syria to a Commons vote, which he lost. His subsequent calling of a referendum on the UK’s membership of the EU defined anew a long-running debate between pragmatists and idealists. Here, both sides claimed pragmatism as their own.

For Remainers, continued membership of an EU that broadly “worked” for the UK was the sensible, rational and pragmatic course. They saw those who wanted to leave as overly dogmatic and willing to throw the baby out with the bathwater for so-called principles.

Brexiteers pointed to growing patterns of prosperity in markets beyond Europe. They argued that regaining lost sovereignty was nothing if not pragmatic – and that their opponents had been hopelessly duped by the unrealistic (and in their eyes, dangerous) schemes of Europeans and globalists.

Starmer’s pragmatism?

How then can we characterise Starmer’s foreign policy?

The closer alignment with the EU that he has led can be read as the ideological move of a convinced Remainer. Like his Conservative predecessors, he has made much of the UK’s support for Ukraine in its war with Russia. This signifies the foregrounding of values such as sovereignty, nationhood and the rules-based international order.

Similarly, the 2024 deal with Mauritius over the Chagos islands has been represented as the righting of a historic colonial wrong.

Yet there is a trace of pragmatism in all these policies, too. The realignment with the EU has taken place slowly, with great caution and many accompanying reassurances of red lines. The tough stance over Ukraine can also be read in a pragmatic fashion, given the perceived need to align with European and Nato allies amid Trump’s ratcheting up of tensions.

For all of the appealing whiff of decolonial justice surrounding the Chagos deal, this too was infused with a healthy dose of pragmatism. In spite of Trump’s sudden condemnation of it, he had initially backed the deal precisely because of its pragmatism. It protected the US-led base at Diego Garcia and ensured a vital strategic foothold in the Indian Ocean.

Further instances of foreign policy under Starmer ultimately demonstrate the limits of idealism in British foreign policy. The reaction to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has been characterised by outrage and (especially under Boris Johnson) a Churchillian “whatever it takes” attitude in favour of self-determination. But other situations have been approached with far more caution.

Starmer and his first foreign secretary, the usually loudly principled David Lammy, dragged their feet over condemnation of Israel in Gaza, infuriating some of the Labour party’s leftwing base. Lammy had earlier sought to resurrect Cook’s ethical foreign policy. Yet, whatever their instincts, pragmatically siding with the US tends to win out when it comes to Israel.

Statements on Venezuela were also couched with extreme caution: pragmatism recognising the lack of British interest, let alone clout, in South America.

Starmer’s post-Davos remarks exemplify the seemingly contradictory melding of pragmatism with principle. In reality, these concepts can be difficult to entangle. They are (as with Brexit) often a matter for the eye of the beholder: one man’s pragmatism is another’s principle.

When it comes to the cornerstones of UK policy, such as Nato and the transatlantic alliance, the line is particularly blurry. But over Greenland and the rollercoaster relationship with Trump, Starmer has indeed had to walk a careful line between pragmatism and principle. This is a rare example of a politician’s comment that one can take at face value.

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Nick Whittaker does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Starmer’s response to Trump’s Greenland outburst shows good old British pragmatism only goes so far – https://theconversation.com/starmers-response-to-trumps-greenland-outburst-shows-good-old-british-pragmatism-only-goes-so-far-274137