Politics + Society – The Conversation

Could Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor be compelled to testify in US Epstein investigation?

2026-02-04T13:51:56Z

The release of more Jeffrey Epstein files has again brought Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor and his friendship with the convicted paedophile sex offender back into the spotlight.

The tranche of files contains emails between the former prince, his wife Sarah Ferguson, and Epstein, including after the latter’s house arrest for soliciting a minor for prostitution. Also included is a photo of Mountbatten-Windsor kneeling over an unidentified woman on the ground.

A second woman, said to be in her 20s at the time, has now come forward with allegations that Epstein sent her to the UK for a sexual encounter with Mountbatten-Windsor. The first, Virginia Giuffre, died by suicide in early 2025.

Mountbatten-Windsor continues to deny any allegations of wrongdoing related to Giuffre and Epstein. He was stripped of all his official titles in October 2025.

The latest developments have prompted calls for the former prince to testify in front of the US Congress as part of their investigation into Epstein’s crimes. Last year, a congressional panel wrote to Mountbatten-Windsor to ask him to submit to questioning. Now, ministers including Keir Starmer have suggested that he should voluntarily testify.

This is unlikely to happen, for several reasons.

The first, and most straightforward reason, is that Mountbatten-Windsor can’t be compelled to testify in the US. Typically, when potential witnesses refuse to appear voluntarily, the US Congress or a court can issue a subpoena for their testimony.

This is essentially a demand that a person come testify even if they don’t want to, and if they don’t then they can be subject to some form of punishment (being held in contempt of Congress or court, and possible civil penalties).

However, under US federal law, subpoena power only extends to US citizens or residents, not foreign nationals.

One possible option might be found in the application of a mutual legal assistance in criminal matters treaty that exists between the UK and the US. It calls for one state to assist the other when the latter state is conducting a domestic criminal investigation or prosecution.

The sort of assistance required can include the taking of testimony or a statement from a witness located in the country assisting with the investigation. Should the witness refuse to testify, they would then face punishment under the law of the country providing assistance.

Under this treaty, the US could request that the UK government compel Mountbatten-Windsor’s testimony so that it might then be shared with Congress. The difficulty with this approach is that the UK is permitted to refuse the request for various reasons, including national security interests or other public policy concerns. Past practice regarding secrecy about the monarchy would suggest that either or both bases for refusal could be exercised in this case.

If he testifies

If Mountbatten-Windsor were to voluntarily testify in the US Congressional investigation, could it spell trouble for the rest of the royals?

He is accused of actions that were allegedly done in his private capacity and not as a representative of the crown, so it’s unlikely they could be attributed back to monarchy. In any case, the king is likely more concerned about embarrassment to the institution of the monarchy than to any tangible negative repercussions.

He would likely object to Mountbatten-Windsor testifying, but those objections would more probably revolve around the monarchy’s traditional desire for privacy and not wanting their dirty laundry aired in public (any more than it already has been).

Theoretically, the king may want to reserve the possibility of his brother testifying as a future bargaining chip, should the UK want some form of concession from the US. However, there is no evidence of that happening.

Whether the former prince himself is more exposed, legally, now that he is no longer a royal is a slightly complicated question. Some state officials are protected from prosecution for crimes by personal immunity (immunity ratione personae).

This essentially means they can’t be prosecuted by a foreign court during the time they hold office (but can be prosecuted after leaving office). This principle is applicable in both the UK and the US as customary international law, which means it is binding due to consistent state practice.

Whether this applies with regard to Mountbatten-Windsor really turns on whether his role as prince made him a government official eligible for this sort of immunity. It is usually reserved for very senior members of government and heads of state, so it is highly unlikely that being a “working royal” would qualify.

He might attempt to claim diplomatic immunity under the Vienna convention on diplomatic relations. It could be argued that he is entitled to immunity, either in his capacity as UK special trade envoy between 2001-11, or as a “working royal” representing the UK while abroad.

However, there is no precedent for finding that a member of the monarchy is the functional equivalent of a diplomat – particularly where they lack power to negotiate and make deals with foreign governments.

Other legal possibilities

The real danger to Mountbatten-Windsor is that if he were to voluntarily travel to the US to testify as a witness, he could accidentally incriminate himself and end up getting arrested. Such a case, however, seems unlikely. Presumably, he would obtain legal advice before testifying, giving him a clear idea of what he should or should not say.

The most immediate legal peril he could face is the possibility of prosecution in the UK. Police have announced that they intend to investigate a woman’s claims that she was trafficked to the UK for the purpose of having sex with Mountbatten-Windsor. Should they find sufficient evidence that a crime took place, Mountbatten-Windsor could find himself in the dock.

Despite that, under UK law he still cannot be compelled to testify. However, refusing to do so could be seen by a judge or jury as a mark against him when considering all of the evidence.

Caleb H. Wheeler 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.

Peter Mandelson steps down from the House of Lords – but he still has his title

2026-02-03T18:40:56Z

Peter Mandelson has stepped down from the House of Lords over fresh revelations about his links to deceased sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. These now include emails suggesting thousands of pounds were sent to Mandelson’s husband, that Mandelson lobbied against US bank reforms on behalf of Epstein while he was a UK government minister, and that he shared sensitive information with him. The prime minister, Keir Starmer, had signalled that he wanted him out of the Lords “by hook or by crook”.

He is lucky that Mandelson took the hint and resigned because the prime minister doesn’t currently have the power to remove members of the Lords. And while Mandelson is leaving the House, he will keep his title. He remains Lord Peter Mandelson of Foy and Hartlepool, even though the prime minister has said he does not think it right that he should use the title.

Prior to reforms brought in by the Conservative and Liberal Democrat coalition government in 2014, removing a member of the House of Lords was virtually impossible. Erskine May (the authoritative guide to parliamentary practice) states that membership of the House was effectively for life.

Prior to the changes, life peers could not resign, and could, in theory, stop attending indefinitely without losing their seat in the Lords. Even imprisonment did not, technically, end their membership of the house. The House of Lords couldn’t expel its own members. It could only, temporarily, suspend them.

Death was the only automatic membership termination. Peers who wanted to retire could not, those who never attended remained, and those guilty of serious crimes or misconduct could not be permanently removed.

The 2014 reforms brought in some options, including voluntary resignation or retirement by giving written notice, automatic removal if a peer fails to attend the House at all during an entire parliamentary session (unless they have approved leave of absence) and expulsion if convicted of a serious criminal offence and sentenced to more than one year in prison.

Further reforms in 2015 also made it possible to expel or suspend a peer following a report by the Lords’ Conduct Committee for serious misconduct.

But as it stands, removal from the House of Lords cannot be instigated by the prime minister, UK government, or the king.

This was all a grave concern for the government as allegations continued to flow about Mandelson. Had he not stepped aside – or been convinced to step aside behind closed doors – there would have been little Starmer could have done to remove him through government powers alone.

What about the title?

The issue surrounding Lord Mandelson’s title is more complex. Removal from the chamber does not automatically mean removal of the title. As described in Gadd’s Peerage Law, once the Crown has granted a peerage it is “very difficult to deprive the holder of it” .

Unlike membership of the House of Lords, a peerage title cannot be relinquished. Not even the Crown has the power to cancel one once created by “letters patent” – a legal document issued by the sovereign and adorned with the Great Seal.

The government confirmed last year that an act of parliament is required to remove a peerage title once conferred. This has happened before, under the Titles Deprivation Act 1917, which removed the peerages of members who had aided Brtain’s enemies during the War. The need for an Act of Parliament has also been reaffirmed recently with the removal of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s titles.

Given these complexities, it has been reported that the prime minister’s office believes it is “exceptionally constitutionally difficult” to remove Mandelson’s title, even with a large Commons majority. Even though Starmer has called for action to be taken, it’s not entirely clear how this will happen.

Mandelson’s resignation enables the Lords and government to avoid having to take action to expel a peer for now, but it’s worth noting that the 2024 Labour manifesto promised to make it easier to remove disgraced members.

That said, this needs to be a matter for the Lords first to consider internally. If the prime minister tries to award himself the power to remove members, this could further weaken constitutional safeguards in the future and jeopardise the system of check and balance that the House of Lords offers against the power of the UK government, albeit in a subordinate way.

Any future reform in this area must be mindful of the precedent it creates, and what that might mean for future governments’ decisions surrounding who sits in the House of Lords, and, importantly, who is forced out.

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.

The fall of Peter Mandelson and the many questions the UK government must now answer

2026-02-03T17:31:52Z

Peter Mandelson and Keir Starmer pictured in February 2025. Flickr/Number 10, CC BY-NC-ND

No accident waiting to happen can ever have delivered on its promise so spectacularly as Lord Mandelson, with the continuous revelations of his ties to convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. The decision by the UK prime minister, Keir Starmer, to appoint Mandelson as ambassador in Washington DC always appeared a high-risk, high-reward strategy. But no reward could ever have repaid such risk.

There is a grim fascination in seeing a prominent public figure’s reputation incinerated in real time. Mandelson’s entreating emails to a convicted abuser and trafficker of minors were still quite recently sufficient of an embarrassment before he was then photographed urinating in public.

The new normal is to appear on front pages in his underpants. Next will come questions about the meaning of emails that appear to show him betraying the most cardinal principles of public office, for monetary gain, from a criminal.

Mandelson had clearly started 2026 with the intention of rehabilitating himself and re-entering public life: a Sunday morning BBC interview, columns in the Spectator, an interview in the Times. Journalists’ requests for comment were replied to. No longer.

What was striking across these appearances – given Mandelson’s talents – was his maladroitness. Not to have apologised to the victims of trafficking when pressed in that initial high-profile interview, only to realise his error and concede the following day did not bear the hallmark of a master of public relations.

The rehabilitation plan, moreover, evidently did not include a strategy for the documents that were to be released as part of another huge cache of material relating to Epstein.

There is now the suggestion that Mandelson may have forwarded government-sensitive information to a foreign banker while he was, effectively, the deputy prime minister and that he encouraged that banker to intimidate his colleague, the chancellor of the exchequer, Alistair Darling. The banker allegedly did “mildly threaten” Darling. Darling knew someone was leaking, but, having died in 2023, never knew who. Now we have an idea.

To separate the procedural from the human, for now, the issue that leaves the current government most exposed is Starmer’s personal choice of Mandelson as US ambassador. One of two things must have happened: a catastrophic failure in vetting and in due diligence, or the government ignoring red lights from vetting and due diligence.

This is also an origin story scandal for the Labour party, in which Mandelson has deep roots. It has always lived in fear of its leaders succumbing to the charms of plutocrats. It happened in 1931, in the “great betrayal”, when Labour leader Ramsey McDonald formed a government with the Tories and Liberals to resolve a financial crisis – one reason the saintly Clement Attlee nationalised the Bank of England in 1946. Attlee’s deputy leader was Herbert Morrison, Mandelson’s grandfather.

This matters more now because Mandelson’s influence in the party meant that he has acted as a mentor to so many – not least the prime minister’s chief of staff, Morgan McSweeney, the man arguably more responsible for this government than Starmer himself, and the person said to have pushed for Mandelson to be given the ambassadorship. The fissures of the Blairites and the soft left are reopening.

Removing Mandelson

There will be those who take pleasure from so public a defenestration of so polarising a figure. Two such will be the Reform and Green party candidates in the Gorton and Denton byelection.

A room of scriptwriters could not have devised a situation calculated to land more effectively for a canvasser from an insurgent party to stand on a doorstep and asks a voter how satisfied they are with the way the country’s run, and in the qualities of their leaders.

Even before the revelations about his friendship with a billionaire paedophile, Mandelson was the personification of the increasingly maligned and resented globalist, lanyard-wearing, chauffeured classes. The online conspiracist hares that have already been sent running are unnecessary: this scandal is in no need of embellishment.

Some always knew. Mandelson masterminded Labour’s electoral approach for a decade, but when he succeeded Neil Kinnock as leader in 1992, John Smith would have nothing to do with him. Smith died suddenly, and Tony Blair’s sudden ascent was facilitated by Mandelson, to the undying enmity of Gordon Brown.

Brown appointed Mandelson his first secretary of state, but from a position of weakness. He is now making his fury known. The current prime minister appointed Mandelson his ambassador to the UK’s closest and most important ally, but from a position of weakness. Brown, at least, can vent his fury – he no longer has office to lose.

Mandelson with the US president, Donald Trump, in the Oval Office in June 2025. Flickr/UKinUSA, CC BY-SA

In the space of a few hours, Mandelson’s future shifted from the certainty of ignominy to the possibility of prison. We are already beyond historical parallel. For 60 years, John Profumo has been the yardstick for political scandal in the UK (and another where the exploitation of women was lost in a voyeuristic melee). We have a new one.

In other political cultures, Mandelson would by now have been airlifted to a safehouse outside Moscow or Riyadh, given sanctuary, never to be seen or heard of again. But the prime minister will be seeing and hearing of Mandelson for some time to come.

When it comes to making appointments – a prime minister’s elemental power – Starmer has frequently made the wrong choices, through innate caution and timidity, to the detriment of his government. It is the one exception to this cautious approach that may prove to be the most consequential of all.

Martin Farr 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.

Is it illegal to make online videos of someone without their consent? The law on covert filming

2026-02-03T17:31:50Z

Could those glasses be recording you? Lucky Business/Shutterstock

Imagine a stranger starts chatting with you on a train platform or in a shop. The exchange feels ordinary. Later, it appears online, edited as “dating advice” and framed to invite sexualised commentary. Your face, and an interaction you didn’t know was being recorded, is pushed into feeds where strangers can identify, contact and harass you.

This is a reality for many people, though the most shocking examples are mainly affecting women. A BBC investigation recently found that men based outside of the UK have been profiting from covertly filming women on nights out in London and Manchester and posting the videos on social media.

In the UK, filming someone in public – even covertly – is not automatically unlawful. Sometimes, it is socially valuable (think of people recording violence or police misconduct).

But once a person is identifiable and the clip is uploaded for views or profit, it can become unlawful under data protection law and, in more intrusive cases, privacy or harassment law. The problem here is what the filming is for, how it is done and what the platforms do with it.

UK law is cautious about a general claim to “privacy in public”. There is a key distinction in case law between being seen in a public place and being recorded for redistribution.

Courts have accepted that privacy can apply even in public, depending on circumstances. In the case of Campbell v MGN (2004), the House of Lords ruled that the Daily Mirror had breached model Naomi Campbell’s privacy by publishing photos that, while taken in public, exposed her private medical information.

The rise of smartphones and now wearable cameras has made covert capture cheaper, more discreet and more accessible. With smart glasses, recording can look like eye contact.

Capture is frictionless: the file is ready to upload before the person filmed even knows it exists. And manufacturer safeguards such as recording lights are already reportedly being bypassed by users.

Once it’s been uploaded, modern social media platforms allow this content to become easily scalable, searchable and profitable.

Context is what shifts the stakes. Covert filming, an intrusive focus on the body and publication at scale can turn an everyday moment into exposure that invites harassment.

Privacy in public

Public life has always involved being seen. The harm is being made findable and targetable, at scale. This is why the most practical legal tool is data protection. Under the UK General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), when people are identifiable in a video, recording and uploading it is considered processing of personal data.

The uploader and platform must therefore comply with GDPR rules, which in this case would (usually) mean not posting identifiable footage of a stranger in the first place or, removing the details that identify them and taking the clip down quickly if the person objects.

UK GDPR does not apply to purely personal or household activity, with no professional or commercial connection. This is a narrow exemption – “pickup artist” channels and monetised social media posts are unlikely to fall within it.

Harassment law may apply where the filming and posting is followed by repeated contact, threats or encouraging others to target the person filmed, which causes them alarm or distress.

Lagging enforcement

Harm spreads faster than the law can respond. A clip can be uploaded, shared and monetised within seconds. Enforcement of privacy and data protection law is split between the Information Commissioner’s Office, Ofcom, police and courts.

Victims are left to rely on platform reporting tools, and duplicates often continue to spread even after posts are taken down. Arguably, prevention would be more effective than after-the-fact removal.

The temptation is to call for a new offence of “filming in public”. In my view, this risks being either too broad (chilling legitimate recording) or too narrow (missing the combination of factors – covert filming, identifiability, platform amplification and monetisation that make this a problem).

A better approach would be twofold. First, treating wearable recording devices as higher-risk consumer tech, and requiring safeguards that work in practice. For example: conspicuous, genuinely tamper-resistant recording indicators; privacy-by-default settings; and audit logs so misuse is traceable. The law could build in clear public-interest exemptions (journalism, documenting wrongdoing) so rules do not become a backdoor ban on recording.

There are precedents for regulating consumer tech in this way. For example, the UK has strict security requirements for connectable devices like smart TVs to prevent cyberattacks.

Wearable cameras and AI-enabled tech is making covert filming easier than ever. Kaspars Grinvalds/Shutterstock

Second, platforms need a clear requirement to reduce the harm caused by covert filming. In practice, that means spotting and obscuring identifiers such as phone numbers and workplace details, warning users when a stranger is identifiable, fast-tracking complaints from the person filmed, blocking re-uploads, and removing monetisation from this content.

The Online Safety Act provides a framework for addressing this problem, but it is not a neat checklist for prevention. Where it clearly applies is when the content itself, or the response it triggers, amounts to illegal harassment or stalking. Those are priority offences in the act, so platforms are expected to assess and mitigate those risks.

The awkward truth is that some covert, degrading clips may be harmful without being obviously illegal at the point of upload, until threats, doxxing or stalking follow.

Privacy in public will not be protected by slogans or a tiny recording light. It will be protected when existing legal principles are applied robustly. And when enforcement is designed for the speed, incentives and business models that shape what people see and share online.

Subhajit Basu 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.

Crime is no longer just a local issue – that’s why a national police force is needed

2026-02-02T16:33:12Z

Brian A Jackson/Shutterstock

Modern crime transcends place and space. From burglary to fraud, crime increasingly crosses local, national and digital borders. England and Wales’ geographically restricted police forces are not well equipped to respond.

This is why the home secretary, Shabana Mahmood, has announced a significant restructuring of the policing system. The proposals include establishing a National Police Service and merging existing local forces areas into larger regional ones.

Currently, England and Wales have 43 local police forces. Each has different organisational structures and levels of expertise in specific areas of crime. Police intelligence databases and digital capabilities vary, which can silo local forces and result in blind spots.

Most of the country’s specialist policing resources are situated in London’s Metropolitan police and the National Crime Agency. This uneven distribution of resources leaves local forces reliant on each other as specialist needs arise.

Even crime we think of as “local” can exploit force boundaries. Burglars and car thieves may cross local force borders to avoid multiple crimes being linked by police. This problem is more evident in serious crimes like weapons or drug trafficking and modern slavery. Organised crime groups move products and people around the country, and often across international borders.

Much modern crime is also placeless or transnational. Technology-enabled crime, phishing and other scams, and image-based abuse can involve victims and perpetrators in multiple locations, both in the UK and abroad. Fraud is currently the most prevalent crime affecting people in the UK.

The problem for British policing is therefore not simply a question of efficiency, but one of fit. The current structure of policing does not match the structure of crime.

The government’s proposals will centralise existing specialist policing capabilities into a single organisation, better equipped to respond to cross-border crime. This, the home secretary argues, will reduce intelligence blind spots, allow police to share data nationally, and save money.

A National Police Service will also provide stronger leadership and accountability. The NPS will be headed by a chief constable who will be Britain’s most senior officer. The proposals have been welcomed by current police leadership organisations including the National Police Chiefs’ Council, the College of Policing and the independent Police Foundation.

A national approach

To understand the benefits of this approach, we can look at another area where the UK has already nationalised its efforts – extradition policing.

A National Extradition Unit was established ahead of Brexit to bring frontline extradition policing into one team. Before this, responsibility was dispersed across all local forces, with the National Crime Agency coordinating and linking UK policing to partners overseas.

The UK receives more extradition requests – to send criminals to other countries – than it issues. The bulk of extradition work involves tracking down fugitives wanted by foreign states, bringing them before the courts and arranging for their removal from the UK. Although larger forces sometimes had dedicated teams, for many local forces this work competed with other duties and force priorities.

Crime is crossing international and digital borders every day. Pungu x/Shutterstock

If a fugitive could not be located in one local area, the warrant would be returned to the NCA to reallocate the case to another force, wasting time and money. Once a fugitive was arrested, local forces would need to transport them to London, where extradition courts are located.

Once extradition was agreed by the court, these forces would have to travel again to meet international police officers at airports (often in London) to hand the individual over into foreign custody. All of this cost significant officer time and resources, often at very short notice.

The National Extradition Unit now sits within the newly formed Joint International Crime Centre, which offers a one-stop-shop service to UK policing and international partners.

This centralisation has reduced inefficiency and strengthened international partnerships, which is crucial in the face of growing transnational crime. There is also potential to centralise more international capabilities, such as criminal evidence exchange.

The formation of a National Police Service aims to replicate these benefits across policing: driving down costs and inefficiency, increasing effectiveness and improving governance. If delivered, it should improve the UK response to national and international cross-border crime.

Unresolved issues

Reform of British policing is long overdue – the last structural reforms were in 1964. But the movement to a national structure naturally raises questions about the future of neighbourhood policing. The number of community support officers has fallen 40% since 2010, and the public is disappointed with police responses to crimes like shoplifting, which predominantly affect local areas.

There is also the question of the relationship between the national and regional levels, which is not clearly spelt out in the proposals. Another unresolved issue is the status of the National Crime Agency – currently the UK’s national law enforcement agency that investigates serious and organised crime – as it is absorbed into a future National Police Service.

Of more concern are proposals to expand the home secretary’s powers to dismiss chief constables and to set centralised performance targets. This centralisation of power into government potentially threatens operational independence, a foundational principle of British policing.

The imposition of performance targets under previous governments has tended to focus police on what is measured, not always on what matters most: maintaining public trust while effectively responding to serious crime. It is important that the implementation of these reforms guards against unintended consequences that undermine those capabilities.

A centralised system could better equip police to deal with modern, borderless crime. Yet this must be balanced against the need for local accountability and operational independence.

The success of a National Police Service will depend on how it is designed and governed. As the proposals move through consultation and scrutiny, the challenge for the government will be to modernise policing without undermining the principle of public trust on which it ultimately depends.

Estelle Marks 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.

Critics of Keir Starmer’s trip to China are missing these two important points

2026-02-02T14:04:32Z

Flickr/Number 10, CC BY

When I spoke to a European journalist about British prime minister Keir Starmer’s visit to China at the end of January, they laughed about the controversy it had caused: “I mean, when most other leaders go to China, it’s taken as something they should do, rather than having to justify.” In the last few months, France, Canada, and soon South Korea and Germany, will all see high-level visits to Beijing without generating the levels of heat and discussion the British one has.

It is true that Britain has a very specific relationship with China which never makes for easy partnership. In the so-called narrative of “national humiliation” promoted by the Chinese government – covering the period over the 19th and 20th century when the country was partially colonised and, at times, invaded – Britain played a leading role..

Even so, these are events well predating living memory. In no way can China be seen as a victim today. Over the last half a century, it has transformed, overtaking the UK in almost every way, from the size of its economy to its military power and global influence. Even in the area of technology and innovation, it is now outpacing the UK.

Despite this, both sides seem to continue finding ways to argue with each other. Last year there was the furore over the claims of espionage made by the UK against two British nationals. They denied all charges and the case against them was dropped abruptly, after the Crown Prosecution Service decided the evidence did not show China was a threat to national security. This caused angry claims that the government was simply placating Beijing.

A similar situation occurred recently when, after much delay, the planned new embassy for China in London was finally given approval, eight years after the site was bought.

All of this preceded Starmer’s trip to Beijing. He landed to a fanfare of military guard trumpets, even as the main chorus back home was critical and dismissive. Conservative party leader Kemi Badenoch declared that his going was not in the national interest and that, were she in office, she would not have visited.

The brute reality is that in 2026, there are two very tangible and very urgent reasons why Britain and China need to talk to each other as never before. The first is the intensifying realisation that the US is no longer the stable, predictable partner it always was before this.

President Trump is raising daily questions about things that were once assumed to be relatively durable. His proposed foray into Greenland, while seemingly resolved in January, raised the real spectre of the US not just being in dispute with key allies but engaging in outright conflict.

For the first time ever, Britain and China are faced with the same problem – what to make of America’s behaviour, and what to do about it – even if this throws up respectively very different issues. For Starmer, the worry is about how to manage the UK’s greatest security partner as it, at times, no longer seems to want to secure so much as disrupt. For China, it is what to do about preserving its interests globally when an order once underpinned by the US is facing away.

Starmer visits the Forbidden City. Flickr/Number10, CC BY

But secondly, we have to return to the staggering speed and scale of China’s technology rise. For research and development in areas that matter to the UK, from environment to life sciences to AI, the risk of not engaging with Beijing is far higher than the alternative. This dramatic change doesn’t seem to be properly understood by many of the most critical domestic voices about Starmer’s visit, not least the politicians with the most hawkish views on China.

For those truly concerned about the UK’s security and national interest, the problem is not that a British prime minister has visited Beijing. Rather, it is that it has been eight years since the last time one did so.

The more Britain continues to bicker and argue even about straightforward contact, the less it will be able to work out how to navigate the new geopolitics – and what to do about a world where access to Chinese technology is not an option, but a necessity.

Kerry Brown 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.

Facial recognition technology used by police is now very accurate – but public understanding lags behind

2026-01-30T16:53:21Z

New policing proposals include raising the number of live facial recognition vans in England and Wales from ten to 50. Mounir Taha/Shutterstock

The UK government’s proposed reforms to policing in England and Wales signal an increase in the use of facial recognition technology. The number of live facial recognition vans is set to rise from ten to 50, making them available to every police force in both countries.

The plan pledges £26 million for a national facial recognition system, and £11.6 million on live facial recognition technology. The announcement has come before the end of the government’s 12-week public consultation on police use of such technology.

The home secretary, Shabana Mahmood, claims facial recognition technology has “already led to 1,700 arrests in the Met [police force] alone – I think it’s got huge potential.”

We have been researching public attitudes to the use of this technology around the world since 2020. While accuracy levels are constantly evolving, we have found people’s awareness of this is not always up to date.

In the UK, the technology has so far been used by police in three main ways. All UK forces have the capability to use “retrospective” facial recognition for analysis of images captured from CCTV – for example, to identify suspects. Thirteen of the 43 forces also use live facial recognition in public spaces to locate wanted or missing individuals.

In addition, two forces (South Wales and Gwent) use “operator-initiated facial recognition” through a mobile app, enabling officers to take a photo when they stop someone and then compare their identity against a watchlist containing information about people of interest – either because they have committed a crime or are missing.

In countries such as China, facial recognition technology has been used more widely by the police – for example, by integrating it into realtime mass surveillance systems. In the UK, some private companies including high-street shops use facial recognition technology to identify repeat shoplifters, for example.

Despite this widespread use of the technology, our latest survey of public attitudes in England and Wales (yet to be peer reviewed) finds that only around 10% of people feel confident that they know a lot about how and when this technology is used. This is still a jump from our 2020 study, though, when many of our UK focus group participants said they thought the technology was just sci-fi – “something that only exists in the movies”.

A longstanding concern has been the issue of facial recognition being less accurate when used to identify non-white faces. However, our research and other tests suggest this is not the case with the systems now being used in the UK, US and some other countries.

How accurate is today’s technology?

It’s a common misconception that facial recognition technology captures and stores an image of your face. In fact, it creates a digital representation of the face in numbers. This representation is then compared with digital representations of known faces to determine the degree of similarity between them.

In recent years, we have seen a rapid improvement in the performance of facial recognition algorithms through the use of “deep convolutional neural networks” – artificial networks consisting of multiple layers, designed to mimic a human brain.

Surrey and Sussex police forces unveil new live facial recognition vans, November 2025. Video: Sussex Police.

There are two types of mistake a facial recognition algorithm can make: “false negatives”, where it doesn’t recognise a wanted person, and “false positives” where it incorrectly identifies the wrong person.

The US National Institute of Standards and Technology (Nist) runs the world’s gold standard evaluation of facial recognition algorithms. The 16 algorithms currently topping its leaderboard all show overall false negative rates of less than 1%, while false positives are held at 0.3%.

The UK’s National Physical Laboratory’s data shows the system being tested and used by UK police to search their databases returns the correct identity in 99% of cases. This accuracy level is achieved by balancing high true identification rates with low false positive rates.

While some people are uncomfortable with even small error rates, human observers have been found to make far more mistakes when doing the same kinds of tasks. Two of the standard tests of face matching ask people to compare two images side-by-side and decide whether they show the same person. One test recorded an error rate of up to 32.5%, and the other an error rate of 34%.

Historically, when testing the accuracy of facial recognition technology, bigger error rates have been found with non-white faces. In a 2018 study, for example, error rates for darker-skinned women were 40 times higher than for white men.

These earlier systems were trained on small numbers of images, mostly white male faces. Recent systems have been trained on much larger, deliberately balanced image sets. They are actively tested for demographic biases and are tuned to minimise errors.

Nist has published tests showing that although the leading algorithms still have slightly higher false positive rates for non-white faces compared with white faces, these error rates are below 0.5%.

How the public feel about this technology

According to our January 2026 survey of 1,001 people across England and Wales, almost 80% of people now feel “comfortable” with police using facial recognition technology to search for people on police watchlists.

However, only around 55% said they trust the police to use facial recognition responsibly. This compares with 79% and 63% when we asked the same questions to 1,107 people throughout the UK in 2020.

Both times, we asked to what extent people agree with police using facial recognition technology for different uses. Our results show the public remains particularly supportive of police use of facial recognition in criminal investigations (90% in 2020 and 89% in 2026), to search for missing persons (86% up to 89%), and for people who have committed a crime (90% down slightly to 89%).

There are lots of examples of facial recognition’s role in helping police to locate wanted and vulnerable people. But as facial recognition technology is more widely adopted, our research suggests the police and Home Office need to do more to make sure the public are informed about how it is – and isn’t – being used.

We also suggest the proposed new legal framework should apply to all users of facial recognition, not just the police. If not, public trust in the police’s use of this technology could be undermined by other users’ less responsible actions.

It is critical that the police are using up-to-date systems to guard against demographic biases. A more streamlined national police service, as laid out in the government’s latest white paper, could help ensure the same systems are being used everywhere – and that officers are being trained consistently in how to use these systems correctly and fairly.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

The public wants police to show up and care – will new reforms in England and Wales do this?

2026-01-30T15:39:50Z

William Barton/Shutterstock

The government has announced a massive shake-up of policing in England and Wales, with the aim to balance providing a local police service across the country while also facing national threats. It involves the creation of a new National Police Service (touted as a “British FBI”) and reducing the number of forces across England and Wales from 43 to a possible 12 bigger, regional forces.

Elected police and crime commissioners will be replaced by regional mayors, or police and crime boards from 2028. And Whitehall will be given refreshed powers to intervene in failing forces.

The last strategic reform of policing in England and Wales was informed by a royal commission, in May 1962. This examined policing function, accountability, public relationships and staffing. It led to the current structure, cutting the number of forces down from 117.

The government claims its plans will deliver better governance and improve both national capabilities for challenging crimes and local visibility of policing. Yet, unlike in 1962, 2026 reform avoids addressing a key problem: the relationship the public wants with the police.

The idea of “policing by consent” underpins policing in the UK. Key to this is the police working with the public. But fewer than half of the public have confidence in their local policing. Data consistently shows the public do not like or want what they are getting.

The government is proposing to introduce new local policing guarantees, setting out “the minimum levels of service the public should expect to receive from their police force wherever in England and Wales they live”.

But this doesn’t need to involve a massive structural overhaul. Research tells us what the public wants is basic: they want the police to turn up, and care. Good policing relies on building relationships of trust – but you can’t achieve that by not being there.

Lack of response

The police inspectorate has noted in recent years that understaffing and inexperienced policing teams have left forces unable to respond effectively: “This can lead to non-emergency calls for help from the public waiting days for a response, or investigations failing because key lines of enquiry have been missed.”

As part of the overhaul, the government is proposing national response and performance targets for 999 calls and for officers attending a scene. Slow response times are one thing, but not turning up at all is the bigger issue. Reports of forces screening out calls sends a message to the public that the police don’t care, and to criminals that they can get away with it.

The government argues that its proposed approach will mean less pressure on local forces to address national issues, freeing up resources to deal with local crime. But the current largest force, the Met, struggles to solve large numbers of reported crimes. I would argue that moving local policing further away from communities will further erode any working relationship with policing’s greatest stakeholder: the public.

The Neighbourhood Policing Guarantee introduced in April 2025 promised to deliver better response times, but the public are still frustrated with the lack of police response to visible, low-level crimes.

Shoplifting alone is seen to be “spiralling out of control” with a brazen 20% increase in the year to March 2025. And yet the head of the Met police has called on shopkeepers to do more to protect themselves.

Police response has been flimsy. Neil Bussey/Shutterstock

The proposals aim to “ensure that shop theft and assaults on shopworkers will no longer go unpunished by bringing in new powers and providing additional funding to policing, working with retailers, to take further action”.

When the police do turn up, they do not need new powers, they just need to use the powers they’ve already got. But to do that warranted police officers (with actual powers of arrest) need to be the boots on the ground – not an app, a bot or a drone.

Just like ambulances, the public should be able to rely on the police in an emergency. There needs to be far more proactive, preventative work done with partners on long-term solutions. We simply can’t afford a perpetual reactive problem solving model.

Rebuilding trust

The government is proposing a number of reforms to increase policing standards and trust, including (a yet-to-be costed) “Licence to Practise” that police officers will need to renew over their career. But officers already swear an oath of operational independence for their warrant card – this risks adding more administrative burden on overly stretched officers, despite a claim that administrative red tape will be cut.

Police officer numbers are already falling, with forces losing nearly 1,500 this year alone, largely driven by losses at the Met. The government has committed to 13,000 more neighbourhood officers, but has also placed an emphasis on automative technology. This could, I argue, be used to justify fewer actual police officers in the future.

Rising crime, coupled with falling public confidence, represents a crisis in policing. The argument is that there is an “urgent” need to better tackle crime and improve trust and confidence, yet reforms of this scale will take time.

The police must work with the public on solutions that pay for themselves. This would not rely on restructuring necessarily, just listening to people about what good policing looks like, then working together on making that happen.

John Coxhead receives funding from the Police for Research.

Gorton and Denton byelection: Labour won comfortably in 2024 but Reform could benefit from a split vote on the left

2026-01-30T13:03:19Z

A byelection has been set for February 26 in the Manchester constituency of Gorton and Denton. This will be a big test for Keir Starmer’s Labour party and a temperature check on the state of multi-party politics in the North. Although Labour won the seat comfortably in 2024, some early polls are already suggesting Reform could win.

Byelections are awkward beasts and don’t necessarily follow the usual rules. What makes things harder in this case is that Gorton and Denton is a new constituency. It was formed by boundary changes in 2024 from parts of three different Manchester constituencies (Gorton, Denton & Reddish and Manchester Withington).

When we try to understand what might happen in a byelection, we rely on the constituency’s past election results as a marker, which is obviously limited to just one election in this case. Gorton and Denton is also “a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster”, as my colleague Rob Ford has written.

It has an elongated shape and combines areas with huge socio-demographic differences. Its Tameside wards are predominantly white, with a sizeable working class while its Manchester wards have a much higher student and Muslim population.

Labour has everything to lose

Ordinarily, this would be a constituency which Labour should easily win. Manchester is a Labour heartland through and through. Its other five constituencies are all held by Labour MPs, it boasts all but a handful of seats on the City Council and Andy Burnham trounced his opponents in the city’s last mayoral elections with a 68,000 majority.

But byelections are difficult for governments and Keir Starmer’s track record so far is not good. Labour lost a byelection in the Cheshire constituency of Runcorn and Helsby in May 2025 to Reform’s Sarah Pochin. Pochin won on a narrow margin of just six votes but had managed to overturn a majority of over 14,000. That makes Labour’s majority of 13,000 in Gorton and Denton look less than secure.

The real danger here is that Labour finds itself in the squeezed middle. It risks losing voters to Reform on the right and the Greens on the left. This is what happened in the Caerphilly Senedd byelection in November, which saw Labour pushed back into third place behind Reform and winners Plaid Cymru.

Reform has everything to prove

Nigel Farage’s party has the momentum at the moment. Polls suggest they are outperforming Labour nationally right now and the recent high-profile defections of Robert Jenrick and Suella Braverman have increased the size of their parliamentary group to 8 MPs.

The Reform candidate in Gorton and Denton, former university academic and GB News presenter Matthew Goodwin, may be the most recognisable candidate to voters, but his political views may not go down well throughout the constituency.

His views on the white working class being left behind may resonate in some of Manchester’s Tameside wards, but his extreme views on immigration and what it means to be British will not play well in others, something the Greens in particular are trying to capitalise on.

Pitching the byelection as a “referendum” on Starmer’s leadership is a sensible strategy by Goodwin, especially as a recent YouGov poll showed that 76% of voters in the North think the prime minister is doing a bad job. Reform may struggle to bring together enough voters ready to sign up to all the party stands for, but may be able to borrow the votes from those who nevertheless want Labour out and would benefit from a split on the left.

Victory in Gorton and Denton would not only mean that Reform will equal the SNP in party group size in the Commons, it will be a further pull for disgruntled or panicking Conservative (or Labour) MPs, ahead of the May 7 deadline Farage has imposed on MPs thinking about defecting to his party. But there is a sizeable chunk of voters across the UK who say they would never vote for Reform, and who could vote tactically for Labour just to keep Reform out.

Green performance could be key

The Greens did not perform brilliantly in Gorton and Denton at the 2024 elections, but nationally the party received 7% of the vote and they hold over 800 seats on local councils. Since the election, they have elected a new leader, Zack Polanski, who has been instrumental in raising the Green voice in the media.

Their candidate is Hannah Spencer, a councillor in the region who stood for mayor in 2024 and finished in fifth place, behind Reform.

Polanski is confident that only the Greens can beat Reform in Gorton and Denton. And while that’s a bold claim, his supporters will be buoyed by the seat they took from Reform in a Derbyshire local byelection last year.

And even if they don’t win, a solid Green performance could be very bad news for Starmer.

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Louise Thompson 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.

Regulating sexual content online has always been a challenge – how we got here

2026-01-30T13:01:49Z

JRdes/Shutterstock

When Tim Berners-Lee invented the world wide web, he articulated his dream for the internet to unlock creativity and collaboration on a global scale. But he also wondered “whether it will be a technical dream or a legal nightmare”. History has answered that question with a troubling “both”.

The 2003 Broadway musical Avenue Q brilliantly captured this duality. A puppet singing about the internet cheerfully begins the chorus “the internet is really, really good …” only to be cut off by another puppet who adds “… for porn!” The song illustrates an enduring truth: every new technological network has, ultimately, been used for legal, criminal and should-be-criminal sexual activity.

In the 1980s, even the French government-backed pre-internet network Minitel was taken over by what one publisher described as a “plague” – a “new genre of difficult-to-detect, mostly sexually linked crimes”. This included murders, kidnaps and the “leasing” of children for sexual purposes.

The internet, social media and now large language models are “really, really good” in many ways – but they all suffer from the same plague. And policymakers have generally been extremely slow to react.

The UK’s Online Safety Act was seven years in the making. The protracted parliamentary debate exposed real tensions on how to protect fundamental rights of free speech and privacy. The act received royal assent in 2023, but is still not fully implemented.

In 2021-22, the children’s commissioner for England led a government review into online sexual harassment and abuse. She found that pornography exposure among young people was widespread and normalised.

Action was slow to follow. Three years after the commissioner’s report, the UK became the first country in the world to introduce laws criminalising tools used to create AI-generated child sexual abuse material as part of the crime and policing bill. But a year on, the bill is still being debated in parliament.

The Online Safety Act was several years in the making. Inside Creative House/Shutterstock

It takes something really horrible for policymakers to take swift action. As the extent to which xAI chatbot Grok was being used to create non-consensual nudified and sexualised images of identifiable women and children from photographs became clear, it transpired that the provisions in the UK’s Data (Use and Access) Act 2025, which criminalises creating such images, had not been activated. Only after widespread outcry did the government bring these provisions into force.

When it comes to the issue of children and sexual images, AI has supercharged every known harm. The Internet Watch Foundation warned that AI was becoming a “child sexual abuse machine”, generating horrific imagery.

The UK public are increasingly in favour of AI regulation. In a 2024 survey of public attitudes to AI, 72% of the British public said that “laws and regulations” would make them more comfortable with AI, up 10 percentage points from 2022. They are particularly concerned about AI deepfakes. But bigger debates about what regulation of the internet means have stymied action.

The free speech question

Some politicians and tech leaders conflate the issue of regulating nonconsensual sexual content with the issue of free speech.

Grok’s abilities to create sexualised images of identifiable adults and children became evident at the end of last year, reportedly after Elon Musk, founder of xAI, ordered staff to loosen the guardrails on Grok because he was “unhappy about over-censoring”. His view is that only content that breaks the law should be removed and any other content moderation is down to the “woke mind virus”. When the controversy erupted, he claimed that critics “just want to suppress free speech”.

Linking regulation to attacks on a “free” internet has a long history that plays on the heartstrings of early internet enthusiasts. According to Tim Berners-Lee’s account, in 1996 when John Patrick, a member of the world wide web consortium, suggested there might be a problem with kids seeing indecent material on the web, “Everyone in the room turned towards him with raised eyebrows: ‘John, the web is open. This is free speech. What do you want us to do, censor it?’”

But the argument that child sexual abuse imagery is on a par with “woke” political criticism is patently absurd. Child sexual abuse material is evidence of a crime, not a form of meaningful expression. Political criticism, even when highly objectionable, involves adults exercising their capacity to form and express opinions.

Placing guardrails on Grok to stop it producing illegal content is not widespread censorship of the internet. Free speech has proven to be a convenient angle for US resistance to technology regulation. The US has persistently intervened in EU and UK AI safety debates.

The need for action

X has now announced that it would no longer allow Grok to “undress” photos of real people in jurisdictions where this is illegal. Musk has said that “Anyone using Grok to make illegal content will suffer the same consequences as if they upload illegal content.”

Yet reports have continued of the technology being used to produce on-demand sexualised photos. This time, Ofcom seems emboldened and is continuing its investigations, as is the European Commission.

This is a technical challenge as well as a regulatory one. Regulators will need the firepower of the best AI minds and tools to ensure that Grok and other AI tools comply with the law. If not, then fines or bans will be the only option. It will be a game of catch-up, like every technology spiral before, but it will have to be played.

Meanwhile, users will need to decide whether to use the offending models or obey Grok’s pre-backlash exhortation: “If you can’t handle innovation, maybe log off” – and vote with our feet. That’s a collective action problem – a problem even older than the sexual takeover of computer networks.

This article was co-published with LSE Blogs at the London School of Economics.

Helen Margetts has received funding for AI-related research from UK Research and Innovation, and currently receives funding from the Department of Science, Innovation and Technology (DSIT) and the Dieter Schwarz Foundation.

Cosmina Liana Dorobantu has received funding for AI related research from UK Research and Innovation.

How ordinary neighbourhoods became battlegrounds in the politics of ‘broken Britain’

2026-01-28T18:23:31Z

As winter set in across the UK, the flags strung up during 2025’s controversial Operation Raise the Colours were becoming tatty and grey. Yet, they continue to send an important message: despite increasingly digitally connected lives, neighbourhoods still matter when it comes to political views.

The strength of feeling among those putting up flags since summer 2025 and those who objected to them is proof that people filter big political issues through the places where they live and work. People measure their lives through local heritage, memories and a sense of home. So these areas are also battlegrounds for competing visions of what it means to belong.

Reform UK has clearly recognised this. It has worked hard to win council elections in England, appealing to concerns held across the political spectrum about the character and decline of neighbourhoods. But such tactics tend to to push people’s buttons on sensitive issues such as immigration and encourage resentment.

Historically, local civic institutions – pubs, working men’s clubs, trade union halls, church halls – came into their own when communities faced hard times. They acted as emergency shelters and dining halls, information points and advice services, they gave emotional and practical support, as well as being spaces for enjoyment and celebration. Some such spaces still exist, but today, much of this social infrastructure has declined or been dismantled.

Into this vacuum steps populist right and far-right parties. They generate support by offering some residents a renewed sense of community, security or hope. In Epping, a recent site of major anti-immigrant protests, some residents have established Essex Spartans, a vigilante patrol group to “protect women, children and the elderly”.

Offering help to vulnerable residents in a spirit of community and care is laudable but these groups risk exaggerating local feelings of “stranger danger” towards migrants and minorities. And with alleged connections to both Reform UK and other rightwing groups, Essex Spartans and initiatives like them could create pathways to more extreme perspectives.

Far-right groups such as Homeland are also actively seeking to enter the mainstream civic life of communities. This has included joining parish councils, church congregations and sports clubs, distributing food to homeless people, and establishing litter-picking groups.

Communities pushing back

But it is a common mistake to assume that the political winds are blowing only in the favour of the right and far right, and that working-class white communities are hotbeds of racism or xenophobia. The research I’ve conducted in two of Bristol’s poorest suburbs has revealed the huge efforts made by neighbourhood groups to show that communities targeted by far-right messaging can be inclusive, imaginative and progressive.

These communities fit the profile for an area at risk of far-right influence: working-class, peripheral, declining and predominantly white. Far-right and anti-immigrant sentiments are shared openly on local social media groups, as stickers and graffiti on walls and lampposts, and in conversations in the few pubs and cafes that remain.

So they are not unusual communities, but they are also home to impressive levels of hidden work being done by community activists who want to turn the tide.

In one community that abuts a major logistics zone, British-born and migrant job-seekers and low-waged workers are crammed into overcrowded and low-quality homes. They are drawn there by a promise of plentiful work which does not always materialise.

Instead of simply blaming immigration for negative side effects, several community groups are working together to support the residents, challenge the council and landlords to improve their conditions, and clean up the neighbourhood’s streets.

Monica, manager of the community hall, explains her approach: “Just work on the ground, and person by person.” This is how she helped a longstanding older people’s club and the migrant women learning English down the hallway to start sharing lunch together. Now this semi-regular lunch date has become an unthreatening way for these very different groups to mingle.

In a neighbourhood on the other side of Bristol, decades of neglect, disinvestment and stigma have left the area in decline. But rather than blaming immigration, networks of residents and organisations are leading the charge on neighbourhood renewal.

By pooling resources, skills, and ingenuity, finding workarounds to divert resources where they are needed, they are rebuilding dignity and agency from below. This isn’t dramatic transformation but small changes that benefit everyone, such as reintroducing bins in the park.

Community groups are also safer spaces for difficult conversations about local identity and sense of place that acknowledge residents’ feelings of loss or injustice. Darren, a youth worker, explains that well-loved community spaces are “vital” for keeping conversations respectful.

Bristol’s identity – a vibrant and exciting city with a troubled colonial past – rarely fits their own experience of growing up at its forgotten peripheries. Instead of becoming mired in these citywide “culture wars”, groups in both areas celebrate their neighbourhood’s unique heritage in response to this desire for pride and belonging.

Looking to the future

Community activists nationwide are defying assumptions about working-class neighbourhoods as being “on benefits, uneducated, having loads of kids, racist”, as Trish, a tenants’ group member told me.

With elections around the UK in 2026, the future of the country’s neighbourhoods is up for grabs. But trust in any politician is at rock bottom in these Bristolian communities and elsewhere. One resident told me, if any party set up a stall outside the local shops, “that table’s getting flipped”.

Reform UK doesn’t have a foothold like Labour here, but its candidates could still be in contention here if they can ride their national party’s wave. For now, the hard work of community activists appears to be having some effect.

This fight won’t just play out in the halls of power or the ballot box – it will unfold in streets, parks, and community halls.

Anthony Ince has received research funding from the British Academy and the Independent Social Research Foundation.

Why some people speak up against prejudice, while others do not

2026-01-27T12:39:21Z

guruXOX/Shutterstock

When people encounter racism or discrimination, they don’t all respond in the same way. Some calmly challenge the remark, some file a complaint, others confront the offender aggressively – and many say nothing at all.

A common assumption is that speaking up against discrimination is a matter of personal courage, political ideology or education. But my recent research suggests that people’s cultural values, shaped by their backgrounds and life experiences, strongly influence how they confront discrimination.

Confrontation comes in very different forms. Some choose to confront non-aggressively (such as calmly pointing out prejudice, explaining why it is offensive or sharing how it impacts them emotionally). Others prefer relatively more aggressive confrontation (such as shouting back, threatening or physical retaliation). These responses carry different risks and consequences, both for the person confronting and for wider social relations.

My recent study with colleagues Thomas Kessler and Ayşe K. Uskul looked at how people’s cultural views of honour affected how they might respond to an insult or discrimination.

Honour is often misunderstood as a personal trait or a relic of “traditional” cultures. In psychology, honour is better understood as a cultural system that develops when people cannot rely on institutions – such as courts or police – to protect them from harm or injustice.

Honour cultures, common in Latin America, north Africa, south and west Asia and the southern US, often developed under harsh historical, social and ecological conditions, for example, scarce resources unprotected by central authorities.

In such contexts, reputation matters. Maintaining honour requires projecting a reputation for toughness. It means signalling a readiness to retaliate against perceived threats or insults to protect oneself and one’s family.

Being seen as weak or passive can invite further mistreatment, so individuals and groups learn to defend their dignity themselves. Honour codes travel with people through migration, continuing to shape how they interpret threats, insults and unfair treatment in new social environments.

The role of honour

Our study sought to understand how internalised honour codes shape responses to discrimination. Specifically, we looked at two communities: south and west Asians in the UK and Turkish migrants in Germany.

People in these communities may have grown up in an honour culture, where personal retaliation against insults is expected. Or, they may have learned these codes from parents and grandparents, while living in countries where such codes are not widespread.

Our findings show that honour codes play a central role in how people say they would confront discrimination. We asked participants a series of questions about their views on honour, as well as their experiences of discrimination. We then asked them to rate the different confrontation styles that they might use when someone discriminates against them based on their ethnic or cultural background.

We found that broadly, people who experienced discrimination more frequently said they were more likely to confront it. But the style of confrontation they chose depended strongly on their cultural values.

A key finding concerned collective honour: the belief that you have a responsibility to defend the dignity of your ethnic or cultural group. Participants who strongly endorsed collective honour reported they were more likely to confront prejudice in any form, whether calmly or aggressively. For them, remaining silent felt like allowing an insult to stand.

Protest: one way to respond to discrimination. Martin Suker/Shutterstock

In contrast to those who view honour as a collective quality, there are also those who view honour as more of an individual, internalised quality. This can manifest in how people rate the importance of family reputation, and their readiness for retaliation against insults.

People who emphasised family reputation values – concern with maintaining respectability and avoiding shame – said they were more likely to confront discrimination in non-aggressive ways. They also reported being less likely to respond aggressively. Maintaining dignity, for them, meant self-control.

Those who strongly endorsed retaliation values – belief that failing to respond to insults signals weakness and dishonour – were more likely to confront prejudice aggressively and less likely to use calmer strategies. In other words, honour does not push people uniformly toward violence or to remain silent. Different honour codes lead to very different ways of speaking up.

Interestingly, broader structural factors — such as financial insecurity or distrust in the police and authorities — played a smaller role than expected in how people responded to discrimination. What mattered most was how often people actually experienced discrimination.

Repeated exposure to discrimination increased the likelihood of aggressive confrontation, especially among those who endorsed retaliation norms. This suggests that speaking up is shaped less by abstract perceptions of injustice and more by life experiences.

Why this matters

Political rhetoric around immigration has contributed to a broader climate of hostility and suspicion of some communities. This is evident in the waves of anti-immigration protests the UK has seen in recent years, and their effects on communities. According to Home Office data released in late 2025, police recorded 10,097 racially or religiously aggravated offences in August 2024 alone.

Against this backdrop, those who speak up — whether in calm advocacy or in heated confrontation — risk being judged against a narrow standard of “civility” that disregards the personal and cultural experiences that shape their responses.

For some people, walking away preserves dignity. For others, it undermines it. This does not mean all confrontational responses are equally effective or desirable.

But it does mean that judging these responses without understanding their cultural roots risks blaming individuals for navigating systems that were never designed to protect them. If we want more constructive conversations about discrimination and how we speak up against it, our research can offer a place to start.

Mete Sefa Uysal 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.

Labour blocks Andy Burnham from standing for parliament: how it happened and why

2026-01-26T21:11:25Z

The Labour party’s National Executive Committee (NEC) has voted to block Andy Burnham from seeking selection for the vacant Gorton and Denton parliamentary seat. The move and its fallout have exposed fault lines within the Labour party that go beyond a single byelection.

What might otherwise have been a routine internal procedural matter has instead become a revealing episode about authority, legitimacy and control inside the party – and how Keir Starmer understands both internal democracy and political risk.

The vacancy itself arose from the resignation of the Labour MP, Andrew Gwynne. A byelection must now be held in a constituency long assumed to be safely Labour. The party won 50% of the vote at the last general election with Reform second on 14%. Recent electoral volatility, however, has made even such strongholds less predictable.

This context matters. Byelections are no longer cost-free exercises in party management. They can become national political moments, particularly when they intersect with questions of leadership and direction.

Burnham’s interest in returning to Westminster must be understood against this backdrop. Since leaving parliament and becoming mayor of Greater Manchester in 2017, Burnham has established himself as one of Labour’s most recognisable and electorally successful figures.

His mayoralty has given him a distinct political identity, rooted in devolution, public services and a forthright northern voice. His approach has often contrasted with the more centralised and cautious tone of Starmer’s leadership since 2020.

And with Burnham consistently cited as a contender to replace Starmer, it’s difficult to separate his desire to return to parliament from his desire for the leadership. A return to Westminster could provide Burnham with influence, visibility and long-term options that a regional office, however powerful, cannot fully provide.

It is precisely because Burnham occupies such a prominent executive role that he needed the NEC’s approval to run. Labour’s rules are clear: directly elected mayors must seek permission before becoming parliamentary candidates. This is largely to prevent the disruption and expense of triggering further elections. Burnham would have to be replaced as mayor and a contest would be costly.

On the surface, therefore, the NEC’s involvement was procedurally acceptable. What transformed it into a political controversy was how its decision to block him is being interpreted.

Internal democracy vs central control

Supporters of Burnham argued that the case for allowing him onto the shortlist was strong. At a basic level, they maintained that local party members should have been trusted to decide whether he was the right candidate. This argument drew on long-standing Labour principles about internal democracy and local autonomy.

Burnham’s profile, record of winning elections as mayor and roots in Greater Manchester were seen as assets that could only strengthen Labour’s chances of holding the seat. At a potentially awkward moment in the electoral cycle and with high-profile figures rumoured to be thinking of running for other parties, this is by no means a given.

Beyond electoral calculation, there was also a symbolic dimension. Allowing a figure of his stature to compete would have signalled confidence within the party. It would have shown a willingness to tolerate pluralism and ambition rather than to manage it out of existence.

For some senior figures, including the deputy leader, Lucy Powell (no ally of Starmer) the issue was not whether Burnham should automatically be selected, but whether it was right for the national party to remove him from the contest before it began.

The arguments against Burnham’s candidacy focused on the costs and risks associated with triggering a mayoral election. There was also a concern about distraction. The leadership has been keen to project stability and discipline, and the return of a high-profile figure with an independent political base could complicate this.

Yet it is difficult to ignore the political subtext. Burnham’s record of public disagreement with elements of the leadership’s strategy marked him out as a potential alternative focus of authority within the party.

Blocking his return to parliament therefore carries the appearance, whether intended or not, of pre-emptive containment. For critics, this reinforces a perception that the NEC is being used not simply as a guardian of rules, but as an instrument of political management.

The committee’s eight-to-one vote against Burnham intensified these concerns. Powell was the only member to vote in Burnham’s favour and the chair, home secretary Shabana Mahmood, abstained.

On one reading, this demonstrated that the leadership’s position commanded overwhelming institutional support. On another, it underlined the marginalisation of dissenting voices, even at the highest levels of the party.

That the only explicit supporter of Burnham was also one of Labour’s most senior elected figures lends the episode a particular symbolic weight. Powell won her position via a membership vote rather than being appointed by Starmer.

What happens next

The broader political ramifications of this situation are complex. In the short term, the decision may suit Starmer. Preventing Burnham from re-entering parliament reduces the likelihood of an alternative leadership figure emerging on the backbenches. It also allows the leadership to maintain tight control over messaging and candidate selection at a moment when it believes discipline is electorally advantageous.

However, the longer-term risks should not be underestimated. The episode feeds into an existing narrative that Labour under Starmer is highly centralised and wary of internal competition. For party members and supporters who value participation and openness, this risks alienation.

There is also an electoral gamble in blocking Burnham. Should Labour struggle in or even lose the Gorton and Denton byelection, the decision to exclude Burnham will be retrospectively scrutinised as a missed opportunity. Conversely, even a comfortable victory will not entirely erase the impression that the party prioritised internal control over open debate.

Ultimately, the Burnham affair illuminates a central tension within Labour: the balance between authority and legitimacy. The NEC may have acted within its formal powers, but legitimacy in politics is never solely procedural. It is also relational, shaped by how decisions are perceived by members, voters and the wider public.

Tim Heppell 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.

People from sexual minorities really do die younger, new data suggests

2026-01-26T17:12:12Z

Okrasiuk/Shutterstock

New data has revealed something the UK has never seen before: clear evidence that sexual minority people die earlier, and at higher rates, than their straight or heterosexual peers.

For the first time, the Office for National Statistics (ONS) has published overall mortality rates by sexual orientation in England and Wales. The findings come from a new bulletin that links voluntary sexual orientation data collected in the 2021 census with death registrations between March 2021 and November 2024. The linkage was possible for people with valid NHS identification numbers, allowing researchers to examine patterns of death across a population of nearly 29 million adults.

Evidence on whether sexual minority people experience higher overall mortality has been mixed, with many previous studies limited by small sample sizes, indirect measures of sexual orientation or a focus on specific causes of death rather than all-cause mortality. The new ONS analysis is the first UK study to link self-reported sexual orientation from the census with national death registrations, allowing population-level mortality rates to be examined across millions of people.

The headline result is difficult to ignore. People identifying as lesbian, gay, bisexual or another minority sexual orientation were 30% more likely to die from any cause during the study period than those identifying as straight or heterosexual. In age-standardised terms, this equates to 982.8 deaths per 100,000 people in the LGB+ group, compared with 752.6 per 100,000 among straight or heterosexual people.

Sexual orientation was included in the census for the first time in 2021. Around 92.5% of people aged 16 and over answered the question, representing roughly 44.9 million people.

Most respondents (89.4%) identified as straight or heterosexual, while 3.2% identified with an LGB+ orientation. A further 7.5% chose not to answer. After linking census responses to death records, the final ONS analysis covered just under 28.7 million people.

While this is the first UK release to examine all-cause mortality by sexual orientation, it builds on earlier ONS findings. In April 2025, the agency reported that people identifying as LGB+ had more than double the risk of suicide and two-and-a-half times the risk of intentional self-harm compared with straight or heterosexual people.

What the new data shows is that higher mortality among sexual minority people extends well beyond mental health.

Heart disease, for example, was the leading cause of death in both groups together and specifically in men (the leading cause of death in LGB+ women was intentional self-harm, and heart disease was the second leading cause). It accounted for 11.9% of deaths among LGB+ people and 10.7% among straight or heterosexual people.

This might not sound surprising until age is taken into account. On average, people in the LGB+ group were much younger, with a mean age of 35.6 years, compared with 48.6 years in the straight or heterosexual group.

Because the risk of ischaemic heart disease rises steeply with age, a higher share of deaths from this cause in a younger population is particularly troubling.

The ONS does not attempt to explain why these differences exist, and the data alone cannot establish cause. But the broader evidence base offers important clues. Smoking, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, obesity and physical inactivity are all well-established risk factors for cardiovascular disease, and some are known to be more common among sexual minority populations.

Earlier ONS analysis has shown that lesbian, gay and bisexual people are more likely to smoke than heterosexual people, especially women, even after accounting for factors such as age, ethnicity and socioeconomic status.

Other research suggests higher rates of obesity among sexual minority women, though not consistently among men. Evidence for differences in conditions such as high blood pressure and diabetes is more mixed.

Beyond individual behaviour, decades of research point to the health effects of minority stress on heart disease. Exposure to discrimination, stigma and violence is associated with higher levels of smoking and alcohol use, disrupted sleep, obesity and hypertension, all of which accumulate over time to increase the risk of serious illness and early death.

The most distressing findings in the new ONS release concern young people. Among those aged 16 to 24 who identified as LGB+, suicide accounted for 45.3% of all deaths. Among straight or heterosexual people of the same age, the figure was 26.6%.

Suicide is preventable, but it rarely has a single cause. What these findings make clear is that living in today’s society still places a heavier burden on sexual minority people, particularly the young. That burden shows up not only in mental health statistics, but in patterns of physical illness and early death.

If sexual minority young people were able to grow up in safer, more inclusive environments, these stark inequalities might not exist. The emerging evidence suggests they are not inevitable. They are shaped by social conditions and, at least in part, they can be changed.

Catherine Meads volunteers occasionally for the Liberal Democrat political party in the UK but is not a member.

Suella Braverman defects: is Reform becoming a magnet for Tory baggage?

2026-01-26T16:58:26Z

Suella Braverman’s decision to defect to Reform UK is not just another blow to Kemi Badenoch’s attempt to stabilise the Conservatives after their 2024 defeat. It also changes what Reform is being judged on.

Earlier this month, Badenoch sacked Robert Jenrick from the shadow cabinet for plotting to defect to Reform. Hours later, he did just that. Braverman’s move takes Reform’s number of MPs to eight. Party leader Nigel Farage has said Reform had been in talks with her for a year.

At this point, though, Reform is at risk of absorbing so many former Tories that it starts to look like the establishment it denounces. This recruitment spree rewrites the insurgent brand.

Reform’s leadership will understandably celebrate Braverman’s arrival as a serious coup. She is a former home secretary and a national media figure. Her departure is an unmistakable signal that the Conservative right is fragmenting. The Times reports she told supporters it felt like she had “come home”, but there is a basic strategic tension here.

Reform has thrived by arguing that British politics is run by a closed circle of insiders who fail repeatedly and then reshuffle into new jobs. A rapid intake of ex-ministers risks making Reform look less like a clean break and more like a migration route for political careers.

That attack line is already being deployed. After former chancellor Nadhim Zahawi’s switch earlier this month, the Liberal Democrats described Reform as “a retirement home for disgraced former Conservative ministers”. The same basic charge has followed Braverman’s move: critics argue that people who helped shape the recent Conservative record are now trying to rebrand themselves inside Reform rather than account for that record.

For Reform, then, the immediate gain in publicity comes with a reputational cost: the party becomes easier to frame as a collection of defectors rather than a coherent alternative.

The May deadline: Reform knows the danger

If Reform were confident that any defection is good news, it would have no need for a cut-off date. But Farage has set the local elections date of May 7 as the latest date he will take Conservative switchers. After that, he believes his party would start to look like “a rescue charity for every panicky Tory MP”.

That is revealing. It implies Reform is trying to capture the benefits of defections (experience, profile, the aura of inevitability) while limiting the downside (brand dilution, factional chaos, accusations of being “Tories in new colours”). A deadline is, in effect, an admission that there is such a thing as too many ex-Tories… or at least too many arriving too quickly.

The deeper issue is organisational. Recruiting MPs is not the same as building a party machine. Defectors bring personal followings, constituency operations, donor networks and ideological baggage. They can add reach but they can also add volatility, especially if Reform’s appeal relies on projecting discipline and clarity.

And internal tensions are not theoretical. Braverman and Jenrick are not merely Conservatives who happen to have drifted rightwards. They were also senior figures in a government that Reform has attacked as incompetent and deceitful.

That is why a July 2025 post on X by Zia Yusuf (widely circulated as Braverman joined) lands so sharply. In the post, the head of policy at Reform UK referred to the Conservative government’s handling of an Afghan data leak and secret resettlement, asking “who was in government?”, and then named Braverman as home secretary and Jenrick as immigration minister.

The point isn’t whether Yusuf’s earlier argument was fair or unfair. It’s that it feeds an “own goal” narrative. Reform’s senior figures have recently depicted these people as emblematic of the failures of the Conservative state, and now the party is inviting them into the tent.

That forces Reform into a delicate position. If it embraces defectors uncritically, it weakens its anti-establishment brand. If it keeps attacking them, it destabilises its own recruitment strategy.

Braverman’s seat: opportunity and risk

Braverman’s own constituency, Fareham and Waterlooville, illustrates why Reform wants converts of her stature and why the strategy can backfire.

On official local results for the 2024 general election, Braverman won with 35% of the vote; Reform placed fourth on 18%, behind Labour (23%) and the Liberal Democrats (19%).

That is the kind of compressed result Reform dreams about: a sizeable right-populist base already present, plus a Conservative vote that if transferred could turn a marginal into a secure Reform seat. From this perspective, defections are not just PR. They are an attempt to solve Reform’s hardest electoral problem: converting diffuse national support into winnable constituency coalitions.

But the same numbers show the danger. If Braverman fails to bring a large share of Conservative voters with her, the most likely short-term effect is to make the seat more competitive for her opponents through vote fragmentation and tactical voting. Defections can therefore produce a paradox: they make Reform look bigger nationally while making individual contests messier locally.

And at the national level, the risk is huge. Reform’s central claim – that it is the “alternative” to a failed political class – is now colliding with the reality of who it is recruiting from that class.

If Reform wants to remain a pure insurgency, it must keep its distance from establishment figures and prioritise new candidates. If it wants to look like a credible government-in-waiting, it will keep collecting experienced politicians, but it must then accept the costs – intensified scrutiny, more ammunition for opponents, and the constant suspicion that it is simply rebranding Conservatism rather than replacing it.

Thomas Lockwood 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.

Andy Burnham: what now for the King in the North?

2026-01-26T13:39:33Z

Andy Burnham, the mayor of Greater Manchester, has been blocked from standing for parliament – a step that would have been essential to mount a leadership challenge against Keir Starmer.

Andrew Gwynne, who has been suspended for some time, has stepped down as MP for Gorton and Denton, citing ill health. A byelection will now be held in the seat, which is in the greater Manchester area – Burnham’s home turf. But the party’s National Executive Committee has voted eight to one to prevent Burnham from standing in the byelection, citing the expense of running a mayoral election to replace him as the main reason.

However, their ruling has been taken as a signal that Starmer is too worried about the threat Burnham would pose from the backbenches to allow him to return to Westminster.

Starmer is right to be worried. Burnham has been following a long history by hovering around in the background as a party leader struggles.

Margaret Thatcher spent the second half of her premiership heading off the threat from Michael Heseltine. He didn’t replace her but she was toppled and John Major assumed power as a consequence of those tussles.

Tony Blair and Gordon Brown’s rivalry was infamous and at times all-consuming. Both David Cameron and Theresa May had to deal with Boris Johnson’s ambition to occupy their job. And we know how that ended.

In some ways, Burnham is trudging a similar path to Johnson: a former MP who left parliament to take up office as the mayor of a large city, and who enjoys a national profile that perhaps exceeds that of his office. However, the similarities end there.

Burnham served in Blair’s government, before holding multiple roles within Brown’s cabinet, including as health secretary. Burnham also tested his leadership credentials on the Labour membership on two occasions – losing to Ed Miliband in 2010 and Jeremy Corbyn in 2015.

Burnham has often spoken of his disdain for the Westminster model and has done very well for himself out of being a mayor rather than an MP. It’s true that he was taking what many saw as a convenient off ramp out of Jeremy Corbyn’s shadow cabinet when he initially ran for the position, but he won the 2017 election with 63% of the vote. He increased his majority upon re-election in 2021 and has become the figurehead of the English mayors.

His most impressive credentials lie in his approach to transport. He has taken the lead on bringing buses back into public ownership – a move that has been popular among people frustrated by spiralling fare prices. His was the first city outside London to appoint a walking and cycling commissioner – something that was then copied by every other mayor. He has ultimately formulated what has become known as “the Bee network” – a fully integrated system of tram and bus lines and cycle routes.

Of course, not all of Burnham’s actions have seen successes. For example, the ten-year plan for Greater Manchester, which is overseen by his office, has become increasingly fractured as local authorities break away from it – particularly over concerns that its housing targets aren’t achievable.

However, it was during the COVID-19 pandemic that he really burnished his credentials as the so-called “King in the North” – a title that has endured in popularity longer than the TV show from which it was derived. Amid confusing advice over lockdowns and inconsistent support from national government, Burnham took to giving live press conferences on the steps of Manchester town hall railing against Westminster.

He eventually won some concessions from the Johnson government over lockdown restrictions in his region. This, perhaps for the first time, really showcased the value of a talismanic mayor who could argue for their city, and certainly reaffirmed Burnham’s position as a national player.

A king on the march?

Given his two previous tilts at the role, Burnham’s leadership ambitions have rarely been in doubt. Indeed they have always bubbled beneath the surface. Although he has little choice but to lick his wounds for now, Burnham’s status as a potential replacement for Starmer remains undiminished.

There will also, undoubtedly, be others in the Labour party who have their own leadership ambitions, and who will have mixed emotions that the main stalking horse liable to topple Starmer and instigate a leadership race has been stabled.

Perhaps in a case of life imitating art, we should remember that in Game of Thrones the King in the North is fatally undone by poor tactical decisions. The most successful example of returning to parliament and obtaining power remains Johnson.

Even so, this took nearly four years and a party that largely wanted him back. With his path to Westminster currently blocked, that timeline might leave Burnham questioning his long-term strategy.

Alex Nurse 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.

One country is trying to outlaw political lying, without curbing free speech

2026-01-23T17:31:43Z

Lightspring/Shutterstock

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.

How do you outlaw political lies without undermining democratic debate itself? Layne Harris/Shutterstock

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.

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.

Starmer’s response to Trump’s Greenland outburst shows good old British pragmatism only goes so far

2026-01-23T14:29:32Z

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.

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.

The House of Lords has voted to stop under 16s using social media – what happens now?

2026-01-22T17:54:30Z

The House of Lords has voted, by a significant margin of 261 to 150, to prevent children under 16 in the UK from using social media platforms.

There has been growing political interest in introducing a ban after a similar change came into effect in Australia in late 2025. Around 60 Labour MPs have signed a letter publicly calling for the prime minister to act, while the matter was also raised at prime minister’s questions by the Conservative party leader Kemi Badenoch.

This latest vote in the Lords on January 21 will add momentum to these calls. But how significant is the vote, and how likely is it to ultimately be passed into law?

Wednesday’s vote in the Lords took place on an amendment – that is, a proposed change – put forward to the government’s Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill by cross-party peers led by Conservative former minister Lord Nash.

While government ministers opposed Nash’s proposal, and whipped Labour members of the Lords to vote against it, the chamber as a whole opted to back the amendment – producing what is referred to as a government defeat.

Unlike some other votes in parliament, which may be considered non-binding, votes on legislation can present a bigger headache for the government. This is because, if the text in this amendment remained in the bill when it completed its passage and received royal assent, it would become legally binding.

The Lords’ amendment to the Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill would ban social media accounts for under-16s. Dejan Dundjerski/Shutterstock

Yet government defeats in the Lords are not unusual, and not necessarily a sign of major trouble. During the 2019-24 parliament, the then Conservative governments suffered over 400 defeats in the Lords – most of them also on amendments to government legislation. Since 2024, under Labour, the number is already well over 100. One reason for this is that, in contrast to the Commons, no party has a majority of seats in the Lords. This means that, if opposition peers are united, governing parties can often be outvoted.

Both Houses must usually agree to a bill in identical form before it can be passed into law. Once both chambers have considered this bill, it will therefore begin a process known as “ping pong”’ – whereby it moves back and forth between the two Houses until all disagreements have been resolved. While in principle the Lords could insist repeatedly on this amendment, it is in practice rare for peers to dig in for long. Members of the Lords often describe their role as being to ask the Commons to “think again”.

The most important actors here are therefore not in the Lords – but MPs in the Commons.

Labour backbench MPs will be key

When the bill later returns to the Commons for the first ping pong stage, MPs will have three options on this amendment: to accept the Lords’ position, reject it outright, or propose an alternative form of words.

The government has a large majority in the Commons, and it is very likely to be able to use this position to get its way on this amendment. Early indications are that ministers intend to ask MPs to reject the amendment. This would effectively delete the proposal from the bill and then send the issue back to the Lords for further consideration.

Yet the prospect of a Commons vote does nonetheless create a problem for the government. This is an issue on which there is known to be widespread disquiet on the Labour benches – almost certainly extending beyond the 60-odd MPs who signed the public letter. Some of these may be reluctant to back down without some sort of concession.

While the government is very unlikely to be defeated in the Commons, this is not necessarily the point. Even the prospect of public dissent can be highly embarrassing, risking perceptions of a divided party unable to command the support of its own backbenchers while also eroding goodwill.

It is for this reason that government ministers are likely to adopt a conciliatory tone when the bill returns to the Commons. It is very unlikely they will accept the Lords amendment outright, but it is possible they may be willing to adopt a compromise form of words – a dynamic that is relatively common in response to Lords defeats.

But it is perhaps even more likely that MPs may be swayed by firm non-legislative commitments by ministers on future action they will take. Indeed, the government has already promised a rapid consultation – announced earlier this week – and this may provide many Labour MPs with the cover they need to back down for now. Others may use the threat of this vote to try to push ministers further, for example by seeking commitments on how the outcome of the consultation will be taken forward.

Taken together, it is very unlikely that the vote in the Lords this week will prove to be the end of the story on this issue. It is quite possible that, by the time the government has finished guiding this bill onto the statute book, this amendment will have been entirely removed. But it may nonetheless have served a large part of its intended purpose by putting pressure on ministers to act.

Daniel Gover 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.

Is AI hurting your ability to think? How to reclaim your brain

2026-01-22T17:54:26Z

Yarrrrrbright/Shutterstock

The retirement of West Midlands police chief Craig Guildford is a wake-up call for those of us using artificial intelligence (AI) tools at work and in our personal lives. Guildford lost the confidence of the home secretary after it was revealed that the force used incorrect AI-generated evidence in their controversial decision to ban Israeli football fans from attending a match.

This is a particularly egregious example, but many people may be falling victim to the same phenomenon – outsourcing the “struggle” of thinking to AI.

As an expert on how new technology reshapes society and the human experience, I have observed a growing phenomenon which I and other researchers refer to as “cognitive atrophy”.

Essentially, AI is replacing tasks many people have grown reluctant to do themselves – thinking, writing, creating, analysing. But when we don’t use these skills, they can decline.

We also risk getting things very, very wrong. Generative AI works by predicting likely words from patterns trained on vast amounts of data. When you ask it to write an email or give advice, its responses sound logical. But it does not understand or know what is true.

There are countless anecdotal examples of people feeling like AI use is making them “lazy” or “stupid”. A recent study found that generative AI use among university students is driven by higher workloads and time pressure, and that greater AI use is associated with increased procrastination and memory loss and poorer academic performance. Misuse of generative AI tools (for example, to cheat on exams) may undermine skills like critical thinking, creativity and ethical decision-making.

Recognising atrophy

You might observe this happening in your own life. One sign might be that you’ve moved away from creating an initial unpolished version of a task. Not so long ago, you might have started with a rough draft – a messy, human brainstorming process on a whiteboard, a notepad or the back of a napkin.

You may now feel more comfortable with the “prompt-and-accept” reflex: asking for and accepting solutions, rather than trying to tease out your own ideas and solve problems.

If your first instinct for every task is to ask an AI tool to give you a starting point, you are skipping the most vital part of thinking. This is the heavy lifting of structure, logic and sparking new ideas which excite us.

Another sign of atrophy is a shrinking of your frustration threshold. If you find that after only 60 seconds of mental effort you feel an itch to see what AI suggests, your stamina for ambiguity, a little self-doubt and frustration is probably compromised. Impatience cuts off the cognitive space needed for divergent thinking – the ability to generate multiple unique solutions.

Do you find yourself accepting AI-generated output without questioning its validity? Or do you find yourself unable to trust your own gut instinct without checking with an AI search? This may be a sign that you are shifting from being a decision-maker to a decision-approver or worse, a passive passenger of your own thinking process.

Reclaim your thinking

How can you combat this cognitive atrophy? The goal should not necessarily be to quit using AI entirely, but to move toward responsible autonomy – reclaiming your capacity to think and make decisions for yourself, rather than blindly outsourcing judgement to AI systems. This requires building some strategic friction back into your daily life. It means embracing uncertainty and learning from the process of thinking, even if you are wrong on occasion. Here are some practical things you can try:

1. The 30-minute rule

Before you open any AI interface, try to commit to 30 minutes of deep thinking. Use a pen and paper. Pick your topic or task, and map out the problem, the potential solutions, the risks and the stakeholders. For example, before asking an AI tool to draft a marketing strategy, map out your target audience. Try to identify potential ethical or reputational risks and sketch out some ideas.

By doing the initial cognitive work, you will likely feel a stronger sense of ownership for your output. If you eventually use AI, use it to refine your thoughts, not replace them.

Don’t ignore the importance of the rough draft. NewAfrica/Shutterstock

2. Be sceptical

One of the most persistent concerns is that people use AI as an oracle and believe its output without question. Instead, treat it as a deeply unreliable colleague who may know the right answer, but hallucinates from time to time.

Task yourself with finding three specific errors with AI’s output, or to break its logic. Tell yourself that you can do better. This forces your brain out of the consumer mode and back into creator and editor mode, keeping your critical faculties sharp.

3. Create thinking spaces

Identify one core task in your personal or professional life that you enjoy doing, and commit to performing it entirely without AI assistance. These thinking spaces help your brain maintain its ability to navigate complex and open-ended challenges from scratch.

As you regain confidence, try branching out to other tasks. If you lead a team at work, allow people to have time to think slowly in this way, free from the pressure of producing more.

4. Measure your ‘return on habit’

Think about the “return on habit” – the long-term benefits such as improved health or happiness gained from consistently practising small positive routines. Ask yourself: Is this AI tool making me smarter, or just faster? Is faster better? For whom?

If a tool helps you notice things you did not see before, it may enhance your thinking, not replace it. However, if it is merely replacing a skill you used to possess and did well, it is an atrophying agent. If you are not gaining a new capability in exchange for the one you have outsourced, you may be conceding to the algorithms.

Noel Carroll 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.

Donald Trump’s Board of Peace signed at Davos – key points I took away from my visit to the ski resort

2026-01-22T17:47:33Z

Donald Trump’s newly launched “Board of Peace” presents itself as a bold attempt to break with what its founders describe as decades of failed international diplomacy. Its charter opens with a declaration that few would openly dispute: “Durable peace requires pragmatic judgment, common-sense solutions, and the courage to depart from approaches and institutions that have too often failed.”

It is true that the world urgently needs to overcome decades of inertia to reform its international organisations. It is true that new institutions are needed to solve global problems rather than merely managing never-ending crises.

This is perhaps why Donald Trump decided to hold the signing ceremony for his new board on the margins of the World Economic Forum in Davos. Here, more than any other place, is where results-oriented global business leaders supposedly gather. At the signing of the charter, a jubilant Trump was among 20 heads of state and prime ministers (of the 60 who had been invited).

The “most prestigious board ever formed” so far includes the presidents of Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and the prime ministers of Mongolia, Armenia and Pakistan. Rightly, representatives of the governments more directly involved in the “Gaza peace plan” are also present, including Israel, Qatar, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Jordan and Egypt.

From south-east Asia we have Indonesia and Vietnam and from South America, President Javier Milei from Argentina. Hungary, Bulgaria and Kosovo are the only European countries to join so far.

The board’s charter goes on to set out a “partnership” that would be even less accountable than the old United Nations security council and even less democratic than any publicly listed company whose CEO is attending Davos.

It has potential as an instrument for building peace in Gaza, but risks failure if its scope becomes too diluted. And Davos itself risks losing credibility as a place where people “make sense of global challenges and move the world forward together”, if the search for a new world order becomes the celebration of one single man.

I have been to Davos several times. It’s certainly not one of the most prestigious ski resorts of the Swiss Alps. And this year, more than ever, I have felt increasingly sceptical about its capacity as a forum for generating the ideas that the world desperately needs to make sense of those global challenges.

Out of about 3,000 delegates, less than one out of ten seems to be under 30, to my eye. The gender balance is not good either. There are lots of Americans and most pay expensive attendance fees. It’s a world in which power lines are not clearly drawn unless you are in the know.

The Board of Peace is far more transparent when it comes to asserting where the power lies. Trump is expressly nominated by the charter as the chairman for life. He is the only one who can invite states to become members – and revoke their membership. He alone nominates his successor. He holds a veto over any decision.

At the security council, this is a power held by the five nations that won the second world war. Trump may continue to serve even if he is no longer president of the US. Nobody may, of course, seek to dismiss the chairman, although the charter graciously acknowledges that a removal may happen in case of “incapacity” of the supreme leader, if the other members of the board agree unanimously.

This is more power than most modern dictators can claim. Putin has to win elections, and Xi Jinping is nominated by a party. It is more power than even Roman emperors, who were formally designated by the senate (and in reality chosen by the army). Trump has proposed a document that hands him powers of which Augustus himself could not even dream.

What is striking is that most EU member states are “considering” the invitation to join. Some are even said to be trying to work out how they would navigate conflicts such a move would present with their own national constitutions or with the EU treaties (it should be obvious to any student of law that there is no such possibility for a self-declared liberal democracy).

It would be catastrophic if they did. They would be agreeing that an international organisation based on the unaccountable leadership of one single individual could be a starting point for constructing a new world order.

Trump’s advisers are right when they write in the charter that “too often the approaches to most of the global problems foster perpetual dependency, and institutionalise crisis rather than leading people beyond it”. We need to make sure that international organisations are rewarded according to their ability to solve problems and not just manage them endlessly. Yet this requires more accountability and participation – not less. We need proposals that are creative but serious.

I am sure that many have doubts about the World Economic Forum becoming the stage for the never-ending show of the producer of The Apprentice.

Francesco Grillo is affiliated with Vision, the think tank

Why the establishment of a national school for civil servants matters

2026-01-22T11:25:31Z

Public administration has never been the glitziest or most immediately attractive discipline to study. With this in mind, the government’s announcement that it intends to establish a new National School of Government and Public Services (NSGPS) – in-house training for civil servants – is easily overlooked as little more than administrative tinkering in a world beset by uncertainty and turbulence.

And yet to see this announcement as little more than peripheral politics would be wrong: it matters. Since the previous National School of Government was abolished in 2012 (and the Civil Service College abolished in 1995), the UK has struggled to ensure that its public service professional development and support structures are fit for the future.

This is necessary if the UK is to build an inclusive economy, deliver its industrial strategy, deal with its “productivity puzzle”, and manage those issues that now sit within the UK’s National Risk Register (such as the threat from extreme weather events). More generally, if it is to escape the dominant “broken Britain” doom-loop narrative, then it needs to radically rethink how it supports politicians and officials across different governments and at all levels of the UK to govern effectively. This is why the creation of a NSGPS matters.

The slight concern is the UK government’s plan to move quickly. A promise to “move fast and fix things” – as made in chief secretary to the prime minister Darren Jones’ speech introducing the measure – is only a good approach once you are clear what actually needs to be put in place to fix the problem. In some ways the creation of a new NSGPS is too important to rush, and a more moderated design and delivery plan is possibly needed.

Five questions could help take this discussion forward.

1. What does success look like?

The creation of an internationally recognised centre of excellence for training, supporting and nurturing politicians and public servants across the UK in an inclusive and positive manner that is responsive to changes in context, society and technology.

It’s important to learn from past successes. Summit Art Creations/Shutterstock

Critically, it should offer a capacity to identify and learn from successful public policies across the UK, and from different countries in the world. As Pat McFadden argued when he was chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster in December 2024, public services needs to get better at learning from “things that have gone right”.

2. What does it need?

Stability. If the NSGPS is to flourish and thrive then it cannot be established based on short-term funding guarantees. Ideally it needs an endowment-based model of funding which is managed by an independent trust to facilitate innovation and flexibility. The churn and change that has defined reform in this area cannot continue. It’s a total waste of money.

3. What structure might it adopt?

A flexible one. Not a large country house but a hub-and-spoke model where different providers (universities, consultancies, professional associations) provide a patchwork of services which range from one-to-one mentorship and support right through to action-based learning opportunities and crucible-type initiatives that bring people from different specialisms together.

The Australian and New Zealand School of Government can provide information and inspiration but a bold and ambitious approach in the UK might look to go even further, especially as lots of relevant investments have already been funded.

4. What’s the USP?

Simple – the NSGPS must facilitate mobility. That is, the mobility of people, knowledge and talent across traditional professional, organisation, geographical and sectoral boundaries.

The “public services” dimension of the NSGPS signals a massive opportunity to connect and catalyse with leadership support structures in many sectors (local government, NHS, regional mayors). It cannot be focused on the civil service and must deliver policy learning by building relationships.

5. Where’s the pinch?

Culture. Any minister who is announcing a bold new training initiative for the civil service is almost bound to concede that they will work with the civil service to change the system. However, this creates an obvious risk in the sense that continuity may end up defeating the need for change. Social scientists have for some time recognised the disruptive value of “cultural strangers” – radical new thinking – and a NSGPS must somehow inject a degree of criticality and challenge.

The minister’s announcement that the NSGPS would be “a new centre for world class learning and development within the Cabinet Office” arguably jarred with the broader emphasis on innovation, connectivity and change. Where is the evidence from previous initiatives that the Cabinet Office possesses the capacity to facilitate the mobility of people, ideas and knowledge?

Despite these hurdles, thought, the government’s commitment to establish a new NSGPS matters because dangerous populist narratives are based on claims of governing incompetence. Public trust in political institutions and political processes are at worrying low levels.

Investing in the professional support systems that will help enable politicians and public servants at all levels of government to deliver on their commitments is long overdue. It provides an opportunity to focus not on specific issues or problems, but on systemic improvement and systems leadership based on the realities of working in a quasi-federal, multi-level governance system.

Rebecca Riley receives funding from ESRC as Principle Investigator on the Local Policy Innovation Partnership Strategic Hub . She is affiliated with the Labour Party.

Ian C Elliott and Matthew Flinders do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Trump is testing Europe – and the clock is ticking

2026-01-21T14:09:04Z

A year into Donald Trump’s second presidency, he is pressing ahead with a volatile agenda that tests the limits of the international order.

Europe, by contrast, looks disorganised in the face of the threats Trump is making to annex Greenland and strategically hesitant overall. Rather than setting out a coherent approach, the response risks splintering into reactive moves shaped by domestic constraints.

If this pattern continues, the fallout could be far more serious than many seem to grasp – especially as Trump appears willing to brush aside international law and go after European leaders personally whenever it serves his political brand.

European leaders are sending markedly inconsistent signals. French president Emmanuel Macron has been more assertive than most. He has framed Trump’s posture as a “new colonial approach”, rejecting what he depicts as politics conducted through intimidation rather than rules.

Perhaps his deep unpopularity at home helps explain his more decisive stance against Trump – an attempt to project himself as a tougher, more explicitly pro-European leader.

By contrast, German chancellor Friedrich Merz has prioritised de-escalation. He warns against a spiral of retaliation, while still signalling that Europe could respond if coercion intensifies.

Like Macron, Merz has had a difficult year since winning the 2025 federal election. But his cautious style suggests he is inclined to test the waters and avoid escalating tensions with the US. After all, most of his policy moves over the past 12 months have done little to lift his popularity.

Italian prime minister Giorgia Meloni, meanwhile, has positioned herself as a potential mediator, seeking to manage the confrontation rather than confront it head-on. Unlike Macron and Merz, she remains popular in Italy, and her voters appear to approve of her approach to Trump and the US so far. Her recent comments suggest she intends to stay the course.

That lack of coherence is compounded by the strategic hedging of Trump-aligned leaders inside the EU. Viktor Orbán of Hungary and Robert Fico of Slovakia have avoided explicit pushback on threats to Denmark’s sovereignty, focusing instead on their bilateral channels with Trump and other agenda items. This behaviour risks weakening collective deterrence by signalling disunity at the very moment unity is most consequential.

Different dynamics

A similar pattern was clearly visible after the US abducted Nicolás Maduro from Venezuela. While EU and UK responses emphasised process and dialogue, they avoided taking a stance on the legality of those actions – even as legal scholars and public institutions raised serious concerns about compliance with international law.

Europe has a narrowing window to treat these episodes as a single strategic problem. Downplaying the threats coming out of the White House as bluster does not reduce the risk – it in fact lowers the political cost of escalation on the US’s part and makes an eventual attempt at annexation easier to present as “inevitable”.

If threats of territorial revisionism are met with hedging by Europe and talk of “monitoring”, they begin to look like another negotiating style rather than what they are – a direct challenge to the post-war European security order.

Trump has never disguised his contempt for the contemporary political mainstream. He has repeatedly lent political oxygen to far-right projects across Europe, treating them as ideological kin rather than as democratic outliers. Europe therefore needs to face a blunt reality: this crisis is politically damaging whatever course leaders choose. More power for Trump is more power for the far right.

Hostility towards Trump is widespread among the general public in Europe. This should not be treated as background noise. It is a political signal that voters expect clarity. When that clarity does not materialise, the message received by the public is that the political system is either unable or unwilling to defend basic principles and security.

In that context, institutional credibility erodes fast, and the far right gains. If the mainstream appears weak, evasive and unserious in the face of the gravest security risk Europe has confronted since the second world war, it appears illegitimate.

Very few far right figures (with the exception of the French National Rally’s Jordan Bardella) have said anything about the current situation. Silence is not necessarily a weakness here, because it often looks strategic.

Trump wants allies, and much of the European far right also wants Washington’s blessing. Yet this creates an awkward tension: when a US president openly threatens European territory, the far right’s usual claims about the primacy of sovereignty could be thrown off balance.

The direct approach

One obvious place for the centre to look is to the left – not for comfort, but for political clarity. Across Europe, many leftwing parties have responded to Trump’s imperialist posture in direct, unambiguous terms.

In the UK, Green party leader Zack Polanski has called for the removal of US forces from British bases. In Germany, Die Linke has argued for European unity and resistance in the face of Trump’s threats. In France, senior figures in La France Insoumise have gone further, openly raising Nato withdrawal in response to US policy.

The point is not that every one of these positions is a blueprint. It is that responses exist – credible, legible, and politically coherent – for a continent facing an escalating threat, including the prospect of coercion against Greenland.

While the centre fragments, parts of the left have been willing to name what is happening and set out lines of action. The centre should pay attention – and catch up, fast.

Georgios Samaras 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.

Why Trump is attacking the UK over Chagos Islands – and what it tells us about Britain’s place in the world

2026-01-20T18:10:01Z

The US and UK maintain a joint naval base on Diego Garcia. zelvan/Shutterstock

The UK formally agreed to transfer sovereignty over the Chagos Islands to Mauritius in May 2025. With the Trump administration’s explicit support, this move ended one of the longest-running territorial disputes in Britain’s remaining overseas territories.

The decision has been hailed by some as a long-overdue act of decolonisation, condemned by others as a strategic misstep. Unexpectedly, Donald Trump has now reignited the debate, branding the deal an “act of great stupidity”.

Why has this small chain of remote Indian Ocean islands become such a flashpoint?

The roots of the crisis lie in the dismantling of Britain’s empire in the 1960s. The Chagos archipelago was historically administered as part of colonial Mauritius, then a British colony. In 1965, three years before Mauritian independence, the UK separated Chagos from Mauritius to create a new territory: the British Indian Ocean Territory.

The creation of a new colony was an act shaped by cold war strategy. Mounting economic and strategic pressures in the late 1960s – including the devaluation of the pound in 1967 and the Labour government’s 1968 decision to withdraw British forces east of the Suez Canal – together curtailed Britain’s regional defence role in the Indian Ocean.

As Britain retreated “east of Suez”, it still wanted a secure military foothold in the Indian Ocean, particularly one that could be used jointly with the US. Diego Garcia, the largest island in Chagos, was ideal: isolated, strategically positioned between Africa and Southeast Asia, near major trade routes and capable of hosting a major naval and air facility.

The costs were met by the UK, with £3 million paid to Mauritius to cede the islands. But the price of this strategy was paid by the Chagossians. Between 1967 and the early 1970s, the islanders were forcibly removed from their homes and relocated to Mauritius and Seychelles. Their removal was brutal: families were separated, livelihoods destroyed, and a distinct island community effectively erased.

Why the UK changed course

By the 21st century, Britain’s legal position was increasingly untenable. In 2019, the International Court of Justice ruled that the separation of the Chagos archipelago from Mauritius had been unlawful and that the UK should “terminate” its administration “as rapidly as possible”. The UN General Assembly backed this view with an overwhelming but non-binding vote.

Mauritius has consistently argued that the islands are a stolen part of its national territory, and therefore their decolonisation is incomplete. Over time, this case gained traction – Britain’s continued control of Chagos came to symbolise the unfinished business of empire.

By 2022, James Cleverly, then the UK’s foreign secretary, opened negotiations with Mauritius to “resolve all outstanding issues” over the archipelago. In October 2024, the Labour government under Keir Starmer concluded that a negotiated settlement was preferable to decades more legal wrangling.

The deal struck with Mauritius did two things: it transferred sovereignty over the archipelago to Mauritius, while securing a 99-year lease on Diego Garcia to allow the existing US-UK military base to continue operating at a cost of £3.4 billion.

On paper, this protected British (and by extension US) strategic interests in the region while satisfying the legal argument from the UN. However, while the deal was initially supported by the US, the deal has come under attack from other UK political parties, and increasingly jars with Trump’s vision of the world.

Why the islands matter strategically

The significance of Chagos is its location. Diego Garcia is one of the most important western military installations outside Europe and North America. It has been described as “an all but indispensable platform” for US interests in the Middle East and East Africa, with B-52 bombers recently used from the base to strike Yemen.

In an era of renewed great-power rivalry, the island’s value has increased. As China expands its naval presence in the Indian Ocean, western governments see Diego Garcia as a counterweight. However, critics of the deal have raised questions about the China-Mauritius relationship, arguing this would allow China a crucial foothold in the region.

For the UK, the base also underpins its claim to still be a meaningful military actor beyond Europe. For this reason, sovereignty transfer was carefully managed. Britain was not abandoning the base, but ensuring an arrangement that kept western military access intact while removing the colonial stain.

On one level, the Chagos deal looks like a model of decolonisation. Britain accepted international law, acknowledged a historic wrong and negotiated a settlement.

Yet this is happening at a moment when global politics is becoming more overtly imperial in style. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, China’s assertive regional ambitions and Trump’s expansionist rhetoric about Greenland all suggest a world less governed by law and more by power.

In that context, Britain’s attempt to “do the right thing” over Chagos risks looking out of step. It reflects a rules-based worldview that is under pressure.

This creates a dilemma for the British government, which on January 20 vowed to “never compromise on national security”. The government defended the deal, saying it had to hand over the Chagos Islands because the military base was “under threat” from international legal action.

Britain is no longer an imperial sovereign with uncontested control over distant territories. It is a mid-sized power that must balance history, law, alliances and strategy.

This situation also exposes Britain’s continued dependence on the US for its global military clout and economic advantages. Without the US, Diego Garcia would be far less significant. The US substantially provides most of the base’s military capability. Trump’s criticism underscores a deeper vulnerability: Britain’s post-imperial identity remains tethered to American power.

James Brocklesby 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.

Ahead of seismic local elections, what we know about Reform’s ability to put boots on the ground for the campaign

2026-01-20T14:22:20Z

What we used to think of as Britain’s two main parties, Labour and the Conservatives, seem more than happy to postpone as many of this year’s upcoming local elections as possible.

Labour insists the delays are needed because of ongoing local authority reorganisation. Opponents allege the decision has more to do with opinion polls that show both parties losing out badly to Reform, the Lib Dems and the Greens.

Who knows which is true? But it’s all yet another reminder that the UK’s formerly cosy, two-party system seems to be falling apart in front of our eyes.

In a year that holds the potential for electoral gains in councils and in races for the Welsh Senedd and Scottish parliament, what we used to refer to as country’s “minor” parties will have to run many campaigns.

In order to take full advantage of that fragmentation, they ideally need boots on the ground – people prepared to knock on doors and push leaflets through letter boxes in order to encourage supporters to actually get out and vote. These days, it’s also useful to have people willing to create (or at least share) content online.

That raises the question: who do they have? Given that the people who do the most campaigning for parties are its members, we can start by looking at how these numbers are distributed around the country. Reform makes big splashes in the national media, but does it have people who know the ground in the Vale of Clwyd?

My colleagues and I – the party members project run out of Queen Mary University of London and the University of Sussex – have looked into this in a newly published report.

It’s one thing to have plenty of party members – and there have been huge surges in people joining both the Greens and Reform since we conducted our surveys around the time of the 2024 election – but it matters where they’re located and how much they’re prepared to do.

Obviously, it helps to have members in those areas of the country that, opinion polls suggest, are particularly fertile territory. This may well be the case for the Lib Dems and for Reform, although Reform leader Nigel Farage will surely be hoping that that he’s managed to recruit a few more members in Wales and in London since we did our field work.

At that time, just 8% of Reform members were located in Wales, compared to 30% in the south of England. Only 12% of members were in London, where every borough has a council election in 2026.

Where are party members? T Bale, CC BY-ND

As for the Greens, they look rather thinly spread. Like Reform, there’s more of a presence in the south, where 32% of members are to be found. But in London it’s 12%, although it looks like that might be changing fast and for the better in some parts of the capital.

Certainly, irrespective of which region they’re located in, if Green party members live in those multicultural urban areas where Labour looks vulnerable, then they could still prove very useful in May.

How useful members are, of course, also depends on whether they’re willing to actually help out. At the 2024 election, from which our data is derived, around a third of all Lib Dem and Reform UK members, devoted no time at all to their party’s campaign efforts. The Tories, Greens and Labour had it even worse. Around half of their members put no time in.

Digging a bit deeper into the kind of activities members do reveals some interesting differences. In the increasingly important online world, it looks as if the Greens and Reform UK may well have something of an advantage. Their members were more likely to share social media content about their party than members of the Lib Dems and Conservatives.

Which party members are active on social media? T Bale, CC BY-ND

On the doorstep, however, it’s the Lib Dems who are right up there. Some 37% of Lib Dems delivered leaflets to people’s homes in 2024 – a figure that rises to 59% if we ignore those members who told us they’d done nothing for the party during the election.

This is one of the reasons, along with continued Conservative weakness, why, in spite of them being paid far less attention than current media darlings, the Greens and Reform UK, Lib Dem leader Ed Davey’s often underrated party stands to do well in the spring.

Reform’s membership performed less impressively in 2024 – only 20% delivered leaflets, albeit a figure that rises to 34% if we take those members who did nothing at all out of the equation. The figures for canvassing (a rather more demanding activity which parties often struggle to persuade members to help with) – 12% and 21% – are much lower.

Who is knocking on doors? T Bale, CC BY-ND

A key question for Farage, then, will be how he can motivate the people who’ve flooded into his party (boosting its membership to over 270,000) to get out on the doorstep or at least hit the phones in order to contact voters. Zack Polanski faces a similar challenge when it comes to the 150,000 people who now belong to the Greens, most of whom have joined since he took over as leader.

Campaigning by members isn’t everything, of course. Activists who aren’t members play a part, as does top-down, national campaigning – even in local elections. Still, these figures do give some insight into the strengths and weaknesses of party organisation around the country at the start of what looks set to be a crucial set of elections this spring.

Tim Bale has received funding from Research England for this survey work.