In the grand, decomposing theater of British relevance, the curtain has risen on yet another act of spectacular subservience. The United Kingdom, a nation that once projected power across the globe with the confidence of a drunk aristocrat, has now settled into its final form: a bewildered middle manager trying to keep two abusive bosses happy simultaneously. The latest developments from Westminster confirm that the government’s foreign policy is no longer about diplomacy; it is about high-stakes property management and ego-stroking.

First, let us address the architectural capitulation taking place in Tower Hamlets. The Labour government, presumably tired of pretending they have any control over their own capital, has approved China’s new “mega-embassy” on the site of the old Royal Mint. It is a decision so soaked in irony that it threatens to rust the hull of the HMS Belfast. The Royal Mint, where Britain once coined the currency of an empire, will now house the diplomatic outpost of the superpower that purchased Britain’s soul at a discount several decades ago. Dan Jarvis, a minister sent forth to defend the indefensible, told MPs that this massive surveillance hub offers “clear security advantages.”

One has to marvel at the semantic gymnastics required to utter such a phrase without spontaneously combusting from shame. Jarvis’s logic appears to be that if we consolidate all of Beijing’s intelligence-gathering capabilities into one impenetrable fortress directly adjacent to the City of London and the Tower of London, it will be easier to watch them watching us. It is the geopolitical equivalent of inviting a burglar to sleep on your sofa so you don’t have to worry about him breaking a window. The “security advantage” is evidently that the surrender is now centralized. Instead of worrying about Chinese influence permeating the cracks of society, we have simply given them a castle. It is efficient, in the way a guillotine is more efficient than a butter knife.

But the humiliation does not end at the banks of the Thames. While we are busy handing the keys to the East, we are simultaneously on our knees praying to the West. Jack Straw, a man whose political legacy is tied to the calamitous co-authorship of the Iraq War, has emerged from the shadows to praise Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s handling of Donald Trump. According to Straw, Starmer is doing a bang-up job of navigating the erratic narcissism of the American President-elect.

Straw’s assessment is illuminating, not for what it says about Trump, but for what it reveals about the British political psyche. He notes, with the weary pragmatism of a man who sold his idealism in the nineties, that Starmer likely says things in the “shaving mirror” about Trump that he dares not repeat in public. This is the modern definition of British statecraft: screaming into a mirror in the privacy of your bathroom, then wiping off the spittle, putting on a forced smile, and going out to praise the infinite wisdom of a man who thinks Greenland is a real estate listing. Straw argues that stroking Trump’s ego is “infinitely better” than challenging it. And perhaps he is right. When you have no cards, no chips, and no dignity, your only move is to compliment the dealer’s tie.

Straw points to the tariff deals as proof of this success, noting that the UK has fared better than the European Union. This is the victory we are reduced to: being the favorite lapdog. We are not sitting at the table; we are merely the only ones allowed to eat scraps from the floor because we didn’t bark when the master walked in.

And to cap off this trifecta of impotence, we have the Chagos Islands affair. The government has confirmed that the treaty handing over the islands to Mauritius—a deal that effectively gifts strategic territory to an ally of Beijing—is signed, sealed, and irreversible. We are told Parliament has a mere “enabling function.” It cannot unwind the clock. It is a stunning admission of uselessness. The legislative body of the United Kingdom is now essentially a notary public, existing only to rubber-stamp the liquidation of the nation’s assets.

So there we have it. A mega-embassy for China to ensure they can monitor us with high-fidelity audio; a humiliating smile-and-nod strategy for Trump to ensure we don’t get tariffed into oblivion; and a shrug of the shoulders regarding the Chagos Islands because the ink is already dry. The United Kingdom is not navigating a multipolar world; it is being spit-roasted by it, and its leaders are convincing themselves that this is actually a sophisticated yoga position.