The United Kingdom, that damp, self-important pebble shivering in the Atlantic, is currently vibrating with the kind of frantic, high-pitched energy usually reserved for rats realizing the galley is underwater. Stella Creasy, the chair of the Labour Movement for Europe and a woman whose faith in bureaucracy borders on the theological, has emerged from the mahogany shadows to inform us that Donald Trump is, in fact, a loud-mouthed isolationist. What a staggering revelation. It only took a decade, a complete dismantling of the geopolitical order, and the looming threat of a global trade war for the penny to finally drop in Westminster. Her proposed solution? A desperate, tear-streaked sprint back to the warm, suffocating embrace of Brussels. It is the geopolitical equivalent of a divorcee realizing her new Tinder date is a literal arsonist and trying to move back in with the husband she spent five years calling a fascist.

The premise of Creasy’s argument—if we can dignify it with such a word—is that the UK’s 'shared values' with the United States are currently as useful as a chocolate teapot. It’s a quaint, domestic metaphor, the kind of folksy imagery Labour MPs use to signal they are 'down to earth' while they lobby for the interests of a transnational technocracy. Of course the values aren't shared. The United States’ primary value is 'Me First, and also Me Later,' while the UK’s primary value is 'Please Notice Me, I Used To Have An Empire.' It is a match made in a very specific, very pathetic circle of hell. The shock expressed by the British political class regarding Trump’s National Security Strategy or his harassment of President Zelenskyy is the most performative aspect of this entire charade. They act as if they are witnessing a tragedy, when in reality, they are just reading the script they’ve ignored for eight years.

Trump’s return to the throne has sent the Westminster bubble into a collective nervous breakdown. They act surprised that a man who built his entire brand on being a wrecking ball is currently holding a wrecking ball. Now that the tariffs are looming and NATO is being treated like a protection racket—which, let’s be honest, it always was—the 'special relationship' looks less like a partnership and more like a hostage situation where the hostage has developed a terminal case of Stockholm Syndrome. Canada, sensing the shift in the wind, is already announcing a trade realignment toward China. Europe is muttering about counter-sanctions like a disgruntled teenager planning to key a car. And then there is Britain, standing in the middle of the room, clutching a tattered copy of the Magna Carta and wondering why no one is inviting them to the party.

Enter Creasy, stage left, clutching a map of the Eurozone and a suitcase full of regret. Her 'clearer than ever' path involves 'taking the brakes off rebuilding our common future in Europe.' It’s a lovely bit of prose, the kind of vague, aspirational sludge that wins applause at party conferences but means absolutely nothing in the cold light of realpolitik. Does she truly believe that the EU, an entity currently struggling with its own rise of the far-right and an economic stagnation that would make a sloth look caffeinated, is waiting with open arms? Europe doesn’t want the UK back as a partner; they want a convenient dumping ground for financial regulations and a buffer state that pays its dues without complaining. Rejoining the fold now would be like trying to sign up for a book club after you burned down the library and insulted everyone’s mother on your way out.

The article also touches on the 'life-changing injuries' suffered by NATO. This is my favorite part of the neoliberal tragedy. NATO was always the security equivalent of an expensive gym membership that you never use but pay for because it makes you feel like an athlete. Now that the gym owner is threatening to burn the building down for insurance money, the members are panicking because they’ve forgotten how to walk, let alone fight. Creasy’s call for 'enhancing the UK’s own military capabilities' is particularly hilarious. With what money? Between the crumbling schools, the sewage-filled rivers, and the NHS’s slow-motion collapse, the idea that Britain is going to suddenly transform into a Spartan warrior state is the kind of delusion usually reserved for the inhabitants of Victorian asylums. We can barely keep a single aircraft carrier operational, yet we’re supposed to provide a credible deterrent to the world’s superpowers?

The Labour party’s approach to this is a masterclass in cowardice. They want the benefits of the EU without the political cost of admitting Brexit was a self-inflicted lobotomy. They want to stand up to Trump without actually having any leverage. It is a policy of 'vibrant insignificance.' We are watching a country that once thought it ruled the waves struggle to figure out how to navigate a bathtub. The Right wants us to be a 51st state of a country that views us as a theme park; the Left wants us to be a 28th province of a union that is bored of our drama. Both sides are selling a fantasy of relevance to a population that just wants to be able to afford a block of cheddar. It is a race to the bottom, and the only certainty is that we will get there first, waving a small, plastic flag.