Most state visits to Britain, it is fair to say, are relatively low-key, jolly and uncomplicated. On the orders of Downing Street and the Foreign Office, the royals get the best silver and the tiaras out, and put on a show and a feast. Such exercises are an exercise in what’s called “soft power”, which is sometimes the only kind of power the British still possess. The House of Windsor has it in abundance.
State visits are designed to butter up existing or prospective friends, or help restore fractured relations. The last one, by President and Madame Macron on behalf of the French Republic, was certainly a repair exercise, after years of open hostility from Boris “donned-moi un break” Johnson and Liz “friend or foe?” Truss. It passed off very well. Macron made a graceful speech or two, and soon the Bayeux Tapestry will be on display at the British Museum. Last year, the Emperor and Empress of Japan were similarly warmly welcomed, without even a token protest this time by old soldiers about atrocities during the Second World War.
This is as it should be, but obviously is not in the case of Donald Trump, a figure who invites mixed reactions in the UK just as he does in his native land and indeed globally. In short, no-one quite knows what will transpire before and after Tuesday evening, when the tangerine tyrant/saviour of Western civilisation touches down. For all concerned, it could just as easily turn out to be a triumph as a disaster, with a mixture of both the more likely outcome. It should certainly be eventful.
One word that no one involved will want to hear is “Epstein”. But they assuredly will. The journalist who first mentions the “E-word” at a joint Trump-Starmer press conference should immediately be nominated for a special prize, the equivalent of the Victoria Cross for valour at the British Press Awards. For all three major figures involved in the trip are embarrassingly tangled in the Epstein web, and have no wish to be reminded of it: Trump, because of past association and his unwise campaign promise to “release the files”; Keir Starmer, via Lord Mandelson; and the King, because of his brother, the self-styled “too honourable” Prince Andrew, who’ll be confined to Royal Lodge for the duration. The squirmingly uncomfortable chill that will descend at the mention of Jeffrey Epstein from the media will be unbearable for those present and tangible even to a television audience. It will be quite the moment.
Of the prime minister and president, it is Trump, curiously enough, who has the better line of defence. Despite all the evidence that Trump was once a close friend, including photos of the pair partying, the endless replayed video clip of them bopping and joking, and a bizarre entry (denied) in the Epstein 50th birthday book, Trump can credibly say he cut all contact with the “creep”, as he calls him, before he was convicted. (That is to say, in unspoken contrast, unlike Mandelson). The president can also say that it is he who (reluctantly) released thousands of pages of the Epstein files. If asked about Mandelson he can deflect that on to Starmer, but innocently remark that he had no problem with him as an ambassador.
Without anyone quite expecting it, the spectre of the dead billionaire paedo haunts Starmer more than it does Trump – and Starmer assuredly never met the guy, let alone threw himself into one of the Roman orgies Epstein hosted. This is for the unfortunate and all too obvious reason that it has now come to light in excruciating detail quite how devoted Peter Mandelson was to his “best pal”, particularly as Epstein’s crimes became public knowledge. It’s hard to know, in fact, which of Mandelson’s messages to Jeffrey is the more damaging. Is it the greeting in which Peter looks forward to his next visit – “yum, yum”. The one where he tries to cadge a free flight on the Lolita Express? Or, more shamefully, the one where he urged Epstein to “fight for early release”. For Starmer, the question is which of these, and other, indiscretions he knew about, when he knew about them and why he appointed Mandelson to the post of US ambassador, and then apparently tried to cling on to him for too long when it all spilled out.
Then there is Trump’s habit of just saying random stuff whenever he feels like it. In such moments – and the British authorities will wish they can minimise the opportunities –Trump could criticise Starmer for his (fictional) war on free speech, the incarceration of Lucy Connolly, the war in Ukraine, Gaza, tariffs, China (especially their gargantuan London embassy), Tommy Robinson, Nigel Farage, Prince Andrew, Elon Musk, Charlie Kirk, and the comparative lack of gilt ornamentation in Downing Street and Buckingham Palace. Sections of the British press will see an easy win in simply putting some distorted version of current government policy to the president in the expectation he’ll provide a suitably rude response that what Starmer is doing is “stupid”, “dumb”, “dangerous” or whatever. Farage might even score a propaganda interview with Trump for GB News. It will all mean a tense period for Starmer.
How well Starmer copes with the inevitable gaffes and moments of mortification will be as crucial as anything else to his survival this week. He can only hope that he will have some positive news on US-UK trade, defence and technology cooperation to convey that will counteract any Trumpian bloviations; and that the glittering Ruritanian ceremonials will dazzle the audience instead. There will be lighter touches, too. Some of us are expecting great things of the scheduled encounter between the glamorous first lady, chief scout Dwayne Fields and Kate Middleton, as we still call her, joint president of the Scout Association. Will the Princess of Wales outshine Mrs Trump; or will Melania dress up as a girl scout as a world fashion sensation? Interesting. The almost traditional raising of the giant inflatable Trump blimp baby will surely be another highlight. But for the prime minister what would normally be a relaxed time when parliament is in recess, and gentle diplomacy takes over, will instead be the political equivalent of being on I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! – endless ordeals punctuated by ritual humiliation, all accompanied by severe indigestion. Good luck in the jungle that is the Trump state visit, Sir Keir – you’ll need it.
