President Bush got the deluxe tour of England last week, under the beaming gaze of Tony Blair and the polite smiles of Queen Elizabeth. In return, Britons received lavish praise for their support in the "war on terror," as well as the forbearance of the President and the First Lady at the usual stops on such a tour. (The trip to a dingy pub, the schoolchildren butchering a Shakespeare play, the malodorous lunch dedicated to demonstrating that there is such a thing as 'British cuisine.') The overpowering impression of the visit, however, was one of disconnection: as Bush and Blair took in the sights of London and delivered their major addresses on Iraq and al Qaida, nearly one hundred thousand Britons filled the streets in protest at Bush's mere presence in the United Kingdom. At the end of the visit, the First Lady remarked that the presidential party had barely seen any protests; this was, of course, testament to the skills of the police rather than to the equanimity of Brits towards Uncle Sam.
The rhetoric of Bush and Blair seemed especially distant from the reality of what's happening around the world. The President's keynote speech, delivered last Wednesday, hit a number of unlikely notes: (i) the United States and Britain are dedicated to idealism rather than "the balance of power or the simple pursuit of interest"; (ii) the President himself, like Woodrow Wilson before him, faces the Herculean task of persuading the rest of the world to accept that such idealism is vitally necessary to avoid "the evil" that will otherwise "kill by the millions"; (iii) the United States "believes in international institutions and alliances" and makes multilateralism its "first choice and constant practice." In an especially bizarre denouement, Bush outlined the mission of America and Britain to "do all in their power to prevent the United Nations from solemnly choosing its own irrelevance," as if the diplomatic disasters of last spring had been occasioned by the UN's desire to go on vacation rather than the willingness of Bush and Blair to ignore the Security Council over Iraq. While the audience in Whitehall Palace offered Bush their polite applause, you can be sure that Britons more generally — and not just the thousands protesting on the streets outside — did a double-take at this double-talk. As Bush and Blair continue to define the world in terms of good and evil, Britons feel alienated from a debate that they realize, instinctually, is far more complicated than the Manichean soundbites.
Bush-bashing in Britain comes in two varieties. First, there's an amused and appalled fascination with Bush as an out-of-control cowboy who lacks culture or reason. This critique is popular at the moment but misses the deeper currents of American history that explain the imperial predicament of the United States. A more telling British anxiety, however, taps into the prevailing sense that America is repeating many of Britain's mistakes. While some Britons still take myopic pride in their former empire, its near-total collapse in the middle of the 20th century has imprinted a measure of cynicism and jadedness on the soul of the chirpiest Briton. While this can be intensely annoying for Americans — faced with the aloofness, sarcasm, and emotional dysfunction of their Atlantic cousins — it's rather helpful in the current situation. The geopolitical inflection of this jadedness: although it's fine to approach the problems of global politics with a measure of optimism or altruism, you have to be honest about your own motives and to accept the fact that a single nation can't expect to control the world. Moreover, you can't boast about your commitment to multilateralism or your desire to save the UN from itself, since someone is going to call you on this and make some cruel jokes at your expense.
The final level of disconnect, then, is between Bush's vision of Britain as America's "closest friend in the world," and the reality of a British population which has repeatedly demonstrated its discomfort with the war on terror. Blair's encomia to Bush notwithstanding, most Britons are seriously worried about their nation's enlistment in the war on terror, not least because there's ample evidence both that this "war" will only exacerbate the world's problems and that Britain has no say whatsoever in the direction of the campaign. If Britons are themselves targeted by terrorism — as happened with last Thursday's bombings in Istanbul — it's more likely that the British public will go AWOL than that they'll redouble their efforts in America's cause. It may still be possible to construct an international response to al Qaida and global terrorism, but most Britons perceive the "special relationship" between their nation and the United States — at least in its current manifestation — as a part of the problem rather than a part of the solution.
Nicholas Guyatt is a graduate student in the history department. He is from Bristol, England.
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