The Obama Presidential Centre opens its doors in Chicago today, a gleaming monument to the 44th president's legacy and a stark reminder of how the United States wields cultural influence as a diplomatic weapon. But as the steel and glass rise on the South Side, a quieter truth persists: Britain's soft power, battered and bruised, still holds a strange, stubborn sway over the global imagination.
Sources confirm the centre's cost spiralled past $830 million, a sum that could have funded entire neighbourhoods. Instead, it funds a museum, a library, a public plaza – a temple to the Obama brand. Brand Obama, like Brand America, is a commodity traded on trust. And trust, as we know, is a currency in short supply.
Yet look closer. The UK's cultural footprint endures, not through grand edifices but through the quiet persistence of institutions that have outlived empires. The BBC World Service, despite budget cuts, reaches 350 million people weekly. The British Council operates in 100 countries, peddling English and examination boards. And the monarchy, that absurdly anachronistic institution, remains a global media fixation. When Prince Charles – sorry, King Charles – speaks about climate change, the world listens. Not because he's a scientist. Because he's a symbol.
But here's the rub uncovered in documents from the Foreign Office: soft power is a numbers game. The US spends $2.6 billion annually on international broadcasting (Voice of America, Radio Free Europe) against the UK's £500 million. The US has 800 diplomatic posts worldwide; the UK, after cuts, around 270. The scales tilt heavily toward Washington.
Yet influence isn't just about spending. It's about resonance. The Obamas' memoir sales, the Netflix deals, the global tours – all carefully curated. But compare that to the cultural heft of the BBC's natural history unit, the Royal Shakespeare Company, or even the Premier League. Football, as the Americans call it, is the world's game, and the Premier League is its most watched domestic championship. That's not money. That's reach.
There's a darker side, of course. Soft power can be bent to hard ends. The Foreign Office's 'Cultural Diplomacy' strategy, leaked last year, explicitly linked arts funding to promoting 'British values' – code for trade deals and arms sales. The US does the same, but with more swagger and fewer qualms. The Obama Centre, for all its community gardens and youth programmes, is a stadium for state narratives.
And that narrative is fraying. The US withdrawal from Afghanistan, the rise of China, the erosion of democratic norms – all chip away at the moral authority that underpins soft power. The UK, mired in Brexit and austerity, isn't immune. But as one diplomat told me, 'People still want our exams, our universities, our language. That doesn't vanish overnight.'
Perhaps the enduring strength lies in something less tangible. The BBC may be under attack, but its news is still quoted from Lagos to Kuala Lumpur. The Sunday Times still breaks stories that reshape politics. The pounds given to the Royal Ballet or the National Gallery buy a certain cachet that no amount of Trumpian bluster can replicate.
So today, as Chicago celebrates, let's not mistake a building for a victory. Soft power isn't a monument. It's a relationship. And relationships, like scandals, take years to build and moments to destroy. The US has the money. The UK, for now, has the memory. Which lasts longer? Watch this space.
