In a move that has historians reaching for their smelling salts and diplomats for the nearest fire extinguisher, US Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth used the hallowed ground of Normandy’s D-Day commemorations to launch a blistering attack on European migration policies. The man, whose grasp of history appears to be roughly on par with a hungover GCSE student, stood amid the white crosses and declared that the allies had fought not just for freedom, but for ‘the right to secure borders.’ Which is a bit like using a memorial for the Titanic to sell lifejackets: technically related, but monstrously tone-deaf.
Hegseth, a man whose face seems permanently set to ‘stern lecture,’ reportedly told assembled dignitaries that Europe had ‘forgotten the sacrifices’ of 1944 by opening its doors to migrants. This, of course, ignores the inconvenient fact that many of those who stormed the beaches were themselves sons of immigrants, and that the very universalist values the allies defended are now being twisted into a cudgel against the desperate. But why let facts get in the way of a good culture war, eh?
Across the Channel, Whitehall mandarins were seen clutching their pearls with such force that they may need surgical removal. The British response, delivered through gritted teeth and with a strained smile, was a masterpiece of diplomatic fog. ‘We respect the American perspective,’ they said, ‘but British values are clear: we believe in controlled borders, based on our national interest.’ What this means, in practice, is that the UK will continue to process asylum seekers in offshore detention centres while insisting it has a proud tradition of offering refuge. A tradition that, like a forgotten umbrella, is only mentioned when it’s not actually raining.
The sheer brass neck of using D-Day to score points against migration is almost admirable in its shamelessness. Imagine the pitch: ‘Lads, let’s honour those who died fighting fascism by fearmongering about brown people.’ It’s the rhetorical equivalent of wearing a poppy while evicting a war widow. But Hegseth is a man who has built a career on such dissonant chords, so why stop now?
Meanwhile, the real heroes of the day: the veterans. Frail men in their late nineties, who had to sit through this political pantomime while trying to remember fallen comrades. One can only imagine their thoughts. ‘I survived Omaha Beach to hear a man in a suit lecture me about the perils of migration?’ If only they had the energy to roll their eyes.
In the grand tradition of gonzo journalism, I propose a new commemoration: next year, let the politicians stay home and send a case of decent gin to the veterans instead. It would be more honest, more dignified, and far less likely to cause international incidents. But that would require a level of self-awareness that seems to have died with the last of the ‘Greatest Generation.’
So raise a glass, if you can find one not stained with hypocrisy. To the fallen, who died so that those in power could pervert their memory for cheap political points. And to the living, who must endure yet another year of this circus. God save the mark, and the bartender.
