So another British rock star has declined to perform for President Trump’s Freedom concert. The diplomats clutch their pearls. The media swoons with moral superiority. And I sit here, wondering if we have learned anything from history at all.
Let us recall the Victorian era, when Britain bestrode the world like a colossus, when our culture was exported with the same confidence as our steam engines and our gunboats. Today, the Empire is gone, replaced by a curious blend of deference and disdain for the American successor. Our rock stars, these modern-day troubadours, now act as though a gig in Washington is a summons to a court of barbarians. The irony is exquisite: the same nation that gave us The Beatles and The Rolling Stones now produces pop stars who would rather lecture than entertain.
But this is not merely a story of artistic integrity or political posturing. It is a symptom of a deeper intellectual decadence. We have convinced ourselves that moral purity can be achieved through symbolic gestures. Refusing to play a concert is the new equivalent of burning a flag: it costs nothing, achieves nothing, but makes one feel terribly virtuous. Meanwhile, the real levers of power continue to turn, unbothered by the tantrums of celebrities.
What would Lord Palmerston say? He would scoff at this spectacle. Palmerston understood that foreign policy is not about feelings but about interests. He would remind us that a rock star’s boycott does not change the balance of power, does not alter trade agreements, does not prevent wars. It is the political equivalent of a temper tantrum in a nursery. And we, the public, are expected to applaud.
Observe the pattern: every generation discovers a new form of moral exhibitionism. In the 1930s, it was the Oxford Union declaring that it would “not fight for King and country.” Intellectuals praised their courage. Then came the war, and such posturing was revealed as the luxury of a society that had forgotten how dangerous the world truly is. Today, we have a similar forgetfulness. We imagine that rejecting Trump’s invitation is a brave act, when in fact it is merely a safe one. The rock star loses nothing, gains social credit, and returns to his tax exile in Monaco.
The national identity of Britain was once built on a certain pragmatism, a willingness to engage with even the most disagreeable powers because the game of nations required it. Now we define ourselves by whom we refuse to shake hands with. This is not the behaviour of a confident nation; it is the behaviour of a minor principality obsessed with its own image.
I am not defending Trump. I am not defending the vacuous spectacle of a presidential concert. But I am questioning the purpose of this grand gesture. Did anyone seriously believe that a British musician’s refusal would topple the American presidency? Did anyone imagine that the Kremlin would take note and tremble? No. The only effect is to provide a momentary frisson of righteousness for the chattering classes.
We live in an age of symbolic politics. Our leaders govern by hashtag. Our diplomats issue statements rather than ultimatums. And our artists, those supposed vanguards of culture, have become the court jesters of a new morality: they are permitted to mock the powerful, but they must never dirty their hands with actual power. The result is a constant background noise of outrage that achieves nothing except exhausting the audience.
History will judge this era harshly. It will note that while empires crumbled and economies faltered, our greatest minds were preoccupied with who would perform at a rally. It will record that we chose the easy gesture over the difficult engagement. And it will remind us that the Fall of Rome was preceded by a similar frivolity: the senators debated the colour of chariot teams while the barbarians gathered at the gates.
So enjoy your moral victory, rock star. The diplomats will file their reports. The newspapers will print their columns. And the world will continue its slow decline, unswayed by your boycott, indifferent to your virtue. The ghosts of Palmerston and Churchill watch, and they are not impressed.
