'For Britain to rearm now is essential.' Marco Di Lauro/Getty Images


March 26, 2025   8 mins

As anyone who has renovated a run-down house will attest, the very first, unglamorous tasks are to ensure that the structure is stable and weatherproof, and above all that the work ahead is affordable in the first place. Many are the ambitious buyers who have, with great excitement, undertaken a greater task than their resources allow, leaving them in an unliveable shell, to the mutinous grumblings of their family. The auction listings and divorce courts of Britain are testament to the temporary power of enthusiasm to triumph over sober caution and self-knowledge. 

In much the same way, it would be unwise in the extreme for a country’s leaders to embroil their people in a distant foreign conflict without a confidence approaching certainty that their military, industrial, economic and political resources are matched to the great challenge ahead. Were one, like one of our ambitious renovators, proceeding from a state of near-dereliction, then the confidence that the necessary reserves are there to be drawn upon would need to be even greater still; the risks of disaster all the starker. For those granted the power of the British state and the trust of its people to make these decisions, as the analyst William D. James observes in his penetrating 2024 book British Grand Strategy in the Age of American Hegemony, these basic calculations come under the intimidating rubric of “grand strategy”. 

James’ view is that the essential calculation of grand strategy is “proportionality”. Ultimately, James observes, grand strategy is simply “the sustainable balancing of means and ends, based on a prudent calculation of the state’s interests and the threats to those interests”. Strategy of this kind requires the identification of “interests or objectives that are commensurate with the state’s aggregate power (economic strength, technological prowess, and military capabilities), its geographic location, and the nature of its security environment”.

In contrast, a “disproportionate” grand strategy would be based on imprudent calculations. The result, James warns, would be “overstretch (pursuing overly ambitious goals given available means) or underreach (identifying overly conservative goals given the security environment)”. For Chamberlain not to have rearmed in the late Thirties, given the precarious security environment, would have been irresponsible underreach. Yet for Britain to have sent a military expedition to support plucky Finland against the Soviet Union in 1939, as politicians and military planners convinced themselves was a strategic necessity, would have been catastrophic overreach, given the balance of power that a combined Nazi and Soviet juggernaut could bring to bear.

Today, Britain’s grand strategy, in as far as it exists, is set by the Government’s Strategic Defence Reviews, such as the one the Labour government commissioned last year, due to be released next month. Yet as James notes these works of distilled Whitehall wisdom are often triumphs of the willing spirit over the weak flesh, ending up “thin on the main question: the dialectic between a country’s aims and its ability to meet them”. No man can read the future; even so, the defence reviews of recent years have fared poorly. All too often, planning assumptions are rapidly overtaken by real-world events. In this vein, the 2021 Integrated Review, a triumph of Johnsonian cakeism aiming to enshrine post-Brexit Global Britain into defence policy, vastly understated the approaching risks to Europe’s security. As James notes, “Just three months before Russian armour rolled into Ukraine, Prime Minister Boris Johnson boldly asserted that ‘the old concepts of fighting big tank battles on the European land mass are over.’” Instead, the driving concept of the Integrated Review was Britain’s “Indo-Pacific Tilt”, the goal of which was for Britain to establish “a greater and more persistent presence than any other European country” east of Suez.

“The 2021 Integrated Review was a triumph of Johnsonian cakeism.”

While “the Tilt” caused much excitement among defence wonks, no one could say with any certainty what it actually meant or what the purpose was. As the Commons Defence Committee warned in 2023, “the UK’s regional military presence in the Indo-Pacific remains limited and the strategy to which it contributes is unclear”, given that “fundamentally UK Defence is already under-resourced for its role within NATO in the Euro-Atlantic, which is the core current and medium-term security challenge for the UK and Europe”. Without effectively doubling the size of the Royal Navy, the committee warned, and also defining Britain’s actual strategy in the Pacific and how to achieve it, “the UK may need to curb its ambitions in the region”. As one expert witness, the Professor of Strategic Foreign Policy Greg Kennedy, more bracingly phrased it, the Tilt “is a distraction and costly prestige exercise that will have no significant impact, apart from a fleeting appreciation from the USN (US Navy)… The costs of operating beyond the Straits of Hormuz are not profitable in any sense: pounds, politics or prestige.” 

Reading Policy Exchange’s initial argument for the Tilt, one is struck by its divergence from the actually-existing world of 2025. Aside from the scheme’s essential paradox — that of preserving Britain’s trade links with the Pacific, in which China is by far our greatest trading partner, through a policy of confronting China — the proposal rests on planning assumptions that must now be re-examined from ground-up. “To fully globalise Britain,” it states, “the Indo-Pacific region… must become a priority in the UK’s overall foreign and security policies.” Yet what is the advantage of fully globalising Britain in a world of frantic deglobalisation, where over-extended supply chains outside national control have become a major source of strategic anxiety? 

The Tilt commits Britain to a project of “reinforcing its commitment to a rules-based international order” by confronting global autocracy, yet this order not only does not exist but is anathema to the Trump administration, happily engaged in carving up the world into civilisational spheres alongside likeminded autocrats. The conceit was that committing the armed forces to a project beyond their abilities, to defend a fictional order that the United States wishes to firmly bury, would boost the Special Relationship; and this conceit must surely now be consigned to the dustbin of bad ideas. Not only are the ends beyond the existing means but those ends are illusory. By any definition this is the antithesis of grand strategy.

Yet the same can be said of the Integrated Review’s hurried, post-invasion of Ukraine update, the 2023 “Refresh”, which, while reverting to Europe as Britain’s prime source of strategic anxiety, rests upon two worryingly dubious planning assumptions. The Refresh states with unshakeable certainty that “NATO remains the bedrock of collective security”, and “The United States remains the UK’s most important ally”, two assertions, made just two years ago, that the entire ongoing European defence crisis now treats as false. With no certainty of success, European leaders are currently engaged in persuading America not to walk away from NATO for the five to 10 years it will take Europe to fill its role. Both the Integrated Review and the Refresh revolve around a “NATO first” defence vision, preservation of global free trade, and a “high cooperation and low-tension Arctic”, all of which now put the UK in direct confrontation with the US, not least because the greatest current threat to NATO’s Arctic possessions in Canada and Greenland is American annexation.

Reading the expert testimony around the Refresh, we see the “dean of British strategic studies”, Sir Lawrence Freedman, tell Parliament in 2022 that we need not worry unduly about the Army’s current state of readiness, as “I find it hard to believe that we will be sending a division into battle because Russia is now a diminished power”. Instead, he asserts, “The hardest thing for us to get our heads around is the implications of a Russian loss.” Three years later, it is precisely the opposite fears now driving Whitehall’s mounting sense of strategic panic, with the same voices that condemned any talk of peace negotiations while Ukraine had the upper hand now condemning Russia for not coming eagerly to the table when it is winning.

While Freedman’s repeated analyses of Russia’s inevitable defeat in the intervening years have not weathered well, the aim here is not to mock him for his lack of a crystal ball. Rather, it is to underline the observable fact that Britain now finds itself in a situation where the resources at hand are vastly below its commitments, because those commitments were made through faulty analysis regarding achievable ends, available resources, and probable outcomes. To have presided over two failures of grand strategy in half a decade might be considered unfortunate. To bolt on a third, at this perilous juncture, could prove fatal.

There is an old Irish joke where a driver stops to ask a weathered countryman directions to a nearby town: the response, that “First off, I wouldn’t start from here,” characterises Britain’s current search for a grand strategy. In normal times, as James states, “Decisions over commitments, as well as military capabilities and force posture, are rarely taken at rapid speed”: yet, overshadowed by the Ukraine peace talks to which Britain is not a party, this is precisely what is happening. The last two documents setting out Britain’s grand strategy were made under the planning assumption that what was always probable, a second Trump term and waning commitment to European security, was unthinkable. That failure of imagination is now a strategic threat of the highest order.  

Yet the terms of reference of the ongoing strategic defence review, which promises “a root and branch review of British defence” also pledges “a ‘NATO-first’ defence policy”, asserting that “NATO will remain the cornerstone of UK Defence…” Its guiding hand, Lord Robertson, confidently assured the Commons Defence Committee back in 2022 that the Ukraine war had led to a firm American recommitment to Europe and the Atlantic alliance. As ever, the British state’s incapacity to distinguish wishful thinking from reality remains its greatest strategic deficit. Just as the engine of tragedy is an inbuilt and overriding character flaw, Britain’s material shortages of men, munitions and industrial capacity all flow downstream from this willed blind spot.

For Britain to rearm now, given the perilous security environment, is essential. Regarding a land war in Europe, James accurately warns: “Not only does the UK currently lack the necessary depth for such an engagement, but its military-industrial base is ill-equipped to fill any gaps in the short-to-medium term.” Yet the basic work of ensuring economic, industrial and political security and stability necessary for such a deployment — the testing of foundations and fixing of the roof that precedes choosing wallpaper for the nursery — must come first. Despite two great societal and strategic shocks in 2020 and 2022, this work simply was not done, while Britain instead piled greater and greater foreign commitments onto an unstable base, in a frenetic, and still accelerating burst of directionless activity.

We must hope that the forthcoming review displays a ruthlessness Labour have yet to display in other areas. The Indo-Pacific Tilt, we may assume, will be consigned to the graveyard of Johnsonian optimism. As the Defence Secretary, John Healey, has rightly observed, there needs to be “a realism about military commitments into the Indo-Pacific” and a renewed focus on our near abroad. If America, as is its right, does not wish to underpin Europe’s security, then the British goal of supplementing US power at the furthest edge of the Earth can likewise be laid aside. 

Since the Suez humiliation, a guiding principle of British strategy has been that “we must never allow ourselves to be put in a position where we have to make a final choice between the United States and Europe”. Yet events now appear to be forcing that choice, with the hurried quest for a role in the Ukraine settlement occluding cool, long-term strategic thinking. Britain is fortunate enough to be a collection of North Atlantic islands, far from Russia, whose home defence ought to be a trivial matter. Instead of distant long-term commitments that cannot currently be met, a genuine root-and-branch rethinking of British defence would radiate outwards, establishing a sense of security within Britain’s borders that few currently feel, before extending outwards to Britain’s Atlantic near abroad, and onwards only as far as material conditions allow. The Spring Statement will bring an increase in defence spending, but nothing that will be transformative. This is, perhaps, the work of decades. 

Yet those most insistent of a British role at the forefront of world events are too often eager to overlook the growing insecurity and instability of the home front. As James observes, “The ability to mobilize and allocate resources depends on a stable domestic political environment.” Denmark’s social democratic Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen addressed this problem with rare frankness last week, telling Politico that while Russia remains Europe’s greatest threat, “security is also about what is going on in your local community… Do you feel safe where you live? When you go and take your local train, or when your kids are going home from school, or whatever is going on in your daily life?” Devoid of both domestic stability and expeditionary capacity, perhaps Britain’s current weakness is a hidden opportunity. The risks of underresourced adventurism are greater than the immediate risks of inward-looking withdrawal from world affairs. Until the structure is solid and watertight, the need to make harder and more expansive geostrategic choices can be deferred as a future luxury.


Aris Roussinos is an UnHerd columnist and a former war reporter.

arisroussinos