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Are our politicians trying to tip us into a war we don’t need?

Even young people who barely follow politics are starting to notice something unsettling.

In coffee shops, university dorms, and online forums, there’s a shared sense of unease — a feeling that governments are preparing for conflict, and that they might be the ones to fight it.

This is not paranoia – headlines about soaring defence budgets, NATO deployments, and global tensions are cutting through the usual political noise.

It’s a rare moment when the general public, and especially the young, senses ideological shifts in government before formal policy announcements.

The zeitgeist is tipping, and it isn’t subtle: the prioritisation of militarisation is becoming part of daily conversation, even among those with little interest in party politics.

The emotional impact is tangible — dread, frustration, and a sense of powerlessness in the face of decisions made far above their heads.

This unease doesn’t exist in isolation. It reflects broader currents in global power politics — and most immediately, an ideological shift emanating from Washington.

Washington’s war ideology

Earlier this month (September 2025), US President Donald Trump took a symbolic but revealing step: renaming the Department of Defense as the Department of War.

Secretary of War Pete Hegseth described it as a commitment to “maximum lethality” and proactive military readiness.

It wasn’t a mere rebrand; it was an ideological signal: Washington was no longer positioning itself merely as a defensive power, but as a nation prioritising military supremacy above all else.

The ideology is that military power underpins national prestige, economic leverage, and political authority. Critics of this approach warn that it fosters a culture where war readiness is elevated above diplomacy, alliances, or global stability.

The implications are real. Expanded NATO commitments, forward troop deployments, and offensive-oriented planning are not abstract policy exercises; they are actions that ripple across the globe, drawing allies and satellites — including London — into the orbit of US military priorities.

The world is being shaped not by chance, but by ideology.

If young people are feeling uneasy, it’s because these ideological signals are already impacting reality. And London is increasingly following Washington’s lead.

‘If Washington sneezes, London catches a cold’

It’s an old adage, but it fits the UK’s current posture perfectly.

Under Keir Starmer, the country is increasingly mirroring American priorities — sometimes unquestioningly, sometimes at the expense of independent strategy.

A striking example was Starmer’s enthusiastic support for Trump at the Alaska summit.

Despite the summit failing to produce any meaningful agreements, Starmer’s government signalled alignment with the US agenda, making young people see the UK less as a sovereign actor and more as a junior partner in Washington’s ideological project.

This alignment is reflected in domestic policy. The Strategic Defence Review 2025 has prioritised military spending and force-modernisation, even as social services, healthcare, and climate initiatives struggle.

Troop deployments to NATO positions in Poland, expanded naval exercises in the North Atlantic, and investment in high-tech Special Forces capabilities demonstrate a willingness to follow the US example in both rhetoric and action.

Historically, the UK has oscillated between independent diplomacy and alignment with American ambitions.

• Harold Wilson resisted committing troops to Vietnam, prioritising domestic consensus over foreign pressure.
• Tony Blair, by contrast, famously aligned Britain with George W Bush in Iraq, arguing that Britain could not afford to act outside American-led interventions — a decision that would cost the country dearly in public trust and international credibility.

Starmer’s current posture echoes Blair more than Wilson: a readiness to follow Washington, even when strategic gains for Britain are uncertain.

The stakes are immediate. By prioritising military alignment, the UK risks becoming entangled in conflicts dictated more by US ideological shifts than British national interest.

For young people already anxious about the future, this alignment reinforces the sense that they could be caught up in wars they had no part in choosing.

The geopolitical chessboard

London’s alignment with Washington isn’t just symbolic — it plays out in tangible deployments, bases, and military posturing around the globe.

The UK has stepped onto a geopolitical chessboard where each move signals allegiance to US priorities and carries consequences for global stability.

Take Poland, where the UK now maintains troops as part of NATO’s forward presence. Ostensibly, this is a defensive measure against potential Russian aggression.

But in practice, it’s a clear signal: the UK is ready to project power far from its shores, following Washington’s lead rather than charting an independent course.

In the Indo-Pacific, the Royal Navy has ramped up exercises alongside US forces, conducting patrols near strategic choke points and participating in joint drills designed to contain China’s influence.

The UK’s use of drone bases in Cyprus, Oman, and Djibouti positions it as a forward-operating partner in conflicts where our own interests are not immediately threatened.

These are not neutral deployments — they are ideological signalling, demonstrating that London is willing to support US “maximum readiness” in multiple regions simultaneously.

The economic and corporate dimensions are just as striking.

Arms contractors such as BAE Systems, Lockheed Martin, and Raytheon benefit directly from increased defence budgets and procurement programs, creating a powerful lobby for continued militarisation.

Public money foots the bill, while policy-makers tout national security and alliance commitments.

Every move on this chessboard carries escalation risk. Forward bases and deployments may deter adversaries, but they also heighten tension with Russia, China, and other powers, increasing the likelihood that small incidents could spiral into larger confrontations.

The ideological framing from Washington — that military readiness equals national prestige — is now being projected globally through the Starmer government’s participation.

The stakes are not abstract.

Young people, already uneasy about the future, now see the UK entangled in complex global flashpoints, from Eastern Europe to the South China Sea.

The question looms: Is London making independent strategic decisions, or is it a pawn in Washington’s ideological game?

Domestic costs and social impact

The United Kingdom’s growing alignment with Washington comes with a domestic price tag — one that ordinary citizens, especially the young, are starting to feel.

Defence budgets are rising sharply, yet social services, healthcare, housing, and climate initiatives continue to face cuts or stagnation.

Public money is prioritised for fighter jets, naval exercises, and forward deployments, while food bank use and youth housing crises hit record levels.

This isn’t just a question of economics – it sends a political and cultural signal: the lives of ordinary citizens — particularly young people — are being subordinated to military readiness.

The emotional impact is real: surveys show rising anxiety about global instability – and conversations online, in universities, and in homes reflect a sense of powerlessness.

Many young people feel they could one day be sent to fight in conflicts they had no part in shaping.

History shows us where this is going:

• During the Falklands War (1982), Margaret Thatcher boosted national prestige through military action, but at domestic social cost.
• The Suez Crisis of 1956 saw the United Kingdom engage in military action to protect perceived strategic interests, only to suffer international humiliation and internal political upheaval

Both cases demonstrate the tension between projecting military strength abroad and meeting domestic needs — a tension being echoed today as Starmer prioritises alignment with Washington.

The social consequences extend beyond policy and budgets.

Young people may become politically disengaged, disillusioned, or radicalised by the perception that their government treats them as cannon fodder.

Meanwhile, elite interests — defence contractors and lobbying groups — profit directly from increased militarisation, while public money underwrites their gains.

The big question is obvious: whose interests are being served?

Is the United Kingdom safeguarding its citizens, or is it advancing an ideological agenda whose primary beneficiaries are political elites and the military-industrial complex?

The growing anxiety among young people is a warning signal, highlighting the social cost of following Washington’s militaristic lead.

Historical precedents and lessons

History provides a warning for the UK today.

Decisions to prioritise military alignment over independent strategy or domestic welfare have repeatedly produced unintended consequences — for citizens, soldiers, and the nation’s standing in the world.

The Boer War (1899–1902) offers an early example. Britain intervened to protect imperial interests in South Africa, sending tens of thousands of troops into a costly, protracted conflict.

The human toll was staggering, particularly among young soldiers, while at home the population faced economic strain.

Public support fractured as the war dragged on, revealing the danger of pursuing strategic ambitions at the expense of domestic priorities.

The Crimean War (1853–1856) illustrates the dangers of overextension.

The UK entered the conflict to counter Russian expansion, deploying troops and resources far from home, but while the war achieved some strategic aims, it exposed weaknesses in military planning and logistics, leading to unnecessary loss of life and domestic criticism of government incompetence.

During World War I, the UK’s eagerness to maintain European alliances and protect imperial interests led to a massive mobilisation that reshaped society.

The “lost generation” of young men who fought and died left a lasting impact on families and communities, while the economic burden contributed to post-war austerity and social unrest.

These examples highlight three consistent lessons.

• First, military alignment or intervention often carries unforeseen domestic and human costs.
• Second, prioritising military ambitions over social welfare can deepen inequality and public disillusionment.
• Third, political leaders who subordinate national interest to external pressures — whether alliances, ideological commitments, or imperial ambitions — risk long-term harm for both credibility and cohesion.

Is the United Kingdom, under Starmer, repeating these patterns?

By aligning closely with Washington’s military priorities, the government may once again be placing young people and public resources at risk — a pattern history has shown to be rarely in the interests of ordinary citizens.

Where it’s all going

The trajectory is clear: by aligning closely with Washington’s militaristic priorities, the United Kingdom is positioning itself for potential involvement in conflicts dictated more by US ideology than our own national interest.

The implications are immediate and long-term — for foreign policy, domestic stability, and the lives of young people.

Forward deployments, NATO commitments, and joint exercises are not just abstract demonstrations of solidarity. They are signals that Keir Starmer is willing to be a junior partner in America’s strategic projects, with public money funding expensive weaponry, naval patrols, and forward bases.

Meanwhile, social spending, healthcare, housing, and climate initiatives remain underfunded, leaving the wider population — particularly the young — to shoulder the domestic cost.

The stakes are high: winners and losers are not evenly distributed.

Defence contractors, military-industrial lobbies, and political elites benefit directly from militarisation.

Ordinary citizens face the economic, social, and psychological consequences.

Young people may feel their futures are being shaped by conflicts they had no part in deciding, while the public loses its trust in government.

History reminds us that such patterns rarely end well. From the Crimean War to the Boer War and World War I, overextension, misaligned priorities, and subordination to external powers have resulted in loss of life, domestic hardship, and political fallout.

Today, the United Kingdom risks repeating these mistakes, this time under the ideological shadow of Washington’s Department of War.

The warning signs are clear: rising anxiety among the young, escalating defence budgets, and increasingly symbolic deployments are not just policy choices — they are ideological signals.

Unchecked, these trends may embroil our young people in conflicts that serve strategic narratives rather than national interest – and divest us of yet another vital generation.

Will the United Kingdom assert independent strategy and protect its own people, or will it continue following Washington’s lead, prioritising military readiness over the good of its own population?

The answer will shape the nation’s political and social landscape for years to come — and the consequences will be felt most acutely by those who have no voice in these decisions.

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