"Liberation Day" could make Britain great again

“Liberation Day” saw Trump at his Trumpiest. Made for television, aimed squarely at his populist base. Either you’re with us or against us—and those who are against us are conspirators who will be crushed. The policy itself was blunt: a 10% blanket levy on all imports into the United States, with targeted tariffs of up to 54% for major rivals. It sent a shudder through the global trading system. And yet, for once, Britain appears to have dodged the worst of it. We’re not exempt, but we have —somehow— been spared the sharpest pain.

By nature, I’m an optimist. It’s a dangerous disposition these days. Any article that dares to peer around the corner of a crisis in search of opportunity tends to get torn to pieces. And often, when I try it, rightly so. So here’s something that may well be seen as naïve, foolish, or vaguely ridiculous—but I’ll say it anyway. I think the UK has a narrow window, and within it—if you squint hard enough—a flicker of opportunity. And, as bland, unrelatable and politically unromantic as Keir Starmer may be, perhaps—just perhaps—he’s the man for this moment. He doesn’t dazzle, and maybe that’s the point.

I was never a cheerleader for Brexit. To me, it always felt more like a leap of faith than a thought-through strategy. But in this odd, unsettling moment —tense and shifting— we’re seeing one of its unintended virtues. We are not quite Atlanticist, not fully European. We’ve become a kind of float state—ungrounded, yes, but also strangely agile. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. But sometimes discomfort is the price of manoeuvrability.

The European Union has always been a contradiction in terms. On one side, it is a free trade bloc—open, dynamic, a Thatcherite dream in many ways—designed to let goods, people, services and capital flow freely. And I loved that idea. Still do, in principle. The vision was modern, frictionless, and civilised—even if the reality sometimes failed to deliver, weighed down by bureaucratic baggage. But on the other side, that internal freedom is guarded by a distinctly protectionist outer wall. A tariff moat. And that stands in tension with its free trade ideals.

Trump sees this as a racket, a scam, and—though he says it in all the wrong ways, using all the wrong language—he’s not entirely wrong. The fact is, the EU has imposed (or at least did impose) significantly steeper tariffs on US goods than the US did on EU goods. That imbalance drives him mad. And while I’d rather not admit it… he might have a point. The uncomfortable truth is that there’s a genuine grievance there.

But Brussels isn’t going to concede, or hand Trump a win, or open up a proper negotiation. That’s not how the game is played. But Britain can. And, to some extent, is doing so. This is the narrow landing strip we’re circling. Could Starmer, dull as he may be, negotiate the Janus-faced deal of the century? Deepen our EU relationship—more fluid movement of goods, services and capital (people will be trickier)—while securing that elusive trade deal with the United States? That would be statecraft. Quiet, unshowy, but historic.

Markets are beginning to take a dim view of Trump 2.0. The further into his second term we go, the clearer it becomes that Trump is no longer a stock market’s broker dressed in populist clothing—but a big-tech disruptor disguised as a populist. Where markets like certainty, tech likes breaking things. Where markets value stability, tech thrives on volatility. Where investors want signals, Trump delivers noise. He’s not promising a smooth runway—he’s launching drones at the runway and calling it innovation. And the deeper this goes, the more the old alliance between Republican power and market calm begins to fray. The UK—boring as it may seem—could find London suddenly fashionable again. Not for its dynamism, but for its dullness and professionalism. And in a world of economic pyrotechnics, dull might just be investable.

So, my prediction: the dollar and US stock market will fall. Not crash, but decline—gently, but persistently. Much like what we saw in the UK after Brexit. Since 2016, sterling has slipped 12% against the dollar and around 7% against the euro. While the FTSE 100 has risen in nominal terms, much of that growth has been driven by currency depreciation and the overseas earnings of multinationals—masking a deeper underperformance. Against the Dow Jones, the FTSE has lagged dramatically—up just 34% since 2016, compared to a 119% gain in the Dow. It’s a reminder that currency devaluation and surface-level equity growth can conceal real structural weakness.

If Trump pushes the US into a protectionist spiral, the dollar will likely follow sterling’s post-Brexit path—and the Dow will stall, just as the FTSE did. I’m not suggesting Brexit and Trump’s protectionism are economically identical—but the market impact could well rhyme.

And this, oddly, could be an opportunity for the UK. As the dollar slides into a slow-motion decline, locked in a death twist with the euro, and both double down on their respective protectionisms, sterling might just rally. In a world fractured by tariffs and competing blocs, the pound could become something it hasn’t been in years: a hard currency. Not because of our economic might, but because of our position—outside the fray, but still in the room.

That’s where Starmer’s true test lies. He needs to be boring. Where Thatcher said “No! No! No!”, he needs to be “Dull. Dull. Dull.” A calm in the storm. He mustn’t take the bait, no matter how loudly others shout. If he can hold that line—refusing to retaliate, declining to escalate—then the UK may reclaim a role it hasn’t played since the 19th century: the measured broker in a loud, aggressive world.

There is a growing sense—part idea, part necessity—that the UK could reimagine itself, not as a manufacturing power, but as a global services hub. Not scale, but nuance. Not domination, but indispensability. A place where capital moves, contracts are honoured, standards are set, and disputes quietly resolved. There’s precedent for it, and not just in recent memory. It’s what Britain has often done best—sitting between louder powers, offering process instead of power.

But that role depends on trust. And trust depends on stability. If either the EU or the US begins to see us as erratic or partisan, the bridge collapses. Services rely not on volume, but on perception—reliability, discretion, credibility. And all three are fragile, especially now.

Inflation complicates the picture. In theory, Trump’s tariffs should push prices up—directly, through more expensive goods, or indirectly, via disrupted logistics. But the opposite risk also looms. If global demand falters in the face of this new protectionism, we may instead face disinflation. Or worse, deflation. Too much inflation hurts households. Too little, and businesses freeze. The Bank of England, already treading a fine line, may find that tightrope growing thinner still.

And then there’s growth. It is likely to be fragile, perhaps even buoyant in places, but rarely secure. We may see modest gains in sectors with easier US access—services, niche manufacturing, agri-food—but that won’t be enough. What matters more is positioning. Can we become the hinge, the node, the neutral ground where others meet? Our future growth may not come from what we produce, but from what we enable.

That’s why I find myself, unapologetically, on the side of the services economy. Not because I disdain industry, but because I understand limits. We cannot outproduce China, outsubsidise the EU, or out-bully America. But we can offer something else: the rules, the rails, the relationships. If Britain becomes the place where global business finds its footing—legally, financially, commercially—then we matter.

But that won’t happen by accident. It needs policy. Rachel Reeves has a role here, and it’s a delicate one. She must do more than balance the books. She must project confidence. That means investing in the invisible infrastructure of a modern services economy: digital networks, world-class universities, fast-track visas for skilled talent, and transparent, predictable regulation. It also means resisting the siren call of old industrial symbolism. Steel and cement aren’t the future. They’re ballast. Services may be quiet, but they’re powerful.

This is a chance to be relevant again—not by shouting, but by being useful. In a world tilting toward economic nationalism, we could be the cool head in the room. The dependable facilitator. The place where things get done when others won’t talk.

It’s not exciting. But maybe that’s the point. In a world of chaos, dullness might just be the most radical thing of all.

A Message from TheArticle

We are the only publication that’s committed to covering every angle. We have an important contribution to make, one that’s needed now more than ever, and we need your help to continue publishing throughout these hard economic times. So please, make a donation.