Last week the Trump administration expressed its fear that Europe faces “civilizational erasure.” Its concern was articulated in a 33-page National Security Strategy that outlined Donald Trump’s world view and how America will respond economically and militarily.
The sentence that caused the most reaction on the other side of the pond was the assertion that, if current trends continue, Europe will be “unrecognizable in 20 years or less.” Those trends are mass immigration and what conservative French commentators call the “Islamification” of Europe. If Europe doesn’t address these trends, the Trump administration predicts the continent’s “civilizational erasure.”
Germany’s Foreign Minister Johann Wadephul issued a tetchy response to the Security Strategy report, claiming his country does not need “outside advice.” Is he sure about that? Last year the chief of police in Berlin, Barbara Slowik, warned Jews and gays to hide their identity in the city’s “Arab neighborhoods.” In France, Jews have been leaving the country in large numbers: 60,000 between 2000 and 2020, which is more than ten percent of the French Jewish community. Since 2023, acts of anti-Semitism have soared by 300 percent, including the burning of synagogues and the beatings of rabbis.
The “civilizational erasure” is also to a large extent self-inflicted, and it is particularly noticeable at this time of year. One of the most famous Christmas markets in Paris is in La Défense, which this year is offering Halal meat in its festive delicacies. For the left, this is celebrating diversity. They take a different view, however, about those right-run towns which have the cheek to display a nativity scene in their town hall. In these cases such overt signs of Christianity are a breach of France’s laïcité or secularism.
Similarly, the left in France support the wearing of Islamic garments, such as the hijab or the full-length abaya, as liberating. Those who object on the grounds of laïcité are labeled “Islamophobic.”
Arguably, nothing symbolizes the “Islamification” of Europe more than the hijab. In Iran young women risk their lives for the right not to wear one. In western Europe it is almost de rigueur. The hijab is becoming more and more popular among young French Muslims: in 2003, just 16 percent of under-25s wore the Islamic headscarf, a figure that today is 45 percent. Last week one police force in England proudly displayed its new “quick-release” hijab for female officers.
For the moment, British people can still question the wisdom of allowing its police officers to wear hijabs, but the Labour government is expected to soon introduce new “Islamophobia” laws that will criminalize criticism of Islam.
In Brussels, a Muslim city councilor recently declared that Belgians who object to women wearing the hijab should go and live somewhere else. The same city last week unveiled its traditional nativity scene in its historic market square. There is a difference this year: the Holy family have no faces and it’s been suggested this is not to offend followers of Islam where it is not permitted to show the faces of the prophets. Fifty-two percent of Brussels’ schoolchildren are Muslim, 15 percent more than in London.
The two main drivers of Europe’s Islamification are mass immigration and the Muslim Brotherhood, the nebulous Islamist organization that President Trump intends to ban. One of Europe’s leading experts on the Muslim Brotherhood is the French academic Florence Bergeaud-Blackler, who requires police protection as a result of her research. She explained in a 2023 book that “their goal isn’t to adapt Islam to Europe but to adapt Europe to Islam.” To adapt to Islam, Europe must first erase its own civilization. Which it is doing.
Life is apparently so disagreeable in Donald Trump’s America that 40 percent of women aged between 15 and 44 want to leave. That is four times higher than the 10 percent who wanted to quit the US in 2014. According to Gallup, which conducted the poll, nearly half the nation’s younger women have “lost faith in America’s institutions.” This disenchantment accelerated after the Supreme Court’s 2022 decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, which enshrined the constitutional right to abortion.
Younger American men are bearing up better. Only 19 percent share women’s distaste for the Donald, a 21 percent differential which is the largest recorded by Gallup since it began asking the question in 2007.
As they point out, the question is about the “desire” to relocate, so probably only a minority of the 40 percent will leave. Nonetheless, concludes Gallup, “the data indicate that millions of younger American women are increasingly imagining their futures elsewhere.”
And where might that be? Canada is the first choice (11 percent) while 5 percent dream of a new life in New Zealand, Italy or Japan. Canada has that nice Mark Carney as its Prime Minister but be warned, women of America: our northern neighbor isn’t the same country that it was a decade ago.
A report last year in the National Post was headlined “Sexual assaults, robberies surging in Canada’s cities.” The Trudeau administration had tried to blame soaring crime on the aftermath of the harsh Covid restrictions, but the Macdonald Laurier Institute’s “urban violent crime report” rubbished that theory.
Crime of all types had been on the rise since 2016, particularly sexual assault, which had increased by 77 percent between 2013 and 2023. The Canadian media is curiously reticent to examine what is behind this surge, which has coincided with record levels of immigration. A clue perhaps might be found in the response to a parliamentary question asked earlier this year by Canadian Conservative MP Blaine Calkins. Troubled by the 31 percent increase in foreigners incarcerated in Canadian prisons, he wanted to know where they came from and what crimes they’d committed. The majority had been convicted of violent and sexual crimes, and the two countries most represented among felons were Jamaica and India.
Something else that has increased in Canada in recent years is the growth of the Muslim Brotherhood. A report in June by the Institute for the Study of Global Antisemitism and Policy warned that Canada was facing a “rising national security risk” from the shadowy Islamist organization. Its goal is to establish a global caliphate, and the institute expressed its concern that Canada has allowed the Brotherhood to “grow and spread radical Islamist ideology, often benefiting from federal funding.”
With this in mind, if some American women find themselves going cold on Canada, what about Japan? In 2023, Japan was ranked 125th out of 146 countries in terms of gender equality (the US was 43rd and Italy 79th). The World Economic Forum report noted the low female representation in Japanese politics and industry.
Furthermore, cases of sexual harassment on public transport have risen sharply in recent years — what the Japanese call “chikan,” or groping. Most incidents are committed by Japanese men against foreigners.
So if not Japan, what about the dolce vita of Italy? Unfortunately, Italy is also experiencing a wave of sexual violence. Incidences have increased by 50 percent in the past five years, with crimes peaking in 2024.
Some 43 percent of men convicted of sexual crimes were foreigners, prompting Italy’s Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, to state that, “I will be called a racist, but there is a greater incidence, unfortunately, in cases of sexual violence, by immigrants.” She added that this was particularly true of those “who arrived illegally.”
There are other options in Europe for American women. What about Paris, the City of Love? The smell of fresh croissants, the sight of Gallic heartthrobs. Oh la la! Alas, the real Paris bears no resemblance to Emily in Paris.
Earlier this year, a French government report revealed that seven in ten women in the greater Paris region have suffered some form of abuse while traveling on public transport. Recently, an Egyptian man allegedly tried to rape a young woman on a train just outside the French capital and, as a result, a petition has been launched demanding women-only train cars.
One could always try London, but women there are also demanding greater security on the city’s Tube network. Another phenomenon on the rise in both Britain and France is the segregation of the sexes as the Muslim population grows. In October, a Mosque in London organized a fundraising run that was open to everyone except women and girls over the age of 12. In November, a poll was published in France that revealed that 45 percent of French Muslim men and 57 percent of women under 35 practice some form of segregation, such as the refusal to shake hands or receive medical treatment from a person of the opposite sex, or to visit a mixed-gender swimming pool.
In December 2015, Trump lamented what had become of Paris, making his remarks a few weeks after Islamist terrorists had slaughtered 130 people during the Bataclan attack. “Look at what happened in Paris, the horrible carnage, and frankly… Paris is no longer the same city it was.”
He was right. Paris is no longer the city it was, and nor is London or some Italian cities, such as Milan, where, according to city councillor Daniele Nahum, “the antisemitic situation is becoming unmanageable.”
The 40 percent of American women who dream of starting a new life elsewhere should take note. The grass in Trumpland might actually be greener.
Breaker Media, which has established itself as one of New York City’s foremost bean-spillers, hosted its first shindig at the West Village’s Super Burrito. Exuberant Aussie founder Lachlan Cartwright, an unashamedly old-school hack with a business card wedged in the brim of his fedora, mounted the bar and gave an impassioned speech: “I might as well have called this Broken Media because it’s almost broken me! But I’m having the time of my life.” So too were the guests as they guzzled martinis and snagged cigarettes from bowls on the tables. During one cig break, I had my fortune read by one of the party’s hired psychics. She said all the right things – “born under a lucky star, many children etc.” – but I was too distracted by a stilettoed, ankle-tagged Anna Delvey about to have her fortune read on the next table. Who’s conning whom?
Uptown for a wine supper at the Brook Club hosted by Theo Osborne, younger brother of former British chancellor George. The guest speaker was former UK defense secretary Grant Shapps, who rose to toast the “special relationship.” He spoke of our precious democracies, our common foes and the importance of investment in defense. From the lady on my right, I heard a wild story about a woman who went for a boob job in Turkey, only to be told at her next doctor’s visit that one of her kidneys was missing. The woman on my left, meanwhile, asked me to guess her ancestry. Hoping I would fall into the trap and say “Asian,” she was startled when, having developed an obsession with the Comanche as a young boy, I correctly identified her as Native American. But I had my tribes wrong. The lady in question was a quarter Crow.
Air Mail sang its swansong at the launch of the Tom Wolfe Prizes for Fiction and Reportage at the Waverly Inn, hosted by Air Mail founder, and Waverly owner, Graydon Carter. The prize recognizes young authors in the “new journalism” tradition pioneered by Wolfe, whom Carter described in his speech as “the most inventive writer since P.G. Wodehouse.” Seth Meyers emceed and the room was packed with familiar faces: Sarah Jessica Parker, Matthew Broderick, Bette Midler, Walter Isaacson. All the Air Mail/Vanity Fair gang were present – many commenting how this inaugural event felt oddly more like a farewell dinner, even though its acquisition by Puck, the newsletter start-up founded by former Graydon Carter staffer Jon Kelly, had yet to close. Since then, the $16 million deal has closed. According to Breaker, this means it is being sold at a loss. But that is not what is grating on Carter, who stepped down as part of the deal. What irks him is that Kelly is a former assistant. No master likes being gamed by his apprentice.
The British Museum threw its inaugural Pink Ball last month. Fêted as London’s answer to New York’s Met Ball, it raised more than £2.5 million for the museum’s international partnerships. But not everyone was rosy about it. An Energy Embargo for Palestine activist who, passing as a waitress, interrupted British Museum chairman George Osborne’s speech to rail against its sponsorship deal with BP. Unfurling a banner reading “Drop BP now!” she squealed: “If the British Museum truly wants to confront its cultural legacy, it should look at the way it is actively upholding imperialism today.” Osborne handled the situation like any seasoned politician – “It is great to live in a democracy where we have a right to protest, etc.” – before the waitress was escorted out.
I could have used some of George’s polish when I later had the chance to meet one of my heroes. I was having an amusing moment with Daphne Guinness – something I had said about the passage of time causing her to break into an operatic rendition of David Bowie’s 1972 “Five Years” – when she offered to introduce me to Mick Jagger. I couldn’t think of anything to say so I told Mick we had just been singing “Five Years.” “Right,” was his understandable response. What I should have told him was the story of how my father was once photographed sitting between him and Imran Khan at the 1996 Cricket World Cup final in Lahore; they had partied together the night before. The newspaper’s front-page photo caption the next day read “Mr. Imran Khan, Mr. Somebody and Mr. Mick Jagger.”
While at dinner, I heard the sad news that Lady Annabel Goldsmith had died. Annabel lived a colorful life, marrying two larger-than-life characters in Mark Birley and Jimmy Goldsmith and raising five children. I had the pleasure of interviewing her years ago for a book I’m putting together about my grandfather, the conservationist John Aspinall. They remained great friends, despite an incident which might have destroyed their relationship. In 1970, Aspers took Annabel and her children into the tiger enclosure at his wild animal park, Howletts, in Kent, England. But on this occasion, the tigress Zorra was acting unpredictably and pounced on Annabel’s son Robin, locking her jaws around his face. After being wrenched free, Robin was rushed to hospital with half his face missing; he would have to undergo years of facial reconstruction surgery. When Annabel and I discussed this incident, I was astonished at how she harbored no feelings of blame. Instead, she took full responsibility for having listened to Aspers and not to her own maternal instinct. By all accounts, this was typical Annabel: resilient, uncomplaining, forgiving. RIP.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 8, 2025 World edition.
Yes, Sir Anthony Hopkins did have a life before The Silence of the Lambs. And after it, too. But most casual moviegoers would be hard pressed to add too many other entries to his filmography. Like his most famous screen creation, the cannibalistic serial killer Hannibal Lecter, Hopkins has always been something of a study in contrasts. As an actor, he sits in the middle of the Venn diagram where the mainstream and the fringe overlap, seemingly as happy to mug his way through the Transformers franchise as to direct and star in a project like 1996’s August, a drily worthy adaptation of Uncle Vanya that barely registered on the sordidly commercial level.
He has done all this through a powerful mix of supreme professionalism (he’s the sort of actor who knows not only his own lines, but everyone else’s, too), constant work, versatility and setting himself slightly apart from the other cast members. “I don’t have a single friend who’s an actor,” he writes by way of self-analysis, of which there’s quite a lot.
Indeed, Hopkins lingers on his own unloveliness, at least up to the point in his life, around his 40th birthday, when he quit alcohol. A youthful brawler both on the streets of his native South Wales and while doing National Service in the British army, he was once asked by a sympathetic commanding officer why he behaved as he did. “I don’t know, sir,” Hopkins replied. “I just seem to cause trouble. I’m a bit stupid.” The fractious reputation followed him through his early days in semi professional provincial theater and then the refined halls of London’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.
Hopkins’s talent was obvious, and in due course he was spotted by Laurence Olivier, who made him his understudy in a production of August Strindberg’s The Dance of Death. After he stood in for the great man one night, Olivier complimented him for having “walked away with the part like a cat with a mouse between his teeth.” But the young Hopkins was already bored by the repetition of the stage. “I began to feel that acting was just a by-product,” he writes. “I wanted to find value in the rest of my life.”
Pleasure in someone’s performance on stage or screen carries no guarantee of personal fulfillment and, whatever his professional achievements from the mid-1960s onwards, Hopkins clearly found difficulty in getting on with the rest of the world. He walked out on his first wife and their infant daughter and remains estranged from the girl, his only child. By his own admission, he was spiteful, cynical and not a little neurotic. Arriving in New York, he fell into the habit of walking down the sides of the busy Manhattan streets rather than on the sidewalk. “If I had confessed the reason, they might have locked me up,” he writes. “I was afraid that somebody would do a suicide jump from a high window and fall on top of me.”
And the drink. It’s a flood, at least in the first half of the book. “I became one of those good old looking-for-trouble drunks,” Hopkins says. “I was loaded and ready to go, full steam ahead, Tugboat Annie. I’m Popeye the Sailor Man, and I am what I am I am, and I’m Tony the Tiger Man, the tiger, the tiger, the tiger burning oh so bright in the Welsh forests of the night.” (There’s quite a lot more like this in the book.)
Eventually Hopkins discovered Alcoholics Anonymous, settled down with a good woman and moved to a clifftop mansion in Malibu. He still acts, of course, although like many in his profession he apparently longs to be acclaimed for something else. As a result, there’s a generous amount here about his passion both for painting and classical music, the latter of which saw him release an album with the unambiguous title Composer. As an actor, Hopkins has always been of the less-is-more school, imbuing his most malign characters with an air of sinister control rather than going full Freddy Krueger. He brings a similar note of restraint to his memoir. There’s a good deal of reflection on his solitary upbringing in Wales and his consequent sense of being one of life’s permanent outsiders – and not much by way of riotous Hollywood anecdotage. Anyone looking for dirt on any of Hopkins’s fellow cast members may be disappointed, although he does allow himself a few disobliging remarks on the late actor Paul Sorvino (the wiseguy Paulie in Goodfellas), with whom he worked, unhappily, in Oliver Stone’s Nixon.
When he’s on form, Hopkins’s gift for portraying the essential strangeness of the acting profession can be compared to that of Alec Guinness in his own wonderful memoirs. If you’re able to skim the occasional longueurs about man’s struggle for existence and the protracted descriptions of the way the dappled light falls through the trees, and so on, there are gems of genuine pathos awaiting discovery. Just be wary should Hopkins happen to call you with an excitable proposal about “having an old friend for dinner.”
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 8, 2025 World edition.
If you crave art that will envelop you, book a ticket, pronto, to Monet and Venice at the Brooklyn Museum. Enveloppe was the term the French impressionist artist Claude Monet (1840-1926) used to describe the “beauty of the air around” the objects and landscapes he painted. “Other painters paint a bridge, a house, a boat… I want to paint the air in which the bridge, the house, and the boat are to be found – the beauty of the air around them, and that is nothing less than the impossible,” he said.
And yet on his 1908 trip to Venice he succeeded in capturing the atmospheric mix of air, water, light and shadow that suffused the floating city of islands known for its distinctive bridges and canals and singular mélange of Byzantine domes, Gothic churches, Moorish-style balconies and Renaissance arches and arcades. Equally significant, the exhibition argues, it was this visit that rescued the 68-year-old artist from the depressive block that took hold of him after his long-time art dealer Paul Durand-Ruel voiced doubts that a market existed for the cycle of water-lily paintings in which he had been so deeply immersed.
With what lame irony Durand-Ruel’s critique resounds today. But the exhibition wisely focuses on the additional masterworks that Monet created in the wake of his impasse. This perspective allows the curators – Lisa Small of the Brooklyn Museum and Melissa Buron of London’s Victoria & Albert Museum – to document the artist’s emotional mindset and creative focus before, during and after his stay in Venice.
The story of how the Venetian sojourn itself came to be also provides a glimpse into the workings of the Monets’ marriage. After Monet angrily vowed to abandon the water-lily project altogether, his glum and listless demeanor so distressed his then-wife Alice Hoschedé that she persuaded him, despite his grumbling, to accept the invitation of the art patron and society hostess Mary Hunter to stay with her in Venice at the exquisitely appointed 15th-century Palazzo Barbaro, situated on the Grand Canal.
Alice’s plan may have begun as a caring (and perhaps exasperated) gesture to divert her husband’s mood, but her resolute insistence led to his creative restoration. Monet begrudgingly assented to a two-week stay, but the trip eventually sparked his mood so greatly that the journey was extended to a two-month working vacation. During that time, the revitalized Monet produced 37 paintings, some of which were exhibited to acclaim in 1912. Nineteen of those canvases appear here, as do several paintings from the water-lily series.
Those lily-pond paintings benefited greatly from the artist’s journey. “My time in Venice has had the advantage of making me see my canvases with a better eye,” he said. “There’s only one step, there and back, from the water-lily pond to the lagoon where the colorful palaces bloom.” For evidence, look to “Water Lilies” (c. 1914-17), a canvas aglow with pink flowers accompanied by shadows cast by foliage and hints of watery vegetation below.
Monet’s reinvigorated Venetian palette announces itself in the joltingly vivid red brushstrokes of “The Red House” (1908, see p41) It is also seen in the more precise daubs used to capture the dappled waves that transform from blue to green to rose and gold and cream and back again, as the water washes against the stony facades of the distant palazzi. Monet painted these scenes en plein air, as was his custom – but in this case from a floating gondola, an adaptation of the floating “studio boat” he’d once used on the Seine. Édouard Manet depicted this practice of Monet’s in “Claude Monet Painting in His Studio Boat” (1874). The scene endearingly shows Monet accompanied on board by his first wife, Camille. Monet’s attention in this painting is focused not on her but the canvas in progress. We see its finished version “Sailboats on the Seine,” painted the same year, mounted nearby.
In Venice, as he had in both London and Paris, Monet also captured another element of the open air: smog, produced by the coal-burning engines of the world’s increasingly industrialized cities. The advent of pollution almost certainly contributed to the hazy blend of colors Monet observed and depicted in such paintings as the 1903 canvas shown here, “Houses of Parliament, Sunlight Effect.” These are the same kinds of atmospheric enveloppes that nearly enshroud in shadow Venetian views such as the alluringly mysterious “The Palazzo Contarini” (1908).
Gallery by gallery, visitors also get to see the storied city as viewed over the centuries through the eyes of myriad artists, photographers and visitors. Seeing historic sights through the differing artistic sensibilities of Canaletto, J.M.W. Turner, John Singer Sargent, James McNeill Whistler and Pierre-Auguste Renoir is a discourse itself on creative perception, demonstrating the wide array of angles, styles and personal slants each artist brought along on their travels – and subsequently shared with us.
Unfortunately, as you enter the exhibition – before you see a single Monet or even a postcard – you enter an introductory gallery filled with giant videos of Venice in an immersive montage that may please some but struck me as superfluous.
Far more relevant are the exhibition’s archival reels, recorded by the Lumière brothers and others in the 1890s and early 1900s. These snippets show canals bursting with gondolas and piazzas crowded with tourists. Numerous prints, postcards and other works on view also attest to the sightseeing throngs abroad throughout the city. Canaletto’s precisely rendered scenes similarly capture the commotion of the harbor, where sailors and workmen busily ply their trades. In a subtler vein, Sargent’s series of evocative watercolors from 1903-04 (standouts include “La Riva” and “The Bridge of Sighs”) present scenes that suggest calm and beauty can be found even amid the bustle.
But in contrast to the buzz and the busyness portrayed by others, Monet’s Venice is nearly devoid of human presence. His is a floating world enlivened instead by radiant colors and shimmering brush strokes and yet marked by emptiness. One striking example is his “Palazzo Dario” (1908) in which a darkly shadowed empty gondola rests in place on the rippling water just outside a monumental marble structure.
This emptiness was no accident. When the Monets came home from Venice, they were already hoping to plan a return to the city. It was not to be. Alice became ill and died in 1911. Monet’s grief was great, his melancholy expressed in the motif he returned to several times, seen here as well in “Le Palais da Mula,” of a lone and empty gondola, a poignant commemoration of the loss of the companion with whom he had shared so many days together in his floating studio.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 8, 2025 World edition.
Whatever happened to Britain, or the UK, or England, or whatever they’re calling it? We can’t even agree on what it’s called. But what happened to England, the England that, if you’re over 50, you grew up learning about, the England that controlled the world, the England that ran the largest empire in human history at the end of World War One?
Britain, which is an island in a pretty inhospitable climate, controlled literally a quarter of the Earth’s surface – and not controlled in the way the United States controls the rest of the world with an implied threat or with economic ties through trade, but with administrators and people sitting at desks with eyeshades, counting things. Way more than Rome, way more than the Mongols, way more than anybody, ever, or maybe in the future, ever.
Britain was the most powerful country in the history of the world. And then 25 years later, it was this kind of sad, soggy welfare state, which is, to some extent, what it still is, except maybe even a little bit worse. What happened?
There are a couple of levels on which to think about this. First is just geopolitical, and I guess they spent a lot of money in these wars and the ruling class, half the class at Eton in 1910 was killed in the trenches. You can think of a lot of different ways to explain what happened to Britain. The fact remains, however, the British won the two biggest wars in human history. They won and yet they’re still greatly diminished and to some extent humiliated. What is that?
So again, the first explanation can be described in economic terms. The United States took over. The British Empire just moved west to its child, the US. They just transferred the power and a lot of the gold to this new country, which had its systems and some of its customs.
But there’s something deeper. If that were the whole story, then Britain would still be recognizably Britain. The English people would still be recognizably English. They would just be not in charge anymore. They would have less money and less power. But the country would be, by any conventional measurement, thriving, just not running the Bahamas and Hong Kong and Pakistan.
But that’s not what’s happened. After winning the two biggest wars in human history, Britain has shrunken not just physically, but in some way that’s hard to describe. Its culture has changed, some might say has been destroyed, and it’s become something completely different. And what is that? And why does it matter what it is?
Well, it matters because what’s happened to Britain, to England, is also happening to many countries in the West, certainly its heirs, the Anglosphere: Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Canada, Ireland. It’s happening to those countries. It’s also happening to the rest of western Europe all at the same time.
A bunch of different profound, never seen before phenomena are happening to all of those countries, and again, including ours here in the United States. So it’s worth understanding what has happened to Britain. So maybe the best image that describes it is the one that we’re about to show you.
In case there’s no context in the tape, what you’re watching is a woman being arrested outside an abortion clinic. And keep in mind, as you watch this, she’s not being arrested for throwing a firebomb, a petrol bomb, through the window of this abortion clinic in the UK, or even for obstructing access to this abortion clinic. No – she is being arrested and taken to jail for praying outside the abortion clinic.
Watch this.
So what is that? It’s hard to argue that if your government is arresting people for praying that you’re watching a political phenomenon. Because, of course, praying is not simply a non-violent act. It’s not even a physical act. It can’t possibly, at least in secular terms, affect outcomes or harm anyone. Praying for people can never be a crime. But it is a crime in Great Britain, literally a crime. And the woman you saw is not the only person who’s been arrested for doing it. So clearly we’re watching a spiritual phenomenon here. There’s sort of no arguing it once you see things like that.
But what is that spiritual phenomenon and what are its effects on the people of this country? Before we go further, we should just say that if you visit the “Yookay” as it’s now called, or London, its capital and completely dominant city, the first thing you’ll notice is it’s actually pretty nice. The nice parts of London are as nice or maybe even nicer than any city in the United States. Certainly nicer than any city in Canada or Australia. It’s a great city, filled with lots of happy people.
But broadly speaking, this country has changed dramatically, and it’s changed in ways that are recognizable. Here’s what you recognize. The people of Great Britain are going through a series of crises, and they’re all internal. Drug use, alcohol use. Their appearance has changed. People are no longer as well kept, the streets, the landscape is not tidy anymore. It’s got lots of litter and graffiti in some places. To technocrats, these are not meaningful measures of anything. Who cares if you’ve got graffiti? Does that affect GDP? Well, maybe. Maybe not, but it’s definitely a reflection of how people feel about themselves.
People with self-respect do not tolerate public displays of disorder or filth or graffiti or litter because they care about themselves and their family and they understand intuitively, as every human being does, that once you allow chaos and filth in your immediate environment, you are diminished. So you just don’t allow that. No healthy society does.
But all through the West, these are not just features, they’re defining features. All western cities are filled with litter and graffiti, and people who look like they didn’t bother to get dressed this morning, but are instead wearing their pajamas in Walmart. It’s not just in your town, it’s everywhere in what we refer to as the West.
The point that underlies all of this is a really obvious one, that too few people say. This is the behavior of a defeated people. This is what it looks like when you lose. This is what it looks like when you’re on your way out to be replaced by somebody else. This is what it looks like to be an American Indian.
Now, one thing nobody in the United States ever says about the American Indians, except in a kind of pro-forma white guilt way, is these weren’t just impressive people – and no, they didn’t write the Constitution before we did – these were some of the most impressive people, most self-reliant, most dignified. Read any account of early American settlers, people who were pushing west, who came into contact with Indians and yes, were often scalped and forced to eat their own genitals and roasted over open fires. I mean, these were cruel people. But even the people who were in danger of being murdered by them respected them. Because the Indigenous Americans had a great deal of self-respect. They had what we call dignity. And now, hundreds of years later, the opposite is true. The poorest people in the United States are American Indians. Why? Because the federal government hasn’t given them enough. The federal government is completely in charge of the indigenous economy in the United States, and has been for over a hundred years, and it hasn’t worked. American Indians are still the poorest.
Why? Because the Iroquois and the Navajo weren’t impressive? No, they were the most impressive. Again, read the account of anyone who dealt with them. Even people who were dodging their arrows thought they were amazing people, because they were. And now they are by many measures, the saddest people in the United States. Why is that? Some inherent genetic predisposition to patheticness? They couldn’t deal with modernity? Well, they probably could. They were defeated. They were defeated. And in some deep, the deepest way, they wound up destroying themselves, and it’s not unique to them. That’s the point.
And just to be completely clear, all of this is observed with a great deal of sympathy, not scorn. No one’s mocking the American Indians. Everyone should feel bad about it. For real. Again, not in a silly white girl guilty way, but in a real way. These are amazing people. Greatly diminished. And the reason it’s worth remembering is the same thing is happening to the West.
And it makes you realize, especially if you travel a lot, that the problem is not necessarily the immigrants. The problem is what mass migration does to the people who already live there. They’re the victims of it in a way that, again, is hard to measure and sometimes hard to notice, but totally real.
So you walk through this city, London, and it’s been completely transformed by immigration. Completely. And the numbers are really, really clear. One hundred years ago it was 100 percent European white. Now it’s less than 40 percent. OK, that’s massive, unprecedented demographic change. The immigrant areas are absolutely poorer than the traditionally white English areas. There’s just no question about it. But wealth as measured by the government is not the only measurement. Actually, and this is true in the United States, too, lots of immigrants who have a lot less money than the native population seem a lot more balanced and happy, both because this is a huge upgrade for them just in terms of annual income and standard of living. But it’s more than that. They’re not defeated. They don’t hate themselves.
And if you have traditional nationalist opinions in the United States, I can confirm this personally, you’re never going to be stopped on the street and screamed at by some Guatemalan who’s like, you are racist for having your views on immigration. No, they’ll probably agree with you. The only people who ever get mad at you are the people who already hate themselves, and it’s always, famously, some private equity wife or somebody who should be happy about how things are going because they’re in the portion of the population that’s benefiting from it. But they’re not happy. They’re angry.
What is that? That exact same thing is going on in this country. Exact. And it’s part of a very recognizable syndrome, and it’s the most destructive of all. History is just filled with examples of people who get invaded and clubbed to death and have their women stolen from them, and they’re fine. They’re fine. It’s the people who feel defeated inside who no longer exist. And that is happening to the West. And it’s measurable.
What other society hates its own national symbols? It’s only happening in the West, only in Great Britain. This is coming to be true in the United States. It’s already true in Canada and Australia. What other country finds it embarrassing to fly their national flag? What are you saying if that embarrasses you? You don’t hate the flag. You hate yourself.
And it’s obvious because people who have dignity, self-respect, who believe in their own civilization want to continue it. How do you do that? By talking about it a lot? No. By continuing it through reproduction. No one is preventing the West from reproducing. And people who come up with these conspiracy theories, like, oh, they’re doing it. No, we’re doing it to ourselves. What else is abortion? It’s not empowering for women. Of course not. That’s absurd. Anyone who believes that is an idiot. Abortion is the way to stop people from reproducing. So is birth control, by the way, of course. So is convincing people that their dumb job is more important than having kids. It’s not. It never will be. Any person who can get clarity for a second will recognize that. It’s only about stopping you from having more of you.
And is there anything that’s a clearer representation of how you feel about yourself than how you feel about having kids? And by the way, it’s not just because these people are selfish and they want to go on vacation and don’t want to pay for children, or they’re worried about how much it might cost. Notice that none of these impoverished immigrants living on Snap and housing subsidies, they don’t seem worried about it at all because they know it’ll be fine. Most of the time it will be fine. They’re having kids when much more affluent natives are not, because they believe in themselves and their culture, their civilization. They’d like to see it continue. It’s the most basic of all human desires.
So here in Great Britain, which has about a 30 percent abortion rate, 30 percent of all conceived children are killed. Who’s doing that? It’s not the immigrants because they don’t hate themselves. They’re not defeated. They’re ascendant. And so they can see the future. They know that they may not live to experience it, but they’re still fully human. And they know you plant the tree not because you can bask in its shade, but because your grandchildren will. This is the most obvious of all human instincts and the most basic.
But the native population in Britain is not debating abortion because it’s not even a debate here. Everyone agrees it’s just an affirmative good, of course, to eliminate your own people. Absolutely. But again, no one’s making them do this. They’ve decided to do it themselves. But now their most enthusiastic campaign is for state sponsored suicide. They’ve already done this in Canada. It’ll come to the United States. What is that? That’s an entire people saying we should exit the stage. Our time is done. It’s over. Let’s go. Someone else will take our place. Not the first time that’s ever happened.
This is what defeated people do. This is what happens when you break people inside. And maybe it’ll just reach its terminus. Maybe there’s no way to stop it.
So in Great Britain, if you were to say, wait, what the hell is this? This looks nothing like the country I grew up in – guess who’s going to arrest you? Your fellow Britons. The ones whose great-grandparents lived here. The whites. They’re the ones enforcing this. They’re the ones determined to eliminate themselves.
The gin and tonic has had quite the journey. From humble beginnings protecting British explorers against malaria, it has become the country’s favorite cocktail. Abroad, Italians grown tired of spritzes now opt for it come aperitivo hour. The Japanese bow before it. The world stumbles after it. Yet there is one land the G&T has been slow to conquer: America, the land of vodka sodas and zero-calorie seltzers.
In recent years that has begun to change. While overall consumption of spirits is down, sales of gin in the US are on the rise and expected to grow some 6.5 percent a year for the rest of this decade. Craft distilleries are in the vanguard: in California, gin is infused with citrus and coastal herbs. In the South, it might be perfumed with watermelon rind or magnolia blossoms. And while US liquor stores still devote more space to vodka and whiskey than anything else, gin is getting more of a look-in. Whole Foods stocks cans of ready-to-drink Tanqueray gin and tonic. After all, there’s only so many shots of kombucha one can stomach.
As youngsters turn away from alcohol and toward their smartphones, those still drinking increasingly look for smaller quantities of better-quality alcohol. Slamming shots is out; “mindful drinking,” low-ABV tipples and “savoring the mouthfeel” are in. Bright young things have discovered that the G&T looks chic without adding to the waistline. In a social media age, its “old money” good looks are important. It is certainly more photogenic than a whiskey and Coke.
It helps that the G&T is so easy to make: during the pandemic, we saw the rise of home bartending. Many Americans discovered they could make a better G&T at home than they’d ever got from a harassed Manhattan bartender. You can dress it up with rosemary sprigs or a cucumber slice – but you don’t have to. All you really need is a highball glass and a slice of lemon or lime, and you’ve got something that looks suitably sophisticated.
But the G&T’s rise is about culture, not just calories or convenience. Gin has never occupied the same place in the American psyche as other cocktails. Hemingway drank his way across the States, from Michigan trout streams to Florida sunsets, but he was a man of daiquiris, rum and whiskey, rather than the gin and tonic. Meanwhile, Don Draper may have toyed with a G&T while lounging in a well-cut Brooks Brothers suit on a summer afternoon, but Mad Men’s soul was really soaked in martinis and old fashioneds. It is gin’s foreignness that creates the G&T’s appeal today. The biggest-selling gin brands in the US are British – Gordon’s, Tanqueray and Bombay Sapphire. And in an era where everything must be artisanal, sustainable and storied, the G&T arrives pre-packaged with a sense of history and exoticism. Once a form of medicine, soaked in Empire, gin is a drink with a grand story. Gin’s curious-sounding botanicals create a sense of sophistication. “Juniper, coriander seed and angelica root have the reassuring ring of Old World complexity and Continental charm.”
Americans import European drinks – and drinking rituals. The aperitivo hour was once alien; then suddenly every rooftop bar in New York was a sea of Aperol spritzes. Never mind that Europe today is economically stagnant and politically fractious; culturally, it remains unimpeachable. To sip a G&T on a Brooklyn terrace is to feel oh so suave, to be in touching distance of London.
Nostalgia for the aristocratic drawing room may have helped leaven the G&T moment. The real-life Downton Abbey – Highclere Castle in Hampshire, England – produces its own gin, which it sells across the US. Adam von Gootkin, who co-founded the brand alongside the 8th Earl of Carnarvon (whose family seat is Highclere), told me: “American palates are rediscovering the elegance of gin. People want story, terroir and craftsmanship. The gin and tonic is the revenge of the classics. For too long, we let neon drinks and novelty shots steal the spotlight. Now, people want authenticity – and you can’t fake that with food coloring.”
Inevitably, celebrities are getting in on the act. Ryan Reynolds has Aviation Gin. Margot Robbie – who has confessed that she used to stash vanilla rooibos teabags in her handbag to rescue bad G&Ts at London nightclubs – is behind Papa Salt Coastal Gin.
Perhaps tonic will be the next component to get the celeb treatment: the market for premium bottled mixers is booming. The British brand Fever-Tree is doing spectacularly well in the US. It now holds the pole position for both tonic water and ginger beer. Not bad in a country with a long-standing attachment to soda from a gun.
America will inevitably make the G&T its own. Espressos were for Italians, then Starbucks came along. Sushi went from Japanese delicacy to everyday LA lunch. The G&T may never dethrone the vodka soda or the bourbon old fashioned but a drink that’s journeyed from the balmy terraces of the British Raj to Brooklyn will take a fair bit of stopping. Downton’s preferred drink is coming downtown.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s November 24, 2025 World edition.
There is an unhappy history of left-wing Britons getting involved in US elections. Back in 2004, the Guardian – the flagship organ of the British left – organized a letter-writing campaign, urging voters in the swing state of Ohio not to re-elect George W. Bush. The good people of Ohio didn’t take kindly to a bunch of North Londoners telling them how to vote, and although the Guardian’s campaign probably can’t be given all the credit, the voters of Ohio duly went to the polls and swung firmly behind Bush.
One wishes that London Mayor Sadiq Khan’s intervention in this week’s election in New York might have had a similar result. Interviewed shortly before Zohran Mamdani was elected, the Mayor of London praised the Democratic Socialist candidate for mayor of New York as “fun” and “authentic.” A spokesman for the London mayor proclaimed: “The mayor hopes that like in London, New Yorkers see through the politics of hatred and fear and embrace Mamdani’s hopeful and optimistic vision for the future.”
I think we all know the drill here. If the subtext of the Guardian’s fateful 2004 intervention in US politics was that a bunch of rural hicks in Ohio needed to be instructed by better educated types about what a ghastly man their then president was, then the subtext of the mayor of London’s intervention into the New York race is that if you don’t vote for the Socialist candidate it’s because you’re anti-Muslim and therefore anti-progress and anti-diversity.
The trouble is that not many New Yorkers want to hear from the Mayor of London on how to run a city. While Khan wafts around the world telling everyone what a diverse and vibrant place London is, the news that floats back over the Atlantic from London is rarely positive.
Most Americans I speak to who have recently been to our capital return rather shocked. Not least among their observations is how wild the crime in London is. New Yorkers might risk being set on fire on the subway by a spice-addled illegal immigrant, but they are also used to being able to walk down a street with their phone in their hand. They do not have to hide their device for fear that it is going to be snatched from them by a youth on a bike. Every American tourist who does experience this aspect of London tends to tell their friends about it. So while Khan thinks that London’s bad reputation in the US is a result of Donald Trump’s occasional swipes at his mayoralty, it is in fact merely a reflection of Americans visiting Khan’s London and returning home with stories of the reality.
Another line I hear plenty of people voicing in America is something along the lines of: “Whatever happened to London?” This would of course be dismissed as appalling, backwards racism by Khan and his PR team. But I have heard it often enough to know that it is an expression of genuine surprise. There was a time when you could tell American friends that it was all fine really, and that Downton Abbey and other popular dramas might have unduly raised expectations of what the average day in Britain looks like. But these American visitors are on to something. The problem with “diverse” cities is that they all end up monotonously resembling each other.
In any case, if New York really is going to follow London’s lead, then New Yorkers can only blame themselves. Mamdani must count as the least qualified person ever to run for major political office. The son of a Columbia University professor and an award-winning film-maker, he seems to have drifted through his career. He tried and failed to be a rapper. Then he worked for his mother for a bit. And now he’s meant to run the biggest city in America.
It is true that he seems to have entranced many voters because of his youth (he’s 34) and “vibe.” But whenever he has actually been questioned about his policies he cannot explain how he is going to pay for any of them, other than by taxing the rich.
To say that he is economically illiterate is an understatement. Early in the campaign it became clear that he cannot read a budget sheet. It also transpired that he thinks that the already beleaguered New York Police Department is some sort of wing of the KKK. Trained by the Israelis, naturally.
Possibly alert to the whiffs of anti-Semitism that have pervaded his career, he has chosen to counter this by saying that any criticisms of him are because of his Muslim-ness. In fact few New Yorkers, like Londoners, care what religion their mayor is. But they do take exception when a candidate stands outside a mosque during election season, as Mamdani did, and starts to tear up while telling a story about an aunt (who turned out not to be an aunt) who was said to be fearful of wearing her hijab in New York after 9/11 – as if she was the real victim of that day.
One of the demonstrations that New York is not the city that Mamdani sometimes pretends it is can be seen from the fact there was no widespread “anti-Muslim” backlash after 9/11. Just as there was no meaningful opposition to his candidacy because of his Muslim faith.
It was one thing for the Guardian to misread the people of Ohio. It is quite another for people running for elected office to misrepresent their fellow citizens.
Perhaps this is just one more similarity between London and New York. Both must count as among the world’s most tolerant populations. But they are populations that have become used to being misrepresented by politicians whose own gilded lives and effortless careers should be demonstration enough that we aren’t the people they often find it useful to pretend we are.
Smart Italian restaurants in cultural destinations are like buses: you wait ages for one and suddenly two come along at once. I recently praised Locatelli at London’s National Gallery. Returning to the city, it is the turn of Cicoria at the Royal Ballet and Opera, Covent Garden; a joint under the aegis of Angela Hartnett, well-known for her upscale restaurant Murano in Mayfair, her casual chain Cafe Murano and her frequent appearances on the box.
Surprisingly few of the world’s great opera houses have given much thought to catering, although things are improving. I ate very well recently at Madrid’s Teatro Real and you can push the boat out with caviar at the Met in New York. What makes this new caff at Covent Garden of note is the intention that it should be a destination, whether or not Tristan und Isolde whets your appetite. Traditionally, eating at the Royal Opera House meant booking a table in the Crush Room, a comforting essay in red plush, gilt and chandeliered glory, with two decent courses before curtain-up, and then a dessert (the spiced apple cheesecake is delicious) in the interval.
‘Terry is a great believer in the freedom of hate speech’
Now the Royal Opera has three other restaurants. Cicoria doesn’t offer an interval service but as it’s open continuously from midday till reasonably late, the option for opera and ballet goers is an early pre-performance supper. Unlike the Crush Room, which is for ticket holders only, there’s a clear intention to attract a wider public. It is, I assume, part of a smart strategy to open up the Opera House as a destination, particularly to travelers from abroad. Please note that I struggled with that last sentence to avoid using “reaching out” (my current pick of the most meaningless phrases du jour).
The Opera House team and their caterers have worked hard to make Cicoria’s rooms beautiful and the right side of luxurious. The slightly too low ceiling has been gilded, there is impressive woodwork and the upholstery is pretty and ethnic-y. The lighting from shaded table lamps and hanging art glass fixtures is excellent. There’s an expansive heated terrace with views of the Covent Garden Piazza.
The menu has few of the expected classics, but more than enough come-hither dishes. I could have happily ordered any of the offerings with the possible exception of the cuttlefish, with whom I have a warm relationship thanks to years of scuba diving.
Lady G kicked off with a beautifully presented Castelfranco salad with hazelnuts and a rich robiola cheese dressing. For lettuce novices, Castelfranco is the pale green one with pink spots hailing from Giorgione’s hometown in the Veneto. My gnocchi with porcini and fried breadcrumbs was sublime.
Main courses delivered as well. Despite it being the wrong time of year for a cold dish, I ordered vitello tonnato. The veal was pink, very thinly sliced, dressed with a robust and not overly viscous tuna mayonnaise and garnished with anchovies and capers. It was without a doubt as good a vitello tonnato as I have had anywhere, including in Turin, its alleged birthplace. Lady G had a perfectly cooked, crisp-skinned seabass fillet lounging on a king-sized bed of lentils. We did not need side dishes, including the creamiest, cheesiest, most indulgent soft polenta, but were thrilled we ordered them anyway.
That said, it may have been a tactical error. When the dessert list arrived, we had to admit defeat despite really wanting to try the roasted figs with zabaione, the caramelized Amalfi lemon tart, the Manjari chocolate mousse… enough already. The wine list is reasonably concise, not just Italian, with plenty on offer by the glass. I drank some “Angela Hartnett cuvée” Tuscan red which was more than decent and no more foolishly priced than most restaurant wines. If you like that sort of thing, there’s a good range of non-alcoholic drinks. Prices here are now what I would call “London standard” for a place of this class: say £100 a head.
A few bravos are in order. First to the chef, Angela Hartnett, for consistently providing some of the best Italian cooking around. Second to the Royal Ballet and Opera for investing thought and money around the proposition that what’s not on stage needs to reflect and respect the quality of what is. And maybe, just maybe, some hitherto non ballet or opera-going diners at Cicoria may think that it’s worth checking out what goes on in the auditorium, too.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s November 10, 2025 World edition.
In Britain, the leading political parties have just held their annual conventions. After a month of national political debates, lost in all the commentary about polling and positioning is a larger and more consequential story about the changing dynamics of power. And it’s simply this: in a world where parties, prime ministers and presidents have long dominated the global stage, the spotlight is increasingly turning to a new group of leaders: mayors. And they are shifting the plot from talk to action.
Mayors have emerged as entrepreneurial actors on national and even international issues
In recent years, mayors have emerged as increasingly entrepreneurial actors on national and even international issues. They’re not only collecting trash and fixing roads, but they’re also pioneering new ways to tackle job creation, healthcare, housing construction, climate change and more. They are bringing a spirit of innovation to city halls, as the best US mayors in both major political parties are doing, too.
This development is only natural, since mayors stand on the front lines of our biggest challenges. And as frustration with national leadership grows around the globe, cities stand out as laboratories of renewal. Mayors are showing how progress happens in practice, by embracing pragmatic problem-solving, rather than ideological combat.
In London, Mayor Sadiq Khan has capitalized on devolution to reduce air pollution, provide school lunches for children and improve social services. Mayoral combined authorities in Greater Manchester and Liverpool are developing new ways to provide better transportation for residents, more plans for affordable housing and more effective police and fire services. And earlier this year, the British government announced six new regions that will develop mayoral combined authorities, a move that will put 80 percent of the country under devolution.
Across the EU, local leaders are also raising their ambitions and asserting their power, even without new grants of authority. Helsinki, Finland, has gone without a traffic fatality for more than 365 days thanks to the mayor’s efforts to improve street design and public transport. And the city of Madrid is one step closer to reaching net zero emissions, in no small part because of the mayor’s effort to transition the city’s bus fleet to electric power.
As mayors rise to meet the moment, it’s critical that they have the skills and capabilities needed to pursue bold ideas – and succeed. When I was first elected mayor of New York in 2001, just weeks after the terrorist attacks of September 11, I had spent 20 years building and running a company. But most mayors arrive in office with little experience running complex organizations. They haven’t spent much time, if any, using data to manage performance; attracting and retaining talent; breaking down silos; improving customer service; solving complex problems by developing and implementing innovative solutions – and many other activities essential to success.
In the private sector, executive leadership and management training are the rule rather than the exception. But in the public sector, it essentially didn’t exist. And so in 2017 Bloomberg Philanthropies formed a partnership with Harvard University to bridge the gap. Since then, the program has trained mayors in eight of America’s ten biggest cities and more than 380 mayors worldwide, including in Liverpool and Greater Manchester.
Now, as Europe increasingly turns to its mayors, we are teaming up with the London School of Economics and Political Science and the Hertie School in Berlin to create the first-ever leadership program designed specifically for mayors and top city officials in the UK and across Europe. The inaugural class will include 30 mayors from 17 countries representing a diverse array of cities, from industrial centers and tourism magnets to university hubs and national capitals. The initiative will build their capacity to lead – aligning talent, tools and shared purpose to help them write Europe’s next chapter.
Over the course of the one-year program, which is backed through a $50 million grant from Bloomberg Philanthropies, mayors and their staffs will take part in training inside and outside the classroom, including one-on-one mentoring and coaching sessions. The focus of the sessions will be on strengthening their capacity to empower their teams, build partnerships with communities and businesses, bring new ideas and creativity to challenging problems, share lessons across city and national boundaries and accelerate progress they are already making.
As the world increasingly turns to mayors to deliver results, the stakes are much too high to expect them to go it alone. With the very best in leadership and management training, mayors can redefine what is possible for cities – and their countries – to accomplish. As they do, voters will see the virtue of electing problem-solvers over flamethrowers, with the benefits spreading far and wide. In the theater of politics, as in life, Shakespeare’s words hold true: “Action is eloquence.”
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s October 27, 2025 World edition.
