Much though this angered veterans and political opponents in Argentina, it also allowed him to become a Right-wing icon in Britain. Gone were the days of “Gotcha!” and “Argie bastards”: now Thatcher’s heirs had a friend in Buenos Aires. The sideburns, the chainsaw, the herd of cloned (English) mastiffs: he was the perfect maverick. ¡Afuera! became a well-known meme and entered the lexicon: could it not be just as well applied to the ECHR, the BBC, Net Zero, and however many quangos? Soon enough, Kemi Badenoch, who would never call herself “Britain’s Trump”, began describing herself as “Britain’s Milei”: here was a figure a divided party could rally round. Nigel Farage praised Milei’s politics as “Thatcherism on steroids” and said he was thinking about buying Argentine bonds (probably not the wisest use of his £5 million). Liz Truss said Milei was her favorite conservative; he confessed not to know who she was.

But it wasn’t going to last forever. Milei was always going to get less popular, and so he was always going to make a fuss over the Falklands. As the next Argentine election gets closer, and as his approval ratings languish somewhere in the 30s, he needs something to match the chest-thumping of his estranged vice president, for whom we British remain “pirate usurpers”. So, in a speech to the nation on 4 September, he declared that Argentina must “act swiftly” and “show a united front to the world”. The pirates will be vanquished, Argentina redeemed.

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It is an occupational hazard of governing Britain that sometimes Argentines will rattle their sabers. Prime ministers have learned to deal with it from time to time since 1982, usually by rolling their eyes. But this time it might be different. What makes the present Falklands flare-up unusually alarming, from the British point of view, is a sinister allusion in Milei’s speech to “winds of change in the world that are favorable to our claim”. “Winds of change”: it is an evocative phrase, famously deployed by Harold Macmillan in Africa in 1960 to describe the inevitability of decolonization. There was no escaping or denying our decline; we could only try to manage it. The Wretched of the Earth were about to have their day, and it would be futile to resist them. Even Right-wingers like Milei — and, for that matter, General Galtieri — cast their struggle for “las Malvinas” as a noble work of anti-colonialism.

That still leaves the timing of Milei’s intervention: and here it’s tempting to imagine that he can smell British weakness. That, anyway, is an appealing explanation of his conduct for critics of Britain’s Labour government at home, many of whom are feeling understandably compromised for having previously lavished Milei with praise. After all, critics of the shambolic Chagos deal can reasonably contend that it might have planted in hostile heads the idea that Britain is no longer able or willing to defend its far-flung possessions. Starmer and Burnham certainly seem to be made of weaker stuff than Mrs Thatcher.

Yet the British Right itself also bears much of the blame. They spent years sucking up to Milei — and to MAGA and to Israel, some elements of which now seem to be most receptive to Argentine revanchism. More to the point, they have done much to play up Britain’s weaknesses, as though trying to make the country seem like an enticing target. While railing against the Chagos deal, for instance, plenty of Right-wing voices prophesied that “the Falklands will be next”. Never mind that the idea that Britain’s dealings with Mauritius would set a precedent for how it would handle another Argentine attack on the Falklands was far-fetched. Most people in Britain had never heard of the Chagos Islands; and given that their main purpose is to host an American base, it is anyway questionable how sovereign we are there. The Falklands, on the other hand, have a British population, and, at least since 1982, have been part of our national identity. British blood was spilled there in living memory; Starmer’s own uncle was almost killed. A Labour government, even a weak one, wouldn’t give them up without a fight.

Likewise, in the early phase of the Iran war, Nigel Farage tried to backtrack from his initial bout of jingoism by saying that Britain anyway lacks the “capability to offer anything of any value to the Americans or the Israelis”. Our country, in other words, is too weak even to be helpfully subservient. Milei would reasonably conclude from this that Britain is spent, and that the Falklands would be easy pickings. And, more pertinently, the White House might think that there is nothing to gain from keeping up friendly relations with Britain — so that they might as well throw their lot in with the Argentines.

A decade ago, an Argentine leader playing domestic politics with the Falklands may not have mattered much. But where Macmillan’s winds of change were blowing in Africa, these days they’re more American in nature. For it is in Washington, DC that the new “political facts” are emerging. A few months ago it was reported that the Pentagon was reviewing its position on the Falklands — until now a studied neutrality — setting off fears that it might move in a pro-Argentine direction. More recently, President Trump suggested that he would be reluctant to help us, as Ronald Reagan did in 1982, in the event of an Argentine invasion. He brings to bear his typically transactional theory of foreign affairs: we didn’t scratch his back in Iran, so why should he scratch ours in the South Atlantic?

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There’s a broader point here too. Where Milei’s Argentina could prove to be a good local ally to America, complementing Trump’s vision of a “Donroe Doctrine”, Britain is regarded as a sad old has-been, running on fumes. As one American diplomat remarked, “keeping South American countries on side” could be “more strategically important than pleasing the Brits out of a ‘sense of nostalgia’”. All of MAGA knows that Britain is in terminal decline: it is practically axiomatic that soon enough it will, in JD Vance’s infamous jibe, be an “Islamist” state. This being so, Trump and those around him might well reason, why shouldn’t they take the side of Argentina versus Britain — Right versus Left, Christianity versus Islam, the vitality of the New World versus the shabby decadence of the Old?

Shortly before Milei’s speech on the Falklands, Sarah Rogers, the undersecretary of state for public diplomacy and public affairs, posted a photo of herself grinning next to him, captioned “Exciting things are happening in the Western Hemisphere”. It could scarcely be any clearer that she is not a friend to Britain. But at ARC in London a few months ago, as she waxed lyrical about Anglo-American friendship, a mainly British audience lapped up her every word. “Sarah Rogers is a political superstar and Britain’s New Right should be grateful for the undisguised passion she expresses in this speech for our national renewal”, effused James Orr, then still in post at Reform UK. When she promises to unleash the “full range of tools” against Britain’s speech restrictions, when she declares that “nothing is off the table”, even the free-speech liberals among us should hope that this would not cover inducing a hostile foreign power to invade Britain’s sovereign territory. It was always naïve to think she was invested in our “national renewal”. She appears to be much more interested in Argentina’s.

Britain is used to pinning its foreign policy ambitions on a vague and slippery notion of “soft power”. We hope to get into the good graces of other nations, and punch above our weight, by keeping everyone fed on a diet of Harry Potter and the Premier League. Our best soft-power weapon against Trump is, of course, the Royal Family; and we have been able to deploy it quite effectively. Certainly, he responds to it better than any hard power lever we might be able to pull — for example, refusing to let him use bases on our sovereign territory. The image we project to the world matters, and can have real geopolitical consequences.

But there is also such a thing as negative soft power. Sometimes it can suit certain purposes to make the country, at least under the present government, seem as degraded as possible. When Farage goes on American TV, or speaks at the Capitol, one gets the impression of Britain as an authoritarian police state, disfigured by mass immigration. Why should a crime-ridden hell-hole deserve to keep the Falklands? Milei understands this; he knows better than most what makes the MAGA movement tick. In his speech, he dwells on Britain’s pitiful state: “the UK is facing multiple migration, demographic, and economic crises with no clear solution”. These words are a product of Britain’s negative soft power. So too, and worse, is the fact that Trump might listen to them with open ears.

Thatcher was less naïve about the “Special Relationship” than plenty of today’s conservatives: she rejected out of hand Reagan’s efforts toward a negotiated settlement. The opposition, for its part, was patriotic to a fault. Michael Foot, speaking both as Labour leader and “Cato”, the pseudonymous author of the anti-appeasement polemic Guilty Men, said he “knew a fascist when he sees one” — he didn’t try to undermine Britain’s position to bolster his own.

Today, though, a dangerous game is being played. Its main effect might be a damaging one: to convince MAGA that Britain is a lost cause. That is the purpose Britain is usually brought to serve across the Atlantic: a vision of apocalypse, a cautionary tale. That, rather than any real desire to make Britain great again, is what sustains MAGA’s interest in British affairs. Britain’s decisive victory in the last Falklands War was much-needed proof of life after decades of decline on the global stage. Today, therefore, there could be no punishment more fitting, no better proof of Britain’s death, than Milei’s Argentina seizing the Falklands.

More to the point, much of this bonanza in theory belongs not to the penguins, or even humanity, but to His Majesty’s Government. Consider the numbers. A new discovery in British Antarctic Territory could hold more oil than the North Sea’s entire output over the last five decades, while the world’s largest fish stocks are found at the poles too. 

Yet we shouldn’t necessarily expect Britain to suddenly become another Opec member overnight. Apart from the legal hurdles — there are strict rules around industrial exploitation at the poles — it’s unclear whether London could protect these far-flung territories even if it wanted to. With rivals circling, and foreign investors already rushing ahead with claims of their own, Britain risks losing out, particularly when its rulers seem so unwilling to protect their possessions overseas. 

Britain has interests around both the North and South Poles. As far as its vast British Antarctic Territory is concerned, that’s clearest around black gold. Beyond that striking comparison with the North Sea, experts believe that the most recent oil discovery, in May 2024, could meet the entirety of global demand for almost 15 years. 

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The North Pole, for its part, is important less for physical resources — and more for communications. Modern staples like GPS and satnav can only happen because many satellites connect to Earth via Svalbard, a Norwegian archipelago some 2,000 kilometres north of Oslo. Whether it’s home food deliveries or Nato missile guidance, both would be impossible without Svalbard’s network of satellite ground stations. No less important, these barren islands also host a vital high-speed internet cable. No wonder Sir Tony Radakin, head of Britain’s armed forces, has stressed that the region represents a fulcrum of British security.

Now, however, this security looks threatened. In January 2022, someone cut the main subsea cable in the area. In April this year, the cables at the Evenes Airbase were disabled too, especially ominous as it’s where Norway and Nato keep a fleet of F-35 aircraft. The Norwegians have investigated both events and concluded that there is no clear culprit. But some believe that they’re skating around the problem because they don’t want to provoke a direct confrontation with Russia. 

Given all this, at any rate, it’s unsurprising that Whitehall is upping its presence both north and south. In 2023, for instance, the Ministry of Defence announced it was founding a Royal Marines camp near the Norwegian town of Tromsø. As I write, the UK is also upping its presence on the other end of the planet too, promising repairs to a key RAF base on the Falkland Islands. This surely makes sense: its Argentine rival has clearly noticed that the Antarctic oil fields stretch as far north as the Falklands, with Britain preparing to tap oil from 23 wells in the Sea Lion oilfield.

In practice, though, Britain’s commitment to its territorial defence remains suspect: just look at its surrender of the Chagos Islands and Diego Garcia. Sensing a cash cow, meanwhile, Argentina’s foreign minister has now vowed to “recover full sovereignty” over what he calls Las Malvinas. Britain officially insists its position is “unwavering” — but Keir Starmer appeared, at least at first, surprisingly reticent about keeping the Falklands British.

Even if Britain suddenly turned its foreign policy on its head, meanwhile, it seems unlikely that it’d actually make use of its vast polar hoard. For one thing, London strictly abides by the 1998 commercial protocol of the 1959 Antarctic Treaty, which prohibits seabed extraction. The UK seems equally unwilling to approve of deep-sea mining in its oceanic preserves, particularly now that scientists have discovered so-called “dark oxygen” some 4,000 metres beneath the surface of the chilly Southern Ocean. To quote Nick Owens, director of the Scottish Association for Marine Science: “The fact that we’ve got another source of oxygen on the planet other than photosynthesis has consequences and implications that are utterly profound.” 

Yet whatever Britain’s ethical scruples, it’s now becoming much simpler to harvest resources at both poles. One reason is climate change: with the ice sheets melting, the goodies below are easier to access. Another factor is technology: China recently unveiled the Kaituo 2, a 14-tonne deep-sea mining vehicle that can dredge the polar seabeds below a record-breaking 4,000 metres. Britain, for its part, has no such machines. 

There are signs, in short, that the polar regions could soon be subjected to an industrial rush. Indeed as we approach 2048 — the year the Antarctic Treaty can finally be renegotiated — Beijing and Moscow are already trying to gather enough allies to overturn the 1959 ban. They’re prospecting too: it’s no accident that the recent mega-discovery in the British Antarctic Territory was found not by the Royal Navy, but by Russia. Nor are the West’s headline geopolitical foes alone here. As one Iranian rear admiral recently (and somewhat implausibly) claimed, the Islamic Republic has “property rights” in Antarctica. 

The interest of national governments is echoed in the private sector too. Chinese investors recently tried to buy Søre Fagerfjord, which was the last remaining parcel of private land on Svalbard. China thought the 60 square kilometres of pristine wilderness was a steal at $326 million. In the event, the Americans and British apparently warned their Norwegian counterparts of the deal, and the acquisition was squashed. Unperturbed, China is teaming up with Russia to invest in mining firms, scientific research stations and policy programmes right across Svalbard. That echoes a long-standing Russian policy: the Svalbard town of Barentsberg has long been dominated by Russian miners, many of whom later went off to fight in Ukraine. 

While, therefore, our minds may first go to Ukraine or the Middle East, the poles could yet become geopolitical flashpoints. Svalbard, after all, is just 400 nautical miles from the Russian mainland. Elizabeth Buchanan, head of research for the Royal Australian Navy, has described the South Pole in similar terms. Fair enough: what if Russia or China started drilling there, or else erected critical infrastructure, just as Beijing has done in the South China Sea? 

Nor is this necessarily just a theoretical threat. China currently has five research stations right across Antarctica. The 1959 treaty specifically prohibits military activity anywhere on the icy continent. In practice, though, it’s hard to tell what China is up to because they seem to use radar to block overhead satellites. Rumours abound that they park their planes sideways on their runways, so that no one else could land even if they wanted to. At the same time, Western observers worry that the People’s Republic’s new Qinling Station is being used to spy on Britain and her Five Eyes intelligence partners.

Given all these opportunities for conflict, at any rate, could Britain and its friends defend their varied polar interests? Perhaps not. Faced with draconian spending cuts — day-to-day spending on defence has been slashed by nearly £10 billion since 2010 — the Royal Navy now only has 16 “major surface combatants” in its fleet. To offer just one point of comparison, the Chinese navy is the world’s largest, boasting almost 800 vessels of various sizes. 

To be fair, 2021’s Aukus treaty means that London could rely on US and Australian support in any Antarctic conflict. And there are signs, too, that London isn’t totally insensitive to the threat. Apart from dispatching troops and repairing airfields, Britain has also led the charge in encouraging the building of two entirely new subsea cable systems to Svalbard. One is the so-called IOEMA Project, which is due to go live by 2027. NORDUnet is another. Linking Svalbard with Scandinavia — as well as Japan and other Western allies — it’ll bypass Russia and China entirely.

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Yet Britain’s resolve will only truly become clear if and when a contest for polar assets — or indeed fully-fledged polar war — finally arrives. And in the event, any showdown could come sooner than we think. Long-term oil reserves are one thing. But Russia also has a profound strategic interest in the Arctic in the here-and-now. Last February, Norway’s normally reticent intelligence service publicly warned that nuclear weapons could be present on Russian vessels in the High North. No less important, Sweden and Finland’s accession to Nato also brings the possibility that Western nuclear weapons might be deployed in the Arctic too.

China, for its part, needs the Arctic as well. With sea lanes in the Red Sea threatened by the Houthis, and the Panama Canal with problems of its own, Beijing needs a reliable route from its port at Dailan to Rotterdam in Europe. The Arctic is the obvious choice here, not least when Chinese ships can now make the journey in less than 25 days, and when its economy would surely struggle without it. Britain, in short, seems unwilling or unable to exploit its polar bounty. But its future here may ultimately depend on decisions taken by others — something Keir Starmer and his admirals would both do well to remember.