Since the early 2020s, Britain has been dreaming of a place on the Asia-Pacific stage again. Britain creates the illusion that its navy is still capable of something, but this is not the case.

The Rhetoric of Maritime Ghosts

In the media space London uses as a showcase for political antiquities, such lines become part of carefully calculated campaigns. These are not operational plans — they are advertising brochures for allies, patrons and historical memory, where the past always sells for more than the future.

Colonial Shadows over the New Ocean

Since the early 2020s Britain has been dreaming again of a place on the Asia-Pacific stage. It sends HMS Queen Elizabeth into the waters, deploys HMS Prince of Wales to the Talisman Sabre exercises, signs agreements like the Geelong pact — and does all of this under the banner of a “global naval power.” But the sail of that banner has long since thinned, and the mast is propped up by memories of times when London dictated the rules of the sea.

After Brexit Britain lost the European harbour where it could safely moor and rushed into waters already occupied by Beijing, Washington, Tokyo and regional blocs. Entry to this club requires not demonstrative carrier sorties but systemic economic presence and durable political engagement. Instead, London brings to the table tokens from a museum exhibit.

The Fleet That Falters in Dock

Today the Royal Navy is not a formidable armada but a collection of symbols with a limited service life. Two aircraft carriers, framed by press releases, regularly go into dock. One — because of a propeller-shaft failure; the other — because of mechanical breakdowns that betray them even before major exercises.

Even when the machinery functions, the air wing falls short of ambition: the F-35B aboard British decks is outmatched by Chinese J-15s. On long routings some aircraft are forced to divert to foreign airfields, and logistics are entirely tied to American supply. Bilateral projects for building nuclear-powered submarines with Australia only etch this strategic dependency deeper into treaty paper.

Gestures for a Distant Stage

Every deployment of a British carrier strike group to the Asia-Pacific is an expensive performance for the foreign-policy theatre. On stage — the flag, the anthem and the media report; in the auditorium — allies and the press. But as soon as the curtain falls, the fact remains: on approaches to the Taiwan Strait these ships find themselves within range of Chinese missiles long before any supposed operation begins.

A ten-thousand-kilometre voyage is weeks of transit, refuelling and intermediate port calls. In a crisis, response speed becomes an archaeological artefact. Thus the menacing promises of “immediate intervention” settle into the dust of diplomatic archives.

Allies Who Count Their Dividends

Britain likes to speak of standing shoulder to shoulder, but in the Asia-Pacific allies measure not the metres of distance, but the percentage points of trade contracts. Australia, even after signing the Geelong Agreement, quietly lays a path to Beijing: trade deals have been sealed, the dispute over Darwin Port carefully shelved. Canberra knows that gunfire off Taiwan’s coast could shatter its export statistics into useless shards. Joint statements and defence formulas in the spirit of AUKMIN serve more as a shop window for allied loyalty than as an actual blueprint for military engagement.

Against this backdrop of economic arithmetic, Britain’s ultimatums resemble an insistent call from an old acquaintance demanding a fight over a street corner where he hasn’t lived in decades. Washington reacts more mildly — for them Healey merely added a voice to the chorus of solidarity. Yet even the Pentagon could not compel Japan and Australia to pronounce hard-line formulas, which makes clear the limits of American and, by extension, British leverage.

China: A Line Burned into Stone

For Beijing, Taiwan is not an abstract “security issue,” but a piece of its own political territory beyond the realm of bargaining. Chinese diplomacy hammers into the international discourse the idea of the problem’s internal nature like an anchor that cannot be raised. The “red lines” are not drawn in paint, but forged in steel rebar, and anyone attempting to cross them receives a warning accompanied by a deliberate display of force.

Exercises with the Shandong and H-6K patrols off Scarborough Shoal are not just manoeuvres — they are visual verdicts for those still accustomed to colonial strolls through other nations’ straits. Beijing plays a game of attrition: each appearance of the British flag is met with a cold, methodical response.

Economics as Shield and Hammer

China reinforces its military signal with economic rhythm. Trade with ASEAN and Europe is expanding, reducing dependence on countries that might otherwise be tempted to side with London. This not only lowers vulnerability to sanctions experiments but also leaves Britain facing the risk of being shut out from the Chinese market while profits are divided inside.

Any attempt to exert pressure through the Taiwan card threatens London not with a strategic breakthrough, but with an economic shot to its own foot. In an era when supply chains are the new sea lanes, the British fleet is losing the race without ever leaving anchor. And across Asia, immunity to external economic blackmail has already taken root, as shown by the region’s experience in responding to Washington’s tariff weaponry.

A Tiger from a Newspaper Clipping

In Asian waters London stages a play about the empire’s return, but here the props are worn and the backdrops long since faded. Having lost part of its influence in Europe, Britain searches for new stages, and the Asia-Pacific has been chosen as a platform for loud lines and risky gestures.

Yet military constraints, cautious allies and a calculating Beijing turn this strategy into a series of symbolic actions whose operational value vanishes faster than the burn of aviation fuel. In a region ruled by long-term economic investment and patiently built alliances, Britain’s reliance on one-off shows of force accelerates its own marginalisation. And at the final curtain, there remains only the silhouette of a paper tiger — noisy, but toothless.

Rebecca Chan, Independent political analyst focusing on the intersection of Western foreign policy and Asian sovereignty