South Park's billionaire creators taunt Trump with their bravest – or stupidest
The Late Show's host, Stephen Colbert, is a vocal critic of Trump and has spoken out against a $16 million legal settlement between Paramount and the President. However, any hopes that the cash would smoothen the media giant's relationship with the White House were surely dashed by South Park, which airs on the company's Comedy Central network and its Paramount + streaming service. 'Trump, his penis is teeny-tiny, but his love for us is large' says the narrator. The audience is then invited to visit the website, HeTrumpedUS.com, where the clip can be watched again.
The instalment is an extraordinary act of audacity, irreverence and potentially career immolation by South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone. It will certainly be received with horror at Paramount, which only this week announced a new $1.5 billion licensing agreement with the series. The deal will see 50 new episodes air on Comedy Central in the US, followed by a stream on Paramount+ in the US and globally. Or at least it did before Penis-gate.
South Park episodes are scripted and edited close to their broadcast date so as to keep the jokes timely. And 'timely' is one word for its Trump-baiting, which comes on the heels of Paramount calling time on Stephen Colbert. The official reason is that The Late Show – a holdover from the glory days of the American 'talk show' format – is bleeding cash for Paramount. (Which is certainly true; Colbert's show reportedly lost $40 million in 2024.)
But the decision has been interpreted in liberal circles as Paramount in essence bending the knee to Trump, who has the power to veto a proposed $8 billion merger between Paramount and Skydance and recently received that $16 million legal settlement from the former over a report on 60 Minutes, the American equivalent of Panorama.
That is certainly the view of Colbert, who told his audience that the 'gloves were off' for his remaining 10 months on air and who responded to a gloating Trump tweet by telling the President, 'Go f___ yourself'. The expletive was bleeped out – a concession to prurient viewers absent from the first episode of South Park's 27th season. Instead, and with all the subtlety of a head-butt on a 1970s football terrace, it takes shot after shot at Trump.
Colbert is an old fashioned Hollywood liberal –a long-running Trump bête noire. Parker and Stone are cut from less cliched cloth and South Park has from its beginning in 1997 displayed a rabid disregard for political correctness. In early interviews Parker and Stone would say that they love Jerry Springer, the king of daytime trash TV and hated Woody Allen. A 2007 episode, meanwhile, used the n-word 43 times in 22 minutes, leading to condemnation from America's Parents Television Council.
There was been controversy, too, around a storyline in which Eric Cartman bullied a Jewish student – with some in the Jewish community feeling South Park was critiquing of anti-Semitism and others accusing the series of turning prejudice into a punchline. And who could forget the many potshots at the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, including a 2023 episode depicting an attention-desperate Meghan and Harry brandishing a placard reading, 'Stop looking at us'?
That isn't to say Parker and Stone go easy on the Right. South Park has attacked Christian evangelicals and Republicans and is perceived as having a 'plague on both your houses' view. Or, as Stone said in 2005, 'I hate conservatives, but I really f______ hate liberals.'
Still, whatever their politics, the latest South Park confirms they are not fans of Trump. It begins with the Cartman character lamenting the end of his favourite radio show on NPR – the radio network Trump has described as a 'liberal disinformation machine'.
It begins with the Cartman character lamenting the end of his favourite radio show on NPR – the radio network Trump has described as a 'liberal disinformation machine'.
Cartman is stunned: 'The government can't cancel the show, I mean, what show are they going to cancel next?' he wonders. Later, we see Trump in bed with Satan, who mocks the size of the President's manhood, compares him to Saddam Hussein and brings up rumours that Trump is on the 'Epstein list' – a subject which led Trump to take a lawsuit against the publisher of the Wall Street Journal.
Next, an animated Jesus arrives at the school in South Park (the show's fictional, all-American setting). The parents protest his presence in the classroom, saying, 'We all know the woke stuff went too far, but the answer isn't going too far the other way,' says one. Jesus intervenes, telling them to be mindful of what they say.
'I didn't want to come back and be at the school, but I had to as part of a lawsuit and the agreement…You guys saw what happened to CBS! You really want to end up like Colbert? You guys gotta stop being stupid,' he whispers.
A frightened Jesus then goes on to warn the assembled citizens that Trump 'has the power to sue and take bribes and can do anything to anyone.' Trump catches wind of the discontent and sues the townsfolk for $5 million. They settle for $3.5 million and are forced to make a 'public service announcement' film praising Trump as he and his animated penis wander through the desert.
South Park has long taken a blunt-force approach to comedy and lacked the delicious wit of its contemporary, The Simpsons. And it is fair to say not everyone finds it funny. If anything it is arguably a tragedy that Stone and Parker – aged 54 and 55 respectively – are still cracking up over knob gags. A 2024 Screenrant review was on to something when it labelled their humour 'toothless and tired'.
Trump, after all, is not known for his sense of humour - especially when it comes to satire. Just a few days before the episode aired, the White House threatened to have the Loose Women-like chat show The View cancelled after one of its panellists unfavourably compared Trump to President Obama. Meanwhile, Colbert had been critical of CBS settling with Trump over a 60 Minutes interview with his Presidential rival Kamala Harris, which Trump claimed had been edited to depict him negatively.
All of which surely pales in comparison to the blitzkrieg strategy taken by South Park. With South Park creators Stone and Parker now among the wealthiest producers in Hollywood history, they're as well placed as anyone to stand up to Trump and his army of lawyers.
But if they are up for a fight, is Paramount prepared to gird its corporate loins with an $8 billion merger in the balance? All will be revealed because, while South Park has laid down the gauntlet with thump, the real drama is going to unfold in the real world over the following hours, days, and weeks. One of the show's recurring gags revolves around the death of the character Kenny and the catchphrase, 'Oh my god, they killed Kenny!' But have Trey and Stone killed South Park? As soon as Trump breaks his silence, the picture will be clearer.
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- The Guardian
‘Generations of women have been disfigured': Jamie Lee Curtis lets rip on plastic surgery, power, and Hollywood's age problem
I'm scheduled to speak to Jamie Lee Curtis at 2pm UK time, and a few minutes before the allotted slot I dial in via video link, to be met with a vision of the 66-year-old actor sitting alone in a darkened room, staring impassively into the camera. 'Morning,' she says, with comic flatness, as I make a sound of surprise that is definitely not a little scream. Oh, hi!! I say, Are you early or am I late? 'I'm always early,' says the actor, deadpan. 'Or as my elder daughter refers to me, 'aggressively early'.' Curtis is in a plain black top, heavy black-framed glasses and – importantly for this conversation – little or no makeup, while behind her in the gloom, a dog sleeps in a basket. She won't say what part of the US she's in beyond the fact it's a 'witness protection cabin in the woods' where 'I'm trying to have privacy' – an arch way, I assume, of saying she's not in LA – and immediately starts itemising other situations in which she has been known to be early: Hollywood premieres ('They tell me I can't go to the red carpet yet because it's not open and so my driver, Cal, and I drive around and park in the shade'); early-morning text messages ('I wake people up'); even her work schedule: 'I show up, do the work, and then I get the fuck out.' This is the short version; in full, the opening minutes of our conversation involve Curtis free-associating through references to the memory of her mother and stepfather missing her performance in a school musical in Connecticut; the negotiating aims of the makeup artists' union; the nickname by which she would like to be known if she ever becomes a grandmother ('Fifo' – short for 'first in first out'); and what, exactly, her earliness is about. Not, as you might imagine, anxiety, but: 'You know, honestly, I've done enough analysis of all this – it's control.' Curtis knows her early arrivals strike some people as rude. 'My daughter Annie says: 'People aren't ready for you.' And I basically say: 'Well, that's their problem. They should be ready.'' 'That's their problem' is, along with, 'I don't give a shit any more' a classic Curtis expression that goes a long way towards explaining why so many people love her – and they really do love her – a woman who on top of charming us for decades in a clutch of iconic roles, has crossed over, lately, into that paradoxical territory in which she is loved precisely because she's done worrying about what others think of her. Specifically, she doesn't care about the orthodoxies of an industry in which women are shamed into having cosmetic surgery before they hit 30. Curtis has spoken of having a procedure herself at 25, following a comment made on the set of a film that her eyes were 'baggy'. Regretting it, she has in the years since made the genuinely outlandish and inspiring decision to wear her hair grey and eschew surgical tweaks. That Curtis is the child of two Hollywood icons, Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh, and thus an insider since birth, either makes this more surprising or else explains it entirely, but either way, she has become someone who appears to operate outside the usual Hollywood rules. 'I have become quite brusque,' says Curtis, of people making demands on her time when she's not open for business. 'And I have no problem saying: 'Back the fuck off.'' I can believe it. During the course of our conversation, Curtis's attitude – which is broadly charming, occasionally hectoring and appears to be driven by a general and sardonic belligerence – is that of someone pushing back against a lifetime of misconceptions, from which, four months shy of her 67th birthday, she finally feels herself to be free. Curtis is in a glorious phase of her career, one that, despite starring in huge hits – from the Halloween franchise and A Fish Called Wanda (1988) to Trading Places (1983), True Lies (1994) and the superlative Knives Out (2019) – has always eluded her. The fact is, celebrity aside, Curtis has never been considered a particularly heavyweight actor or been A-list in the conventional way. At its most trivial, this has required her to weather small slights, such as being ignored by the Women In Film community, with its tedious schedule of panels and events. ('I still exist outside of Women In Film,' she snaps. 'They're not asking me to their lunch.') And, more broadly, has seen Curtis completely overlooked by the Oscars since she shot Halloween, her first movie, at the age of 19. Well, all that has changed now. In 2023, Curtis won an Oscar for best supporting actress for her role as Deirdre Beaubeirdre in the genre-bending movie Everything Everywhere All at Once. That same year, she appeared in a single episode of the multi-award-winning TV show The Bear as Donna Berzatto, the alcoholic mother of a large Italian clan – she calls it 'the most exhilarating creative experience I will ever have'. Anyone who saw this extraordinary performance is still talking about it, and it led to a larger role on the show. Doors that had always been shut to Curtis flew open. For years, she had tried and failed to get movie and TV projects off the ground. Now, she lists the forthcoming projects she had a hand in bringing to the screen: 'Freakier Friday, TV series Scarpetta, survival movie The Lost Bus, four other TV shows and two other movies.' She has become a 'prolific producer', she says, as well as a Hollywood elder and role model. All of which makes Curtis laugh – the fact that, finally, 'at 66, I get to be a boss'. You'd better believe she'll be making the most of it. The movie Curtis and I are ostensibly here to talk about is Freakier Friday, the follow-up to Freaky Friday, the monster Disney hit of 2003 in which Curtis and Lindsay Lohan appeared as a mother and daughter who switch bodies with hilarious consequences. I defy anyone who enjoyed the first film not to feel both infinitely aged by revisiting the cast more than 20 years on, and also not to find it a wildly enjoyable return. The teenage Lohan of the first movie is now a 37-year-old mother of 15-year-old Harper, played by Julia Butters, while the introduction of a second teenager – Harper's mortal enemy Lily, played by Sophia Hammons – allows for a four-way body swap in which Curtis-as-grandma is inhabited by Hammons' British wannabe influencer. If it lacks the simplicity of the first movie, I thoroughly enjoyed it and look forward to taking my 10-year-old girls when it opens next month. It is also a movie that presented Curtis with an odd set of challenges. She has a problem with 'pretty'. When Curtis herself was a teenager, she says, she was 'cute but not pretty'. She watched both her parents' careers atrophy after their youthful good looks started to wane. Part of her shtick around earliness is an almost existential refusal to live on Hollywood's timeline, because, she says: 'I witnessed my parents lose the very thing that gave them their fame and their life and their livelihood, when the industry rejected them at a certain age. I watched them reach incredible success and then have it slowly erode to where it was gone. And that's very painful.' As a result, says Curtis: 'I have been self-retiring for 30 years. I have been prepping to get out, so that I don't have to suffer the same as my family did. I want to leave the party before I'm no longer invited.' In the movie, Curtis was allowed to keep her grey hair (although it looks shot through with blond) but her trademark pixie cut was replaced with something longer and softer. I take it with a pinch when she says things such as, 'I'm an old lady' and, 'I'm going to die soon' – even in age-hating Hollywood, this seems overegged – but one takes the point that she found the conventional aesthetic demands of Freakier Friday, in which she 'had to look pretty, I had to pay attention to [flattering] lighting, and clothes and hair and makeup and nails', much harder than playing a dishevelled alcoholic in The Bear. On the other hand, Curtis is a pro and, of course, gave Disney the full-throated, zany-but-still-kinda-hot grandma they wanted. (There is a scene in which she tries to explain various board games – Boggle, Parcheesi – to the owl-eyed teens that reminds you just how fine a comic actor she is.) It's the story of how Freakier Friday came about, however, that really gives insight into who Curtis is: an absolute, indefatigable and inveterate hustler. 'I am owning my hustle, now,' she says and is at her most impressive, her most charming and energised when she is talking about the hustle. To wit: Curtis was on a world tour promoting the Halloween franchise that made her name and that enjoyed a hugely successful reboot in 2018, when something about the crowd response struck her. 'In every single city I went to, the only movie they asked me about besides Halloween was Freaky Friday – was there going to be a sequel?' When she got back from the tour, she called Bob Iger, Disney's CEO. 'I said: 'Look, I don't know if you're planning on doing [a sequel], but Lindsay is old enough to have a teenager now, and I'm telling you the market for that movie exists.'' As the project came together, Curtis learned that Disney was planning to release Freakier Friday straight to streaming. 'And I called Bob Iger' – it's at this point you start to imagine Iger seeing Curtis's name flash up on his phone and experiencing a slight drop in spirits – 'and I called David Greenbaum [Disney Live Action president], and I called Asad Ayaz, who's the head of marketing, and I said: 'Guys, I have one word for you: Barbie. If you don't think the audience that saw Barbie is going to be the audience that goes and sees Freakier Friday, you're wrong.'' This is what Curtis means when she refers to herself as 'a marketing person', or 'a weapon of mass promotion', and she has done it for ever. It's what she did in 2002 when she lobbied More magazine to let her pose in her underwear and no makeup – 'They didn't come to me and say: 'Hey Jamie, how about you take off your clothes and show America that you're chubby?' The More magazine thing happened because I said it should happen, and I even titled the piece: True Thighs.' And it is what she was doing a few weeks before our interview when she turned up to the photoshoot in LA bearing a bunch of props she had ordered from Amazon, including oversized plastic lips and a blond wig. Curtis says: 'There are many, many actresses who love the dress up, who love clothes, who love fashion, who love being a model. I. Hate. It. I feel like I am having to wrestle with your idea of me versus my idea of me. Because I've worked hard to establish who I am, and I don't want you to … I have struggled with it my whole life.' Curtis is emphatic that her ideas be accurately interpreted and, before our meeting, sent an email via her publicist explaining her thinking behind the shoot. 'The wax lips is my statement against plastic surgery. I've been very vocal about the genocide of a generation of women by the cosmeceutical industrial complex, who've disfigured themselves. The wax lips really sends it home.' Obviously, the word 'genocide' is very strong and risks causing offence, given its proper meaning. To Curtis, however, it is accurate. 'I've used that word for a long time and I use it specifically because it's a strong word. I believe that we have wiped out a generation or two of natural human [appearance]. The concept that you can alter the way you look through chemicals, surgical procedures, fillers – there's a disfigurement of generations of predominantly women who are altering their appearances. And it is aided and abetted by AI, because now the filter face is what people want. I'm not filtered right now. The minute I lay a filter on and you see the before and after, it's hard not to go: 'Oh, well that looks better.' But what's better? Better is fake. And there are too many examples – I will not name them – but very recently we have had a big onslaught through media, many of those people.' Well, at the risk of sounding harsh, one of the people implicated by Curtis's criticism is Lindsay Lohan, her Freakier Friday co-star and a woman in her late 30s who has seemingly had a lot of cosmetic procedures at a startlingly young age (though Lohan denies having had surgery). In terms of mentoring Lohan, with whom Curtis remained friends after making the first film, she says: 'I'm bossy, very bossy, but I try to mind my own business. She doesn't need my advice. She's a fully functioning, smart woman, creative person. Privately, she's asked me questions, but nothing that's more than an older friend you might ask.' But given the stridency of Curtis's position on cosmetic surgery, don't younger women feel judged in her presence? Isn't it awkward? 'No. No. Because I don't care. It doesn't matter. I'm not proselytising to them. I would never say a word. I would never say to someone: what have you done? All I know is that it is a never-ending cycle. That, I know. Once you start, you can't stop. But it's not my job to give my opinion; it's none of my business.' As for Lohan, Curtis says: 'I felt tremendous maternal care for Lindsay after the first movie, and continued to feel that. When she'd come to LA, I would see her. She and I have remained friends, and now we're sort of colleagues. I feel less maternal towards her because she's a mommy now herself and doesn't need my maternal care, and has, obviously, a mom – Dina's a terrific grandma.' Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion The general point about the horror of trying to stay young via surgery is sensible and, of course, I agree. At the back of my mind, however, I have a small, pinging reservation that I can't quite put my finger on. I suggest to Curtis that she has natural advantages by virtue of being a movie star, which, on the one hand, of course, makes her more vulnerable around issues of ageing, but on the other hand, she's naturally beautiful and everyone loves her, and most average women who – 'I have short grey hair!' she protests. 'Other women can –' They can, of course! But you must have a physical confidence that falls outside the normal – 'No! No!' She won't have it. 'I feel like you're trying to say: 'You're in some rarefied air, Jamie.'' I'm not! She responds: 'By the way, genetics – you can't fuck with genetics. You want to know where my genetics lie?' She lifts up an arm and wobbles her bingo wings at me. 'Are you kidding me? By the way, you're not going to see a picture of me in a tank top, ever.' This is Curtis's red line. 'I wear long-sleeve shirts; that's just common sense.' She gives me a beady look. 'I challenge you that I'm in some rarefied air.' I think about this afterwards to try and clarify my objection, which I guess is this: that the main reason women in middle age dye their hair is to stave off invisibility, which, with the greatest respect, is not among the veteran movie star's problems. But it's a minor quibble given what I genuinely believe is Curtis's helpful and iconoclastic gesture. And when she talks about cosmetic surgery as addiction, she should know. Curtis was an alcoholic until she got sober at 40 and is emphatic and impressive on this subject, the current poster woman – literally: she's on signs across LA for an addiction charity with the tagline: 'My bravest thing? Getting sober'. I'm curious about how her intense need for control worked, in those years long ago, alongside her addiction? 'I am a controlled addict,' she says. 'In recovery we talk about how, in order to start recovering, you have to hit what you call a 'bottom'. You have to crash and burn, lose yourself and your family and your job and your resources in order to know that the way you were living didn't work. I refer to myself as an Everest bottom; I am the highest bottom I know. When I acknowledged my lack of control, I was in a very controlled state. I lost none of the external aspects of my life. The only thing I had lost was my own sense of myself and self-esteem.' Externally, during those years of addiction, she seemed to be doing very well. Her career boomed. She married Christopher Guest, the actor, screenwriter and director, and they have two children and have stayed married for more than 40 years. (There's no miracle to this. As Curtis puts it, wryly: 'It's just that we have chosen to stay married. And be married people. And we love each other. And I believe we respect each other. And I'm sure there's a little bit of hatred in there, too.') I wonder, then, whether Curtis's success during those years disguised how serious a situation she was in with her addiction? 'There's no one way to be an addict or an alcoholic. People hide things – I was lucky, and I am ambitious, and so I never let that self-medication get in the way of my ambition or work or creativity. It never bled through. No one would ever have said that had been an issue for me.' Where was the cost? 'The external costs are awful for people; but the internal costs are more sinister and deadly, because to understand that you are powerless over something other than your own mind and creativity is something. But that was a long time ago. I'm an old lady now.' She is doing better than ever. With the Oscar under her belt, Curtis has just returned in the new season of The Bear and has a slew of projects – many developed with Jason Blum, the veteran horror producer with whom she has a development deal – coming down the line. Watching her bravura performance as Donna Berzatto, I did wonder if playing an alcoholic had been in any way traumatic. She flashes me a look of pure vehemence. 'Here's what's traumatic: not being able to express your range as an artist. That's traumatic. To spend your entire public life holding back range. And depth. And complexity. And contradiction. And rage. And pain. And sorrow.' She builds momentum: 'And to have been limited to a much smaller palette of creative, emotional work. 'For me, it was an unleashing of 50 years of being a performer who was never considered to have any range. And so the freedom, and the confidence, that I was given by Chris [Storer, the show's creator], and the writing, which leads you … everywhere you need to go – it was exhilarating.' She continues: 'It took no toll. The toll has been 40 years of holding back something I know is here.' Well, there she is, the Curtis who thrills and inspires. Among the many new projects is The Lost Bus, a survival disaster movie for AppleTV+ about a bus full of children trying to escape wildfires. The idea came to Curtis while she was driving on the freeway, listening to an NPR report on the deadly wildfires of 2018 in the small town of Paradise, California. She pulled over and called Blum; the movie, directed by Paul Greengrass and starring Matthew McConaughey and America Ferrera, drops later this year. For another project, she managed to persuade Patricia Cornwell, the superstar thriller writer, to release the rights for her Scarpetta series, which, as well as producing, Curtis will star in alongside Nicole Kidman. This burst of activity is something Curtis ascribes to the 'freedom' she derived from losing 'all vanity', and over the course of our conversation 'freedom' is the word she most frequently uses to describe what she values in life. Freedom is a particularly loaded and precious concept for those on the other side of addiction and, says Curtis, 'I have dead relatives; I have parents who both had issues with drinking and drugs. I have a dead sibling. I have numerous friends who never found the freedom, which is really the goal – right? Freedom.' It's a principle that also extends to her family. Curtis's daughter Ruby, 29, is trans, and I ask how insulated they are from Donald Trump's aggressively anti-trans policies. 'I want to be careful because I protect my family,' says Curtis. 'I'm an outspoken advocate for the right of human beings to be who they are. And if a governmental organisation tries to claim they're not allowed to be who they are, I will fight against that. I'm a John Steinbeck student – he's my favourite writer – and there's a beautiful piece of writing from East of Eden about the freedom of people to be who they are. Any government, religion, institution trying to limit that freedom is what I need to fight against.' There are many, many other subjects to cycle through, including Curtis's friendship with Mariska Hargitay, whose new documentary about her mother, Jayne Mansfield, hit Curtis particularly hard, not least because 'Jayne's house was next to Tony Curtis's house – that big pink house on Carolwood Drive that Tony Curtis lived in and Sonny and Cher owned prior to him.' (I don't know if referring to her dad as 'Tony Curtis,' is intended to charm, but it does.) There's also a school reunion she went to over a decade ago; the feeling she has of being 'a 14-year-old energy bunny'; the fact we've been pronouncing 'Everest' wrong all this time; the role played by lyrics from Justin Timberlake's Like I Love You in her friendship with Lindsay Lohan; and the 'Gordian knot' of what happens when not being a brand becomes your brand. Curtis could, one suspects, summon an infinite stream of enthusiasms and – perhaps no better advertisement for ageing, this – share urgent thoughts about every last one of them. In an industry in which people weigh their words, veil their opinions and pander to every passing ideal, she has gone in a different direction, one unrestrained by the usual timidities. Or as she puts it with her typical take-it-or-leave-it flatness, 'the freedom to have my own mind, wherever it's going to take me. I'm comfortable with that journey and reject the rest.' Freakier Friday is in Australian cinemas from 7 August and from 8 August in the UK and US Jamie Lee Curtis wears: (leopard look) jacket and skirt, by Rixo; T-shirt and belt, both by AllSaints; boots, by Dr Martens; tights, by Wolford; (tartan look) suit, by Vivienne Westwood, from tights, by Wolford; shoes, by By Far. Fashion stylist: Avigail Collins at Forward Artists. Set stylist: Stefania Lucchesi at Saint Luke Artists. Hair: Sean James at Aim Artists. Makeup: Erin Ayanian Monroe at Cloutier Remix.
The Guardian
14 minutes ago
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TV tonight: Raquel Welch's son and showbiz friends tell her real story
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The Guardian
14 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Dear Keir Starmer, stop cosying up to Donald Trump – or he'll drag Britain down with him
Donald Trump's victory in last November's US presidential election presented Keir Starmer, Britain's Labour prime minister, with a choice – and an opportunity. Either cosy up to a man whose obnoxious, hard-right, ultra-nationalist policies are inimical to UK security and foreign policy interests, economic prosperity and democratic values; or risk a rupture with the US, a longstanding but overbearing ally, and seize the moment to redefine Britain's place in the world, primarily through reintegration in Europe. Starmer made the wrong call – and Britain has paid a heavy price ever since. The cost to national dignity and the public purse will be on painful show this weekend as Trump, pursued by the Epstein scandal and angry protesters, makes an expensively policed, ostensibly private visit to his golf courses in Scotland. On Monday, the prime minister will travel north to kiss the ring. More humiliations loom. In September, Trump will return for an unprecedented second state visit, at Starmer's unctuous behest. At that point, the full, embarrassing extent of Britain's thraldom will be there for all the world to see. Let's be clear. Trump is no friend of Britain's and is, in key respects, a dangerous foe. Efforts to curry favour with this narcissist will ultimately prove futile. Trump always reneges. His unedifying career is littered with broken promises and relationships, personal and political. His only loyalty is to himself. Right now, this wannabe dictator is busy making America not greater but weaker, poorer, less influential and more disliked. Don't let him drag Britain down, too. It's not too late to make the break. US leadership of the western democracies used to be taken for granted. Now it's a problem. Politicians in both Britain's main parties have difficulty accepting this shift. As so often, public opinion is ahead of them. Recent polling by the Pew Research Center found 62% of Britons have no confidence in Trump 'to do the right thing regarding world affairs'. Most of those surveyed in 24 countries viewed him as dangerous, arrogant and dishonest. Thanks to him, the US's international standing is in freefall. Giving Israel a free hand in Gaza is the most egregious example of how Trump's policies conflict with UK interests. Starmer's government has condemned the deliberate killing and starving of civilians. Among the 55% of Britons opposed to Israel's actions, 82% believe they amount to genocide, a YouGov poll found last month. A majority backs additional sanctions. Trump's support for forced relocations, opposition to a two-state solution and close collaboration with Benjamin Netanyahu, the Israeli leader charged with war crimes, all contradict stated UK policy. Trump bears significant personal responsibility for what Starmer calls the 'unspeakable and indefensible' horror in Gaza. Starmer warned dramatically last month that the UK was in growing danger of military attack following Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Britain and other Nato states have steadfastly supported Kyiv. Not so Trump. Since taking office, he has toadied to Vladimir Putin, vilified Ukraine's Volodymyr Zelenskyy, suspended military supplies and questioned Nato's future. Ignoring proliferation fears, Trump is simultaneously fuelling a nuclear arms race. Now the hapless Starmer has been panicked into buying US jets capable of carrying warheads and, it is claimed, has secretly allowed US-owned nukes back into the UK. This is not the Britain Labour voters want. Trump recently reversed himself on Ukraine, patched things up with Nato and criticised Putin. But he could change his mind again tomorrow. Oblivious to the glaring double standard, he congratulates himself meanwhile on 'obliterating' Iran's nuclear facilities – even though last month's illegal US bombing was only partly successful. Britain rightly favours negotiations with Tehran. It wasn't consulted. Trump's tariff wars pose a direct threat to the UK economy, jobs and living standards. Despite Starmer's deal mitigating their impact, 10% tariffs or higher remain on most US-bound exports. Trump's bullying of Canada, Mexico, Greenland, Panama and others over sovereignty, migration and trade feeds uncertainty. His irrational hostility to the EU may gratify the likes of Nigel Farage (and Putin). But endless rows between important allies do not serve Britain's interests. The advance of hard-right, nationalist-populist parties in Europe and, most recently, in Japan suggests the socially divisive, chauvinist agendas championed by Trump's Maga movement have widening international appeal. That augurs ill for democracy in Britain and the world generally. For the same reason, Trump's assaults on US constitutional rights, notably minority and gender rights, attacks on judges, universities and public institutions, and attempts to suppress independent media scrutiny are ominous. Such toxic behaviour is contagious. Trumpism is the new Covid. Britain needs inoculation. By slashing overseas aid, cutting public service broadcasters such as Voice of America, defunding and ostracising UN agencies, flouting international courts and pretending the climate emergency is illusory, Trump inflicts immense harm on the US's reputation, global influence and soft-power armoury. He is wrecking the rules-based order that Britain views as fundamental. It's a gift to China, Russia and authoritarians everywhere. As Pentagon spending rockets to $1tn annually, his crude message is unmistakeable: might makes right. Brute strength rules. Trump is a disaster for the west and all in the UK who respect progressive democratic values. His second term will evidently be more globally perilous, destructive and destabilising than his first. In support of universal principles established centuries before anyone heard of him, Britain should steer clear of this walking, talking catastrophe. Rather than hug Trump close, Starmer should keep him at arm's length for fear of infection. Don't go to Scotland to see him, Prime Minister. Don't waste your breath. Instead, start planning for the post-special-relationship era. Make the break. It's time. Simon Tisdall is a Guardian foreign affairs commentator
