In Britain, the summer of 2012 — when London hosted the Olympic Games with a stunning opening ceremony — is a beacon of nostalgia. In November of that year, Elon Musk visited the country on a business trip, where he rode a bike around the capital. “I met with many interesting people,” he later wrote on Twitter. “I really like Britain!”
His views, to put it mildly, have evolved. Since last summer, when the Labour Party won a landslide majority, ending 14 years of Conservative government, Mr. Musk has accused Britain of going “full Stalin,” being a “tyrannical police state” and sliding toward an “inevitable” civil war. He spent much of January posting, re-sharing and replying to hundreds of posts on X, the social media platform he bought in 2022 and subsequently renamed, that were critical of Britain. He accused senior government figures of covering up sexual abuse committed by grooming gangs and asked his followers whether “America should liberate the people of Britain” from their government.
Some might shrug this off as mere provocation, yet Mr. Musk’s interest in Britain goes beyond trolling. Not only is he clearly engaged with the country’s politics — he is a vociferous champion of the anti-immigration party Reform U.K. — but his fixation is also part of an emerging narrative on the American right that paints Britain as a boogeyman. Most important, it amounts to an aggressive pursuit of his own political agenda, extending his influence overseas. Mr. Musk’s obsession with Britain is really an obsession with his own power.
Mr. Musk’s attention most noticeably turned to the United Kingdom last August, when anti-immigrant riots broke out across England and Northern Ireland. Rioters tried to burn down hotels where asylum seekers were housed and attacked mosques, migrant-owned businesses and police officers. The unrest was set off by misinformation online claiming that the teenager who murdered children at a Taylor Swift-themed dance party in northern England was a Muslim migrant. Central to this torrent of Islamophobic disinformation was X, where calls for violence were amplified.
Keir Starmer, the newly elected prime minister, appeared to call Mr. Musk out. “To large social media companies and those who run them,” Mr. Starmer said at the time, “violent disorder, clearly whipped up online, that is also a crime.” Mr. Musk took the bait. He branded the remarks “insane” and spent the following weeks spreading the nickname “two-tier Keir” — a reference to the conspiracy theory that there is a “two-tier” system of policing in Britain, in which white people are punished more harshly than minority groups. He even shared (then deleted) a fake headline that claimed Mr. Starmer’s government was building “emergency detainment camps” for the rioters.
Since the summer, Mr. Musk’s comments about the country have become even more extreme. In September, he falsely accused the Starmer government of “releasing convicted pedophiles from prison in order to put people in prison for Facebook posts.” He has repeatedly championed the cause of Tommy Robinson, a far-right, anti-Islam British activist with a slew of criminal convictions currently in jail for repeatedly breaking an injunction. During a posting spree at the start of January, Mr. Musk called for a government minister to be imprisoned, for new elections to oust the prime minister and for Mr. Starmer to be charged for complicity in the “rape of Britain.”
All of this could be an attempt to distract from X’s role in the summer riots, for which lawmakers plan to summon him to testify to Britain’s Parliament. Some have wondered whether it might be down to his sleeping habits: Data compiled by The Economist on his posting times suggests he sleeps for only a few hours a night — meaning he is awake and online when the British news cycle begins. The most compelling explanation, though, is ideological.
In his posts, Mr. Musk focuses relentlessly on immigration, free speech, regulation and crime. On these issues, Britain’s center-left government appears to be anathema. And not only for him. For those around Donald Trump, Britain is a “country that is being destroyed,” as Kari Lake put it, or the first “truly Islamist country” with nuclear weapons, as JD Vance bizarrely claimed. American conservatives have often used this type of apocalyptic language about countries such as Venezuela. But Mr. Musk is now spearheading an attempt to turn Britain — one of America’s closest allies — into their new adversary.
Much of the material for this narrative, oddly, comes from Britain itself. Since the Conservatives were defeated last summer, disaffected right-wingers have sought solace in trash-talking their country to an American audience. The former home secretary, Suella Braverman, insists that Britain is beset by a “lunatic woke virus” — language favored by the likes of Ron DeSantis. Liz Truss, the former prime minister who has appeared at the Republican National Congress, on Fox News and alongside Steve Bannon, rails against the shadowy “deep state” forces that supposedly brought her 49-day tenure to an end.
Ms. Braverman and Ms. Truss, who both descended on Washington to cheer on Mr. Trump’s inauguration, are at the top of the list of possible high-profile defectors to Reform U.K., which has been steadily gathering support from disgruntled Tory donors and politicians as it positions itself as the “real opposition” to Mr. Starmer’s government. By boosting them on X, Mr. Musk seems to be spurring a further radicalization of the British right, along the lines of Mr. Trump’s so-called hostile takeover of the Republican Party.
Reform U.K. was always assumed to be the beneficiary of Mr. Musk’s interventions, but he is fickle with his favor. When the party’s leader, Nigel Farage, refused to jump on the “Free Tommy Robinson” bandwagon, Mr. Musk suddenly turned against him; it’s unclear whether his rumored plans to financially support the party still stand. Since then, he has praised Kemi Badenoch, the Conservative leader who has adopted his talking points and inflammatory language with vigor. It looks as if Mr. Musk is testing both of them, to see which leader is more eager to be his mouthpiece.
Whoever prevails will join a long list of Mr. Musk’s far-right friends around the globe. He speaks regularly with Vladimir Putin, counts Benjamin Netanyahu as an ally and was at Mar-a-Lago when Mr. Trump met with Viktor Orban, Hungary’s authoritarian leader, in December. He’s on good terms with Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s far-right prime minister, and last year presented her with a global citizenship award. Most recently, he wrote an article in support of the far-right Alternative for Germany, interviewed the party’s co-leader live on X and made a surprise video appearance at a campaign rally. Across the continent, his clout is only growing.
Lately, Mr. Trump’s critics have taken to referring to Mr. Musk as America’s “co-president” — a description they hope will annoy a man who isn’t known for sharing power or attention. Time will tell whether Mr. Musk keeps his coveted position at the president’s side. Mr. Trump’s surprising praise of Mr. Starmer, after months of intense criticism from his right-hand man, could be seen as an early rift or at least a sign that Mr. Musk’s influence has its limits.
But it also underscores that Mr. Musk has his own agenda. His taste for power, as his fixation with Britain shows, clearly goes beyond America. As he solidifies himself as an authority figure in an increasingly connected Western right, it looks as if he wants to become more than just a wealthy kingmaker. Maybe he wants to be king?
By Louis Staples
