Britain Is Sleepwalking Into Strategic Surrender
The Chagos deal isn’t diplomacy—it’s the start of a dangerous precedent
By Colonel Stuart Crawford (Ret’d)
While most of Westminster was preoccupied with reshuffles and polling jitters, something far more consequential happened this week, quietly signed off by the Foreign Office and applauded in distant UN corridors: Britain agreed, in principle, to hand over sovereignty of the Chagos Islands to Mauritius.
The official line is that the UK will retain use of Diego Garcia—our vital joint military base with the United States—under a new 99-year lease. The practical implications, we are told, are negligible. Nothing changes in terms of operations. Defence capability is unaffected.
That is a dangerous delusion.
If history teaches us anything, it’s that leasehold sovereignty is a house built on sand. We’ve been here before. In 1898, Britain signed a 99-year lease for the New Territories around Hong Kong. Almost a century later, that lease was the thin end of the wedge—ultimately used as justification to hand over the entire territory to China.
The consequences of that decision are still playing out today, with Hong Kong’s political freedoms dismantled and British National (Overseas) passport holders forced to flee. Now we’re applying the same formula to the Indian Ocean.
Let’s be clear: Diego Garcia is not just a dot on the map. It is the linchpin of Western military reach in the Indo-Pacific, serving as a launchpad for US bomber missions, a surveillance hub for submarine tracking, and a geopolitical foothold in an increasingly contested region.
China understands this better than we seem to. Beijing has invested heavily in Mauritius under its Belt and Road Initiative. If sovereignty of the Chagos Archipelago now rests in Port Louis, it’s not hard to imagine what comes next: quiet influence, creeping access, strategic dilution.
And what’s the UK’s long-term guarantee? A 99-year piece of paper—issued by a government that appears increasingly embarrassed by its own history and unnervingly eager to divest it.
This is not just about Chagos. It’s about Britain’s attitude to its remaining global responsibilities. There is a worrying trend developing: a soft retreat from overseas territories, justified by vague talk of “decolonisation,” but devoid of strategic foresight or electoral mandate. The result is a piecemeal dismantling of Britain's defence posture, one island at a time.
The British Overseas Territories are not colonial hangovers. They are vital national assets. Gibraltar controls access to the Mediterranean. Ascension Island monitors missile launches and hosts critical space assets. The Falklands are a sentinel in the South Atlantic. Their retention is not an exercise in nostalgia—it’s a matter of national and allied security.
And these territories are not asking to leave. Gibraltar and the Falklands have spoken unequivocally in referendums. They wish to remain British. The Chagossian diaspora—many of whom were forced into exile—continue to appeal for return under UK protection, not Mauritian control.
Yet the instinct in Whitehall now seems to be governed by image, not interest. We’re led by a generation of politicians who view Britain’s historical footprint as a source of shame rather than stewardship. Chagos has become the first symbolic offering—an act of virtue-signalling to global opinion, dressed up as principled diplomacy.
But make no mistake: this is strategic surrender.
Once sovereignty is transferred, even in principle, the long-term control of the base becomes a political variable—one that can be leveraged, revoked, or quietly eroded over time. If the Mauritian government is ever encouraged—say, by Chinese investment or international lobbying—to reassess the lease terms, where will Britain stand? What leverage will we have then?
We are giving away something for nothing—and potentially a great deal more than we realise.
The Armed Forces are being asked to adapt to an uncertain world with ever-shrinking budgets and diminishing infrastructure. What they cannot afford is the slow erosion of global reach through political decisions made without proper strategic planning.
Britain’s defence capability is not theoretical. It rests on physical ground—on runways, ports, radar domes, and alliances anchored in territory. Lose those, and we lose influence.
If we are serious about global Britain, we need to start acting like it. That begins with understanding why these faraway places matter, and why surrendering them piecemeal—however symbolic it may appear—is a gift not to history, but to our adversaries.
Chagos is not the end of the matter. It is the beginning of the test. And if we continue down this path, Gibraltar and the Falklands will be watching closely. Because they’ve seen this film before. And they know how it ends.