Are they, are they having a meeting?
At the G7 summit in Évian-les-Bains, British Prime Minister Keir Starmer found himself standing at the margins of a conversation about Ukraine's future — uncertain whether the meeting was even happening, while Trump, Zelenskyy, and Macron conferred without him. It was a quiet but telling tableau: a leader whose international standing has contracted at the same moment his domestic authority is being openly questioned. The summit offered real achievements — a £210 million energy package for Ukraine, investment announcements, a confirmed EU summit date — yet the image that lingered was of a man making small talk in an anteroom while history was being made next door. In diplomacy as in politics, proximity to power is rarely accidental.
- Starmer was audibly uncertain whether a crucial Ukraine meeting was even taking place — and if it was, he had not been invited, a visible diminishment for the leader of a permanent UN Security Council member.
- With a potential leadership challenge from Andy Burnham looming as early as Friday, Starmer was simultaneously managing a summit abroad and a rebellion at home, appearing on a Labour video call between diplomatic engagements.
- The absence of a scheduled bilateral with Trump — a sharp contrast to last year's warm, extended press conference — forced aides into damage control, citing a dinner seating arrangement and a phone call as evidence the relationship remained intact.
- When Starmer offered British de-mining support in the Strait of Hormuz, Trump's response was politely dismissive, suggesting the offer was received as a gesture rather than a strategic contribution.
- Starmer secured genuine wins — Ukrainian gratitude, investment pledges, a confirmed EU summit — but they were overshadowed by the symbolic weight of being left outside the room that mattered most.
- The summit closed with Starmer asserting ownership over Britain's European reset, even as the question of whether he would still lead his party by week's end remained genuinely unresolved.
The meeting about Ukraine's future was already underway somewhere in the Hotel Royal when Keir Starmer realised he hadn't been invited. Trump, Zelenskyy, and Macron were in the room; Starmer was beside the leaders of Canada and Japan, making conversation that went nowhere. On a live Reuters feed, his voice carried across the hall: "Are they, are they having a meeting?" The question answered itself.
It was a small moment weighted with larger meaning. Starmer had arrived at the G7 in Évian-les-Bains with the practiced ease of a leader on the international stage, but the ground beneath him was shifting on two fronts simultaneously. Back home, a leadership challenge from Andy Burnham could materialise within days if Burnham won a byelection on Thursday. The prime minister stepped away from the summit to field questions from Labour members on a video call, and told Times Radio he would not "walk away" if challenged — he would fight.
The contrast with last year's G7 was pointed. In Canada, Starmer and Trump had shared a warm, extended press conference to announce a trade deal. This year, no bilateral was scheduled. Starmer laughed when journalists asked if he'd been snubbed — the laugh of someone trying to seem unbothered — and pointed to two hours seated beside Trump at Monday's dinner. His aides stressed the relationship remained warm and that a bilateral was still possible. They mentioned the two leaders had discussed the UFC event on the White House lawn. When Starmer offered British support for de-mining the Strait of Hormuz, Trump was politely uninterested: the U.S. wouldn't "need much help," though a ship or two from others might not be a bad idea.
Elsewhere, Starmer found firmer footing. He met Zelenskyy, who welcomed a £210 million British energy support package and further sanctions on Russia. He announced French and Indian investment into British energy and AI infrastructure. He confirmed the second UK-EU summit for July 22, and posted on social media that his Labour government was delivering on its promise to put Britain "at the heart of Europe." The possessive pronoun was deliberate. Whether it would still be his party — and his summit to claim — by the following week remained, at that moment, an open question.
The morning session of the G7 summit in Évian-les-Bains was supposed to begin at nine o'clock. By 9:30, Keir Starmer was still waiting. The meeting about Ukraine's future—the kind of gathering a British prime minister might reasonably expect to attend—was happening somewhere else, with Donald Trump, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and Emmanuel Macron. Starmer stood beside the leaders of Canada and Japan, making conversation that went nowhere. On a live Reuters feed, his voice carried across the room: "Are they, are they having a meeting?" The question hung there, unanswered. If they were, he hadn't been invited.
It was a small moment, but it carried weight. Here was the prime minister of Britain at one of the world's most important diplomatic gatherings, uncertain whether a crucial conversation was even taking place, excluded from the room where decisions were being made. The scene distilled something larger about Starmer's position—not just at this summit, but in the world right now. His influence, once more assured, had visibly contracted.
Starmer arrived at the Hotel Royal on Lake Geneva's shore with the usual ceremonial gestures: smiles, handshakes, the practiced ease of a leader on the international stage. But the ground beneath him was shifting. Back home, a leadership challenge could materialize within days if Andy Burnham won the Makerfield byelection on Thursday. The prime minister had taken time away from the summit to appear on a video call with Labour members, answering vetted questions and facing harder ones from journalists. When pressed about whether he had a contingency plan if Burnham moved against him on Friday, Starmer insisted he would not "walk away." He would fight, he told Times Radio, if it came to that.
The contrast with his relationship to Trump was stark and telling. A year earlier, at the G7 in Canada, Starmer and the American president had held a friendly, extended press conference announcing a trade deal. This year, no bilateral meeting was scheduled. When journalists asked directly if he'd been snubbed, Starmer laughed—the laugh of someone trying to seem unbothered—and pointed to two hours he'd spent sitting next to Trump at Monday evening's leaders-only dinner. He'd also spoken to him on the phone Saturday, he said. The conversations had been productive, very good. His aides circulated the same message: the schedule was flexible, a bilateral was still possible, the relationship was warm. They even mentioned that Starmer and Trump had discussed the UFC competition held on the White House lawn.
But actions speak louder than reassurance. When Starmer suggested Britain could help de-mine the Strait of Hormuz if a peace deal between Iran and the United States held, Trump had already moved past the idea. The U.S. wouldn't "need much help," he said, though it might be "not a bad idea to have a ship or two" from other countries. The dismissal was casual, almost offhand—the kind of thing a leader says when he's not particularly interested in what you're offering.
Starmer found more traction with other world leaders. He and his wife, Victoria, had drinks with Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney. He met German Chancellor Friedrich Merz and held a bilateral with Zelenskyy, who gave a warm reception to Starmer's announcement of a £210 million energy support package and additional sanctions on Russia. The prime minister also used the summit to announce investments by French and Indian companies into British energy infrastructure and artificial intelligence—more than a thousand jobs, the government claimed. Then came what one observer might call a minor flourish: the second UK-EU summit would be held on July 22.
"My Labour government is delivering on our promise to reset our relationship and put Britain at the heart of Europe," Starmer wrote on social media. "Together we will tackle the cost of living, boost jobs and create opportunities for young people." The possessive pronoun was deliberate. Whether it would still be his party the next time this summit convened remained, at that moment, genuinely uncertain.
Notable Quotes
I'm not going to walk away. I would fight if there was a challenge.— Keir Starmer, to Times Radio, on potential leadership challenge
We've just spent two hours last night sat next to each other, chatting to each other. We are talking pretty constantly throughout this and it's been very productive, very good conversations.— Keir Starmer, on his relationship with Trump
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What does it mean that he wasn't invited to that Ukraine meeting? Is that unusual?
It's a signal. A year ago, Starmer was central to these conversations. Now he's standing outside the room. For a British prime minister, that's a visible demotion.
But he said he'd been talking to Trump constantly. Doesn't that count for something?
It counts, but it's not the same as being in the room where the decision gets made. Talking on the phone about UFC is different from being at the table when Ukraine's future is discussed.
Is this about Trump, or is this about Starmer's weakness at home?
Both. Trump doesn't invest time in leaders he thinks are fragile. And Starmer is fragile right now—there's a byelection Thursday that could trigger a leadership challenge. The world notices when your own party is circling.
So the domestic crisis is bleeding into his international standing?
Exactly. Diplomacy runs on perception of strength. When you're fighting for your political life at home, other leaders don't prioritize you. They wait to see if you'll still be there.
What does he actually accomplish at this summit, then?
He gets some wins—announcements about investment, the EU summit date. But they feel smaller than they should. He's trying to look presidential while his party wonders if he'll survive the week.
Is there a way back from this?
If he survives Thursday and consolidates power, yes. But every moment he's excluded from these rooms, every time he has to laugh off a snub, the damage compounds. Diplomatic relationships are built on momentum. He's lost it.