Rod Stewart Calls Out Trump: Rock Legend Defends UK Troops in Fiery Rant

Mia Reynolds, 1/25/2026 Rod Stewart sheds his showman’s glitz, speaking from the heart to defend the honor of British troops maligned by Trump. In a rare, raw moment, Stewart reminds us—music and memory both matter—especially when honoring sacrifice.

But this past week, Stewart did exactly that. Out went the playful showman; in came something different, unmistakably urgent. The target of his ire? None other than Donald Trump, whose comments about NATO’s role in Afghanistan—dismissing the sacrifices made, hinting at cowardice—hit Stewart like a sucker punch.

“Maybe I’m just a humble rock star,” he half-joked in a video online. Of course, he’s also a knight, which he admits with the sort of wink he’s made a career out of, but this time there’s no mistaking the hurt threading through his words. That cheerfully self-deprecating air is swept aside. Stewart, born just as Britain was climbing from the cradle of World War II, makes it clear: when troops are slighted, it’s personal.

He lays it bare. “I’d like respect for our armed forces who fought and gave us our freedom, so it hurts me badly, deeply, that I read the draft dodger Trump is criticizing our troops in Afghanistan for not being on the front line. We lost over 400 of our guys. Think of their parents, think about it, when Trump calls them almost like cowards. It’s unbearable.”

Those are hard words, drained of his usual bounce. Stewart doesn’t so much argue as plead, reaching not just for political leaders, but for decency itself. His generation grew up in a Britain shaped by loss—the bombed-out city blocks and clipped Sunday silences. For them, military sacrifice isn't some abstract line in a history book; it’s stitched into the fabric of daily life. On this subject, there’s little room for irony.

What’s odd—maybe even alarming—is that, in 2025, with all the noise and churn of global news cycles, it’s a singer who plants the flag for memory and reverence, when one might expect it from Westminster. Frustrated, Stewart calls out directly to Prime Minister Keir Starmer and—surprise twist—Nigel Farage, hoping for something more than the standard statements.

What happens next might have raised a few eyebrows in any London pub. Farage, usually seen as Trump’s transatlantic mate, breaks rank. “Donald Trump is wrong. For 20 years our armed forces fought bravely alongside America’s in Afghanistan.” Brief, sure, but in the rough-and-tumble of British politics, that’s as close as one gets to a public rebuke. As for Starmer, his reply doesn’t dance around it. “I will never forget their courage, their bravery and the sacrifice they made for their country. There were many also who were injured, some with life-changing injuries. I consider President Trump’s remarks to be insulting and frankly appalling…”

Yet, beneath all these public rebuttals, sits a quieter truth—the losses themselves. Those 457 British names aren’t simply numbers. They’re empty chairs at Sunday dinners, unopened birthday cards, pieces of the future that vanished somewhere on foreign sand. Strip the politics away, and what remains is a heavy, unspeakable silence.

Nobody really expects Stewart to take on the mantle of political commentator. But that’s the thing—artists, almost by accident, become the chroniclers of a nation’s soul. They can slice through the scripted lines and remind a crowd, or sometimes a country, why memory matters. If it takes a knight in leopard print to draw that out, well, maybe that’s the strangest and most fitting twist of all.

Entertainment, at its best, offers up more than catharsis. It turns a mirror outward, reflecting the stories that must be kept alive—sometimes especially when those in power falter. In a year hardly starved for outrage, perhaps Stewart’s voice cuts through, not just for nostalgia’s sake, but for the fragile dignity of sacrifice itself.

Funny, isn’t it—how a rock star’s plea can summon the ghosts of history, even as the world spins forward.

Even after decades on stage, Rod Stewart has never stopped wearing his heart—it seems—right on the sleeve of his sparkliest jacket. True, his nights of strutting under arena lights are as legendary as that unmistakable voice, a raspy echo of rock’s golden eras. Still, nobody really expects the man behind “Maggie May” to wade into the rough waters of world affairs, at least not with quite so much heat.But this past week, Stewart did exactly that. Out went the playful showman; in came something different, unmistakably urgent. The target of his ire? None other than Donald Trump, whose comments about NATO’s role in Afghanistan—dismissing the sacrifices made, hinting at cowardice—hit Stewart like a sucker punch.“Maybe I’m just a humble rock star,” he half-joked in a video online. Of course, he’s also a knight, which he admits with the sort of wink he’s made a career out of, but this time there’s no mistaking the hurt threading through his words. That cheerfully self-deprecating air is swept aside. Stewart, born just as Britain was climbing from the cradle of World War II, makes it clear: when troops are slighted, it’s personal.He lays it bare. “I’d like respect for our armed forces who fought and gave us our freedom, so it hurts me badly, deeply, that I read the draft dodger Trump is criticizing our troops in Afghanistan for not being on the front line. We lost over 400 of our guys. Think of their parents, think about it, when Trump calls them almost like cowards. It’s unbearable.”Those are hard words, drained of his usual bounce. Stewart doesn’t so much argue as plead, reaching not just for political leaders, but for decency itself. His generation grew up in a Britain shaped by loss—the bombed-out city blocks and clipped Sunday silences. For them, military sacrifice isn't some abstract line in a history book; it’s stitched into the fabric of daily life. On this subject, there’s little room for irony.What’s odd—maybe even alarming—is that, in 2025, with all the noise and churn of global news cycles, it’s a singer who plants the flag for memory and reverence, when one might expect it from Westminster. Frustrated, Stewart calls out directly to Prime Minister Keir Starmer and—surprise twist—Nigel Farage, hoping for something more than the standard statements.What happens next might have raised a few eyebrows in any London pub. Farage, usually seen as Trump’s transatlantic mate, breaks rank. “Donald Trump is wrong. For 20 years our armed forces fought bravely alongside America’s in Afghanistan.” Brief, sure, but in the rough-and-tumble of British politics, that’s as close as one gets to a public rebuke. As for Starmer, his reply doesn’t dance around it. “I will never forget their courage, their bravery and the sacrifice they made for their country. There were many also who were injured, some with life-changing injuries. I consider President Trump’s remarks to be insulting and frankly appalling…”Yet, beneath all these public rebuttals, sits a quieter truth—the losses themselves. Those 457 British names aren’t simply numbers. They’re empty chairs at Sunday dinners, unopened birthday cards, pieces of the future that vanished somewhere on foreign sand. Strip the politics away, and what remains is a heavy, unspeakable silence.Nobody really expects Stewart to take on the mantle of political commentator. But that’s the thing—artists, almost by accident, become the chroniclers of a nation’s soul. They can slice through the scripted lines and remind a crowd, or sometimes a country, why memory matters. If it takes a knight in leopard print to draw that out, well, maybe that’s the strangest and most fitting twist of all.Entertainment, at its best, offers up more than catharsis. It turns a mirror outward, reflecting the stories that must be kept alive—sometimes especially when those in power falter. In a year hardly starved for outrage, perhaps Stewart’s voice cuts through, not just for nostalgia’s sake, but for the fragile dignity of sacrifice itself.Funny, isn’t it—how a rock star’s plea can summon the ghosts of history, even as the world spins forward.