In news that will surprise precisely no one who owns a map or a moral compass, the United Nations has finally noticed what the rest of us have been gawping at for six months: the Myanmar army has been merrily massacring its own citizens with the enthusiasm of a toddler with a hammer. Seven hundred dead, says the UN. Seven hundred souls dispatched to the great beyond via bullets, bayonets, and probably a few off-brand cluster bombs bought at a military surplus sale. The UN, in a rare display of spine, has demanded British-led sanctions. Because nothing says 'we mean business' like a sternly worded letter and a trade embargo on frozen peas.
Let us pause to savour the sheer absurdity of this. The Myanmar junta, a collection of gentlemen who make the Khmer Rouge look like amateur dramatics society, have been accused of 'systematic atrocities' against the Rohingya and anyone else who happens to be in the way. The UN says it's a 'textbook case of crimes against humanity'. Textbooks? More like a graphic novel of gore, drawn in the blood of the innocent. But the international community, ever the procrastinator, has finally decided to act. After six months. Six months of watching, wringing hands, and presumably enjoying a nice cup of tea while the bodies piled up.
Now, British-led sanctions. We're to be the ringleaders. Because the UK, post-Brexit, has nothing better to do than police the world's human rights abuses while trying to remember which direction Brussels is in. I imagine Boris Johnson, fresh from a party he shouldn't have attended, will be cobbling together a list of sanctioned individuals. Let's think: who will we punish? The generals? Their wives? Their second cousins? We'll probably sanction the wrong people, hit a few gem mines, and call it a day. Meanwhile, the junta will shrug, buy their weapons from China or Russia, and continue their jolly little genocide.
But I digress. The point is this: seven hundred dead. That's roughly the population of a small village, wiped out by men who think human rights are a Western invention. The UN report is 60 pages of horror, filled with testimony from survivors who watched their families butchered. Will sanctions stop this? No. The junta doesn't trade with the UK anyway. They don't care about our sanctimonious posturing. They care about power, about control, about making sure no one dares to democracy on their patch.
Yet here we are, once again, turning to the old reliable tool of international diplomacy: the sanction. It's like throwing a rock at a tank. Satisfying, perhaps, but ultimately useless. What would actually work? An invasion? No, we're not doing that. A no-fly zone? Too much paperwork. Perhaps we could send a strongly worded letter from the Queen? Oh wait, she's dead. Maybe we could just shrug and move on to the next crisis. After all, there's always another massacre around the corner.
The real tragedy is that this is not news. It's a pattern. We see it in Syria, in Yemen, in Xinjiang, in Tigray. And we do nothing. We sanction, we condemn, we issue statements, and we go back to our avocado toast. The world is burning, and we're fiddling with our smartphones.
So here's my proposal: instead of sanctions, why not send in a team of incredibly irritating British tourists? They'd complain about the heat, drink all the junta's gin, and eventually bore them into submission with tales of their cruise holiday. Alternatively, we could try the British approach: ignore the problem until it goes away. It worked for colonialism, didn't it? Oh, wait. No. No, it didn't.
The UN demands British-led sanctions. Fine. But while we're at it, can we also demand a bit of self-reflection? Because if we keep reacting to massacres with trade restrictions, we're just the world's most sophisticated bystander. We're the bloke who watches a mugging and calls the police after the victim is dead. Well done, us.
I need another drink. The gin is in the left drawer. The outrage is in the right. Both are refreshingly cold.
