In a shattering development that has sent shockwaves through the chattering classes and panic through the gin supply chain, veteran BBC correspondent John Bowen has committed the unspeakable act of applying nuance to the simmering US-Iran bonfire. Bowen, a man whose eyebrows have seen more conflict than a Geneva peace envoy, dared to question the entire rationale of the Pentagon's war drums, asking: "What exactly are we bombing? Their Wi-Fi?" Meanwhile, His Majesty's Government, in a display of diplomatic agility usually reserved for avoiding puddles on Whitehall, has thrown its full weight behind a 'negotiated settlement.' This is diplomatic-speak for 'please everyone sit down before someone sets fire to the oil market.'
Bowen's heresy was broadcast live from the belly of the beast, Washington DC, where he suggested that the US demand for Iran to dismantle its entire nuclear program by Tuesday afternoon might be, whisper it, unrealistic. He compared the administration's rhetoric to a toddler demanding the moon on a stick, only with more cruise missiles. This has, predictably, sent the think-tank industrial complex into a frenzy. Expect an emergency symposium titled: 'Is Nuance Un-American?' with sponsors including Lockheed Martin and 'Freedom Fries.'
Across the pond, the Foreign Office has adopted its most soothing voice, the one normally reserved for telling tourists that their luggage is in Prague. A spokesman, dressed in tweed that smelled faintly of regret, stated: "We believe there is still a window for dialogue. We also believe the window has double glazing and is very firmly shut, but we shall continue to knock politely." This is the British way: armed with teacups and the quiet confidence that eventually everyone will come to their senses, if only to stop the rain getting in.
The real political theatre, however, is unfolding in the chamber of the absurd. The Prime Minister, clearly briefed that 'being reasonable' polls better than 'provoking Armageddon before Sunday lunch,' has been photographed looking thoughtful while holding a pen. This deep act of statesmanship was followed by a statement: "The United Kingdom supports de-escalation. We also support cake, but not when it causes indigestion." The transcript is yet to be verified.
What Bowen has really done is commit journalism's cardinal sin: he has made people think. In a world where punditry is just goal-scoring for narcissists, he has asked: "To what end?" This is dangerous. This is the stuff that gets you exiled to a small island where you are forced to write memoirs. But for now, he is merely the man who pointed out that the emperor's new war has suspiciously flammable underpants.
As Britain dithers and the US twitches, the only certainty is that the price of petrol will rise, the 24-hour news channels will hire more retired colonels, and somewhere in a pub in Soho, a journalist will mutter: "Bowen, you beautiful fool. You and your questions."
In conclusion, the world stands on the precipice of yet another spectacularly avoidable mess, and Britain is offering a listening ear and a plate of stale Hobnobs. This is diplomacy, darling. It may not work, but at least it will be polite.
