In a development that feels plucked from a dystopian novel, the British government has summoned an emergency session of the United Nations Security Council, spurred by what veteran journalist Jeremy Bowen has termed a looming ‘permacrisis’ emanating from the alliance between Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu. For those of us who watch the tectonic plates of global power shift in real time, this is not merely a diplomatic ripple but a seismic jolt that will be felt on the streets of London, Paris, and beyond.
Bowen’s choice of word — ‘permacrisis’ — is a bitter lexical heir to ‘polycrisis’. It suggests a state of perpetual rupture, a world where one emergency bleeds into the next with no respite. And the trigger? The increasingly brazen alignment of the former US president and the Israeli prime minister, who appear to be coordinating a fresh wave of settlement expansion and diplomatic brinkmanship. For the UK, long a proponent of the two-state solution, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
But what does this mean for the ordinary person? In the cafes of Islington and the community centres of Bradford, the Middle East conflict has always felt like a distant thunderstorm. Now, with Britain calling for UN intervention, the storm clouds gather over Whitehall. The emergency session is a high-stakes gamble, a bid to wrest control from a trajectory that many diplomats privately describe as ‘dangerous and destabilising’. Yet the human cost is already being tallied: Palestinian families in the West Bank face eviction as settler outposts multiply, while Israeli citizens grow weary of a government that seems to court international isolation.
This is not just a story of geopolitics. It is a story of cultural shift. The ‘permacrisis’ narrative seeps into our daily language, our anxiety about the future. It shapes how we vote, how we protest, how we consume news. In London, a city where pro-Palestinian marches are a fortnightly occurrence, the emergency session emboldens activists and unnerves those who fear a rise in antisemitic incidents. Meanwhile, in the salons of Washington and Tel Aviv, Trump and Netanyahu are likely exchanging bon mots, unfazed by the diplomatic firestorm.
The UK’s move is a calculated act of theatre. It signals to the world that Britain, post-Brexit and still finding its global voice, is willing to take a stand. But theatre has consequences. The UN chamber, with its horseshoe table and simultaneous interpreters, becomes a stage for high drama. And the ordinary citizen watches, wondering if this emergency session will be a turning point or just another scene in the endless play of conflict.
Class dynamics are also at play here. The foreign policy elite, with their tailored suits and measured tones, debate the finer points of Resolution 2334. Meanwhile, in working-class communities with large Muslim and Jewish populations, the tensions are raw and personal. The ‘permacrisis’ is not an abstract concept for the family who lost a relative to a rocket attack or the student who faces a choice between solidarity and safety.
As Clara Whitby, I observe that this story is not just about the headlines. It is about the human element — the shopkeeper in Bethlehem who fears a new intifada, the Israeli reservist called up for duty, the British diplomat who must now craft language that satisfies both allies and conscience. The emergency session is a cry for order in a world that feels increasingly chaotic. But as Bowen knows, ‘permacrisis’ is not solved by one meeting. It is endured, adapted to, and ultimately, woven into the fabric of our collective life.
The emergency session begins tomorrow. The world will be watching. And on the streets, the real cost of this diplomatic gamble will unfold, one conversation, one protest, one news bulletin at a time.
