In a development so predictable it could have been scripted by a committee of sleep-deprived BBC clichés, Her Majesty’s Government has today issued a sternly worded condemnation of Israeli airstrikes on the Lebanese city of Tyre. The strikes, which followed an ominously vague warning from Iran that ‘something might happen if someone does something,’ have prompted Foreign Secretary David Cameron to adopt his most concerned expression and deploy the diplomatic equivalent of a wet blanket.
Let us set the scene. Tyre, a city that has seen more invasions than a Kardashian’s privacy settings, was once again treated to the symphony of exploding ordnance. Israel, in a move that surprised absolutely nobody, decided that the best way to deal with Iranian proxies was to turn part of Lebanon into a crater. Iran, ever the responsible adult in the room, had earlier warned that ‘the Zionist entity will face consequences’ – a threat so vague it could have been issued by a fortune cookie.
Into this maelstrom of calculated violence and theatrical rhetoric steps Britain, a nation that once ruled a quarter of the globe but now contentedly polices the grammar of international press releases. 'We are deeply concerned,' intoned a Foreign Office spokesperson, probably while staring at a map of the world with most of the pins in the wrong places. 'We call on all parties to exercise restraint and return to the path of diplomacy.'
This is the diplomatic equivalent of a referee walking onto a pitch where two sides are engaged in a bloody brawl and politely asking them to ‘please consider alternative dispute resolution methods.’ Meanwhile, the actual people with power – the ones who authorise the bombs and the ones who authorise the rockets – are sitting in bunkers or palaces, entirely unbothered by the gentle remonstrances of a former empire that now struggles to maintain a functioning water supply.
Let us examine the absurdity of the situation. Israel strikes Tyre. Why? Because Hezbollah has been firing rockets. Why does Hezbollah fire rockets? Because of the occupation and oppression of Palestinians. Why is there occupation? Because of 1948, 1967, and a century of competing narratives that would make a quantum physicist weep. And into this Gordian knot of historical grievances and present-day atrocities, Britain inserts its recommendation for ‘immediate de-escalation.’
What does de-escalation look like? Does Israel withdraw from the Golan Heights? Does Hezbollah hand over its missiles? Does Iran abandon its nuclear ambitions? Does anyone on either side trust anyone else? No. De-escalation in this context is a word that sounds lovely in a press release but has all the practical application of a chocolate teapot.
The irony is thicker than the gin in my morning coffee. Britain, a nation that has bombed Libya, Iraq, and Afghanistan in living memory, now tuts at Israel for doing the same thing but with smaller bombs. The United Nations, that grand talking shop on the East River, will likely pass a resolution condemning the strikes, which Israel will ignore with the same enthusiasm it ignores all other UN resolutions. And then everyone will go back to their corners, sharpen their rhetoric, and reload their weapons for the next round.
I propose a new approach. Instead of pointless condemnations, why not send in a team of clowns? Or better yet, a delegation of tabloid journalists. Let them ask the tough questions: 'Prime Minister Netanyahu, do you think your strikes on Tyre will affect the price of avocados in London?' 'Ayatollah Khamenei, is your warning about consequences anything to do with that parking ticket you got in 1979?'
But alas, we are stuck with the dreary theatre of international diplomacy. Britain condemns. Israel says it has a right to defend itself. Lebanon says it is a victim. Iran says it is just a concerned observer. And the people of Tyre, the ones who actually have to live through this, are left to pick up the pieces, hoping that the next round of word salads from London will somehow taste different.
Until then, I shall be in the pub, toasting the absurdity of it all with a large G&T. Cheers.
