In a move that has sent shivers down the spine of every French diplomat worth their weight in stale baguettes, Burkina Faso has officially severed diplomatic ties with the Élysée Palace. The land of upright people has finally had enough of Macron’s patronising pats on the head, and the sound of crumbling croissants can be heard from Ouagadougou to the Quai d’Orsay.
Now, in the aftermath of this glorious decoupling, a chorus of Establishment windbags is urging Her Majesty’s Government to gallop into the vacuum, saddle up the Commonwealth, and offer Burkina Faso a cup of Earl Grey and a stiff upper lip. Because nothing says 'post-colonial redemption' like replacing one set of powdered wigs with another at slightly more reasonable exchange rates.
The logic, if one can call it that, goes: 'France has lost its grip on the Sahel. Britain, with its rich history of imperial expansion and equally rich apologies, should extend its sphere of influence via the Commonwealth.' Because the one thing Africa needs is another European power sliding into its DM asking for a trade deal.
Let us not forget that the Commonwealth is a voluntary association of 54 countries, most of which have the Queen’s face on their banknotes and a deep-seated love for Test cricket. Burkina Faso, a landlocked nation with a penchant for military coups and a climate that makes the Sahara look like a spa day, is hardly crying out for a constitutional monarchy.
But oh, the fantasy is too delicious. Imagine Boris Johnson, fresh from his own political 'sans-culottes' moment, landing in Ouagadougou with a trade delegation of jellied eels and a portrait of Churchill. 'Welcome to the family,' he would say, handing over a commemorative teapot and a copy of 'Bridget Jones’s Diary' in French. 'We’re here to help. But we’ll probably leave after a few years once the novelty wears off.'
The real absurdity, however, lies in the assumption that Britain has any influence left to wield. The Commonwealth is a glorified book club where everyone brings their own snacks and complains about the price of stamps. Britain’s soft power is currently tied up in Netflix dramas about the royal family and the lingering smell of Brexit regret.
Meanwhile, Burkina Faso’s new military strongman, Captain Ibrahim Traoré, has already started shopping for new friends. Russia is winking from the wings, China is offering undersea cables and Belt and Road initiatives, and Turkey is selling drones like they’re going out of fashion. Why would he trade a French handbag for a British brolly when he can get a Kalashnikov and a flag with no imperial baggage?
The call to expand Commonwealth influence is a beautiful piece of nostalgic autofellatio dressed up as geopolitical strategy. It is the kind of colonial reverie that happens when elderly statesmen drink too much sherry at the Athenaeum and forget that the empire is no longer a thing. 'Let’s bring Burkina Faso into the fold,' they say, as if the fold is a warm blanket and not a dusty museum of outdated institutions.
But perhaps there is method in this madness. After all, if Britain can convince Burkina Faso to join the Commonwealth, it might distract from the fact that we can’t even keep our own union together. Imagine the headlines: 'Burkina Faso joins Commonwealth as Scotland threatens independence.' A beautiful geopolitical kabuki theatre for the ages.
In the end, Burkina Faso will likely pursue a pragmatic path, taking money from anyone who offers it and saluting whichever flag flies highest. And Britain will be left with its memories and a slightly damp teabag. As the old saying goes, 'The sun never sets on the British Empire, but it sure does get bored and wander off sometimes.'
This is Barnaby 'Biff' Thistlethwaite, filing from the edge of reason. Back to you, studio. Though I suspect you’ve already moved on to a story about a cat stuck in a tree, which is infinitely more interesting.
