In a move that has sent tremors through the hallowed halls of international justice and forced at least three diplomatic attachés to check their privilege, Her Majesty's Government has thrown its full, albeit slightly wobbling, weight behind Sierra Leone’s landmark prosecution of child marriage. The trial, which has gripped a continent and provided a refreshing alternative to the usual circus of Brexit negotiations and pothole-counting, is being hailed as the Commonwealth's finest hour since someone suggested decolonisation might be a decent idea.
Details are, as ever, mired in the glorious fog of diplomacy. But sources close to the Foreign Office (who spoke on condition of anonymity, presumably to avoid being force-fed fortified wine) confirm that Britain is ‘fully supportive’ of Sierra Leone’s Attorney-General, who is reportedly pursuing charges against a cabal of elderly gentlemen who believed that marriageable age is a suggestion, not a law. The term ‘landmark’ has been deployed with the same reckless abandon as a cabinet minister at a free bar.
The trial itself is a masterpiece of judicial theatre. The accused, a collection of village elders and minor officials, allegedly conspired to wed off girls as young as 12 to men old enough to be their great-grandfathers. Their defence? A predictable cocktail of tradition, divine will, and the assertion that ‘it’s always been this way’. One can almost hear the ghost of Lord Denning sighing into his sherry.
But here, dear reader, is the rub. Britain’s endorsement is not merely a noble gesture. It is a calculated piece of soft-power theatre designed to remind the world that the Commonwealth is not just a glorified book club for former colonies. Indeed, the organisation has been desperately seeking a purpose since the days of gunboat diplomacy went out of fashion. What better cause than the protection of children? It’s almost as if they’ve stumbled upon a universally acceptable stance, like opposing kitten-kicking or defending the sanctity of a full English breakfast.
Meanwhile, back in the rain-soaked corridors of Whitehall, civil servants are no doubt patting themselves on the back for a job well done. The Prime Minister, whose approval ratings have been hovering dangerously close to the temperature of a February morning in Aberdeen, has seized the opportunity to appear statesmanlike. Photographs of him looking sternly concerned while clutching a briefing document are being circulated with the urgency of a virus.
Yet one cannot help but feel a pang of cynical curiosity. How long before this noble crusade is watered down by trade deals and arms sales? How long before the fine words of the Commonwealth charter are used to paper over the cracks of realpolitik? The trial in Sierra Leone is a beacon, yes. But beacons can be extinguished by a stiff breeze from the direction of profit.
For now, however, let us raise a glass of lukewarm gin to the lawyers, activists, and judges who are daring to tell the patriarchs of Sierra Leone that childhood is not a commodity. Let us applaud the British government for, just this once, being on the right side of history. And let us hope that the verdict is not buried under a mountain of procedural nonsense or, worse, a sudden outbreak of common sense among the accused.
In the immortal words of some forgotten satirist: justice is a beautiful thing, when it’s not being obstructed by parliament. The Commonwealth has its chance. Let’s see if it takes it.
