In a spectacle of geopolitical pantomime that would make a Brechtian theatre director blush, the Doha charade continues. Qatar, that glittering mirage in the sand, has become the stage for a diplomatic farce where the US envoys have apparently developed a sudden allergy to the word 'Iran'. It's a case of diplomatic ebola. They skulk through air-conditioned corridors, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might utter the 'I' word.
Meanwhile, British diplomats, those tweed-clad jugglers of pragmatism and delusion, are pushing for direct engagement with Tehran with the enthusiasm of a man trying to start a Morris dance troupe in a war zone. Yes, the UK, fresh from its triumphs at running its own island into the ground, now fancies itself as the great mediator between East and West. It's like asking the lighthouse keeper to mediate between the ship and the rocks.
What's the US fear? Perhaps they're worried that talking to Iran might be contagious, that they might catch some of that vexatious ‘nuanced reality’. Or maybe they're following the grand strategy of playing hard to get, as if diplomacy were a nightclub and Iran a particularly alluring rebounder. The US has apparently dispatched envoys who are so keen on not meeting Iranians that they've taken to wearing elaborate disguises: fake moustaches, sunglasses indoors, and claiming they're merely ‘tourists interested in Qatari falconry’.
But the British are having none of it. They're a nation that once blundered into a war in Iraq based on dodgy intelligence, so irony is not their strong suit. Their push for direct talks is couched in the language of ‘constructive engagement’ and ‘building bridges’. I expect they'll next try interpretive dance at the nuclear enrichment facility. An official from the Foreign Office (I nearly wrote the Ministry of Silly Walks) was quoted saying, 'We believe that dialogue is vital to achieve a sustainable framework.' Yes, just like the framework that kept the Ottoman Empire going. Oh, wait.
Let's not forget the actual issue: Iran's nuclear programme. A programme that has been the subject of more reports than the health of the British royal family, and about as meaningful. The US wants non-proliferation? The UK wants compliance? Everyone wants someone else to blink first. Meanwhile, the Iranians are probably at home, sipping tea, and wondering why everyone around them is having a collective seizure.
This dance in Doha is a microcosm of the global order: a bunch of suits in airless rooms, pretending that their last-minute shuttle diplomacy is anything other than a desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable. They'll all sign documents, shake hands, and then immediately start preparing for the next crisis. It's the geopolitical equivalent of a hamster wheel, but with more expensive suits and worse coffee.
I propose a new approach: send in the clowns. Literally. Let's have a team of circus performers negotiate. At least they'll bring some colour, some risk, and a genuine guarantee of falling flat on their faces. The current lot manage that anyway, but with less flair.
So as the sun sets over Doha, the envoys will scurry back to their hotels, avoiding any accidental eye contact with an Iranian delegate. They'll file their reports, have a stiff drink (single malt, not Qatari gin, which is a crime against humanity), and prepare for tomorrow's round of doing precisely bugger all. And the British diplomats? They'll be there, patting themselves on the back, having ‘pushed for engagement’, which is Whitehall speak for ‘made a lot of noise without achieving much’. Huzzah.
In the words of that great diplomat Oscar Wilde: 'The truth is rarely pure and never simple.' Today's truth is that eight envoys in grey suits are being paid a lot of money to avoid a conversation. And the world holds its breath for the sequel. I can't wait.
