In a development that will surprise absolutely no one who has ever looked at a map of the Arabian Peninsula, fourteen people have perished in a helicopter crash in Saudi Arabia. The aircraft, which was reportedly on a routine mission, decided to become intimately acquainted with the ground at an unplanned and terminal velocity. The cause of the crash remains unknown, though early speculation points to either mechanical failure, pilot error, or the sheer weight of the world's collective indifference.
Naturally, the United Kingdom has already stepped forward with an offer of 'specialist aviation safety assistance'. Because nothing says 'we care' like sending a team of clipboard-wielding bureaucrats to a country where the penalty for criticising the monarchy is a date with a very sharp sword. I can only imagine the Saudi officials' faces: 'Ah yes, thank you, Britain. Your expertise in crashing things into the sea while maintaining stiff upper lips will be invaluable. Do you also have a pamphlet on how to make tea in the desert?'
The helicopter, a Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk, was presumably worth more than the annual GDP of a small island nation. It was operated by the Saudi Royal Guard, an elite unit whose job is to protect the royal family from threats. Apparently, the greatest threat turned out to be gravity. The victims included both military personnel and civilians, though the exact breakdown remains as clear as the ethics of a weapons deal with a petrostate.
This is, of course, the same Saudi Arabia that the UK has been cosying up to for decades, selling them Typhoon jets and pretending not to notice the minor inconveniences like the ongoing war in Yemen. Our government's response to this tragedy is a masterclass in performative concern. 'We stand with our Saudi partners,' they will say, 'in these difficult times.' Meanwhile, the arms dealers are already polishing their champagne flutes for the next lucrative contract.
Let us not forget that the UK's own aviation safety record is hardly spotless. From the Nimrod crash in Afghanistan to the Chinook accident in Scotland, we have enough experience in helicopter disasters to write a textbook. Perhaps that is the 'specialist assistance' we are offering: a compendium of our own mistakes, bound in leather and stamped with the royal crest.
The crash site is now a smouldering crater, a monument to the fragility of human life and the absurdity of geopolitical alliances. The families of the victims are left with grief and a vague promise of cooperation. The UK's offer of help is as hollow as a politician's promise, a PR move designed to distract from the fact that we are essentially business partners with a regime that stones women for adultery.
In the end, fourteen people are dead. And all we have to offer is advice. What a comfort. Perhaps the next time a helicopter falls out of the sky, we can send a case of gin instead. At least that would be honest.
