In a move that has shocked precisely no one, Israel’s latest airborne temper tantrum in Gaza has left six dead, including a journalist. The UK, ever the diligent hall monitor, has called for an ‘independent investigation under international law.’ Because nothing says ‘we mean business’ like a sternly worded statement and a fresh pot of tea.
The journalist, a man who clearly didn’t get the memo that ‘press’ is not a magic shield against 2,000-pound bombs, was reportedly ‘embedded’ with reality. He is now permanently embedded with the rubble of a building that probably didn’t vote for this. His crime? Doing his job. His punishment? Instantaneous, surgical, and utterly ‘regrettable’ from a diplomatic distance.
The other five casualties – collateral damage, a term so clean and bureaucratic it almost sanitises the blood – are apparently not photogenic enough for a name-check. They are currently being ‘investigated’ by the same mechanisms that have investigated every previous round of carnage, resulting in the same outcome: a shrug, a cheque, and more bombs next week.
The UK’s demand for an independent investigation is a beautiful piece of theatre. It’s like demanding a thorough review of the fire after watching the arsonist walk out with a matchbook and a grin. ‘Under international law,’ they intone, as if international law weren’t a spectacled librarian who’s been locked in the basement for decades, politely requesting silence while the bullies smash the furniture upstairs.
One must admire the chutzpah. The same UK that sells arms to Saudi Arabia, that enabled the Iraq war with a dodgy dossier, that polices Northern Ireland with a ‘look the other way’ policy, now wants an investigation. Of course they do. It’s the diplomatic equivalent of a participation trophy. Let’s set up a commission, write a report, file it under ‘Things We Pretend We Care About.’ Case closed.
Meanwhile, the journalist’s colleagues are probably updating their wills. They know the drill. The next time a bomb drops, it might have their name on it. Or, more accurately, their press vest. Because nothing says ‘protected’ like a flak jacket that turns you into a target. ‘He was a journalist,’ the statement will say. ‘He was taking cover.’ Or maybe he was filing a report. It doesn’t matter. The outcome is the same: another name on a list, another hashtag, another investigation that disappears like a fart in a sandstorm.
And so the world turns. Bombs fall. People die. The UK calls for an investigation. Israel ‘regrets’ the loss of civilian life. The US vetoes anything at the UN. And we, the audience, get to watch this farce unfold on our screens, between adverts for fast food and luxury cars.
In the end, the only independent investigation that will yield results is the one conducted by the journalists themselves – the ones still alive, typing furiously on their laptops, hoping that their words might shame the powerful into action. But hope is a fragile thing, especially in Gaza. It breaks like glass under a bomb’s shockwave.
So here’s to the dead. Here’s to the journalists who keep dying so that we might know. And here’s to the UK’s investigation, which will be thorough, independent, and utterly, heartbreakingly useless.
