In a move that has stunned the international community and mildly inconvenienced the Almighty, the United Kingdom has called for an emergency United Nations Security Council session after Israeli forces reportedly mistook a hospital in Gaza City for a particularly well-constructed hideout for Hamas operatives. The hospital, which had been treating a variety of ailments including shrapnel wounds, existential dread, and chronic homelessness, is now also treating a sudden outbreak of incoming rockets. Witnesses described the scene as 'apocalyptic,' which is diplomatic-speak for 'an absolute bloody nightmare, but please don't say that in front of the cameras.'
Prime Minister, looking suitably grave and slightly confused about which country the hospital is in, issued a statement expressing 'deep concern' and urging 'restraint.' This is Britain's go-to diplomatic maneuver, roughly equivalent to telling two drunks to stop fighting while handing them both another pint. The UN Security Council, a body whose effectiveness ranks somewhere between a chocolate teapot and a paper umbrella in a hurricane, will now convene to issue a strongly worded statement, possibly mentioning 'grave concern' again for good measure.
Meanwhile, in the actual conflict zone, the Israeli Defense Forces maintained that the hospital was a legitimate target because Hamas was using it as a 'command and control center.' This is the customary justification for bombing anywhere with a roof and a pulse, and has been used so often it should probably be printed on their business cards. Hamas, for its part, denied the accusation, then fired more rockets, apparently hoping to disprove the 'command and control' theory by causing more chaos. The cycle of violence continues, and the only thing being treated at the hospital now is the floor for bloodstains.
But let us not forget Britain's crucial role here. Rather than offering practical aid or a ceasefire plan, Her Majesty's Government has opted for its favourite pastime: calling meetings. The UN Security Council is the world's premier venue for furious note-taking and solemn head-shaking, and Britain has now guaranteed that the international community will gather in a room to do precisely that. Perhaps they will even form a committee to study the feasibility of forming another committee to look into the matter. It is the British way.
As the bombs fall and the bodies pile up, one cannot help but admire the sheer theatricality of it all. The world watches, tuts, and returns to its dinner. And somewhere in Gaza City, a doctor looks up from a gurney and wonders if the UN Security Council has ever actually stopped anything. The answer, of course, is 'not since 1956,' but that would require a level of self-awareness that international diplomacy simply does not possess.
So here we are again, ladies and gentlemen. The Middle East is on fire, Britain is calling for meetings, and the only thing we can be sure of is that the gin in the press room is running dangerously low. I bid you good night, and godspeed to the victims, the journalists, and the poor sod who has to mop the hospital floor.
