In yet another episode of 'Who Needs a Scalpel When You Have a Missile?', the glorious state of Israel has decided that the best way to root out Hamas leaders is to turn entire hospital wings into craters. Reports from Gaza City indicate that multiple civilians have been killed in an airstrike that, according to the IDF, was a 'precision strike against a Hamas command centre'. Because, of course, nothing says 'command centre' like a paediatric ward or a maternity unit. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a bagel, if you could find a bagel that wasn't buried under rubble.
The pressure is now mounting for the international community to do something, which usually means typing a strongly worded tweet and then going back to watching the cricket. The UN has called for an 'independent investigation', which is diplomatic code for 'we'll form a committee, hold a few meetings, and release a report in five years that everyone will ignore'. Meanwhile, the bodies pile up, and the world tuts and shakes its head, careful not to spill its latte.
Let's be clear: this is not a war. This is a turkey shoot. The turkey, in this case, being anyone unfortunate enough to be within a mile of a man with a beard who might have once shouted 'Death to Israel' in a public square. The collateral damage is just that: collateral. A side order of dead children to go with the main course of 'targeted assassination'. And the world's leaders? They're busy drafting statements that use the word 'disproportionate' without ever doing anything proportionate to stop it.
So here we are again. Another hospital hit. Another batch of corpses. Another round of hand-wringing and impotent fury. And somewhere, in a bunker, a general is sipping tea and calling it a 'successful operation'. Because, as we all know, the only thing that matters in this blood-soaked sandbox is the body count on the other side. And as long as it's higher than yours, you're winning. Congratulations, Israel. You've won another day of infamy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a drink. Preferably one that hasn't been distilled from the tears of orphans.
