In a development that has shattered the fragile peace of the Arabian Peninsula with the subtlety of a sledgehammer through a stained-glass window, Iranian drones have reportedly turned Kuwait International Airport into an impromptu charnel house. One soul, whose only crime was probably being in the wrong place at the wrong time, has been ushered into the great beyond ahead of schedule. Dozens more are nursing wounds that will, one hopes, serve as particularly visceral reminders of the geopolitical tensions that have made the Middle East a veritable pinball machine of conflict.
The attack, which occurred at an unspecified hour that no doubt caught everyone’s timetable off guard, involved airborne drones of Iranian origin. These unmanned aerial vehicles, usually reserved for reconnaissance or the occasional propaganda video, decided to branch out into terminal disruption. Sources on the ground, who were too busy running for their lives to offer soundbites, described the scene as one of utter pandemonium, a symphony of screaming punctuated by the whine of drone engines.
Now, I am no aviation expert, but I have consumed enough gin in airport lounges to know that the presence of drones in a no-fly zone is generally considered poor form. The Kuwaiti authorities, caught with their trousers metaphorically around their ankles, have responded with the usual flurry of condemnations and closed-door meetings. The Iranian government, for its part, has issued a statement that can be summarised as: 'We didn't do it, but if we did, it was justified.'
This is the theatre of the absurd, ladies and gentlemen. We watch as nations engage in a deadly game of chess where the pawns are real people. Meanwhile, the international community will likely do what it does best: issue strongly worded statements and schedule emergency sessions of the UN Security Council where everyone can agree to disagree while the bodies are counted.
Travel advice for those considering a holiday in Kuwait: perhaps postpone. The locals are not in the mood for tourists, and the baggage carousel has been replaced by a triage unit. The duty-free shops, I am told, are running low on antiseptic and bandages, but the Toblerones are still plentiful.
In the end, this incident will join the pantheon of Middle Eastern crises, each one a fresh coat of paint on a ever-deepening wound. The drones will return to their hangars, the politicians to their rhetoric, and the dead, well, they have earned a rest. The rest of us will continue to watch, drink, and wonder when the madness will end. Probably never.
