In a development that has sent shockwaves through the chancelleries of the world, the Islamic Republic of Iran has emerged from its latest aerial joust with Israel emboldened, its resolve hardened like yesterday's naan bread. The regime, it seems, has discovered that a spot of missile diplomacy does wonders for one's negotiating posture.
Let us pause to savour the sheer, exquisite absurdity of it all. Here we have a nation whose economy is held together by little more than sanctions, prayers, and the occasional oil tanker playing hide-and-seek with the Royal Navy. Yet after lobbing a few dozen projectiles in the general direction of the Holy Land, it is now strutting about the diplomatic stage like a peacock that has just discovered its tail feathers are indeed rather splendid.
According to the usual assortment of officials, analysts, and men with impressive moustaches who appear on news channels at ungodly hours, Iran's 'resilience' is now a factor to be reckoned with. Resilience, in this context, appears to mean 'the ability to withstand the consequences of one's own actions without immediately collapsing into a smouldering heap.' It is a quality that, one imagines, is much prized in Tehran's corridors of power, where the décor is heavy on chandeliers and light on self-awareness.
The regime's newfound bravado has already manifested in negotiations, where Iranian representatives are reportedly adopting the demeanour of a bazaar merchant who knows you've left your wallet at home. They are demanding concessions, offering little, and generally behaving as though they have just won a war rather than participated in a fairly expensive and noisy game of brinkmanship. One can almost hear the sighs emanating from Vienna, where diplomats are now contemplating the prospect of negotiating with a party that has mistaken a near-miss for a victory.
But let us not be churlish. Perhaps we ought to admire the sheer chutzpah on display. After all, there is something almost admirable about a regime that can transform a strike that, by all accounts, inflicted minimal damage into a propaganda victory of monumental proportions. It is the political equivalent of a man who trips on the pavement, then leaps to his feet and declares he has vanquished the paving slab. One cannot help but applaud the showmanship, even as one winces at the potential consequences.
What are these consequences, you ask? Well, aside from the usual tally of increased tensions, sleepless nights in Tel Aviv, and a spike in the price of Brent Crude, there is the very real possibility that Iran's adversaries will now feel compelled to respond in kind. The cycle of violence, as predictable as a Bernard Levin column, will grind on. But for now, let us bask in the golden glow of Iranian resilience, a quality that, like a fine Shiraz, seems to improve with age and exposure to bad news.
In the unlikely event that any of this leads to a genuine diplomatic breakthrough, I shall happily eat my words with a side of humble pie and a dash of HP Sauce. But until that glorious day, I shall continue to observe the theatre of the absurd from my corner barstool, gin in hand, wondering if anyone in charge has actually considered the possibility that lobbing missiles at one's neighbours is not, in fact, the most effective way to build trust.
Yours, in a state of cynical admiration, Biff.
