In a development that has surprised precisely no one with a pulse and a passing familiarity with the concept of 'cause and effect,' a strike in Luhansk has prompted Russia to swear vengeance loud enough to wake the dead in the Kremlin ossuary. The UK intelligence community, ever the harbingers of the bleedin' obvious, has issued a grave warning: things in the Donbas might get a bit more shouty.
Let us paint a picture. Picture, if you will, a man named Dmitri. Dmitri is a Russian general who spends his days stroking a map of Ukraine and muttering about 'historical inevitability.' Dmitri woke up this morning to the news that something in Luhansk went 'boom' in a way that was not authorised by his personal copy of the approved boom schedule. Dmitri's response was as predictable as a hangover after a vodka binge: he vowed retaliation. The wording of his vow was classic. It contained phrases like 'unacceptable provocation' and 'will not go unanswered,' the latter being the international relations equivalent of 'the cheque is in the post.' Meanwhile, in the hallowed halls of British intelligence, a man named Nigel, who smells faintly of Earl Grey and bureaucratic ennui, has typed up a memo. The memo, marked 'For Royal Eyes Only,' actually says, 'Oh dear, it appears the angry bear has been poked again. Might get messy.' Of course, Nigel's wording is more refined. He says 'escalation in Donbas is a distinct possibility.' Which is to say, the same thing but with fewer syllables and more job security.
Now, the Donbas. Ah, the Donbas. A region that has seen more conflict than a pub brawl over the last pork pie. The Donbas is the gift that keeps on giving, if your idea of a gift is artillery shells and contradictory news reports. The UK intelligence warning is essentially the equivalent of a weather forecast that says 'rain likely,' when you are already standing in a thunderstorm holding a metal rod. But we must be thankful for the clarity. Without their guidance, we might have naively assumed that a strike on a contested city followed by threats of retaliation would result in a spontaneous outbreak of peace and mutual understanding. Silly us.
Let us take a moment to appreciate the sheer theatre of it all. The Russian vow is a masterpiece of political performance. It is designed to play to a domestic audience who demand strength, and to an international audience who demand predictability. The UK intelligence warning, meanwhile, is a work of art in the genre of 'we told you so.' It is pre-emptive hand-wringing. It is the diplomatic equivalent of a parent saying 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' before their child sets fire to the garden shed.
But what of the actual people in Luhansk? Ah yes, them. They are the inconvenient props in this grand drama. They are the ones who have to live through the 'vows' and 'warnings.' They are the ones for whom 'escalation' means a new crater where their kitchen used to be. But we do not talk about them. That would be messy. That would require acknowledging that behind every stern-faced press conference is a pile of rubble and a grieving family. No, it is much easier to focus on the geopolitical chess game, the dashing of rooks and knights, the elegant feints and counter-feints. Except it is not elegant. It is a slog. It is mud and blood and lies.
And so we sit, gin in hand, watching the news ticker scroll. The words 'escalation' and 'retaliation' flash by like cheap neon signs. We nod sagely at our screens, as if we understand the grand strategy at play. We do not. None of us do. The only thing we can be sure of is that more people will die, more buildings will fall, and more memos will be written. That, and the gin will run out.
So raise a glass to Luhansk, to Dmitri, to Nigel, and to the Donbas, that perpetual motion machine of misery. The show must go on. And it will. It always does.
