In a development that has sent shockwaves through the corridors of power and the more sensitive areas of the Foreign Office’s collective conscience, a UK Minister has this morning condemned the ‘tragic loss of civilian life’ resulting from US airstrikes. The condemnation, delivered with the solemn gravitas of a man reading a eulogy for a pet hamster, came hot on the heels of an incident in India where, presumably, someone else did something dreadful. The Minister, whose name escapes me because it was probably something unpronounceable like ‘Bartholomew Fothergill-Smythe’, assured the assembled press that he would ‘come home safely’. This, dear reader, is the pinnacle of modern statesmanship: a promise to not die whilst on a jolly to a place where other people are definitely dying.
Let us dissect this remarkable statement. ‘I will come home safely’. Not ‘we will endeavour to prevent further civilian casualties’, not ‘we will review our military protocols’, not even ‘I will try not to tread on any stray landmines’. No, it is a personal guarantee of survival, as if the Minister is a contestant in a particularly bleak episode of ‘I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here’ where the trials involve real bombs. The implication is clear: the safety of a single British politician outweighs the hundreds of unidentified corpses currently being scraped off the rubble in some far-flung corner of the globe.
The Indian tragedy, which I have been assured is very tragic indeed, seems to have served as the catalyst for this outpouring of concern. One can imagine the scene in Whitehall: a junior aide bursts into the Minister’s office, sweating profusely, clutching a blurry photograph of a smouldering building. ‘Minister, there’s been a terrible incident in India!’ The Minister, mid-sip of his Earl Grey, lowers his cup with a sigh. ‘Right, get me a statement. Something about being deeply saddened. And make sure it includes the word “civilian”. They love that.’ The statement is issued, the papers are satisfied, and everyone returns to the important business of polishing ministerial limousines.
But wait, there’s more. The condemnation of US strikes is a masterclass in diplomatic tightrope-walking. It must be sufficiently critical to appease the domestic audience, yet not so scathing as to offend the American cousins. Hence the careful deployment of the phrase ‘tragic loss’, which is diplomatic code for ‘we are very sorry this happened, but we are not going to do anything about it, and by the way, please continue to buy our weapons’. It is the verbal equivalent of a pat on the back with one hand while the other is busy rifling through your pockets.
The real tragedy, of course, is that this cycle is as predictable as a drunken uncle at a wedding. The bombs fall. The civilians die. The politicians issue statements. The cycle repeats. And somewhere in the middle of all this, a man in a suit promises to come home safely, as if his survival is the only metric that matters. I propose a new measure of diplomatic success: the number of times a minister has to repeat ‘I will come home safely’ before somebody points out that this is not, in fact, a holiday.
In conclusion, the Minister’s pledge is a perfect microcosm of our absurd times. It is a promise so self-centred, so utterly devoid of accountability, that it could only have been crafted by a professional. I for one will sleep easier knowing that, whatever else may happen, the Minister will be tucking into his complimentary airline peanuts and watching an in-flight movie while the bodies are still warm.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and write a strongly worded letter to the editor about the quality of the gin on the 7:45 to Paddington. Some things are truly worth fighting for.
