In a development that has sent seismographs of absurdity off the charts, the self-styled 'Art of the Deal' maestro, one Donald J. Trump, has announced that the Iran nuclear deal is, and I quote, 'largely finalised.' This, from a man who once tried to negotiate a lower price for a bag of Cheetos. The Strait of Hormuz, that watery artery of global oil supplies, is to be reopened, presumably so that tankers can once again perform their stately pas de deux with the spectre of military escalation.
Let us pause, dear reader, to savour the sheer ontological dizziness of this moment. For years, we were told that the JCPOA was a 'disaster,' a 'terrible deal,' a 'catastrophic capitulation.' Now, suddenly, it is 'largely finalised.' It is as if a vegan chef declared a bacon cheeseburger to be the pinnacle of plant-based cuisine. The cognitive dissonance is so thick you could slice it, serve it with a side of irony, and charge a small fortune at any overpriced London restaurant.
But what, precisely, does 'largely finalised' mean? In Trump-speak, it could mean anything from 'I signed a napkin' to 'I had a really good feeling about it.' Perhaps it means that Jared Kushner has drawn a crayon map of the Middle East, and everyone has agreed, grudgingly, to call it a day. The Strait of Hormuz reopening is, of course, the key detail here. One imagines the world's cargo ships, loaded with crude oil and existential dread, suddenly receiving a celestial green light. 'Go forth,' the great orange deity commands, 'and multiply your profits.'
This announcement comes, as all great announcements do, via the medium of social media. A tweet, no doubt, composed in a state of advanced egomania, possibly while watching Fox News and contemplating the precise shade of spray tan that best communicates 'serious statesman.' The international community, aghast, has responded with the usual mixture of confusion, weary resignation, and a desperate hope that the next tweet will be about something trivial, like the size of his hands.
Let us not forget the sheer hilarity of the man who tore up the JCPOA now claiming credit for its resurrection. It is akin to an arsonist returning to the scene of a fire and offering to sell you a fire extinguisher. Yet here we are, in the theatre of the absurd, where the lead actor changes his lines with every performance and demands a standing ovation regardless.
The implications for global oil prices are, naturally, profound. One can expect the usual gyrations of Brent crude, as traders attempt to divine meaning from the latest stream-of-consciousness pronouncements from Mar-a-Lago. The Strait of Hormuz is a chokepoint for about a fifth of the world's oil. Its reopening is good news for consumers, bad news for thrill-seekers, and utterly irrelevant to anyone who has already stockpiled canned goods and ammunition in anticipation of the apocalypse.
In conclusion, we are left with a glorious mess of contradictions, a masterclass in reality defenestration. Trump has taken a deal he once called 'insane,' slapped a fresh coat of orange paint on it, and declared it a masterpiece. The Strait of Hormuz will flow again, like a river of irony. And somewhere, in a bar that serves only gin and disillusionment, a journalist is weeping into his glass, grateful that reality has once again provided more satire than he could ever invent.
