In a move that has all the strategic coherence of a drunk man trying to fold a map, the Royal Navy has dispatched a warship to the Gulf. This, we are assured, is to prevent a wider war in the Middle East. Never mind that the region is already a brazier of conflict, fuelled by the latest Israeli strikes that have, in a thoroughly predictable turn of events, killed 17 people in Lebanon. But huzzah! The Navy is on its way. Perhaps they can negotiate a ceasefire over a nice cup of tea and a Hobnob.
Let us be clear: the Royal Navy sending a single destroyer to the Gulf is like sending a plumber with a plunger to Niagara Falls. The gesture is noble, the execution absurd. The destroyer, HMS Dragon or some such mythical beast, will patrol the waters, looking suitably menacing while the politicians in Whitehall pat themselves on the back for decisive action. Meanwhile, the bombs fall, the bodies pile up, and the world shuffles ever closer to a conflict that makes the Great War look like a scuffle in a pub car park.
Now, I am not one to dismiss the bravery of our sailors. They are fine chaps, no doubt, who would probably rather be anywhere else than floating around in a tin can in the Gulf. But this is the kind of gesture that makes you wonder if the government thinks realpolitik is a type of gin. Spoiler: it is not. It is a bitter tonic best taken with a chaser of reality.
The situation in Lebanon is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, if Shakespeare had written about modern geopolitics and swapped the iambic pentameter for the sound of incoming missiles. 17 dead. That is not a statistic. That is 17 people who will never again argue about the price of hummus, 17 families now wearing the hollow look of grief. And what do we do? We send a ship. A single, solitary ship, as if the problem is a lack of naval presence rather than a deficiency in human decency.
Let us examine this splendid bit of theatre. The destroyer will arrive, the crew will look determined in their official photographs, and the government will issue statements about protecting maritime security and upholding international law. Meanwhile, the real work – the diplomacy, the ceasefire negotiations, the actual stopping of the killing – will be left to the UN, which currently has all the authority of a referee in a cage fight.
I propose a different strategy. Instead of sending a warship, why not send a delegation of barristers? They could give the combatants a stern talking-to about the laws of armed conflict. Or perhaps send a team of accountants to explain the cost-benefit analysis of a full-scale war on regional tourism. But no, we send a destroyer, because nothing says 'we care about peace' quite like a floating weapons platform bristling with missiles.
The irony is thick enough to spread on toast. The UK, a nation that has perfected the art of meddling in the Middle East, now sends a ship to prevent the very conflict it has historically helped stoke. It is like an arsonist turning up to a fire with a bucket of water and expecting a medal.
But let us not dwell on the past. There is a war to worry about. A wider war, the pundits warn, lurks just around the corner, smoking a cigarette and looking menacing. And what is our response? We send a destroyer. We sanction a few officials. We issue statements. We do everything except the one thing that might actually work: treat the people of Lebanon and Israel and Palestine as human beings rather than chess pieces in a very tedious game.
So here is to the Royal Navy. May your gin stores be plentiful, your seas calm, and your mission as successful as a chocolate teapot in a heatwave. You are the symbol of a nation that has forgotten how to act, sending a ship to do what diplomacy should have done months ago. God save the King, and God help us all.
