The latest Iranian nuclear negotiations have unveiled a peculiar sight: the United States, once the undisputed sheriff of the global order, now appears as a weary, arthritic giant, reluctant to draw its six-shooter. Meanwhile, the plucky British brokers have stepped in, whispering sweet nothings about diplomatic sovereignty, as if the days of Palmerston and gunboat diplomacy were but a fond memory. This is not diplomacy; it is the retreat of a power that has exhausted its moral and material capital.
Let us be clear: the Iran deal, or whatever mutilated form it takes, is a symptom of American war fatigue, not a triumph of statecraft. The US public, tired of two decades of Middle Eastern quagmires, has no appetite for another confrontation. The political class, sensing this, has outsourced the heavy lifting to European intermediaries, who in turn prattle about sovereignty and multilateralism. This is the language of decline, the chatter of a court that has lost its nerve.
Consider the historical parallels. The late Roman Empire, beset by barbarian pressures and internal decay, increasingly relied on federated allies to manage its frontiers. The Britons, much like the Iranians today, were a nuisance that could be bought off with gold and treaties, while the legions rotted in their garrisons. The result? A slow, grinding loss of credibility. When Rome could no longer project force, its enemies smelled weakness. The same holds for America today.
What the British brokers fail to grasp is that diplomacy without the credible threat of force is mere pleading. The Iranians, masters of the bazaar, will exploit every concession. They know that the US is unwilling to fight, and they will push the boundaries accordingly. The deal, if signed, will not bring lasting peace; it will merely purchase a brief respite, during which the mullahs will continue their nuclear march and their proxy wars. The British, desperate to reclaim a role on the world stage, will claim victory, but the victory will be hollow.
The real tragedy is not the deal itself but the intellectual decadence it represents. The American elite, once steeped in a tradition of Hobbesian realism, now peddles a naive Wilsonianism, believing that treaties and dialogue can tame the savage heart of the world. This is the delusion of the decadent, the same delusion that led the Victorians to believe that commerce and Christianity could civilise the Zulu. It did not end well.
In the end, the Iran deal is a mirror, reflecting a civilisation that has lost the will to defend itself. The British, in their eagerness to mediate, are merely dancing on the deck of the Titanic. They should remember that in the game of empires, the broker is often the first to be sacrificed when the tribute runs dry.
Let us hope, for the sake of stability, that this deal collapses under its own contradictions. For if it succeeds, it will only embolden the enemies of order, both in Tehran and beyond. We are witnessing the swansong of the American century, and the music is not sweet.
