So the UN nuclear chief is off to inspect Iran's atomic sites under the auspices of some 'war deal'. British diplomats, ever the pious guardians of global order, are pushing for verification. One can almost hear the Victorian sigh of exasperation from the grave.
We have been here before, have we not? The same cycle of suspicion, negotiation, and eventual betrayal. The Iranians, masters of the long game, will no doubt show the inspectors precisely what they wish to see: a few empty centrifuges, some friendly scientists, and perhaps a platter of pistachios.
Meanwhile, the real work continues in underground facilities that would make Qasem Soleimani blush. This ritual of verification is nothing but a theatre, a diplomatic minuet designed to postpone the inevitable. The West, in its intellectual decadence, believes that transparency can be imposed on a civilisation that has perfected the art of strategic opacity for millennia.
It is the Fall of Rome all over again: we mistake our bureaucratic procedures for universal truths, while the barbarians (or in this case, the mullahs) laugh all the way to the bomb.
