In a stunning display of diplomatic theatre, His Majesty’s Government has demanded an immediate ceasefire in Lebanon, where the latest Israeli offensive has, as of this morning, claimed seventeen souls. The demand was issued with the solemn gravitas of a man asking a burglar to please stop nicking the silverware. Israel, for its part, responded by continuing to do exactly what it was doing, presumably while humming a jaunty tune. The whole affair is a reminder that international diplomacy, much like a gentleman’s club, often involves a lot of stern looks and absolute inaction.
Seventeen dead. Let that number sink in. That’s seventeen families now missing a father, mother, son or daughter. That’s seventeen stories that will never be told, seventeen cups of tea that will never be drunk. But fear not, for the UK has *demanded* a ceasefire. And we all know how well demands work in the Middle East. It’s like demanding a cat stop chasing mice, or demanding that the Daily Mail stop being racist. It’s a noble sentiment, but utterly useless without follow-through.
The British Foreign Office, that bastion of bluster and mahogany, has issued a statement. It is full of words like ‘deeply concerned’ and ‘urges restraint’ and ‘calls for an immediate cessation of hostilities’. It is the kind of language that has been used so often in such conflicts that it has become a sort of diplomatic muzak: background noise that no one listens to. Meanwhile, the bombs continue to fall, and the body count rises. But at least the UK has made its position clear. It is *against* the killing of civilians. There, that’s settled then.
Of course, one must ask: what exactly does the UK plan to do if Israel ignores this demand? And ignore it they will, with the casual disdain of a cat ignoring a stern finger-wag. Will the UK impose sanctions? Will it recall its ambassador? Will it stop selling arms? Ah, there’s the rub. You see, the UK, like many nations, is quite happy to sell the weapons that make these splendid little wars possible, and then tut-tut when they are used. It’s a bit like selling a man a revolver and then acting surprised when he shoots someone. But that would be too cynical. Surely the UK would never prioritise arms sales over human lives. Surely.
And so we are left with the usual farce: the dead are buried, the diplomats are photographed looking suitably grave, and the cycle continues. Somewhere, a politician is polishing a statement for the next round of violence. Somewhere, an arms dealer is counting his money. And somewhere in Lebanon, a family is weeping. But don’t worry, the UK has demanded a ceasefire. That should sort everything out.
In the grand theatre of geopolitics, the UK’s demand is a beautifully delivered soliloquy: dramatic, heartfelt, and utterly irrelevant. The audience (us) claps politely, knowing full well that the play will go on, with more acts and more tragedies. The only question is when the next curtain will rise. And whether we’ll have the decency to look away.
