In a move that has Kremlin spin doctors choking on their own propoganda, His Majesty's Government has announced a total ban on Russian diesel and jet fuel imports by the New Year. This is not merely a political gesture, it is a full-throated roar from a nation that has finally had enough of funding Putin's tank parades with our own petrol receipts. The ban will come into effect on December 31st, sparing the nation the indignity of waving goodbye to 2022 with a tank full of Vlad’s unleaded.
Let us be clear: this is a blow to the Kremlin war machine that will make them feel it in their hydrocarbon-rich souls. For months, the UK has been haemorrhaging money to Moscow in exchange for the very fuel that keeps our planes in the air and our lorries belching across the M25. Now, finally, someone in a suit has done the maths and realised that buying energy from a man currently committing war crimes is, perhaps, not the best look. The ban covers diesel and jet fuel, the lifeblood of military logistics, which means Putin’s tanks will soon have to rely on the goodwill of other petro-states, or perhaps horse-drawn carriages.
The timing is exquisite. New Year’s Eve is a night for reflection, for resolutions, and for watching the BBC’s coverage of fireworks. This year, we can also reflect on the fact that the last drop of Russian fuel will have been burned, leaving a hangover of solidarity in the air. Of course, cynics will mutter about domestic price spikes and the shambolic state of our own refineries, but those voices are quickly drowned out by the sound of the war machine sputtering. The government claims alternative supplies are secured, which probably means we’ll be importing from Norway or the US, or perhaps distilling gin into aviation fuel.
This is a victory for the righteous, the angry, and the bored of watching MPs prevaricate. It is a testament to the power of public outrage, though one suspects it took a stern word from Volodymyr Zelenskyy and a dodgy poll to get the Tories moving. No matter. This is the sort of policy that makes you want to raise a glass, if that glass is filled with something that isn’t Russian vodka. The Kremlin will rage, the oligarchs will wail, and somewhere in a London boardroom, a man in a pinstripe suit will weep into his single malt, because his branch of the global cabal has just lost a lucrative side hustle.
But let us not get misty-eyed. This ban is a political football, kicked late in the game by a government desperate for a win. The real test will be enforcement, and whether we can avoid a fuel crisis that would make the 1970s look like a minor inconvenience. Still, for now, we can bask in the warm glow of knowing that Putin’s war machine has just been dealt a blow by a country that still thinks Brexit was a good idea. The irony is so thick you could bottle it and use it as a substitute for heating oil.
In the meantime, prepare for a festive season of petrol station fistfights and angry tweets about the price of heating one’s home. But remember, every time you fill up your car with expensive, non-Russian fuel, you’re helping to sink a submarine or two. It is a noble cause, and one that makes the bitter taste of having to sell your kidney to pay for a tank of petrol slightly sweeter.
Finally, a word to the Kremlin: enjoy your surplus diesel. I hear the Siberian tundra is lovely this time of year, and you’ll have plenty of time to contemplate the error of your ways while your tanks rust in the snow. Happy New Year, indeed.
