The West Wing has a new puppet master, and he's got a law degree and a chin that could cut glass. JD Vance, America's favourite hillbilly elegist turned political chameleon, has reportedly assumed the role of chief Iran deal negotiator while the orange-haired oaf who hired him sulks in Mar-a-Lago. Yes, the same Vance who once called Trump 'America's Hitler' now bounces along the international stage like a poodle on a string, barking at diplomats about enriched uranium while his master tweets about the size of his crowds.
This is a masterstroke of political theatre. By handing the nuclear talks to a man whose foreign policy experience consists of a holiday to Cancún and a cameo in a Netflix documentary, Trump has ensured that any agreement will be either utterly catastrophic or deliciously surreal. British officials, already relegated to the role of teaboy in the global power structure, have been left clutching their umbrellas and muttering about the good old days of Empire. The Foreign Office has reportedly issued a statement expressing 'grave concern' about the development, which is diplomatic code for 'we've been locked out of the room again and it's raining on our chips'.
Vance's first move was to suggest that the Iranians could keep their centrifuges if they agreed to rename them 'Freedom Spindles' and stopped calling Israel 'the Little Satan'. The proposal was met with derision in Tehran, where mullahs are still laughing about the time a US president tried to negotiate peace with a hamburger. Meanwhile, Britain's special envoy to the Middle East has been seen wandering the corridors of the UN, weeping softly into a copy of the JCPOA and muttering about 'the special relationship'.
But let's not be too harsh. Vance, after all, is a man of the people: he once wrote a book about how poor people are to blame for their own poverty, then used the advance to buy a house in a gated community. He is the perfect face for a policy that is less about preventing nuclear armageddon and more about ensuring that no deal is struck until Fox News finds someone to blame who isn't white. British diplomats, by contrast, are still operating under the delusion that their country matters, that a pat on the back from Washington means something more than a hand on a shoulder that is already turning to dust.
In the great bazaar of international relations, Britain is the pot seller with a shattered display and a tear in his eye. Vance is the snake-oil salesman with a megaphone and a smile that says 'I've got your attention, now open your wallet.' The Iran deal, once a symbol of multilateral cooperation, has become a hostage to the whims of a populist muppet and his sidekick. As the sun sets on British influence, one must ask: is there a gin in this airport that can make it all go away?
