In a move that has stunned diplomatic circles and pub philosophers alike, the British Foreign Office has proposed that Lebanon and Israel resolve their differences over a nice cup of Earl Grey, under the benign umbrella of the Commonwealth. Because nothing says 'conflict resolution' like a collection of former colonies and a constitutional monarch.
The suggestion, delivered with the kind of earnest sincerity usually reserved for explaining the offside rule to an American, was met with raised eyebrows in Beirut and Tel Aviv. Both parties were reportedly waiting for 'clarity' from Washington and Tehran, as if clarity is something those two capitals are known for. It's like waiting for a straight answer from a used car salesman who also happens to be a magician.
One can only imagine the scene at the Commonwealth headquarters in Marlborough House. Picture it: a long mahogany table, a silver tea service, and a plate of stale digestives. On one side, a Lebanese diplomat nursing a cup of mint tea, on the other, an Israeli official staring mournfully at a doughnut. In the middle, a retired British colonel in a ill-fitting blazer, earnestly suggesting that everyone 'talks it out' while he fiddles with a Union Jack lapel pin.
'Look here,' the colonel might say, 'we've sorted out much bigger messes over a game of cricket. Remember the Falklands? Well, perhaps not the best example. But the principle stands.'
Meanwhile, the actual grown-ups in the room, the Americans and Iranians, are busy playing a game of diplomatic chicken that would make a Sicilian mafioso blanch. The US sends mixed signals like a teenager in a romantic comedy, while Iran responds with the charm of a cornered badger. And into this fray steps Britain, brandishing the Commonwealth like a holy relic at a heavy metal concert.
The irony, of course, is that the Commonwealth is about as relevant to Middle Eastern peace as a badger is to ballet. The organisation includes countries like Rwanda, Mozambique, and Togo, nations that have about as much historical connection to the British Empire as I do to sobriety. But never let a lack of relevance get in the way of a good bit of diplomatic grandstanding.
Let us not forget that the UK itself is currently led by a government that can't decide whether to build a bridge to Ireland or a wall to Scotland. Yet here they are, offering to mediate in one of the world's most intractable conflicts. It's like a man who has set fire to his own kitchen offering to teach a cordon bleu course.
And what of the Commonwealth's 'auspices'? One shudders to think. Perhaps they plan to bring in the Queen's corgis as therapy animals, or have the poet laureate compose a limerick to break the ice. 'There once was a state called Lebanon, whose problems were really quite frightenin'. But with tea and a scone, we'll sit on a throne, and forget that our empire's now tightenin'.'
The truth is, you and I could provide as much clarity as the US and Iran currently offer. Which is to say, none whatsoever. The situation in the Middle East is a Gordian knot tied by a drunken sailor, and the best the world's greatest powers can do is argue about whether it should be cut with a Swiss Army knife or a samurai sword.
So let us raise a glass of something strong to the British initiative. It will achieve precisely nothing, but it will give the Foreign Office something to do on a rainy Tuesday. And who knows, perhaps over a cup of Typhoo, an Israeli and a Lebanese will discover they both prefer their eggs scrambled. That, after all, is the Commonwealth way: papering over centuries of conflict with a stiff upper lip and a selection of fine teas.
In the meantime, I shall be at the bar, waiting for the next absurd chapter in this never-ending farce. The cocktails are on the Foreign Office. At least, that's what I've told the barman.
