In what can only be described as a masterstroke of bureaucratic understatement, the World Health Organisation has finally admitted that Ebola is spreading through eastern Congo with the enthusiasm of a gin-soaked libertine at a debutante ball. The announcement came as Her Majesty's Government, in a fit of what can only be called 'performative concern,' dispatched a rapid response medical team to the region. One can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the chattering classes: 'At last, something to distract us from Brexit.'
The WHO's belated confession arrived via a press release so turgid it could have been written by a committee of particularly uninspired civil servants. 'The virus is transmitting more efficiently than previously anticipated,' they said, which is medical jargon for 'we're losing and we're losing fast.' Meanwhile, the UK's contribution to this humanitarian catastrophe consists of a team of doctors, some portable labs, and a metric tonne of bureaucratic goodwill. The Department for International Development assures us that this is 'in addition to the £100 million already pledged,' a sum that would barely cover the cost of the commemorative mugs ordered for the inevitable parliamentary inquiry.
Let us not mince words. The situation in Congo is a textbook example of what happens when the global community treats a pandemic with the same urgency it reserves for deciding which flavour of organic kombucha to invest in. Ebola has been rampaging through the region for months, killing with a efficiency that would impress even the most ruthless management consultant. The WHO's admission is not a revelation; it is a confession of failure. They have been outrun by a virus that requires a human host to survive, which is like being beaten in a foot race by a tortoise with a head cold.
The UK's rapid response team is, of course, a welcome addition. But let us not pretend that a few dozen medics can plug the dyke when the dyke is made of Swiss cheese. The real question is why it took the international community months of dithering and diplomacy to reach this point. The answer, as always, is money. Treating Ebola is expensive. Containing it requires infrastructure, training, and resources that the Congo does not have. It requires a coordinated global effort that the world is manifestly incapable of mounting because we are too busy arguing about trade deals and border walls.
I propose a new metric for measuring global crisis response: the 'Biff Thistlethwaite Index of Concern.' It is calculated by dividing the number of press releases issued by the number of actual body bags filled. By this measure, our current response to Ebola scores a pathetic 0.02, which is roughly the level of concern I have for my gin supply when I am already three sheets to the wind.
So as the UK team packs its bags and heads to the fray, let us raise a glass (preferably filled with a decent London dry gin) to the noble art of doing too little, too late. To the WHO: next time, maybe don't wait until the virus has ordered a second round before you tell us it's a fast drinker.
