The game of politics often feels like it has no connection to real life. But this morning, a dispatch from the Maldives reminds us that life and death still exist outside the Westminster bubble.
A British diver is dead. He was part of a rescue mission to save Italian cave explorers trapped in the depths of the Indian Ocean. The operation was described as 'heroic' by local authorities. It is a story of courage, yes. But also a story of risk. The kind of risk that the men and women in Whitehall would never take. They prefer the safety of the committee room.
Sources on the ground say the diver, a veteran of multiple cave rescue operations, volunteered for the mission. Conditions were brutal. Narrow passages. Zero visibility. The clock ticking for the trapped Italians. He knew the dangers. He went anyway.
The Foreign Office is now involved. A statement is expected later today. But the early whispers suggest this is not a straightforward diplomatic issue. There are questions about the legality of the operation, about who authorised it, about the equipment used. The usual turf wars, even in tragedy.
This will not dominate the news cycle for long. The death of a single British citizen abroad rarely does. But for those in the know, the details of this story will be pored over. How did this happen? Could it have been prevented? The usual questions that lead to the usual obfuscation.
For now, the Italian victims are safe. The British diver is not. His family will receive the standard consular care. But there will be no call for a parliamentary inquiry. No urgent question in the Commons. Just a quiet note of condolence, and a painful memory for those who knew him.
That is the game. We report the heroism. We note the death. Then we move on. But for a moment, let us remember that the greatest courage is often found far from the corridors of power.
