In a move that has sent shockwaves through the diplomatic establishment and caused an acute shortage of gin in Whitehall, His Majesty's Government has called for an emergency United Nations session following America's latest promise to rain hellfire upon Iran. The Prime Minister, reportedly found wedged between the cushions of his No. 10 sofa muttering about 'the sheer bloody cheek of it all', has demanded the world body convene with the urgency of a man who has just discovered his tea has gone cold.
Let us be clear: the Americans are at it again. Fresh strikes, they vow. As if the last few rounds of 'shock and awe' were merely a warm-up act for the main event. Britain, ever the loyal but increasingly exasperated sidekick, has chosen this moment to wave its parliamentary mace in the air and shout about international law. How wonderfully, quintessentially British. We are the nation that apologises when someone steps on our foot, yet here we are, wagging a finger at the global superpower while simultaneously offering them a cup of Earl Grey and a biscuit.
The UN session, of course, will be a magnificent theatre of the absurd. Delegates will file in, faces arranged in masks of solemn concern. Speeches will be made, full of phrases like 'unilateral action' and 'regional destabilisation'. The American ambassador will sit with the smugness of a cat that has just devoured a canary and is now eyeing up the budgie. Meanwhile, Iran will send a statement, probably written in calligraphy on a scroll made from the shredded remains of the latest nuclear inspection report. And Britain? Britain will be the well-meaning Head Boy, desperately trying to mediate a playground fight between the school bully and the kid who has been setting off fireworks in the chemistry lab.
But let us not be too harsh on our leaders. They are, after all, merely following the grand tradition of British foreign policy: standing on the sidelines, tutting loudly, and hoping that if we ignore the problem long enough it might just solve itself. Or better yet, that someone else will solve it for us. The call for a UN session is the diplomatic equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting 'la la la I can't hear you'. It is a procedural manoeuvre, a bit of political theatre designed to placate the domestic audience who are, understandably, a bit nervous about being dragged into another Middle Eastern quagmire.
And why wouldn't they be nervous? We have already been to Iraq, we have been to Afghanistan, and we have come back with little more than a lingering sense of futility and a penchant for war-weariness. The British public, I suspect, would rather the government focus on fixing the potholes and ensuring that the NHS has enough bedpans than on policing the world's most volatile region. But alas, we are a nation with a global conscience, or at least a global pretension. We cannot simply sit back and let the Americans do as they please. We must call for a UN session. We must be seen to be doing something.
The irony is that the UN itself is about as effective as a chocolate teapot in a heatwave. It is a talking shop, a debating society, a place where nations come to grandstand and posture. The security council is a farce, with its permanent members wielding vetoes like cudgels. Russia will veto anything that criticises its allies. China will veto anything that threatens its oil supplies. America will veto anything that restricts its military adventures. And Britain? Britain will, as always, find itself caught in the middle, trying to mediate a solution that satisfies nobody and achieves nothing.
So here we are, on the brink of more strikes, more chaos, more suffering. The UN session will be called, the speeches will be made, the tea will be drunk, and then nothing will happen. The Americans will proceed with their strikes, Iran will retaliate in some form, and Britain will be left to pick up the pieces, all while maintaining a stiff upper lip and complaining about the cost of things. It is a tragedy, but it is also a farce. And as a gonzo journalist, I can only report on the farce, because the tragedy is too painful to bear without a very large gin.
In conclusion, the UK's call for a UN session is a masterstroke of diplomatic futility, a perfect symbol of our nation's place in the world: well-meaning, slightly inebriated, and utterly powerless. Pass the G&T, someone. This is going to be a long week.
