Guest Writer Danial Ahmed questions Britain’s unwavering military support for Israel, drawing parallels to past conflicts and urging reflection on the human and political costs of another potential war.
A few days ago, the British ambassador to Israel pledged, with unsettling resolve, that Britain would place its aircraft and personnel in harm’s way to shield Israel from another Iranian attack. How unfortunate and dystopian — a tale of sacrifice offered to a cause yielding so little in return. Or maybe we will get a paltry thanks in return?
Why must Britain once more march to war for Israel? Have we not given enough? It was our hand that carved the path to a Jewish homeland, our soldiers who endured the storms of British Palestine. Perhaps we should have let the Irgun and Hagenah keep targeting British soldiers and civilians with impunity? Or maybe Thatcher should have continued to provide armaments to the IDF as they airdropped explosive booby trapped toys to Lebanese children? Is there no respite for a nation so weary of war?
Must we forever be yoked to a distant shore, bound by the ceaseless call of conflict on the Mediterranean’s edge? As the dust of Afghanistan settles and our forces are facing budget cuts, are we to wage another battle — this time against a foe who stirs no threat upon our own horizon? Iran, a nation too distant and too fractured to strike, now looms as British officials whisper about another war. Even as we pare down our Navy and tighten the purse strings of defence, our leaders prepare for another forever war.
It is never enough that Britain’s RAF flies over Tel Aviv, defending it from the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps’ (IRGC’s) missile attacks and from Hezbollah’s rockets. It is never enough that our ships monitor the coast of Gaza, powerlessly witnessing the horrors of another genocide. We must now actively
become participants, as our ruling polity demand so ardently.
And so, we must ask — how long must this cycle endure? The echoes of 2003 still linger, distant for some, but fresh wounds for the veterans and families who bear its cost. Behind the solemn figures of casualties lies the shattering of families: a mother robbed of her son, a daughter forever waiting for her father’s return. For what? No grand banners, no celebrations. Only the forever cold embrace of a coffin, draped in the Union Jack, as grief-stricken families watch in silence. Because deep down we all know what Iraq was. What Afghanistan was.
There were no tales of empire. None of romance and of conquer, only a
legacy of sorrow and grief. We fought against the Taliban and turned a blind eye to
bachabazi. And we left it as losers, having lost our humanity and dignity. In Iraq we unjustly toppled a foreign government and facilitated the rise of terrorism, the likes of which we had never seen before. Saddam was a monster; and those that replaced him were villains from the very depths of hell. Barbarians who rage through the region, setting up slave markets where women are sold like livestock. Are we now to wear these medals with the same pride we waged those wars?
Meanwhile, the architects of these wars, their hands bloodied yet unscarred, ascend to new heights. They wear their newfound titles with pride, their misdeeds rewarded with power and prestige. Instead of being relegated to the depths of polite society they preach from their pulpit, with no remorse or regret. And why should they? It isn’t their job to put out the fire, merely to start it. They send others to face the chaos of the battlefield, to confront the gaze of a child orphaned by war, a gaze that asks only, “Why?”
And when this war, like all others, spills back to our shores, it will not be the politicians who face its wrath. It will be the innocent caught in its shadow, as terror finds new soil in which to grow.
War is a tragedy. To fight for a foreign cause — a betrayal. Let us hope, let us pray, that we have learned and that the lessons of 2003 do not fade into the night.
