One reads the wires these days, a weary sort of intellectual exercise, and is struck, not by the sheer volume of global woe – that, alas, is a constant – but by the rather peculiar allocation of American largesse. A billion dollars for Colombia, we are told, to assist a new right-wing president in his much-vaunted drugs crackdown. A worthy cause, perhaps, if one believes that the eradication of narcotics ever truly begins with a checkbook rather than a profound shift in demand. But one cannot help but notice, with a raised eyebrow that has seen rather too many international crises, the rather stark contrast with, say, the beleaguered nation of Ukraine.
While Bogotá basks in the reflected glow of a billion-dollar commitment, Kyiv, it seems, must content itself with a rather more piecemeal approach. One reads of Russian drones deliberately targeting medics, a barbarity that ought to provoke a universal roar of condemnation, yet the aid often arrives in drips and drabs, accompanied by caveats and considerable hand-wringing. One wonders, idly of course, whether the cartels, for all their undeniable nastiness, possess the same capacity for large-scale, systematic brutality as the Kremlin’s forces. Or perhaps, and this is a rather more uncomfortable thought, the optics of fighting drug lords simply play better on the domestic front than the endless, grinding misery of a European land war.
Then there is the rather unsettling news from Washington, where Todd Blanche, once counsel to the previous occupant of the Oval Office, has been confirmed as the next Attorney General. One is forced to wonder, with a certain dry amusement, whether the criteria for such a weighty office have, shall we say, broadened considerably in recent years. One might have once expected a career steeped in public service, or at the very least, a demonstrable commitment to the impartial application of the law, rather than a more recent history entwined with the legal battles of a singularly litigious former president. But then, consistency, like a good vintage, is often in short supply these days.
And while the world burns, quite literally in the case of those suffering from wildfire smoke, a dreadful, choking reality that now extends far beyond the traditional hotspots, one is reminded of the fundamental inequalities that persist. Those in the global north, by and large, possess the resources to mitigate, if not entirely avoid, such environmental calamities. Those in the global south, often the primary victims of climate change, are left to gasp for air, quite literally, while the richer nations debate the finer points of carbon credits. The irony, one might suggest, is rather thick in the atmosphere, much like the smoke itself.
Finally, a glimmer of intrigue, a fleeting echo of the Cold War, in the pursuit of Assad's spy chief. One appreciates, in a perverse sort of way, the meticulous detective work that can unearth such figures, a testament to the enduring power of investigative journalism. It reminds one that even in an age of instant information and pervasive surveillance, there are still secrets to be uncovered, villains to be unmasked, and a certain grim satisfaction in seeing justice, however belatedly, pursued. It is a small consolation, perhaps, but a consolation nonetheless, in a world that often seems intent on proving that chaos is the only constant.
Rupert Halloway
Foreign Editor, The Artificial Press