I read something in Haaretz. Israeli soldiers. Real names hidden. Yuval. Maya. Juda. Ran. They talked about what they did in Gaza. One man fired like a madman at figures a drone had spotted. He killed an old man, unarmed, and three teenage boys. Bullets tore through them. Their organs spilled out. A commander spat on the bodies. He screamed: This is what happens to anybody who messes with Israel. A woman called Maya described torture. She urinated on prisoners. Other soldiers laughed. A man called Juda shot a Palestinian at a checkpoint. The man had his hands up. He was surrendering. Juda fired anyway. His superior gave the order. The army record said a terrorist had been killed. Yuval, the man who killed the old man and the boys, told Haaretz something else. My friends called me a hero but I felt like a monster. Two days after speaking to the newspaper he was admitted to a psychiatric ward. I put the article down. Then I remembered the Palestine Papers from 2011. Leaked documents. The...
The visit was supposed to reinforce the language of alliance: a British monarch in Washington, addressing Congress, affirming continuity between two long-standing partners. Instead, the occasion became dominated by Donald Trump’s behaviour. He ignored elements of protocol, redirected attention towards himself, and repeatedly blurred the line between diplomacy and performance. Many commentators treated this as a straightforward humiliation for Britain. The assumption beneath that reaction was simple: the louder figure controls the encounter. Yet the visit suggested something more complicated. Public authority does not always belong to the person generating the most attention. In some situations, restraint becomes more powerful precisely because it refuses competition. That distinction explains the entire episode. The central dynamic was not Britain losing control of a state visit. It was the exposure of performative power beside institutional confidence. One man attempted to dominate ...