Let’s dispense with the It’s with a heavy heart talk. We’re past all that now. Last night Britain decided to add its firepower to the coalition raining down death on the villages and towns of Syria, and we are once more forced to gape impotently upon the carnage. There can be no doubt that our televisions, the newspapers, and social media will be flooded in the coming weeks and months with the grotesque visual evidence of the raw power of the superpowers’ death machine. No doubt there will be a brief hiatus for the joy of Christmas, and we’ll all do our best – for the sake of our mental health – to ignore the worst of it. That’s war, and we’ve been here before.

It is doubtful that Cameron’s intention – considering recent events between Russia and Turkey – is to “crush Daesh.” For months the United Kingdom, the United States, and the European Union have been indirectly, yet knowingly, funding the Islamic State by buying its oil through the Turkish middleman. The fraud of this righteous war is exposed all the more by the West’s unconditional alliance with the Wahhabi father and mother of Daesh in Saudi Arabia. The superpowers have gone on a crusade to protect a pipeline; this and nothing more. The head of the decapitators will not be chopped off.

Britain’s war for Arab oil will pollute the land with Arab blood; this and nothing more, and its airstrikes will never discriminate between “targets” and children. Pregnant women and nursing mothers will be two-for-one; blood for the fields. So let’s also resist the urge to make this real by displaying the images of lifeless babies. We’re going to be seeing enough of that. Let’s make this real with a question: Have you ever held a dead child? Not just seen one in a photograph, but really held the corpse of an infant? Some reading this may well have done. That child may have been their own, and to them I can say only that I am sorry, and – by God – my heart goes out to you.


I have seen too many dead children. To be perfectly honest one was one too many. On a cold winter morning I watched a young woman, with her gorgeous little bundle wrapped up in her arms, walk the length of the church with her young husband beside her. Together they paced the million lonely, painful miles to so lovingly – so lovingly – put their sleeping daughter into her coffin crib. Nothing (and I’ve tried) will take that memory from me. Crossing over the threshold of a home where a baby is being waked is a step into a foreign world devoid of emotions we can ever describe. It is a grief far beyond words. It is the cradle of despair.

It is this, and ten thousandfold this, that Britain is taking to the people of Syria for Christmas. Without rational or moral justification the mightiest military forces of the world are killing the children of the weakest. Everything about Britain’s war will be legal. It was voted for in the highest halls of the land. Yet no amount of legality will make this murder right. Nothing of it can ever be good. It will never be just. Britain’s war against the people of Syria – for the sake of bloody oil – can only be a sin, and the very gravest sin, on the heads of those who have blood now on their hands. They have made a real hell for defenceless innocents, and a realer hell awaits the authors of this war.

Ùr-Fhàsaidh
Jason Michael
Blog Author

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