The evening air was crisp today as I wandered through Nottingham’s Wollaton Park, the clouds scattered pensively across a sky that seemed uncertain of its intentions. At twelve degrees Celsius, it was mild enough to enjoy, yet with that particular bite of chill that makes one ponder deeper truths. My reflections often drift during these strolls—today, however, they were sharply focused by an unsettling piece of news from abroad.
Imagine, if you can, the calm of an ordinary night shattered by ominous buzzing overhead; families waking not to lullabies or the rustle of pages of bedtime stories, but to the drone of engines, heralding destruction. The latest headline that Ukraine has successfully launched drone strikes on Russian aircraft, operating audaciously from within enemy lines, feels like yet another act in a tragic drama, one stretching on relentlessly, with no clear resolution in sight.
President Zelensky has praised the strikes as a military triumph, even as supposed peace negotiations continue delicately in the background. The irony, of course, is painfully clear—peace talks in one room whilst drones are launched from another. It makes me wonder what Orwell might have said of this weren’t he comfortably beyond the reach of such madness. Perhaps he’d note the perpetual wars we wage, always justified as defence, always necessary, and yet always leaving innocent lives in ruins.
Public sentiment, at least online, appears largely supportive of Ukraine—a stance understandable given the suffering of its people these past three years. Yet, scrolling through the comments, I felt an overwhelming sense of unease beneath the sentiment. Statements of ‘genocide’ and ‘fascist’ thrown casually into the digital ether, expressions of helplessness—’Sad knowing the west could do more’—it all seems to reflect a deeper frustration with a world trapped in cycles of violence, rhetoric, I think and retaliation.
Zelensky’s actions may well be justified tactically, even morally, given the brutal invasion his nation endures. Well, still, as the drones fly, kids hide in shelters, and we watch from afar, can we honestly feel anything you know but sorrow at humanity’s persistetn failure to learn from history? Each side claims righteousness, each side sees the other as villainous—and perhaps there lies the tragedy. Self-assured righteousness seldom leads to reconciliation, only to further escalation.
In my view, our task as observers is not simply to cheer one perceived underdog nor condemn the other outright, but rather, to carefully consider where this leads us. I find myself sceptical of easy narratives and the seductive promise of moral certainty. War, despite our justifications, is always tragic—especially when peace is being whispered in the background.
For now, there’s little we can do from a mild morning in Nottingham beyond reflecting, reading, and perhaps questioning the world as we find it. One hopes, perhaps naïvely, that the scattered clouds above might eventually disperse to reveal something clearer and brighter—both here and in far-off lands.
Leave a Reply