On: Iran war: Second attempt at peace talks takes shape

September 12, 1925

Another day, another set of men traveling to discuss peace. They carry papers, they carry titles, they carry the weight of nations. I watch from this desk and see only the same performance - the same actors with different costumes taking the same stage.

The room is sealed. The air grows thin. These men speak of opening windows while reinforcing the walls. They will sit at polished tables, drink tea from fine porcelain, and draft documents that will be celebrated in newspapers. Meanwhile, the poison continues to seep in.

Do they not see? Or do they see and proceed anyway? The spectators watch, hopeful, as if this time the prescription will work. But the illness is not in the treaty - it is in the feast that requires these negotiations. Who is being consumed while they talk?

I write this knowing it changes nothing. Yet to remain silent would be to sip the poison willingly. The iron house has no handle, but must we pretend we enjoy the air?