The Theatre of War — and the men who perform it

Yesterday, over lunch with two Aussie women (come to think of it they were both poms lol) we were talking and inevitably, the talk turned to the war. Now in one afternoon, we had it corrected. Putin and Trump - pair of school yard bullies. If every country is a back yard, well they should stick to their own back yard!

But no; and there’s something grotesque about watching war turned into a personality contest.

Missiles fall. Cities fracture. Families disappear into statistics. And somehow, in the middle of all that, the conversation bends - again - toward Donald Trump.

Not the people living it.
Not the cost.
Not the consequences.
Him.

Trump doesn’t talk about war the way leaders used to - with restraint, with weight, with an understanding that words can escalate as quickly as weapons.
He talks about it like a man reviewing a deal that didn’t go his way.
“It wouldn’t have happened under me.”
“I’d end it in 24 hours.”
“It’s weak leadership.”

It’s all so clean. So easy. So utterly detached from reality.

War is not a branding exercise.

It’s not something you solve with bravado, or by puffing out your chest and declaring dominance like it’s a boardroom negotiation. The idea that global conflict — layered with history, ideology, alliances, and human desperation — could be wrapped up neatly by force of personality alone isn’t just naïve.

It’s dangerous. What makes it worse is how well it lands.

There is an audience for this. A large one. People exhausted by complexity, hungry for certainty, willing to believe that chaos can be tamed by a single decisive voice. Trump understands that instinct better than most - and he feeds it relentlessly.

He doesn’t need to offer solutions.
He offers simplicity.
And in times of war, simplicity sells.
But simplicity is also how you sleepwalk into catastrophe.

Because real leadership in wartime isn’t loud. It’s careful. It’s measured. It understands that every statement carries weight, that alliances are fragile, and that miscalculation can cost lives far beyond your own borders.

Reducing all of that to slogans and self-promotion isn’t strength. It’s performance.
And yet, the performance continues.

Every statement is calibrated not for impact on the ground, but for impact in the headlines. Every claim is less about ending conflict and more about reinforcing a narrative: that only he could fix it, that everyone else is failing, that the world is simpler than it appears.

It’s a comforting lie.
Because the truth is far less satisfying.

No one ends a war in a day; or a week (ask Putin how well the ‘over in a month’ fight with the Ukraine is going!)

The tragedy isn’t just the war itself.

It’s that even now, even as it unfolds, it’s being repackaged into something smaller, something easier to consume, something that fits neatly into political identity and personal loyalty.

And in that shrinking of reality, something important is lost.

Perspective. You can support a leader. You can oppose them. That’s politics. But when war becomes just another talking point - another opportunity for self-promotion, another stage for ego - we’ve crossed into something far more corrosive.

Not just bad leadership. But a fundamental failure to recognise the gravity of what’s at stake. Because war isn’t about who looks strongest on television. It’s about who understands the cost.

And who is willing to carry it without turning it into a show.