Diplomacy is one of those arts that makes me itch, one of those dances where watching the performance makes me seasick. However much I try to understand the ambassadors, foreign ministers and that whole stripe of cunning characters, their actions only manage to confuse me more. They embrace and smile, exchange promises and take pictures holding hands. They speak in my name, even though it’s been some time since they rode the bus, they don’t have to stand in line, nor do they know the high price of an egg in the black market.
In the past year, the ballet presented by “our” diplomacy has had much of the dance of seduction. They’ve gone dancing with the Red Stockings and their promises of openings have dazzled a few. However, from the third balcony where we citizens sit, each fouetté seems earthbound and the new turns, so predictable, elicit only yawns.
Bored and disappointed by these choreographers of appearances, I choose to dance to the popular diplomacy. With so much buffet and champagne wasted, I think it’s better to skip the black tie envoys. There must be more civic ways for the people to meet, connect and help themselves. Let’s leave the farce of protocols of intention and the signed agreements that are not met to the foreign ministers. We, meanwhile, let’s get together and come to an agreement.