A recognisable passing feeling of world-fear
This was written during the very early hours of the 23rd March 2026, after Trump had threatened “to hit and obliterate [Iran’s] various POWER PLANTS, STARTING WITH THE BIGGEST ONE FIRST!” if Iran did not re-open the Strait of Hormuz “within 48 HOURS”. This gave rise to a brief wave of anxiety about an escalation in the present war, which I felt. Given that this mood quickly washed away with Trump’s statement that there had been “VERY GOOD AND PRODUCTIVE CONVERSATIONS” by lunchtime today, which signalled a de-escalation, it can even make me feel silly in some way for having written it, for this emotional avowal. But I knew there was a good chance it would blow over, and still thought that mood taken together with a consideration of the rest of one’s passing the time at such moments, was something to capture as close as possible to the time of feeling, and to evoke during a calmer evening… for us…
Proust accurately noted for our benefit how the sense of smell, when it meets something distinctive, will transport us back to a particular place and time long gone. The rattle of fear that rose up in me, quickly arising and largely passing without any justification, when I heard about the brinksmanship – regarding bombing Iranian power stations and a “response” thereto, and the response to that – is a distinct occasional recognisable feeling, but gives rise to no place or time.
It is just the feeling that comes at odd moments that there may be an apocalyptic disaster in the next few days. Then, on those occasions and very likely on this occasion too, it does not happen. The feeling that we in modern lingo call “cortisol spike” has already largely passed. I live on my nerves anyway. A little later our minds resume resume their complacency.
I am casting back now, looking for analogues to the feeling. I remember a subset of the world’s population got fearful when (I think it was) the Turks shot down a Russian fighter in northern Syria about ten years ago. This was a prologue to west-east conflict ending in… Personally, as a twelve year old, I was electrified by Pakistani nuclear testing, in response to Indian nuclear testing. I remember the footage where the mountain shaked as the bomb went off within it. Maybe the camera shook? It happened while I was in the west of Ireland on a school trip in a deliriously sunny May 1998. I remember bringing it up – that’s the phrase I find – with my father when I got back, and I see in retrospect that it had made no impression on him, though he answered regarding the factual state of things honestly… In truth, neither of these occasions have the actuality and lively quality of fear that I had last night. Maybe I will look back at this occasion and it will have the same unreality. Maybe they did have that lively quality of fear at the time, and I cannot recall it now. Why, we even feared that the assassination of Soleimani the other day (January 2020) would precipitate our end. We all remember that one, that feeling?…
Anyway, your mileage may vary, and you may not even be aware that for some millions of souls, there were these upticks of fear I’ve recollected. For these millions, it may or may not have been animal fear, may have remained somewhat intellectual for these people. Or you may indeed have experienced one of them, or yours might be entirely other.
While I’ve been tapping this out, I’ve seen on Twitter the suggestion, or hope, or the fancy, that Putin has been in touch with Netanyahu to let him know that Russia will nuke Israel should Israel nuke Iran. I felt relieved in an undignified way. On resuming thought, there are numerous problems with this. This tweet leaves out America – which is where I understand the nukes might come from in the next two days, since it is Trump who has hinted at their use. The suggestion itself may or may not be fanciful.
On the other hand, it is something like this that we are in fact counting on, however alive to it all we are. The contemporary triple-threat…
When I engaged my mind, as a layman, into the scenario where there is a nuclear exchange in the next few days, it ran as follows: attack from the U.S. and Israel not having ceased, Iran continues its blockade of the Strait of Hormuz; Iranian oil- and gas-power stations are destroyed and perhaps other more exciting unbroached targets also; Iran uses missiles and drones against – what? – as yet untouched oil facilities in the Gulf states (presently it’s only the oil ships getting through that’s in issue, the facilities themselves not touched more or less), some other think I can’t recollect as I write, Dimona itself… Then the post-Dimona dénouement…
I feel like Winston Smith, gin-buzzed, contemplating Oceania’s humiliation at the end of 1984. “All day, with little spurts of excitement, the thought of a smashing defeat in Africa had been in and out of his mind.”… An illusory fear as it turned out.
I say that “I engaged my mind” as if it were a great feat of mind. The fact is I barely read the articles – maybe like you, I barely scan them all the time. But this time the scanning sets off fear, and fear in the absence of immediate threat allows for a cognitive process regarding how the fear may be reasonable. Therein lies something interesting. The first feeling of fear came because I gathered from a social medium (Twitter) that there was something of which to be fearful: nothing more really. And actually although the cognitive process was logical, it was fired-up in particular by the reality that of course Trump could nuke Iran. Of course he could! On the other hand, what actually made that plausible as a scenario for me was the consideration that the U.S. military, the generals, would not allow whatever serious damage Iran might eke out pass by without the firiest response.
Now that I think of it, maybe we can breathe easy (and be grateful!) in anticipation of merely a couple of MOABs being chucked in a fit of rage by the military-presidential complex. It’s been ten years I think since the last one, but they are a safe little blast of heat. Them, rather than the nukes. Not even them maybe.
I can feel my heat, my tipsy-turvy feeling, my fear all reduce as I write. Not as a function of writing, but merely with hours. It was a bad dream, honestly passed on by journalists of the centre. It will reawaken in a few months or years.
While I have been writing this, I have been messaging friends, listening to one of the underrated bands of the turn of the century, Ash, laughing at Bernard Manning jokes, drinking wine. I have remembered how I felt under a holy obligation to pray on learning of the situation earlier tonight, and felt resistance to doing so for more than a few minutes. It would be too much to rely on me. As good a sign as any that it will be fine, though perhaps it will be harder to distribute oil. We will live. Many harder than some others.
I like the “We” that I made there. It includes “Me”, the thing I fearfully think of all the time. I think I will live harder than many, which is true, and I gracefully remind myself of all the millions of others in the west who will have it harder. I notice that “We-Me” in all discussion about this war. Like my selfish momentary fear of nuclear war, it is truly disgusting.
