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4 min read

Cynical twists that make wars unjust

The dodgy deals and human shields of a past war still disgust George Pitcher, who questions if just war criteria remain fit for today.

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

A destroyed airliner lies on the apron of a war-torn airport.
A destroyed British Airways plane at Kuwait airport in 1991.
USN, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

In the very early hours of Thursday 17th January 1991, I was despatched as a young journalist on The Observer to the dealing rooms of Smith New Court, a worthy firm of stockbrokers in the City of London, to witness how the markets reacted to the outbreak of the first Gulf War against Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. 

A yellowing newspaper cutting shows I reported that, a little before 8am, Smith New Court’s chairman, Sir Michael Richardson watched prime minister John Major declare war on a TV monitor and then said:  

“I had a nudge on the political line a little early, so I’ve been up all night. We have to keep things tightly under control.” 

He did indeed say those words, but it’s not the whole story. Walking up to him on the dealing floor, I asked how we were positioned in the markets for war. Mistaking me for one of his dealers, my notes showed that he replied:

"Number 10 called me last night, so we could adjust our positions in oil. So we should be okay.” 

It was a magnificent example of insider-dealing, in collusion with the government. A few minutes later a Smith New Court PR woman ran up to me to say that Sir Michael hadn’t meant that and even if he’d said it, I was a guest on the floor and everything said there was confidential. 

Kuwait was always about oil. This was an insight into where the UK’s political and financial priorities lay. Richardson had been at the heart of Margaret Thatcher’s Government as an unofficial adviser to the Treasury. This was his dividend. Eventually he was to lose his dealing licence for making unsafe loans to an American entrepreneur. He died in 2003. 

I’m reminded of this story today, Thursday 21st September, the United Nations’ International Day of Peace, because it reminds me of where governments’ priorities really lie, because these are the priorities that invariably threaten peace.  

And it matters because over 300 people on board were subjected to unimaginable suffering as “human-shield” hostages.

I’m also reminded that only last week passengers and crew aboard British Airways Flight 149 are preparing legal action against the government for being treated as “disposal collateral”, as the aircraft was used to plant special forces in Kuwait in the early hours of 2nd August 1990, as Iraqi forces crossed the border. 

Their claim is that the UK government and BA have “concealed and denied the truth for more than 30 years". The issue has come to a head now because documents released in 2021 show that the Foreign Office was warned of the invasion an hour before the plane touched down.  

And it matters because over 300 people on board were subjected to unimaginable suffering as “human-shield” hostages over the following five months. 

These stories have a common thread. Smith New Court, with the government’s help, was about money. The government, with BA’s help, was about protecting its Kuwait oil reserves. It’ll be proven that the lives of innocent people mattered much less against these priorities, if they win their case. 

That should make us very angry indeed. The sheer hypocrisy of rhetoric that spoke of defending the people of Kuwait is one thing. The idea that they could simultaneously serve God and Mammon is quite another. 

But it may be that just-war criteria have failed to keep up with the motivations of global late-capitalism. 

The principles of the “just war” have enjoyed a long tradition in Christian thought. The foundations that were laid in the classical Greek school by the likes of Aristotle were built upon to provide a moral architecture for armed conflict by the Italian Dominican friar and philosopher Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century. 

The just war tradition distils into two sets of criteria:  jus ad bellum (the right to go to war) and jus in bello (right conduct within war). The former set contains consideration of “just cause” and rules out war as a simple means of recapturing things or punishing people who have done wrong. The second includes matters of proportionality. By these clauses, combatants must ensure that harm caused to civilians or civilian property is not excessive in relation to military advantages gained.  

In the second war with Iraq, an adventure that prime minister Tony Blair started with US president George W Bush in 2003, neither of these criteria arguably were met, along with others besides. To paraphrase Wilde, they knew the price of oil and values counted for nothing. 

But it may be that just-war criteria have failed to keep up with the motivations of global late-capitalism. Economic dependence on oil is now more usually something we hear about in the context of the green movement’s war on the climate crisis. Dependence on oil actually has a firmer grip on political control of the cost of living in western democracies. 

These are not issues that occurred to hot-shot stockbrokers playing war games in 1991, nor to a privatised national airline allegedly being requisitioned for military purposes. But it’s surely not too much to hope that the senior actors in either instance should have summoned at least a religious folk memory to say: No, this isn’t right.  

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Culture
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War & peace
5 min read

The story from a galaxy far, far away that's just made for these times

Andor holds up a galactic mirror to our media-saturated world.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A montage shows the lead characters from Andor.

It’s an unlikely setup for success: a series set in a forgotten corner of the galaxy, a prequel to a prequel, telling the backstory behind Rogue One - the fourth highest-grossing Star Wars film. It’s a show with none of the original characters—no Darth Vader, no Luke Skywalker, no Obi-Wan. And yet, Andor has garnered widespread critical acclaim and fan appreciation. This Disney+ series has become the first true Star Wars content for grown-ups. 

Disney invested heavily in acquiring the rights to both the Marvel and Star Wars franchises, paying $4 billion for each. The returns have been massive—an estimated $13 billion from the Marvel Cinematic Universe and $11 billion from Star Wars. Yet, despite the financial success, something has been lost along the way: mediocre storylines, convoluted time-travel plots, and repetitive tropes have dulled the creative edge. 

But Andor stands apart. It offers something different—a grounded, character-driven narrative with rich, resonant themes that speak directly to today’s audience. 

Tyranny needs resisting at all levels

Andor follows a number of intersecting character arcs. Although the series is named after Cassian Andor (played by Diego Luna), a disillusioned smuggler turned Rebel Alliance operative, the story is much larger than a single man.  

As the Empire tightens its grip—both openly through military might and brutality, and in the shadows with a vast array of spies, surveillance, and an ever-expanding intelligence network—the need for resistance at every level becomes urgent. Those with a voice need to speak up while there is still a semblance of democracy and freedom of speech. Money is required to fund an insurgency and foot soldiers from all walks of life need to be found and prepared to rise and challenge the systemic injustice and rising imperial oppression. 

Enter Cassian Andor, orphaned at age six and adopted by Maarva and Clem Andor. His early experiences with poverty and oppression awaken something within him—something that solidifies when Clem is executed by stormtroopers. At the other end of the spectrum is Mon Mothma, born into privilege and political influence. Her arc centres on a moral crossroads: whether she will risk her status, her wealth, and her safety to support the resistance from within the halls of power. 

The relevance of Andor's message couldn’t be timelier. In an era marked by rising authoritarianism, disinformation, and increasing political polarization, the show insists that tyranny must be resisted at every level. It reminds us that democratic institutions are fragile, and silence in the face of injustice enables oppression to grow unchecked. Whether it’s fighting against despotic leadership, the erosion of freedom of speech, or systemic inequality, Andor suggests that the burden of resistance cannot simply fall solely on the heroic few. It requires people at every level of society to act with courage, integrity, and purpose before it’s too late. 

 Truth matters 

One important storyline in Andor is how the Empire constructs a moral justification for its actions through state-controlled, propagandist media. Good people can be manipulated, and truth can be twisted. In real time, we witness spin doctors denying or reframing the brutality unfolding around them—even as the Empire violently crushes a peaceful protest in Gorman. 

Showrunner Tony Gilroy uses every world-building tool at his disposal to draw parallels with both historical and contemporary injustices. For instance, the costuming of the Empire’s senior leadership and Imperial Security Bureau agents evokes eerie similarities to Gestapo uniforms. In contrast, the Gorman resistance fighters appear as if they’ve stepped off the set of Les Misérables, echoing the June Rebellion of 1832. They even speak in a French-accented galactic dialect, reinforcing the connection. 

It's difficult not to read this as a critique of how modern news outlets reframe and re-narrate global conflicts—such as the war in Israel and Gaza—to suit and shape their audiences. This agenda-driven reporting distorts facts and desensitizes viewers, often at the expense of those suffering on the ground. The complicity of the press in disinformation and facilitating or justifying atrocities, is contributing even today to ongoing humanitarian crises in places like Sudan and Gaza. 

In a supposedly post-truth era, Andor reminds us that truth still matters. The series holds up a mirror to our media-saturated world, revealing how outrage is manufactured, narratives are controlled, and reality is often mediated through selective storytelling. It challenges us to reflect on the reliability of the news we consume—and on our own role in questioning or accepting the stories we're told. 

Which side are you on? 

One of the most compelling aspects of Andor is its portrayal of parallel lives on both sides of the conflict. While much of the action follows Cassian’s transformation from smuggler to reluctant operative to key rebel leader, we also witness the rise of Dedra Meero—a driven, ambitious surveillance officer within the ISB, the Empire’s intelligence arm. 

Dedra begins as an underdog fighting workplace sexism in a male-dominated bureaucracy. But as her career advances, so does her capacity for cruelty. She becomes one of the Empire’s most ruthless enforcers, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone in her relentless pursuit of Rebel operatives. Her story is a chilling reminder of how authoritarian systems reward efficiency and zeal, no matter the moral cost. Ironically, her single-mindedness may end up helping the rebellion—her recklessness potentially exposes secrets about the Death Star. 

Throughout the series, we see similar tactics employed on both sides—surveillance, betrayal, sacrifice. The only difference is the larger narrative arc that ultimately vindicates the Rebellion’s cause. But in building complex, believable antagonists like Dedra, Andor shows us the banality of evil—how ordinary people, convinced they are doing the right thing, can become instruments of oppression. 

The question the series leaves us with is chillingly simple: in a world sliding toward growing injustice, which side are you on? 

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