María Corina Machado is a deserving winner of the Nobel peace prize, and Donald Trump an even more deserving loser. The fact that he garnered almost as much attention for not getting the award as she did for winning it should be added to the long list of reasons why he never should receive what is one of the most prestigious honours on earth. Ditto the nature of his relentless campaign, based like most of his campaigns on lies and half-truths, self-aggrandising boastfulness and exaggerations.
I might add that even if – and it is a very big if – the fighting stays stopped in the Middle East, Trump would still not be a worthy winner of the prize, because peace is not just about bombs falling silent, but the process that follows, and the hard work and humanity that go into building it.
There was a hint in the commendation for the Venezuelan opposition leader as to why Trump would not deserve it. Machado, said the judges, is a “woman who keeps the flame of democracy burning amidst a growing darkness”.
Trump is a big part of the growing darkness. In his own country he is tearing down the guardrails that protect democracy against autocracy; he has undermined the rule of law at home and abroad; he has eroded the importance of truth, fact and scientific knowledge; he has undermined democratic and international institutions in a way that makes the world a less stable and less peaceful place.
You may remember that my recommendation for the Nobel peace prize was USAID, an organisation that has kept hope and people alive in trouble spots and disaster zones around the world. Trump scrapped it based on myths peddled by his then best friend Elon “DOGE” Musk, and as a result people who would otherwise live will die.
The United Nations and its various organisations have won the Nobel peace prize 12 times for the work done to spread peace and prosperity and to address major crises and challenges facing the world. Trump’s malevolent influence on the UN, and his deliberate undermining of it, is another reason why he can never be considered worthy of the medal he clearly covets even more than the Fifa Club World Cup winners’ gong he stuck in his pocket when invading the podium following Chelsea’s victory.
Then there is the question of motivation. Frankly, to want it so much, and so needily, is demeaning both of the US presidency and of the Nobel process. Financial motivation, too: the Scandis are notoriously hard to corrupt. I hope they share my queasiness at seeing Trump and his family, not least his son-in-law Jared Kushner, who got very wealthy on the back of Trump’s first term, mixing private and public roles so blatantly.
Steve Witkoff, the US Special envoy to the Middle East, is also making sure that he and his sons, like Trump’s, don’t miss out on all the lucrative opportunities that come from daddy getting so close to some of the richest countries in the world.
We should all be prepared to give credit where credit is due, and Trump clearly played a crucial role in recent events. That does not negate any of the monstrosities for which he has been responsible, does not forgive the lies or excuse the corruption, and no amount of well managed performative presentation should blind us to the reality of who and what he is.
“Blessed are the peacemakers,” he said, announcing the Israel-Hamas deal. Indeed. But so, if we know our Beatitudes, are the meek, the mourners, the hungry and the persecuted, and he has shown a lot less interest in the meek, the mourners, the hungry and the persecuted of Gaza than he has in a gold medal weighing 175g.
Is it my age, or my capacity for friendship, which means that most weeks I seem to have at least one funeral to attend? This week was that of Stuart Prebble, veteran broadcaster, author of more than a dozen books, founder of two successful TV companies, creator of Grumpy Old Men and Portrait Artist of the Year, CEO of ITV and so much more, who became a friend when making a series of BBC documentaries about my diaries, then films about my mental health, and a series of interviews with big names. (I said no to Grumpy Old Men, though I did sit for a portrait!)
As funerals go, it was one of the best. At many funerals you hear tributes from family, alongside speeches from colleagues, and often you feel two different people are being described. There was only one Stuart, and his moral integrity shone through all of the speeches.
His wives – past and present, Marilyn and Sam – spoke wonderfully, as did other family members, while Richard Madeley made one of the best tributes I have heard in a long time, about male friendship. Parm Sandhu, former Met police chief superintendent whom Stuart helped to expose sexism and racism in the police, reminded us of the qualities that made him a terrific journalist as well as a fine man.
The sun shone. The birds sang in Richmond Park. Hundreds turned out to say thanks and farewell. Like me, Stuart was not a God person, and like me, he wanted a lot of music at his funeral.
Eric Clapton figured large, played by Stuart’s stepson and a friend. And the whole thing was rounded off by Rick Wakeman, his hair a lot shorter than in his heyday, his frame a bit chunkier, but the music as wonderful as ever. “Gone but not forgotten” indeed.
Nathan Gill. Nathan Gill. Nathan Gill. If you haven’t heard of him, (in common with the vast majority of British people), Google it. And ask yourself what has happened to journalism that a former MEP, leader of a political party in Wales, friend and ally of Nigel Farage who admits taking bribes from Russia, is not deemed newsworthy?
It was a pleasure to be involved, remotely, in the McKinnon Institute ceremony in Canberra honouring Australian politicians who have shown exceptional leadership. The main federal award was shared between two MPs from opposite sides of the aisle, Liberal MP (that’s Tory in English money) Julian Leeser and Labor’s Josh Burns, who have worked together, and become friends, in campaigning to combat antisemitism since the atrocity of October 7.
MPs get such a bad rap, from public and media alike, so it is great when the good they do is recognised. We could do with seeing more politicians from different parties working together, campaigning together, and showing that politics is not simply a matter of tribe v tribe.
It took a full-scale hospital theatre operation to extract a rotten wisdom tooth that my dentist had said was too close to the nerve and too complicated to do without a “proper oral surgeon”. So off to the University College Hospital again and into the safe hands of doctor-dentist Deepti Sinha.
Despite explaining that I am a total wimp when it comes to pain, she decided local anaesthetic was enough. The wimpishness kicked in though, a full-time hand holder was appointed from among her team and yet still my groaning groaned on. During a short break in their drilling and sawing and my groaning and moaning, I suggested the pain I was enduring must be on a par with childbirth for a woman.
As the offending tooth was finally removed, and my tensed-up body began to relax a little, Deepti announced the happy news: “It’s a boy!” she exclaimed. Feminism at its finest.
