A man of questionable character

My father used to say that a man of questionable character remains a man of questionable character, even in a well-pressed suit. He’d toss that phrase out like a stone into the pond at the farm, and the ripples would spread slowly, knowing the truth would eventually reach every corner. And now, looking at Antonio Guterres, with his calm voice and neatly adjusted tie, that phrase comes back with force. My father wouldn’t need to explain anything further; his look would say everything.

Guterres, with his measured speech, talks about “civilian objects” as if the main problem were the pagers that exploded, not the people using them—terrorists, mostly. But for him, it’s easier to talk about devices than to face the reality of who uses them. He weighs his words with the lightness of someone who’s never had to choose between life and death. For him, everything is about “restraint” and “proportionality,” as if reality could be solved with a cold, distant equation.

My father, with his simple wisdom, always told me to be wary of people who speak too beautifully. “Words that are too polished, son, are meant to hide dirt.” And now I see he was right. Guterres hides his stance behind a veneer of neutrality. He pretends to be balanced, but when it comes to Israel, the scales consistently tip against those who are just trying to survive. Talking about “restraint” is easy when sirens don’t rip you from sleep at night. From his comfortable distance, he will never understand what it means to live under constant threat.

I can picture my father shaking his head with that short, joyless smile. “Son, people like that never change. They can wear any suit, but they’re always the same.” And he was right. With his calculated speeches, Guterres diverts attention from what truly matters. While he worries about maintaining the image of an impartial diplomat, we here worry about staying alive. And in the real world, neutrality isn’t an option. Either you support those who want to live, or you oppose them.

What exhausts me the most is the ease with which he talks about “balance,” as if pain could be measured and shifted from one side to the other according to the needs of the speech. Guterres isn’t concerned with those who are genuinely suffering. He only cares about the image he projects, about seeming above the conflict, as if peace were something he could manipulate with words. But my father, with his simplicity, could see beyond that. In this case, neutrality isn’t a virtue—it’s collaboration. And when it comes to Israel, this collaboration wears the disguise of good intentions and measured words, but deep down, it’s the same old anti-Semitism dressed up.

In the end, my father was right. The suit, the tie, the pretty words—none of it changes what a man truly is. Guterres can keep dressing himself in diplomacy, but aa man of questionable character in a suit is still aa man of questionable character.