Power Politics at a Funeral: Three Leaders, One Stage, and No Illusions

A funeral in Washington is the setting. The man honored is praised for his commitment to “security and freedom across the transatlantic community and around the world,” and, usefully for the living, for his zeal in backing Israel and Ukraine in their wars. Around this bier gather a president, an Israeli prime minister, and a Ukrainian president. They come, ostensibly, to mourn. Yet the same day, two of them are received at the White House, while the third carries an arrest warrant from an international court and the shadow of an Iran war that began months ago. In my time we said it more dryly: the gods give us temples, men turn them into councils of war.

Consider first the host. He assures the world that the Israeli leader “would not be arrested, in any way, shape, or form, while in the United States of America,” despite the warrant and the American city official who brands the guest a war criminal and urges federal arrest. This is not a legal opinion; it is a demonstration of power. As I argued in “The Prince,” in W. K. Marriott’s rendering, men judge much by the eyes; to refuse the arrest is to show allies that friendship with this ruler is a shield, and that enemies will not dictate terms in his capital.

Netanyahu arrives complaining that “it is clear to everyone that Israel has been put in the back seat,” yet he comes armed with intelligence on Iran’s nuclear program and the promise that the ongoing Iran war will be “at the forefront” of the discussion. This is virtù: to bring not pleas but information, to turn marginalization into indispensability by making oneself the key to understanding a dangerous adversary. However, when I wrote that aided arms are like auxiliaries, I warned that such power is borrowed. To need a foreign president as “their only friend among world leaders” is to place Israel’s strategy on a foundation that can move underfoot.

Zelensky, for his part, seeks commitments on anti-ballistic missile defenses while his forces strike a Russian ship aiding Iran and send hundreds of drones against Moscow’s region, according to Russian accounts. He attends the same funeral, walks the same corridors, but his request is simpler and more brutal: arms. In “The Prince” I said unarmed prophets fail; here, unarmed reformers and invaded republics fail faster. Moral appeals about peace, however eloquent, have weight only when backed by the capacity to continue the war or to impose terms. Whoever controls the flow of missiles controls not only Ukraine’s survival but its room for independent judgment.

The spectacle itself is part of the arms. A funeral in the Capitol Rotunda, a service in the National Cathedral, leaders parading in and out while cameras linger: this is ceremony used as currency. Each actor converts proximity to the dead senator’s reputation for “fighting for Israel and Ukraine” into present legitimacy. The host wraps himself in the mantle of a fallen hawk; the visitors display that they are still central to the great drama of security and freedom. The Romans understood this perfectly when they used triumphs and funerals to confirm alliances and advertise enemies. Stagecraft is not decoration; it is soft armor.

Some will object that this neglects law and morality, that an arrest warrant from the International Criminal Court, or the deaths in the Iran war, should dominate the scene. I do not say these are nothing. I say they matter only as they intersect interest. The city official who calls Netanyahu a war criminal and demands detention has no power to act, and admits it; he must appeal to federal hands. Where those hands refuse, law lies inert. In a well-ordered republic, as I argued in the “Discourses,” institutions channel such conflicts; but here, the effectual truth is that foreign policy follows power, not prosecutors.

The danger for all three is the middle course. If the American president half-supports Israel while promising Rome talks with Lebanon on some program, he may appear irresolute. If Netanyahu relies entirely on personal favor in Washington, he risks abandonment when fortunes shift. If Zelensky asks for peace and more missiles at once, he invites confusion in allies and enemies. Fortune, I once compared to a raging river, drowns those who have built no dykes. The dykes today are clear commitments, credible arms, and a reputation for decision. In this Washington week of mourning, the living either strengthen those dykes—or leave their states exposed to the next flood.