RUTHFULLY YOURS

Let’s just say, if it walks like a horse, costs more than the GDP of Tonga, and comes with gold taps and suspiciously diplomatic aftershave, maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t park it in your metaphorical garage without a quick X-ray scan and a chat with Homeland Security.

Because Qatar, lovely little peninsula that it is, has had, well, connections. Not the “Let’s-network-over-hummus” kind, but the “hosts-the-Hamas-leadership-in-Doha” kind. Yes. Since 2012. Back when kale was just becoming a thing. They rolled out the plush carpets for Khaled Mashal, and later welcomed Ismail Haniyeh with open arms, an espresso, and possibly a beachfront view. That is, until his death in 2024 (Haniyeh’s, not the espresso’s). Qatar’s been called Hamas’s most generous foreign backer, which is quite the résumé line, even by Middle Eastern standards.

So when Qatar offers a US President a flying palace, you have to ask, Why?

Because it’s not exactly standard gift-giving protocol. It’s not a Montblanc pen. It’s not even a Cartier watch. It’s a jet. With bedrooms. And offices. And probably a button labelled “Espionage Lite.”

Still, one could argue that any self-respecting world leader with a Davos calendar and a penchant for dramatic entrances might fancy arriving in a jet that screams “Bond villain chic.” And maybe, just maybe, they assumed Donald wouldn’t notice the strings.

But let’s pause here and consider the man himself. This is the same Donald Trump who, on a state visit to Saudi Arabia, was famously filmed not drinking the beverage handed to him. Possibly because he suspected poison. Possibly because it was coconut water. But either way, the man has his limits. After the attempt on his life (which, to be fair, would put most of us off sharing baba ghanouj), you’d think he’d employ a full-time taster by now. Or at least travel with a few tins of Trump Tower-endorsed baked beans, Shane Warne-style. 

So why take the jet?

Has he not heard of the Trojan Horse? Surely Melania’s explained the general idea of history. At the very least, someone must’ve mentioned the Soviet Spy Seal?

Quick recap, in case he missed it between tee times. In the 1940s, the Soviets gave the U.S. Embassy a gorgeous wooden carving of the Great Seal. Gorgeous! Thoughtful! Treasonous! Because hidden inside was a little bug, not the cockroach kind, the “stream-everything-to-Moscow” kind. It hung there for seven years, casually collecting secrets, gossip, and sandwich orders. A tasteful piece of interior espionage.

So yes, history has a way of repeating itself. Sometimes in wood. Sometimes in Wi-Fi-enabled Gulfstream interiors with retractable jacuzzis.

What’s Donald to do? He could just say thanks and quietly shove it into a hangar in Florida next to the golf carts and the unopened subpoenas. But that doesn’t seem very festive, does it?

And while recycling may not exactly feature in the MAGA manifesto, we think there’s potential here. Regifting. It’s chic, sustainable, and suspiciously underused in diplomatic circles.

Let’s fast forward to Christmas, presidential style. There are hundreds of trees lining the corridors somewhere in Florida where Donald is wrapping presents. There’s Sellotape in his hair and ribbon trailing behind him like he’s lost a fight with a department store window display. And he has a giant glittery bow which he slaps on the nose of the soon to be regifted jet, stands back with a satisfied grin, and thinks, Now that’s recycling but who needs a shiny airborne surveillance risk this Christmas?

Enter Mark Carney, the new Governor of Canada, climate warrior by day, frequent flyer by also day. And night. And long weekends 

Donald grabs a Sharpie (obviously), scribbles on a card with the flourish of a man who’s never been told no:

“For all your trips to Davos, Mark. You eco-glide in style now. You’re welcome. Best, The Don.”

And when Qatar calls to follow up, mildly confused as to why their extremely gold, slightly suspicious jet is now being used to ferry a climate finance czar to sustainability summits, Donald just shrugs and mutters,

“Oh, it was rerouted.”

Because if there’s one thing we’ve learned from history, Greek wooden horses, Soviet spy seals, and now, apparently, Qatari flying fortresses, it’s this: If a very rich man in flowing robes offers you a massive, twinkling object and says, “It’s just a gift” do not squeal and say thank you. Do not Instagram it with #blessed. And absolutely do not board it without a malware scan and a priest.

So let us conclude. Beware of Qataris bearing jets. Or jewellery. Or anything that comes with its own fuel tank and a press release.

Because if the gift wrap costs more than your country’s national arts budget, you can bet your bottom dollar (and possibly your national security) that it comes with baggage.

And not the emotional kind.

The kind that pings satellites and files performance reviews in Arabic.