The two Don's held a press conference together.

The two Dons’ barely hidden contempt for everyone around them, their unrelenting - “We know you hate us, but we have you by the balls so fuck you all!” - gloating was something to behold.  Indeed it was impossible to tell where the mirthless smirk upon Don Trump’s face began and the scornful sneer upon Don Benjamin’s lips, ended. All that mattered was that the smirk-sneer went from one triumphant face to another without losing any of its non-reflective, critic proof sheen.

We get it. The Two Dons simply adore each other. They’re inseparable best buddies and no horribly outmoded internationalist European backed UN bullshit about crazy principals of “right of return” is going to deter them from doing what they know to be right. Don’t bother pushing any stupid legal documents about some wishy-washy Palestinian ownership of contested land in their faces; if the paper doesn’t carry the special burn mark of Jehovah, it’s worthless.  Nothing is going to stop these two visionaries from doing what they were born to do together. They’re going to make history by remaking the Middle East and no one is going to get in their way.

During the Two Dons press conference’, everyone could see the fix is already in. The Deal has been made. The two Dons are merely walking each other and us through the boring prologue of a pointless, pitiless public farce. The predictable beats of a well-worn first, second and third act will surely follow. Expensive international strategic conferences will be arranged, overpaid and largely irrelevant regional actors will be shuttled back and forth between Israel, America and the UK carrying important messages that the two Dons will not bother to read and near irrelevant congressional and senatorial puppets will have their say before the Deal is miraculously ratified.

During the Two Dons’ first staged press conference the terms of the Big Deal, as far as Don Trump is concerned, became clear.  

The Deal goes something like this: “You’re my buddy, whatever you want, you get. Don’t bother me with the details. I’m not bothered about two-state this or two-state that. I’m here. I’ve got the keys to the kingdom. Put the paper before me and I’ll sign off on whatever you want.”

Because that’s how it works in the building industry, right. This is how you roll when you’re about to build a big new casino in Las Vegas (or put up major new settlements and possibly annex the entire West Bank). Two ageing, colourful, charismatic CEO’s meet in a hotel room. They talk about, oh I don’t know, building the World’s Greatest Ever Casino in Las Vegas. They both agree there’s lots of money to be made in LA. They agree on the size of their mutual investment and come to a clear understanding of the amount of short and long-term profit they’ll both make of their lovely casino. And then they’ll get down to ticking off the big picture components: They need to secure the rights to the land, they’ve got to get the right contractors involved, they need to sort out the squabbling unions, maybe pay off a few city officials, get some dirt on the local mayor, hire a good PR firm to keep the social justice warriors quiet, make sure a few heavy rollers turn up for the opening. Then it’s a burst of firm Viagra unaffected handshakes all round. A swift exchange of a case or two of quality malt whisky and, well, that’s the end of that.

There’s no need to discuss the small details.

Small details like compensating small family businesses that will be closed down to make way for the new building, finding alternative sources of employment for ageing members of the local population who can no longer find work, supporting small initiatives to offset the inevitable environmental damages that occur during the construction of the site. Stop it. That’s all detail. Leave it all for the backroom teams.

Don Trump’s lack of concern about minor contractual issues getting in the way of his genius level big picture thinking was on plain view. Benjamin, you want a two-state solution? Go ahead. You want a one-state solution? Go ahead. Why are you bothering me about how much chlorine goes in the swimming pool? I got you the land. I got you the concrete. I paid off the mayors! You want me to come and negotiate with the unions myself. I gave you the licence for the fucking hotel, you fucking mutt! Get out of here.

Don Benjamin stood tall while his errant partner continued to blithely rip away the remaining shreds of the thin veil of public hypocrisy still hanging over their hush-hush back room dealings. The stress showed, but he remained on his feet and left the stage relatively unscathed. Those who like and respect the Israeli leader continue to like and respect him, while those who feel differently, continue to feel differently.

Unlike Don Trump, Don Benjamin plays the long game exceptionally well. He survived numerous personal scandals, the misguided follies of the Bush Jnr administration, outlasted the intellectual contempt and profound personal disdain of the Obama years and now, finally, finally, with Don Trump, he’s almost got his hands on the grand prize: an Israel that reflects his own grand vision. 

Only time will tell if Don Benjamin and his current partner of choice manage to pull off their grand project. What are the odds of Don Benjamin, in another four or eight years, standing besides another American President and enthusiastically declaring him or her to the be “The greatest friend of Israel who ever walked the earth”?