Bono Shouldn’t Be Speaking on Gaza — He Should Be Apologizing for Iraq

He helped whitewash war crimes, but now wants the moral high ground?

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There was a time when Bono walked into a room and people cared. When U2 wasn’t just a band, but a musical juggernaut, packing stadiums, soundtracking revolutions, and preaching peace through amplifiers loud enough to shake regimes. That time is long gone. Today, Bono is less prophet, more parrot — a fading frontman chasing relevance in a world that has moved on. And like many rockstars past their prime, he’s turned to a different kind of stage: the global moral high ground.

His latest sermon came at the Ivor Novello awards, where he called on Hamas to release hostages and urged Israel to free itself from the grip of “far-right fundamentalists”. Predictably, The Guardian framed it as brave. But it wasn’t. Not really. This is just the latest bit of cosplay from someone who has spent years posing as a statesman but not living as one. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, but we should always ask where it comes from and who it benefits. Because for all his talk of justice and peace, Bono has consistently aligned himself with power, not necessarily truth.

This is the same man who once cozied up to Tony Blair, the man who greenlit the invasion of Iraq leaving cities in ruins and families destroyed. Bono didn’t just shake his hand, he praised him. While Fallujah burned and Baghdad mourned, Bono was backstage with the architects of war, trading smiles and sipping champagne. It was so galling, so tone-deaf, that even his own bandmate Larry Mullen admitted he cringes at the sight of Bono arm-in-arm with Bush and Blair. When your own drummer can’t stomach your guestlist, perhaps it’s time to admit you weren’t bridging worlds, you were just flattering war criminals.

When Bush and Blair launched an invasion on a lie, Bono didn’t protest; he rationalized, wrapped it in humanitarian-speak, and smoothed it over with charity gigs and soft-focus press junkets. And what was the cost of that war Bono helped sanitize? Not just a shattered Iraq, but a region ripped apart. Syria destabilized. Libya in ruins. ISIS rising from the ashes. Millions displaced. Hundreds of thousands dead. And let’s not pretend Europe hasn’t paid the price. Mass migration. Terror attacks in London, Manchester, Paris, Brussels, Berlin. The consequences of Bono’s silence weren’t confined to Mesopotamia but rippled across continents.

Above: President George W. Bush is pictured signing the H.J. Resolution 114, which authorized the use of force against Iraq.

Has the Irishman ever visited the hellhole he helped justify through silence and photo ops? Has he walked through Mosul’s ruins or spoken to the maimed children of Basrah? Or does he just prefer pontificating from Swiss balconies in Davos?

Let’s talk about Davos, that velvet-lined womb of moral decay where the world’s wealthiest gather to pose as saviors. Bono is practically a fixture there. In a sea of detached elites, he still manages to present himself as the conscience of the room, despite being one of them in every way that counts. He sits on panels beside pharmaceutical CEOs, oil barons, and financiers who siphon the future from entire nations, all while selling a version of “compassion” that neatly aligns with their portfolios. Bono fits right in. Not because he’s changed the system, but because he’s been absorbed by it.

Long immersed in elite circles, Bono proudly presents himself as the planet’s moral conscience — yet one cannot confront the horrors of one war while turning a blind eye to another.

His toxic brand of activism has always been wrapped in a designer scarf and shades, delivered from the glossy podiums of Silicon Valley and the donor banquets of the ultra-rich. The (RED) campaign, marketed as world-saving philanthropy, became a tax-friendly marketing scheme that helped Apple sell iPods and let Big Pharma polish its halo. And let’s not forget, while he sermonized about fairness and poverty, U2 quietly shifted its massive earnings through Dutch tax shelters. Bono demands world governments give more, but makes sure he gives less. “Do as I say, not as I incorporate” is his defining mantra.

There’s something grotesquely sanctimonious about a multimillionaire rockstar with a private jet lecturing war-torn nations about peace. A man who lives behind gates, dines with kings, and tells us the problem is “us”. Not the elites. Not the governments. Us. The children of Abraham “in the rubble of our revenge”, he says, as if he’s lived among them. As if he’s one of them. As if he hasn’t spent two decades building an image off of the suffering of others.

But really, this isn’t about Gaza or peace or even politics. It’s about keeping U2 in the headlines. About squeezing the last few drops of cultural relevance from a band that hasn’t released a meaningful song in over twenty years. A band that once wrote anthems and now re-records their greatest hits in stripped-down Spotify-friendly formats that no one asked for. A band that once defined an era now clings to its legacy like a drowning man clutches to driftwood.

And this is where we must talk about Ireland. Because the Irish have a nose for fakery, unchecked ego, and disingenuous intent. It’s why Conor McGregor, once the toast of a nation, is now seen as a cautionary tale. Swagger without substance doesn’t last long back home. It’s also why Bono, despite his global stature, is constantly viewed with suspicion, from Dublin to Donegal. There’s something about his preening moralism, his love of elites, and his constant proximity to cameras and causes that just doesn’t sit right. The Irish don’t kneel for saints manufactured in PR departments.

Bono’s political posturing is not rebellion — it’s marketing. It’s a rebrand disguised as righteousness. He’s no longer a threat to power; he is power. He’s no longer raging against the machine; he’s the background music in its lobby.

In the end, Bono may still think of himself as a prophet, but the world sees a parody. The Guardian may still clap. The award shows may still hand him trophies. But the rest of us are left wondering if the man who once cried out “How long must we sing this song?” is even listening anymore. The answer is painfully clear: far longer than we should have to.