Does this crisis signal the death of diplomacy?

Sir Jeremy Greenstock is everything a diplomat should be: swashbuckling and discreet, sardonic and grave, everywhere and nowhere as the situation demands. He is meticulous in his language, mellifluous in his speech and never, ever, at a loss for words – the right ones, of course. It has long seemed to me that Britain's foreign relations and world harmony in general would be best served by cloning him and stationing Sir Jeremys all over the world.

Now, though, this diplomatic wizard, who is our man at the United Nations, must be held at least partly responsible for the mess we all find ourselves in over Iraq. The reason is simple: he became too good at his job.

Sir Jeremy's stellar achievement was to have drafted UN resolution 1441 and secured its unanimous passage through the Security Council. At the time – last November – this was little short of a miracle. The Security Council had been hopelessly divided about what to do about Iraq. The Americans and British were pressing for a military strike; many others were fiercely opposed. Resolution 1441 was a document on which everyone could agree.

That agreement was based, however, on a colossal deceit. Different people were allowed to believe it meant different things. Everyone could agree that Saddam Hussein was a thoroughgoing bad-hat, a serial violator of resolutions and that something should be done, starting with the return of weapons inspectors to Iraq. They even signed up to the threat of "serious consequences".

The genius of Sir Jeremy's wording was that the document could be read either as a guarantee of military action if Iraq still failed to comply, or as a means of staving off war until new breaches were proved. The furious row now in progress over the so-called "second resolution" is the price of that diplomatic deceit.

It is also, however, a sign of the times. Drafting is an art Britain's diplomats excel at, and resolution 1441 was a model. "Serious consequences" – undefined – was just one of the weasel expressions. "Material breach" – how does a "material breach" differ from a "breach"? – was another. So was a formulation now known as the "and" clause: it was not enough for Iraq to persist in non-compliance, it had to commit new violations, such as obstructing weapons inspectors, as well.

Such terms and devices are the stuff of traditional diplomacy. They help establish common ground and calm the atmosphere. To be effective, though, the pretence has to be accepted by all sides for what it is. This is probably easier when the primary purpose of the resolution is to make or maintain peace rather than trigger a declaration of war. And with 1441, more countries had an interest in exposing the pretence than in observing it.

Thus US and British officials have insisted that all signatories accepted the need to disarm President Saddam, if necessary by force, and well knew that "serious consequences" meant war. But at least three countries recorded their view, soon after casting their votes, that they did not share this interpretation and that, at the very least, a new Security Council resolution would be needed to sanction war. Some cognoscenti noted subsequently that it was the term "any means" that signified armed force, not "serious consequences".

That 1441 has been unmasked as the diplomatic device it was reflects a new and widespread mistrust of old-style diplomacy – perhaps even its unsustainability – in a world where old understandings no longer pertain and smaller countries may be less inclined to be bribed or bludgeoned into selling what they see as their national interest. The genuine indecision and tentative solidarity of the six "undecided" countries in the Security Council over the past week illustrates this.

If you add into the equation one leader (George Bush) and set of officials (Donald Rumsfeld et al), who are inherently incapable of speaking in euphemisms, and another national leader (Jacques Chirac) who has flamboyantly chosen not to, then the whole edifice of diplomacy is blown to smithereens. The natural consequence is the remarkable global slanging-match that we have seen in recent days, in which layers of diplomatic inhibition are stripped off to bare a myriad old, unsettled scores.

The British, as shown by the forthright exchanges between London and Paris, are not averse to hurling insults, but most officials and politicians feel more comfortable with the protection that diplomacy affords. In a recent radio interview, Margaret Beckett fiercely defended the British interpretation of 1441 and the "second" resolution, but sounded non-plussed when the interviewer asked: "Well, it if meant 'the use of force', why didn't it say so?"

Diversions are another well-worn diplomatic ruse. Britain's proposal of "benchmarks" to test Iraq's willingness to disarm was a transparent effort to find something extraneous that the Security Council could agree on before it tackled the vexed "second resolution" again. Sir Jeremy's efforts to explain the new document to British radio listeners, however, were marked by rare hesitation. "If it gets traction..." he said, his voice tailing off.

Perhaps, as this consummate diplomat approaches his retirement in June, the diplomatic arts as we have known them, with all their infuriating obliqueness, their euphemisms and codes, are fading into history as well.

m.dejevsky@independent.co.uk