The case of the Nobel necklace

I wish that Sherlock Holmes was still alive — not that he ever was — because the fact is often stranger than fiction, and Holmes would surely have been called in to examine the case of the Nobel Necklace. The matter is this: Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado, a Nobel Peace Prize laureate, has presented President Donald Trump with her Nobel medal, which is not the same thing as presenting the Nobel Peace Prize itself, since the Nobel authorities have been quick to point out that the honor is not transferable even if the shiny object is.

It is a deeply modern scene, and if you think it sounds bizarre I would only remind you that we live in a world where banks throw confetti for opening a savings account, and Supermaxi will practically bless you at the checkout if you sign up for a loyalty card, so it is not difficult to imagine a Nobel ceremony taking place at Banco Pichincha with a balloon arch and a young staff member explaining that if you spend $25 within seven days you will earn double points toward a free packet of spaghetti, and if you maintain a minimum balance you will become eligible for the grand prize: international moral authority.

Once upon a time, the Nobel Peace Prize sounded like something anchored in reality, backed by the kind of moral compass that always points true north, suggesting that the recipient had either saved lives or dragged the world away from the edge of the abyss. Increasingly nowadays it sounds like an accessory, a sacred trinket that can be handed over in a meeting and photographed from a flattering angle, as if the medal itself contains peace in the way a rosary contains prayer.

The gesture is meant to flatter Trump, and it clearly does, because Trump seems to enjoy any kind of recognition that confers status, even when it comes from institutions he normally treats with indifference. He wants the kudos, not the kroner, and although the Nobel Peace Prize comes with roughly a million dollars, depending on the exchange rate of the day, nobody seriously believes he is chasing it for the money, since a million dollars in Trump terms is approximately the cost of re-lettering a building named after your Health Secretary.

What matters is the label. “Nobel Peace Prize” is a title that can be used like a seal, a status stamp that implies virtue even when virtue has been in short supply, and it is valuable not because it buys groceries but because it buys argument, which is far more useful in politics.

Which brings us to the first question Sherlock Holmes would ask, leaning forward over the velvet-lined case: did Machado also hand over the prize money, or was it just the medal, possibly with a ribbon attached so Trump can hang it around his neck like a 3H prizewinner at a county fair?

The press has not reported whether Machado credited Trump the $1 million by Venmo or just made a discreet purchase of Trumpbits, and since reporters are currently too busy chasing the next outrage to follow up on basic questions like “where did the money go,” we are left to guess, and the sensible conclusion is that this was a transfer of a metal object rather than a transfer of cash.

Perhaps there was also the presentation box lined with velvet, wrapped in tissue paper, secured with a tiny clasp, and carried with the solemnity of a relic, the way certain objects are carried when people want you to notice the object more than the point it supposedly represents.

We also do not know whether the medal is the original, which is the sort of thing modern life forces you to ask even when you are dealing with sacred objects: how do we know it is not a replica? Does it come with a certificate of authenticity issued by Sotheby’s? Is there a serial number, a hologram, a QR code that takes you to a page in Oslo confirming that this is the genuine article and not something ordered from Temu in a moment of political enthusiasm?

In Cuenca we understand this instinctively. If you buy an “Italian leather” wallet in the market, it comes with an accent and a wink, and you are expected to accept that you are purchasing a story as much as the object, which is why it now seems perfectly normal that the Nobel Peace Prize can circulate as a story rather than as a hard historical fact.

It also now resembles another famous badge of worldly attention: TIME magazine’s Person of the Year, which has included such notables as Hitler and Stalin. TIME has always defended itself by saying it measures influence, not goodness, and in that sense it is honest, because influence can be terrible as well as admirable, whereas a Peace Prize, in theory, should be about peace, which it is in theory, but in practice the Nobel Peace Prize has sometimes looked less like recognition of peace and more like a committee attempting to manufacture peace by rewarding hope and praying for the best.

This almost reminds Charlie of his student days in the last century, when banks were handing out free electric toasters to university students who opened new checking accounts, hoping to obtain and retain wealthy lifelong customers, as if loyalty could be bought with a chrome appliance and a handshake.

This is why to this day some people still argue about certain winners. Yasser Arafat is one of the classic examples, awarded as part of a peace process that did not deliver anything resembling peace, and Barack Obama is another, awarded so early in his presidency that it felt like an award simply for winning an election, particularly since later actions showed he was no kind of pacifist, and one does not need to be a political scientist to notice that modern presidents tend to treat war as a tool that can be operated remotely from behind the Resolute Desk.

There are other names too: winners whose biographies contain enough sharp edges to shred the velvet of the presentation case, and winners whose later histories made the original award look like a premature congratulation. Against that background, the gifting of the Nobel medal to Trump begins to make a certain sense, because it reveals what the object has become.

It is no longer a solemn recognition of achievement, but a transferable token of prestige, almost like the ceremonial key to the city, except made from a slightly better alloy with more international branding, and somewhere in Washington it may now be sitting in a glass display case in the White House Gift Shop while the world continues doing what it does best, which is continuing to squabble over trivialities.

Sherlock Holmes would file the case as solved, not because he found a solution or cracked a secret code, but because it is now obvious that without the attached cash prize, the Nobel Peace Prize medallion would be worth no more than a Temu trinket.