In a move that has sent British diplomats scrambling for their stiffest gins, Colombia’s presidential election has taken a turn for the theatrical. The frontrunner, a chap who apparently believes that saying 'no' to the United States is a viable foreign policy platform, is now threatening to sever trade ties with the very nation that invented the cheeseburger. British diplomats, already jittery from years of Brexit-induced whiplash, are now bracing for impact like a fleet of penguins anticipating a polar bear’s tea party.
The Colombian electorate, tired of being the world’s third-largest exporter of coffee and emeralds and decidedly not tired enough of being a geopolitical football, appears poised to elect a candidate whose platform is essentially a giant middle finger to Washington. This, of course, has sent shockwaves through the corridors of Whitehall, where the Foreign Office’s Colombia desk is now manned by a single, pallid intern and a bottle of cheap sherry.
The candidate in question, a man whose charisma is inversely proportional to his economic literacy, has promised to nationalise the country’s oil reserves, build a giant statue of Simón Bolívar made from melted-down American dollars, and replace all imports with locally sourced, ethically fidgeted artisanal goods. The US, predictably, has reacted with the diplomatic equivalent of a toddler having its lollipop confiscated. Sanctions, tariffs, and sternly worded memos are being drafted as we speak.
But what of Britain? Our brave envoys, armed with nothing but Union Jack lapel pins and a vague sense of duty, are now tasked with navigating this geopolitical minefield. The trade relationship between the UK and Colombia is, let’s be honest, about as robust as a soggy digestive biscuit. We export them JCBs and they send us back flowers and bananas. Hardly the stuff of empire.
Yet the Foreign Office, in its infinite wisdom, has declared this a 'crisis of the highest order.' Briefing papers are being written, carbon copied, and misfiled. Ambassadors are being briefed on the correct pronunciation of 'Bogotá' (it’s 'Boh-goh-tah,' not 'Bug-ot-er,' you muppet). And somewhere, in a dimly lit room in Whitehall, a civil servant is weeping softly into a lukewarm cup of tea.
The real irony, of course, is that this entire farce could be avoided if the West simply embraced the idea that sometimes countries want to do their own thing. But no. Instead, we have a pantomime of diplomatic posturing, with British diplomats acting as the exasperated parents trying to calm a squabbling toddler and a hormonal teenager.
In conclusion, Colombia’s election is a masterclass in political theatre. The only question left is: will the curtain fall on a trade war, or will everyone just go home and have a nice cup of coffee? Given the current state of affairs, I’d wager on the former. But then, I’m a cynic. And a drunk. And possibly both.
