In a move that has pundits reaching for their thesauruses and their blood pressure medication, President Xi Jinping has confirmed he will be popping over to Pyongyang for a chinwag with Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un. The meeting, the first of its kind in more than a decade, is being hailed as a seismic shift in East Asian power dynamics or, depending on who you ask, a particularly well-choreographed photo opportunity.
Let us be clear: this is not your average diplomatic soiree. This is a summit between two men who, between them, have the power to start a war, end a war, or simply decide that war is terribly inconvenient for trade. Xi, the eternal chairman, and Kim, the unpredictable rocket man, will sit down to discuss matters of mutual interest: denuclearisation, economic cooperation, and perhaps the optimal way to crush a Western human rights report.
The Chinese state media, never one for understatement, has framed the visit as a 'new chapter in China-DPRK relations'. One imagines the chapter will be heavy on symbolism and light on specifics, much like a Dan Brown novel. Kim, for his part, will no doubt roll out the red carpet, the nuclear briefcase, and a choir of impeccably dressed children singing odes to juche.
But what will actually come of this meeting? History suggests that summits between these two are like a game of chess played with concrete blocks: slow, ponderous, and likely to result in a stalemate. The West, ever the nervous neighbour, will watch with bated breath, hoping that this is not the prelude to a joint missile test or a coordinated snub of the United Nations.
For Kim, the visit is a chance to break out of diplomatic isolation, to be seen as a player on the world stage rather than a rogue state. For Xi, it is an opportunity to demonstrate China's status as the indispensable power in the region, the grown-up in the room who can talk to everyone, even the chap with the bad haircut and the nuclear buttons.
Rumour has it that the agenda includes a state banquet featuring Pyongyang's finest cold noodles and, for the discerning guest, a selection of locally produced soju. Xi, who is known to appreciate a good meal, will no doubt nod approvingly while Kim monologues about the merits of self-reliance. They will toast to 'peace and stability', which in diplomatic parlance means 'we agree to keep doing what we were doing, but with more smiles'.
Of course, no summit is complete without a carefully worded joint statement. Expect phrases like 'deepened mutual trust', 'shared strategic interests', and 'comprehensive partnership'. The word 'denuclearisation' will appear but will be defined so broadly as to be meaningless, like a New Year's resolution that promises to 'eat healthier' while ordering a kebab at 3 am.
The international community, for its part, will issue carefully calibrated responses. Washington will express 'cautious optimism', Seoul will note that it is 'closely monitoring the situation', and Tokyo will simply look worried, which is its default state. Meanwhile, the rest of us will be left to wonder: is this the dawn of a new era, or just another day in the bizarre theatre of geopolitics?
In the end, Xi's visit to Pyongyang will be remembered for the spectacle, the symbolism, and the sheer oddity of two of the world's most secretive leaders sharing a photo op. Whether it leads to anything substantive is a question for historians, or perhaps for the Kremlin's finest disinformation experts.
So raise a glass of Chinese baijiu, or a cup of North Korean ginseng tea, and prepare for the headlines. The summit will happen, the handshakes will be firm, and the world will carry on its merry dance of hope and scepticism. After all, in the grand tradition of diplomacy, it is not what you achieve that matters, but what you can get away with pretending you achieved.
