In a shocking display of the sort of stillness that usually precedes a mime artist's existential crisis, China has clammed up tighter than a nun's kneecaps after what appears to be a plane having a sudden, forceful liaison with a skyscraper in Beijing. The tower, now bearing an aeronautical kiss of death, stands as a monument to the new 'quiet diplomacy' the CCP seems to be pioneering. Meanwhile, the UK, ever the picture of stoic concern, has waded in with a request for 'full transparency,' which in diplomatic parlance is roughly equivalent to asking your neighbour to kindly stop barbecuing your cat.
Our intrepid reporters (the one with the least stains on his suit) have been positioned at the scene, where they report a profound sense of awkwardness. Chinese officials, when pressed, have offered the kind of polite, evasive smiles usually reserved for party guests who've just broken a vase. 'We are investigating,' they say, which is newspeak for 'we are currently deciding which narrative to retroactively apply to this unfortunate bit of sky-sculpture.'
The British demand for openness has been met with the sort of enthusiasm one might reserve for a tax audit. The Chinese Foreign Ministry, in a statement so carefully worded it could have been written by a committee of traumatised librarians, expressed 'deep regret over the incident' and 'hope for a comprehensive understanding of the facts.' This is about as close as they get to 'we'll have a bloody good look and let you know, promise.'
Satirically speaking, one must admire the sheer chutzpah of a nation that can stage-manage a plane crash as if it were a minor misstep in a ballet. The world holds its breath, waiting for the black box to speak, or for a conveniently timed distraction, like a panda giving birth or a trade summit. In the meantime, the UK's call for transparency rings through the ether, a lonely voice in a vacuum of official silence. It is, one might say, a classic case of 'the shadow knows but the light isn't invited.'
As we at the Daily Shambles always say, when the truth is too inconvenient, just paint over it. But until then, we'll keep the gin flowing and the satire sharp, because if you can't laugh at the abyss, you're just staring at it sober.
