In a move that has Whitehall spooks spilling their Earl Grey and reaching for the extra-strong mints, Chinese President Xi Jinping has embarked upon a state visit to the Democratic People's Republic of Kim Jong-un. The official line from Beijing is that this is a 'fraternal exchange of revolutionary comradeship,' which in diplomatic parlance translates roughly to 'we're going to see what we can squeeze out of the hermit kingdom before the Americans start twitching.'
Meanwhile, British intelligence, no doubt nestled in a Cheltenham bunker with a particularly fine cheddar and a thermos of something bracing, have their ears pressed firmly to the nuclear keyhole. They are monitoring 'signals' which is spy-talk for 'listening very hard for the sound of a rocket being lit or an economy collapsing.' The last time Xi visited Pyongyang was 2019, which in geopolitical terms might as well be the Cretaceous period. Since then, North Korea has tested enough missiles to make a porcupine feel inadequate, and China has been playing a game of 'let's pretend we're not best mates with a nuclear-armed lunatic' while simultaneously propping up the regime with trade and diplomatic cover.
But what does Xi actually want? Is he there to offer Kim a stern talking-to about fiscal responsibility? To suggest a swap: one denuclearisation for a lifetime supply of fermented cabbage? More likely, Xi is flexing his diplomatic muscles to remind Washington that while they are busy faffing about with Taiwan and trade wars, he can still drop in on a pariah state and emerge with his tie straight and his hands unbloodied (visibly, at least). It's a classic pincer movement: squeeze the Americans on one flank with economic clout, on the other with a nuclear ally who has zero regard for 'norms.'
The British monitoring operation is, predictably, a blend of high-tech wizardry and stiff upper lip. Somewhere in a nondescript office block, a man named Barry is frowning at a screen displaying squiggly lines that may or may not indicate a uranium enrichment facility. His supervisor, a woman named Felicity who smells faintly of gin and mothballs, will no doubt file a report that will be read by a junior minister, who will then nod gravely and ask for a summary in bullet points because the real work is elsewhere. That is, after all, how we roll.
Meanwhile, Xi and Kim will exchange gifts. Xi will likely receive a commemorative vase depicting a missile launch, while Kim will get a mysterious black box that may be a satellite phone or may be a paperweight. They will pose for photographs, looking like two men who have just realised they are wearing the same suit. And then Xi will depart, leaving behind a trail of platitudes and a slightly more confused world order.
The real question is: does this visit signal a shift in China's posture, or is it merely a bit of theatre designed to make the West sweat? The answer, as always, is both. China is too canny to openly endorse North Korea's nuclear programme, but too strategic to let it fail. So they talk, they smile, and they let the world's intelligence agencies argue over whether the latest missile test was a failure or a triumph. Meanwhile, back in the UK, the signals analysts will keep squinting at their screens, and the gin will keep flowing. Because in the great game of geopolitics, the only constants are absurdity and a good dry martini.
