In a diplomatic spectacle that promises to be equal parts pantomime and geopolitical chess match, President Xi Jinping is set to toast the Dear Leader Kim Jong Un with a glass of something suspiciously clear (not gin, alas) in Pyongyang later this week. This rare face-to-face, the first in five years, comes as Britain, ever the eager third wheel, announces a fresh batch of Indo-Pacific handshakes and naval patrols. One cannot help but wonder if the Foreign Office has been sniffing glue again.
The Xi-Kim summit, which the Chinese state media has already dubbed a 'historic gesture of fraternal solidarity,' is a masterclass in tin-pot theatre. Xi, fresh from scolding the West about 'interference,' will presumably lecture Kim on the virtues of socialist harmony while ignoring the small matter of nuclear warheads. Expect plenty of awkward handshakes, suits that don't quite fit, and carefully choreographed smiles that wouldn't fool a toddler. Meanwhile, in London, a ministerial source (probably called Jeremy or Penelope) has declared Britain will 'deepen its commitment to regional security' by offering more Type 31 frigates and a consignment of Union-Jack-printed tea cosies. Splendid.
This intercontinental two-step is a symphony of absurdity. Here we have two autocrats, one overseeing a gulag-studded hermit kingdom and the other a technocratic surveillance state, meeting to discuss 'mutual respect for sovereignty.' It is like watching two spiders negotiate territorial rights over a fly. The British response, ever the colonial hangover, is to send a gunboat and a sternly worded press release. Does anyone believe the Royal Navy's presence in the South China Sea will deter Xi? It is the equivalent of bringing a soggy crumpet to a knife fight.
The real comedy lies in the newsprint hand-wringing. Pundits, in their desperate search for a narrative, will clutch at the usual straws: 'Dangerous axis,' 'New Cold War,' 'Britain's role in the Indo-Pacific.' But the truth is simpler and sadder. This is a bunch of men in grey suits, all of whom have done terrible things for power, posing for cameras while the world's real crises (climate, inequality, the quality of airline peanuts) go ignored. The Xi-Kim meeting is a photo op for the ages, a chance for both to distract their populations from domestic failings. Britain's response is a dead cat bounce, a desperate bid to remain relevant in a world that has already moved on.
And the language! From Xi's 'concrete actions to promote denuclearisation' (a phrase so weaselly it could slither through a keyhole) to the Foreign Office's 'unwavering support for the rules-based international order' (uttered with a straight face, no less). The entire affair is a festival of claptrap. My advice: ignore the summit, ignore the press conferences, and instead watch the coverage for the subtle tells. Watch for the twitch in Kim's eye when Xi mentions 'shared destiny.' Watch for the bead of sweat on the British Prime Minister's forehead as he tries to explain why sending a destroyer to the Pacific is not pure theatre. Watch for the empty boilerplate that passes for diplomacy.
We live in an age of political theatre, where every handshake is a performance and every statement is a lie wrapped in a euphemism. The Xi-Kim summit is the premiere of a new production: 'The Farce of the East.' Britain is the understudy, desperate for a speaking role. I, for one, will be in the bar. The gin is cheap and the tonic has a distinct note of despair. Perfect for such an occasion. The only question is whether the world's diplomats have the courage to admit it is all a game. They won't, of course. They never do. That would require irony, a quality sorely lacking in men who covet power.
So raise a glass of paint-thinner vodka to Xi and Kim, a toast to the pantomime of statecraft. And spare a thought for the poor British sailor on patrol in the South China Sea, dreaming of a quiet pub in Southampton. This is serious business, after all. At least until the gin runs out.
