In what can only be described as the geopolitical equivalent of two toddlers comparing favourite crayons, Chinese President Xi Jinping is off to Pyongyang for a chinwag with his North Korean counterpart Kim Jong Un. A meeting which, according to UK intelligence, will involve the swapping of ballistic missile data. Because obviously the world didn't have enough things to worry about, what with the crumbling economy, the climate crisis, and the fact that we still can't get a decent gin and tonic on a budget airline.
Here's how it will play out. Xi will arrive with a delegation of Chinese bureaucrats so grey and interchangeable they could be mistaken for a flock of parking wardens. Kim will greet him with a handshake that lingers just long enough to make everyone uncomfortable. Then they will sit down in a room with walls so thick that even the sound of a breaking chair would be classified. They will talk about missiles. Not the interesting sort of missiles, mind you, the ones that go boom and make politicians elsewhere go pale but the sort of data exchange that involves spreadsheets, numbers, and the kind of jargon that makes your eyes glaze over faster than a Tupperware party.
UK intelligence has warned that this data exchange could lead to 'enhanced ballistic capabilities' for North Korea. In layman's terms, that means they might soon be able to hit a target with slightly more accuracy than a drunk darts player on a Friday night. Terrifying, I know. We've all seen the footage: a missile launching, arcing into the sky, and then landing in the sea because someone on the design team forgot to include a steering wheel. Now, with Chinese data, it could land in someone's backyard. Or, more optimistically, just a bit closer to the intended target, which is presumably somewhere that doesn't involve civilian casualties. Or does it? The cynic in me, already three gins deep, suspects not.
And what of the great international community? The usual suspects will issue statements. The UN Security Council will convene for an emergency meeting in which everyone will express 'grave concern' and then go back to doing nothing. Britain, of course, will play its part. Boris Johnson's successor will release a statement full of words like 'unacceptable' and 'destabilising' and 'we call upon both parties to desist'. But let's be realistic: Kim Jong Un cares as much about British political opinion as I care about the price of turnips in Uzbekistan. He's got his nuclear arsenal, his fatwa-defying hairstyle, and a new best mate in Xi. What more does he need?
Meanwhile, the citizens of both nations will go about their daily lives. In China, they'll be thinking about the housing bubble and the cost of pork. In North Korea, they'll be thinking about how not to starve and where to find firewood. The missile data exchange will yield about as much benefit for them as a solar-powered torch. But that's not the point. The point is the show. The summit. The theatrical handshake. The spectacle of two autocrats pretending they hold the fate of the world in their hands, when really they're just two men with God complexes and a lot of warheads.
So raise a glass, my friends. A gin, if you have one. Preferably a Beefeater, because nothing says 'British resolve' like a spirit named after a yeoman warder. Drink to the absurdity of it all. Drink to the fact that we live in a world where the leaders of two of the most secretive nations on earth are about to exchange ballistic missile data, and the only thing that will happen is a flurry of press releases and some raised eyebrows at the UN. Cheers!
