In news that has shaken the political establishment faster than a gin martini in the hands of a nervous debutante, a Trump-backed populist has swept to power in Colombia. The UK, ever the concerned parent figure to the world’s more volatile regions, has issued a statement urging ‘stability’ in Latin America. Because nothing says stability like backing a candidate whose campaign rallies looked like a fever dream of a rodeo clown and a demagogue.
The winner, a man whose name I shall not dignify by repeating here, ran on a platform of ‘draining the swamp’ of Bogota’s political elite. A swamp, I might add, that is already home to more crocodiles than a zoo in a heatwave. His victory speech was a masterpiece of rhetorical gymnastics, managing to blame Colombia’s problems on everyone from Fidel Castro’s ghost to the price of avocados in London.
The UK’s call for stability is as predictable as a hangover after a night of distillery tours. Foreign Office mandarins, in their infinite wisdom, have decided that the best course of action is to ‘engage constructively’ with a man who thinks the Paris Agreement is a cocktail recipe. One can almost hear the tea cups rattling in Whitehall as they scramble to find a diplomatic phrase that doesn’t imply outright panic.
Meanwhile, the Colombian electorate have decided that the only thing better than a corrupt centrist is a corrupt populist with a nicer smile. It’s democracy, after all. The fact that this new leader has promised to ‘make Colombia great again’ while likely pocketing the country’s emerald mines is just a minor detail. After all, what’s a little kleptocracy among friends?
I must confess, I have a soft spot for Latin American politics. It’s like watching a telenovela where everyone is armed and the plot twists are written by a coked-up Kafka. But jokes aside: the UK’s concern for stability is as genuine as a politician’s promise to resign. What they really want is continued access to Colombian coffee and a reliable source of cocaine for their weekend parties in Chelsea.
As for Trump’s endorsement, it’s the political equivalent of a leper giving you a massage. The man has the diplomatic touch of a bull in a china shop, and his support is a kiss of death that somehow still gets you elected. Go figure.
So here we are: a new era in Colombia, where the national bird will likely be replaced by a vulture in a gold chain. The UK will send a congratulatory note, carefully worded to hide the trembling hands of the signatory. And I will be at the airport, waiting for the first flight out, because there’s nothing like a populist victory to make you appreciate the quiet dignity of a British monsoon.
But hey, at least the gin will flow freely. And in this world of broken promises and shattered norms, that’s all we can really ask for.