Kow-tow Keir, in Beijing for a spot of knee-polishing, enjoyed himself immensely. Distance to North Korea: 570 miles. Distance to the less obedient Manchester constituency of Denton & Gorton: 5,029 miles.
Sir Keir, on day two of his official trip, visited the Forbidden City (no, not Manchester) and posed in front of the 15th century imperial compound’s Hall of Supreme Harmony. Shielded by security goons and serenaded by a military band with scarily skirted amazons, the nasal knight has seldom looked happier. The British delegation was whisked hither and thither via a police motorcade which cleared the Chinese capital’s streets with rare efficiency. Downing Street’s control freaks must have envied that.
Someone told the PM that his Chinese zodiac sign was the water tiger – ‘known for kindness and intelligence but can sometimes struggle with indecision and accepting the opinions of others’. Maybe this astrology lark has something in it after all.
Sir Keir had alighted from his British Airways jet on Wednesday to have a bouquet of campanula and lilies thrust into his arms. Chinese officialdom likes flowers. Good for concealing microphones. When the slightly goofy British entourage arrived to meet President Xi at the Great Hall of the People they found the two long tables separated by a 25-yard trench of rhododendron fringed by greenery. If contemplating a career in the Chinese diplomatic service you don’t want to suffer from hay fever.
Sir Keir and his trade secretary, Peter Kyle, looked a bit jet-lagged and pop-eyed. Not so Jonathan Powell, national security adviser and veteran of many a sell-out. He lounged in his chair in a debonair fashion. While everyone else sat up close to the table, stiff-spined, Mr Powell pushed back his seat a foot or so, the better to stretch his public-schoolboy legs.
Opposite the British, v. formal, sat the waxworks of the Chinese politburo. Among them was Wang Yi, feared minister of foreign affairs, a hard nut who helped persuade Mr Xi to arm Russia’s disgusting war against Ukraine. Mr Wang gobbles Oxford twits like Powell for elevenses. He did not bother with the simultaneous-translation headphones because he speaks fluent English, a lot more faultlessly, it has to be said, than Angela Rayner.
After lunch Sir Keir was seen essaying a word of two of mandarin, pinching fingertips together in the Mediterranean fashion as he tried to say ‘xieixe’ (thank you). Mr Xi seemed baffled by Sir Keir’s rough effort and an interpreter ran to assist. Not since Sir Edward Heath’s French accent had there been such a linguistic atrocity.
Mr Xi enthused about Labour governments, saying they had made ‘important contributions’ to Sino-British relations over the years. Sir Keir, by way of return, said he wanted a ‘sophisticated’ relationship with the Xi regime. ‘Sophisticated’, like ‘nuanced’, is a word that London diplomatists such as Jonathan Powell use when they mean ‘unprincipled’.
Presents were exchanged. Sir Keir gave Mr Xi a football that was recently used in a Manchester United game. The Chinese president is a ‘red’, as United supporters (and hard-bitten commies) are known. Premier Li Qian gave flautist Sir Keir three flutes, the better to play Beijing’s tune. Mr Xi gave him a copper statue of a horse. That was the limit of his largesse. No big trade favours were done.
In describing their day, Sir Keir’s team enthused about the Forbidden City as an ‘ancient complex’. The Chinese are full of ancient complexes. In 1792, on behalf of George III, Earl Macartney led a British diplomatic mission to the Emperor Qianlong. The British arrived with a Herschel telescope, various pieces of artillery, Wedgwood pottery, clocks, watches and chandeliers. The emperor cast a leathery eye at them and said ‘I have no use for your country’s manufactures’. Macartney’s pleas for a trade deal were, said Qianlong, ‘a request contrary to our dynastic usage’.
Nothing really changes, but Mr Xi may be pleased. He has made Sir Keir look small and this trip will have irked the Americans.
