It is probably blasphemy, or sacrilege, or at least very rude, but whenever I see the Dalai Lama, I think of him as speaking in the voice of the late Mike Reid, who played Frank Butcher on EastEnders. It must be the tinted specs. ‘Look, me old China,’ he croaks, pinching at the bridge of his nose, ‘I know you got to look your best right now, what with them Olympics. I ain’t exploiting that. I ain’t orchestrating nuffin’. I’m only a monk, innit? Barry! Tell ’er!’
I’ll be eating my hat on this in a week or two, if the dusty Tibetan streets run red, but for now, hurrah for the Olympics. Suddenly, they aren’t just about reinforcing our stereotypes of east European women, or a dogged global refusal to concede that the Ancient Greeks didn’t have judo or bicycles. Suddenly, they are global macropolitics. China is playing nice.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in