In film and in life, China pursues dragon-restaurant diplomacy | World News

“WELCOME TO Dragon Restaurant”, a new Chinese box-office hit set in a thinly disguised Iraq, will not win any Oscars. The plot is outlandish, many characters cartoonish. Yet people outside China should still watch it. For one thing, it depicts the American invasion of 2003 from an unfamiliar vantage: not the green-tinged light show beamed into Western homes, but the shriek and crash of bombs slamming into a slumbering city, shocking and awful.In following a Chinese chef who profits from the war until it turns on him, the film also carries political significance. It sheds light on China’s self-image and its positioning in the Middle East and beyond. If it seems absurd to read so much into a movie, remember that commentators have used another one, “Wolf Warrior”, as shorthand for China’s aggressive diplomatic stance over the past decade. Dragon-restaurant diplomacy reflects a different style—and a better approximation of Chinese foreign policy in the round. Its organising principle is to be friends to all people, motivated more by mercantilism than political ideology. The approach, both in the film and on the ground, is often superficial and contradictory. Yet it would be a mistake to ignore its appeal to countries tired of overweening Westerners.The hero of the film (which in English is officially called “Once Upon a Time in the Middle East”) is Xu Fu. He moves to a fictionalised Baghdad in the hope of making more money from his cooking. When war starts, he discovers the lucrative “green zone” that houses the American forces. Western soldiers and, ahem, journalists like his food and love his booze. He rakes it in, until a suicide-bomber strikes. His former business partner is implicated, so Xu spends time in an American jail. Later, Islamic militants capture him. Chinese state media and intellectuals have heralded the film as a parable of what China offers a world wrecked by America. Yet there is more to the film, not all of it flattering to China.A central conceit is that China wants to be liked by everyone. Xu Fu is a paragon for any good, nimble Chinese diplomat. His local partner is an official in the pre-war regime; Xu stays loyal to him even after he loses power. American soldiers also grow fond of him and, especially, his cooking. So does the terrorist mastermind who seizes him. Through it all, Xu sees their common humanity. The film, to its credit, is not blind to the tensions. “Your partner was the perpetrator. Your friend was the victim. You really think you’ve got nothing to do with this war?” an American soldier asks him. That might prompt self-reflection in Chinese officials who protest neutrality in the Russia-Ukraine war and are peeved when Westerners point out that China’s supplies and cash keep the Russian forces going. You really think you’ve got nothing to do with this war?Xu’s motivation also rings true. He is both candid and shameless at the outset in his desire to make a quick buck to pay off debts. As his Chinese partner reflects, profiting from war is a stroke of luck. It is a small example of the opportunistic commercialism that drives much Chinese activity overseas. It sounds grubby. But for countries on the receiving end, it is often welcome—a contrast to the perception that Western funds come with strings attached. Ren Zhengfei, founder of Huawei, a technology giant, has made it his maxim: “In business, speak only of business.” Tuning out politics is partly why China manages to straddle antagonistic divides in the Middle East and beyond. Think of Iran versus the Gulf monarchies, Algeria versus Morocco, Egypt versus Ethiopia—most countries pick a side in these squabbles. Not China. In many countries, those doing business with it happily go along with the idea, however illusory, that politics takes a back seat to business.Another characteristic of dragon-restaurant diplomacy is its thinness. Later in the film, Xu is imbued with humanitarian aims, working to save orphans. Yet he is a reluctant saviour. At one point a friend tells him: “You should have stayed out of it. These are not your children.” In the end, he takes this counsel, returning to China and leaving it all behind. The film’s anti-war message, in Xu’s words, is to “eat well and raise your children well”. Not much to disagree with there. But it speaks to the limits of Chinese support for partners abroad. China is wary of entanglements, especially of the military variety. Iran and Venezuela learned that this year. “It is a matter of managing expectations,” says Karim Alwadi, an expert in Sino-Arab relations. “China is not interested in being a security guarantor.”The chef’s specialFor Westerners who were disturbed by China’s wolf-warrior turn, the rise of dragon-restaurant diplomacy may seem a big improvement. Sprawling across so much ground, it may appear toothless, even naive. In reality, it is a formidable challenge. For all its contradictions, it appeals more to other countries than trying to tariff or, worse, bomb them into submission. And investment dollars, when they materialise, beat morality lectures.Yet China risks being seduced by its own cooking. One real-life inspiration for the film was Liu Lei, who quit his tech job and moved to Baghdad in 2003 to open a restaurant. In his co-authored memoir, “Making Money at Death’s Feet”, it was a young Japanese anti-war campaigner, not Mr Liu, who was the real humanitarian. She worked as a waitress in his restaurant and every afternoon collected leftovers to bring to an orphanage. That plotline would have struggled to get past a Chinese censor. In trying to be friends to all, China makes one glaring exception: Japan. Xi Jinping accuses the country of reviving its militarism. He cannot accept that Japan might want peace as much as China professes to. In dragon-restaurant diplomacy, China decides which truths to serve.