Rathnavajayen Pillai

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Nepal, that quaint, landlocked country wedged between two giant neighbors, finds itself frequently visited by esteemed guests from foreign lands. None, however, quite as “gracious” and “thoughtful” as Chinese Ambassador to Nepal, Chen Song. You see, Ambassador Chen has taken it upon himself to educate Nepal’s politicians and civil servants on the finer points of diplomacy. Not that they asked for it, of course. But when you’re dealing with a country as “helpless” as Nepal, it’s best to assume they need your wisdom, especially when it comes wrapped in the authoritative charm of Beijing’s wolf-warrior diplomacy.

Let's set the stage. It’s early 2024, and the Vice Minister of China, Sun Haiyan, graces Nepal with her presence. This isn't just any visit; it’s a masterclass in demanding diplomacy, delivered with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. She doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Why would she? She’s here to instruct—no, let’s call it what it is—order Nepal’s politicians to support China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). After all, what kind of partner would Nepal be if it didn’t comply with every Chinese whim?

In this great puppet show, Ambassador Chen is the ever-loyal puppeteer, pulling the strings behind the scenes and, occasionally, right out in the open. His recent comments—nay, commands—on Nepal’s internal affairs, its economy, and its trade policies are merely extensions of this Chinese master plan. Oh, you didn’t know? Let me enlighten you.

Chen Song, as an envoy of goodwill (or as China might have you believe), has made it abundantly clear that Nepal’s domestic policies are his concern. He has commented on everything from Nepal’s economic policies to its search operations, as if the Nepali government needed an extra hand to guide them in even the most mundane matters. For instance, when tragedy struck in Trishuli, Ambassador Chen was quick to suggest that Nepal should “take a stronger stance on search operations.” How thoughtful of him! Surely the Nepali authorities, who’ve been managing disasters for decades, were eagerly awaiting his input.

It doesn’t stop there. During his diplomatic theatrics, Chen took center stage at the inauguration of the Pokhara International Airport in early 2024. But instead of letting the Nepali officials celebrate their achievement, Chen felt compelled to declare that the airport was part of China’s Belt and Road Initiative. Now, of course, Nepal had never officially said that. But why let a little detail like that get in the way of China’s grand narrative? You see, when it comes to diplomacy in Chen Song’s world, facts are flexible—malleable to China’s will.

It’s fascinating, really. A project that Nepal funded with loans from various sources suddenly becomes a trophy in Beijing’s cabinet. Nepal must have been flattered to learn that their shiny new airport had become yet another brick in China’s BRI empire. How kind of Ambassador Chen to inform them of this development! One can only imagine the gratitude Nepal felt at having its national achievements repurposed for Chinese PR campaigns.

But wait, there’s more. Apparently, Nepal’s economic policies also needed some fine-tuning, and who better than Ambassador Chen to offer his unsolicited advice? Nepal’s trade relations with India, according to Chen, were “not beneficial” to the country. Because, of course, if anyone knows what’s best for Nepal, it’s the ambassador of a country with a history of debt-trap diplomacy. Nepal must have been thrilled to receive such valuable advice—never mind the fact that Nepal's relationship with India is centuries old, built on cultural, economic, and geopolitical ties that China could only dream of replicating.

Then came the pièce de résistance: Chen Song’s remarks on Nepal’s media. In May 2024, he demanded an apology from a Nepali journalist, Gajendra Budhathoki, who had dared to criticize China’s loan terms to Nepal. The nerve! Imagine a journalist thinking he could express his opinion without first clearing it with the Chinese embassy. It’s as if Nepal actually believes in something as frivolous as press freedom. Fortunately, Ambassador Chen was there to remind everyone that freedom of the press doesn’t apply when it comes to China.

If that wasn’t enough to solidify his place as Nepal’s most “beloved” foreign diplomat, Chen decided to double down on his critique of Nepal’s economic policies. He kindly pointed out that Nepal’s trade deficit with India was problematic, implying that China, of course, held the key to fixing it. Perhaps Nepal should abandon its sovereign economic decisions and leave it all to Beijing. After all, what’s a little loss of sovereignty in the face of economic salvation?

And now, let’s not forget the grand visit of Sun Haiyan, China’s Vice Minister, in January 2024. While her visit was shrouded in diplomatic language, the true nature of her presence was clear as day. She wasn’t in Nepal to discuss the BRI. She was there to instruct Nepali politicians on exactly how to fall in line with China’s grand plans. Sun Haiyan didn’t mince words. Her message was simple: support the BRI, or else. It’s neo-imperialism with a modern twist—no guns or soldiers this time, just diplomats armed with contracts, projects, and thinly veiled threats.

The visit was a brilliant display of Chinese diplomacy in action. Nepali politicians sat, nodded, and listened as Sun Haiyan laid out the future for Nepal—carefully crafted in Beijing, of course. After all, why should Nepal have a say in its own infrastructure development? Isn’t it enough that China has graciously decided to “help”?

If anything, Ambassador Chen should be commended for his ability to juggle so many roles—diplomat, economist, media critic, and now, it seems, a puppet master. Under his watchful eye, Nepal’s politicians and civil servants are constantly reminded of their place in the grand scheme of China’s rise. They don’t need to worry about sovereignty or independence; Chen Song has it all under control.

And so, as the curtain falls on this grand diplomatic performance, one can only marvel at the sheer audacity of it all. Ambassador Chen and his fellow Chinese delegates have turned diplomacy into a spectacle, where threats are disguised as advice, and interference is masked as assistance. Nepal, ever the gracious host, plays its part in the show, nodding along as China redefines what it means to be a “partner.”

In the end, perhaps Nepal should be grateful. After all, it’s not every day you get to witness such a masterclass in modern-day imperialism.