'Dragon-restaurant diplomacy': China's shallowness or Western bias?

The Economist, in a recent commentary on the Chinese film Once Upon a Time in the Middle East, calls China's diplomacy "dragon-restaurant diplomacy." It is a revealing term, saying more about the assumptions of those who coined it rather than about Chinese diplomacy itself. It describes China's foreign relations as driven by commercial interests and lacking the ideological "depth" often associated with politics, based on the film's seemingly simple themes of "eating well" and "raising children well."

Such an interpretation mistakes pragmatism for shallowness, equates development with mercantilism, and treats ordinary people's basic aspirations as evidence of a lack of political ideals. Yet, the real questions raised by the film are not whether food can replace diplomacy, but rather: What are peace and development ultimately for? What is the purpose of international cooperation? These are among the most fundamental questions in international politics.

A complex vocabulary is not the measure of diplomatic depth

China does indeed place great importance on economic development. For a country that endured prolonged poverty before transforming itself through sustained efforts into the world's second-largest economy, this is hardly surprising. That experience has shaped China's distinctive understanding of international relations: Development is not merely about economic indicators, but also a significant foundation for social stability, human dignity and national independence.

For many developing countries, the most urgent concerns are not abstract political theories, but whether their homes have electricity, their children can attend school, farmers can sell their produce, and hospitals function properly. They are also about whether people have access to clean water and whether roads can be restored after a disaster. To regard these concerns as less "profound" than debates over political models is itself a shallow political judgment.

The principles emphasized by Chinese diplomacy, including mutual respect, mutually beneficial cooperation, non-interference in internal affairs, development and win-win cooperation, are not devoid of political substance. On the contrary, China's Global Security Initiative advocates a vision of security that is common, comprehensive, cooperative and sustainable, and calls for "dialogue rather than confrontation, partnership rather than alliance and win-win rather than zero-sum outcomes." This is not a commercialized approach to international affairs but a different understanding of how the international order should work.

How 'eating well' can be a profound political statement

This is precisely what makes the film worth examining. Once Upon a Time in the Middle East places a Chinese chef in a Middle Eastern setting devastated by war. Rather than telling its story from the perspective of presidents, generals or diplomats, the film focuses on ordinary people trying to keep a restaurant open and simply survive. The choice may appear basic from an artistic perspective, but it carries a profound meaning.

The film's recurring emphasis on "eating well" reminds us that the ultimate purpose of politics is not to produce impressive strategic terminology, but to create a social order in which ordinary people can live normal lives.

This distinction matters because modern international politics often places the language of power above people's everyday experiences. A military victory may redraw a map, but it does not necessarily put food on a family's table. A geopolitical alliance may serve the interests of strategists, but it does not necessarily make a child safer. Sanctions may demonstrate political resolve, but they do not automatically put a hospital back into normal operation.

A restaurant, therefore, is not simply a restaurant. It becomes a metaphor for another vision of international relations: The world is not a chessboard of states and power, it is a common table at which humanity must sit together and face the future together.

A pragmatic diplomacy can still be deeply principled

The film's cross-cultural setting highlights another feature of Chinese diplomacy: respect for different cultures. A chef cannot simply transplant a familiar menu unchanged into an unfamiliar environment. When ingredients, tastes and customs differ, a successful dish often depends on adaptation rather than imposition. This is a useful lens through which to view international relations.

Chinese diplomacy does not seek to turn every country into China, nor does it assume that China's development path can be simply replicated elsewhere. Rather, China emphasizes that each country should choose a development path suited to its own national circumstances. From this perspective, China's emphasis on sovereignty and non-interference in internal affairs cannot be reduced to simply transactional considerations. It reflects China's historical sensitivity to unequal relations between countries.

Chinese diplomacy should ultimately be judged by its real-world impact. Belt and Road cooperation has continued to improve infrastructure, transport, electricity, water supply, schools, healthcare facilities and connectivity in participating countries, profoundly changing the lives of hundreds of millions of ordinary people. China is also the largest contributor of peacekeeping personnel among the five permanent members of the UN Security Council. This matters because peace is not maintained by diplomatic statements alone.

In this sense, drawing a rigid line between "development diplomacy" and "security diplomacy" is itself an artificial distinction. Development can strengthen security, while insecurity can destroy development. China's diplomatic thinking has increasingly emphasized the intrinsic connection between the two.

Why must every story be judged by a Western template?

Perhaps the most revealing aspect of The Economist's commentary is its apparent assumption that a Chinese film must be evaluated according to a Western cultural framework. If Once Upon a Time in the Middle East does not follow the narrative conventions familiar in Western war films, that does not make it artistically or intellectually inferior. In fact, its refusal to portray the protagonist as an armed hero in the conventional Western sense may be one of its most important statements.

A hero does not necessarily have to win a battle. Sometimes, what matters is keeping people alive. That is a fundamentally different cinematic proposition. Whether a film receives international recognition should not depend on whether it wins an award from a Hollywood institution. A story does not acquire universal significance simply because a Western organization declares it to possess universal value. Nor does an idea automatically become profound merely because it is expressed through sophisticated geopolitical terminology.

The significance of Once Upon a Time in the Middle East, therefore, extends beyond the film itself. It offers a cultural window through which the world can see a broader Chinese vision of international relations – one that seeks to give greater weight to peace, development, coexistence and the well-being of ordinary people on the international agenda.

This does not mean that Chinese diplomacy is entirely free of considerations of national interest, nor does it mean that Chinese diplomacy should be romanticized. But the existence of interests does not make cooperation meaningless. The real questions are whether national interests can be pursued through cooperation rather than confrontation; whether development can be shared rather than monopolized; and whether security can be achieved without compromising the security of others.

This is part of the deeper meaning behind China's proposal to build a community with a shared future for humanity. The world does not need a hierarchy of civilizations telling everyone what constitutes "profound" politics. What the world truly needs are practical answers to war, poverty, the climate crisis, food security, disease and economic fragmentation.

If The Economist coined "dragon-restaurant diplomacy" as a form of mockery, the term may ultimately and unintentionally describe an important diplomatic idea: Rather than asking "Who should sit at the head of the table?", a more meaningful question is, "Can we ensure that everyone has a seat at the table?"

A restaurant that remains open amid war can be a small act of resistance to violence. Sharing a meal across cultures can be a small step toward greater mutual understanding. And a child who can grow up in safety may be the most fundamental measure of peace. These things may seem insufficiently grand to some foreign commentators, but what could be closer to the true meaning of diplomatic success?

(If you want to contribute and have specific expertise, please contact us at opinions@cgtn.com. Follow @thouse_opinions on X to discover the latest commentaries in the CGTN Opinion Section.)