Cameron is lecturing the Chinese about treatment of their people, when he is on a mission to crush the poor and make universities unattainable to many young people in his own country.
He will have seen the protests today and probably his first concern was for his wife and children. Most people just want their families to be safe and secure, but he is in the process of removing both these things from many peoples lives.

Why is the West constantly telling the Chinese how to run their country.

You don't see the Chinese telling the West how to run its affairs.

It is sheer arrogance to act as if the West' s systems are superior especially in the face of China doing very well for itself, thank you.

Hello! Here in Smolensk butcher shop we marvel at strange dream local egghead Student Arkady recount in shop today.

Arkady: With so much talk about China recently, I decide to do some research. Before sleep last night, I read about two expeditions aiming to open Chinese markets to Britain: David Cameron’s and a late 18th Century mission led by Lord Macartney. Gradually, I drifted off to sleep, thinking of tricorn hats and silks and clashes of civilisations and then and now. And I dreamed. I dreamed I was David Cameron!

In my dream I feel great power. Power radiates from me, especially from my shiny face, no longer covered with acne, but with sunspots. But I’m nervous, even surrounded by my four deferential Ministers, heeding every word falling from my shrunken round mouth. For I am meeting a man of more awesome power. A Great Man. The blood pounds in my head. I think to myself “Pull yourself together. He’s not an Emperor. He’s like a businessman, in a suit, your sort of person, ever since you wore your first business suit on the day you were born. No. It won’t be like the past. No debate on kowtowing. A simple handshake. Business.”

Suddenly, a huge gong sounds. And the Great Man appears, modestly dressed in a dark suit, bespectacled, calm, wise. But his entourage comprises millions and stretches towards infinity. There are starbursts of fireworks and swirling streamers and music from endless bells and drums. And the Great Man rides upon a dragon. My entourage responds in kind, holding up limp Union Jack bunting, letting off a Party Popper and stumbling over the chorus of “Angels”. And already, there’s a problem. One of my Ministers grovels on the floor. “What are you doing?” He raises his head and looks at me quizzically. “You said I should atone for my police state remarks.” “Yes, but dignity Michael. They’re not Free School investors.” “They might be.”

Our host smiles and dismounts. “Please gentlemen there is no need, we are not lofty, there will be no standing – or lying – on ceremony.” And he shakes my hand and we all shake hands with his senior people and he motions us to sit, as a long table suddenly appears, stretching it seems towards eternity, snaking through a vast space, more like a great fortification than conference furniture, with chairs now mounting surprisingly high, as we ascend into the clouds.

“And now Dave – you don’t mind me calling you Dave, do you? Such a wonderful name, so much dignity and resonance! Oh and by the way, you keep it simple too. Just call me Excellency. Now, shall we get the formality over?”

“Formality?”

“Oh come, come, you know. And believe me, it shall in no way influence my reaction that your Great Ally advocates water torture, illegal incursions, and detention without charge.”

“We would like you to consider doing better on human rights.”

“Noted.”

“And I would like to say the word, erm, (cough)”

“Tibet?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“And perhaps you should consider releasing, erm, releasing, erm –”

“The Nobel Peace Prize Winner Liu Xiaobo?”

“Yes.”

“Noted. Good. Excellent. Fighting talk! Spirited!” He smiles. “And now to business. And as I understand it gentlemen – and how interesting that you are all gentlemen – you have changed your tune. We have all you need, armies of workers who will diligently assemble your trinkets and baubles, and you have been content to buy, and you have been happy for our prudent saving to underpin your spending sprees. But now you want less of what we offer...”

“Well not exactly...”

“And you want us to buy. So. What do you offer? From the flowers in your lapels, opium perhaps?” We freeze. “Just my little joke. We know you – you – are no longer imperialists.” He smiles and we laugh nervously. “So. Proceed.” My senior Minister, who has a pale and fattening face, offers a deal for jet engines.

“Ah,” says our host, “Rolls Royce. So reliable with Quantas. Who knows? Maybe the sight of a burnt out engine on one of our planes will provide useful bargaining for us, perhaps collapse the share price of Rolls Royce, then maybe we will buy it.” Again we freeze. “Aha! You will get used to my humour, gentlemen, in good time. But of course. Rolls Royce are the envy of the world. We will take this deal. We have already accepted a deal with Tesco. We like their idea – everything under one roof. Perhaps soon the whole world will be under one roof.”

The Great Man’s dragon flips its tail and the vast jet engines in my Minister’s hands are flicked and propelled towards two huge jade doors marked “BRITISH IMPORTS” and join a vast pile of carriages and clocks and orreries and hot air balloons and narcotics, and more recent additions in bags marked “Every Little Helps” of Cup-A-Soup and Bisto and Lenor. The doors slam shut. And suddenly our host is flying, floating high towards a huge throne, flying and expanding, suddenly clad in ornamental red robes, so vast that a hundred thousand retainers hold his train, while we feel ourselves shrink, our clothes change and press in upon us, and our suits become frock coats and wigs and buckle shoes and britches.

“But,” says our host, “These are things I could have had from Britain at any time. So what is different about you, what do you and your delegation bring specifically Macartney?”

“Cameron.”

“Whatever. You, the bald one, speak.”

My minister stammers out “Well, we’d like more of your students to come and study in Britain.”

“Ah, doubtless at exorbitant fees, which we will subsidise, all to cover your cuts and your marketisation of Higher Education. And why should we? We have nearly twice as many students graduating here every single year than there are people in your capital city. But perhaps it serves for diplomacy. So. Perhaps. But again hardly a compelling offer. You?” But Gove continues to cower and moan “Please put some money in my schools.” “Worm! Enough of your gibbering. You!”

“We would like you to buy green technologies.”

“Oh. You who have cut your Environment Agency to nothing, who have stripped your Foreign Office of the resources to assist emerging nations with emissions reduction programmes. Why should we buy from you?”

“But you are the biggest emitter of greenhouse gases in the world...”

“As you were when you grew rich and fat by feeding my people opium! We already invest more in this technology than your puny tokenism. But, there may be some use for it. So. Possibly. But again, hardly what you would call a clincher. So, Dave, what can you really offer us, what can we gain from you, we who have infinite supplies of labour and ingenuity, we who already have many great technologies, who are investing in our infrastructures, while you let yours crumble, we who were writing poetry while your people were worshipping stone circles and living in houses of sticks and dung, we who know how to put on a show, with our Birds Nest Stadium (what will yours be, the Bird Sh*t Arena?), WHAT CAN YOU GIVE US?”

I feel the bright fire of my face being quenched by sweat and am humbled and awed and defeated. I look for inspiration on the faces of my Ministers, but see only mediocrity and despair. When suddenly –

“There is a man,” I say.

“A man?”

“A strange wizard. An alchemist. He knows how to lose and yet how to win.”

“What is this? Do you try my patience with Confucian riddling?”

“Not elected, he is elected.”

“But we have no need of elections, no need of him.”

“But he is a prestidigitator, even with words. He can make the bad seem good, dark become light, reactionary feel liberal. He will say anything you wish, even the opposite of what is.”

“Ah,” the Great Man pauses and smiles. “As one of your greater writers would have it, he will say the Thing That Is Not. There may be a use for him. Bring him.”

I motion to my Ministers and suddenly upon their shoulders a cage appears. A man sits naked within it. From him pours a ceaseless stream of words.

“Never in history has there been a time when cuts in public spending haven’t actually benefited the poorest people. The pupil premium is new money. This cage I’m in is a progressive symbol of our continuing commitment to liberal values.”

“So gentlemen. A success. And now leave us.” The Great Man bows graciously. We return the bow and make to leave. But as we go I overhear him conversing with his senior aide.

“So, master, shall I have this new toy address the people?”

“No. For too long we have spoken with half-truths and with trickery. But now the future is ours, we must be confident. The world knows what we are and as what we are we will inherit the world. So, to let them know we scorn Western double-dealing and hypocrisy, the lies which lubricate their so-called democracy...”

“Master.”

“And also to shore up our popularity in Britain – in Sheffield, in university towns, with our new plaything’s own party activists, even with the anti-smoking lobby –”

“Master.”

“We will chop off his head.”

And then I woke up.

Concernedcitizen, But no Chinese tv stations ran his speech, so it fell on deaf ears.