China crisis

18 countries will be boycotting tomorrow's Nobel Peace Prize Ceremony.

Tomorrow's Nobel Peace Prize ceremony in Oslo will be filled with empty chairs. The most striking absentee will be this year's winner, Liu Xiaobo, who is in jail in China for subversion after co-authoring Charter 08, a book that calls for peaceful reform of China's one-party political system. The table assigned to friends and family will be empyt too, as Xiaobo's wife, Liu Xia, was placed under house arrest shortly after the awards announcement.

Also absent will be ambassadors from the 18 countries who have rejected their invitations: Pakistan, Iran, Sudan, Russia, Kazakhstan, Colombia, Tunisia, Saudi Arabia, Serbia, Iraq, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Venezuela, the Philippines, Egypt, Ukraine, Cuba and Morocco have all discovered prior commitments. A Russian spokesman for the Oslo embassy said: "It is not politically motivated . . . we do not feel we are pressured by China."

Yet despite early claims from the Chinese foreign ministry that "at present, more than 100 countries and organisations have expressed explicit support for China opposing the Nobel peace prize, which fully shows that the international community does not accept the decision of the Nobel committee", 44 countries will nevertheless be in attendance.

After initial dithering, Europe will be fully represented at the ceremony. "France is always represented by its ambassador to Norway at the Nobel Prize ceremony in Oslo. This tradition will continue this year," said foreign ministry spokesman Bernard Valero.

Political spokespeople have been less cagey in Hong Kong, where there have been marches in support of the release of Liu Xiaobo. Lee Cheuk-yan, member of the Legislative Council of Hong Kong, last week said: "The Chinese government is still very much oppressing the rights of Liu Xiaobo, his wife and other dissidents in China. China's international image will be damaged if it doesn't release Liu and his wife."

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Listening to recordings from the Antarctic, I felt I could hear the earth groan

The Science Hour on the BBC World Service.

A weekend of listening to the radio news ­revealed nothing but sounds of the sucker-punched going through their pockets in a panic and repeating, “I thought you had the keys.” So, never was talk of “a perfectly flat area of just whiteness” more alluring. The oldest Antarctic ice yet recorded was recently found. “For millions of years,” the presenter Roland Pease assured listeners  (25 June, 9am), “snow has been falling, snow on snow, all the while trapping bubbles of air and other chemical traces of climate . . . insights into the ice ages and warm periods of the past.” How was this ice located? “The finding part is pretty easy – you just go there and start shovelling, and ice comes up,” the lead geologist, Jaakko Putkonen, said.

There it was, buried under a layer of dirt “in barren wastelands” high in the middle of Antarctica. An “incredibly mountainous and remote and . . . quite hideous region, really”, Pease said, though it was sounding pretty good to me. The world dissolved into a single, depthless tone. Then Pease mentioned the surprising fizzing of this ancient ice – trapped air bubbles whooshing as they melt. Which is perhaps the thing you least expect about ice regions and ice caps and glaciers: the cacophony. Thuds and moans. Air that folds and refolds like the waving of gigantic flags. Iced water sleeping-dragonishly slurping and turning.

On Friday Greenpeace posted a video of the pianist Ludovico Einaudi giving a haunting performance on a floating platform to mark an imminent meeting of the OSPAR Commission, as it decided on a proposal to safeguard 10 per cent of the Arctic Ocean. Einaudi looked occasionally stunned by the groaning around him. A passing glacier popped and boomed like the armies of Mordor, ice calving from its side, causing mini-tsunamis. When last year I spent some time at the remote Eqi Glacier in Greenland, close to the ice cap, local people certainly spoke of the ice as if it were living: “It’s quiet today,” delivered as though gazing at the fractious contents of a Moses basket.

“This huge cake of ice, basically flat”, Putkonen said, perhaps longing for a moment of deep-space silence, for peaceful detachment. He wasn’t the only one being forced to reappraise a landscape very differently.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies