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Jemima Khan meets Nick Clegg: “I’m not a punchbag – I have feelings”

The NS guest editor Jemima Khan talks to the Liberal Democrat leader about life on the far side of power and what it’s like to be a cut-out.

Nick Clegg and I smile genially at each other across the table of a standard-class train carriage. He is on his way to his constituency in Sheffield to talk about manufacturing. Pale-faced, pale-eyed and so tired he appears taxidermied, he looks like he could do with a holiday, except he's just had one – skiing in Davos with his children as the Libyan crisis escalated (for which he was lambasted).

Nick Clegg is the Tim Henman of politics: a decent man for whom Cleggmania represented the peak of his career, his Henman Hill moment. Then he became the Deputy Prime Minister and, shortly after, an effigy.

The carefree, cloud-cuckoo days of opposition, when he had a platform and little criticism, are long gone. At last year's Liberal Democrat spring conference, a fresh-looking and ebullient Clegg had gesticulated and boomed: "We see the same old broken promises. No wonder people feel let down." A year on, he was less combative, more ambivalent. His many critics pointed to his own broken promises and let-down voters.

Clegg concedes that it has been a "very sharp transition". "Of course it has had a dramatic effect on how I'm perceived, the kind of dilemmas I have to face," he says. "I don't even pretend we can occupy the Lib Dem holier-than-thou, hands-entirely-clean-and-entirely-empty-type stance. No, we are getting our hands dirty, and inevitably and totally understandably we are being accused of being just like any other politicians."

His point – and it seems a fair one – is that the British public voted, no one party won and that coalition government, by definition, is a compromise. "A whole lot of things are happening that would just never in a month of Sundays have happened without the Lib Dems there," he says. The morning of our meeting, he claims to have "squeezed out of [George] Osborne" a promise of a green investment bank, not simply a fund. "We've done more on liberty and privacy," he adds, "in the past ten months than Labour did in the past 13 years."

All this has done little to dilute the vitriol of his opponents. John Prescott has likened him to Jedward, the risible and tuneless twins from The X Factor. Ed Miliband has called him "a tragic figure", one too toxic to share a platform with ahead of the referendum on the Alternative Vote. Clegg insists that none of this bothers him. "I see it exactly for what it is. [Ed] is a perfectly nice guy but he has a problem, which is that he's not in control of his own party, so he constantly has to keep his troops happy and he thinks that ranting and raving at me is the way to do it."

Since joining the government, and in particular since his U-turn on university tuition fees, Clegg has had dog mess posted through his door and been spat at in the street. It must upset him. "No, well look, I'm a human being, I'm not a punchbag – I've of course got feelings."

He pauses. "Actually, the curious thing is that the more you become a subject of admiration or loathing, the more you're examined under a microscope, the distance seems to open up between who you really are and the portrayals that people impose on you . . . I increasingly see these images of me, cardboard cut-outs that get ever more outlandish . . . One thing I've very quickly learned is that if you wake up every morning worrying about what's in the press, you would go completely and utterly potty."

After ten months in government, he has a guardedness that did not exist in the days when he told Piers Morgan he'd had roughly 30 lovers. These days he is tightly managed. I have already had a pre-interview briefing with one adviser, and now Clegg's version of Andy Coulson, who is sitting to his right, is busy taking written notes of our interview, as well as recording it. When Clegg gets sidetracked, he prompts him, head down, pen poised over notebook, deadpan: "You were talking about what you've achieved . . ."

Everyone seems painfully aware that my task as interviewer is to catch him out, to get him to say the wrong thing. Clegg's task, like all politicians, is to rattle off rhetoric, to be evasive and as uncontroversial as possible, and to fill up the tape with unquotable patter.

All of which makes interviewing him excruciating. He continues: "What we've achieved so far . . . I think just having a government with two parties in it is already such a big new thing. I know it has been born in a blaze of controversy because of the difficult economic decisions we've had to take . . . but if we're lucky, people will look back on it in 20 or 30 years' time as quite a normal thing in British politics that politicians can actually agree with each other from time to time.

“That in itself is quite big and radical. In the week or two leading up to the general election, every single newspaper was screaming from the headlines: 'A hung parliament will be a disaster, coalition politics will be a disaster. Nothing will get done.' And the extraordinary thing is that now we're being accused of almost exactly the reverse – of doing too much."

Of doing too much? Or of being too Tory? Clegg's dilemma is that, on the one hand, he is in danger of being seen as too close to David Cameron and the Conservatives, and losing credibility with his party and voters. On the other hand, he can't be too distant, because that would be damaging for the coalition and a gift for the opposition and the press, which is constantly looking for rifts.

Before the election, Clegg let it be known that he had turned down an invitation to dine with the Camerons at their home in Notting Hill. He wanted to maintain a distance. Perhaps wary of looking like he fits too easily into the port-swilling, waistcoat-wearing Bullingdon Club set, he is still keen to present Cameron as more working partner than friend.

“We don't regard each other as mates and actually I don't think it would be a particularly healthy thing if we tried to become personal mates," he says. "I don't think a coalition works unless you have a very careful balance between mutual respect and civility and also a certain hardness, as at the end of the day you are representing different views."

I've heard that they play tennis together. "No, no – well, er, I think we've played one game of tennis. Of course we meet from time to time but it's always basically to talk about what we're doing in government."

Who won?

“Ah no, that's a state secret," he jokes. (Cameron won.)

Earlier, at my pre-interview briefing, Clegg's adviser Richard Reeves, the former head of Demos, characterised being in the coalition as like being in a marriage – you both get to know instinctively which are the no-go areas.

Clegg concedes that there are "some areas where we flatly disagree" with the Tories, such as on Europe ("I think you can't make sense of this world unless you work together with other folk in the European neighbourhood") and taxation ("Our reflexes as Lib Dems are to try to give tax breaks to people on middle or lower incomes, whereas traditionally they are more interested in trickle-down economics"), but denies that there are "no-go areas". "Look, we're on completely opposite sides of the fence on the AV referendum."

He refuses to concede that signing the pledge to vote against an increase in university tuition fees before the election was a mistake. "That would be a cop-out. I did it. And I have a rather old-fashioned belief that you've got to stand by what you've done and take the consequences, good or bad." He insists that it was not one of his main manifesto priorities anyway. "I didn't even spend that much time campaigning on tuition fees."

Instead, he says, he spent "every single day and every single interview talking about the four things that were on the front page of the manifesto – namely the pupil premium, two and a half million quid for disadvantaged kids; changing the tax system, so you don't pay tax on your first £10,000; political reform; and sorting out the banks and rebalancing the economy."

That's all very well, but given that the Lib Dems are only ever likely to be in government as part of a coalition, how will he deal with pledges made in future election campaigns? Will there be pledges with caveats, depending on which party he clambers into bed with next? "I think that we need to be clearer about what are the really big, big priorities."

After his capitulation on tuition fees, there are many who now fear that nothing is sacred for the Lib Dems. He denies this. "If the Conservatives wanted to become as authoritarian as Blair and New Labour, I wouldn't have it – but it wouldn't happen, as it couldn't happen with us in [the coalition]."

Clegg is emphatic that he will not allow the Tories to disempower the Lib Dems' much-loved European Court of Human Rights. The problem with being in a coalition government is that it acts as a gag. There are times in the interview when Clegg looks so pained as to remind me of Colin Firth in the opening scenes of The King's Speech, particularly when issues of Rupert Murdoch and phone-hacking come up. I know what he'd have said if he were in opposition. The Lib Dems were always very critical of the Cameron-Murdoch cabal. Some Lib Dem MPs were victims of phone-hacking by the News of the World.

“My thoughts are," he begins haltingly, "that it has all come out much more into the open since the police investigation . . . and I think, you know, since those days it is becoming much more out there, and quite rightly. I've always said that the police have got to investigate and the CPS [Crown Prosecution Service] have got to take action. Look, I don't follow every twist and turn . . ." His press secretary looks up for the first time.

What of those, such as the Labour MPs Chris Bryant and Tom Watson, who believe that the Murdochs have too much power and influence over politicians? There's a long pause. "I think that the days when newspaper barons could basically click their fingers and governments would snap to attention have gone," he says.

Clegg is exceptionally loyal to David Cameron – I expect he is a loyal man by nature, not design – but there's a fine line between being loyal and sounding plain disingenuous. So, what does he think of the dinner party hosted over Christmas by News International's chief executive, Rebekah Brooks, at her Cotswolds home, attended by the Camerons and James Murdoch?

“I don't know anything about Oxfordshire dinner parties," he says. Of course he does. Everyone in politics knows about the get-together of Brooks, Cameron and Rupert Murdoch's son, and most agree that the timing of it was inappropriate, given that there was a criminal investigation under way over phone-hacking in the Murdoch empire, as well as ongoing negotiations with the regulatory authorities over the ownership of BSkyB.

“Well, I'm assuming that they weren't sitting there talking about News International issues," says Clegg. "Look, you're putting me in a very awkward spot. If you've got an issue with it, speak to Dave. I don't hang out in Oxfordshire at dinner parties. It's not my world. It's never going to be my world."

He looks pained. I feel sorry for him and I can't help telling him so. I was married to a politician and I remember the constant self-censorship and, in my case, the gaffes. I get the impression that Nick Clegg is an honest, straightforward man in a dishonest, unstraightforward world, in which nobody can say what they really think.

An interruption offers some blessed relief. A beaming middle-aged woman who has spotted Clegg on the train passes a note to his aide. It reads: "I couldn't resist such a unique opportunity to say, 'Stick With It!' The vast majority of us think the coalition are doing the right thing. We know it's tough but it's very necessary. All the best."

The press secretary looks triumphant. Clegg looks momentarily less beleaguered. He thanks the woman graciously and just as I am wondering if it was a set-up, Clegg jokes that it was. He often gets support from the public, he says, but the difference is that these days people whisper their congratulations, "as if it's a guilty secret saying anything nice about Nick Clegg". He should watch those slips into the third person – an early sign that a person is losing touch with reality.

Clegg was a strong opponent of the war in Iraq and for that he earned many supporters. His backing of the "surge" and British forces' continued presence in Afghan­istan is therefore surprising. There are rumours, which he denies, that he wanted to call for an immediate withdrawal of troops but that the former Lib Dem leader Paddy Ashdown, an ex-marine, persuaded him not to.

“In a sense," Clegg says, "we have brought our ambition to a much more realistic level. We've now got an exit date, which we didn't have before, and a much better set of weapons on the ground. And crucially you've got the British government saying to [President Hamid] Karzai – who I had dinner with recently – this cannot be won militarily. Once you're in that far and you've had that many people die and be maimed, I think it would be morally questionable to cut and run overnight."

It is hard to avoid the conclusion that the real reason we continue to pour money into a war with no clear goals – and continue to line the roads of Wootton Bassett – is so that those in power will be able to keep on claiming that "they did not die in vain".

“Look, it's never perfect. It's not a neat world," says Clegg. He is above all a pragmatist for whom coalition, foreign policy and life are a balancing act. He accepts that there are moral problems with supporting Karzai's government, which has no authority outside the Afghan capital, Kabul, and which, according to the Transparency International corruption index, was last year the second most corrupt in the world. "Exactly – that's where it gets messy and imperfect."

Clegg is pleased to have "got more balance into the debate on Israel in the party". While he is "undimmed" in his criticism of Israel's illegal settlement activity and his "absolute horror of what is a humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza", he stresses that "Israel has legitimate security issues in a region where there is a threat to its existence".

He denies that there is a fundamental incompatibility between the west's rhetoric about democracy and our need for oil. "Do we have vital economic self-interest to keep lights on? Yes. Do I think that should be won at the cost of always being on the side of people who want to express themselves and want democracy? No."

He refuses to be drawn on whether he thinks it was bad timing for Cameron to tour the Middle East on a "UK trade mission"- a euphemism for peddling arms to despots – at a time when there are widespread protests in favour of democracy in the region. He will say, though, that the business of selling arms represents "a horrendous dilemma".

That we have sold arms to repressive regimes – tear gas grenades to Bahrain, armoured personnel carriers to Saudi Arabia, crowd-control ammunition to Libya – is "of course wrong", he agrees. "That's why we've suspended scores and scores of export licences. What guarantee do you have when you export product X to country Y, who seem totally hunky-dory, totally peaceful, and what happens when the country goes belly up? What we're doing is pragmatic rather than pure."

Even the language Clegg uses is moderate and qualified, interspersed with phrases such as "kind of" and "on the other hand" as well as rhetorical questions and unfinished sentences. He's unhyperbolic and ambiguous in a way that must be alien to most Tories. Whereas Cameron strikes me as a man with almost no self-doubt, Clegg seems more self-questioning and less bombastic. I suspect that he is as accom­modating and good at compromise in his marriage as he has been politically.

He smiles for the first time when he tells me that his Spanish wife, Miriam, has "got wonderfully strong opinions". It's clear for a start who chose the names for their three children, Antonio, Alberto and Miguel Clegg. They are being brought up as Roman Catholics, even though Clegg has said he is an atheist. The children are bilingual, speaking both Spanish and English fluently.

At one point, it was assumed that Miriam would be the one with the big career and he would be the thinker and take care of their children. After his eldest son was born, Clegg says: "Miriam was in a particularly intense period of her career and I was in a particularly relaxed period of mine . . . coming to the end of my time as an MEP, so I was very, very involved. I wasn't the primary parent – Miriam would get very annoyed if she were to read that – but I was very involved and you carry that on with you."

He has successfully managed to keep his family out of the spotlight, "to create a firewall" between his world and theirs, although he worries constantly that "what I am doing in my work impacts on them emotionally, because my nine-year-old is starting to sense things and I'm having to explain things. Like he asks, 'Why are the students angry with you, Papa?'"

Clegg refuses "to play politics" with his children, or to say whether or not they will go to a private school. While he's not "ideologically opposed to fee-paying schools existing", he is offended by the notion that it would be his decision alone, rather than one he would reach with Miriam. "I go: hang on a minute – what century are we living in?"

The same applies to what he might do in the future. He certainly does not want to be in politics all his life. "I think that's deeply unhealthy. I look at those people that got into politics when they were 16 and are still at it in their late sixties and think, 'My heavens above!'" Judging by the most recent opinion polls, he may not have the luxury of choice. Either way, he says, Miriam has made "masses of sacrifices putting up with me and politics" and this will be something they decide on together. He'd like to think, though, that he would go into education.

He is besotted by his "three lovely boys" and is most proud "by a long shot" of the family life he has created with Miriam. They manage to lead a relatively normal life, "not in a bunker in Westminster", and he tries to pick his children up from school and put them to bed at night at least two or three times a week.

He regrets that sometimes he doesn't always get the balance right, which makes him "quite miserable" and unable to do his job properly.Sometimes he has to tell them white lies if he is stuck in a meeting. At home, in the evenings, he likes to read novels and says he "cries regularly to music."

I receive a snapshot of his family life when, after the interview is over, I am invited to dine with other journalists at Chevening, the grace- and-favour house in Kent that Clegg shares with William Hague. Clegg arrives two hours late – he's been in protracted discussions over Libya – and looks corpse-like with exhaustion. The contrast with his vibrant, pretty wife, with her big bawdy laugh, could not be more stark. His children seem delightful – and delightfully normal.

Clegg has been accused of selling out, of providing a yellow fig leaf for the Tories' less attractive bits. But I expect that he would see opting out of the coalition or leaving politics altogether as the biggest cop-out of all. He is not consumed by politics – he has a fulfilling life away from Westminster – but he seems to have an old-fashioned sense of duty and believes that, without him there in the cabinet, the Tories would be up to far more of their old tricks. He might well be right – but will he be so easily forgiven by the voters?

“I have a faintly romantic belief that if over five years I just keep steadily trying to do the best I can, with all the difficult dilemmas we face, with not very much money, all those kinds of things . . . we will kind of come through. I think if people see that someone is trying to do the right thing and maybe they're not entirely succeeding, they kind of will go with you. And that's all you can do."

He suddenly looks very, very sad. A week later I glimpse him on television, on the front bench on Budget Day. Cameron sits to his left, looking ruddy and shiny, straight off the playing fields, ready for an interminable life of "Yeah, yeah, yeah" in the Commons. Clegg, by contrast, looks like he's in black and white – lost and out of place.

Later that evening, I get a text from his press secretary, offering me "a full copy of the note that lady passed on the train". He thought I might like it for my piece, "in case it needs some colour".

Jemima Khan is associate editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 11 April 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Jemima Khan guest edit

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The Great Wall of Sand

China’s aggressive claims to sovereignty in the South China Sea have angered its Asian neighbours and raised fears of a showdown with the US.

“Hey, what are you guys doing this Saturday?” crew members of the US guided missile destroyer USS Lassen asked over the radio as it ploughed through the South China Sea last autumn. “We got pizza and wings. What are you guys eating?”

The questions were directed at the Chinese ship shadowing the Lassen as it moved into the 12 nautical miles of territorial waters claimed by Beijing off its newly constructed base on Subi Reef, a speck of land in the Spratly Islands. China has built a radar-
equipped weather station and stationed 200 troops there but its claim is disputed by several east Asian countries – and by the United States. The Lassen’s course was deliberately plotted to affirm the right to “freedom of navigation” in what Washington regards as an international maritime area through which any ship should be at liberty to sail.

After a short delay, the Chinese sailors responded to the questions from their US counterparts, talking about their home cities, their families and the ports they had visited. Then the two ships parted course.

The friendly conversation obscured a chilling fact: that these were crews of ships from two nations which, in some scenarios, are heading for an earth-shaking confrontation as they play out the “Thucydides Trap”, in which rising and status quo powers are bound to come into conflict along the lines of Athens and Sparta, as recorded by the ancient Greek historian. In this case, the protagonists are China and the US.

In 2012 Hillary Clinton, the then US secretary of state, said that America and China needed to “write a new answer to the age-old question of what happens when an established power and a rising power meet”. A year later, after a US-China summit aimed at producing understanding between the two powers, the national security adviser Tom Donilon said that the reformulation of the relationship was “rooted in the observation . . . that a rising power and an existing power are in some manner destined for conflict”.

According to Graham Allison, a professor of political science at Harvard, armed hostilities have been the outcome in 12 out of 16 past confrontations of this type in recorded history. These include the long confrontation between the established power of France and the rising challenge of Britain in the early 18th century, as well as the wars between Germany and Russia, France and Britain between 1914 and 1945.

The immediate theatre for the showdown is the huge expanse of the East and South China Seas. China’s increasingly expansionist drive to assert sovereignty there has led to confrontations over the past five years with Japan, Vietnam and the Philippines, which regard waters and islands claimed by Beijing as their own. Early this month, China said it had sent four warships with helicopters, one supply ship and special forces troops to carry out an exercise in the South China Sea.

The US is deeply involved because of its security treaties with Japan and the Philippines, its restored relations with Vietnam and its role as the main military power in east Asia since 1945 – the US 7th Fleet, based in Japan, has between 60 and 70 ships, 300 aircraft and 40,000 navy and marine corps personnel. The Americans also have nearly 30,000 troops permanently stationed in South Korea and an implicit undertaking to defend Taiwan if China were to threaten the island separated from the mainland since the Communist victory of 1949.

Admiral Harry B Harris, the US commander in the Pacific, has said that China “is clearly militarising the South China Sea . . . You’d have to believe in a flat Earth to think otherwise,” and he insisted this spring that his fleet will increase operations to assert freedom of navigation in the same sea. Summit talks between Presidents Barack Obama and Xi Jinping in late March and early April produced no agreement on the issue. A US aircraft carrier was subsequently refused entry to Hong Kong Harbour for a port visit on 15 April. The US then sent aircraft to fly by a disputed shoal off the Philippines where China appears to be on the verge of launching a new stage in its campaign of reclaiming reefs and islands that could act as a base in any open conflict.

Washington and Asian nations are also concerned about North Korea, whose nuclear policies have exposed Beijing’s inability to control its “little brother”. Although the Chinese government announced on 5 April that it was restricting some exports to its neighbour, it hesitates to cut off supplies of food and energy completely, for fear of causing instability across the border that might lead to reunification under the leadership of South Korea. All this makes the nations of the region look to the US as the guardian of their security, even as they seek to make the most of the economic relationship with China.

Other powers, including Australia, are concerned because of the importance they place on freedom of navigation, while China’s forceful defence of its fishing fleets has brought conflict this spring with Indonesia and possibly, in a murky episode at the end of March, also with Malaysia.

This is a huge region that is vital for the world’s economic health. Its manufacturing and trade have acted as drivers of growth since the emergence of Japan and the four “Tigers” – Hong Kong, Singapore, South Korea and Taiwan – in the 1960s. With China having vaulted to second place among the world economies and Japan still in third place, east Asia as a whole accounts for a quarter of the world’s GDP.

The matters of sovereignty in dispute are trivial in themselves, involving strings of small, often uninhabited islands and reefs. The claims that China has been pressing are based on old maps or tales of allegiance dating back to a misty historical past. Yet this does not make them any less significant, with implications that play into concerns about confrontation involving not just China and the US, but the entire region. News in February that China appeared to have deployed two batteries of eight surface-to-air missile launchers on one of the disputed islands added a new edge to fears that the build-up of forces and the lack of a diplomatic solution could boil over into open conflict.

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Nationalism is on the rise in east Asia and national interests are becoming more deeply entren­ched. Amid a regional arms race, most countries are increasing their military spending. China’s military budget has been rising by 10 per cent a year as it builds up its “blue water” navy (capable of operating outside coastal waters in the wider Pacific), constructs a second aircraft carrier and develops its submarine and missile forces. Since 2000, it has added 41 new submarines to its navy and, at a big military parade in Beijing in September, the official commentary on the arms on show in Tiananmen Square boasted of missiles that the Chinese said could sink an aircraft carrier at the base the United States maintains on Guam, across the Pacific.

In Tokyo, Shinzo Abe’s government is pushing through changes to Japan’s pacifist postwar constitution to enable it to play a bigger military role in the region. Vietnam has acquired six submarines from Russia, which are due to be fully operational by 2017. Indonesia has ordered ten fighter jets from Russia, according to media reports in Jakarta. Military expenditure across the nations of south-east Asia (with the exception of Burma, Brunei, Cambodia and Laos) has risen rapidly from $14.4bn in 2004 and will reach an estimated $40bn this year, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute.

The forceful way in which China has advanced its maritime claims under the banner of the “China Dream” of national rejuvenation championed by its no-nonsense leader, Xi Jinping, has provoked responses from its neighbours, for all that they value their commercial relationships with the world’s second-largest economy.

Vietnam has put its forces on the border with China on high alert. The Philippines has been stirred to take an unusually martial attitude in response to Chinese claims in the South China Sea, acquiring additional ships and filing a suit against Chinese expansion there with the United Nations arbitration tribunal at The Hague. China has refused to recognise the suit or the tribunal’s competence, and said this month that its position was backed by three regional states – Brunei, Cambodia and Laos – and by Russia. But the UN ruled itself competent to deal with the case at the end of last year and a verdict is expected by early June. A judgment in favour of Manila would test Beijing’s readiness to abide by international rules or whether, in the words of Daniel Russel, the US assistant secretary of state for east Asian and Pacific affairs, China is “prepared to be seen as an outlier that flouts international law”.

At the same time, historic animosities are being revived. Though each country is ruled by a communist party, China’s not very successful invasion of Vietnam in 1979 is not forgotten in its southern neighbour. Anti-Chinese riots broke out across Vietnam in 2014 after China deployed an oil exploration rig in waters claimed by both countries and after state TV broadcast video footage showing a Vietnamese fishing boat being rammed by a Chinese vessel and sinking.

The acute antagonism between China and Japan dates back to the humiliation of the Qing dynasty by the rising power in their war of 1894-95. It was then hugely increased by the ruthless occupation of much of the mainland by Japanese troops after they launched a full-scale war in 1937, epitomised by the Rape of Nanjing, in which up to 200,000 people died. The way in which some Japanese politicians honour their country’s dead at the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, which memorialises over 1,000 convicted war criminals, is a cause of constant complaint by Beijing. The “Patriotic Education Campaign”, conducted in China since the 1990s, presents Japan as the main villain, one that plays a leading role in China’s narrative of its “Century of Humiliation” before the Communists won power in 1949.

The current confrontation between China and Japan, which comes amid falling Japanese exports to the mainland and reviews of investment plans, followed Tokyo’s nationalisation in 2012 of eight uninhabited islands and outcrops in the sea that were previously under private ownership. That set off anti-Japan demonstrations in a dozen Chinese cities. Japanese shops and cars were smashed and Japanese flags torn up. Beijing then pushed its claim that the islands, known to the Japanese as the Senkakus and to the Chinese as the Diaoyus, were Chinese because imperial voyagers landed there in the 14th century. They lie south-west of Japan’s southernmost prefecture, Okinawa, east of China’s mainland and off the north-western coast of Taiwan, near strategic shipping lanes and rich fishing grounds, as well as possible oil and gas reserves. Japan insists it owns the islands and there is nothing to discuss, accusing Beijing of a “forceful, coercive attempt to change the status quo”.

Foreign ministry officials in Tokyo have noted an escalation of China’s maritime and aerial probing around the islands this year. “The situation in the East China Sea is getting worse,” an official told the Financial Times in January. An armed Chinese naval vessel sailed into waters around the islands for the first time last December, and an intelligence-gathering ship was seen in the area at the same time. The rare meetings between Abe and Xi have been awkward, and there has been no word of the installation of a promised hotline to deal with accidental clashes. Last year China commissioned four new gas platforms close to the median line with Japan in the East China Sea and sent research vessels on 22 missions there, according to the Japanese foreign ministry.

Moves by the Abe government to loosen constraints on Japan’s military imposed after defeat in 1945 arouse concern in China, where Communist Party newspapers warn of a “nightmare scenario” if the constitutional restrictions on military activity are relaxed. Beijing accuses Tokyo of going “against the tides of history”. In Japan, a survey by the Pew Research Centre found that China was the second-biggest cause of fear among the population, after terrorism. Abe has bolstered security ties with Vietnam and signed a security pact with the Philippines, following this up with a joint naval exercise. In response to Tokyo’s move, the Chinese foreign minister, Wang Yi, mused to reporters: “I wonder what Japan has to do with the South China Sea.” Last month, Prime Minister Abe joined the US to accuse China of militarising the South China Sea.

Besides jostling with China for regional influence, both by expanding investment in south-east Asia and by trying to build bridges with South Korea to counter Beijing’s charm offensive there, Japan feels a very direct interest in freedom of navigation, given the volume of its trade and energy supplies that transit through the South China Sea. It is in talks to transfer anti-submarine reconnaissance aircraft and radar technology to the Philippines. The Japanese are not alone in their concerns. In February, worried about its shipping routes, Australia announced a big increase in planned military spending, especially on the navy. Canberra is now weighing whether to send a warship on a freedom-of-navigation exercise similar to that of the USS Lassen.

***

The regional dynamics are at their most complex when one heads south. China claims much of the South China Sea using a map dating from 1947, which laid out historical claims in the form of a nine-dash line defining its area of sovereignty. This conflicts with claims by Vietnam, the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, Brunei and Taiwan. Even more so than waters off the Senkaku/Diaoyu Islands, this sea is a vital shipping lane for $5trn in trade annually: one-third of global maritime traffic, carrying oil and raw materials to Asia and Asian consumer goods to the world. It also contains rich fishing grounds and potential energy and mineral reserves beneath the seabed.

China’s intervention has greatly increased the stakes in what had been a set of competing claims among south-east Asian nations. As Singapore’s prime minister, Lee Hsien Loong, put it in March in a Wall Street Journal interview about Chinese expansionism, “When you are the biggest participant in the game, and you do the same as other countries, the consequences are on a different scale.” China has long-standing claims to the Paracel, Spratly and Pratas Islands as well as the Macclesfield Bank and Scarborough Shoal off the Philippines. More recently, it has conducted a programme of building up reefs in the sea, up to 800 kilometres from the mainland, to turn them into small islands. Seven have been finished or are near completion. China claims the rights to territorial waters stretching out 19 kilometres from the “Great Wall of Sand”, built on previously uninhabited reefs and now staffed with Chinese military personnel.

Beijing, which began constructing “fishermen’s shelters” in the South China Sea in the 1990s, says its new bases are for humanitarian purposes, primarily to rescue those who get into trouble, but recent photographs show fighter aircraft deployed on the largest of the artificial islands in the Paracels, which are also claimed by Vietnam and Taiwan. Pentagon sources said evidence from satellite imaging in February showed Chinese HQ-9 surface-to-air missiles, with a range of 125 kilometres or more, on Woody Island in the Paracels; China has said it will not militarise the sea; and though it did not confirm the US report, which was backed up by Taipei, it said any country had the right to take defence measures on its territory. Beijing does not give out such information, but the defence department in Washington has estimated that the construction covers at least 800 hectares. Five of the sites, it said in a report on China’s military power, could be used for surveillance systems, harbours, an airfield and logistic support.

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China aims to establish “facts on the ground” or, in this case, at sea, projecting its regional power in a way that other nations may challenge but that they will not be able to turn back. This is in keeping with the higher profile in foreign affairs adopted by the Xi Jinping administration, which took over in Beijing in 2012-13. The time when China followed Deng Xiaoping’s advice to “hide your brilliance and bide your time” has passed. Xi, China’s most powerful hands-on leader since Mao Zedong, is pushing an agenda of centralised control and international expansion, undeterred by the slowing economy and multiple problems in the form of high debt, deflation, excess industrial capacity, the halting pace of much-needed structural reforms and an environment crisis.

A critical element of Xi’s “dream” is the projection of Chinese influence around the globe – or, as he put it in a speech in 2014, the need for China to pursue “great-power diplomacy with special Chinese characteristics”. This ranges through the grand scheme of the “One Belt, One Road” infrastructure programme through trade for south-east and central Asia and on to the underwriting of nuclear power stations in Britain. Beijing has launched the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank as an alternative to the Asian Development Bank, winning wide backing (including from the UK) despite US opposition. China has become Vladimir Putin’s best source of support, with big, long-term contracts for Russian gas as well as finance for projects such as a 7,000-kilometre high-speed rail link from Moscow to Beijing.

Though China devotes a smaller proportion of GDP to its military budget than does the US (or the UK), modernisation of the 2.5 million-strong People’s Liberation Army (PLA) is a big part of Xi’s programme. In addition to sitting as general secretary of the Communist Party and state president, Xi chairs the Central Military Commission, which unveiled a streamlining of the PLA command structure this year and is fast developing China’s capabilities in submarines, missiles and cyber-warfare. This spring, he appeared in uniform as commander-in-chief of the armed forces.

In this calculus, the most immediate sphere for China’s power projection has been the one closest to its 14,500-kilometre coastline in the South and East China Seas. But the immediate effect has been to alarm other regional states, which are less than charmed by the thinking, expressed in 2010 by the then foreign minister, Yang Jiechi, that “China is a big country and other countries are small countries, and that’s just a fact”. This has led the smaller nations to seek shelter under the US strategic umbrella. Relations between the Philippines and China have become virtually frozen since a standoff in April-June 2012 that led to China seizing the Scarborough Shoal. Manila bolstered its small navy with purchases from the US and re-emphasised the defence treaty between the two countries, as well as submitting its suit to the UN tribunal.

The US defence secretary, Ashton Carter, has told his counterpart in Manila that Washington’s pledge to defend its ally is “ironclad”. Visiting Tokyo in June, President Benigno Aquino said he was reminded of how, in the late 1930s, “Germany was testing the waters and . . . nobody said stop.” A new defence pact in 2014 permitted deployment of US forces in the Philippines, and the Aquino administration has offered the US eight bases, two of them on an island near the South China Sea. In 2015 more than 100 US navy ships docked in the former US base at Subic Bay, and two nuclear-powered stealth submarines made visits in the first two weeks of this year.

The maritime quarrels spread to Indonesia at the end of March after eight Chinese fishermen were detained by a patrol vessel while trawling off the Natuna Islands, which lie across the southernmost section of the South China Sea claimed by China, over 2,500 kilometres from its southern coast. A Chinese coastguard vessel entered the area to recover the men’s ship. An Indonesian official in charge of maritime security said China’s action had created “a new ball game” that needed close attention from south-east Asian governments, and called Beijing’s claims to sovereignty in the area “fake”. The government in Jakarta then announced that it would deploy more troops to the islands, put in more patrol boats and strengthen its naval base there.

A US-Indonesia “action plan” envisages expanded military co-operation. Indonesia has protested against the way in which the “nine-dash line” appears to cover the Natuna Islands, and says it wants to hold regular naval exercises with the US near the archipelago in waters that the International Energy Agency says hold rich gas reserves. Indonesia and the US have also carried out joint maritime exercises involving surveillance and patrol aircraft.

At the same time, there was confusion about a reported incursion into Malaysian waters by 82 Chinese fishing boats; Malaysia’s national security minister appeared to confirm the reports, and said three ships from the Maritime Enforcement Agency had been sent to investigate. But then the defence minister, Hishammuddin Hussein, said there had been no trespass and “our waters are safe”. The People’s Republic of China has stepped up its investments in Malaysia over the past year and the government in Kuala Lumpur has been keen to maintain warm relations and ensure Chinese purchases of assets that it is selling off to reduce Malaysia’s debt burden.

Vietnam has reacted to China’s expansion by developing a dialogue with a former enemy: US naval ships pay frequent port calls. Carter and his Vietnamese counterpart, Phùng Quang Thanh, signed a “joint vision statement on defence relations” in June last year. The US is supplying Hanoi with coastguard patrol vessels. And Singapore signed an enhanced defence co-operation agreement with the US in December.

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As Xinhua News Agency warned that such developments could push the regional situation “to the brink of war”, the foreign ministry in Beijing questioned whether “military deployment and regional militarisation by the US [was] in line with the aspiration shared by countries in the region”. President Obama points to the region’s strategic importance, but some Chinese officials question what the US is doing there, given that it is not an Asian power. One answer is that, as Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore used to say, the region needs China economically but also needs the US strategically to maintain a balance.

The problem is that neither of the two leading powers has a properly thought-out policy towards the other. China and the US know they need a degree of co-operation but also want to hedge their bets to defend their own positions. There is a mutual lack of trust, complicated by the network of overlapping regional differences in a part of the world that lacks a strategic system to resolve disputes. The Obama administration’s declaration in 2011 of a “Pacific Pivot” to reorientate its foreign and strategic policy towards the Asia-Pacific naturally aroused China’s concern. As well as being hemmed in by the chain of islands running south from the Japan through Taiwan to the Philippines which hems in the Chinese navy, Beijing faces the prospect of the 12-nation Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), promoted by Washington to create a free-trade zone whose liberal economic rules would bar China. At least some regional leaders see the pact as essential to what Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong calls “an overall substantive relationship” between the United States and Asia, because “without the interest in a broad range of mutual co-operation, America is just another country which has some claim or makes some assertion”.

Although the US “pivot” (since renamed a “rebalance”) has not been completely realised and the TPP deal is yet to be approved by national legislatures (among them the US Congress), the fear of containment – allied with the Xi administration’s desire to extend Chinese influence, including its alternative to the TPP – will prompt China to continue to press where it sees opportunities as it seeks to displace the US as the dominant power in east Asia. Washington’s policy towards the region has been hesitant but it seems to be adopting a tougher line. This was shown by the Lassen’s voyage and Obama’s meeting with leaders of the Asean grouping of nations in California in February to develop a cohesive response to China’s expansion in the South China Sea. The final statement from the consensus-seeking organisation of south-east Asian states was as cautious as usual, but it stated the importance of freedom of navigation, which Washington has made its central theme.

To date, the two big players and the associated states have managed to avoid hurtling into conflict, yet none has abandoned its position in the interests of a settlement. The ‘‘Thucydides Trap” may not be inevitable but it will continue to hang over a region of 14 countries that represents an area of critical importance for the prosperity and peace of the globe.

Jonathan Fenby is the author of “Will China Dominate the 21st Century?” (Polity Press) and “The Penguin History of Modern China”

This article first appeared in the 12 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The anti-Trump