In diplomacy, there are moments when one must resist the temptation to laugh — not because the situation is unfunny, but because the stakes are high and the audience, sometimes, is Japanese.
It began with a meeting arranged between an inexperienced minister, her entourage, and a visiting Japanese cabinet member. The minister’s team, brimming with enthusiasm but light on protocol, had devised a number of… let us say… unconventional ideas. We in the international department listened politely, making small adjustments as we went along — guiding them gently, like one steers a distracted toddler away from an open fountain.
Then came the question. One particularly severe aide, with a tone that could have cut marble, demanded to know whether we had the flag of MATOPIBA. Now, MATOPIBA is not a sovereign state, nor even a province. It is an agricultural region invented by her ministry for branding purposes — a cartographic figment. She intended to place its “flag” alongside the Japanese one on the conference table. We nodded gravely, as if she had just invoked the flag of Atlantis.
Later, there was the matter of signing ceremonies. The minister wished the Japanese dignitary to sign various documents with mayors and local councillors — a mismatch in rank that, in diplomatic protocol, is the equivalent of pairing a tea ceremony with instant noodles. We improvised: a ceremonial letter was drafted for her and the dignitary, while the mayors were given blank sheets to sign — the photos, after all, were what mattered. To the Japanese, we explained it was an internal arrangement. Everyone smiled.
The day’s pièce de résistance came at dinner. The minister promised a surprise for the Japanese minister. Hours later, she descended the staircase of the private club dressed as a geisha, flanked by two aides in similar costume. The Japanese delegation — masters of etiquette, allergic to spontaneity — maintained their composure. Whether they were impressed, baffled, or quietly traumatised remains unclear to this day.
In the months that followed, cooperation between the two ministries quietly dissolved. The MATOPIBA flag was never seen again. It is perhaps still fluttering in some imaginary breeze, in a republic that exists only in the minutes of that meeting.