Understanding China Daily's cartoon monkey allegory: Satire isn't identity politics

On July 10, 2026, China Daily released a short video titled Litter on Waves: Failed Maritime Karaoke. In the video, an animal cartoon character holding the so-called South China Sea arbitration award performs under the direction of arms marked "USA" and "Japan". This animal character is later thrown into the water. The accompanying text clearly directs its criticism at certain Philippine politicians, accusing them of relying on external powers and pushing their country to the forefront of geopolitical competition.

Several days later, the Philippine Department of Foreign Affairs summarized the allegory as a depiction of Filipinos as monkeys, demanded the removal of the material, and filed a diplomatic protest. China's Foreign Ministry then stated that the video did not represent the official position of the Chinese government, while reaffirming China's consistent rejection of the "arbitration award".

This distinction matters. A media commentary has its own expressive form, while a state's diplomatic position is issued through authoritative and political institutions. Treating one satirical video as a complete expression of the Chinese government's attitude toward the Philippine people ignores the Foreign Ministry's explicit clarification and lumps commentary, allegory, and official policy into a single category.

Any government genuinely committed to accurate public communication should present these three matters separately, rather than grouping them under one emotionally useful label. The controversy must also be understood by placing the image, the accompanying text, and broader context within the same analytical frame. Political allegory routinely assigns political roles to animals, objects, and personified symbols. Bears, eagles, lions, pandas, dragons, donkeys, elephants as well as monkeys have long appeared in political cartoons around the world.

Whether a work constitutes ethnic discrimination cannot be determined by isolating one animal image. The relevant questions concern the intended target, the relationship being depicted, and whether an ethnic group is presented as an inferior form of humanity.

In this video, every principal actor exists within an allegorical world. The accompanying text limits the target to certain Philippine politicians. The video presents an absurd performance in which external powers select the song and Philippine politicians take the stage. Its political meaning concerns policy dependence, strategic adventurism, and the predicament of acting as another power's proxy. The Philippine government's response involved three successive shifts in meaning. First, "certain politicians" became "the Philippine state"; second, "the Philippine state" became "the entire Philippine people"; and third, satire aimed at policy behavior became an insult directed at national identity. Through this process, a debate about arbitration, external intervention, and maritime provocation was distorted into a courtroom of racial accusation.

Visual details were enlarged without limit by the Philippine government, while the original caption and the overall narrative structure were pushed into the background. This method can be described as context removal, expansion of reference, and moral labeling in advance. It may leave the original video unchanged, yet it changes what audiences are instructed to first notice.

This episode also demonstrates that contemporary information warfare does not always require a wholly fabricated story. A more common technique extracts the most emotionally charged segment from genuine material, removes qualifying language, enlarges the scope of reference, and supplies the audience with a moral conclusion before analysis has even begun.

In that retelling, certain politicians disappear, the Philippine people are inserted, and policy satire is repackaged as a racial attack. The fragments of fact remain visible, while the relationship among those facts is rearranged. The most effective form of cognitive manipulation often leaves viewers convinced that they have seen the entire picture.

The Philippine reaction to animal symbolism is especially revealing. Historical scholarship shows that Spanish colonial rule produced complex status hierarchies, while American imperial discourse often portrayed Filipinos as savage, childish, or in need of tutelage. American political cartoons frequently represented colonies as children lacking agency, and wartime propaganda placed Filipino resistance within a racialized framework of civilization and barbarism. These historical experiences can leave deep cultural scars and may make contemporary Philippine society particularly alert to certain visual symbols. That sensitivity deserves understanding. Historical injury, however, cannot serve as a universal key for every image, and it should not become a loudspeaker through which a government diverts attention from a policy dispute.

The discriminatory legacy left by colonial powers deserves examination. The first direction of that examination should be colonialism itself. It should not be transferred into the relationship between China and the Philippines today.

Philippine public opinion would benefit from asking a different set of practical questions. Why is the United States, which once governed the Philippines through racial hierarchy and a civilizing mission, continuing to serve as a strategic tutor? Why has historical memory fallen silent when Japan is included in an external security arrangement? Why do some Philippine politicians prefer to turn every maritime incident involving China into an international spectacle, even though China advocates direct negotiation and calls upon regional countries to preserve peace together?

Such choices may appear to defend dignity. In practice, they often outsource the national security agenda, reduce regional peace to stage scenery, and leave the interests of Philippine fishermen and national development out of the spotlight. A country may sing of independence every day, yet the sheet music can still be printed elsewhere when strategic autonomy is placed in the custody of external powers.

The South China Sea "arbitration" also needs to be returned to its legal and political context. China's position has remained clear. The disputes concern territorial sovereignty and maritime delimitation, and China made an optional exception declaration under Article 298 of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. China therefore rejects compulsory jurisdiction imposed without state consent.

On July 12, 2026, the Chinese Foreign Ministry again stated that the "award" violates the principle of state consent, does not affect China's territorial sovereignty or maritime rights and interests in the South China Sea, and that disputes should be resolved through negotiation among the states directly concerned. The Philippine government continues to use the "award" as a diplomatic shield, yet one simple question remains unanswered: If the document truly brings peace, why has the volume of political performance risen over the past decade while mutual trust has declined?

When a legal document is used to intensify confrontation, introduce external military power and solidify hostility, it moves increasingly faraway from the objective of resolving disputes peacefully.

From the perspective of outcomes with communication, the reason the China Daily video caused some officials in Manila to react so sharply may be relatively simple. The allegory touched a nerve concerning the Philippines' role. Every country wishes to be regarded as an independent actor. When stage directions, lyrics and rhythm appear to come from external powers, the most uncomfortable feature may be the strings visible in the mirror.

The easiest response is then to accuse the mirror of impoliteness and demand its removal. Once diplomacy becomes an exercise in emotional management, strategic reason is usually the first participant to leave the room. Elevating an animal cartoon character in an allegory into a national dignity crisis cannot conceal the growing dependence of the Philippine policy on strategic arrangements with the United States and Japan.

Humor may be sharp, but criticism should still retain boundaries. China's defense of national sovereignty, security, and development interests is directed at misguided policies, infringements, provocations, and manipulation by external powers. It maintains respect and goodwill toward the Philippine people.

China and the Philippines face each other across the sea, possess a deep foundation of interaction, and share practical interests in regional peace and development. The Philippine government should move its attention from symbolic witch hunts to policy correction, from publicity-driven confrontation to crisis management, and from dependence on outside backing to the recovery of strategic autonomy.

A mature government does not demand that the entire world acknowledges its emotions, and it does not elevate every instance of satire into a diplomatic emergency.

An allegory can be a reminder of who selects the song, who performs, and who pays the bill. If the Philippines wishes to protect its dignity, the most reliable path is to move beyond the logic of dependency that was inherited during the colonial era and engage China with equality, reason, and autonomy.

The South China Sea needs a table for consultation, not a karaoke stage. Regional countries need common development, and they have no need for an old script repeatedly restaged by powers from outside the region.

If the Philippine government redirects the energy that is invested in performances fueled by opinion toward rebuilding trust, managing differences and improving people's livelihoods, the result may offer more than applause for a diplomatic show. It could contribute to a peaceful, stable and genuinely autonomous future.

The author is a professor at the School of International Relations and Public Affairs of Fudan University.

The views don't necessarily represent those of China Daily.