Diplomacy often calls for pretence and evasion to further the needs of nations but rarely in such public fashion as this week. The state visit to Britain by King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is an expression of base politics and supposed mutual advantage, lacking the honour and glory that ought to characterise such events. It was exposed as such even before the Saudi monarch and the many princes and aides who accompanied him landed at Heathrow. If their visit was intended to celebrate relations between the two countries and extend commercial ties, then it went wrong at the start, when David Miliband decided to cancel a meeting with Prince Saud al-Faisal, the Saudi foreign minister, because of his newly adopted second son. Nor did King Abdullah's remarks on Sunday in a BBC interview suggest an visit based on mutual respect. He claimed to have provided information that could have stopped terrorist attacks in 2005. Downing Street immediately and correctly disagreed.
Without even a show of harmony, Britain is treating its Saudi visitors to gilded carriages and a royal banquet not because of any real respect, but because of their oil wealth and strategic position. There is nothing new about such special treatment, of course, and the government would argue that however distasteful it is also essential. Saudi Arabia is Britain's principal ally in the Middle East, fundamentally involved not just in a trading relationship and the supply of oil, but in Iraq, counter-terrorism and the containment of Iran. It has a critical role to play in the forthcoming Middle East talks in Annapolis, Maryland. Successive British governments have exempted Saudi Arabia from laws and moral judgments that are applied to other nations because of this importance.
This has happened most ostentatiously in the favouritism shown to BAE Systems. Last month the company completed a deal to sell 72 Eurofighter Typhoon aircraft to Saudi Arabia for £4.43bn. That followed the attorney general's notorious decision to call off a fraud investigation into BAE's previous al-Yamamah contract, declaring that "it has been necessary to balance the need to maintain the rule of law against the wider public interest". This summer the Guardian reported, too, that BAE Systems had paid hundreds of millions of pounds to Prince Bandar bin Sultan, now King Abdullah's security adviser. He denies the charge, and is staying with the Saudi monarch at Buckingham Palace: a treatment that suggests Britain does not believe, or more likely does not care about, the accusations being made against him.
Morality clearly lies with the protesters expected to gather in London today, whose criticism of Saudi Arabia's human rights record is well placed. The Foreign Office itself does not question it, listing concern at "aspects of the judicial system; corporal and capital punishment; torture; discrimination against women and non-Muslims; and restrictions on freedom of movement, expression, assembly and worship". This week, it says, is not the time to discuss such issues. That sits uncomfortably with the prime minister's promise in his conference speech: "The message should go out to anyone facing persecution ... human rights are universal and no injustice can last forever."
Squaring such a bold claim with the unpleasant charade of the current state visit is impossible. The government is sticking to a policy sustained since the 1980s: "Do nothing to upset the Saudi royal family." It must go down as one of Britain's most dubious but most long-lived goals. It has not done much to help the people of Saudi Arabia and nor has it prevented the spread of terrorism: Osama bin Laden is Saudi; so were 15 of the suicide bombers on September 11 2001. Realpolitik is supposed to produce benefits. As Britain's royal and political elite pay homage to the ruler of an intolerant, brutal and theocratic regime, it is worth asking exactly what those benefits are.