The dining table has long been the silent witness to history, but on the evening of January 29, 2026, at the Gateway Cineplex, the conversation turned to a different kind of table — one often left empty by the ravages of conflict. We gathered for the premiere of “Hope for the Dawn to Come,” the first Philippine-produced documentary to chronicle how the war in Ukraine has fundamentally transformed the lives of its children.

As the lights dimmed, the presence of our Guest of Honor, Honorable Yuliia Fediv, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Ukraine to the Philippines, added a powerful sense of reality to the 4K images of resilience. Her presence was more than a diplomatic gesture; it represented a shared humanity that spans thousands of miles between Manila and Kyiv.

In this edition of The Diplomat Eats, we go beyond the formal rules of state dinners to look at the “soft power” of the home. For a country like Ukraine, which is known as the “breadbasket of the world,” sovereignty is not just in its land but also in the recipes that last through the night and the kids who take them into the morning. We talked with Ambassador Fediv about how food, memory, and the “bitter herbs” of history keep a hope alive that will never die.

In “Hope for the Dawn to Come,” we see how war shatters the mundane. What was the specific dish from your own childhood that represented absolute safety, and how do you evoke that feeling today for the children of Ukraine?

My favorite meal is Ukrainian borsch — a rich beetroot soup that embodies the soul and heritage of Ukraine. Every family has its own special recipe for borscht. I love how my mom cooks it with smoked meat, beans, garlic, and always sour cream on the top. Borsch is served with rye bread with lard and spring onions. The warmth of the red soup gives you a feeling of home, surrounded by beloved family and friends with whom you share the meal.

Nowadays, Ukrainian children are facing constant bombings and drone attacks and end up in total blackouts without heating, water, and electricity. So, the warmth of the food can’t be shared at the family table. You need to spend most of the time in cold bomb shelters instead, hoping to have something proper to survive.

When homes are transformed by conflict, the act of cooking becomes a form of resistance. Do you see the preservation of Ukrainian recipes as a way of guarding the “internal borders” of a child’s identity?

The war has scattered Ukrainians around the world, dividing families and significantly affecting our usual rituals, including cooking. We each preserve a piece of our culinary tradition in our own way, ensuring that our children remember the taste of their homeland.

Most Ukrainians continue to cook familiar dishes, regardless of how far from home they live. This is made easier by shops selling Ukrainian products, as well as by parcels sent from home containing ingredients that cannot be found in shops or markets. These goods include wheat for Christmas kutia, buckwheat for traditional Ukrainian buckwheat pancakes, and dried apples for uzvar.

For me, one very good way of preserving culinary traditions is a book of Ukrainian recipes called “Ukraine: Food and History”, which explores Ukrainian cuisine within its cultural and historical context. It highlights traditional recipes, culinary diplomacy, and intangible heritage. It also covers cooking methods and the culture of hospitality. This book is like a collection of recipes from your grandmother that you can take with you wherever you go.

Ukrainian restaurants around the world are also very important. These family-run establishments offer a great atmosphere and a wide range of delicious dishes. They are also places where the Ukrainian community meets.

In the Philippines, for example, there is one on the island of Palawan in the city of El Nido. Established ten years ago by a family from Odessa, the restaurant is called Odessa Mama Café & Brewpub. You can enjoy syrnyky, varenyky (dumplings) with cottage cheese, borsch with meat and pampukhy (doughnuts) there.

Many Ukrainian children now find themselves at foreign tables. How can food serve as a “soft power” tool to help these children integrate without losing the flavor of their home?

I believe it is important to raise children to be open to different cultures and tastes. It’s good to preserve your own culture, but it’s also important to introduce children to the food of the country in which they live.

The first step is, of course, to cook Ukrainian food at home and add local dishes into your daily menu.

In my opinion, we should also introduce foreigners to our cuisine to help them understand us better. Ukrainian parents could organize Ukrainian culture days at schools, holding festive dinners and inviting families from different communities to attend.

If there are a lot of Ukrainian children at the school, you could consider adding some familiar Ukrainian products or dishes to the menu.

Ukraine is the breadbasket of the world. In the context of the documentary’s title, how does the simple act of baking Palyanytsya serve as a metaphor for the “dawn” and the renewal of life?

Bread occupies a special place in Ukrainian culture, cuisine, and religion. All types of bread are treated with great respect in Ukraine.

Following the Holodomor, an artificially created famine that claimed over five million lives between 1932 and 1933, the role of bread changed. It became the main symbol of Ukrainian survival.

Ukrainians never throw away bread. After the Holodomor, doing so became considered a sin. In families that survived the Holodomor, there is an almost genetic desire to stockpile bread and food.

Despite the large number of industrial bakeries nowadays, the tradition of baking bread, especially festive bread, is still observed in many Ukrainian families.

Traditionally, bread in Ukraine is baked by older women, matriarchs, and grandmothers. Recipes vary by region and are passed down through the generations.

Bread plays an important role in Christian celebrations. Paska, for example, is a sweet Easter bread baked on the Thursday before Easter and blessed during Easter service. Wedding korovai is a large, festively decorated sweet bread served to guests at weddings. Bread also plays a special role in memorial ceremonies.

In Ukraine, there are many rules and superstitions surrounding the handling of bread. For instance, when a grandmother is kneading dough, it is forbidden to argue or shout.

The Philippines and Ukraine both place high value on communal eating. What parallels do you see between the Filipino salu-salò and the Ukrainian spirit of feeding one’s neighbor during times of crisis?

I am from Chernivtsi, the capital of Bukovyna, a region in the west of Ukraine. I come from a large family and have many relatives, including brothers, sisters, and cousins. When I was a child, we celebrated all the major religious holidays, such as Christmas and Easter, with our extended family, observing traditions and preparing special dishes. For instance, we had a tradition of serving food in a circle with guests tasting dishes and drinks one after the other.

Ukrainians are generally known for their large feasts, which are particularly common for celebrating significant events such as religious holidays, engagements, weddings, the completion of construction projects, and harvest festivals.

In times of hardship, interaction with relatives and neighbors, shared meals, and the exchange of food were essential for survival.

Now, during the war, many Ukrainians have been left homeless or unable to cook for themselves due to a lack of gas and electricity. People are therefore coming together to support each other. Throughout the country, there are Points of Resilience where people can warm up and enjoy a cup of tea while communities organize hot meals. Local authorities and catering establishments are working together to provide food for those in need. Church communities are playing a special role too, with churches becoming centers where people can eat and get help.

The Maltese Relief Service runs field kitchen centers where meals are prepared and distributed.

Proust’s madeleine was sweet, but history is often bitter. Is there a traditional Ukrainian ingredient that best symbolizes the strength required to endure the “night” before the dawn?

These days, Ukrainian stores sell a special type of honey — honey of resilience from the liberated areas of the Kharkiv region. Despite losing their hives and equipment, beekeepers have returned to these areas and started to rebuild their apiaries.

This honey is very valuable to me because it evokes childhood memories — my grandfather had an apiary and kept bees. Therefore, honey is my favorite treat, the taste of home, and a source of health and strength.

You represent a nation fighting for its soil. How does gastrodiplomacy allow you to communicate the importance of “gastronomic sovereignty” to a Philippine audience that is geographically distant but emotionally connected?

In terms of the role of shared meals within society, both within the family circle and at the community level, we are like the Philippines. Food is at the center of events that bring people together and allow them to share personal experiences.

Food unites different generations and different countries. To me, food is a universal language. It is an easy way to discover a new culture, even one that is geographically distant.

Whenever our embassy hosts an event, such as a National Day celebration, a film screening, or an art exhibit, we love teaming up with Filipino chefs to bring Ukrainian recipes to life.

If you could prepare one meal for the children featured in our documentary to give them a taste of Ukrainian hope, what would it be, and what story would you tell them while they ate?

There are two dishes from my childhood I would like to share. The first is a traditional Ukrainian summer dessert: cherry dumplings, which I made with my grandmother. To make them, we picked cherries from our garden.

The second dish was fish fried in corn flour and served with a sour cream and mushroom sauce. The fish had to be caught in the pond and the mushrooms gathered for the sauce.

For me, this dish evokes the carefree days of summer.

Beyond the smoke of war, what is the specific scent of a peaceful Kyiv afternoon — perhaps the blooming linden trees or fresh rye bread — that you wish for every child to smell again?

I live in the Darnytsia district of Kyiv, on the left bank of the Dnipro River. This area is renowned for its forests and stunning natural beauty.

My favorite route takes me through Rusanivka, a district built on a man-made island. I then continue on foot through Hydropark, a recreation area spanning two river islands. From there, I head to Podil, the oldest and most beloved district in Kyiv and the heart of the Ukrainian capital.

The scents I love most are those of blossoming chestnut trees and the tranquillity of the Dnipro River. Chestnut trees are a symbol of our beloved Ukrainian capital.

In Ukrainian tradition, the final toast is often the most meaningful. What “flavor” does hope have for you today, and how can we, as your hosts in the Philippines, help nourish that hope?

Traditionally, the final toast at Ukrainian feasts is an expression of gratitude, asking God to bless the hosts, guests, and Ukraine with long, happy, and healthy lives.

Today, we are grateful to the Filipino people for their support, and we encourage them to learn about the truth of the situation in Ukraine and share it with others.

We also invite them to join us in praying for Ukraine, its children, and for Ukrainian families to be reunited.

Glossary

borscht — a vibrant, sour soup popular in Eastern European and Northern Asian cuisines. It is most deeply ingrained in Ukraine, where it is considered national cuisine and a significant symbol of Ukrainian identity and domestic life. In 2022, the “Culture of Ukrainian Borscht Cooking” was added to the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Protection, acknowledging its importance and the threats to its tradition posed by conflict.

Їzhakultura — a scientific and educational project and publishing house dedicated to popularizing research in Ukrainian gastronomy, food history, and culinary practices. The organization aims to document and share regional food practices and ancient culinary techniques as part of Ukraine’s intangible heritage.

Kutia — a ceremonial buckwheat pancake with dried apples. It is one of the two most important ritual foods served at the Ukrainian Christmas Eve supper. 

Lavka deokupatsii (Deoccupation Shop) — assists farmers and small farms in the occupied Kharkiv region. Since then, it has grown into physical and virtual shops selling a unique variety of honey — honey of resilience from the Kharkiv region’s liberated areas. Beekeepers have returned to these regions and begun reestablishing their apiaries in spite of losing their hives and tools.

Odessa Mama Café and Boodmo Brewery — an establishment in El Nido, Palawan, combining authentic Ukrainian cuisine with a microbrewery that serves house-crafted beers. Opened in March 2016, it is recognized as the first and only brewery in El Nido. 

pampushky (doughnuts) — are traditional Ukrainian yeast-raised dough balls that are a staple of both daily meals and festive celebrations like Christmas.

syrnyky — a popular Eastern European dish made from farmer’s cheese, eggs, flour, and sugar. They are a standard breakfast, brunch, or dessert in Ukraine. 

Ukraine Food and History — This book tells the story of Ukrainian cuisine by contextualizing it and presenting Ukrainian cooking as part of Ukraine’s intangible cultural heritage. The publication also investigates the potential of cultural diplomacy and contains recipes that will make you fall in love with Ukraine. This publication is part of a culinary diplomacy project funded by the Ukrainian Institute. Authors: Olena Braichenko, Maryna Hrymych, Ihor Lylo, and Vitaly Reznichenko. Published in Kyiv in 2020. This is the link to the Ukraine food and history https://ui.org.ua/wp-content/uploads/2025/07/ukraine-food-and-history-2.pdf

uzvar — a popular drink in Ukraine. It’s made from dried berries like pears, apples, plums, cherries, and blueberries. In the southern regions, uzvar made with apricots is extremely popular. Ukrainians dried their fruits in the sun, using ordinary or special ovens (dryers or baths).

varenyky — a traditional Ukrainian boiled and stuffed dumpling made from unleavened dough, is considered a national dish alongside borscht. They are filled with savory (potato, sauerkraut, cheese, mushrooms) or sweet (cherries, cottage cheese) ingredients and are typically served with sour cream, fried onions, or butter. 

If diplomacy is the art of allowing someone else to have their way, then Secretary Ma. Theresa “Tess” Lazaro spent four decades perfecting the recipe. Secretary Lazaro, a true career diplomat who rose through the ranks, attained the highest position in the Department of Foreign Affairs, demonstrating grit, legal acumen, and the lasting power of institutional memory.

She began her career at the DFA in 1984 and has since become acquainted with the complex machinery of international relations from the ground up. Her diplomatic passport reads like a sommelier’s tour of duty, from the chaotic vibrancy of Bangkok to the corridors of power in New York, the cultural diversity of Sydney, the sun-kissed avenues of Madrid, and the precision of Berne. However, her six-year tenure as Ambassador to Paris—the world’s gastronomic capital—may have refined her understanding of soft power. Amidst the high stakes of UNESCO and bilateral talks, she undoubtedly learned that even the most rigid of protocols can soften with a well-executed repas d’affaires.
However, do not be fooled by her cosmopolitan resume. Secretary Lazaro’s negotiation style is described as “frank and constructive.”

As the former Undersecretary for Bilateral Relations and ASEAN Affairs, she was the country’s chief architect during the precarious maritime negotiations with China, famously brokering the provisional agreement for resupply missions to Ayungin Shoal. She understands that balance is essential in both cuisine and geopolitics and that a little heat can sometimes be necessary to keep the peace.

For this episode of The Diplomat Eats, we spoke with a secretary who recognizes that, while treaties bind nations, shared meals frequently bind people. Secretary Lazaro’s culinary tastes are as sophisticated as her policy, ranging from Southeast Asian street food to Michelin-starred French cuisine.

1. If you could take a foreign dignitary to the heart of Filipino cuisine, bypassing all protocols and briefing papers, what dish would it be, and what memory would it unlock?
   Adobo is the perfect example of Filipino resilience. It’s a dish that doesn’t spoil easily and stays good even without a fridge—making it the perfect meal for long, busy days. For me, it brings back memories of working late nights at the department. It’s a meal that says, “We are ready for the long journey ahead.”
2. In times of geopolitical tension or crisis, which Filipino ingredient—known for surviving the harshest storms or longest preservation—best symbolizes our foreign alliances?
   Vinegar is what keeps our food fresh for a long time. In the same way, our best friendships with other countries are “preserved” by going through hard times together. It’s sharp and strong, and it ensures that our bonds stay healthy and lasting, no matter how much time passes.
3. If a negotiation has reached a bitter impasse, what dessert or sweets would you order for the table to metaphorically (and literally) neutralize the acidity of the conversation?
   Buko pandan. It’s hard to stay angry when you’re eating something cool, creamy, and sweet. The light scent of pandan and the soft coconut strips give everyone a chance to take a breath and relax. It’s a “sweet” way to get people to stop shouting and start listening to each other again.
4. What is the most misunderstood aspect of Filipino cuisine that parallels a common diplomatic misconception about the Philippines itself, and how do you propose we correct the palate of the international community?
   Balut. People are often afraid of balut because of how it looks on the outside. This is a lot like how some people view our country—they judge us by our appearance or our struggles without seeing the “life” and richness inside. We need to teach the world that you must look deeper to truly understand who we are.
5. Soft power often requires daring. What is the diplomatic equivalent of offering balut to a guest—a calculated risk that intimidates the uninitiated but earns respect when accepted?
   True “soft power” is about being subtle and kind, not shocking. Offering someone balut might be a fun challenge, but serving something like leche flan or Philippine chocolate is what really wins hearts. It’s better to be remembered for being sweet and excellent than for just trying to surprise people.
6. Given that there are thousands of ways to cook adobo depending on the region, how do you bring the Philippine archipelago’s diverse, local interests together into a single cohesive “national flavor” of foreign policy?
   Every region in the Philippines has its own secret method for making adobo. Our foreign policy is consistent—we listen to a variety of perspectives. Despite the differences in flavors, we are all following the same recipe: our national interest, as led by the President. We have many voices, but one team.
7. If you were hosting the final state dinner of your tenure to establish your legacy, would the menu reflect the cosmopolitan polish of fusion cuisine or the unvarnished, rustic honesty of heritage cooking?
   I’ve never wanted to be “fancy” or complicated just for show. I prefer food that is honest and makes you feel at home. Simple cooking shows who I really am. It fosters trust because people understand they are getting the authentic version of me, not a “polished” version.
8. In the complicated soup of territorial disputes, which local flavor profile—sour (asim), salty (alat), or bitter (pait)—best describes the current state of our maritime defense, and what ingredient is required to balance it?
   Our maritime situation is a mix of all three—sour, salty, and bitter. The ingredient we need to balance it all out is sweetness (tamis). In my world, that sweetness is diplomacy. It’s the ingredient that keeps things from boiling over and keeps everyone talking at the table.
9. Which humble Filipino street food has the natural charisma to disarm a stiff foreign counterpart more effectively than a formal banquet at a five-star hotel?
   Pork Barbecue. You can’t be formal or “stiff” while eating barbecue on a stick. It’s sweet, spicy, and sour—just like the Filipino personality. It’s a fun, messy, and delicious snack that makes everyone feel like friends, no matter what their job title is.
10. After the treaties are signed, the communiqués are released, and the world’s noise has subsided, what is the simple meal you seek that requires no translation, negotiation, or compromise?
    Pancit. After a long, hungry day of negotiating, nothing beats a plate of pancit. It’s a meal for celebrations, and it represents a long, happy life. It’s the simple taste of home that doesn’t need any translation or explanation.

Kudos to the chef! Secretary Lazaro during the Welcome Dinner for the ASEAN Foreign Ministers and the ASEAN Secretary-General held in Mactan, Cebu, on 28 January 2026 (photo courtesy of DFA Office of Public Diplomacy, James Ryan Artiaga, and Royce Vann Paul Pantua).

Glossary

adobo—chicken or pork braised in vinegar and soy sauce with aromatics such as peppercorn, garlic, and bay leaves
buko pandan—a cold dessert made of shredded young coconut (buko), cubes of green pandan-flavored gelatin, sweetened cream, and coconut sport (macapuno) ice cream
balut—fertilized duck egg, incubated for 16–21 days, then boiled or steamed; eaten with salt and vinegar
pancit—stir-fried noodles with vegetables and morsels of chicken and pork, flavored with soy sauce and local lime (calamansi)

The United States was once the undisputed dream destination for global travelers. Today, it is losing tourists for a simple reason: it has lost its welcome.

Much of this shift traces back to President Donald J. Trump, whose leadership style — marked by hostility, paranoia, and strongman theatrics — has steadily alienated the very world America once attracted. Under his watch, travelers are no longer courted; they are scrutinized, discouraged, and often humiliated.

In 2025, foreign arrivals to the U.S. dropped sharply. Land travel from Canada fell by more than 30 percent, while air arrivals continued to slide. This is not a seasonal lull or a post-pandemic correction. It is reputation risk in real time — self-inflicted and politically driven.

Tourism is not a vanity industry. It is a serious economic pillar, contributing billions to GDP, sustaining jobs, and projecting soft power. You do not need to be an economist to understand what happens when a country signals suspicion instead of hospitality.

By contrast, nations that treat visitors as guests rather than walking ATM machines benefit from something no ad campaign can buy: word of mouth. Social media fills with images, stories, and recommendations. Trust travels faster than policy memos.

Trump, however, appears indifferent to tourism’s value. His rhetoric consistently frames foreigners as threats rather than contributors. The result: tighter border scrutiny, punitive visa fees, and widely publicized cases of travelers being delayed, interrogated, or denied entry. Even legitimate visitors now approach U.S. borders with anxiety.

His combative posture toward allies, trade wars disguised as patriotism, and public belittling of partner nations send a clear message: Visitors are no longer welcome; they are liabilities.

The fallout does not stop with foreign tourists. Ordinary Americans increasingly absorb the backlash of Trump’s foreign policy choices. Abroad, U.S. citizens report subtle — and sometimes open — resentment, blamed not for who they are, but for what their government represents.

Immigration crackdowns, diplomatic bullying, and institutional contempt have reshaped the American passport’s meaning. Once a symbol of openness and curiosity, it now comes with caveats. Tourism and security analysts note that this erosion of goodwill feeds directly into travel decisions: If Americans themselves face discomfort abroad, why would foreigners feel welcome in the U.S.?

Greenland, Denmark, and the cost of diplomatic absurdity

Few episodes captured this decline more vividly than Trump’s fixation on acquiring Greenland, an autonomous territory of the Kingdom of Denmark. By publicly floating the idea as if it were a real-estate deal, Trump drew swift rebukes from Danish and Greenlandic leaders, who reminded the world that sovereign territories are not commodities.

What sounded like spectacle carried real consequences. Diplomatic assessments show the episode strained relations with Denmark and unsettled Nordic partners, reinforcing perceptions of an America willing to antagonize allies for ego and headlines. Tourists, like investors, pay attention when leadership turns erratic.

Europe: What the U.S. can’t replicate

Against this backdrop, Europe’s appeal becomes inevitable. Beyond friendliness and scenery, Europe offers something the U.S. cannot replicate: layered diversity.

In one journey, travelers can explore Poland’s restored old towns, absorb the quiet elegance of Prague and Vienna, marvel at Switzerland’s alpine majesty, experience Germany’s blend of history and efficiency, or savor Belgium’s medieval squares and world-class cuisine. A short train ride later, they are cycling Dutch canals, immersed in French art and gastronomy, or standing inside Italy’s living museums, where history, fashion, food, and daily life coexist effortlessly.

Borders dissolve in hours, yet languages, traditions, architecture, and flavors change dramatically. Europe does not sell a single narrative. It offers many, each grounded in centuries of culture and proudly preserved identity.

Canada’s quiet windfall

As U.S. tourism campaigns stumble, Canada continues to offer what money can’t manufacture: authentic places, living culture, and seasons genuinely worth traveling for.

As inevitable, America’s self-inflicted tourism wounds benefit Canada. Beyond Niagara Falls, it offers Quebec’s old-world charm, Nova Scotia’s coastal calm, Prince Edward Island’s pastoral beauty, Whistler’s alpine adventures, and Banff’s breathtaking wilderness.

More importantly, Canada now delivers much of what the U.S. once promised, and without the hostility, suspicion, or political chaos.

Soft power on life support

For decades, America’s greatest export was goodwill. Under Trump, that soft power has withered. Tourism, where diplomacy, culture, and economics intersect, is among the first casualties.

This decline is not accidental. It is the direct result of leadership that mistakes intimidation for strength and isolation for sovereignty.

Trump as Duterte 2.0 and Venezuela as the warning label

Trump increasingly resembles a Duterte-style strongman: impulsive, institutionally dismissive, and driven more by ego than statesmanship. History shows where this path leads.

Venezuela is the clearest cautionary tale. Once among Latin America’s wealthiest nations, it slid into isolation, economic collapse, and mass emigration after strongman rule hollowed out institutions and alienated global partners. Tourism vanished. Investors fled. The country became a warning rather than a destination.

The United States is not Venezuela — yet. But the pattern is familiar: Attack institutions, antagonize allies, personalize power, and dismiss accountability. Tourism, being sentiment-driven, is always among the first industries to flee when a country’s moral compass spins out of control.

Why I’m done with the U.S. and why many others are too

After watching Trump turn the United States into a visa obstacle course, antagonize allies, and govern like a strongman rather than a statesman, I chose not to renew my U.S. visa. No plans. No regrets.

If a country treats visitors like suspects and allies like enemies, why spend hard-earned money there?

The world offers better options. Canada welcomes with warmth and ease. Europe opens its arms with depth, diversity, and genuine hospitality.

Trump’s undoing of America’s goodwill has given travelers clarity: endure bureaucracy, suspicion, and bad headlines—or choose destinations that still value you as a guest.

I know which stamp I’m putting in my passport. How about you?

Diplomatic receptions and National Day celebrations are meant to be exercises in restraint—measured conversations, quiet networking, and protocol observed down to the last detail. Most guests understand this. A few, however, clearly do not.

Regulars on the embassy circuit have begun whispering about a small but persistent clique—well-dressed, well-heeled, and wildly misplaced—who mistake diplomatic events for red carpets. Their routine is predictable: hover near ambassadors, interrupt mid-sentence, tug sleeves, and demand photos as if visibility were a diplomatic credential.

The breaches are not subtle. At one recent event, during the singing of the Philippine National Anthem, a member of this group attempted to kiss a lady envoy. The diplomat declined, gently reminding the offender that the anthem was in progress. The music continued. The embarrassment lingered.

What irritates seasoned guests more is the entitlement. Ambassadors have been physically pulled away from conversations—often when engaged with someone deemed “less important”—for a photo op clearly intended for social media, not substance. In at least one case, a lady envoy refused, returned to her original conversation, and restored order without raising her voice.

Around the room, reactions ranged from stunned silence to quiet ridicule. One executive summed it up crisply: money may buy access, but it cannot buy class.

And yet, invitations keep coming. Photos keep appearing. The behavior repeats.

The question murmured over canapés now grows louder: how do these guests keep making the list—and what message does it send about the values being showcased at events meant to celebrate national dignity?

Tant pis.