Saying it loves conservation almost as much as it loves treaties with receipts, the United States rejected China’s proposal to create a nature reserve in waters near the Philippines. Washington described the plan as an aquarium with borders, complete with turnstiles, souvenir flags, and patrol boats that ask if you’ve declared any starfish.

Beijing insisted the reserve would protect shy fish from paparazzi submarines and give coral a safe space to work on its memoir. The U.S. responded that it’s all for mindfulness, but the fish shouldn’t have to meditate under the watchful gaze of a destroyer wearing a ranger hat.

Officials in Manila, who were not invited to the ribbon-cutting at their own coastline, compared the plan to your neighbor declaring your driveway a butterfly sanctuary—beautiful idea, terrible parking. Local fishermen asked whether the proposed reserve would preserve fish or merely preserve the odds of bumping into a hull.

A U.S. diplomat clarified that the ocean deserves protection, but not the kind that arrives with fences you can only see on satellite imagery. We separate recycling from alliances, the envoy said, and we don’t compost sovereignty.

Analysts say the reserve would come with safety literature, souvenir stamps, and, according to one leaked brochure, a curated list of acceptable waves. For visitors who forget their borders at home, kiosks reportedly sell inflatable maritime boundary kit in three festive sizes—family, party, and annex.

Retailers smelled opportunity, too. An online marketplace began hawking commemorative clamshells and limited-edition buoys, plus a matching set of eco-friendly sovereignty sticker decals designed to adhere to reefs, reefs’ feelings, and several models of amphibious obstinacy.

Marine life issued a cautious statement through a bilingual octopus who has seen things. The fish appreciate conservation, it read, but prefer parks without barbed wire garlands and guided tours led by radar. Coral, handsomely stationary, asked for fewer speeches and more sunscreen.

Environmental groups warned that geopolitical theater produces microplastics of righteousness. Each flag fragment becomes one more breadcrumb for a confused turtle, now fluent in maritime law but still failing the swim portion.

Diplomats worldwide met in the United Nations—essentially the global homeowners association—to debate whether a warship counts as waterfront patio furniture. The HOA cited code 1982, subsection Law of the Sea, in which the pool is open to all, cannonballs discouraged.

Satellite images showed tentative outlines of the reserve that strongly resembled the nine-dash line drawn by someone tracing their ambition with a wax crayon in choppy waters. Park rangers—recognizable by their epaulettes and seagrass clipboards—were reportedly prepared to ticket unruly waves.

In a rare show of agreement, everyone concurred the ocean needs protection, just not from neighbors who show up with a measuring tape and a marching band. The U.S. proposed a compromise: protect habitats, protect livelihoods, and protect the right of whales to sing without being remixed into a sovereignty anthem.

For now, the world awaits the next episode of Coasts of Our Lives. If Beijing wants to save nature, Washington says, it can start by rescuing international law—currently listed as critically endangered, last seen nibbling on a visitor’s map.