LIKE a candle in a howling gale, optimism about North Korea is hard to keep alight. The latest flicker of hope was snuffed out on March 16th, when North Korea announced its plan to make the 100th birthday next month of its late but eternal president, Kim Il Sung, go with a bang. His grandson, the country's juvenile new leader, Kim Jong Un, intends to mark the centenary with the launch of a home-made satellite, the Kwangmyongsong-3.

This seems certain to scupper the agreement with the United States announced on February 29th that had spawned a fragile little hope: under the deal, North Korea would observe a moratorium on nuclear testing, uranium enrichment and missile launches, and allow inspectors from the United Nations' nuclear watchdog into the country to monitor this. For its part, America agreed to provide 240,000 tonnes of food aid (as a humanitarian gesture, it insisted, not a direct quid pro quo). Other positive signals followed through “track two” diplomatic channels. A route back to the “six-party talks” on North Korean denuclearisation (the other four being China, Japan, Russia and South Korea), stalled for over three years, seemed to be opening. No more.

North Korea needs the food more than the satellite. Its people had long been promised that their founder's centenary would be marked by their nation's emergence as “a strong and prosperous power”. Instead it is in the grip of grinding poverty and the imminent threat of mass hunger. Like his father, Kim Jong Il, whom he succeeded after his death in December, the young Mr Kim seems less concerned about this than about the survival of the dynastic regime, to which nuclear weapons and ballistic-missile technology have become central.

A satellite is not a missile. The launches have different purposes—the former is meant to stay up orbiting the Earth; the point of a missile is to come back down. But so similar is the launch technology that the outside world, including America and the United Nations Security Council (UNSC), has in the past insisted that a ban on missile launches also covers satellites. One fear is that North Korea is intent on developing a missile capable of reaching America itself, though, so far, its tests have failed.

North Korea, however, insists that satellites are different, and went to some lengths in its announcement to stress how it would abide by international agreements. And, as if to show that it intends to stick by the “Leap Day” deal, as it understands it, it has indeed invited inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency back into the country. It is inconceivable, however, that North Korea misunderstood the Americans' position on satellite launches. You would hope the Americans made it clear in the talks that a launch would be regarded not just as a breach of UNSC resolutions, but of the bilateral deal as well. So almost the only plausible interpretation of the planned launch is that it is a provocation. And since it is now directly linked to the most important event of the year in North Korea, and very publicly promised to its people, it will be almost impossible to back down.

Sure enough, America reacted swiftly and sharply. Whether “unlinked” or not, food aid is now unlikely. The United States may argue that North Korea itself has made the connection. And if Mr Kim has his grandfather's anniversary party to worry about, Barack Obama has an election campaign, in which his Republican opponents will make the most of any perceived foreign-policy weakness. Japan and South Korea also soon condemned the planned launch. Japan said it might consider shooting the rocket down if it came close. Even China, the North's best friend, expressed “worry”.

Though the regime has powerful domestic reasons for a satellite launch, abroad it will be self-defeating. The Leap Day agreement seemed to send a clear signal that Kim Jong Un intended to see through the easing of tensions with America that North Korea was negotiating in Kim Jong Il's last days. On the other hand, this type of mercurial diplomacy is just the thing Mr Kim might have learned at his father's knee.

For ensuring the regime's survival, a little nuclear deterrent is seen as indispensable. Some analysts see events playing out in a familiar scenario. The ruse about a satellite might allow North Korea to portray the collapse of the Leap Day agreement at home as yet more duplicity from America, egged on by the North's despised foe, the South Korean government of Lee Myung-bak, who, to the North's fury, is playing host to a “nuclear security summit” in Seoul on March 26th-27th. Already, the North has thundered that any summit statement on its nuclear programme would be tantamount to a “declaration of war”. Some now worry about another act of military adventurism to try to divide and conquer its outside partners, confident that China will back it when the chips are down—a third nuclear test, for example, perhaps using not North Korea's dwindling stock of plutonium but its newly enriched uranium. After making its belligerent point, the prediction goes, North Korea would go back to talking, from, it hopes, a stronger bargaining position.

A bunch of losers

However accurate that grim scenario, what North Korea's hardliners hope to gain is less obvious than what everybody stands to lose. For Mr Obama there is a new foreign-policy headache, further complicated by the continuing stand-off with Iran over its nuclear programme. For South Korea's Mr Lee, there is a shadow over his summit, to be attended by leaders including Mr Obama and China's president, Hu Jintao. And for China, there will be renewed pressure to try to rein in its cussedly awkward—but still apparently vital—ally.

As for North Koreans, the small elite will finder it harder to raise the hard currency that keeps them in Mercedes cars and cognac. And the poor majority? They will have even less hope of the food that might relieve their hunger.

Economist.com/blogs/banyan