What a difference an earthquake makes. One minute, China is being roundly condemned for its appalling human rights record and its brutal suppression of the Tibetan people; the next, it is being showered with praise for its compassionate and well-disciplined response to the catastrophe in Sichuan.

Suddenly, all the sourness generated by the manhandling of protesters attempting to disrupt the worldwide procession of the Olympic torch has been set aside.

It has been replaced by shock at the heart-rending images of grief-stricken Chinese mothers collapsing after discovering the mangled bodies of their children recovered from the rubble-strewn remains of their school.

Far from being a member of the remote and autocratic regime that is normally portrayed as governing the world's most populous country, Wen Jiabao, China's personable prime minister, has appeared repeatedly on television lending comfort and support to the survivors, making sure, as Caroline Flint might say, that Beijing is seen to be on the people's side.

The efficiency with which the rulers have responded to the massive destruction has been impressive. The 50,000 troops dispatched to Wenchuan, the earthquake's epicentre, have made an immediate impact in helping to rescue trapped survivors and distributing vital food and medical supplies.

The operation has been well-managed, with airports closed to civilian traffic so as not to impede relief flights. Television bulletins broadcast appeals for blood donations, and priority has been given to restoring electricity and clearing roads.

Compare the professionalism of the operation, with the way the United States, the world's other superpower, responded to Hurricane Katrina in 2005, which killed fewer than 1,000 people but fatally wounded President George W. Bush's reputation for administrative competence.

Come a long way

With the Olympic Games only three months away, it is understandable that the Chinese are keen to demonstrate their readiness to tackle any disaster.

Even so, this is the acceptable face of China, far removed from the image of a country that has the world's highest execution rate and imprisons anyone who expresses the slightest criticism of the communist regime.

But the country has come a long way since the abysmal response to the last major earthquake, in the eastern city of Tangshan in 1976, which killed 240,000 people.

Even five years ago, at the height of the Sars epidemic, the instinctive reaction of most officials was to cover up the outbreak, leading to accusations that the party was more concerned with promoting a false image of stability than caring for the masses.

The authorities' conduct has demonstrated what can be achieved when Beijing puts its mind to it, which makes its reluctance to undertake a similar mission in neighbouring Myanmar (before disaster struck at home and commandeered all available resources) all the more unfathomable.

The contrast between China's response and the criminal negligence of the Myanmar junta after Cyclone Nargis devastated the Irrawaddy Delta could not be more stark.

Far from rushing to aid survivors, Myanmar's generals were more concerned with officiating over the constitutional referendum that will guarantee them power for a generation.

If Beijing had been prepared to be as active in Myanmar's disaster relief as its own, much of the suffering - and soaring death toll - might have been avoided.

China, after all, has demonstrated its positive influence over the junta. It was mainly thanks to Beijing's intervention last autumn that the junta was persuaded to tone down its response to the pro-democracy campaign initiated by monks.

Rather than indulging in widespread slaughter, the generals confined themselves to physically abusing the monks and incarcerating them without charge.

But while the Chinese have demonstrated their proficiency at crisis management at home, they do not have such a good reputation in foreign affairs.

In all the main security issues of the past decade, the Chinese have invariably been more of a hindrance. While the world tried to halt the carnage in the Balkans in the 1990s, China's default position at the United Nations, where it is one of the five permanent members of the Security Council, was to abstain on contentious resolutions.

Similarly, during the crucial months preceding the invasion of Iraq, China took a back seat, leaving the British, French, Americans and Russians to squabble among themselves.

Even in their own backyard, over North Korea's nuclear weapons programme or the survival of Myanmar's military dictatorship, the Chinese appear strangely reticent to demonstrate leadership.

Partly, this is because of their deep-rooted paranoia that the outside world is out to get them, and partly because they have found that pursuing a policy of dedicated self-interest can also have its rewards.

Not openly critical

One reason Beijing has been reluctant to be too openly critical of Yangon is because it depends on Myanmar to supply oil and gas for its rapidly expanding energy needs.

Similarly, China's ambivalent attitude towards Iran's nuclear enrichment programme derives from the multi-billion dollar oil contracts Beijing has negotiated with Tehran.

The problem for China is that now it has demonstrated its proficiency in handling one crisis, demands will inevitably be made on it to get involved in others far beyond its borders.

In terms of making the world a safer and better place, this would be no bad thing. If China really wants to be treated as a superpower, then it should start behaving like one.