In a stunning shift, China — longtime recipient of US economic and political aid, and one of the largest beneficiaries of the postwar liberal order that Washington led in building — has turned against the United States over the past twelve years. This reversal is striking not only for its speed but for its paradox: a nation that rose on the back of American markets, investment, and a security environment maintained by the US now casts America as its primary adversary.
Over the past decade, observers have witnessed what can only be described as a process of disenchantment with America. Once, the Chinese spoke of the United States with a mixture of admiration and longing. For college students dreaming of Ivy League campuses to urban professionals fascinated by American culture and entrepreneurship, America served as both an aspiration and a mirror of possibility.
But today, in Chinese media and casual talk on the street, America is more often ridiculed or reviled than admired. The irony is glaring. Despite dominant narratives and public opinion increasingly steeped in mockery and hostility, China’s commercial elites continue to move assets and family members to the United States, hedging against an uncertain future.
Countless officials, too, quietly secure their “exit options” by transferring wealth and children abroad, often to the very country they are trained to call a rival in official discourse. This contradiction — of hostility on the surface and dependence beneath — captures the paradoxical state of China’s relationship with America.
America as a Model of the Free Society
For much of China’s reform era, America functioned not just as a geopolitical competitor but as an archetype of modern prosperity. The principles of a free society formed its foundations: open markets, secure property rights, freedom of speech, and the rule of law. These tenets of classical liberalism fascinated late-developing nations, China included.
Despite official propaganda that cast the US as an adversary, China’s development trajectory has been deeply intertwined with American support. Washington opened access to technology, capital, and education. Its human rights diplomacy, though often resented, pressured Beijing into incremental reforms that tangibly improved Chinese lives. Multilateral frameworks such as the World Trade Organization accelerated China’s integration into the global economy.
US policy, though often self-interested, played a catalytic role. Technology transfers, foreign direct investment, and academic exchanges created channels of learning. Between 1980 and 2000, American firms invested more than $60 billion in China. By 2019, 370,000 Chinese students studied in US universities, the largest group of foreign students worldwide. After China’s accession to the WTO in 2001, exports to the US rose from $100 billion in 2000 to more than $500 billion by 2021.
Chinese elites could not resist the pull. Political leaders and business tycoons alike sent their children (including Xi Jinping’s daughter) to American schools, moved assets overseas, and allowed artifacts of American lifestyles — from Hollywood movies to consumer brands — to circulate widely at home.
So many Chinese officials and their beloved children graduate from Harvard, in particular, that some wryly call it “the Party school.” In this sense, China’s modernization was never a purely national story; its global rise was inextricably tied to the tolerance, openness, and even indulgence of the United States.
The Turning Point After 2013
This symbiotic fascination — “Chimerica” as termed by historian Niall Ferguson — began to fracture around 2013. Many commentators attribute the change to American decline — financial conflict, foreign policy fatigue, and social polarization. But the deeper cause lay within China itself: the leadership grew increasingly self-assured and forgetful of how much reform-era achievements had depended on American accommodation.
As urbanization accelerated and the middle class expanded, the liberal values once admired from afar began to materialize as domestic demands — for greater rights, accountability, and political participation.
In 2012, journalist Max Fisher wrote an article for The Atlantic that detailed the significant number of protests in China. The Guardian covered a grassroots movement of environmental protests that dealt a blow to the Chinese government’s grasp on its people. Lacking the institutional capacity of a modern party system to absorb such pressures, the Chinese Communist Party chose suppression over reform. The result was the rise of technological authoritarianism: advanced surveillance, curated information bubbles, and “cognitive warfare” directed inward. The limited consensus within the Party on the rule of law and institutional norms came to a halt after the removal of term limits; meanwhile, as high-tech methods penetrated daily life and built an all-encompassing system of surveillance, the public’s demand for the rule of law has all but withered away.
Nationalism and digital populism are actively encouraged. Criticizing the Chinese government was interpreted as hating one’s own country. Social media platforms amplified xenophobic tropes, and state-sponsored mockery of the West became a celebrated mode of expression. The space for genuine admiration of America contracted, replaced by a distorted picture filtered through censorship and propaganda. American social media apps were banned, leaving citizens with only heavily monitored Chinese alternatives. The authoritarian State offers its citizens the illusion of a market economy, while keeping a watchful eye on any potential dissidents.
The outbreak of COVID-19 offered the government yet another opportunity to tighten its grip on society and exert further control over its citizens.
America’s Own Cracks and China’s Disillusionment
Still, the story cannot be told as if China changed in isolation. America’s own liberal order has shown fissures that complicate its role as a beacon of freedom and opportunity. On the left, woke agendas and extreme interpretations of diversity and inclusion have struck many Chinese observers as evidence of cultural decadence and moral confusion. On the right, the resurgence of Trumpism — with its populist ethno-nationalism and hostility to institutions (as well as some anti-Asian racism) — has raised doubts about America’s commitment to the universalist values it once championed.
For many Chinese people, this has produced a dual sense of betrayal. On one side are the educated and the awakened — intellectuals, business elites, and the aspiring urban middle class — who once looked to America as the symbol of liberal democracy, the rule of law, and an open society. For them, the disenchantment has been sharp: few expected that the United States itself would drift into cultural and political extremes, eroding the very universal ideals that once inspired the world.
On the other side are these same groups, together with the vast majority of ordinary Chinese citizens — the ninety percent of the population with little political participation or public voice — who must live under an ever-tightening domestic regime. Their daily environment is one of pervasive surveillance and repression, where every opinion can be monitored and every choice filtered through the lens of state power. What makes the suffocation worse is the constant flood of propaganda, delivered not only through traditional media but through algorithm-driven digital platforms. This propaganda does not merely glorify the Party; it actively diminishes all Western capitalist democracies and fosters particular hostility toward the United States and Japan, countries whose political and institutional resilience expose the vulnerabilities of China’s system.
Between a West that no longer shines as the guiding light it once was, and a domestic order that seeks to choke off even the possibility of free thought, Chinese citizens find themselves trapped in a narrowing space, disillusioned abroad and disempowered at home.
Two Countries Apart, Two Countries Alike
Despite their many transgressions, China and the US are quite similar in how they view foreign encroachments. China’s ‘Century of Humiliation’ plays a significant part in the current foreign policy framework, while also serving as a stark reminder of how countries can wield power over China. In a similar light, the US government employed the Monroe Doctrine to protect against aggressive European interests and to assert its autonomy as a newly formed nation. Despite this commendable philosophy, modern American foreign policy has largely aimed toward acquiring more territory, influence, and control.
While the Chinese and US governments view each other as adversaries, the opening of markets will benefit both countries simultaneously. In his book, Foundations of a Free Society (PDF), Eamonn Butler makes a noteworthy observation concerning free trade. He argues that through a desire to trade, countries will better understand each other or, at a minimum, foster respect. Projecting a superior attitude will not bode well for future international business. International trade is often mistakenly discussed as if countries are exchanging with each other, but it is rather individuals. Both parties involved can learn and appreciate the fascinating things of this world and its vast array of people.
Haunted by a domineering socialist past, China remains reluctant to embrace Western liberal ideals. Yet the experiences of its neighbors — Japan and South Korea — offer a counterpoint: societies that chose constitutional order and open markets have found not only prosperity but also legitimacy and resilience.
Conclusion
China no longer “digs” America. This is not because China has outgrown the need for models, nor because America has lost all influence. Rather, it is the product of two converging processes: the self-satisfaction and repression of a Chinese ruling elite unwilling to share power, and the erosion of America’s image as the unrivaled guardian of liberal pluralism.
As citizens of each respective country maneuver this diplomatic debacle, they are unfortunately caught between competing values. Self-interested countries are prone to falling prey to what Graham Allison called the “Thucydides Trap.” According to Allison, this phenomenon occurs when an emerging country confronts a historically dominant country, and war becomes likely. In our current situation, it is still unclear if this is the inevitable path, but both governments seem determined to foment tension among their citizens.
The paradox persists: China’s elites continue to seek refuge in the very country they denounce, while ordinary citizens are left to navigate a world where both America and China appear diminished. The disenchantment is real, but it may prove unstable. Without freedom, prosperity cannot endure; and without credible institutions, societies risk losing their sense of direction and identity altogether.