The Re-emergence of Militarism in Japan: Ironically Welcomed by Some of Its Former Victims

 

As much of the world was preoccupied with the war involving Iran, the Japanese destroyer JS Ikazuchi (雷) transited the Taiwan Strait on April 17, taking nearly 14 hours to complete the passage.

The date was striking. It marked the anniversary of the Treaty of Shimonoseki (马关条约 – Mǎguān Tiáoyuē), signed on April 17, 1895, which ended the First Sino-Japanese War and led to Taiwan being ceded to Japan. From Beijing’s perspective, the symbolism could hardly have gone unnoticed.

Why, then, has Sanae Takaichi adopted such a bold posture, despite Japan’s obvious military limitations in any direct confrontation with China? Apart from Lai Ching-te and Ferdinand Marcos Jr., many of Japan’s neighbours must be asking the same question.

My answer is straightforward: Takaichi appears determined to push Japan further away from post-war pacifism and toward a more assertive, militarised national posture.

Japan’s economic stagnation may not be incidental to this shift; it may be part of the reason for it. In her view, China is the central strategic challenge, and deterrence requires confrontation – political, military, economic, and psychological. She seems to believe that, if tensions were ever to escalate into open conflict, Japan would not stand alone. She also appears to assume that much of the region would quietly support its stance.

Even within her first months in office, she has begun steering Japan in a more openly strategic direction. She is pressing to revise Article 9 of the constitution – the clause renouncing war – so that Japan’s military can be more explicitly recognised and granted a broader defensive role. She is also promoting higher defence spending, pushing it toward 2% of GDP, accelerating military modernisation, and strengthening Japan’s counterstrike capabilities.

Japan has also moved to ease restrictions on overseas arms exports, a step that could support countries such as the Philippines and help build an Asia-Pacific defence network less dependent on China.

All of this points in one direction: Japan is repositioning itself to counter China’s growing power in East Asia.

Takaichi has also refused to retract her suggestion that a Chinese attack on Taiwan could amount to an “existential crisis” for Japan, despite pressure from Beijing.

Her economic policy reflects the same strategic logic. She favours reducing dependence on Chinese supply chains, especially in critical materials such as rare earths; tightening the screening of foreign investments and land acquisitions in sensitive sectors; and strengthening domestic resilience in areas such as energy, advanced technology, and semiconductors.

Diplomatically, she has adopted a more confrontational line toward Beijing, accusing China of coercion and aggressive behaviour, while at the same time expanding Japan’s internal security and intelligence capacity in response to concerns about Chinese influence and activity.

Taken together, these measures amount to one of the most significant shifts in Japan’s China policy since the end of the Second World War. Takaichi’s Japan no longer treats China merely as a difficult neighbour, but as a strategic rival of the highest order.

Takaichi also belongs to a generation with no personal memory of war. Born in 1961, she carries none of the direct burden of wartime experience. For many younger Japanese, the atrocities of the 1930s and 1940s belong to a distant historical past rather than a living moral inheritance. In that sense, Takaichi represents more than a policy shift: she reflects a broader desire among some Japanese to see their country stand tall again, militarily as well as economically.

Some historical and cultural background helps explain why this matters.

Shinto, Buddhism, and national identity

Although Shinto and Buddhism are fundamentally different in origin and worldview, they have long coexisted and intertwined in Japanese life.

Shinto is indigenous to Japan. It has no founder and no single sacred text. Buddhism, by contrast, arrived through China and Korea. Shinto centres on kami – spirits or deities associated with nature, place, and ancestry – and treats the world as sacred and continuous. Its emphasis is on purity, ritual, and harmony. Buddhism focuses more on impermanence, suffering, and the path toward liberation.

In practice, the two traditions have often merged rather than competed. This blending, known as Shinbutsu-shūgō, became a defining feature of Japanese religious life. Even today, it is common for a Japanese person to visit a Shinto shrine at the New Year, hold a Shinto wedding, and have a Buddhist funeral.

Shinto is therefore not merely a religion in the narrow sense. It is also bound up with memory, identity, ancestry, and place.

From sacred land to national myth

One of Shinto’s most politically potent ideas is that Japan is a special land of the kami, and that the emperor stands in a sacred lineage linked to the sun goddess Amaterasu. In times of national consolidation and expansion, this belief could be – and eventually was – transformed into political doctrine.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Japanese state formalised these ideas into State Shinto, which promoted emperor worship, loyalty, sacrifice, and national unity. This became one of the ideological pillars of Japan’s pre-1945 nationalism and militarism. After the war, State Shinto was abolished, the emperor was stripped of divinity, and religion was formally separated from the state.

Yet historical beliefs do not vanish simply because legal structures change. The emotional and cultural residues often remain.

Beginning under Shinzo Abe, Japan’s foreign policy acquired a more openly nationalistic tone. Under Takaichi, that tendency appears to be sharpening further. Although she has not visited Yasukuni Shrine, the site remains a potent symbol of Japan’s unresolved relationship with its wartime past.

There is also the enduring cultural legacy of Bushidō – the “Way of the Warrior” – which prizes loyalty, honour, endurance, self-discipline, and readiness for sacrifice. Though often romanticised, Bushidō still echoes in Japanese corporate culture, martial traditions, and certain narratives of national character.

The Samurai legacy

The roots of Bushidō lie in the rise of the samurai, who emerged between roughly the 8th and 12th centuries as provincial warriors serving local elites. As the imperial court in Kyoto weakened, power flowed outward to armed regional clans.

The decisive shift came after the Genpei War (1180–1185), when the Minamoto defeated the Taira. Minamoto no Yoritomo established the first shogunate, inaugurating a political order in which warriors became the governing class.

Japan then entered centuries of military rule. Samurai served daimyo, and warfare became a recurrent feature of political life, particularly during the Sengoku period (roughly 1467–1615), when central authority fractured and rival lords fought for supremacy.

That era ended only with reunification under Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and finally Tokugawa Ieyasu, whose victory at the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600 cleared the way for the Tokugawa shogunate and more than two centuries of relative peace.

During the Edo period, samurai increasingly became administrators and scholars rather than battlefield fighters. It was also in this period that Bushidō was more systematically codified.

The practice of seppuku (hara-kiri) – ritual suicide in defence of honour – was closely associated with this ethos. It symbolised a moral world in which loyalty and honour could be valued above life itself.

The Meiji transformation (1868–1912) 

The Meiji Restoration radically transformed Japan. The country modernised at extraordinary speed, adopting Western-style institutions, military structures, and industrial systems. The samurai class was abolished, and the wearing of swords was banned.

Yet the samurai spirit did not disappear. It was absorbed into modern nationalism.

Although seppuku was formally outlawed, it survived as a symbolic gesture of ultimate loyalty or conviction. General Nogi Maresuke committed seppuku in 1912 after Emperor Meiji’s death. At the end of the Second World War, some Japanese officers chose suicide over surrender. In 1970, Yukio Mishima famously performed seppuku after a failed attempt to incite a nationalist military revival.

The samurai vanished as a social class, but not as a psychological and cultural ideal.

Why this still matters

Concern over Japan’s historical memory did not disappear with the post-war settlement. Since the 1980s, critics have repeatedly accused Japan of downplaying or softening its wartime aggression, especially regarding the Nanjing Massacre, the issue of comfort women, and the use of forced labour in Korea and China.

Japan does not use a single state textbook; schools choose from a range of approved texts. Even so, critics argue that descriptions of wartime conduct are often softened. Invasions may be described in euphemistic terms, while atrocities receive limited treatment. By contrast, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki understandably occupy a central place in Japanese public memory, reinforcing an image of Japan as victim as well as aggressor.

There have, of course, been important official statements of remorse. In 1993, Chief Cabinet Secretary Yohei Kono acknowledged the role of the Japanese military in the coercion of comfort women and expressed “sincere apologies and remorse.”

In 1995, Prime Minister Tomiichi Murayama explicitly referred to Japan’s “colonial rule and aggression” and the “tremendous damage and suffering” they caused. That remains the clearest and most important official apology Japan has issued.

In 2015, Shinzo Abe reaffirmed previous apologies and spoke of “deep remorse”, though many observers found the language more indirect than Murayama’s.

Emperor Akihito also expressed deep remorse and a desire that the horrors of war never be repeated.

The problem is not the absence of apologies, but the inconsistency of the political culture surrounding them. When later politicians cast doubt on earlier statements, or when senior figures visit Yasukuni Shrine, many in China and Korea conclude that remorse has not been fully internalised. The issue is ultimately one of credibility, continuity, and moral seriousness.

The legacy of Japan’s rise

Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905) transformed global perceptions. For the first time in the modern era, an Asian power had decisively defeated a major European empire. The shock was immense.

Japan’s success shattered the myth of European invincibility and gave powerful momentum to the idea that Asia could resist Western domination. Later, this fed into Japan’s vision of a Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, presented as an Asian bloc free from Western colonial rule.

In reality, the project was less a partnership of equals than a structure of Japanese dominance. Japan needed oil, rubber, iron, and strategic depth. Expansion into East and Southeast Asia was driven not only by ideology but by the logic of empire, resources, and war.

This history matters because it shaped Japanese self-perception. Military success, rapid modernisation, and later economic power all contributed to a sense that Japan was uniquely capable, disciplined, and destined for regional leadership.

China in Japanese strategic imagination

Japan has long studied Chinese civilisation closely. Confucianism, Sun Tzu’s Art of War, and classics such as the Romance of the Three Kingdoms have all had deep influence in Japan. In some periods, Japanese and Korean engagement with Chinese philosophy has arguably been more systematic than China’s own popular relationship with its classical inheritance.

The first great military confrontation between the Japanese archipelago and a Chinese-ruled empire came under the Yuan, when Kublai Khan attempted to subdue Japan. The invasions failed, in part because of storms later remembered as the Divine Wind, or kamikaze. Over time, this entered Japanese consciousness as a symbol of providential protection.

Japan’s memory of the Second World War has been most selective. Many Japanese did not feel they had been defeated by China, but by the overwhelming industrial and military power of the United States, culminating in the atomic bombings. Meanwhile, modern Japanese views of China were shaped over a long period in which China appeared poor, unstable, divided, and vulnerable.

Japan’s post-war economic resurgence only reinforced this contrast. Under American protection, it became one of the world’s great economic powers. Its industries, brands, and commercial reach gave it confidence and prestige. For decades, many Japanese saw China as backward and dependent, even while Japanese capital and business flowed into the Chinese market.

Although China has since risen dramatically, social perceptions often lag behind geopolitical reality. Many Chinese still seek opportunities in Japan, and large numbers travel there. At the same time, some Japanese continue to draw broad and often unflattering conclusions about China from limited social encounters. Younger Japanese, moreover, tend to orient culturally toward Europe and the United States rather than toward China.

This helps explain why some in Japan find it difficult to accept China as the region’s pre-eminent power. Historical memory, civilisational pride, and modern identity all work against that acceptance.

The danger of misreading China

The central risk, in my view, is that Japanese nationalism may be reviving at precisely the moment when China is least willing to tolerate strategic provocation.

If Takaichi and those around her misread contemporary China as if it were still weak, divided, or psychologically deferential, they may be operating under deeply outdated assumptions. China today sees itself not merely as a nation-state, but as a civilisational power with long historical memory, strategic patience, and growing military capability.

That is why the current trajectory is dangerous. Symbolic gestures, constitutional revision, military normalisation, strategic decoupling, and ideological hardening may each be defensible in isolation.

Taken together, however, they suggest a Japan increasingly willing to test limits that earlier generations were more careful not to touch.

History does not repeat itself mechanically. But nations often return to old instincts in new forms. If that is what is now happening in Japan, the rest of Asia has reason to pay attention.

End

ZXMOTO – Another Huawei in the Making?

 

On March 29, the results of a motorcycle event in Portugal shocked many keen observers of technology around the world, although it has not been widely reported in the mainstream media.

A little-known China-made bike, ZXMOTO, won a double victory at the Fédération Internationale de Motocyclisme (FIM) Superbike World Championship in Portimão. (ZXMOTO entered two bikes; the double victory was achieved by French rider Valentin Debise, while the second bike, ridden by Italian Federico Caricasulo, finished 10th.)

At the Pirelli Dutch Round in April, the ZXMOTO team—Debise and Caricasulo—finished 3rd overall.

Both rounds are part of the larger MOTUL FIM Superbike World Championship (often shortened to WorldSBK or WSBK).

The Dutch round was particularly notable because the team was forced to compete with a 7 kg weight increase and a 5% reduction in engine power due to the championship’s Balance of Performance (BoP) rules, triggered by their dominant performance in Portugal.

The “ZX” in ZXMOTO stands for Zhang Xue, the designer behind this sensational bike.

What makes the bike so special?

Here is a breakdown of what makes his bike so remarkable:

• 100% Self-Developed Engine: At its heart is an 819cc inline three-cylinder engine designed entirely in-house. By choosing a three-cylinder configuration, Zhang Xue’s team strategically bypassed patent protections held by Japanese and European manufacturers on traditional twin- and four-cylinder engines. 

• High Power Output: The race-tuned version of this engine produces 153.6 horsepower and can rev up to 15,250 RPM, allowing the bike to accelerate from 0 to 100 km/h in just 2.81 seconds. 

• Extreme Lightweighting: A core design philosophy is weight reduction, giving the bike a significant handling advantage in corners. The race version weighs just 168 kg (about 370 lbs), over 20 kg (44 lbs) lighter than many competitors. 

• Advanced Technology & Domestic Parts: The bike integrates cutting-edge technology, including an AI-powered data analysis system that helps fine-tune performance. Crucially, its frame, swingarm, and electronic control systems are 100% developed in China, with the overall localization rate of parts exceeding 90%. 

• Affordable Price: Despite its world-class performance, the production version (the 820RR) is priced at just 43,800 yuan (approximately USD 6,300), a fraction of the cost of comparable European or Japanese models. 

In short, the bike’s uniqueness lies not in any single component, but in the entire package: a domestically engineered, high-performance machine that breaks global monopolies at a revolutionary price point. 

Who was he competing against?

In the WorldSSP (Supersport) category of the Superbike World Championship, Zhang Xue’s ZXMOTO 820RR-RS went head-to-head with the world’s most established and successful motorcycle manufacturers – brands with decades, and in some cases over a century, of racing heritage and engineering dominance. 

The primary competitors were the Japanese “Big Four” and leading European manufacturers:

• Japan: Yamaha, Honda, Kawasaki, and Suzuki
• Europe: Ducati and BMW

These manufacturers have historically held a tight grip on the championship, making ZXMOTO’s challenge a direct assault on a long-standing dominance.

Who Is Zhang Xue?

Zhang Xue’s journey from a rural repair shop to the top of the world podium is a remarkable story of obsession, resilience, and engineering ambition. He is the 39-year-old founder of ZXMOTO, a brand he launched in April 2024 that bears his own name.

Here are the key milestones in his extraordinary path:

• From Apprentice to Outcast (Ages 14–19): Born in 1987 in a village in Hunan province, Zhang dropped out of school at 14 to work in a motorcycle repair shop. By 17, he had opened his own shop. 

• The 100 km Chase (Age 19): In a defining act of determination, Zhang rode a beat-up motorcycle over 100 kilometres through cold rain to chase down a TV crew, begging for a chance to be noticed by a racing team. The footage, which went viral years later, helped him secure a place on a professional team. 

• Building a Reputation (2009–2017): He moved to Chongqing, China’s “motorcycle capital,” with just 20,000 yuan (USD 2,700). He worked for several manufacturers, honing his skills and becoming a minor celebrity on online motorcycle forums for his custom builds. 

• Co-founding KOVE (2017–2023): Zhang co-founded KOVE Moto, leading the brand to become the first Chinese manufacturer to have all its bikes finish the Dakar Rally. 

• A Costly Departure (2024): Determined to build a proprietary engine when his partners preferred to focus on existing models, Zhang took a massive risk—personally borrowing 10 million yuan from the company to fund development. After succeeding, he still left, walking away from his equity to start ZXMOTO. 

• The Historic Breakthrough (2026): Less than two years after founding ZXMOTO, his bike—ridden by Valentin Debise—won both races at the Portugal round. It marked the first time a Chinese-made motorcycle had ever won a top-tier world championship race, ending decades of European and Japanese dominance. 

Zhang Xue is not a typical CEO. He is known for his intense, hands-on approach and a philosophy that passion drives results. After the historic win, he wrote on social media: “It is not about chasing a trophy. It is about loving the ride. And that, perhaps, changes everything.” 

He remains candid about the challenges ahead, including his decision not to field a Chinese rider yet: “Because our Chinese riders aren’t fast enough… There’s no training system,” he admitted, highlighting systemic gaps he aims to address. 

A new type of Chinese entrepreneurship Is emerging - Too fast for the rest of the world though...

Figures such as Ren Zhengfei (Huawei), Zeng Yuqun (CATL), and Wang Chuanfu (BYD) represent a distinct generation. They differ from earlier Chinese business leaders in several keyways:

• Engineering-first mindset: Many are deeply technical.
• Obsession with vertical integration: BYD producing its own batteries, chips, and even ships is a strong example.
• Long-term horizons: Huawei’s decades-long investment in chips and telecom standards, despite sanctions.
• Global ambition from day one: Competing at the frontier, not merely exporting low-cost goods.

Companies like DJI, Unitree Robotics, and DeepSeek fit this pattern as well – lean teams, rapid iteration, and a willingness to challenge incumbents.

These successes are not merely individual brilliance. They are supported by a broader ecosystem:

• Industrial policy + competition: China’s “high-quality development” push has shifted focus from scale to capability, efficiency, and innovation.
• Brutal domestic competition: The Chinese market is arguably the most competitive in the world—survival there means being battle-tested.
• Supply chain depth: Nowhere else offers this level of integrated manufacturing, from raw materials to final product.
• Talent density: A vast pool of engineers, including many trained abroad.

Can ZXMOTO go the distance?
The superbike segment is one of the hardest to crack. Established players like Ducati, Yamaha, and BMW have decades of accumulated expertise, racing pedigree, and deep brand loyalty.

ZXMOTO has shocked the superbike world. However, to be truly credible, it must prove long-term reliability, build robust service and distribution networks, and cultivate brand desirability. 

If it can successfully disrupt such a legacy engineering battlefield, ZXMOTO will have truly arrived.

China has already shifted from “catch-up” to “frontier competition.” A brand trust gap still exists in premium segments – but this was also true of Japanese products in the 1960s.

Zhang should know all this. I am happy to wager on him.

Why Is Western media uninterested?

There has been hardly any coverage by outlets such as CNN or BBC – not dven on their sports pages. The silence is telling: a Chinese entrant winning in a traditionally European- and Japanese-dominated sport is structurally disruptive.

Western mainstream media tend to cover China primarily in the context of politics, security, or macroeconomics.

Perhaps it suits them, for now, to keep their heads in the sand.

End

TACO, an “Ah Q” Reincarnate; And in the East, a Star is Rising

 

I took the threat by Donald Trump to wipe out Persian civilization in one night seriously. After endless taunts, I thought he would finally go all out to silence his critics. Surprise, surprise – he chickened out again, barely two hours before the deadline.

I was wrong. I had overestimated TACO.

By now, the pattern is unmistakable: escalate to the brink; if the gamble fails, retreat – yet loudly declare victory. And now, Iran is given “another two weeks.”

From a humanitarian standpoint, the ceasefire is welcome. A regional war teetering on the edge of escalation could easily have spiralled into something far worse.

Iran’s “10 Points” — A Reality Check
The mediation, reportedly driven by Pakistan with support from Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Egypt, has produced a 10-point framework. Trump says they can “talk.” Let us examine what that really means:

1. Sanctions relief – Washington’s primary lever against Iran, now to be eased or lifted. Who, exactly, is conceding?
2. Recognition of uranium enrichment – A decades-old US red line. Is this now abandoned?
3. US military drawdown – A reduced American footprint in the Gulf. Once unthinkable.
4. Security guarantees – A US pledge of non-aggression, with China potentially as guarantor. A remarkable reversal.
5. Strait of Hormuz arrangements – From ultimatum to negotiation—possibly even allowing Iran to monetize passage.
6. Release of frozen assets – Billions returned to Tehran.
7. Recognition of Iran’s regional role – Implicit acceptance of its influence across Iraq, Lebanon, and beyond; from “pariah” to stakeholder.

(The remaining points—prisoner exchanges, normalization, phased implementation—are secondary.)

And yet, despite the obvious tilt, Trump claims victory.

One cannot help but think of Ah Q—forever triumphing in his own imagination.

Still, caution is warranted.

This “10-point plan” is not an agreement; it is a moving target. Trump first called it “workable,” then “fraudulent.” Accounts differ; details shift. At best, it is a bargaining document – a convenient off-ramp dressed up as strategy.

Even before the ink dries, Benjamin Netanyahu resumes strikes in Lebanon, while Iran again flexes control over the Strait of Hormuz.

With TACO, unpredictability is the only constant.
Why the Climbdown?

Rising petrol prices in the US are one pressure point. But the deeper issue is structural: economic strain, political fatigue, and a narrowing base of support. His much-vaunted legacy already shows cracks.

More revealing, perhaps, is the dubious “rescue mission” narrative.

The official story – of a downed F-15E Strike Eagle and a dramatic extraction – raises more questions than it answers. No images, no proof, no corroboration.

Alternative accounts suggest something far less heroic: a failed attempt to seize enriched uranium in Isfahan, ending in losses and hurried self-destruction of US assets. The F-15E incident may have been just one fragment of a larger debacle.

For a country that habitually showcases its military successes, the silence is telling.

With Trump and his circle, truth is elastic; narrative often replaces reality.

In the East, a Different Trajectory
While the world fixates on TACO’s theatrics, a quieter but potentially more consequential development unfolds in the East.

Cheng Li-wun’s (鄭麗文) visit to China, at the invitation of Xi Jinping, may prove significant.

Cheng is no lightweight. Trained in law (National Taiwan University; Temple University) and international relations (Cambridge), she moved from the DPP to the KMT, served multiple terms in the Legislative Yuan, and assumed KMT leadership in 2025.

Her personal background is equally telling. Her father, from Yunnan, fought under Chiang Kai-shek, continued resistance after 1949, and eventually settled in Taiwan.

Her mother is Taiwanese. She calls herself a “daughter of Yunnan” – a symbolic bridge between histories.

Reactions in Taiwan remain divided. Yet the visit may plant seeds that only later bear fruit.

Cheng represents a strand of thinking that sees the mainland and Taiwan not as separate destinies, but as a temporarily divided continuum. History, in this view, is cyclical: 分久必合，合久必分.

Fragmentation is an aberration; reunification, a restoration.

Her message is framed in 情 (shared heritage) and 和 (harmony), invoking even the memory of Taiwanese denied the right to mourn Dr Sun Yat-sen under Japanese rule. She boldly says that the situation today is a legacy of China’s century of humiliation at the hands of the West and Japan. 

Yet realities intrude. China’s rise – and its willingness to use force if necessary – casts a long shadow. At the same time, more Taiwanese may begin to question their role in a broader geopolitical contest.

How long can one remain a pawn – and at what cost?

Why continue underwriting foreign arms industries when the strategic imbalance is so stark?

Headwinds at Home
Cheng’s path is far from smooth.

Within the KMT, resistance persists. Figures like Chu Li-luan (朱立倫) continue to anchor Taiwan’s security in US protection. Others, such as Han Kuo-yu (韓國瑜), represent alternative currents but remain politically constrained.

Is the 1992 Consensus Enough?
Cheng seeks to revive the 1992 Consensus. It may no longer suffice.

Taiwan’s politics are fragmented, often driven by short-term interests. If there is to be a durable framework, it must go deeper – beyond slogans, beyond ambiguity.

A clearer anchoring principle may be required: that Taiwan’s future should not be defined as a pawn in the strategic games of external powers.

Cheng met China’s President Xi Jinping earlier today. Xi reiterated these core positions: that both sides of the Strait are “one family” and “all Chinese”; that peace and development are shared goals; and that Taiwan independence will not be tolerated.

Beyond acknowledging that mainland Chinese and Taiwanese are one people, Cheng expressed hope that China and Taiwan could work together to make the world a better place for humanity. Much of the public exchange was, understandably, framed in diplomatic courtesies. Although Cheng does not possess the authority to negotiate state-level outcomes, she appears to have impressed Xi with her sincerity and sense of purpose.

The meeting has been closely watched internationally. One message Beijing likely intends to convey is that, in contrast to the United States, China presents itself as favouring engagement over confrontation.

This visit, in itself, is not the dawn of reunification - but it may be the first faint light before sunrise… or perhaps only a passing glimmer.

As someone of Chinese heritage, I hope it marks a turning point in cross-strait relations - for the better, of course. 

End.

From Fascination to Contempt to Fear: The Evolution of the West’s Attitude Toward China

 

The shifting posture of the West toward China – from distant wonder to dismissive disdain, and finally to anxious apprehension – traces a centuries-long arc shaped by exploration, colonial rivalry, civilizational clash, geopolitical competition, and power transition. What began as a romanticized vision of a wealthy, sophisticated empire has evolved, through conflict, stereotyping, and modern great-power rivalry, into a complex mix of unease and fear. This essay unpacks that transformation, from the age of discovery to the present day.

I. The Age of Fascination: China as Europe’s Mythic, Wealthy Horizon

In the centuries before direct contact, China was not a rival to the West but a mythic, coveted destination – a land of unimaginable riches and advanced civilization that fired Europe’s most ambitious explorers.

The core drive for navigators like Vasco da Gama and Christopher Columbus was simple: to reach the fabled wealth of Asia, and above all China, via a direct sea route. For medieval and early modern Europe, China (known as “Cathay”) was synonymous with luxury: silk, porcelain and tea, and goods so rare they defined elite status. For generations, European trade with Asia relied on the overland Silk Road or Middle Eastern intermediaries, who inflated costs and controlled access.

By the 15th century, this fragile system collapsed. The fall of Constantinople handed the Ottoman Empire control of key land routes, making trade exorbitantly expensive and politically fraught. European powers hungered for direct access – to cut out middlemen, seize commercial profits, and bypass Islamic dominance.

Portugal’s Vasco da Gama led the way, sailing around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope to reach India in 1498, opening a permanent maritime path to Asian trade. Spain’s Christopher Columbus, seeking a shorter westward route to “Cathay,” stumbled upon the Americas in 1492, mistakenly believing he had reached Asia (a miscalculation born from underestimating the Earth’s size).

For both, China was the ultimate prize: India and Southeast Asia were waystations, but China was the apex of prestige and wealth.

This fascination was fuelled by two forces: Renaissance curiosity and utopian mythmaking. The Renaissance’s spirit of intellectual wonder drove European exploration, while accounts like Marco Polo’s Travels painted China as a civilization beyond European imagining: vast, orderly cities, a powerful centralized state, and revolutionary technologies – paper money, grand canals, efficient postal systems – that left Europeans awestruck. (Skepticism lingers over whether Polo personally visited China, but his tales shaped Western perception for centuries.)

To European readers, Cathay was a near-utopia: sophisticated, prosperous, and culturally advanced. It was not merely admired – it was economically tantalizing. The unspoken European fantasy was clear: If we can trade with China directly, we will grow unimaginably rich.

Religious myth amplified this allure. The legend of Prester John, a mythic Christian ruler of a wealthy, wondrous eastern kingdom, drifted across European imagination – first placed in Central Asia or India, then China, then Ethiopia. Its shifting location exposed Europe’s profound ignorance: Europeans filled gaps in knowledge with fantasy. The quest for Prester John became another quiet driver of exploration, tying spiritual longing to commercial ambition.

Yet when Europeans finally reached East Asia, they encountered a reality that defied their greedy dreams: China was sophisticated, but not easily exploitable.

The Ming Dynasty (1368–1644) controlled trade tightly, viewing Europeans as unruly barbarians, not equals. The dream of effortless wealth from China collided with imperial self-confidence.

A Critical Turning Point: Zheng He’s Voyages and Ming Isolationism

The West’s fascination collided with a pivotal choice in Chinese history: the Ming court’s decision to turn inward after Zheng He’s grand maritime expeditions (1405–1433). These voyages were not European-style “exploration” for profit or conquest, but imperial prestige projects – projecting Ming power across the Indian Ocean, from Southeast Asia to East Africa, and expanding the tributary system that framed China as the world’s cultural and political centre.

Within decades, however, the Ming abandoned naval ambition. Northern steppe invasions demanded urgent land defence (including costly Great Wall upgrades); scholar-officials dismissed maritime trade as wasteful, morally suspect, and tied to low-status merchants (Confucian hierarchy prioritized agrarian stability over commerce); Zheng He’s fleets were financially unsustainable, with no clear returns to justify their cost; and coastal piracy linked to unregulated trade fuelled calls for restriction.

The Ming did not fully “close China off” – but they imposed strict haijin (sea ban) policies: private overseas trade was banned, foreign contact limited to official tribute missions, and foreigners confined to supervised ports.

When Portuguese traders arrived in the 16th century, they were seen as unruly outsiders; violent clashes near Guangzhou preceded limited tolerance. The Ming granted Portugal Macau in 1557 (under Chinese sovereignty) only because European trade supplied silver, the lifeblood of China’s economy.

Crucially, the Ming held fast to a civilizational superiority mindset: Europeans, like all foreigners, were expected to bow to China’s centrality in the tributary order. Unlike Europe’s outward imperial surge, the Ming saw no need for overseas expansion – setting a civilizational divide that would shape East-West relations for centuries.

II. The Age of Contempt: Humiliation, Stereotyping, and Western Superiority

By the 19th century, fascination curdled into contempt. The once-mythic Cathay fell to military defeat, colonial encroachment, and Western caricature, as Europe’s industrial and military power overwhelmed a declining Qing Dynasty. This era of “contempt” was rooted in China’s “Century of Humiliation” (c.1839–1949)—a cascade of defeats that shattered Western respect and birthed dehumanizing stereotypes.

1. Western and Japanese Humiliation: The Collapse of Imperial China

The Century of Humiliation began with the Opium Wars. Britain defeated China in the First Opium War (1839–1842), forcing the Qing to open treaty ports, cede Hong Kong, and pay crippling indemnities. The Second Opium War (1856–1860) delivered an even deeper wound: Anglo-French troops looted and burned the Old Summer Palace (Yuanmingyuan), destroying irreplaceable cultural treasures – a deliberate act of civilizational humiliation, not just military victory.

Western powers imposed unequal treaties that stripped China of sovereignty: foreigners enjoyed extraterritoriality (immune from Chinese law), controlled tariffs and infrastructure, and carved out semi-colonial enclaves like Shanghai. Britain, France, Germany, and Russia seized concessions and leased territories; China was never fully colonized like India, but it was economically partitioned. The 1900 Boxer Rebellion, a popular uprising against foreign domination, was crushed by an eight-nation alliance, leading to more indemnities and foreign troops stationed in Beijing.

Worse still, China was humiliated by a former tributary: Japan. The First Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) saw a modernizing Japan decisively defeat the Qing, stripping China of Korea, seizing Taiwan, and imposing heavy reparations. After the 1912 Qing collapse, warlordism left China fragmented – inviting further Japanese aggression: the 1931 seizure of Manchuria (and the puppet state Manchukuo), the 1937 full-scale invasion, and unspeakable atrocities including the Nanjing Massacre and biological/chemical warfare via Unit 731. For the West, these defeats confirmed a narrative of Chinese “weakness” and “backwardness.”

2. The Birth of Racist Stereotyping: Fu Manchu and the “Yellow Peril”

Contempt hardened into racist stereotyping in Western popular culture and policy. Sax Rohmer’s early 20th-century villain Fu Manchu became the face of the “Yellow Peril” – a sinister, cunning, hyper-intelligent “alien” figure, marked by a Qing queue (pigtail), thin mustache, and exotic robes. Fu Manchu was not just a character; he codified a dehumanizing myth: Chinese people as untrustworthy, dangerous, and fundamentally incompatible with Western civilization.

This stereotype had real-world roots: 19th-century Chinese labour migration to the U.S., Australia, and Canada sparked economic anxiety and racial panic; colonial hierarchies ranked civilizations, framing non-Western peoples as “inferior”; and anti-Chinese policies like the U.S. Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) and Australia’s White Australia Policy enshrined discrimination in law. Fu Manchu amplified these prejudices, searing them into mainstream consciousness through novels, films, and comics.

The queue – imposed on Han Chinese by the Qing – was weaponized to signal “backwardness,” turning a historical detail into a visual marker of Western contempt. Even as China modernized, these stereotypes persisted, frozen in the Western imagination.

3. Modern Reinforcers of Contempt: Ideology and Cultural Clash
Mid-20th-century events deepened Western disdain. The Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) broadcast images of chaos, ideological extremism, and cultural destruction to the West, framing China as unstable, radical, and hostile to “universal” Western values. Later, the surge of Chinese mass tourism brought frequent complaints about etiquette - loudness, poor queuing – to reinforce stereotypes of Chinese “uncouthness.” These issues were typical of first-generation global tourism, and China has long run “civilized tourism” campaigns to address them – but Western media (even overseas Chinese like me) often ignored context, using anecdotes to justify contempt.

By the late 20th century, contempt was rooted in three pillars: colonial-era racial hierarchy, ideological hostility to communism, and cultural condescension toward a civilization once admired but now deemed “inferior.”

III. The Age of Fear: Geopolitical Rivalry and the Rise of a New Great Power

Today, contempt has faded – replaced by fear. The West no longer sees China as a weak, backward nation, but as a peer competitor: a technological, economic, and geopolitical giant challenging Western dominance. This fear is not irrational prejudice, but a product of real power transition, ideological divergence, and systemic competition.

Geopolitics and the Illusion of “Friendship”

Geopolitics is driven by national interest, not sentiment – a reality that defines China’s global relations and fuels Western anxiety. As a realist perspective holds, the anarchic international system prioritizes survival, security, and prosperity; “friendship” is a byproduct of aligned interests, not moral affinity.

The U.S.-Soviet WWII alliance turned to Cold War enmity; U.S.-China rapprochement in the 1970s was a marriage of convenience against the USSR, not shared values.

China’s 14 neighbouring states illustrate this: no border nation is a “brotherly” ally. Russia’s “personal friendship” with China is transactional, not eternal; Vietnam, Mongolia, and Central Asian states balance ties with China and the West; Japan, India, and the Philippines are explicit rivals. In Europe, only Serbia and Hungary lean pro-China; most retain a colonial-era superiority complex. Sino-African relations are rooted in infrastructure-for-minerals trade, not emotional bond; Brazil’s warmth toward China depends on its current government.

China has few formal allies – but this is not weakness. Its strength lies in non-aggression and sovereignty: unlike Western powers, it does not impose political conditions on aid or trade. This resonates deeply with the Global South, which remembers colonial exploitation and Western moralizing. For the West, however, China’s lack of allies is irrelevant: its sheer power is the threat.

Trump: The “Heaven-Sent” Catalyst for Western Fear

U.S. foreign policy under Donald Trump accelerated the West’s shift to fear – by undermining the Western-led rules-based order and elevating China as a credible alternative. Trump’s actions shattered Global South trust in the U.S.: his threats to abandon NATO, support for Israel’s Gaza campaign, plot to kidnap Venezuela’s Nicolás Maduro, and brinkmanship with Iran normalized violations of national sovereignty, pre-emptive force, and disregard for civilian life. These acts revived memories of 19th-century gunboat diplomacy, convincing much of the world that the U.S. is an unreliable, lawless hegemon.

Trump’s chaotic, personality-driven governance - pathological narcissism, impulsivity, contempt for institutions – stood in stark contrast to China’s leadership. For the Global South, this contrast made China a beacon of stability.

Xi Jinping: The Anti-Trump and the Face of a New Superpower

If Trump embodied Western decline, Xi Jinping became the symbol of Chinese strength and predictability – a leader admired across the Global South for pragmatism, strategic consistency, and respect for sovereignty.

Unlike Western leaders who impose governance or human rights conditions on aid, Xi’s China promotes non-interference and development without strings – via the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), which delivers infrastructure, trade, and technology to poorer nations.

Scholars like Jeffrey Sachs frame Xi not as an “authoritarian model,” but a delivery-oriented leader: a figure offering an alternative path to modernization, free from colonial baggage and Western moralizing. The Global South does not seek to copy China’s system – but it respects China’s refusal to impose its values on others. For the West, this is the core fear: Xi’s China is not just a rival power, but a legitimate alternative to Western hegemony – one that commands growing global respect.

Conclusion: From Awe to Anxiety—The West’s Unsettled Reckoning

The West’s journey from fascination to contempt to fear is a story of power and perception. For centuries, China was a distant, admired dream; then a defeated, stereotyped victim; now a formidable challenger. Fascination stemmed from ignorance and envy; contempt from colonial superiority and military dominance; fear from the end of Western unipolarity.

China’s rise under Xi Jinping – accelerated by Western missteps like Trump’s chaos – has repositioned it as a global power par excellence. The West’s fear is not of Chinese aggression, but of displacement: of losing its centuries-old grip on global economic, political, and cultural leadership.

In the end, the West’s attitude toward China is a mirror: it reflects not just China’s evolution, but the West’s own insecurities, fading dominance, and struggle to adapt to a multipolar world. What began as wonder at a distant empire has ended with anxiety about a peer competitor – and that fear defines the 21st century’s greatest geopolitical story.

End

Country vs. Nation: When Power and Meaning Diverge

 

Just some outlandish thoughts...

I always contend that there is a difference between “country” and “nation.” Many countries are not nations per se, and nations are not countries or states. This is a conceptual mismatch at the heart of how we commonly understand political identity today. 

By definition, a country (or state) is a political and legal entity. It is sovereign, with defined borders, a government, and recognition under international law. A nation is a large group of who share a common culture, language, history, ethnicity, or even a shared narrative about themselves, inhabiting a specific territory.

By the above definitions, some countries contain multiple nations. The United Kingdom, for example, includes the English in England, the Scottish in Scotland, the Welsh in Wales, and the Irish in Northern Ireland. In Canada, indigenous people there identify themselves as First Nations. This narrow definition means that the Kurdish people, who live across Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria can also say that they are a nation. And historically, it is also said that the Jewish identity existed as a nation long before the modern state of Israel. 

Some would also define China this way, but I do not believe the Chinese government tolerates this line of thinking, which I agree. I will return to this later.

When a country and a nation roughly coincide, the most appropriate term to apply, in my opinion, is "nation-state". Japan is considered close to this model, as its population is almost homogeneous.

In essence, a country is something you can map; a nation is something people feel. And a nation-state encompasses both.

That is why nationalism can be so powerful. It is not just about borders or governments, but about identity, belonging, and sometimes grievance. This distinction lies behind many major global tensions:

• Independence movements (when a nation wants its own country)
• Disputes over minorities
• Competing national narratives within the same state

China: Civilisation-State vs. Modern Country
China officially presents itself as a unified nation-state, but in reality, it is closer to what some scholars call a civilisation-state.

• The state (country) is the People's Republic of China.
• The “nation” is framed as Zhonghua minzu (the Chinese nation) – a constructed, broad civilisational identity.

Internally, there are 56 distinct ethnic groups (e.g., Han, Tibetan, Uyghur), which complicates the idea of a single nation. The Chinese government tries to align nation with country - to make cultural identity and political loyalty converge - engineering a nation to match its country. Despite scepticism, it is nearly succeeding. The dilution of ethnic patriotism and the promotion of a common identity - Zhōng-Huá Rén-mín [中华人民]. 

The US: White Supremacy from the Very Beginning

The United States is almost the reverse case. The country was founded primarily on a written constitution and political principles, rather than on a pre-existing ethnic or cultural nation. Nationhood came later, built around ideals rather than ethnicity.

American “national” identity is premised on civic ideals – liberty, democracy, the “American Dream” – not on a single ethnicity or ancient culture. But in reality, this identity has long been hijacked. White people dominated from the outset; slavery was introduced; Indigenous peoples were excluded; citizenship was effectively limited to white men. From the beginning, there was a gap between ideals and practice.

White supremacy played a major role in shaping American identity – through laws like segregation, immigration restrictions favouring Europeans, and cultural narratives of a “White” America.

Structurally, the US is constitutionally secular, but Christianity has largely shaped American identity. Public life has long been influenced by Christianity (e.g., political rhetoric, social norms). There is also a strong historical presence of Judaism, particularly in intellectual, legal, and cultural spheres.

Although these civic ideals were later used to challenge white supremacy, non-Whites have never felt they are equal. The American nation is built on universal ideals, but those ideals have been selectively interpreted, restricted, and fought over – particularly by forces like racial hierarchy and religious influence. Donald Trump champions this today. The US now looks more like a broken country, let alone a nation.

The Case of Australia

Australia is especially interesting. It has three overlapping “nations”:

1. Indigenous nations – Hundreds of distinct Aboriginal nations existed long before the modern state.
2. British-derived national identity – The original political and cultural foundation of the country.
3. Modern multicultural nation – Built through immigration, especially post-WWII and recent Asian migration.

The “country” exists clearly (borders, institutions), but the nation is still a work in progress, especially regarding what “Australian values” really mean. Fortunately, Australia remains a stable country.

As for Israel

The Jewish “nation” existed for millennia without a state. Modern Israel was created to realise that nation, but the country was originally Palestine’s. Thus, two nations compete within the same territory. In essence, the country of Israel is still contested.

What about India?

Using the earlier dictionary distinction of country/state equals political entity, and nation is shaped by shared identity, a description of India as a “multinational state” does hold water. India contains dozens of major linguistic-cultural blocs: Tamil, Bengali, Punjabi, Marathi, Gujarati, etc., many with long historical identities. Some of these have had strong regional nationalisms (e.g., Tamil nationalism in the south, Sikh nationalism in Punjab, Kashmiri identity in the north). The federal structure—states largely organized along linguistic lines—implicitly acknowledges these distinctions.

However, since independence in 1947, India has also cultivated a pan-Indian civic identity: constitution, democracy, shared institutions, national symbols. Unlike places that fractured (e.g., Yugoslavia), India has largely held together despite diversity. Therefore, civically, India itself functions as a single nation with internal diversity.

Bottom of Form

And the “tribal” states?
In parts of Africa and the Gulf, pre-modern social organization (tribes, clans, lineages) still shapes politics in visible ways. Colonial borders in much of Africa (formalized after the Berlin Conference) grouped together very different communities into single states.

In countries like Nigeria or Kenya, electoral politics often align with ethnic or regional blocs. And in fragile states such as Somalia or Libya, clan or tribal affiliations can outweigh central authority.

And in the Gulf, states like Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and United Arab Emirates have ruling families whose legitimacy is historically rooted in tribal alliances. Social networks, patronage, and even aspects of governance can still reflect tribal lineage structures.

“Tribe” was heavily used in colonial anthropology to imply “pre-modern” or “less developed” societies. Even “modern” states have similar dynamics. Voting blocs based on ethnicity, religion, or region exist in places like the US, India, or Europe too—just described in different language.

But calling them “tribal states” risks being seen as condescending. Many are modern states. They are all internationally recognized sovereign entities, members of the United Nations. They have bureaucracies, constitutions (formal or informal), and national institutions.

Then, is the United Nations a misnomer?

The name United Nations reflects the 1945 worldview, not a precise theoretical definition. It was coined during World War II by Franklin D. Roosevelt to refer to the Allied “nations” fighting the Axis. Membership is made up of sovereign states, not nations in the cultural sense. Strictly speaking, it’s closer to a “United States (of the world)” than a union of nations. But ironically, it is hardly “united” in any meaningful way.

In my opinion, it should be named “World Order Organisation” – if it is what the fair world wants it to function.  

Three Paradoxes

1. Taiwan

Taiwan is part of China; the majority of its population is Han Chinese. But separatists there see Taiwan as a separate country; some even see themselves as a distinct nation – a Taiwanese identity rather than a Chinese one.

2. Ukraine
Ukraine versus Russia is another clear example. Russians and Ukrainians are “one people.” Yet Ukraine asserts a distinct national identity - language, history, political orientation. After the breakup of the Soviet Union, the issue was politically and geographically settled. Unfortunately, with NATO’s instigation, Ukraine chose to abandon neutrality and pursue NATO membership – hence the war.

3. Palestine
The conflict involving Israel and the Palestinian territories is perhaps the most emotionally and historically layered. Jews have realised their nation-statehood but deny Palestinians the right to seek their own. Essentially, two nations claim the same territory as their country. This conflict is intractable. It is not just a border dispute but a collision of national narratives, histories, and identities.

Conclusion
A country is a structure of power; a nation is a structure of meaning. When both align, the result is stability. When they diverge, tensions arise and conflicts prevail. Unfortunately, the US is always undermining things! 

End