China sustains partners economically but won't defend them when it matters most.
For decades, the United States underwrote a global order through binding alliances and institutional commitments; now, as Washington turns inward, Beijing presents itself as the natural heir — yet China's own foreign policy reveals a different ambition entirely. Rather than assuming the burdens of leadership, China has cultivated a vast web of flexible partnerships across more than a hundred countries, deepening ties when convenient and withdrawing when crises demand real sacrifice. This 'China first' doctrine, rooted in the painful lessons of the Sino-Soviet alliance, preserves autonomy but consistently fails to convert global reach into collective power. In a world drifting toward disorder, both great powers now risk discovering that influence without commitment is a foundation that holds only until it is tested.
- As American credibility recedes, China is actively positioning itself as the champion of multilateralism — but its conduct in Iran, Ukraine, and Venezuela exposes a pattern of economic support paired with strategic abandonment at the moment of greatest need.
- Beijing's refusal to provide security guarantees or meaningful military backing to partners like Iran and Russia forces those countries to seek help elsewhere, revealing the hollow core beneath China's expansive diplomatic architecture.
- When the Trump administration's sweeping tariffs threatened to fracture China's partner network, Beijing's anxious warnings of 'reciprocal countermeasures' betrayed how fragile and uncoordinated its alignments truly are.
- In a hypothetical Taiwan conflict, China's transactional partners would most likely declare neutrality, leaving Beijing to bear the operational and economic costs of confrontation largely alone — a stark contrast to the integrated treaty alliances Washington can mobilize.
- The warning for Washington is equally sharp: chasing China's transactional model in the name of 'America first' would erode the very institutional bonds that give U.S. power its depth and durability, accelerating the slide toward a leaderless global order.
For nearly eighty years, the United States built and sustained the postwar international order. As Washington retreats under 'America first,' many in Europe and beyond have grown more favorable toward China, and Beijing has seized the moment — presenting itself as a defender of multilateralism against American unpredictability. But a closer look at how China actually conducts foreign policy tells a more complicated story.
Beijing is not seeking to replace Washington as a global leader. Unlike the United States, which built binding alliances, or the Soviet Union, which maintained a formal bloc, China has pursued global reach without entanglement — partnerships without obligations, great-power status without the weight of leadership. This instinct is rooted in history: Mao's 1950 alliance with Moscow drew China into the Korean War on others' terms, cost it any chance at Taiwan, and ultimately collapsed within a decade. The lesson Chinese leaders drew was lasting — alliances constrain autonomy and expose a country to the conflicts of others.
Under Xi Jinping, this flexible approach became doctrine. China today maintains formal partnerships with more than a hundred countries, arranged in a loose hierarchy from Russia's elite 'Comprehensive Strategic Partnership' down to a broad array of strategic partners across every continent. The ambiguity is deliberate, allowing Beijing to deepen or scale back relationships as interests shift.
The limits of this model emerge most sharply in crisis. When Israel and the United States struck Iran in 2025 and a full air war followed, China condemned the attacks and kept buying Iranian oil — but refused Tehran's requests for security guarantees or cease-fire mediation. In Ukraine, Beijing sustained Russia economically and diplomatically while withholding major military aid, forcing Moscow to turn to North Korea for troops and weapons. When the Wagner rebellion threatened Putin in June 2023, China's foreign ministry offered only a two-sentence statement calling it an 'internal affair.' When the United States captured Venezuela's Nicolás Maduro in early 2026 — hours after he had met with Beijing's own envoy — China did little beyond issuing a condemnation.
The pattern is consistent: China sustains partners economically and shields them diplomatically, but will not defend them when the stakes are highest. This has preserved Beijing's autonomy, but it has not generated reliable collective power. China's partnerships rarely produce the coordinated action that deeper institutional ties enable. The BRICS New Development Bank still lends a fraction of what the World Bank does and remains embedded in the dollar system. Even countries skeptical of American dominance hedge carefully, seeking to diversify rather than depend on Beijing.
The exposure would be most acute in a conflict over Taiwan. China could expect narrow transactional support from Moscow and Pyongyang, but nothing approaching the integrated, high-cost assistance the United States can draw from treaty allies. Most of China's other partners would declare neutrality. Beijing would likely bear the burdens of conflict largely alone.
China's experience carries a lesson for Washington as well. A foreign policy built on transactional ties and narrowly defined national interests may feel efficient in the short term, but it sacrifices the reliable support and coordinated action that only genuine institutional bonds can provide — and it hastens the arrival of a more fragmented, disorderly world.
For nearly eighty years, the United States built and maintained the architecture of the postwar international system. But as Washington retreats under the banner of "America first," the world watches to see if Beijing will step in. In recent months, people across Canada, France, Germany, and the United Kingdom have grown more favorable toward China, according to a Politico survey from February 2026, even as their confidence in American leadership has eroded. Beijing has seized the moment, positioning itself as a defender of multilateralism and a guardian of a more equitable global order—a stark contrast, it argues, to American unilateralism and unpredictability.
Yet a closer examination of how China actually conducts its foreign policy reveals something more complicated. Beijing is not trying to replace Washington as a global leader or assume the burdens that come with superpower status. Unlike the United States, which built a network of binding alliances, or the Soviet Union, which controlled a formal communist bloc, China has pursued something different: global reach without entanglement, partnerships without binding obligations, great-power status without the weight of leadership. This approach—call it "China first"—prioritizes Beijing's narrow interests while disclaiming responsibility for managing regional and global crises that fall outside those interests. It is a strategy that predates the Trump administration's own "America first" doctrine by years.
China's reluctance to take on global burdens is rooted in history. When Mao Zedong forged a formal alliance with the Soviet Union in 1950, the arrangement brought resources and protection but also steep costs. China was drawn into the Korean War on terms largely set by Moscow and Pyongyang, suffering staggering losses and losing the chance to seize Taiwan. The Truman administration responded by deploying the Seventh Fleet to the Taiwan Strait, and the Eisenhower administration later signed a mutual defense treaty with the island. Within a decade, the Sino-Soviet alliance had collapsed under the weight of ideological disagreement and regional rivalry. For Chinese leaders, the lesson was enduring: alliances constrain autonomy and expose a country to the ambitions and conflicts of others. Since then, Beijing has avoided new formal alliances, keeping only its 1961 mutual defense pact with North Korea—a commitment that looks more like a burden than an asset today.
Under Xi Jinping, who took power in 2012, this flexible approach became the organizing principle of a more assertive foreign policy. By the early 2010s, China had become the top trading partner of more than 120 countries, sat at the center of global supply chains, and possessed a rapidly modernizing military. Xi called for China to pursue "a distinctive diplomatic approach befitting its role as a great power," a clear break from his predecessors' instruction to "keep a low profile." But he made equally clear that Beijing would not replicate the American alliance model. Instead, China would forge a "new type of international relations" based on flexibility and the ability to tighten or loosen partnerships at will. Today, China maintains formal partnerships with more than 100 countries and regional organizations, arranged in a loose hierarchy. Russia sits at the top as a "Comprehensive Strategic Partnership of Coordination for a New Era." Below that are "all weather" partners like Belarus, Pakistan, and Venezuela, followed by a broad array of "comprehensive strategic partners" and "strategic partners" spanning Africa, Europe, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia. The ambiguity is intentional. It allows Beijing to deepen relationships when interests align and scale back when risks increase.
The limits of this model become starkest in moments of acute crisis. Take Iran, China's largest trading partner and the top seller of Iranian oil. In 2021, Beijing and Tehran signed a much-publicized 25-year comprehensive strategic partnership. Two years later, China helped broker a diplomatic breakthrough between Saudi Arabia and Iran. Yet as the region descended into conflict, with Israel and the United States launching strikes on Iran in 2025 and a full-scale air war earlier this year, China remained notably aloof. Beijing condemned the attacks, continued purchasing Iranian oil in defiance of U.S. sanctions, and supplied dual-use goods with potential military applications. But it declined Tehran's requests to serve as a guarantor of a cease-fire or provide broader security assurances. In Europe, as the Ukraine war entered its fifth year, China pursued calibrated support for Russia—maintaining trade, increasing oil purchases, supplying dual-use goods, and offering diplomatic backing. Yet Beijing withheld major lethal military assistance, forcing Russia to turn to North Korea for troops and arms. When Putin faced his most vulnerable moment in June 2023, as the Wagner Group launched an armed rebellion, neither Xi nor the Chinese government issued an explicit statement of support. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued only a terse two-sentence statement calling it an "internal affair." Venezuela offers another revealing case. For years, China extended tens of billions of dollars in loans and purchased vast quantities of Venezuelan oil. But when the United States captured President Nicolás Maduro in January 2026—just hours after he met with Beijing's special representative for Latin American affairs—China did little beyond condemning the intervention.
A pattern emerges from these cases: China sustains its partners economically and shields them diplomatically but will not defend them when stakes are highest. The strategy has preserved Beijing's autonomy and reduced its exposure to risk. But it has failed to generate reliable collective power. When the Trump administration imposed sweeping global tariffs last year, Beijing feared its partners might strike side deals with Washington and felt compelled to threaten "reciprocal countermeasures"—a telling sign that alignment is neither assured nor automatic. More broadly, China's partnerships rarely generate the kind of coordinated action that deeper institutional ties enable. The BRICS New Development Bank, launched more than a decade ago as an alternative to the World Bank, still lends a fraction of what the World Bank does and remains embedded in the dollar-based global financial system. In China's own neighborhood, endemic disputes and historical mistrust continue to undermine its reputation. Even countries skeptical of American dominance remain pragmatic, seeking to diversify relationships and avoid dependence on any single power.
The vulnerability of this approach would be most exposed in a conflict over Taiwan. Beijing could probably count on Moscow and Pyongyang for narrow, transactional assistance—dual-use goods, intelligence, military equipment, energy supplies. But such aid would fall short of the well-planned, high-cost, operationally integrated assistance the United States can mobilize from its treaty allies. Most of China's other partners would likely declare themselves neutral. Few would willingly incur significant costs on Beijing's behalf or openly defy U.S. sanctions. If the United States intervened to defend Taiwan, Beijing would pressure American allies in Asia to deny Washington access to bases and operational support. But assuming U.S. alliances held, those countries would have reason to support Washington: treaty commitments, dependence on American security guarantees, and the presence of American troops on their soil. China would bear the burdens of conflict largely alone. For now, Chinese leaders still believe a more expansive global role would ultimately sap Chinese power. But the international system is entering a leaderless era in which great powers prioritize freedom of action over sustaining order. China's experience illustrates both the appeal and the danger of this logic. By avoiding binding commitments, Beijing has preserved autonomy. But it has also failed to translate global reach into real collective power. The lesson for Washington is clear: a foreign policy built on transactional ties and narrowly defined national interests may appear attractive in the short term, but it comes at the cost of reliable support from partners and contributes to a more fragmented and disorderly world.
Notable Quotes
Beijing has preserved its autonomy and reduced its exposure to risk, but it has failed to generate reliable collective power.— Analysis of China's partnership model
A foreign policy built on transactional ties and narrowly defined national interests may appear attractive in the short term, but it comes at the cost of reliable support from partners and contributes to a more fragmented and disorderly world.— Implicit warning to the United States
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does China avoid formal alliances when they seem to work so well for the United States?
Because China learned a painful lesson from its 1950 alliance with the Soviet Union. That partnership drew Beijing into the Korean War on Moscow's terms, cost staggering lives and resources, and cost them Taiwan. For Chinese leaders, the takeaway was that alliances constrain your freedom to act and expose you to other countries' conflicts.
But doesn't that mean China can't count on anyone when it really needs help?
Exactly. That's the trap. China has built this vast network of partnerships—over 100 countries—but they're all shallow. When Russia faced internal crisis in 2023 or when Venezuela's government was toppled in 2026, China offered economic support and diplomatic backing but nothing more. Its partners know this, so they hedge by maintaining relationships with China's rivals.
So China's strategy works in peacetime but falls apart under pressure?
Yes. In a Taiwan conflict, for instance, Beijing could probably get some help from Russia and North Korea—weapons, intelligence, energy. But nothing coordinated or sustained. Most other partners would stay neutral. China would fight largely alone, which is a massive vulnerability for a country trying to be a great power.
Is this why China keeps talking about a "new international order" if it won't actually lead one?
It's the contradiction at the heart of Beijing's approach. China wants the prestige and influence of global leadership without the burdens. It wants to shape the system without stabilizing it. That works when you're rising and others are falling, but it leaves you exposed when crisis comes.
What would make China change this strategy?
A shock of the magnitude that forced the United States to rebuild the postwar order after 1945. A world so destabilized that Beijing saw no choice but to take on the costs of stabilizing it. Short of that, China's approach is unlikely to fundamentally shift.
And the warning for America is what, exactly?
That following China's example—retrenching, cutting commitments to allies, going transactional—looks appealing in the short term but leaves you weaker in the long run. Without a great power at least trying to manage the system, crises become harder to control and the world becomes less stable for everyone, including the strongest states.