The cost of an absolute victory against Iran

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By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

President Trump gestures after speaking at the David Mack Center for Training and Intelligence, Aug. 14, 2026, in Garden City, N.Y. Photo: Julia Demaree Nikhinson, Associated Press

History shows that when leaders face political setbacks at home, they often seek to restore their standing through decisive action abroad. The temptation is to double down on an uncompromising foreign-policy objective rather than acknowledge failure or retreat. This quest can overshadow the strategic costs of achieving it.

President Trump faces such a moment with the unfinished war with Iran that he launched on February 28. Lacking a clear endgame, the war has proved costly and deeply unpopular at home and abroad.

Re-igniting or expanding the high-stakes conflict with Iran shortly after midterm election losses runs the risk of holding the already-reeling global economy hostage and further alienating a war-weary U.S. electorate concerned with economic stability and military overreach. The war was clearly a factor in Republicans’ loss of both chambers of Congress.

To salvage his image from the Iran war debacle, Trump, however, may reignite hostilities in the belief that his legacy hinges on compelling Iran to verifiably abandon its nuclear program. That includes low-level enrichment, which Tehran regards as its inalienable right under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which allows peaceful nuclear-energy activities under International Atomic Energy Agency inspections.

Despite the recent electoral drubbing, Trump declared that he has no regrets about launching the war, even if American voters “weren’t happy with the oil price.” To make matters worse, there is intense internal friction within Trump’s national security team, with disagreeing advisers presenting him with starkly divergent risk assessments.

Advisers supporting escalation argue that unyielding military pressure is the only mechanism to compel Iran into total compliance. In this zero-compromise approach, stopping short of total victory renders the initial blood and treasure wasted.

Moderates, in contrast, caution that further strikes risk escalating into a broader regional confrontation, disrupting energy markets and locking the U.S. into an endless war. They also warn that Tehran can absorb immense punishment, resulting in a likely quagmire that would cloud the remainder of Trump’s term. Their prescription leans toward managed exits or off-ramps before political damage deepens further.

The blunt truth is that the Iran war has already proved to be one of the most strategically self-defeating wars in modern American history. It has weakened U.S. power, strengthened the very clerical regime it sought to overthrow, and handed geostrategic advantages to America’s principal global challenger, China. No less significant is the erosion in America’s international credibility and standing, even as the war has imposed significant economic costs on U.S. allies and partners (from Asia to Europe) by spiking energy prices and slowing growth.

The war already has fundamentally altered the strategic calculations of the Gulf monarchies, the central pillars of American power in the Middle East that today are pressing for de-escalation. These states, by prioritizing “Gulf First,” are no longer willing to blindly follow an “America First” administration. Any U.S.-initiated resumption of hostilities would only accelerate the rethink in the royal courts of the Gulf sheikhdoms.

Having already paid the domestic political costs of the Iran war, the White House has little incentive to accept an ambiguous draw. Indeed, Trump may want the conflict to end in a way that allows him to boast that launching it was worth the cost to the U.S. and the global economy.

The elevation of hardline loyalist Stephen Miller to chief of staff aligns with this logic. Miller’s public posture on the Iran campaign has framed the military campaign through an uncompromising lens (“not fighting with hands tied behind the back”).

To achieve a victory narrative dramatic enough to offset the political damage, the administration may seek to maximize coercive pressure through renewed hostilities to achieve Iran’s capitulation at the negotiating table or on the battlefield. However, if the Iranian regime were to give up its right to enrich uranium or admitted defeat under foreign duress, it could threaten its internal survival. If both sides view capitulation as politically costlier than continued conflict, escalation risks becoming self-sustaining.

Whether this leads to reignited hostilities depends on one key variable: whether the White House perceives the geopolitical and domestic backlash of renewed hostilities as lower than the political cost of an inconclusive outcome.

Trump is being forced to choose between two unpalatable options. He can cut the mounting losses — borne by the U.S., its allies and the global economy — and accept an inconclusive outcome, risking the narrative that launching the war was a major strategic error with no tangible payoff. Or he can double down on compellence, betting that an even tighter squeeze or further escalation can force Iran’s total capitulation on enrichment, thereby recasting the war as a historic victory.

With the U.S. again massing major forces near Iran, the sunk-cost logic may drive White House strategy. Once political capital is already spent, conservative conflict-management strategies give way to high-risk legacy moves. Forcing a complete, uncompromising outcome (“absolute victory”) carries massive strategic, economic and political trade-offs that may far outweigh any gains.

Absolute victory, in war as in politics, is often the costliest illusion. For the U.S., the choice is not between victory and retreat, but between an inconclusive peace and a deeper strategic defeat. A war launched to restore American strength must not end by further weakening America.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.”

Trump’s crony diplomacy is marginalizing Marco Rubio

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President Trump greets Secretary of State Marco Rubio at a campaign rally at the Port of Corpus Christi on Oct. 27, 2026, in Corpus Christi, Texas. Photo: Alex Brandon, Associated Press

By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

Outsourcing high-stakes diplomacy to family members and business associates would provoke public outrage in most democracies. President Trump, however, has normalized the practice.

In this model of crony diplomacy, personal loyalty, private gain and informal networks routinely override institutional processes and the national interest, while accountability diminishes.

Against this backdrop, it may scarcely be surprising that Secretary of State Marco Rubio’s recent overseas travels have skirted the world’s main hot spots. Rubio’s latest travels have taken him to Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Iceland, Greece, Portugal and, most recently, Uzbekistan and India.

Trump, instead of relying on Rubio and the professional diplomatic corps, has repeatedly turned to his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, and business partner Steve Witkoff — a Manhattan real-estate figure — to spearhead high-stakes negotiations on Ukraine, Russia, Gaza and Iran. Both men entered their roles as “special envoys” for peace with no prior diplomatic experience. Both also have glaring conflicts of interest.

Rubio’s travel schedule heavily favors lower-risk regions while avoiding the main theaters of global conflict. Critics speculate that he is doing this deliberately to safeguard his own political future. By keeping his distance from the Trump administration’s messiest and most volatile foreign-policy crises, including his muddled China policy, Rubio stays clear of issues that could end badly.

Rubio may have calculated that his long-term career — potentially including a presidential run in 2028 — is best served by bypassing the administration’s core foreign-policy minefields.

Rubio, however, has remained the administration’s point man on Venezuela and Cuba. Neither Venezuela nor Cuba, though, has done much to burnish his record.

The Trump administration’s strategy since January of strangling Cuba has created a severe humanitarian crisis on the island without bringing about regime change. Meanwhile, the success of the U.S. military operation in Venezuela in capturing the country’s sitting president only emboldened Trump’s war on Iran, which has turned into a politically costly fiasco for him. Even as Venezuelans bristle over the U.S. takeover of their country’s oil wealth, Trump boasted: “We’ve taken out so much oil in Venezuela, we paid for the cost of the war [on Iran] about 25 times over.”

Venezuela’s oil-export revenues are deposited directly into accounts controlled by the U.S. Treasury, with Rubio effectively overseeing both its exports and finances, including when, how much and for what purposes funds are released to Caracas. This relationship has frequently been described as akin to a “weekly allowance” for approved humanitarian or infrastructure purposes. From afar, Rubio effectively runs Venezuela in neocolonial fashion.

Expanding Venezuela’s oil exports was one of the key objectives behind Rubio’s recent trip to India, where he paid a private visit to the world’s largest oil-refining complex in Jamnagar.

Refining Venezuela’s high-sulfur, ultra-heavy crude is significantly more energy-intensive, carbon-intensive and time-consuming than refining light, sweet crude. While light, sweet crude yields relatively high proportions of gasoline and diesel through atmospheric distillation, heavy crude demands extensive, multistage conversion to produce marketable products. Still, the Jamnagar refining complex has emerged as a leading buyer and processor of U.S.-controlled Venezuelan heavy crude.

With a crude-processing capacity of about 1.4 million barrels per day, Jamnagar stands out globally as one of the few hyper-complex private export hubs capable of processing different crude varieties into ultra-clean, Euro VI-compliant fuels on an enormous scale.

Calling India, the world’s third-largest oil importer, a “refining superpower,” Rubio pitched greater purchases of Venezuelan crude for processing at Jamnagar to help ease a global diesel crunch and other refined-fuel shortages. Jamnagar makes India a leading global exporter of diesel and other refined fuels, supplying markets across Asia, Africa, Europe and the Americas. Jamnagar’s refined-product exports dwarf those of individual refineries elsewhere, including in the U.S.

Owned by Mukesh Ambani’s Reliance Industries, the complex features a dedicated export-only facility within a Special Economic Zone, allowing it to serve as a crucial swing supplier to international markets. That Rubio’s visit followed Elon Musk’s public attacks on Ambani, whom he mockingly styled “Prime Minister Ambani,” illustrated the blurring line between commercial rivalry, personal patronage and official diplomacy in Trump’s Washington.

India, seeking energy resilience through diversification, is unlikely to substantially increase Venezuelan oil imports, which in any case come with higher transportation and marine-insurance costs. Nor are Indian firms likely to accept Rubio’s proposal that they invest directly in restoring Venezuela’s dilapidated oil fields under American oversight, given the financial losses the companies have suffered from past U.S. policy reversals.

With political ties with New Delhi under pressure largely because of Trump’s policies, Rubio’s India visit sought to shift the focus toward energy security and corporate partnerships. By limiting his itinerary to India’s commercial capital, Mumbai, and the Jamnagar complex, Rubio emphasized pragmatic cooperation over diplomatic friction.

Rubio’s India visit, however, exemplified the limits of what a fragmented foreign policy can deliver in an era of American crony diplomacy.

Diplomacy is not merely deal-making, as Trump seems to believe. Since Trump’s return to office, U.S. diplomacy in the Middle East, for example, has increasingly reflected personal and commercial priorities. Kushner’s “New Gaza” proposal, unveiled at Davos, has been widely criticized as “real estate diplomacy” — a plan that treats large-scale devastation as a commercial opportunity.

Undercutting the secretary of state’s role, Trump has recast U.S. diplomacy in his own image — personalized, transactional, overbearing and opaque.

The result is a U.S. that is less credible, less trusted and ultimately less effective on the world stage.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.“

Taiwan risks becoming a bargaining chip in Trump’s China pivot

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By speaking of America’s World War II alliance with China in a way that connects it to Chinese communist rule, Trump not only walked into Xi’s diplomatic trap but also is unwittingly helping Beijing appropriate history. Such historical distortion is only one part of the problem. Trump’s inclination to treat Taiwan as a negotiating asset underscores the larger challenge.

Brahma Chellaney, Taipei Times

The most troubling message coming out of Washington for Taipei is not any single statement but the cumulative effect of a series of signals suggesting that US President Donald Trump is rethinking Taiwan’s strategic value while viewing the US-China relationship through the lens of a transactional great-power bargain. The danger behind Trump’s new softness toward Beijing is a potential US-China bargain that undermines Taiwan’s core interests.

During Chinese President Xi Jinping’s (習近平) recent state visit to Washington, Trump and Xi appeared to rewrite the history of World War II.

In a Sept. 25 fact sheet on Xi’s visit, the White House said, “The two leaders recalled that the US and China were allies in World War II and fought side by side to win the war.” At a welcome ceremony for Xi on Sept. 24, Trump claimed that the pursuit of “common interests … even made us allies in World War II.” Xi echoed the theme later at the state dinner, contending that China and the US had fought “shoulder to shoulder against fascist aggression” by Japan.

America’s wartime ally, however, was the Republic of China, then governed by Chiang Kai-shek’s (蔣介石) Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT). The communist People’s Republic of China did not emerge until October 1949, more than four years after the war ended. Chinese communists did participate in guerrilla warfare against imperial Japanese forces as part of the nominal “Second United Front” with the KMT. But Washington’s diplomatic recognition, military assistance and formal alliance were with Chiang’s government, which later relocated to Taiwan.

By speaking of America’s wartime alliance in a way that connects it to Chinese communist rule, Trump not only walked into Xi’s diplomatic trap but also is unwittingly helping Beijing appropriate history. Such historical distortion is only one part of the problem. Trump’s inclination to treat Taiwan as a negotiating asset underscores the larger challenge.

Taipei naturally is concerned that Washington has delayed pending foreign military sales to Taiwan, or has discussed the scope of such arms sales with Xi, as leverage in negotiations with Beijing over tariffs, trade, technology and rare earths. No less striking is US Ambassador to China David Perdue’s confirmation that Trump had floated the idea of selling American military equipment to China, America’s principal strategic rival.

The message this sends Taiwan is that US security commitments may no longer be insulated from US-China economic bargaining.

The contrast with the Biden administration is also worth noting. Former US president Joe Biden repeatedly said the US would defend Taiwan militarily if China attacked. Trump has instead emphasized the physical distance separating America from Taiwan, asking why Americans should fight a war “9,500 miles away.” He has also urged Taiwan to “cool it” and warned against steps toward formal independence, effectively echoing Xi’s own rhetoric.

At the same time, Trump’s economic rhetoric has challenged another pillar of Taiwan’s security: its semiconductor industry.

For years, Taiwan’s semiconductor dominance has been described as a “silicon shield.” This is because the global economy’s dependence on Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co (TSMC) makes Taiwan’s security a vital interest for the US and other democratic nations.

But Trump has repeatedly complained that Taiwan “stole” America’s chip business and has suggested that Taiwan should effectively pay the US for its defense. His administration has also used tariffs to extract trade and investment concessions from Taipei.

Taipei thus faces a jarring paradox: The very economic strength that was supposed to make Taiwan indispensable is increasingly being portrayed in Washington as evidence that Taipei has benefited at America’s expense.

Meanwhile, Trump’s demand that Taipei raise military expenditure dramatically is adding another layer of uncertainty. Taiwan is already starting to do more to defend itself. But when such a demand is accompanied by ambiguity over the durability of US security commitments, it risks creating an impression that American protection is conditional.

These developments point toward “strategic transactionalism” — a shift from viewing Taiwan principally through the prism of democratic values, regional stability and a rules-based order toward seeing its security as one variable in a much broader US negotiation with Beijing.

Trump has already elevated China to America’s peer. By repeatedly framing the US-China relationship as a G2, or Group of Two, Trump is implicitly granting China recognition as an equal great power. Xi has long promoted a “new model of major-country relations” in which the US and China co-manage global affairs while respecting each other’s “core interests,” a term that for Beijing includes Taiwan.

If Washington were to accept such a framework, Taiwan could find itself caught on the wrong side of a great-power bargain. The danger is not an explicit American abandonment of Taiwan but a subtle and gradual normalization of the idea that the US and China have separate spheres of influence.

That scenario could also weaken the coalition on which Taiwan’s security depends. Taiwan’s deterrence depends on the ability of the US, Japan, Australia, European democracies and other partners to convince Beijing that aggression would impose prohibitive costs. If Washington increasingly conducts bilateral deals with Beijing without consulting its allies, those partners may become less certain that their own interests will be protected in a Taiwan crisis.

Against this backdrop, Taipei needs to draw the appropriate lesson and strengthen its own capacity to deter aggression. That means accelerating the implementation of an asymmetric defense strategy built around mobile, survivable and mass-producible systems. It means strengthening reserves, civil defense and critical infrastructure so that Taiwan can withstand a blockade, cyberattacks and other forms of coercion.

Diversifying trade and supply chains, particularly across the Indo-Pacific, can likewise reduce Taiwan’s vulnerability to economic pressures.

If Taiwan is to become less exposed to the vagaries of any one president, whether in Beijing or Washington, it should make itself harder to coerce, harder to isolate and harder to bargain away.

Brahma Chellaney, professor emeritus of strategic studies at the independent Centre for Policy Research in New Delhi, is the author of nine books, including the award-winning Water: Asia’s New Battleground (Georgetown University Press).

America’s China lesson is reshaping its India policy

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India’s role in U.S. strategy is being downgraded, as is apparent from the White House’s latest National Security Strategy, the Pentagon’s 2026 National Defense Strategy, the State Department’s 2026-2030 Strategic Plan, the dropping of the prefix “Indo” from “Indo-Pacific,” and the Quad’s marginalization in American strategy. Trump has accelerated a structural shift that began under Biden and stripped away much of the diplomatic cushioning that once softened bilateral differences.

By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

Washington does not want to make the same mistake twice.

Having helped China become an economic and technological powerhouse, only to create its greatest strategic rival, Washington now appears determined to approach India’s rise differently.

Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau made the point during his New Delhi visit earlier this year. Landau stated bluntly that America would not make its China mistake again by allowing India to “develop all these markets” and capabilities, only to discover that India was “beating us in a lot of commercial things.”

The remarks echoed a broader reassessment in Washington of India’s rise. Two months earlier, the State Department’s five-year strategic plan made only one reference to India and declared that Washington would “seek partnership with growing regional economies such as India but on terms that advance U.S. security and economic interests and avoid repeating past mistakes.”

For two decades, Washington saw a rising democratic India as inherently good for the free world, especially as a counterweight to an increasingly autocratic and expansionist China. A stronger India also meant a larger market for American companies and a more capable Indo-Pacific partner. India was thus given pride of place in America’s Indo-Pacific strategy, first unveiled in 2017.

Now, the administration no longer appears to view India’s rise as entirely benign. India’s role in U.S. policy is being downgraded, especially as President Trump adopts a more conciliatory approach to China, including recognizing it as America’s principal strategic peer.

The White House’s latest National Security Strategy, unlike previous iterations, demotes India’s role by making only a passing reference to the country. The Pentagon’s 2026 National Defense Strategy, for its part, does not mention India at all, although New Delhi holds more annual military exercises with America than any other country. In another signal of India’s strategic downgrading, the Pentagon in June dropped the prefix “Indo” from “Indo-Pacific.”

India’s eroding salience in U.S. policy is also weakening the Quad, America’s strategic coalition with India, Japan and Australia. Increasingly marginal to U.S. strategy, the Quad risks strategic irrelevance. No Quad leaders’ summit has been held since 2024. Trump’s trade war against India derailed last year’s summit, and none has been scheduled this year. Trump’s own National Security Strategy reflects the Quad’s diminished standing, giving the grouping a single passing mention and only in relation to India.

Much of India’s strategic establishment still sees Trump merely as an aberration. They view his tariffs, pressure tactics and transactional approach to New Delhi as the excesses of an unusually disruptive president. Once Trump leaves office, the thinking goes, the U.S. and India can return to the trajectory that preceded him.

But that assumption mistakes a structural shift for a presidential interlude. The deeper shift in Washington’s thinking about India began in the latter half of Joe Biden’s presidency and is likely to outlast Trump.

As India’s power grew, disagreements over trade, U.S. policies in South Asia and New Delhi’s Ukraine-war neutrality spurred tensions. Trump has accelerated that shift and stripped away much of the diplomatic cushioning that once softened bilateral differences.

India, however, is no longer a relatively weak power whose strategic policies Washington can shape. India’s economy has almost quadrupled in real terms since 2000. India has also developed its own industrial ambitions, energy strategy, technology policies and geopolitical relationships. As a rising power, India seeks to preserve the freedom to make its own strategic choices.

Strategic autonomy is not uniquely Indian. Every major power safeguards its freedom of action, and America is no exception.

The problem, then, is not strategic autonomy itself. It is the growing tension between Washington’s expectation that India’s rise should reinforce American strategic objectives and New Delhi’s determination to ensure that its growing power expands rather than narrows its freedom of action.

Bilateral trade negotiations are currently deadlocked. India wants to become a manufacturing powerhouse, reduce external dependence and protect strategic industries. The U.S., on the other side, wants greater access to India’s enormous domestic market, the world’s largest and fastest-growing.

The tensions, however, are manageable, provided Washington does not mistake partnership for alignment and New Delhi does not confuse strategic autonomy with strategic defiance.

Washington’s experience with Beijing helps explain the renewed China analogy: It has changed how U.S. policymakers view economic interdependence. The old assumption was that helping a rising power become wealthier and more integrated into the global economy would make it a more responsible stakeholder and perhaps even a strategic partner.

The lesson Washington is drawing today is not necessarily that India’s rise should be stopped, but that America should be more careful about the terms on which it helps another major power rise. Secretary of State Marco Rubio is scheduled to visit India early next week for the second time in five months.

The irony is that China is also taking steps to constrain India’s rise. This year, Beijing has imposed India-specific export curbs, widely seen as efforts to slow India’s emergence as an alternative global manufacturing hub. Leveraging its dominance of global supply chains, China has restricted exports to India of manufacturing equipment, industrial components, lithium-ion and battery technologies, and critical minerals.

India and the U.S. still need each other, but the relationship must be built on a more realistic foundation. For New Delhi, the test is to manage U.S. expectations without sacrificing its own interests. For Washington, it is to accept that a genuinely powerful India will sometimes make choices America dislikes.

Washington should recognize that a powerful India can be a valuable partner precisely because it is capable of acting independently. With the Trump administration asking U.S. allies to take greater responsibility for their own security, Undersecretary of Defense for Policy Elbridge Colby declared, “India is a model ally that takes its own defense with utmost seriousness.”

America’s China lesson could ultimately strengthen the U.S.-India relationship. But that will happen only if Washington learns to distinguish an independent partner from a prospective rival, and New Delhi shows that autonomy need not preclude collaboration.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.“

Trump’s greatest gift to Xi: Making China America’s peer

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Chinese President Xi Jinping and President Trump
Chinese President Xi Jinping and President Trump pose for photographers as they arrive to view documents at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., on Friday, September 25, 2026, as a part of Xi’s state visit.

By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

China has long sought peer validation from the only country whose recognition would carry decisive strategic weight — the U.S.

President Trump has now handed Beijing that prize. By repeatedly framing his summits with Chinese President Xi Jinping as a U.S.-China “G2” or “group of two,” Trump is granting China recognition as America’s principal strategic peer.

In fact, by hosting Xi last week for a state visit while world leaders gathered at the United Nations, Trump effectively portrayed the U.S.-China relationship as the axis of a bipolar world — a depiction that risks alienatingU.S. allies and partners, such as Japan, India, Australia, the Philippines, Vietnam, South Korea and NATO members.

The symbolism surrounding the latest Trump-Xi summit was hard to miss. In an unprecedented departure from American diplomatic practice, Trump personally traveled to Joint Base Andrews, Md., to greet the arriving Xi with a lavish ceremony, which included a red carpet lined by U.S. service members and a military flyover featuring two B-1 bombers. 

The following morning, a 479-member military honor guard greeted the Chinese leader during a White House arrival ceremony, capped by a flyover of a B-2 Spirit bomber escorted by four F-22 Raptors. Besides a state dinner, the visit also included a Trump-escorted tour of the National Archives.

These ceremonial flourishes communicated a powerful message: The leaders of the world’s two preeminent powers were meeting as equals.

More revealing than the pomp and pageantry of the summits with Xi has been Trump’s own language. He has repeatedly described his meetings with Xi as the G2. Before last October’s summit in Busan, South Korea, he announced on Truth Social, “THE G2 WILL BE CONVENING SHORTLY!” Afterward, he celebrated “My G2 meeting with President Xi.” Secretary of War Pete Hegseth also echoed the summit encounter as a “historic ‘G2 meeting.’”

Trump revived the G2 terminology during his Beijing visit in May, as if to highlight the formal end of the unipolar age. While previous American presidents carefully avoided legitimizing China’s claim to peer status, Trump’s use of the G2 concept during press encounters projected that the U.S. was now treating China as its true peer.

Trump has also been displaying a strikingly deferential posture toward America’s principal geopolitical rival. In the run-up to Xi’s Washington visit, Trump dismissed or excused reports of China’s actions against the U.S., such as providing Iran satellite imagery to target American assets, while portraying the Chinese leader as a personal friend, claiming he had “never gotten along better” with Xi.

Beijing has long rejected American hegemony while simultaneously seeking equal treatment from Washington. Beijing’s preferred phrase has been a “new model of major power relations” — a formula that seeks mutual respect for each side’s core interests, including China’s communist system and its territorial claims, including on Taiwan and the South China Sea. 

The objective was not to establish a formal G2 institution but to normalize the idea that no major global issue could be decided without China. Trump’s summit diplomacy has brought Beijing much closer to realizing that objective.

The latest summit may have achieved little in concrete terms, with no agreement on any of the contentious bilateral issues and the truce in the trade war extended only by two months. 

But for Xi, the visit was a propaganda coup, conveying to the Chinese people and the wider world that, under his leadership, China has become America’s equal. The optics indeed reinforced Beijing’s narrative of Xi-led national rejuvenation. Trump’s summit diplomacy has also helped Beijing advance one of the key objectives of its broader strategic messaging: demonstrating to domestic and international audiences that the U.S. can no longer dictate terms unilaterally.

Trump’s courtship of Xi represents a remarkable evolution from Trump’s first term, when tariffs, sanctions and technological restrictions were presented as instruments for reshaping China’s behavior. Today, Washington’s objective is no longer to transform China but to manage strategic rivalry through direct leader-to-leader bargaining, even if it means accepting the world’s largest autocracy as a co-equal on the global stage.

China is still not America’s equal in terms of economic, diplomatic or military power. But peer competition has never required matching strengths. The defining characteristic is the capacity to resist coercion and independently shape international outcomes. When Beijing last year responded to American tariffs by restricting rare-earth exports, it not only showed that economic interdependence cuts both ways but also demonstrated its capacity to impose retaliatory costs on the U.S.

The problem is not engaging a powerful rival to help avert costly miscalculations, but the public elevation of China into a privileged bilateral condominium. The real losers are likely to be America’s own allies and partners, whose interests could be subordinated to Washington-Beijing bargains, forcing them to hedge against U.S. unreliability.

The prospect of a U.S.-China duopoly, in which Washington and Beijing negotiate the rules of global governance while everyone else adjusts to the outcome, is a strategic nightmare for U.S. friends in Asia in particular. They want a stable balance of power, not a Sino-centric Asia.

History offers ample reason for their anxiety. Major powers have repeatedly sought stability through exclusive understandings while middle powers and smaller states absorbed the consequences.

The White House’s accommodative approach will likely gain greater salience as Trump has indicated that he will meet Xi again in November and December — first at the APEC Economic Leaders’ Meeting in Shenzhen, China, and then at the G20 summit in Miami.

China’s greatest diplomatic victory in recent years has been won not on the battlefield or through economic coercion, but in Washington, where Trump has validated Beijing’s claim to peer status. For Xi, no concession could have delivered a more valuable prize than America itself recognizing China as a co-leader of the international system.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.“

BRICS is challenging the US-led order but can’t replace it yet

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By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

One of the biggest geopolitical stories of the 21st century is the emergence of a broad coalition of countries determined to dilute the West’s monopoly on global governance.

That coalition is officially known as BRICS, an acronym for its five original members: Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa. Although BRIC began as an investment term for four emerging economies, the group expanded to include South Africa and held its first BRICS summit in 2011. 

Since 2024, BRICS has expanded into an 11-member grouping that includes states as diverse as Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Ethiopia and Iran.

To many Americans, BRICS is little more than an anti-Western talking shop. But it is a mistake to dismiss a coalition that represents nearly half of humanity (the Group of Seven accounts for less than 10 percent), a growing share of global output, and an increasingly influential voice of the Global South. Whereas the G7 share of the world economy has steadily declined since the 1990s, BRICS’s share continues to rise.

Its growing influence reflects a profound reality: much of the non-Western world wants greater strategic autonomy and deeper economic cooperation beyond Western-led frameworks.

So the real question is not whether BRICS matters, but whether it can catalyze the development of a genuine alternative to the current U.S.-led world order. Its summit in New Delhi last weekend offered an illuminating answer.

The summit concluded with a 140-point New Delhi Declaration. Despite deep divisions, India brokered consensus among rivals by grounding the text in established U.N. legal frameworks and other standard multilateral principles.

But the summit also underscored a central paradox: BRICS members agree that the international system is unfair because it does not reflect today’s distribution of economic and political power. Yet they disagree deeply about what should replace it — or even how to begin overhauling it.

India and Brazil advocate reforming institutions such as the U.N. Security Council, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank to give developing countries greater representation. They want to keep BRICS as non-Western but not to let it become anti-Western.

China and Russia, in contrast, are often more interested in building parallel structures to curtail Western influence altogether.

And then some newer members, such as Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt, maintain close security ties with the U.S., even as they deepen engagement with BRICS. The Emiratis and Saudis even host American military bases. Being part of BRICS allows these countries to diversify their geopolitical options and build alternative partnerships to help insulate themselves from Washington’s policy swings.

BRICS’s initiatives include local currency settlements, alternative payment mechanisms, and development financing through its New Development Bank. They are designed not so much to directly challenge the dollar’s global dominance — which in any case is eroding — as to reduce vulnerability to unilateral Western sanctions. BRICS essentially functions as a geopolitical hedge.

From Washington’s perspective, BRICS is best understood not as an anti-American alliance but as a coalition of countries seeking to reduce dependence on U.S.-led institutions. For many member states, BRICS is largely about expanding their diplomatic and economic choices.

Yet the New Delhi Declaration also exposed one of BRICS’s major weaknesses: its own double standards.

The declaration strongly condemns “unilateral coercive measures,” language aimed primarily at U.S. sanctions and trade levies such as the European Union’s Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism. That criticism resonates across much of the non-Western world, where many governments view such unilateral action as something the Western-dominated international system makes possible.

But the declaration had one conspicuous omission: China is increasingly employing export restrictions on rare earths, critical minerals, manufacturing equipment and key industrial components as instruments of geopolitical leverage, including against its own BRICS partners.

For example, Beijing has recently imposed formal and informal India-specific export curbs, which have been widely interpreted as efforts to slow India’s emergence as an alternative global manufacturing hub. If unilateral economic coercion is objectionable when practiced by Washington, how can it be ignored when practiced by Beijing?

The answer has much to do with the mechanics of consensus diplomacy. Every BRICS declaration requires unanimous approval. So members are willing to collectively criticize external powers, but they have little space to name coercive behavior within their own ranks.

That, in turn, reveals an uncomfortable truth: BRICS is often united more by what it opposes than by what it practices — or by any shared vision of the alternative international order it hopes to build.

None of this means the U.S. should underestimate the organization. BRICS has already succeeded in signaling that the era of Western dominance is drawing to a close. More than three dozen countries have formally applied or expressed interest in joining BRICS, including states that remain close U.S. allies, such as Bahrain and Turkey, a NATO member.

The attraction is that BRICS helps broaden international options for governments, many of which increasingly want multiple centers of economic and diplomatic influence rather than reliance on a single superpower.

For Washington, ignoring legitimate demands for greater representation in global institutions would be counterproductive to its own interest in upholding the present international order. A willingness to reform multilateral governance may prove more effective than attempting to preserve structures designed in and for 1945.

The New Delhi summit may have demonstrated both the promise and the limits of BRICS. It is an influential coalition but not yet a unified alliance. It can coordinate diplomatic messaging but struggles to reconcile rival national ambitions. Its members share strong dissatisfaction with the current order but remain divided over the architecture of the next.

Such underlying strain does not diminish BRICS’s significance. The future order will likely be shaped by a diverse group of middle powers seeking a multipolar world in which no single nation or bloc writes all the rules, East or West.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.”

The BRICS at 20

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If the promise of the BRICS was to establish a monetary union, a single market, or a tightly integrated political alliance, it has not been fulfilled. But if it was to build a platform for emerging economies to cooperate while advancing their own strategic autonomy, the BRICS has exceeded expectations.

By Brahma Chellaney, Project Syndicate

Twenty years ago this month, the foreign ministers of Brazil, Russia, India, and China held the first meeting of the BRICs. Since then, the grouping has been formalized—the first BRIC summit took place in June 2009—and expanded, with South Africa joining in 2011 and several more countries later coming on board, either as full members or official partners. Today, the BRICS represents a highly consequential experiment in international cooperation, which epitomizes the gradual rebalancing of global power away from the West and the emergence of a multipolar order.

Few acronyms have undergone as dramatic an evolution as the BRICS. Coined by Jim O’Neill, then of Goldman Sachs, in 2001 to encapsulate four fast-growing emerging markets, the “BRICs” grouping has developed into the BRICS, an 11-country political and economic coalition and an increasingly influential voice for the Global South.

Since adding Egypt, Ethiopia, Indonesia, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates to its ranks in 2024-25, the BRICS accounts for nearly half of the world’s population and about 40% of global GDP (in purchasing-power-parity terms). By contrast, the G7 accounts for less than 10% of the global population and less than 30% of world GDP. And whereas the BRICS’ share of the global economy continues to grow, the pace of productivity and economic growth in advanced economies has been declining steadily since the 1990s.

This economic reversal is increasingly matched in the geopolitical domain, with Western global dominance giving way to a more diffuse distribution of power and influence. Amid this transformation—the likes of which occur only once every 50–100 years—the BRICS has challenged the assumption that global governance should remain centered on the Western-led institutions established after World War II.

For non-Western countries, the BRICS represents a hedge against rising economic and geopolitical uncertainty—generated, not least, by a United States seemingly bent on withdrawing from global leadership—and an institutional platform for advancing strategic autonomy and broadening economic cooperation. Small wonder there has been such enthusiasm for joining: more than three dozen countries have formally applied or expressed interest in becoming members, including Turkey, a NATO member, and Bahrain, the primary operational hub for US naval forces in the Middle East.

The BRICS also has ten “partner countries”—Belarus, Bolivia, Kazakhstan, Cuba, Malaysia, Nigeria, Thailand, Uganda, Uzbekistan, and Vietnam—which can participate in summits. This framework helps to expand the BRICS’ network for cooperation and strengthen its ability to represent the Global South, without jeopardizing cohesion.

The BRICS is much more than a symbolic grouping—merely a message to the world that the era of Western dominance is coming to an end. The grouping has made tangible progress on institution-building. The New Development Bank (NDB) is the first multilateral development bank with global scope conceived and led solely by emerging economies, with the founding BRICS members holding equal shares and voting rights. By contrast, the United States is the largest shareholder at both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, where it holds effective veto power. Unlike these US-led institutions, the NDB does not attach political conditions to its infrastructure financing, allowing borrowers to retain greater policy autonomy.

The BRICS has also been working to reduce vulnerabilities within the international financial system. Contrary to speculation, a single BRICS currency akin to the euro is not on the agenda. Instead, the upcoming summit will focus on expanding trade settlement in national currencies, improving interoperability among members’ digital-payment systems, linking central-bank digital currencies, and developing alternative cross-border payment infrastructure. The goal is not to upend the global financial system and supplant the US dollar, which still accounts for about 57% of foreign-exchange reserves held by central banks worldwide, but rather to strengthen resilience against external financial shocks.

As much progress as the BRICS has made over the last 20 years, however, the grouping also faces significant headwinds, rooted not least in its exceptional internal diversity. The BRICS includes liberal democracies and authoritarian states, leading energy exporters and major energy importers, manufacturing powers and commodity economies. The grouping also includes geopolitical rivals: China and India, Iran and Saudi Arabia, and Egypt and Ethiopia. Divisions exist even among its founding members, with Brazil and India generally advocating reform of existing international institutions, while China and Russia seek to challenge the US-led world order.

Diversity brings different ideas and advantages to the table, and ideological uniformity and close strategic alignment are not necessarily prerequisites to cooperation. But a highly diverse grouping, with sharply divergent priorities and geopolitical concerns, will always struggle to forge consensus. Every round of enlargement compounds the challenge, even as it raises the BRICS’ profile as a broadly representative international coalition.

As the group convenes in New Delhi for its 18th summit, one might ask whether it has lived up to its original promise. If that promise was to establish a monetary union, a single market, or a tightly integrated political alliance, the answer is plainly no. But if it was to reshape international relations, broaden the space available to emerging economies on the world stage, strengthen South-South cooperation, and increase pressure for reform of existing international institutions, the BRICS has exceeded expectations.

More fundamentally, the BRICS has normalized an idea that once seemed impossible: that emerging economies can cooperate with one another, build their own institutions, and change how the international order is organized. That is no small feat.

Brahma Chellaney, Professor of Strategic Studies at the New Delhi-based Center for Policy Research and Fellow at the Robert Bosch Academy in Berlin, is the author of nine books, including Water: Asia’s New Battleground (Georgetown University Press, 2011), for which he won the 2012 Asia Society Bernard Schwartz Book Award.

© Project Syndicate, 2026.

America’s Muslim allies are hedging against Washington

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By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

From left, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman and Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif pose after signing a trilateral defense agreement in Mecca this month. Photo: Saudi Press Agency via AP

America’s traditional allies in the Islamic world are not walking away from it, but they are no longer betting everything on Washington. After decades of relying on U.S. security arrangements, they are quietly building alternative partnerships to insulate themselves from Washington’s whims.

They may still need America’s technology, intelligence and military heft, but a number of Muslim allies are determined to reduce their vulnerability to American strategic decisions over which they have no say.

The Mecca Joint Defense Agreement, signed on August 7 by Saudi Arabia, Turkey and Pakistan, is the clearest signal yet of this shift. By committing to mutual defense (“an attack on one is an attack on all”) and establishing mechanisms for military coordination, intelligence sharing and defense-industrial cooperation, the trio is creating a strategic safety net beyond U.S. oversight.

All three members of this Sunni alliance are longstanding U.S. allies or partners. Turkey’s participation is especially momentous: As a NATO member, its decision to join a separate collective-defense alliance highlights how the desire for strategic autonomy has spread within the U.S.-led alliance system.

Another U.S. ally, Egypt, which for over 50 years has ranked as the second-largest recipient of U.S. aid after Israel, actively participated in the mutual-defense discussions with Ankara, Riyadh and Islamabad, but at the eleventh hour chose to stay out of the pact. Joining an autonomous defense axis that bypassed U.S. regional leadership could have exposed Egypt to financial and diplomatic risks amid severe economic distress. It could also have been interpreted as a breach of its 1979 peace treaty with Israel, which enshrines the primacy of treaty commitments over conflicting regional defense obligations.

The trilateral pact’s explicit reference to “Islamic solidarity,” together with the choice of the Muslim holy city of Mecca as the signing venue, has lent the accord a distinctly pan-Islamic character. It appears designed, at least in part, to provide strategic insurance against an increasingly unpredictable West. It also represents an implicit rejection of the regional architecture President Trump has sought to construct around Israel and the 2020 Abraham Accords.

The Mecca axis is not the only warning to America. As U.S. credibility erodes under Trump’s second presidency, U.S. allies in the Middle East and beyond are questioning American commitments and leaning toward hedging. There is already a larger rethink among America’s longstanding Gulf allies about relying on Washington.

Trump launched the Iran war without consulting the Gulf allies, then used vast U.S. military resources to shield Israel from Iranian retaliation while leaving the six Gulf sheikhdoms to bear the consequences for enabling American strikes from the U.S. bases that they host. On May 27, Trump even threatened to “blow up” Oman, a peaceful, longtime U.S. ally, if it entered a toll-sharing deal with Iran over the Strait of Hormuz.

Against this backdrop, the Gulf monarchies — long the immovable pillars of American power in the Middle East — are fundamentally altering their geopolitical calculations. They face dual risks of depending on the U.S. as a security guarantor while bearing the consequences of helping America wage war.

Iranian reprisals threatened precisely the infrastructure on which Gulf economies critically depend, including energy facilities, desalination plants and urban centers.

In a notable shift, the Gulf Arab states are no longer prepared to automatically align themselves with the U.S. agenda. In fact, seeking to insulate their ambitious economic and national-security projects from regional conflict, these states have shifted from strict containment of Iran to actively exploring détente with Tehran, including through economic incentives.

The Mecca alliance had been in the making for some time. Turkey has longstanding military and strategic ties with both Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, which signed a bilateral mutual-defense agreement in September 2025. Trump’s war on Iran helped transform that accord into a trilateral alliance. The fact that sophisticated American defenses were deployed primarily to protect U.S. and Israeli assets while leaving America’s Gulf allies exposed to Iranian reprisals appears to have influenced strategic thinking in Ankara as well.

When a country embedded in the Western security system joins an Islamic alliance it sends a particularly pointed signal about its intent to hedge. Turkey’s decision suggests that it does not believe NATO membership is sufficient for its security. Its foreign minister has approvingly likened the Mecca pact’s mutual-defense provision to NATO’s Article Five.

The Mecca alliance’s architecture is striking because each member brings something the others lack. Oil-rich Saudi Arabia contributes financial power. Manufacturing powerhouse Turkey brings a robust defense industry, combat experience and NATO-trained military capabilities. Pakistan, despite being trapped in a chronic debt crisis, brings a large standing military, a nuclear arsenal and experience in asymmetric warfare, including the use of state-backed militant proxies.

Critics may dismiss the alliance as a paper tiger because its three militaries are not integrated into a single, NATO-style command structure. The pact’s aim, however, is not to create a unified expeditionary force but to make each member less vulnerable by combining Saudi money, Turkish military technology and Pakistani manpower and nuclear-weapons capabilities.

Washington has long complained that its Middle Eastern allies free-ride on American security. The Mecca alliance offers a caustic response: We will take greater responsibility for our own defense — but on our own terms.

The pact underscores a paradox: It is both a sign of declining American primacy and an opportunity to craft a more prudent and sustainable U.S. strategy. The U.S. cannot demand that its partners become more capable while it simultaneously insists they remain dependent on Washington.

America must face up to an unpalatable reality: The age of exclusive U.S. security provision in much of the Islamic world may be ending, with the Iran war serving as a catalyst. The wise response is not to fight this transition, but to shape it.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.“

Nationalists abroad, patriots at home

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Then‑Prime Minister Fumio Kishida, then-U.S. President Joe Biden and other Group of Seven leaders and officials visit Itsukushima Shrine during their summit in Hatsukaichi, Hiroshima Prefecture, in May 2023. | Japan’s Foreign Ministry / via REUTERS

By Brahma Chellaney
The Japan Times

Nearly half a century after Edward Said published his landmark book “Orientalism,” his central insight remains strikingly relevant.

Said argued that the “Orient” was often presented by Western media, academia, literature and institutions not as a collection of complex societies but as the West’s contrasting mirror image — irrational rather than rational, emotional rather than pragmatic, culturally driven rather than strategically motivated, backward rather than modern.

Japan, despite being one of the world’s most technologically advanced democracies that hosts more American troops than any other U.S. ally, has never entirely escaped the Orientalist framework. In news reporting, that framework operates through subtle narrative framing and language choices.

When The New York Times recently profiled Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi, it described her as pursuing a “nationalist agenda” while presenting her premiership as part of Japan’s rightward political shift.

Similar Western reporting has claimed rising “xenophobic nationalism” in Japan, particularly in coverage of the Sanseito Party and debates over immigration and national identity that led this month to stricter permanent residency requirements.

Whether one agrees or disagrees with such characterization is beside the point. The more revealing question is why the lens of xenophobia and exclusionary nationalism is so rarely applied to Western politics or policies.

President Donald Trump’s “Make America Great Again” movement is among the most stridently nationalist political projects in modern American history. Yet the American mainstream press discusses it principally as populism, conservatism or a battle over the country’s future rather than as evidence of a dangerous nationalist turn. Nationalism, it seems, is something practiced by others.

George Orwell recognized this distinction long before today’s debates. In his 1945 essay Notes on Nationalism, he observed that patriotism is usually portrayed as defensive and virtuous, while nationalism is associated with aggression and the pursuit of power. Contemporary Western reporting frequently reproduces this divide across national borders. At home there are patriots. Abroad there are nationalists.

This may also explain why Japan’s immigration policy is portrayed as “ethno-nationalism,” while Trump’s tough immigration agenda featuring a national border emergency declaration, massive expansions of ICE detention capacity and deportation flights is described as “border security” and “enforcing the rule of law.”

Likewise, Japan’s “economic security” frameworks, India’s self-reliance strategy and Southeast Asia’s subsidizing of local manufacturing are depicted as “rising economic nationalism” and “protectionist agendas.” But America’s domestic manufacturing subsidies (via legislation like the CHIPS and Science Act), aggressive industrial policy and broad tariffs to counter foreign competition are presented as “protecting American jobs” and defending “America First.”

The asymmetry in political vocabulary extends to military modernization. When pursued by Western governments, the language is generally reassuring, such as safeguarding “national security interests.” But when carried out by a major non-Western country, it becomes “resurgent nationalism.”

The difference is more than semantic. It reflects an implicit assumption that Western states naturally act from rational strategic calculation, whereas other nations are driven by historical passions, cultural instincts or identity politics.

The pattern becomes even clearer during moments of crisis.

Following the natural disaster-triggered accident at the Fukushima No. 1 nuclear power plant in 2011, much Western reporting quickly abandoned the language of emergency management in favor of familiar cultural imagery. Engineers and technicians working under extraordinarily dangerous conditions were transformed into “nuclear samurai,” “nuclear ninjas” or “kamikaze volunteers.” The disaster itself was frequently presented through apocalyptic imagery that evoked exotic catastrophe more readily than scientific assessment.

This framing was revealing. Few Western reporters would have described American engineers responding to the 2010 Deepwater Horizon disaster as “modern cowboys” or British emergency personnel as “knights.” Yet Japan’s response was repeatedly interpreted through centuries-old cultural archetypes, as though contemporary Japanese society could only be understood by invoking historical imagery. Worse still, victims’ suffering was reduced to a backdrop for lurid stories about radiation.

The consequences extended beyond colorful headlines. Sensational reporting fueled public anxiety far beyond what available evidence justified. Preventive evacuations ensured no deaths occurred from acute radiation exposure, yet many foreign audiences were left with the impression that Fukushima represented another Chernobyl.

Within Japan itself, alarmist overseas coverage circulated rapidly through television and the internet, sometimes undermining confidence in official communications and complicating crisis management. The country’s international image also suffered, affecting tourism, exports and investor confidence long after the immediate emergency had passed.

These examples point to a broader structural problem: Western journalism often treats its own political culture as the universal baseline against which others are measured. Foreign politics, especially in Asia, remain vulnerable to cultural essentialism.

Japan occupies an unusual position in this narrative. It is simultaneously viewed as technologically sophisticated and culturally exotic, economically advanced yet somehow perpetually “other.” That combination makes it especially susceptible to reporting that oscillates between admiration and caricature.

During ordinary times, Japan is celebrated for efficiency, discipline and innovation. During moments of political debate or national crisis, however, centuries-old stereotypes often re-emerge with surprising speed.

Western media, especially Anglo-American outlets, double as the international media. How these organizations present the news helps shape markets, investment decisions, diplomacy, tourism flows and public trust. When reporting substitutes cultural stereotypes for careful analysis, it distorts not only public perception but also international decision-making.

Edward Said warned that representation is never simply about description; it is also about power. That observation remains pertinent today. Orientalist framing does more than mischaracterize Asian societies. It encourages the world to evaluate them by standards different from those applied to the West itself.

Brahma Chellaney, a longstanding contributor to The Japan Times, is the author of nine books, including “Water: Asia’s New Battlefield,” which won the Bernard Schwartz Award.

China is exporting censorship to shape global knowledge

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China no longer wants to manufacture only goods. It now wants to manufacture global knowledge by exporting censorship and coercing conformity.

FRED DUFOUR/AFP/Getty Images

By Brahma Chellaney, The Hill

China shapes global knowledge not just by blocking information at home, but by exporting censorship through economic coercion and diplomatic pressure. It is increasingly influencing what the rest of the world knows about its internal repression, territorial revisionism and even China itself.

Its strategy rests on three pillars. The first is corporate compliance. Beijing leverages access to its vast domestic market to make Western companies — from Hollywood studios to the National Basketball Association — self-censor topics such as Tibet, Taiwan, Xinjiang and Hong Kong in order to protect their commercial interests.

The second is platform control. Chinese-owned apps such as WeChat enforce domestic censorship rules on overseas users. TikTok has faced sustained international scrutiny over its algorithms that tend to deprioritize or shadowban content critical of the Chinese government.

The third is the suppression of independent scholarship. Beijing employs economic leverage while threatening to withhold visas from Western researchers, suspend funding for overseas Confucius Institutes or curtail tuition revenue from Chinese international students. Foreign universities, think tanks, nonprofits and academic publishers have all faced targeted pressure intended to shape research on modern Chinese history and politics, including Beijing’s claims over Taiwan, Tibet, Xinjiang and the South China Sea.

Few cases better illustrate China’s campaign against academic freedom abroad than the world’s premier conference on Tibetan studies, which had been scheduled to open on August 23 in Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital. Under pressure from Beijing, Nepal’s government suddenly scrapped the conference before the first panel could even begin.

The Chinese pressure led Nepal’s government on August 5 to cancel the International Association for Tibetan Studies (IATS) conference altogether. Before the cancellation, the Tibetan Policy Institute — the think tank of the Tibetan government-in-exile — had already been compelled to withdraw in an effort to accommodate Chinese concerns. Yet even that concession, along with organizers’ repeated assurances that the meeting would be purely academic, failed to prevent the conference from being scrapped. About 100 officials and supposed scholars from Chinese state institutions, including the China Tibetology Research Center, had registered to participate.

The cancellation illustrates a stark reality: Beijing’s influence now extends beyond shaping participation in scholarly debate to preventing that debate from taking place at all.

It also underscores China’s growing leverage over Nepal, wedged between Chinese-ruled Tibet and India. Beijing routinely uses economic inducements to pressure Nepal into policing Tibetan exile activities, suppressing protests and imposing strict restrictions on Tibetan exiles.

The IATS meeting, held every three to four years, is widely recognized as the leading academic conference on Tibetan history, language, culture, philosophy and religion, drawing Western Tibetologists.

The Nepal episode is a window into a broader transformation in China’s exercise of power. No longer content merely to censor discussion within its own borders, Beijing is increasingly using diplomatic leverage, economic influence and political pressure to shape who gets to speak — and who is denied a voice — on the international stage. This represents a new form of geopolitical competition: the struggle not simply for territory or markets but for authority over knowledge itself.

China is increasingly seeking to convert economic and diplomatic leverage into epistemic power — the ability to influence what others think, know or believe and which narratives acquire institutional authority. This entails controlling knowledge norms and information access.

Chinese diplomats warned Nepali officials that the conference could become a platform for “anti-China rhetoric.” The diplomatic intervention ultimately outweighed the assessments of Nepal’s own security agencies, which reportedly concluded that the gathering posed no security threat, as well as the organizers’ extensive efforts to accommodate the concerns of a country that is increasingly dependent on Chinese investment and attentive to Beijing’s political priorities.

Academic freedom depends not only on individuals’ ability to speak but also on the existence of forums where competing institutional voices can engage one another. When geopolitical pressure is used to prevent such exchanges from taking place, the marketplace of ideas itself becomes distorted.

This is why the Nepal episode should matter to Americans. The U.S. has spent years addressing Chinese influence by phasing out Confucius Institutes, increasing scrutiny on federal grant recipients for foreign ties, and tightening controls on sensitive research. Now, another dimension deserves equal attention: Beijing’s growing ability to shape the production of knowledge itself.

Knowledge is power. Whoever shapes accepted historical narratives — and determines whose voices are treated as legitimate while others are quietly erased — acquires lasting influence.

None of this is an argument for excluding researchers from Chinese state-run institutions. Robust scholarship requires intellectual exchange across political systems. The problem arises when geopolitical pressure determines whether scholarly debate can take place before it even begins.

Academic conferences should be arenas where evidence competes with evidence — not places where geopolitical power determines whether scholars are allowed to meet at all.

What Beijing increasingly seeks is to shape the global institutions that determine which arguments are heard, which voices are considered legitimate, and which histories become accepted as authoritative. Its more-fundamental objective is to encourage preemptive self-censorship, effectively narrowing what the world can say, see and study.

The larger struggle over who defines the world’s understanding of Tibet, Taiwan, Xinjiang, Hong Kong, the South China Sea — and China itself — is gathering pace, with universities and scholarly institutions emerging as a critical battleground in the geopolitical competition.

Brahma Chellaney is the author of nine books, including the award-winning “Water: Asia’s New Battleground.”