China’s Shifting Commitments: A Historical Perspective
Back in September 2015, President Xi Jinping stood alongside President Barack Obama in the Rose Garden. He assured everyone that China would not militarize the artificial islands being constructed in the South China Sea. This promise, made under the watchful eyes of global leaders, seemed to underscore China’s commitment as a great power.
Fast forward three years, and satellite imagery uncovered a military-grade runway built atop previously submerged reefs, along with missile shelters. What was once a “Civilian Front Post Base” had clearly morphed into a military installation, extending China’s reach into a vital waterway.
This about-face illustrates a broader trend observed in China’s diplomatic history—one marked by commitments that often crumble under changing calculations. It’s a masterclass in strategic misrepresentation, where promises are made but not necessarily kept when circumstances shift.
Such contradictions are not just incidental; they’re part of a calculated strategy that has reaped considerable benefits for China over decades. With current trade talks unfolding under the Biden administration, American representatives must remember this history as they engage.
The foundations for this approach were laid during the Chinese civil war. During the 1940s, Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai portrayed themselves to US diplomats not as revolutionaries, but as moderate reformers seeking democratic change. This strategic framing helped undermine American support for the nationalists, contributing to the Communist victory in 1949.
However, the repercussions of deception became stark a year later during the Korean War. Despite assurances of non-intervention, China launched an unexpected military response, leading to widespread conflict and escalating tensions in Asia—a situation that persists today.
By the 1970s, political dynamics shifted, prompting Chinese leaders to embrace reconciliation with the United States. During President Nixon’s visit, they downplayed the revolutionary rhetoric and the horrors of the Cultural Revolution, seeking diplomatic and economic benefits instead. China even made a commitment in 1984 concerning Hong Kong’s status, which it later violated during the 2019 protests.
As the late 1980s rolled around, it became apparent that American political memory could be short. By showcasing cooperation and reform, China encouraged a sense forgetfulness regarding its past deceit.
This strategy paid off. Western investments flooded into China, bringing technology and expertise that fueled its economic rise. Although the Tiananmen Square massacre disrupted this trend, Western businesses quickly returned, learning that broken promises often had limited consequences while the benefits to China remained enduring.
China’s integration into the World Trade Organization in 2001 highlighted these patterns. While Chinese negotiators promised market reforms and protections for foreign companies, many Western leaders believed economic reforms would necessarily lead to political change.
Yet, two decades later, the reality looks different. China has selectively adhered to its WTO commitments while engaging in extensive industrial policies that prioritize domestic goals. Estimates suggest that American companies lose hundreds of billions annually due to intellectual property theft, and many American jobs have shifted to China.
Still, U.S. policymakers often engage in agreements with China that lack enforceability—evident when China failed to meet promises made to President Trump regarding U.S. purchases in 2020 and 2021.
This trend took on a new dimension during the Covid-19 pandemic. Despite international commitments, China delayed informing the World Health Organization about critical information while prioritizing internal containment measures and opposing global travel restrictions.
To make sense of this behavior, it’s essential to understand the strategic rationale behind it. The Chinese Communist Party, primarily focused on its survival, evaluates international commitments based on their utility. A history of perceived humiliation has fostered distrust toward outsiders and a willingness to use deception as needed. Deng Xiaoping’s advice to “hide capacity and bide time” resonates here.
Moreover, the costs associated with breaking commitments seem minimal for China. Anger on the international stage tends to dissipate, economic repercussions are absorbed, and Western businesses, often driven by profit motives, remain eager to access the Chinese market despite previous disappointments. This has resulted in what could be termed a “liar dividend,” where the costs of disingenuous behavior are consistently outweighed by the benefits.
Recognizing this pattern doesn’t mean rejecting engagement with China; instead, it underscores the need for a more realistic approach. Future agreements should incorporate strong verification methods, specific timelines, and genuine safeguards against non-compliance.
U.S. policymakers should also be aware of their part in enabling this cycle through persistent underestimations of violations in pursuit of market access. Breaking this pattern requires not just institutional memory but a commitment to consistent enforcement across different administrations.
Above all, the U.S. strategy must acknowledge that certain elements of the Chinese system may be at odds with many international norms. Diplomatic pressure alone is unlikely to lead the Communist Party to embrace values that threaten its dominance. Instead of holding onto hopes for transformative change through engagement, U.S. policies should clarify specific, verifiable actions that can yield mutual benefits, particularly in the unfolding competition between the two major powers.
After 70 years of shifting commitments, perhaps the most dangerous misconception is the belief that the next promise from China will be different. As American representatives negotiate trade with Beijing, they ought to remain vigilant to the potential for misrepresentation.
