Geopolitics of Power: When China Rules the World

The question is not whether China rises—it already has—but what happens when that rise collides with America’s entrenched empire.

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History has a way of whispering into the present. The 21st century is not simply another chapter in human history. It is the pivot—the point on which the balance of power turns, the moment when yesterday’s world order collides with tomorrow’s uncertainty. For over seven decades, the United States has ruled as the unchallenged empire, dictating the terms of global politics, finance, and security. But history, as we know, is never static. Empires rise, empires fall, and no power rules forever.

And so we ask the question: what happens when China rules the world or at least shares the stage with the American empire?

To understand this, we must go back—not to 2012 when Xi Jinping came to power, not even to 1978 when Deng Xiaoping unleashed reforms—but to the darkest days of the 20th century: a time when China was not the world’s rising giant, but its bleeding victim.

When we think of World War II, most of us imagine Normandy beaches, Soviet tanks rolling into Berlin, or American bombers over the Pacific. But there is another front—largely forgotten in Western narratives—where the fate of the war was shaped long before Pearl Harbor: China.

On July 7th, 1937, at the Marco Polo Bridge near Beijing, the Empire of Japan launched its full-scale invasion of China. What followed was not just another colonial campaign, but the beginning of the longest continuous war of the Second World War. Eight years of bloodshed, eight years of occupation, and eight years of resistance. China became the first nation to resist fascist expansion, standing alone against the Japanese war machine while Europe still dithered in appeasement.

The scale of sacrifice defies comprehension. Entire cities bombed relentlessly, long before London or Dresden. Chongqing became a city of fire, enduring years of aerial bombardment. The Rape of Nanjing—one of the worst atrocities of the 20th century—saw over 300,000 civilians massacred and tens of thousands of women subjected to systematic sexual violence. By 1945, an estimated 20 million Chinese had perished—civilians and soldiers alike—second only to the Soviet Union in human loss. Millions more were displaced, starved, or broken by the grinding cruelty of war.

Yet, despite poverty, corruption, and internal division, the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek fought, the Communists under Mao waged guerrilla war, and ordinary peasants resisted occupation in ways large and small.

Here lies the forgotten contribution: by tying down over half of the Japanese Imperial Army, China prevented Tokyo from redirecting those forces toward Southeast Asia, Australia, or even India. Without China’s endless resistance, Japan might have swept deeper into the Pacific before America could respond. China was not a passive victim; it was a crucial pillar of Allied victory. Recognized as one of the “Big Four” allies—alongside the U.S., the U.K., and the Soviet Union—China earned a permanent seat at the United Nations Security Council. But after the war, Cold War politics overshadowed this memory. China fractured into civil war, the West turned its back, and the story of Chinese sacrifice was buried beneath decades of ideological struggle.

Fast forward to September 3rd, 2025. Tiananmen Square is filled with the thunder of marching boots and the roar of jet engines. Xi Jinping presides over China’s largest-ever military parade—marking the 80th anniversary of the victory over fascism, what China calls the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression.

But this was no mere commemoration. It was a declaration. Xi’s words rang out: “The world today faces a choice between peace and war. China is a great nation, never intimidated by bullies.” The message was clear: just as China resisted aggression in the past, it will resist any who seeks to suppress it today.

By Xi’s side walked Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un. Their image—three leaders, arm in arm— sent a message to Washington, Brussels, and Tokyo: China is not alone. Dozens of other leaders from the Global South, from Iran to Indonesia, stood in solidarity, reflecting a multipolar reality where the West no longer dictates attendance.

And then came the spectacle: tanks, drones, hypersonic missiles, stealth fighters, submarine-launched ballistic missiles—each a carefully choreographed reminder of how far the People’s Liberation Army has come since the days of ragtag guerrilla fighters with little more than rifles and willpower. Western commentators were quick to dismiss the parade as saber-rattling, but the symbolism was undeniable. For China, the anniversary was not only about honoring the dead, it was about asserting its right to shape the future.

To understand this, we must understand the man at the helm: Xi Jinping. Born in 1953, the son of Xi Zhongxun, a revolutionary veteran once close to Mao Zedong, Xi inherited both the privileges and the perils of being a “princeling.” During the Cultural Revolution, his family fell out of favor. His father was purged; Xi himself was sent down to the countryside in Liangjiahe, where he lived in a cave-dwelling, worked as a laborer, and endured the hardships of rural China. This crucible became his origin myth—a tale he would later wield as proof of resilience and loyalty to the Party.

Xi’s rise through the Communist Party was steady, methodical, and deliberate. From county-level posts to Fujian province, where he built a reputation as a pragmatic administrator; to Zhejiang, where he earned a pro-business image; to a brief stint as Shanghai party chief in 2007. Within months, he was elevated to the Politburo Standing Committee. By 2012, he became General Secretary of the Communist Party, and in 2013, President of the People’s Republic of China.

From the start, Xi understood that corruption was both the Party’s greatest weakness and his greatest opportunity. His anti-corruption campaign was unprecedented in scale—taking down over a million officials, from “tigers” (senior leaders) to “flies” (local bureaucrats). To some, it was a genuine effort to restore discipline and legitimacy. To others, it was a ruthless purge of rivals. In reality, it was both. By wielding the campaign as both sword and shield, Xi consolidated power in ways unseen since Mao.

By 2016, Xi was declared the “core” of the Party leadership. In 2017, “Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era” was enshrined in the Party constitution. In 2018, presidential term limits were abolished, paving the way for his indefinite rule. Xi reasserted the Party’s dominance over every aspect of Chinese life: politics, economy, culture, and even technology. He created the National Security Commission to centralize security decision-making, restructured the military, and tightened ideological control across universities and media.

At the heart of Xi’s project lies a single phrase: the rejuvenation of the Chinese nation. Often translated as the “China Dream,” it is both a slogan and a strategy—a vision of restoring China’s rightful place after a century of humiliation by foreign powers. This dream has two deadlines: by 2035, China aims to become a modern socialist state; by 2049, the centenary of the People’s Republic, it seeks to become a global superpower. Under Xi, poverty has been officially declared eradicated. Technological self-reliance is pursued with zeal. The military has been modernized into a force capable of global reach. And internationally, China has shifted from “hiding capabilities” to openly projecting its influence.

China’s story is not simply one of a leader or a parade. It is the story of a nation that endured subjugation, fought its way through war, lifted hundreds of millions out of poverty, and now seeks to reshape the world order. But to understand where this leads, we must examine the engine of this transformation: the economy.

When the People’s Republic of China was founded in 1949, it was a nation in ruins. Infrastructure shattered, agriculture backwards, industries primitive. Mao’s campaigns—the Great Leap Forward, Cultural Revolution—brought turmoil, famine, and chaos. But through hardship, China survived. The true transformation began in 1978 under Deng Xiaoping. With four simple words—“to get rich is glorious”. Deng unleashed reforms that would change not just China, but the global economy.

Special Economic Zones like Shenzhen became laboratories of capitalism within socialism. Farmers were allowed to sell surplus crops. Factories could trade beyond rigid quotas. Foreign investment flowed in. By the 1990s and early 2000s, China had become the “factory of the world.” Its cheap labor and massive exports fueled globalization, filling Western shelves with affordable goods while lifting hundreds of millions out of poverty. Yet this was only the beginning.

By the 2010s, China no longer wanted to be just a workshop for the West. Xi Jinping declared a new ambition: Made in China 2025. The goal was to dominate 10 key sectors: robotics, aerospace, electric vehicles, semiconductors, AI, and green tech. Western capitals panicked. For decades, they had benefited from China’s role as assembler of iPhones and T-shirts. But a China that could outcompete in microchips, satellites, and biotech was a different story. Therefore, sanctions, trade wars, and chip bans followed. Yet sanctions only reinforced China’s determination for self-reliance. Factories pivoted, universities redirected research, and state funds poured into semiconductors and AI.

After years of export-driven growth, Xi reframed the model with the Dual Circulation Strategy; strengthen domestic consumption and innovation, while still engaging global markets. This was an insurance, a hedge against Western attempts to decouple. Alongside this came the policy of Common Prosperity. The message was sharp: no billionaire, no tech giant, no private empire could overshadow the Party. Tech moguls were humbled, online tutoring firms dismantled, gaming restricted for youth. Critics called it authoritarian micromanagement; supporters called it necessary correction of runaway inequality.

But China’s transformation is not confined to its borders. In 2013, Xi unveiled the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI)—a vision of railways, ports, highways, and digital networks connecting Asia, Africa, Europe, and beyond. Over 150 countries have since joined, building infrastructure the West ignored for decades. Critics cry “debt trap diplomacy.” Supporters see hospitals, power plants, and trains where none existed before. The truth is somewhere in between, but undeniable is this: the BRI has made China the largest lender to developing nations, creating networks of influence that rival anything the IMF or World Bank ever built.

Another front of transformation is finance. The U.S. dollar remains the global reserve, but China is chipping away. The yuan (RMB) is increasingly used in trade settlements. The digital yuan (e-CNY)—state-backed and programmable—is being tested across borders. Paired with the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) and BRICS Bank, Beijing is building alternatives to Western-dominated financial systems. It is not yet the end of dollar supremacy, but the cracks are visible.

But China’s rise is not happening in a vacuum. Washington has labeled Beijing its “most consequential rival,” pouring billions into military alliances aimed at containment. The Pivot to Asia, announced under Obama in 2011, redeployed U.S. forces to the Pacific. AUKUS, the U.S.–U.K.–Australia pact, aims to deploy nuclear submarines. The QUAD—U.S., Japan, India, Australia—functions as an Asian NATO in the making. From the South China Sea to the Himalayas, China sees a tightening ring of bases, patrols, and alliances. And it responds in kind.

Beijing claims vast swathes of the South China Sea, marked by the “nine-dash line.” Artificial islands sprout into military outposts, radar stations, and runways. The Hague tribunal in 2016 ruled against China’s claims; Beijing dismissed it outright. Meanwhile, the U.S. Navy conducts “freedom of navigation” patrols, sailing destroyers past Chinese-controlled reefs. Each encounter is a gamble—a miscalculation away from escalation.

But the most dangerous flashpoint is Taiwan. For Xi Jinping, “reunification” is non-negotiable. It is the heart of the China Dream. For the U.S., Taiwan is a partner, a democracy, and the home of the world’s most advanced semiconductor factories. Both sides arm, maneuver, and posture. Analysts warn: if war comes, it will likely come here.

Beyond its periphery, China has extended its reach. In Africa, it is the top trading partner, building mines, dams, and railways. In the Middle East, it brokered the Saudi–Iran détente in 2023 and signed major energy deals. In Latin America, it invests in lithium, power grids, and trade. Even in Europe, cracks show: while Germany and France grow cautious, Hungary, Slovakia and Serbia lean toward Beijing.

At the 2025 Victory Parade, the image of Xi, Putin, and Kim symbolized an emerging bloc. Russia, sanctioned and isolated by Europe, finds a partner in Beijing. North Korea, emboldened by proximity to China, tests missiles with tacit backing. Then there is BRICS+, expanded with new members from the Global South, representing an alternative to G7 dominance. The SCO and AIIB further institutionalize this order.

Once derided as backward, the People’s Liberation Army is now a modern force. Its navy is the world’s largest by ship count, with growing carrier capacity. Its missiles include hypersonics and anti-ship “carrier killers.” Its nuclear triad expands on land, sea, and air. In cyber and space, China develops satellite warfare and AI-driven command systems. Lessons from the Ukraine war—drones, counter-drone systems—are integrated.

Here lies the essence of the clash. The U.S. vision: a liberal order under American leadership, dollar supremacy, and military alliances. The Chinese vision: sovereignty first, multipolarity, “win-win cooperation,” no universal values.

Power is not only measured in missiles and markets. It is also measured in stories. Who writes them, who tells them, and who believes them. China has built its cultural diplomacy: Confucius Institutes teaching language worldwide, scholarships attracting Global South students, state-backed films and streaming platforms exporting its narratives. TikTok, dismissed as a teenage distraction, has become a cultural force shaping politics. Huawei’s Digital Silk Road, with 5G networks and undersea cables, embeds China into the world’s digital backbone.

Xi offers what he calls “whole-process people’s democracy”—a Party-led system claiming to reflect the people’s will without Western elections. This model, paired with prosperity, appeals to leaders tired of Washington’s hypocrisy. Meanwhile, Chinese AI-powered surveillance systems are exported abroad. Critics call it digital authoritarianism; others call it stability technology.

The clash is clear. America insists its values are universal. China replies that there are many paths to modernity. The world, caught between these narratives, must choose or find a way to live with both.

So we return to the central question: what happens when China rules, or when China shares power?

Let us imagine the world a decade from now. The year is 2035. You wake up, unlock your phone, and your daily news feed flows not from CNN or BBC, but from platforms owned by Chinese conglomerates. Your country’s new high-speed rail line was financed by Beijing. Your bank balance is denominated not in dollars, but in a digital yuan. This is not science fiction. It is one possible future. The question is not whether China rises—it already has—but what happens when that rise collides with America’s entrenched empire.

In one scenario, China overtakes the United States, not just economically, but strategically. The United Nations is reformed to give greater voice to the Global South. The IMF and World Bank lose ground to the BRICS Bank and the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank. Loans come with no lectures about “human rights” or “structural reforms.” The digital yuan spreads, U.S. sanctions lose their sting. PLA bases dot the Indian Ocean and Africa, Taiwan is reunified, Chinese tech sets global rules. Authoritarian capitalism becomes normalized.

In the second scenario, a bipolar order emerges. Two blocs: the U.S. with NATO, G7, AUKUS, QUAD; China with BRICS+, SCO, BRI partners. Two spheres of influence. Two financial systems: dollar and yuan. Fierce competition in technology, but reluctant cooperation on climate and pandemics. Proxy wars simmer, but direct conflict is avoided—not out of love, but out of fear.

Neither scenario is smooth. Taiwan remains the red line. The South China Sea is a tinderbox. Cyberspace and outer space are new battlefields. But opportunities also glimmer: climate cooperation, joint development, multipolar balance.

And so, the question is not only about Beijing or Washington. The Global South—the majority of humanity—will decide which vision to embrace, or how to balance between them. The future will not be dictated by one empire alone, but by the world’s response to the clash of titans.

History is never silent. It whispers in the present, echoing through our decisions. Eighty years ago, China was a bleeding victim of invasion, sacrificing millions to halt fascism. In 2025, it celebrated that victory not only with remembrance, but with missiles in the sky and allies at its side. The message was simple: we have risen, we will not be humiliated again.

The United States, for its part, continues to project itself as the guardian of freedom and democracy. Yet its record—wars in Iraq, interventions in Libya and Syria, complicity in Gaza’s onslaught, sanctions suffocating entire nations—betrays its empire of hypocrisy. And so, two powers face each other: one claiming universal values, the other insisting on sovereignty and multipolarity. Both with strengths, both with contradictions.

If history is our guide, power transitions are rarely peaceful. Athens and Sparta. Britain and Germany. Empires colliding in blood and ruin. But history is not destiny. Humanity stands at a crossroads. Cooperation or confrontation. Multipolar balance or imperial collision.

Will we repeat the mistakes of the past, or write a new chapter? When historians of the 22nd century look back, they may be able to answer this question.

—Kevork Almassian is a Syrian geopolitical analyst and the founder of Syriana Analysis.