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What if China is not rising, making it more dangerous?

In their new book, Hal Brands and Michael Beckley make suspect analogies to Germany and Japan to argue why Beijing may seek conflict.

Analysis | Asia-Pacific

Many, perhaps most, Western China-watchers believe that Beijing and Washington are engaged in a long-term historical struggle over the future shape of the international order. 

Whether framed as a “hundred-year marathon,” a “long game,” or some similarly secular competitive effort, proponents of this long-march thesis tend to assume that a rising China has embarked on the quest for geopolitical primacy and that it will continue along this path until either it achieves its goal or is definitively prevented from doing so.

A necessary corollary of this belief is that this struggle for global supremacy carries with it the very real prospect of war between the current hegemon and the rising challenger, most likely around mid-century, when the dynamic of power transition reaches its inevitable climax. 

In their recently released book "Danger Zone: The Coming Conflict with China," Hal Brands and Michael Beckley challenge key aspects of this conventional wisdom. At the risk of oversimplification, their argument is that China is not a rising power, at least in the sense that it is on a linear trajectory to become ever more prosperous and powerful, and perhaps one day predominant. Rather, it is a faltering power, one that is fated first to stumble and then decline, at least in relative terms. Furthermore, this looming reversal of fortunes, they argue, is neither a remote possibility nor one that is contingent on some policy misstep on the part of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). It is baked into China’s demography and economy, and it is reinforced by the logic of geopolitical counter-balancing. 

At this point, according to the authors, there is simply nothing the CCP can do to avoid the “middle-income trap,” the imminent prospect of “growing old before growing rich,” or the effort on the part of weaker neighbors to band together to constrain what they consider to be an increasingly menacing China. Simply put, though China’s star might seem to be still ascendant, it has effectively peaked. And it has done so long before supplanting the United States as a global, or even regional, hegemon. 

While this might seem like a blessing, Brands and Beckley argue, if history is any guide a faltering China is likely to prove anything but. Consider the two historical cases of Germany in 1914 and Japan in 1941. In both cases, a rising power — a power that had grown increasingly wealthy and that wanted to claim its rightful place in the sun — began to lose ground, in the German case demographically, in the Japanese case strategically. 

Having realized that their relative power positions were likely to get worse over time, both powers decided to initiate wars they knew had only a slim chance of winning because they also suspected their prospects were only going to get worse with each passing year. In both cases, the hegemonic contender made a desperate bid to lock in its relative power position by launching a war to reset the international system in their favor. 

In neither case was war caused by rising states leaping through open windows of opportunity created by actual military advantage. Instead, they were caused by a stalled rising power, at a current or imminent military disadvantage, attacking despite this disadvantage because it was the least bad of several very bad options open to them. Reasoning by historical analogy, the authors conclude that the most important foreign policy challenge facing the United States over the next decade or so will be to figure out how to deal with a China that, like Germany in 1914 and Japan in 1941, sees the ring of regional and perhaps global predominance slipping away.

This is an ambitious book and, as such, has much to recommend it. The focus on China peaking or plateauing — as opposed to rising — is particularly salutary as it forces us to think about the strategic implications of what remains an under-appreciated shift in China’s developmental trajectory. 

Like every ambitious book, however, this one rests on a number of assumptions, assertions and arguments that are open to conceptual and/or empirical challenge. The most significant of these can be found in the authors’ conclusions regarding the implications of peak China for international peace and security. Via historical analogy, the authors come to the conclusion that the next decade will be a moment of considerable peril, similar in kind — and fraught with the same risk of war — as the years immediately preceding 1914 and 1941. 

Now, in the abstract at least, there’s nothing inherently wrong with using this sort of historical analogy to shed light on a contemporary geopolitical dynamic. The devil, however, is in the details. Faulty or false analogies can arise when one likens one case to another when the differences between the two outweigh the similarities. Similarly, one can misanalogize by treating one version of an historical case as objective history when in fact there are multiple, competing versions of the narrative, any of which could lead to quite different conclusions about the contemporary dynamics.

In this case, the authors appear to have fallen prey to the latter type of logical fallacy, very selectively drawing on one theory out of many that purport to explain the outbreak of war in 1914 and 1941 in order to make an argument about the dangers associated with China’s coming decline. Having for many years taught a college course on the politics of the world wars, I can point to any number of theoretical explanations for the causes of those wars that have little or nothing to do with German or Japanese fears of relative decline. 

That the authors treat the most convenient accounts of these wars as simply the way things happened, and then conclude that we are now entering a similar period of heightened risk, may be suggestive but it is far from dispositive. 

Similarly, when it comes to the question of how Washington should respond to a faltering China, Danger Zone invokes another false analogy — the Cold War — for strategic guidance. The argument is that just as the United States led the free world in an effort to contain the Soviet Union until it collapsed, so too it will have to lead the forces of democracy to contain China until it too becomes less of a threat. Although the authors qualify their argument in various ways, the upshot is clear: full-spectrum containment is the best strategy for dealing with a faltering China. But for reasons I have articulated elsewhere, this too is a deeply flawed analogy — one that is fraught with its own dangers of overstretch and provocation. 

The bottom line? If you are looking for a critique of the “hundred-year marathon” narrative you need look no further. Danger Zone is without question invaluable as an antidote to the more simplistic notions of China’s rise currently in circulation. But if you are looking for solutions to this new challenge that is more restrained in inspiration, you are likely to be disappointed. Count me among the latter.


The Tiananmen building is a symbol of the People's Republic of China. Located in the capital of the People's Republic of China, the center of Beijing. (ABCDstock/Shutterstock)
Analysis | Asia-Pacific
Pedro Sanchez
Top image credit: Prime Minister of Spain Pedro Sanchez during the summit of Heads of State and Government of the European Union at the European Council in Brussels in Belgium the 26th of July 2025, Martin Bertrand / Hans Lucas via Reuters Connect

Spain's break from Europe on Gaza is more reaction than vision

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The final stage of the Vuelta a España, Spain’s premier cycling race, was abandoned in chaos on Sunday. Pro-Palestinian protesters, chanting “they will not pass,” overturned barriers and occupied the route in Madrid, forcing organizers to cancel the finale and its podium ceremony. The demonstrators’ target was the participation of an Israeli team. In a statement that captured the moment, Spain’s Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez expressed his “deep admiration for the Spanish people mobilizing for just causes like Palestine.”

The event was a vivid public manifestation of a potent political sentiment in Spain — one that the Sánchez government has both responded to and, through its foreign policy, legitimized. This dynamic has propelled Spain into becoming the European Union’s most vocal dissenting voice on the war in Gaza, marking a significant break from the transatlantic foreign policy orthodoxy.

Sanchez’s support for the protesters was not merely rhetorical. On Monday, he escalated his stance, explicitly calling for Israel to be barred from international sports competitions, drawing a direct parallel to the exclusion of Russia over its invasion of Ukraine. “Our position is clear and categorical: as long as the barbarity continues, neither Russia nor Israel should participate in any international competition,” he said. This position, which angered Israel and Spanish conservatives alike, was further amplified by his culture minister, who suggested Spain should boycott next year’s Eurovision Song Contest if Israel participates.

More significantly, it emerged that his government had backed its strong words with concrete action, cancelling a €700 million ($825 million) contract for Israeli-designed rocket launchers. This move, following an earlier announcement of measures aimed at stopping what it called “the genocide in Gaza,” demonstrates a willingness to leverage economic and diplomatic tools that other EU capitals have avoided.

Sánchez, a master political survivalist, has not undergone a grand ideological conversion to anti-interventionism. Instead, he has proven highly adept at reading and navigating domestic political currents. His government’s stance on Israel and Palestine is a pragmatic reflection of his coalition that depends on the support of the left for which this is a non-negotiable priority.

This instinct for pragmatic divergence extends beyond Gaza. Sánchez has flatly refused to commit to NATO’s target of spending 5% of GDP on defense demanded by the U.S. President Donald Trump and embraced by NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte, citing budgetary constraints and social priorities.

Furthermore, Spain has courted a role as a facilitator between great powers. This ambition was realized when Madrid hosted a critical high level meeting between U.S. and Chinese trade officials on September 15 — a meeting Trump lauded as successful while reaffirming “a very strong relationship” between the U.S. and China. This outreach is part of a consistent policy; Sánchez’s own visit to Beijing, at a time when other EU leaders like the high representative for foreign policy Kaja Kallas were ratcheting up anti-Chinese rhetoric, signals a deliberate pursuit of pragmatic economic ties over ideological confrontation.

Yet, for all these breaks with the mainstream, Sánchez’s foreign policy is riddled with a fundamental contradiction. On Ukraine, his government remains in alignment with the hardline Brussels consensus. This alignment is most clearly embodied by his proxy in Brussels, Iratxe García Pérez, the leader of the Socialists and Democrats (S&D) group in the European Parliament. In a stark display of this hawkishness, García Pérez used the platform of the State of the Union debate with the EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen to champion the demand to outright seize frozen Russian sovereign assets.

This reckless stance, which reflects the EU’s broader hawkish drift on Ukraine, is thankfully tempered only by a lack of power to implement it, rendering it largely a symbolic act of virtue signaling. The move is not just of dubious legality; it is a significant error in statecraft. It would destroy international trust in the Eurozone as a safe repository for assets. Most critically, it would vaporize a key bargaining chip that could be essential in securing a future negotiated settlement with Russia. It is a case of ideological posturing overriding strategic calculation.

This contradiction reveals the core of Sánchez’s doctrine: it is circumstantial, not convictional. His breaks with orthodoxy on Israel, defense spending and China are significant, but driven, to a large degree, by the necessity of domestic coalition management. His alignment on Ukraine is the path of least resistance within the EU mainstream, requiring no difficult choices that would upset his centrist instincts or his international standing.

Therefore, Sánchez is no Spanish De Gaulle articulating a grand sovereigntist strategic vision. He is a fascinating case study in the fragmentation of European foreign policy. He demonstrates that even within the heart of the Western mainstream which he represents, dissent on specific issues like Gaza and rearmament is not only possible but increasingly politically necessary.

However, his failure to apply the same pragmatic, national interest lens to Ukraine — opting instead for the bloc’s thoughtless escalation — proves that his policy is more a product of domestic political arithmetic than coherent strategic vision. He is a weathervane, not a compass — but even a weathervane can indicate a shift in the wind, and the wind in Spain is blowing away from unconditional Atlanticism.

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