To be fair, many Chinese feel the U.S. is mindfully hurting China's interests too: surrounding it with military bases, pressing for currency change, meddling in its internal affairs by selling arms to Taiwan and acknowledging the Dalai Lama. Even Western-oriented Chinese now aver that the U.S. wants to slow the country's rise. And many Chinese worry about what they see as the aimlessness of a weakened U.S. The Chinese want to like Obama, but they regard even his most prized initiatives, like the new U.S. posture on the use of nuclear arms, as a sign of weakness. (No Chinese leader would dial back the country's option for unlimited nuclear response in self-defense.) Mao's old line has become a trope in China: It's better to deal with Republicans. But our problem with China isn't simply that we misunderstand each other. Mao used to say any problem could be divided into a "main problem" and "subsidiary problems." Our main problem is that China often feels only limited attachment to the power system that has evolved in the Western world. It has often been victimized by this system and has never felt the ownership over it that Western nations do. And of course China has centuries of native strategic culture that, overlaid with the neuralgia of Marxism, shapes its thinking. Calls for China to be a responsible stakeholder have failed not least because China is ambivalent about the international system as it's currently construed. Even if we could solve the laundry list of perplexities we confront — trade, currency, Tibet, Taiwan — the main problem would linger. So only a solution that functions at the strategic level offers any hope of a durable arrangement. (See five things the U.S. can learn from China.) A mistake we often make in thinking about China is to ask, How does the West accommodate a rising China? This is sort of like asking, How do we fit a big and growing guy into the back of an already full car? It's a question to which any answer suggests expanding discomfort. And in the eyes of many in Beijing, the car isn't running so well anyway. Might it not be better, Chinese wonder, to redesign it? Some of the questions China has started asking about the world system are ones we should be asking too. This isn't to say we should give in to China's sometimes unreasonable demands. But we should admit that our real challenge isn't making room for China. It's thinking about the global system in a new way. The Passive-Voice Era
It's probably not a surprise that China is a bit ambivalent about the Western world order. Its association with it, after all, began violently: the shock of the Opium Wars 170 years ago, a collision that led to what the Chinese think of as a century of humiliation during which nine foreign nations tromped through the country. Americans often ask why Chinese care so much about sovereignty. To which Chinese say, Come back and ask after you've been invaded by nine countries. (See "Could Obama Get Around China's 'Great Firewall'?") Little wonder, then, to find most Chinese still very alive to sensations of weakness, whether inside or outside the country. This was surely the worry that the Chinese media fingered when they declared that the 2009 phrase of the year was beishidai, or "the passive-voice era." The phrase, state-run Xinhua news later explained, "is being employed by Chinese to express a sentiment deeper than just the passive voice: they are using it to convey a sense of helplessness in deciding one's own fate." There's a sharp edge to this phrase's popularity, since it was first used on Chinese blogs to describe court cases in which suspects were found to have committed suicide under unlikely conditions, probably killed by police or other inmates. Such a suspect was, police said, "suicided." And there are now many variations on the phrase, like bei hexie, which means "to be harmonized" (a critical take on Hu's vision of a harmonious society): "My website was harmonized" is a way of saying it was shut down. Being done to. The phrase touches painfully on China's sense of worry on the global stage. And perhaps it also explains one of the most popular Internet stories of 2009 in China, about a young waitress who knifed a party official who tried to force himself on her. Here, Web surfers noted, was someone at least doing something back. China seems at times to have an instinctive need to stand up for itself that stretches beyond what cold reason might suggest. The term Chinese use to describe the desire to wash away a sense of national humiliation is xuechi, which suggests blotting out a stain as if you were covering it with falling snow. But it can also be translated as "avenge." It's an ambiguity that captures a question that no one really knows the answer to: What is China looking for, acceptance or revenge? You can see the leadership trying to thread the passage between these extremes. Hu, for instance, has pivoted the nation's foreign policy away from older, slower-moving ideas like "Bide our time, get something done" and toward what are called the four strengths. China, Hu says, must deploy political influence, economic competitiveness, an attractive image and moral force in diplomacy. In so many words, Hu's strategy suggests, China must use what strength it can to make sure it isn't being done to again. It wouldn't let itself be done to at the climate-change summit in Copenhagen — and it's determined that it won't be done to in currency markets.
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