China is ready for Trump

It’s everyone else still pretending he’s unpredictable.

Photo by Shunya Koide on Unsplash

By Brian O’Neill

On Thursday, President Donald Trump announced that he and Chinese President Xi Jinping had a “very positive” call on trade. The two leaders, he said, had resolved tensions over rare earth mineral exports, and their teams would meet again soon. Xi welcomed Trump to visit Beijing.

Invitations were exchanged. Smiles posted. Beneath the surface, almost nothing changed.

A 90-day tariff truce brokered in Geneva was already unraveling when Thursday’s call took place. Xi’s message was diplomatic but direct: Steer this “big ship” away from sabotage—or else. Trump, of course, heard what he wanted: a deal he could sell, regardless of whether one exists.

We’ve seen this play before. The handshakes. The headlines. The claim that he alone can fix it. The problem is that rational trade policy isn’t the goal. Performance is. That’s what the floated Beijing trip is about: optics. A meeting, a photo, and a three-word phrase he can yell from a tarmac—“Tough but fair.”

Trump’s moves are driven not by national interest but emotional payoff. If a negotiation makes him look small, he will sabotage it. If a headline calls him weak, he’ll escalate. If Xi flatters him, he’ll fold.

And yet, political analysts, especially in the think tank and academic world, continue to parse Trump’s behavior as if he were playing by familiar rules. They keep trying to game out what Trump “really wants.” But Trump’s preferences mutate in real time. One day, he wants total decoupling; the next, investment from Chinese firms. One week, he blames China for economic sabotage; the next, he praises Xi as a visionary.

All these assessments make one common mistake: They assume Trump wants a coherent outcome.

He doesn’t. He wants a performance. That’s what the floated China trip is about. If Xi Jinping offers him just enough symbolic respect, Trump might return to the U.S. proclaiming victory without ever touching the hard questions: IP theft, state subsidies, rare earth controls.

That’s why China’s posture isn’t just strategic. It’s psychological. Beijing knows Trump has no appetite for drawn-out talks or institutional give-and-take. They’re not offering structural reform or reciprocal liberalization. They’re offering the illusion of deal-making. Carefully stage-managed meetings. Polished communiqués. Soft words that can be twisted into triumph. It’s diplomacy as theater—because that’s all Trump’s capable of absorbing.

And it’s why China might emerge in the end stronger, having conceded nothing, while Trump gets another notch in his belt and another crack in America’s strategic coherence.

Some in Washington believe this is all posturing. That when push comes to shove, Trump will revert to type: transactional, self-interested, but ultimately risk-averse. Hence, the funny putdown: TACO—Trump Always Chickens Out.

But that, too, misreads the man. Trump isn’t averse to risk. He’s averse to blame. What looks like caution is often just delay—waiting for a scapegoat to emerge. He’s happy to escalate as long as someone else is holding the bag when it goes sideways. That’s why, even in areas of possible progress—like cracking down on fentanyl precursors or negotiating critical mineral access—he won’t anchor to a position. Anchoring means owning the outcome. And Trump only bets when he can rig the table.

This creates a deeper structural problem. America cannot negotiate coherently when its leader does not distinguish between national interest and personal standing. The Chinese side knows this. They know that Trump’s advisers, however competent or hardline, are window dressing. That the only briefing that matters is the one that reaches Trump’s sense of grievance. And so they tailor their moves accordingly—building flexibility into their timelines, waiting out the tantrums, and watching for the signal that the pageant is ready to resume.

It’s not strategy—it’s sedation.

Meanwhile, American industry remains paralyzed. The 90-day pause has not brought clarity. It has brought a holding pattern, which China is far better equipped to exploit. Xi can afford to wait. His economic model, though fragile, is insulated from electoral volatility. Academic and entrepreneur Scott Galloway labeled this more succinctly than I have in previous assessments: Xi’s “pain threshold” is far higher than Trump’s.

This is why every theory used to describe Trump eventually breaks down. The madman theory? Trump doesn’t act erratic to induce strategic advantage—he’s just erratic.

The transactionalist theory? That presumes negotiation in good faith. Trump’s idea of a deal is one where the other side is locked into something unenforceable while he walks away.

The “three-dimensional chess” metaphor? Please. This isn’t chess. It’s Calvinball.

Trump is a prestige actor. Not in the sense of dignity or tradition, but in the theatrical sense. He craves dominance and praise. He needs to be seen “winning.” That’s the outcome every move is calibrated to support.

This is dangerous not because Trump is unpredictable but because he is consistent in the wrong direction.

This does not mean that the Trump administration does not have legitimate grievances about China’s economic practices. China’s market access barriers, forced technology transfers, and state-directed subsidies to preferred industries and businesses have created massive global trade distortions. But grievance is not a strategy. And tariffs aimed at every country rather than surgically targeted at China in partnership with the European Union and possibly others is not logical.

So, what now?

First, let’s be clear: This article isn’t directed at those still clinging to the illusion that Trump can be reasoned with, channeled, or steered. That beneath the chaos lies some cunning transactional logic.

This is for those who already see through it—but haven’t acted on that knowledge.

That includes financial institutions still chasing short-term windfalls from Trump’s announcements, even as long-term exposure to Chinese retaliation deepens. It includes CEOs posturing as statesmen while quietly offshoring their risk. It includes media executives who know better but still broadcast performative summits as if they’re strategic breakthroughs.

No one action stops this. But every action that props it up can be withdrawn.

Trump’s advantage isn’t unpredictability. It’s that too many still treat him like a conventional negotiator, knowing full well he isn’t—because it’s easier, safer, or more profitable than calling it what it is.

He doesn’t need success. He needs spotlight. That makes real policy impossible—even for his own team. They’re not crafting strategy. They’re staging scenes and then managing the fallout.

So, turn the spotlight off. No euphemisms for chaos. No talk of “reset” or “recalibration.” No market rallies on empty calls. No polite applause from boardrooms hedging their bets. There’s no strategic genius here. No long game.

This won’t stop him. But it might stop us from enabling him. That’s where clarity becomes power.

If consequences can’t yet be imposed, truth can be. That’s not idealism. That’s triage.

You know—strategy. Until something better exists.

Brian O’Neill, a retired senior executive from the CIA and National Counterterrorism Center, is an instructor on strategic intelligence at Georgia Tech.

---