西方世界在20世纪末犯下一个重大失误，即认为发展起来的中国必然会沦为像西方一样受市场肆意驱使的国家。美国时任总统克林顿当年提倡让中国加入世界贸易组织，其用心不言而喻：让中国融入全球经济体系，受制于规则主导下的国际秩序，演变为更加西方化的社会。

毕竟，物欲横流和自由开放已经软化了其他主权国家的威严棱角，中国如何独善其身？这种想法严重低估了中国的历史定力和文化韧性，它并未将加入世贸组织作为西方文化价值观的同化邀请，而是将其当作巩固现代化道路的途径，在坚定意识形态的路上奔向更大繁荣。

By Samirul Ariff Othman

The West's great miscalculation in the late 20th century was assuming that a prosperous China would inevitably come to resemble a liberal, market-driven democracy like themselves.

It's easy to see why.

When Bill Clinton championed China's ascension to the World Trade Organisation in 2001, the logic was straightforward: integrate China into the global economy, give it a stake in the rules-based international order, and watch as it morphs into a more Westernised, more democratic society.

After all, wealth and openness had softened the hard edges of authoritarianism in other countries, so why not China?

But this was a profound underestimation of China's historical resolve and cultural resilience. China didn't see WTO membership as an invitation to adopt Western values; it saw it as a means to fortify its own path to modernisation —one that could grow more prosperous without diluting its centralised control or ideological foundations.

This oversight is rooted in the West's complex relationship with China, which swings from apprehension to ambition, and from hope to miscalculation.

If you rewind the clock to the early 20th century, during the tail end of China's last imperial dynasty and the tumultuous years of civil war, the Western world's fear was of a China that was too poor, too fractured, too chaotic.

The PRC was born on October 1, 1949, from a nation divided and devastated, and the fear in Washington and London was that this impoverished, war-ravaged country would become a breeding ground for refugees, flowing outward in search of stability and opportunity.

A weak, disorganised China, they thought, would be Asia's wound that the world would have to bandage. Fast forward to today's multipolar reality, and the irony is stark. China didn't flood the West with refugees —it flooded the world with manufactured goods, investments, and increasingly, its own ideas of governance and development.

As a newly prosperous China rose, it did so on its own terms, embracing capitalism with Chinese characteristics and a political structure that could tighten, rather than loosen, state control. Instead of seeking to emulate the West, China now sits at the centre of an evolving multipolar world, one in which the U.S. is no longer the singular, unchallenged superpower.

The West's mistake was not just in expecting China to change but in underestimating how this economic behemoth, with centuries of cultural pride and a vision of its own destiny, would reshape the very world order it was invited to join.

The opening of the People's Republic of China was a geopolitical masterstroke, a strategic pivot aimed at tilting the balance of the Cold War. When Nixon and Kissinger set their sights on Beijing in the 1970s, the goal wasn't just diplomacy; it was chess, an effort to pry open the PRC —a communist giant —and use it to counterbalance the Soviet Union.

In this delicate dance, a surprising partner emerged: Pakistan. This South Asian Nation played a crucial role in facilitating Kissinger's secret trip to China in 1971, which ultimately opened the door for U.S.-China relations. At the time, relations between the United States and China were tense, and direct diplomatic channels were virtually non-existent. Pakistan, however, maintained good relations with both nations and acted as a discreet intermediary. President Nixon and his National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger recognised Pakistan's unique position and approached Pakistani President Yahya Khan to serve as a go-between.

In a carefully orchestrated plan, Kissinger travelled to Pakistan under the guise of a diplomatic visit. While there, he feigned an illness and, under cover, was quietly flown from Pakistan to Beijing. This covert trip laid the groundwork for the first formal contact between U.S. and Chinese leaders in over two decades and marked a pivotal shift in the Cold War dynamics, creating a counterbalance to Soviet influence. Without Pakistan's facilitation and trusted mediation, the historic U.S.-China rapprochement might have taken much longer to unfold —or may not have happened at all. And thus, "Ping Pong Diplomacy" began —a few paddles, a handshake, and suddenly the West had an unlikely, but valuable, friend in Mao's China.

Historically, though, Western attitudes toward China have been laced with a fear of the "Yellow Peril"—the idea that Asia, and China in particular, would rise as an unstoppable force, a rival civilisation with the power to reshape the world.

Fast forward, and that perceived threat has morphed into the "Asian Century," an era where China is not just emerging but becoming a central player on the world stage. Voices like Kishore Mahbubani suggest that it's time to recognise the tectonic shift in global power and prepare for a future where Asia, and especially China, leads.

But here's the rub: Asia itself isn't fully sold on the idea of a Chinese-led world.

Beijing's ambitious rise has left a trail of apprehension across East Asia —South Korea, Taiwan, Japan, and many Southeast Asian nations like Vietnam and the Philippines all watch China's ascent with a mix of respect and wariness. Why? Because for them, China's rise isn't just economic; it's political, cultural, and strategic.

The South China Sea, where territorial claims rub uncomfortably close, is a potent reminder of China's ambitions. Countries like Vietnam and the Philippines fear that what Beijing describes as a "peaceful rise" could also mean a more assertive, more dominant China.

So, while the West might see China as an emerging superpower with the potential to reshape the world, East Asia sees it as both a partner and a potential hegemon —a source of opportunity but also a historical rival.

The question isn't just whether the 21st century will be Asian, but what kind of Asia will emerge, and whether China's neighbours will embrace—or resist—a future defined by Beijing's terms.