Global trade trapped between US tantrums and Chinas bravado

If you are an Asian exporter, port operator or supply-chain manager, “trade geopolitics” is not an abstract debate. It is the volatility premium paid in freight, contracts, inventory and investment decisions.

Trump’s latest move—lifting a new global tariff rate to 15% after the Supreme Court struck down his earlier duties imposed under emergency powers—highlights a governing style that treats tariffs as a multipurpose instrument: revenue, industrial policy and bargaining chip.

That single sequence—court loss, rapid legal pivot, new rate—captures what many businesses and governments are learning the hard way: the United States and China are now selling the world two very different “instruction manuals” for economic statecraft.

One is loud, fast and legally improvised. The other is calm, strategic and carefully marketed.

Washington’s message, especially in the Trump era, is blunt: unpredictability is leverage. Beijing’s message is equally deliberate: China is the anchor of stability—even as its export machine keeps generating surpluses that make partners uneasy.

This is not a morality play about who is “right.” It is a stress test of the trading system, revealing how power now behaves less like a treaty and more like a thermostat—turned up or down to shape behavior, with everyone else paying the energy bill.

Start with the United States. The tariff tool has become less a last resort and more a Swiss Army knife: a revenue stream, a bargaining chip, a domestic political signal and a way to force conversations that would otherwise stall.

The legal story matters here because it drives the market story: when tariff authority can jump tracks—emergency powers one day, another statute the next—firms are forced to price not only the tariff, but the whiplash.

For companies, that means “tempo” becomes policy. You can hedge a tariff level. It is much harder to hedge the possibility that exemptions, carve-outs, refund fights and court constraints will reshape the effective rate in weeks. For governments, it means you are planning for uncertainty as a standing condition, not a temporary disruption.

Now consider China. Beijing’s posture is best described as balanced bravado: projecting composure, talking up openness and multilateralism, and inviting partners to see China as the adult in the room. That narrative resonates in parts of Asia, Africa, the Gulf and even Europe whenever US politics looks chaotic.

But “stability” has two faces. One is predictability rooted in rules. The other is a stable imbalance: an export engine that keeps running hot even when domestic demand runs cool, sending surplus outward and raising fears of overcapacity, uneven access and political backlash in receiving markets. A partner can like China’s steadier diplomatic tone and still worry about what it means to be the pressure valve for someone else’s excess supply.

From a third-country perspective—India, Vietnam, Indonesia, Japan, Korea, the Gulf and the EU—the contest is less “US versus China” than “volatility versus dependency.” Washington creates policy risk: today’s tariff is tomorrow’s bargaining chip, and tomorrow’s chip may be reshaped by courts, Congress, or campaign politics.

Beijing creates structure risk: the terms may feel predictable, but the relationship can become hard to rebalance once supply chains, standards, and market access start to tilt in one direction.

This is why “stability” is not a virtue on its own. Stability can mean good governance. It can also mean a stable imbalance that eventually triggers a political snapback—antidumping actions, subsidy fights, industrial policy, or sudden restrictions justified as “national resilience.”

One underappreciated shift is that tariffs now do double duty as storytelling devices. In Washington’s story, the tariff is a moral instrument: it punishes “ripping off,” rewards production at home, and signals strength even when the legal footing is contested.

In Beijing’s story, trade is a legitimacy instrument: China portrays itself as the defender of global commerce, deepening ties so thoroughly that partners find true decoupling too costly.

The danger is that when trade becomes narrative, measurement becomes secondary. If the goal is to look tough, volatility can be mistaken for effectiveness. If the goal is to look reliable, surplus can be mistaken for sustainability.

So what should Asia do—practically—when the two largest players are exporting two different kinds of risk?

First, treat diversification as insurance, not ideology. The point is not to “choose” the US or China; it is to avoid a world where a US tariff swing or a China demand shock becomes a national crisis. That means more markets, more suppliers for critical inputs, and more redundancy in logistics.

Second, invest in what I’d call traceable compliance. As rules-of-origin tighten and enforcement becomes more digital, the winners will be firms—and countries—that can prove what they are shipping, where it came from, and how it meets standards. This is how you re-route legally without re-engineering products every quarter.

Third, build regional shock absorbers that are boring but decisive: faster customs, interoperable digital trade systems, better trade finance, and targeted support so small and mid-sized firms can survive tariff turbulence without laying off capacity that will be needed later.

Finally, push for workable guardrails even when big powers prefer pressure to process. Asia does not need perfect global governance to reduce damage; it needs usable disciplines and pathways—on subsidies, overcapacity, and dispute handling—that can function when politics runs hot.

If Washington is practicing governance by surprise and Beijing is practicing diplomacy by reassurance, Asia’s comparative advantage should be something less theatrical: rules. Trade policy should behave more like infrastructure than improvisation—predictable lanes, transparent constraints and credible discipline when surpluses become destabilizing.

In a world addicted to tariff drama, the most radical position may be to insist on boring competence.

Y. Tony Yang is an endowed professor at the George Washington University in Washington, D.C.