Around the United States a dense belt of disputes and emotions has formed again, and this time the picture is especially telling when viewed from Riyadh, Brasília and Beijing. In the foreground are the January U.S. strike on Venezuela and the arrest of Nicolás Maduro, which many abroad view as a precedent of Washington’s "selective intervention"; the ongoing tariff conflict with Brazil, where Trump is using economic pressure in support of Jair Bolsonaro; and in China — a whole wave of publications about poverty in America and the so‑called "killing line," turned into a symbol of the "cruelty" of American capitalism. Running through all these stories is the same thread: how legitimate is the U.S. right to set the rules of the global game, and where does defending "democracy" end and naked force begin.
The most resonant event of recent weeks outside the U.S. was the 2026 operation against Venezuela. In early January U.S. forces struck targets in that country and then announced the detention of President Nicolás Maduro, whom some Western media openly called a "dictator." The U.S. official justification relied on claims of human rights violations and threats to regional security, but in international reaction another motive sounded much louder — violation of sovereignty and a dangerous return to the logic of "regime change." In China the narrative was built exactly this way. In the People’s Daily (Renmin Ribao) the diplomatic section devoted a separate spread to the strike on Venezuela: the paper stressed that "the international community firmly condemns the U.S. military action against Venezuela," and an official spokesperson for the Chinese Foreign Ministry said that U.S. actions "grossly violate international law and the UN Charter" and "undermine regional stability" (paper.people.com.cn). It is notable that in the Chinese discourse the Venezuelan case was immediately placed in a broader series: Iraq, Libya, Syria — and now Caracas. Analyst Lyu Yang of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences commented in the newspaper that "the U.S. military action will lead to further political turbulence in the region and deepen distrust of unilateral military interventions," effectively accusing Washington of once again placing its tactical advantage above long‑term order.
In Saudi Arabia the tone is less sharp, but unease is also evident. Major Saudi newspapers such as Asharq Al-Awsat and Al Riyadh emphasize in their international reviews the risk of "exported instability" — every new American strike against a regime Washington deems illegitimate can trigger a chain reaction of crises that inevitably draws in the Persian Gulf region, whether through the oil market or maritime security. Saudi commentators draw parallels with the 2003 Iraq campaign, noting that in both cases U.S. official rhetoric is full of references to "liberating the people," but the practical result for the region is increased chaos and polarization. In the Arab media space a harsher tone also appears — in independent and pan‑Arab outlets the military strike on Venezuela is framed within a narrative of "double standards": Washington readily uses force against states "outside its camp," while conspicuously lenient toward allies even when they systematically violate human rights.
A very particular layer of the debate about the U.S. is now forming in China around the phenomenon of the so‑called "killing line" — a term denoting an income or social status threshold below which, some Chinese commentators argue, the American system effectively "cuts off" people from a normal life. Chinese state and semi‑official media in early 2026 actively circulated materials that examined poverty in the U.S., inequality and the vulnerability of lower strata in detail. The Chinese section of Wikipedia already records this phenomenon as part of a campaign criticizing "American poverty," emphasizing that state outlets use the theme of the "killing line" to show the chaos and cruelty of American capitalism in contrast with the Chinese model, where the state, it is claimed, assumes the role of guaranteeing a minimum level of welfare (zh.wikipedia.org). In an interview with Singapore’s Lianhe Zaobao, Chinese commentator Xu Quan noted that this criticism is not actually new: decades ago China mocked "California’s homeless" and "Black ghettos" in the U.S., but now the story is packaged more technologically and analytically — with charts, citations of American studies and expert commentary.
Interestingly, the intense Chinese focus on U.S. social weakness is accompanied by a subtler domestic agenda. In an article by Chinese journalist Yuan Li in the New York Times (the translation of which was widely cited in the Chinese segment) it was argued that the Chinese propaganda machine "pumps up" the topic of American poverty to distract attention from its own economic difficulties — slowing growth, youth unemployment and problems in the real estate market. Chinese official media naturally omit this motive, but U.S. criticism here functions as a kind of internal pressure valve: by showing chaos and destitution in America, authorities demonstrate that despite all difficulties, "we are still better off than them."
In Brazil, in recent months America has been perceived primarily through the lens of a tariff cudgel. The 2025 diplomatic crisis, when President Trump announced 50‑percent tariffs on all Brazilian goods, still sets the tone of discussions. That decision was presented by the White House as a response to a "witch hunt" against Jair Bolsonaro and an alleged trade imbalance, although statistics showed that the U.S. actually had a trade surplus with Brazil in 2024 (pt.wikipedia.org). The Brazilian press has not forgotten this episode. In analytical columns in Folha de S. Paulo and O Globo, America is described as a country where foreign economic policy easily becomes an extension of domestic ideological struggle: support for Bolsonaro and pressure on the Supreme Federal Court (STF) in the form of reposts from the U.S. embassy sympathetic to the former president are perceived as "direct interference" in Brazilian democracy. One well‑known center‑left commentator noted that "Washington no longer pretends to be a neutral arbiter in Latin American disputes; it picks a side — and, as a rule, it’s the local right."
The conservative camp in Brazil, by contrast, often welcomes a tough U.S. course, seeing it as a counterweight to the "activism" of the STF and human rights organizations. For part of Bolsonaro’s electorate, Trump remains a figure who legitimizes the idea that international support for right‑wing populism is not a marginal trend but a new norm. However, even among moderate conservatives there is irritation at the economic dimension: 50‑percent tariffs are seen as a blow to Brazilian agribusiness and industry, not just a message to elites. In this sense the Brazilian discussion about the U.S. takes on a purely pragmatic tint: America can be a desirable partner in security and technology, but its current political volatility and propensity for "punitive tariffs" make any long‑term cooperation plans risky.
The Saudi perspective on American tariff and sanction tools is also informed by recent experience, but it is phrased more cautiously. In the economic sections of Saudi newspapers, commentators regularly remind readers that dependence on the dollar system and energy markets controlled by the U.S. remains a key vulnerability for Gulf countries. When discussing Washington’s steps against Venezuela or other "disobedient" states, Saudi analysts write about the "politicization" of the dollar and sanctions and concurrently welcome efforts to diversify partners — from China to BRICS countries. Riyadh’s official line is not to provoke a direct confrontation with Washington, but to use U.S. mistakes as an argument in favor of a more balanced multipolar architecture in which the U.S. is still important, but no longer indispensable.
One of the most curious and little‑noticed lines of debate about the U.S. outside China has been the question of its "lost moral authority" on human rights. Chinese official comments on the strike on Venezuela and a number of other U.S. actions follow a clear pattern: first — condemnation as a "violation of international law," then — a reminder of the U.S.’s internal problems, from racism to poverty, and finally the conclusion that America "has no right" to lecture others. In a January review in a Chinese theoretical journal it was plainly stated that "the U.S., shaken by internal conflicts and economic difficulties, continues to use the rhetoric of human rights as a tool of geopolitical pressure, but this rhetoric convinces even its allies less and less" (paper.people.com.cn). The author not only criticizes the U.S. but also offers a pragmatic conclusion: it is more advantageous for China to rely not on abstract "anti‑American" rhetoric but on demonstrating its own effectiveness — growth, infrastructure, social stability — as an alternative model of modernization.
In Brazil the theme of U.S. moral authority sounds different — through comparisons of judicial and political practices. Publications about the conflict around the STF and the interference of American actors in support of Bolsonaro often draw parallels between American debates about the rule of law after the Capitol riot and Brazil’s fight against disinformation and anti‑democratic agitation. One piece cited by Wikipedia in the article on the 2025 crisis analyzed a Washington Post column about Alexandre de Moraes — the STF judge who became a symbol of the fight against Bolsonarist radicalism. For Brazilian readers it is particularly telling that part of the American press sides with the court, while part of the American political establishment, including Trump, attacks those same judges but on Brazilian soil (pt.wikipedia.org). As a result, in Brazilian popular psychology the U.S. appears less as a "beacon of democracy" and more as a field of its own bitter struggle, whose actors export their conflicts to South America.
In the Arab world the moral status of the U.S. was long since undermined by the wars in the Middle East, and today’s conversation about Venezuela is perceived through the same filter. In Arab online discussions the strike on Caracas is often linked to the simultaneous escalation around Iran and to the merging of American and Israeli strategies. In one popular Arab Reddit thread devoted to "American‑Zionist aggression against Iran," the author stressed that any new U.S. military action in the South American direction automatically increases pressure on the "axis of resistance" and can be used as part of a broader strategy to isolate Iran and its allies (reddit.com). This is not an official Saudi position, but such narratives circulate widely across the Arab public space and shape perceptions of Washington’s actions more broadly.
Putting these disparate voices together reveals several intersecting storylines. First, U.S. military power — from Venezuela to hypothetical scenarios involving Iran — is viewed with growing caution, even where official governments prefer not to enter into direct confrontation with Washington. China, Saudi analysts and Brazilian commentators, each from their own interests, emphasize that unilateral use of force and the "politicization" of sanctions undermine trust in the U.S. as a predictable actor. Second, economic instruments of pressure — tariffs on Brazil, sanctions and dollar dependence — are becoming strong arguments for Global South countries to diversify partners and strengthen regional blocs, from BRICS to their own currency initiatives. Third, the U.S.’s internal social and political turbulence — from poverty and the "killing line" in Chinese narratives to the aftermath of the Capitol riot in Brazilian accounts — is increasingly used as evidence that Washington no longer holds a monopoly on the language of "human rights" and "democracy."
Finally, in these external reactions we see what is often missing from the American debate itself: a deep mistrust of the idea that the U.S. can simultaneously be the umpire, the prosecutor and the executioner on the global stage. Saudi strategists prefer to speak of a "balance of power" and "multipolarity," Chinese theorists discuss a "new type of international relations" and "common development," and Brazilian publicists speak of the "sovereignty of the Global South" and Latin America’s right not to be an appendage to other nations’ internal political wars. In each case America remains a central figure in the conversation — but increasingly less as a model to emulate and more as a problem that must be skillfully constrained and outplayed. Perhaps this is the main change in international perceptions of the U.S. making itself visible today from Riyadh, Brasília and Beijing.
