Around the United States a knot of expectations, fears and calculations is tightening again. In Ukraine, South Korea and China the US is simultaneously perceived as an indispensable security architect and the main source of instability. Several lines of tension converge at this crossroads: American pressure over a settlement in Ukraine, tariff escalation with global partners, debate over Washington’s role in Asia and the fate of US–China relations. Each country views Washington through its own wounds and interests, but common motifs run through all three: fatigue with American unipolarity, fear of sudden shifts by the White House, and attempts to extract maximum benefit from American power without being crushed by it.
The most emotional and existential storyline is America’s role in seeking peace for Ukraine. Ukrainian press and experts closely follow the tripartite negotiation format Ukraine–US–Russia, from Abu Dhabi and Geneva to a planned new round “around February 27” 2026, which the head of the Office of the President Kyrylo Budanov recently mentioned. Ukrainian sources describe this as a chance but also as a source of severe pressure: in an interview with AFP President Volodymyr Zelensky openly acknowledged that Washington is demanding territorial concessions. “Both the Americans and the Russians say that if you want the war to end tomorrow, get out of Donbas,” AFP quoted him as saying, a line picked up by both Ukrainian and Russian media. In Kyiv this is perceived as a painful clash of two realities: without the US it is impossible either to wage war or to negotiate, yet the US, according to part of Ukrainian society, is pushing for peace at the cost of ceding part of the territory.
Against this background Ukrainian commentators split into two camps. Some speak of an “inevitable compromise under pressure from allies” and emphasize that the Trump administration, judging by leaks and statements, is increasingly tying further aid to Kyiv’s willingness to “take a painful step” for a ceasefire. Others remind that public opinion in Ukraine remains extremely sensitive to any ideas of “giving up Donbas,” and warn that if a peace looks like an externally imposed dictate, it will undermine the legitimacy not only of the authorities but of the pro-American orientation itself. In this debate the US simultaneously appears as guarantor of a possible postwar order (including a promised role in monitoring a ceasefire) and as a force ready to trade Ukrainian territories for a quick result.
On the other side of the border, in the Russian and broader Eurasian information space, the US still appears as the main director of events around Ukraine, but the tone is shifting: the idea increasingly heard is that Washington itself has walked into a strategic dead end. Notably, an essay by Ted Snyder, a commentator for the American magazine The American Conservative, gained resonance in Russian-language media; he urged the West to accept that “Ukraine will not become a NATO member” and argued that the path to peace lies not through maximalist pressure but through “diplomacy and compromise.” Russian outlets such as RIA Novosti and InoSMI eagerly picked up these theses, stressing that such voices are now heard inside the US itself, not only in Moscow. In the popular interpretation this looks like: even in America they are beginning to understand that it was impossible to impose Russia’s defeat through Ukraine’s hands, and Washington is now looking for a “way out with minimal damage to its image.”
This line is fed by reports that at closed meetings American representatives voice surprisingly ambitious timelines for a peace agreement — as far as “March 2026,” according to Reuters, cited by a number of outlets. For Ukrainian audiences such timeframes sound like an unattainable ideal or a dangerous illusion; for Russians — as confirmation that the US “is rushing at any cost to close the Ukrainian front” to focus on confrontation with China. In both cases America appears as a key but not omnipotent player, whose internal constraints — elections, economic problems, court cases — are closely intertwined with the question of war and peace in Eastern Europe.
From an Asian perspective, Russia and Ukraine recede into the background, yielding to another axis — the US–China rivalry and its influence on regional security. In Beijing recent events — from Foreign Minister Wang Yi’s speech at the Munich Security Conference to the White House’s new trade decisions — revive an old dilemma: to bet on a long, even if conflictual, coevolution with the US, or to prepare for a protracted confrontation. Asked about the prospects for bilateral relations, Wang Yi reiterated theses that Chinese diplomacy has cultivated for years: “China has always viewed and structured relations with the United States from the height of responsibility to history, its people and the world,” recalling Xi Jinping’s formula of “mutual respect, peaceful coexistence and mutual benefit.” In his speech he drew a sharp line between two scenarios: one — if Washington “objectively and rationally” accepts China’s increased strength and pursues a “pragmatic policy” without attempts at “containment and smearing,” then “the future is cooperation”; the other — if the US continues to push “supply-chain ruptures, create anti-China blocs and push Taiwan toward independence,” then “the two countries will slide into confrontation.” Wang Yi, which is particularly important for the Chinese audience, emphasized: “The prospect is bright,” because there is no other sustainable architecture of peace besides these principles, and “the question is only what choice America will make.” Chinese commentary on his speech is dominated by cautious optimism mixed with distrust: many note that Beijing demonstratively leaves the door open for a “reset” under Trump, yet is preparing the public for the view that the US still sees China as a systemic rival.
At the same time Chinese economic and business media analyze with alarm the White House’s new trade decisions, first and foremost Donald Trump’s sharp declaration to raise the global base tariff from 10 to 15 percent and to prepare a package of additional “legally airtight” duties. Chinese commentators note that this is a direct response to a recent US Supreme Court decision that found part of previous tariff measures beyond presidential authority, and that Trump is now trying to “rewrite the rules,” not abandoning his “tariff identity.” China’s financial sector sees this as another round of American “America First” policy, where courts and Congress become not a counterweight but a tool to reset the course. For Beijing this is a signal: trade pressure is not a temporary anomaly but a structural part of American containment strategy.
These steps by Washington are viewed with concern not only in China but also in South Korea, where an export-oriented economy’s dependence on the American market and the dollar system makes any tariff escalation painful. South Korean reviews note a duality: on one hand, Seoul objectively benefited from past rounds of US–China “decoupling,” attracting some production chains and investment; on the other hand, a new wave of global tariffs and a possible escalation with Canada and Mexico — already turning into a full-scale trade war — undermines the predictability of the system on which the “Korean economic miracle” is based. In Korean public discourse the US is increasingly described as “an ally in security and a source of risk in the economy”: the guarantor of the nuclear umbrella against North Korea and at the same time a country that, with a single presidential tweet, can upend the rules of global markets.
This pairing of security and unpredictability is especially noticeable in South Korean discussions of American policy in the region. Against the backdrop of the escalation of the Iranian nuclear dossier — the US special envoy says Tehran “in about a week” could reach industrial capacity to build a bomb — and the ongoing crisis in Ukraine, fears in Seoul intensify about Washington’s “diffused attention.” Commentators debate whether the US has the political and military will to simultaneously hold a hard line on Iran, contain Russia and at the same time deter possible provocations from North Korea and China. Korean press increasingly argues that American strategy in the Indo-Pacific needs a “real, not declarative reassessment,” and that Seoul will have to invest more in its own capabilities, even without breaking the alliance with Washington.
In the American image of power projected to these countries, the figure of a second-term Trump now dominates — at once strong and weakened. Chinese and Korean portals relay poll data showing the president’s approval rating falling to around 39 percent, a high degree of polarization and distrust in his “honesty and mental clarity,” and broad disapproval of his tariff and immigration policies among a large part of society. One Chinese-language review, based on material from French radio RFI, said the coming days will be an “exam” for Trump ahead of the 2026 midterms: after the Supreme Court blocked his “signature” tariffs and Democrats prepare a boycott of the State of the Union, the speech in Congress turns into an arena for the struggle over the legitimacy of the course. In these retellings America looks less like a monolithic superpower and more like a country split over its president — a perception in Kyiv, Seoul and Beijing seen both as a risk and as an opening.
Interestingly, in all three countries attention is focused not only on foreign-policy statements but on how American domestic dynamics undermine its external power. In China and South Korea they emphasize that even key foreign decisions — imposing tariffs, government shutdown and then the swift passage of a temporary budget deal in Congress to end a shutdown — appear hostage to internal partisan battles. In Ukraine and its neighborhood many wonder how reliable White House guarantees are if the situation in Washington could radically change in two years as a result of another electoral cycle. This fatigue with American “cyclical unpredictability” — a motive that changes course every few years but demands strategic loyalty from allies — is a rare common denominator for such different countries.
And yet, despite criticism and weariness, almost no one seriously proposes an alternative to American engagement. Ukrainian officials simultaneously resent pressure over Donbas and stress that they consider the US role in monitoring a possible ceasefire “a very important result” of negotiations. The Chinese foreign minister says that however the confrontation develops, “the prospect for US–China relations is ultimately bright,” because only “mutual respect and cooperation” between the two powers can ensure global stability. South Korean commentators warn of tariff and military risks but do not question the fundamental value of the alliance, especially given the unpredictability of the DPRK.
This is the paradox of contemporary perceptions of the US: it is at once too strong for the world to ignore and too unstable to rely on completely. For Ukraine this means an ongoing need to balance gratitude for support with resistance to pressure to make concessions. For China — a delicate play between demonstrating openness to “cooperation” and preparing for the worst-case scenario of confrontation. For South Korea — life in a world where the security guarantor increasingly becomes the main source of economic uncertainty. In all these countries they watch America not as a distant superpower but as a factor that daily affects the price of bread, exchange rates, the likelihood of war and the chance of peace. That is why any Washington gesture, from new tariffs to quietly stated timelines for peace in Ukraine, becomes the subject of intense analysis — of hopes and fears at once.
