Outside the United States, America is no longer discussed as an abstract “superpower” but as a source of direct shocks and opportunities. Donald Trump’s return to the White House, Washington’s turn in the Middle East, attempts to restart dialogue with Moscow and the growing technological rivalry with Beijing are shaping a new configuration that Germany, Russia and China each read in their own way. Yet through differences in tone and interest common themes emerge: distrust of American predictability, anxiety about their own security and, at the same time, an awareness that no major crisis can be resolved without the US.
The first major knot of debate and assessment is America’s strategic course under Trump. In Europe, and especially in Germany, the figure of the US president has again become a sensitive topic in the internal debate about security and sovereignty. In his recent government declaration, Chancellor Friedrich Merz directly linked the need for Europe’s “technological sovereignty” to excessive dependence on the US, admitting that the continent has relied too long on American IT platforms and digital services. At the same time Merz sharply criticized Trump for disparaging remarks about NATO’s role in Afghanistan and stressed that for Germany the transatlantic alliance remains an “existential” element of security, even if Washington is behaving increasingly capriciously. In the German mainstream this dual feeling—irritation and dependence—dominates: the US is less and less seen as a “normative beacon,” but is still regarded as an indispensable guarantor of defense.
It is telling that public perception in Europe is shifting as well. A fresh poll by the European Council on Foreign Relations shows that a significant share of citizens in leading EU countries no longer consider the US a reliable ally and expect China, not America, to be the main beneficiary of Trump’s “America First” course in a second term. The study records a paradox: the louder Washington proclaims its greatness, the more Europeans feel the strategic center of the world shifting toward Beijing and Asia, and that Europe risks marginalization unless it becomes an independent center of power. In Germany this pushes discussions about a “European pillar” within NATO and a more pragmatic, cold-eyed view of Washington.
The second major storyline—Russian-American relations—presents an even more layered picture. From the Russian perspective, the year since Trump’s return has been a time of cautious “thaw” without illusions. Moscow commentary regularly recalls last year’s meeting of the presidents in Anchorage (frequently called “the Alaska summit” in the Russian press), which political scientist Alexander Asafov describes as a turning point: personal contact between the leaders, he says, gave the sense that Washington and Moscow at least again “hear” each other, even if there has been no visible progress in air links or diplomatic presence. Analysts like Natalia Tsvetkova draw parallels with the Reykjavik summit of 1986, pointing to the potential significance of these contacts for future arms-control agreements—especially against the backdrop of the New START treaty expiring in 2026. But alongside references to Trump’s remark that “now it’s up to Zelensky,” many Russian and Western observers note another side: the risks to Ukraine, for which a US–Russia deal could translate into pressure to “agree to a settlement.”
Within the Russian political establishment there is restrained optimism, closely entwined with suspicion of the US Congress. First Deputy Chairman of the State Duma Committee on International Affairs Alexey Chepa emphasizes that the main change compared to the Biden era is simply the appearance of any working channels between the Kremlin and the White House; he says Moscow hears signals from congressmen about willingness to dialogue, while recognizing that a lack of contacts between the two largest nuclear powers would instantly strike at the global order. Senator Alexey Pushkov, by contrast, points to the 2026 midterm elections for Congress as the main risk factor: if the Democrats take the majority, he warns, they will try to “resurrect Biden’s policy” toward Russia and Ukraine, which could undermine the current cautious détente. Russian media stress that moves in the relationship are visible not in declarations of friendship but in dense, tough, but regular communication—whether negotiations on Ukraine in Saudi Arabia and Abu Dhabi, or behind‑the‑scenes contacts on strategic stability.
Public opinion in Russia reacts to changes in Washington more subtly than commonly thought. Levada Center data show that against the backdrop of the started negotiations to resolve the Ukrainian conflict and Trump’s first steps in his new term, the share of Russians who view the US “favorably” has risen to roughly a third, but a majority still regards America with distrust or outright hostility. Interestingly, the most positive attitudes toward the US are found among those under 24 and among people who get their news from YouTube channels rather than traditional TV. For the Russian audience in 2026 America is not only a geopolitical rival but an inevitable partner and, at the same time, a powerful but capricious actor that easily changes course depending on domestic struggles in Washington.
The third line, where geopolitics and emotions merge, is the growing confrontation between the US and China. Here Berlin’s, Moscow’s and Beijing’s views diverge significantly. Germany in recent debates speaks of China and the US as two poles of pressure on the European economy and technological supply chains. Former ECB head and ex‑Italian prime minister Mario Draghi warned recently that the global economic order as it once existed is “dead,” and Europe risks becoming a “deindustrialized periphery” between American and Chinese tech giants unless it develops a unified strategy and strengthens its own defense and industrial policy. This logic is not inherently anti‑American or anti‑Chinese, but underscores that Germany and the EU are trying to slip into a narrow corridor between two competing superpowers, reforming their supply chains and 5G–6G infrastructure so as not to be critically dependent on either Beijing or Silicon Valley.
Moscow, by contrast, views the escalation of Chinese‑American rivalry as an opportunity to expand its room for maneuver. Russian commentators increasingly speak of a Moscow–Beijing–Washington “triangle,” where Russia seeks to turn US pressure on China into an incentive to deepen energy, technological and financial cooperation with Beijing. At the same time the Kremlin signals readiness for targeted cooperation with the US where interests converge—from nuclear arms control to counter‑extremism agendas. Episodes like the US military deployment in the Persian Gulf amid unrest in Iran and wars in the Middle East are met in the Russian discourse with a dual reaction: on one hand Washington’s “militarization” of the region is criticized; on the other, it is acknowledged that without US involvement risks to energy supplies and Russian interests in the region only grow.
But the most complex, subtle—and perhaps key—dimension is how the Chinese themselves discuss America today. Officially, Beijing continues to repeat the mantra of “non‑interference in internal affairs” and calls for “mutual respect” with the US, especially in the context of American elections and accusations of possible foreign interference in the campaign. Chinese diplomats in public statements carefully distance themselves from any attempts to influence the vote and emphasize that US presidential elections are “an internal affair of the United States” in which Beijing has neither interest nor intent to intervene. Under this calm official layer, however, there is a lively internal debate—from expert circles to social networks.
Research by Chinese and international scholars analyzing millions of comments and short videos on Douyin and TikTok shows that online discussion of China‑US relations in China oscillates between admiration for America’s economic and technological might and resentment that Washington is perceived as the main brake on China’s rise. Topics such as sanctions against Chinese tech firms, chip export controls and pressure on Huawei and other companies trigger surges of negative emotion, whereas stories about Sino‑American scientific cooperation or students at American universities are often cast in a more positive light. An important detail: the tone of these discussions depends strongly on region and wealth level—data show that in wealthy coastal provinces attitudes toward the US are noticeably more pragmatic and less ideological than in poorer inland regions.
In academic and technological circles in China another, less visible aspect of American influence is debated—the cultural‑value one. A recent study by a group of researchers showed that even large Chinese language models “trained in China,” when tested on values and moral stances, give answers much closer to average American positions than to the aggregated positions of a Chinese sample. The authors conclude that the global dominance of English‑language data and Western texts creates a “soft” American influence even where technologies are formally Chinese. This raises worrying questions in the Chinese expert community: how to protect their own value orientations in an era when AI and internet infrastructure are still largely calibrated to American standards and content.
Against this backdrop the new round of US‑China competition in security and high technology is perceived differently in Germany, Russia and China but is united by three motives. First, it is universally acknowledged that the tech race is not just about chips but also about the norms, standards and values that will be embedded in the global digital environment. In Berlin there is talk of the risk of becoming a “digital colony” of either the US or China; in Beijing there is talk of the unacceptable dominance of American platforms and standards; in Moscow there is talk of the need to build sovereign solutions drawing on both Chinese and Western developments without becoming dependent on either side.
Second, the limits of American influence are becoming apparent. If a few years ago in Europe and East Asia the common question was “what if the US leaves?”, it is now increasingly formulated as: “what if the US stays but acts solely in its narrow interest, ignoring allies and partners?” Draghi’s words about the “death” of the old order—dependent on American security guarantees and open markets—resonate with Russian and Chinese theses about the advent of a “post‑West” era, where no state, including the US, can impose its will on others without strong resistance.
Finally, third, all three countries—Germany, Russia and China—inevitably discuss themselves in their debates about America. German anxiety about digital dependence on the US is at once an admission of domestic failures in innovation. Russian talk of Washington’s capriciousness and “American unpredictability” is both a way to justify a pivot to the East and an attempt to find space for Russia between competing hegemons. Chinese debates about the “Americanization” of AI and US interference in technology chains are part of a broader discussion about how to combine openness to the world with tight control of the domestic information space.
Seen from Washington, all these conversations may seem mere background to the big game. But it is in that background that decisions are formed: whether Germany will undertake costly strategic autonomy, how far Russia is prepared to go in alliance with China, and how Beijing will calibrate confrontation with the US so as not to undermine its own economic growth. For a reader who follows only American media, many of these nuances remain offscreen. Yet the world of 2026 revolves less around “what America thinks of others” and more around how others learn to think about America and act based on their own interests rather than on Washington’s expectations.
