Chinese Foreign Policy is Akin to a Spoiled Kid

Human Behavior is Same Everywhere, Individual to Geopolitics

Picture a kid who’s grown up in a home where everything revolves around them—then hits a world that doesn’t care. Shaped by past slights—maybe getting pushed around by stronger kids—they now demand constant respect, act out when challenged, and expect "gifts" to validate their status.

This isn’t far off from how China operates on the global stage today. Its foreign policy often reads as a posture of entitlement—fueled by historical pride, shaped by a deep sense of national injury, and expressed through an insistence on deference from both neighbors and superpowers.

The same way a pampered child lashes out to reclaim lost privilege, a nation can flex to restore its imagined place in the world. In China’s case, that place is rooted in millennia of believing itself the “Middle Kingdom”—a civilizational center of gravity. That worldview now expresses itself through economic leverage, military muscle, and a tone that demands compliance—often framed as “win-win” diplomacy but more often functioning like tribute.

This post explores that evolution. How imperial China's tribute system reflected built-in superiority. How the "Century of Humiliation" made that superiority feel threatened. And how modern China, still haunted by that trauma, acts out—pushing against neighbors, flaunting power, and expecting acknowledgment of its preeminence.

Imperial China Used Tribute System as Entitled Superiority

From the Han to the Qing, China’s foreign dealings centered on the tribute system—a diplomatic structure that placed it firmly at the top of a civilizational hierarchy. Countries like Korea, Vietnam, and the Ryukyu Islands were expected to show submission through symbolic acts and gifts. In return, they got access to Chinese markets and a measure of security.

But this wasn’t mutual respect. It was a demand for acknowledgment. A way for emperors to reinforce their own legitimacy by making sure the world bent toward them.

This is where the spoiled kid analogy fits. That child who expects toys from their siblings, who sulks or lashes out if they don’t get them—China’s emperors functioned similarly. The expectation of deference wasn’t just practical. It was cultural. Deviations weren’t tolerated—they were corrected, often through force.

Some historians argue the tribute system fostered stable relations. Others point out it bled resources and lulled China into complacency just as Western powers were rising. When those powers arrived—via gunboats and opium—the whole system collapsed. The Opium Wars kicked off a century of defeat, occupation, and unequal treaties. China lost Hong Kong. Foreigners got extraterritorial rights. The “Middle Kingdom” was suddenly on the margins.

For a country used to being the center, that reversal cut deep.

Modern China Demanding Similar Deference After Century of Humiliation

The People's Republic of China was founded in 1949—but the trauma of humiliation never left. It’s now embedded in national memory, fueling the CCP’s agenda of national revival. Since the 2008 financial crisis, China has stepped away from Deng Xiaoping’s "hide your strength" doctrine. The gloves are off. This is “wolf warrior” diplomacy. And its demands—while framed in cooperation—often echo those old expectations of tribute.

Take the Belt and Road Initiative. Ostensibly an infrastructure effort, it also creates economic dependencies. Countries take Chinese loans, build Chinese-funded ports and roads, and in turn often shift politically toward Beijing. Sometimes they fall into debt traps. Nepal’s Pokhara Airport is one example—built with Chinese loans, but weighed down by $100M in irregularities. In Cambodia, similar deals came with upgrades to naval bases, giving China a physical presence and raising dual-use concerns.

China gives—but expects alignment in return. It’s not unlike that spoiled kid: handing out gifts, but only if they come with loyalty.

The South China Sea tells a similar story. Despite losing a 2016 international arbitration case, China continues militarizing the area, conducting patrols, and harassing Philippine vessels. In July 2025, the PLA ran drills near Scarborough Shoal, sent jets and bombers armed with missiles, and even lasered a German aircraft. Planting a flag on Sandy Cay—during joint U.S.-Philippines drills—wasn’t subtle. It was a message.

Same goes for Taiwan. In 2025, Beijing opened a flight route that clipped Taiwan’s airspace buffer. Coast guard ships and military exercises followed. Cambodia, aligning with the One China policy, deported 180 Taiwanese nationals to China. It’s all part of a wider pressure campaign, designed to shrink Taiwan’s international space.

The same pattern plays out in the Pacific. Live-fire exercises near Papua New Guinea. Telecom projects through Huawei in the Solomon Islands. And economic retaliation—like trade bans on Australia or pressure on Lithuania for engaging Taiwan. China expects compliance. And punishes defiance.

That’s not diplomacy. That’s entitlement backed by force.

Implications of This

China’s behavior reveals something deeper: the same human instincts we see in family dynamics—grudges, validation-seeking, overcompensation—show up in geopolitics. Except now the stakes are higher.

In 2025, China's moves in the South China Sea and Taiwan Strait pushed countries like Japan, India, and Australia closer to the U.S. Security pacts like AUKUS and Quad became more central. Australian and New Zealand governments responded to Tasman Sea drills with U.S.-backed countermeasures.

At home, this behavior plays well for the CCP. Nationalism rallies support, especially during economic slowdowns. But overreach carries risk. BRI loans are triggering backlash, especially in places like Nepal and Cambodia. Debt forgiveness is now a talking point—raising questions about whether these “tributes” were ever sustainable.

The U.S. is pushing back, too. Tariffs. Tech bans. Diplomatic moves to limit China’s influence. Meanwhile, Beijing is adjusting where needed—signing maritime deals with Indonesia, showing more flexibility in Southeast Asia.

What all this underscores is how personal national behavior really is. Countries aren’t robots. They act from memory, emotion, and pride. Just like people do.

That’s why recognizing the human side of power politics matters. It helps us understand what drives conflict—and how to manage it.

And maybe avoid letting a tantrum start a war.