There is a recurring mistake in discussions about Donald Trump: interpreting his rhetoric as evidence of confusion when it may instead be understood as political strategy.
Trump's repeated invocation of China is particularly revealing.
Whether one agrees with his policies or not, his political communication has consistently attempted to move the argument away from the question, “What is the United States doing?” and toward another question:
“What is China doing?”
That distinction matters.
Because once political debate becomes a comparison between rival powers, Washington's conduct is no longer evaluated in isolation. Military intervention, sanctions, tariffs, surveillance, restrictions on foreign technology, diplomatic pressure and media controversies can all be reframed as part of a larger competition with Beijing.
The result is a familiar geopolitical argument:
China does it too.
But this argument deserves more scrutiny—not because China should be exempt from criticism, but because similar instruments of state power can serve very different geopolitical purposes depending on how they are deployed.
And this is where the global competition between Washington and Beijing becomes considerably more complicated than the usual “democracy versus authoritarianism” narrative.
Trump understands that China has become a powerful counter-narrative
China's global appeal does not necessarily depend on other countries believing that China is politically liberal.
It rests partly on something much more tangible:
infrastructure, industrial capacity, trade, technology and visible economic transformation.
China's Belt and Road Initiative, launched in 2013, explicitly centered international connectivity around infrastructure, including roads, railways, pipelines, ports and other transportation networks. The World Bank has documented China's emergence as a major financier of infrastructure across Africa, Asia, Latin America and other developing regions.
That does not mean every Chinese project succeeds.
It does not mean Chinese financing has no risks.
The World Bank itself has warned that Belt and Road projects require greater transparency, debt sustainability and management of environmental, social and corruption risks.
But it does mean that China's international proposition is frequently experienced through something physical.
A railway.
A port.
A power plant.
A road.
An industrial park.
A telecommunications network.
That is fundamentally different from judging a geopolitical relationship primarily through diplomatic statements.
For many developing countries, therefore, the question is not simply:
“Is China democratic?”
It is:
“What does this relationship produce for us?”
That is a much more difficult question for Washington to answer with rhetoric alone.
The American problem is not simply China
The United States possesses extraordinary economic, military, technological and cultural power.
But American foreign policy has also created a credibility problem in parts of the Global South.
Washington presents itself as a defender of an international order based on sovereignty, democracy and human rights.
Yet American foreign policy has repeatedly involved military intervention, sanctions, security partnerships, covert operations, political pressure and support for governments whose records have sometimes conflicted with the principles Washington publicly promotes.
This creates a persistent contradiction.
The United States asks other countries to judge China according to standards of political freedom and human rights.
Those countries can reasonably respond:
What standards should we use to judge Washington?
That is not a Chinese talking point. It is a legitimate question of international politics.
The debate over Ukraine demonstrates how sharply competing narratives can become.
The United Nations General Assembly adopted Resolution ES-11/1 in March 2022, describing Russia's action as aggression against Ukraine. The vote was 141 in favour, 5 against and 35 abstentions.
That establishes an important fact: the description of Russia's invasion as aggression is not merely a Western media invention.
But it does not end the geopolitical argument.
Questions about NATO expansion, the post-Cold War security architecture, Western military assistance, sanctions, escalation and the interests of countries outside Europe remain part of the broader debate.
The danger comes when either side attempts to reduce an extraordinarily complicated conflict to a single permissible narrative.
Information power is real—but it is not uniquely American
This is where the argument about media influence becomes particularly important.
The United States has unquestionably funded international media-development programmes.
This is not speculation.
A U.S. Government Accountability Office review found that the State Department and USAID obligated at least $40 million in fiscal year 2004 for overseas independent-media development, including journalism training, media management and legal and regulatory assistance. The programmes were explicitly connected to broader democracy-building and public-diplomacy objectives.
USAID documents have also described programmes supporting investigative journalism, media organisations and grants for independent journalism. One USAID document, for example, described a $20 million contribution to the International Fund for Public Interest Media intended to support independent journalism and public-interest media.
These facts establish something important:
Washington understands that information ecosystems are strategically important.
But there is a crucial distinction between demonstrating that the United States funds media-development programmes and proving that Washington secretly dictates what individual journalists or newspapers must publish.
The first is documented.
The second requires specific evidence.
That distinction should not be abandoned simply because the larger argument about information power is compelling.
The media battlefield is bigger than censorship
Modern geopolitical competition is not necessarily about ordering a newspaper to publish a particular headline.
It can operate through something much more sophisticated:
which institutions receive resources, which issues receive attention, which experts become authoritative, which datasets become widely available, which narratives receive international amplification, and which events are framed as evidence of a broader pattern.
This is what makes modern information warfare so difficult to detect.
No editor necessarily has to receive a telephone call from Washington.
No journalist necessarily has to be directly instructed.
A country's intellectual ecosystem can be influenced through institutions, funding networks, conferences, fellowships, NGOs, research organisations, think tanks, diplomatic engagement and international partnerships.
The United States is not alone in possessing these instruments.
China, Russia, Gulf states, European governments, multinational corporations and wealthy private foundations also attempt to influence international perceptions.
The relevant question therefore should not be:
“Who controls the media?”
It should be:
“Who finances information production, through what institutions, with what objectives, and what editorial independence exists at the end of the chain?”
That is a much more useful question.
Nigeria is where the argument becomes especially sensitive
Nigeria provides an important case study because the country sits at the intersection of security, religion, energy, minerals and great-power competition.
The claim that Washington simply manufactures reports of Christian persecution in Nigeria, however, requires considerably more evidence than currently exists.
There is genuine religious violence in Nigeria.
There is also violence that cannot be adequately explained by religion.
Human Rights Watch's 2026 Nigeria report describes continuing attacks involving jihadist groups, criminal gangs, farmer-herder conflicts and other forms of insecurity. It also documents attacks affecting both Christian and Muslim communities.
USCIRF's 2026 reporting, meanwhile, highlights serious attacks by armed actors against religious communities, particularly Christians, while acknowledging that the violence is not exclusively directed at Christians.
That distinction matters.
Nigeria's insecurity is too complicated to reduce to:
Christian versus Muslim.
A farmer-herder conflict can have ethnic, economic, environmental and religious dimensions simultaneously.
Banditry can be primarily criminal.
Boko Haram and ISWAP have explicitly ideological dimensions.
Communal violence can involve land, political competition and historical grievances.
And civilians can be targeted regardless of their religion.
Human Rights Watch, for example, reported in 2025 that a mosque attack in Katsina killed 32 worshippers. Its 2026 report also documented attacks against predominantly Christian communities in Plateau State.
The implication is uncomfortable for everyone:
Nigeria's violence cannot responsibly be converted into a geopolitical slogan.
If Christians are attacked, that deserves documentation.
If Muslims are attacked, that deserves documentation.
If ethnic communities are attacked, that deserves documentation.
And if security forces abuse civilians, that deserves documentation too.
A credible Nigerian information ecosystem should be capable of reporting all four simultaneously.
Where the American model and Chinese model genuinely diverge
The most interesting part of the argument is therefore not whether America and China exercise influence.
Both do.
The more important question is how power is converted into influence.
China's international economic strategy has frequently emphasized infrastructure, trade and investment.
The Belt and Road architecture illustrates this approach.
The World Bank's research into Chinese government-financed projects in 138 countries found that Chinese transportation and infrastructure projects were associated with economic spillovers in localities where they were implemented.
China's engagement in Africa has similarly involved large-scale financing of rail, power, roads, ports and other infrastructure.
This gives Beijing an unusually powerful diplomatic instrument:
physical interdependence.
A country that trades with China, imports Chinese machinery, uses Chinese telecommunications equipment, hosts Chinese companies and relies on Chinese-built infrastructure develops a relationship that goes far beyond diplomatic meetings.
Economic integration itself becomes geopolitical influence.
But describing this as purely altruistic would be equally misleading.
Infrastructure creates commercial opportunities for Chinese companies.
Loans generate financial obligations.
Projects can strengthen China's access to markets and strategic corridors.
And Beijing's political interests are not absent.
The more accurate description is therefore:
China frequently converts economic relationships into strategic influence.
That is different from claiming that China does not pursue geopolitical objectives.
America's comparative advantage has historically been different
Washington has traditionally possessed extraordinary advantages in another category:
finance, military power, alliances, sanctions, technology, institutions and global diplomatic networks.
The American-led international system was not constructed exclusively through tanks.
It was also constructed through institutions.
The dollar.
The World Bank.
The IMF.
NATO.
Global financial markets.
Universities.
Technology companies.
International organisations.
Development agencies.
NGOs.
Media organisations.
Research institutions.
Hollywood.
Silicon Valley.
American military alliances.
These are all different forms of power.
Some are coercive.
Some are commercial.
Some are cultural.
Some are institutional.
Some are voluntary.
That is why describing American influence simply as “military imperialism” misses a substantial part of the story.
American power is multidimensional.
So is Chinese power.
The real contest is over which model produces legitimacy
This may ultimately be the most important geopolitical question of the twenty-first century.
For decades, Washington's international legitimacy rested heavily on the attractiveness of the liberal international order.
Beijing is presenting a different proposition.
Not necessarily:
“Become politically like China.”
Instead:
“Trade with us. Build with us. Industrialise with us. Connect your economy with ours.”
That proposition can be attractive to developing countries because infrastructure deficits are immediate.
A country does not eat a political philosophy.
It does not move goods on a declaration about democracy.
It needs electricity.
Ports.
Roads.
Railways.
Factories.
Internet connectivity.
Industrial capacity.
Jobs.
This is why China's infrastructure diplomacy has strategic significance far beyond construction contracts.
But China has its own information-control system
Any serious analysis must also confront the other side.
China exercises extensive control over its domestic information environment.
The Chinese state regulates online content, media organisations and politically sensitive information.
That is not equivalent to saying every Chinese citizen believes state narratives, nor does it mean every Chinese media report is false.
It means the Chinese state has constructed a political system in which information is subject to substantial state regulation.
The same is true of Russia, though through a different political and institutional framework.
The United States operates differently.
Its constitutional structure provides substantially stronger formal protections for press freedom and political speech.
But formal protections do not eliminate political pressure, ownership concentration, agenda-setting, government messaging, intelligence secrecy or institutional influence.
That is why the comparison should not be reduced to:
America = free media.
China = controlled media.
The real world is considerably messier.
And Trump has now made the contradiction impossible to ignore
Trump's relationship with the American media demonstrates that even inside the United States, the boundary between political power and information institutions is contested.
On September 18, 2026, Trump announced that CNN, MS NOW and Politico would be barred from the White House, accusing them of repeatedly publishing what he characterized as false reporting. The outlets and press-freedom advocates challenged the move, while its legal implications remained disputed.
Whatever conclusion one reaches about Trump's broader media strategy, the episode demonstrates something important:
information is itself a political battlefield.
And Trump's repeated focus on China fits naturally into that battlefield.
China provides a convenient reference point against which American problems can be contextualized.
When Washington is criticized, Beijing can become the comparison.
When American technology faces restrictions, Chinese technology becomes the comparison.
When America's political system is criticized, China's political system becomes the comparison.
When America debates censorship, Chinese censorship becomes the comparison.
This does not prove that Trump consciously designed every statement as part of one grand strategy.
But politically, the mechanism is obvious:
comparative politics changes the subject.
The danger of “China does it too”
There is, however, a serious intellectual problem with using China as a permanent counterargument.
If America says:
“China restricts speech.”
That does not answer whether an American restriction is justified.
If America says:
“China influences foreign media.”
That does not answer whether American influence is appropriate.
If America says:
“China violates human rights.”
That does not answer whether Washington should violate international law.
And if China responds:
“America does it too.”
That does not automatically justify China's conduct either.
This is the central trap of great-power propaganda.
Each side uses the other side's worst behaviour as an excuse to avoid examining its own.
The result is an international political conversation in which accountability becomes comparative rather than universal.
Africa should reject the binary
For African countries, the lesson should not be:
Choose America.
Or:
Choose China.
The more useful lesson is:
Choose African interests.
Nigeria does not need to become an American geopolitical outpost.
Nor does Nigeria need to become a Chinese geopolitical outpost.
It needs electricity.
It needs functioning rail.
It needs industrialisation.
It needs secure digital infrastructure.
It needs mineral-processing capacity.
It needs competitive ports.
It needs agricultural productivity.
It needs domestic manufacturing.
It needs universities capable of producing technological talent.
And, critically, it needs enough institutional strength to negotiate with powerful countries without becoming dependent on any single one.
This is where the China-versus-America debate can become useful rather than ideological.
Nigeria can ask both powers the same questions:
What are you offering?
Who benefits?
Who owns the infrastructure?
Who controls the data?
Who receives the contracts?
What happens when the political relationship changes?
What local industries are created?
What technology is transferred?
What debts are created?
What strategic dependencies emerge?
What are the environmental and social costs?
Those questions are more valuable than simply deciding which superpower is morally superior.
The future of geopolitical power may be built rather than bombed
There is a deeper lesson here.
The twentieth century demonstrated the power of military alliances.
The twenty-first century may demonstrate the power of infrastructure networks.
A railway can create influence.
A port can create influence.
A semiconductor supply chain can create influence.
A cloud-computing ecosystem can create influence.
A telecommunications network can create influence.
A digital-payment system can create influence.
A battery supply chain can create influence.
A university scholarship can create influence.
A media grant can create influence.
A military base can create influence.
The smartest geopolitical strategy may therefore not be the one that shouts the loudest.
It may be the one that makes itself economically indispensable.
This is one reason China's infrastructure diplomacy matters.
But it is also why countries receiving Chinese investment need strong institutions capable of negotiating favourable terms.
Infrastructure can generate development.
It can also generate dependency.
The difference often lies in the quality of the host country's institutions.
The real issue is sovereignty
Ultimately, the argument about Trump, China, America and media narratives comes back to one word:
sovereignty.
A sovereign country should be able to decide its own foreign policy.
It should be able to investigate its own security problems.
It should be able to determine which infrastructure projects serve its interests.
It should be able to regulate foreign companies.
It should be able to negotiate with Washington.
It should be able to negotiate with Beijing.
And it should be able to tell both powers:
No.
That is the standard Africa should demand.
Not an American standard.
Not a Chinese standard.
An African standard.
The United States will continue to pursue its interests.
China will continue to pursue its interests.
Russia will continue to pursue its interests.
Europe will continue to pursue its interests.
The question is whether African states will become objects of those strategies—or strategic actors capable of bargaining with all of them.
And that is why the most important geopolitical debate is not whether China is good or America is bad.
It is whether countries like Nigeria possess enough economic, technological, institutional and informational sovereignty to decide their own future.
Because once a country loses control of its infrastructure, capital, information ecosystem and strategic decision-making, formal political independence can remain on paper while substantive sovereignty gradually moves somewhere else.
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