A potent sense of national humiliation sits at the heart of both men’s worldviews. In China, official narratives — and Xi’s speeches — invoke the “Century of Humiliation,” the period from 1839 to 1949 when Western powers and Japan invaded and subjected the Chinese people to foreign rule and influence. This narrative isn’t just history; it’s a pillar of China’s one-party rule. According to Xi and other leaders, only the Communist Party could have delivered China from the clutches of foreign rulers and its own weakness. And only Xi and the Communist Party can prevent China from being exploited again.
Trump offers a distinctly American version of the same thing. He portrays the United States, too, as a victim of foreign forces, regularly claiming that other nations — China, the European Union, Canada, and even Panama — have taken advantage of the United States. Global trade and immigration are framed as threats. Domestically, Trump blames the nation’s decline on incompetent leaders and wrong-headed policies. He frames his mission as a fight to reclaim national dignity and the country’s rightful place as a hegemon on the world stage.
There is also a striking rhetorical symmetry. Xi frequently invokes the “great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation,” a phrase that originated several decades ago in China. Trump has declared over and over again that he’ll “Make America Great Again.”
In both cases, the underlying message is clear: We were a nation that was dangerously weak, and I alone can make us whole again.
The narrative isn’t just national, it’s personal for Xi and Trump. Xi, son of a revered Communist Party leader, was denounced and sent to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution, which lasted from 1966 to 1976. Trump has long cast himself as a renegade outsider despised by political elites. These personal stories of rejection bolster the larger narrative: The two men are not only telling the story of a wounded nation, they embody it.
Grievance is more than just empty words. The emotion offers clarity in confusion, enemies in times of anxiety, and a voice to those who have gone unheard.
Grievance also creates a sense of urgency. If the system is broken — if institutions are failing and a decline feels imminent — then only extraordinary leadership can deliver salvation. Both Xi and Trump have used this logic to justify what amounts to purges within their governments and a highly personal and authoritarian approach to governance.
In Trump’s case, this has meant expanding executive authority and undermining institutional checks. During his time in office, he has repeatedly clashed with the judiciary, dismissed top military and intelligence officials, and filled key roles with loyalists. Xi, meanwhile, has overseen a turn away from “collective leadership,” emerging instead as someone referred to as the “chairman of everything.”
To be clear: The United States is not China, and Trump is not Xi. America retains strong democratic institutions, independent courts, and a vibrant civil society. Significant portions of the US population agree with President Trump’s agenda, which is why he was reelected. In China, public opinion is much more difficult to know, and meaningful elections are nonexistent.
The real danger isn’t that the United States is becoming China. It is that across very different systems, people are increasingly drawn to the same seductive illusion: that it is the strength of individuals, not trust in institutions, that provides the only path to national salvation.
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