In the first days of September 2026, discussions about America in South Africa, Ukraine and China unexpectedly come down to one question: what exactly is the United States willing to guarantee its partners—and for how long? The circumstances differ. In Pretoria, officials are discussing extending AGOA trade preferences only until 2028; in Kyiv, they are awaiting new contacts between American intermediaries, Moscow and Volodymyr Zelensky; and in China’s information space, preparations are under way for a possible visit by Xi Jinping to Washington on September 24, at the head of a large business delegation. Yet in all three countries, US policy is perceived not as a stable system of alliances and rules, but as a series of negotiations in which the terms can change at any moment.
South Africa’s reaction is the most visibly economic. The extension signed by Donald Trump of the African Growth and Opportunity Act, which provides duty-free access to the US market, was formally good news for Africa. However, a two-year horizon is far short of the 15 years Pretoria had sought. A Sunday Times analysis stresses that South Africa’s future eligibility under the scheme is still not guaranteed: Washington has opened a review of admission criteria for 2027, while relations between the two countries remain politically strained.
For South Africa, this is not an abstract dispute over tariffs. Cars, components, steel and aluminum are already facing US duties, while business data show that automotive export revenues from the US market fell sharply in 2025. The local debate therefore revolves around a paradox: preferential treatment has been preserved, but investor confidence has not been restored. Fakamile Hlubhi-Mayola, a representative of the Motor Industry Staff Association, welcomed the decision, noting that the automotive industry depends on long investment cycles. At the same time, the Solidarity union warns of the risk of losing thousands of skilled jobs if the country is excluded from the list of beneficiaries. Solidarity’s head of public relations, Jaco Kleynhans, stated bluntly that the organization intends to step up its engagement with the White House before the final decision on the 2027 list.
This is where a specifically South African anxiety becomes clear: for Pretoria, Trump’s America is less a geopolitical adversary than a market whose access has become an instrument of political pressure. US grievances concern not only the trade balance but also South Africa’s domestic policies, including land reform, requirements imposed on foreign investors and its foreign-policy “nonalignment.” This turns AGOA from a development mechanism into an annual test of political acceptability in Washington’s eyes.
Ukraine’s debate, by contrast, barely separates US policy from the question of physical security. Against the backdrop of a new round of mediation activity—following Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner’s contacts with Vladimir Putin and ahead of their talks with Volodymyr Zelensky—Kyiv is discussing not so much the likelihood of peace as the price of a hasty peace. Political analyst Ihar Tyshkevich writes in a column for Glavkom that both Trump and Putin are in a hurry: for the US president, the window for achieving results may be only two or three months, while the Kremlin particularly benefits from a situation in which the United States remains the sole intermediary between Moscow and Kyiv.
Ukrainian commentators increasingly describe Washington not as an unconditional protector but as a player that needs a signed deal. Lesia Bidocko, an expert at the European Political Institute in Kyiv, puts it particularly bluntly in an article for Ukrainska Pravda: in her view, Trump needs an agreement that can be presented as his own achievement, while the durability of the accord and the political structure of the postwar order are pushed into the background. Hence Kyiv’s dual strategy: Ukraine is trying to be useful to the United States not as an aid recipient but as a partner—offering drone technology, combat experience and joint production, including prospects for US-Ukrainian cooperation in air defense. But, as Bidocko emphasizes, usefulness is not the same as security.
This is an important difference from South Africa’s reaction. Pretoria is seeking predictability for investors; Kyiv is trying to convert its military expertise into political insurance. But the diagnosis is the same: Washington’s promises now have to be backed by mutual benefit, a contract, a production chain or the American leader’s own domestic political interests.
In China, a different, more confident language prevails. There, the current US fluctuations are read not primarily as a threat but as evidence that America’s strategy is overstretched and contradictory. In recent articles, China’s Global Times links the widening US trade deficit to the limitations of the tariff approach: if domestic production cannot replace imports—especially in supply chains connected to AI, computers and semiconductors—new barriers merely increase costs for American companies and consumers. This argument turns American protectionism from a source of strength into a sign of dependence on global supply chains.
In Chinese rhetoric, the United States is simultaneously trying to contain China technologically, sustain a tense alliance architecture in Asia and spread its resources across the Middle East. Global Times describes the redeployment of the last US aircraft carrier from Asia to the Middle East as a bill Washington is being forced to pay for strategic overstretch. Behind this formulation lies not only a propagandistic barb but also a practical Chinese conclusion: Beijing gains additional negotiating leverage when the United States is forced to choose between several crises.
Against this backdrop, reports of a possible September 24 visit by Xi Jinping to the White House with a large group of Chinese corporate executives take on special significance. As Lianhe Zaobao notes, such a format is unusual: the Chinese leader rarely takes such a prominent business delegation on overseas trips, especially after years of Beijing taking a tougher stance toward the private sector. The signal is aimed not only at the United States: China wants to demonstrate its readiness to discuss investment and business precisely when Washington needs economic results and reduced tensions ahead of the US midterm elections.
The most unexpected common thread in these three reactions is that no one is waiting for a return to the old model of American leadership. South Africa is not counting on automatic extensions of market access; Ukraine does not believe political sympathy can replace institutional guarantees; and China does not assume that interdependence will eliminate rivalry. All three countries are adapting to an America that speaks the language of power, tariffs, personal mediation and short-term deals.
Yet the conclusions they draw are opposite. In Pretoria, they are looking for a way not to fall out with an indispensable trading partner. In Kyiv, they are looking for a way to become so valuable to Washington that a quick compromise at Ukraine’s expense would be too costly. In Beijing, meanwhile, they are trying to use America’s need for a deal as an argument for recognition of China’s equal status. The main international story surrounding the United States today is therefore neither “America’s decline” nor “America’s return,” but the struggle among different countries to determine the terms on which they will deal with Washington.
