At the heart of China’s global strategy lies a simple logic: reshape the political environments of other countries in ways that serve Beijing’s long-term interests. Since at least the early 2000s, the Communist Party of China (CPC) has treated influence operations as core instruments of statecraft, blending diplomacy, propaganda, business, and coercion into a seamless web of political leverage. What sets the current phase apart, however, is the growing reach of these efforts and the precision with which they target the institutional foundations of foreign systems.
China’s approach has not just been opportunistic, but rather guided by a belief that shaping the political preferences, elite networks, and public narratives in other countries can yield enduring strategic dividends. The dual objective is to secure immediate payoffs while cultivating structural forms of influence that can be activated when needed—be it in trade negotiations, tech regulation, maritime disputes, or global norm-setting forums.
The ongoing investigation into Huawei’s lobbying in Brussels offers a textbook example. Under Belgium’s Operation Generation, more than 21 searches across EU member states have uncovered an alleged bribery network involving Huawei representatives, parliamentary assistants, and former MEPs. At stake was a 2021 letter urging the European Commission to adopt a more favourable stance toward Chinese tech firms. But the real target was not meant to be policy implications but the institutional posture of the EU toward China’s technological ecosystem.
By embedding itself in the corridors of EU power, Huawei—and by extension Beijing—sought to soften opposition to its growing digital footprint, fracture internal consensus among member states, and subtly redefine what “engagement” with China should look like. Seeing this as just a case of corporate misconduct is dangerously incomplete. Huawei’s actions must be understood within the broader framework of China’s political strategy. The company operates in a gray zone, nominally private but structurally aligned with the party’s global objectives. The attempt to capture political elites and shape regulatory frameworks in Brussels reflected Beijing’s understanding that influence, not coercion, is often the most effective tool to erode democratic autonomy from within.
A similar logic underpinned China’s alleged interference in Adelaide’s 2022 city council elections. The case exposed Beijing’s willingness to experiment with influence at the micro-political level, particularly in countries like Australia, where local governance overlaps with national strategic concerns.
Similarly, in the U.K., Buckingham Palace was caught off guard in 2022 when media reports revealed that Queen Elizabeth II had unknowingly bestowed honours on a businessman later found to have close links to Chinese influence networks. The man, who also held senior positions in U.K.-China friendship organizations, had allegedly been part of the CPC’s “united front” efforts to cultivate relationships within the British elite.
In Canada, national security agencies have raised the alarm over growing evidence of electoral interference and harassment of dissidents. A 2023 report by Canada’s intelligence oversight body highlighted a pattern of covert Chinese operations aimed at shaping candidate selections in parliamentary constituencies, particularly where Chinese diaspora voters hold sway. These operations often involved subtle pressures such as community donations, disinformation, and social ostracism, rather than overt coercion. And yet their cumulative effect was the same: to blur the boundary between democratic choice and foreign direction.
Across Africa too, Beijing has built influence not just through infrastructure projects but by cultivating elites who align with its vision. In Zimbabwe and Ethiopia, Chinese state media outlets have signed content-sharing agreements with local broadcasters, inserting Chinese narratives into domestic media. In countries like Kenya and Zambia, Beijing has funded political party training schools modelled on the Party’s governance style, where ruling cadres are exposed to Chinese developmental philosophy. These programs have sought to embed norms and ideas that serve China’s long-term strategic interests on issues like digital governance, surveillance, and state-led development.
Countries across South America have seen similar patterns emerging. In Brazil, reports revealed that Chinese firms backed by state subsidies had funnelled donations into think tanks and university programs to cultivate friendly academic voices. In Argentina, intelligence reports suggested Chinese diplomats were quietly pressuring local media to soften criticism of China’s human rights record in exchange for market access and advertising revenue.
The perils of China’s national power doctrine
None of this has been ad hoc. Chinese influence operations have been informed by decades of doctrine on “united front work” and “comprehensive national power,” rooted in the belief that politics, economics, and information are fused battlefields. The operations are not always directed centrally, but they are made possible by a system that rewards political loyalty, exploits systemic openness abroad, and obscures the line between public diplomacy and covert intrusion.
Many countries lack the legal, institutional, or cultural safeguards to identify and deter such activity early. Lobbying laws are outdated, while political donations remain opaque.
To counter this strategy, it is not enough to react to scandals as they emerge. Democracies need to build structural immunity: stronger oversight of lobbying and foreign influence, tighter procurement rules for sensitive tech, and intelligence cooperation that tracks influence patterns across sectors and borders. Civil society must also be equipped to identify these campaigns not as isolated scandals, but as components of a broader strategic playbook.
China does not need to control the institutions of other countries to shape their behaviour. It only needs to entangle them economically, politically, and psychologically in ways that blunt their strategic autonomy. Understanding this logic is the first step toward resisting it.
Ratish Mehta is a research associate at the Organisation for Research on China and Asia (ORCA).
