Why US defense chief's attack on China will not be well received in Southeast Asia

At this year’s Shangri-La Dialogue, US Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth delivered what was perhaps the most strident attack yet on “communist China,” framing the Indo-Pacific as the defining theater of US military resolve. But in that ballroom in Singapore, the sharper tension wasn’t with Beijing—it was with Washington’s own allies.

Noticeably absent from the follow-up was any reaction from US President Donald Trump. Just months earlier, he had openly praised Vice-President J.D. Vance’s Europe-bashing speech in Munich, calling it “brilliant.” This time? Silence. That omission wasn’t incidental—it underscored the deeper incoherence in America’s current strategic signaling: a pivot toward Asia executed without the institutional ballast that lends it weight.

Across the region, the gap is increasingly visible. Few Asian governments view China as an existential threat. Fewer still are prepared to follow Washington into open containment. The economic threads binding them to Beijing are too thick, the escalation thresholds too undefined. In such a setting, the US risks inflating its rhetoric while leaving operational trust unbuilt.

The Trump administration’s second-term strategic doctrine places Indo-Pacific competition at the center of its foreign policy, with Europe assigned a diminishing security role. This reframing has been a long time coming. Washington’s expectation that NATO members pick up more of the Russian deterrence tab predates Trump’s current tenure.

But the deeper shift is structural, not fiscal. Trump’s strategic lens increasingly casts the Indo-Pacific as the arena where American power must be preserved. China’s growing military footprint, its ability to weaponize overcapacity, and its encroaching economic influence present a challenge unlike Russia’s geographically bound revanchism.

Here’s the complication: NATO provides Washington with credible shared commitments and interoperable readiness. The Indo-Pacific does not. Instead, the US relies on a web of bilateral agreements and ad hoc coordination groups. There’s no collective defense architecture, no agreed-upon red lines, and little ability to enforce escalation thresholds.

Treaty allies like Japan and South Korea offer predictability—but only to a point. Both are economically embedded with China, and both must calibrate their risk appetite accordingly. For ASEAN states, the calculation is even more delicate. China is not just a neighbor; it is the indispensable trading partner and infrastructure financier. Framing it as an outright adversary is not just diplomatically difficult—it’s economically unworkable.

The result is a strategic fog, not cohesion. In Europe, NATO allies align around Russia’s threat profile with a reasonable degree of consistency. In Asia, Hegseth’s language lands unevenly. Manila might find reassurance in Washington’s tone. Jakarta and Bangkok? More likely discomfort. The very allies that Washington needs to deter China are hedging in quiet defiance of its escalating posture.

This asymmetry didn’t appear overnight. European defense was stitched together through robust, formal institutions: NATO, the OSCE, and—indirectly—the EU’s own defense policy frameworks. Those platforms provide durable channels for modernization, burden-sharing, and escalation management.

In Asia, no equivalent exists. The Cold War’s “hub-and-spokes” structure—anchored by US bilateral pacts—remains intact, but under strain. ASEAN’s consensus-based model is inherently reluctant to produce a unified front. The Quad (US, Japan, India, Australia) is strategic shorthand for cooperation, but operationally loose. Even AUKUS, while promising in defense tech transfer, is geographically narrow and politically complicated.

The US, therefore, is left promoting a deterrence strategy that lacks multilateral teeth. Every time it pushes harder on one node—be it the Philippines, Japan, or Taiwan—it risks unintended consequences elsewhere. A crisis in the Taiwan Strait, for instance, may not trigger a collective response. It might fracture alignment instead.

Capital Behavior Mirrors Strategic Uncertainty

The fragility isn’t just military—it’s economic. Defense ministries across the region aren’t waiting for consensus. Instead of buying into full-spectrum alignment, many are diversifying toward dual-use assets—cybersecurity infrastructure, resilient energy systems, secure satellite networks. These assets offer national protection while keeping geopolitical commitments ambiguous.

Investors are repositioning too. Sovereign wealth funds and institutional capital are stepping back from defense-adjacent sectors likely to spike during open conflict. Instead, they’re leaning into geopolitical “insulation assets”—green logistics, redundant communications layers, localized supply chains.

Meanwhile, China is playing the long institutional game. Through the digital extensions of Belt and Road and AIIB financing channels, Beijing is offering regional governments access to capital, standards, and infrastructure—without demanding defense alignment in return. In effect, Beijing isn’t just outspending Washington. It’s out-institutionalizing it.

Hegseth’s speech may have been in line with Trump-era instincts—to clearly identify China as the primary adversary—but the diplomatic aftermath told a more uncertain story. Without an explicit presidential endorsement or concrete policy clarification, the region was left reading between the lines.

And that ambiguity is not benign. In security architecture, clarity isn’t a courtesy—it’s the cornerstone of deterrence. Allies unsure of what the US will or won’t back are forced into one of two unsatisfying positions: hedge more, or gamble on partial alignment. Both weaken the very posture Washington is attempting to reinforce.

Over time, that dynamic becomes corrosive. When declarative policy exceeds alliance capacity, credibility erodes. The response won’t be theatrical exits. It will be subtler: deeper minilateral coordination among Asian middle powers, renewed interest in regional self-insurance, and quiet moves toward digital and defense autonomy. Japan-Philippines-Australia talks, Korea-Vietnam joint dialogues, and ASEAN data sovereignty initiatives are early signs of this rebalancing.

America’s Indo-Pacific doctrine under Trump may sound resolute. It certainly registers on defense spending and speechmaking. But at its core, it remains under-institutionalized. That mismatch—between ambition and architecture—will continue to limit Washington’s influence in the region.

Asia doesn’t need louder declarations. It needs credible, risk-aligned, and dependable frameworks. Until the US can provide that—either through treaty upgrade, economic co-dependence, or institutional scaffolding—its pivot will remain more narrative than net.

And in this strategic cycle, allies are no longer waiting to see if the anchor holds. Many are already learning how to float on their own.