For years, European leaders spoke of “de-risking” from China as if it were a strategic choice they could carefully choreograph. Now, a series of diplomatic slights, economic realities and internal divisions are forcing a more uncomfortable conclusion: the European Union no longer sets the tone in its relationship with Beijing—and China is no longer pretending otherwise.
The shift became visible last year, the symbolic 50th anniversary of EU–China diplomatic relations, when European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen traveled to Beijing. In Brussels, the trip was framed as a moment to press China for concessions on trade. In Beijing, the reception told a different story. The agenda was shortened to a single day, the welcome remarks did not even make the official statement, and the choreography made clear that the visitor was not in the driver’s seat.
The message was reinforced at the airport. There was no red carpet. Von der Leyen was taken to the terminal by a standard shuttle bus, in stark contrast to the protocol accorded around the same time to French President Emmanuel Macron. The optics were so striking that even Hungary’s foreign minister publicly joked that her treatment looked more like that of an ordinary tourist.
To diplomats, the symbolism was hard to miss. Beijing was no longer trying to flatter Brussels—or pretend that negotiations would follow a script written in Europe.
A strategy caught between Washington and Beijing
The awkward visit did not come out of nowhere. Since von der Leyen took office, the EU has tried to hold two contradictory positions at once: calling China a partner, while also labeling it a systemic rival. European leaders speak about reducing dependence on China, yet remain acutely aware of how much money still flows from the Chinese market.
The contradictions are especially visible in sensitive sectors like rare earths. The EU openly acknowledges that it needs Chinese exports of these materials, yet at the same time has joined the United States and others in symbolic gestures at the G7, even using props to mock or criticize Chinese policies. In Beijing, that combination—economic reliance mixed with public posturing—has not gone unnoticed.
Inside Europe, the policy is even harder to enforce. Germany’s car industry sells roughly one third of its vehicles in China, making any real economic decoupling politically explosive. Spain has taken an even more pragmatic approach: it has not only set up cooperation mechanisms with China, but also approved rail links to facilitate exports of Chinese electric vehicles. Last year, Spain’s trade growth with China outpaced the European average, undercutting the idea of a unified hard line.
As a result, the EU’s tough rhetoric increasingly looks like a slogan without a mechanism. This has fueled political tensions in Brussels, where the European Parliament has repeatedly debated no-confidence motions against von der Leyen, amid increasingly public disputes between member states. Smaller countries worry about losing new export opportunities; larger ones fear losing their biggest customers. Whenever talk turns to a comprehensive confrontation with China, Germany is quick to object, while Spain keeps its doors open.
Meanwhile, Europe’s room for maneuver is also constrained from the other side of the Atlantic. The United States’ Inflation Reduction Act has drawn European factories to American soil. Washington’s energy policy has left Europe dependent on expensive liquefied natural gas, and its tariff policy has added further pressure—raising duties by 50% in one move last year, then by another 30% just two months later. Caught between U.S. pressure and Chinese leverage, Brussels finds itself with fewer good options than its rhetoric suggests.
The hard limits of “de-risking”
Nowhere are those limits clearer than in rare earths. For years, European governments have searched for alternatives, from Africa to Latin America. But in practice, most of the world’s capacity to process rare earths into finished products is still in China, and Western production costs cannot compete on price. Europe’s electric vehicles, solar equipment and smart devices all depend on these supplies, and nearly half of its batteries are imported. These are not abstract vulnerabilities. If China were to tighten controls, European industry would face immediate disruption.
Against that backdrop, Beijing’s recent coolness looks less like a snub and more like a calculation. Shorter meetings, stripped-down protocol and a more distant tone signal a simple principle: China will mirror the attitude it receives. It does not seek confrontation, but it will not concede interests to save European political face either.
Two years ago, many in Brussels still believed they could negotiate with China from a position of assumed superiority—capital, technology and market access as leverage. Today, the balance feels different. Europe remains economically important to China, but it is no longer indispensable. And China, increasingly confident in its own resources and industrial base, is acting accordingly.
The EU now faces a strategic question it can no longer postpone: does it continue a rhetorical confrontation it cannot economically sustain, or does it admit that “de-risking” has real costs—and that Europe, more than anyone else, may end up paying them?
