Asia, explained.

The expansionist ambitions of pan-Asianism rest on naval power projection, envisioning one dominant East Asian nation presiding over an Asia-Pacific order (Getty Images)

Yes, some of China’s educated youth just asserted sovereignty over Australia

Online platforms reveal a fervent nationalism that has repercussions for the future of the region.

Shijie Wang

31 March 20254 min read

Last month, three Chinese naval vessels conducted live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea without prior notification to Canberra while on a voyage circling Australia. The drills not only heightened tensions within the Australian government but also ignited a bizarre wave of nationalist fervour back in China. On internet platforms such as Zhihu, frequented primarily by young people with at least university education, some began openly declaring Chinese sovereignty over the Australian mainland – a claim that, disturbingly, gained more than 20 million hits.

Traditionally, both official Beijing narratives and state-tolerated social media discourse have centred territorial ambitions on areas close to China – Taiwan, Okinawa, islands in the South China Sea, and very occasionally the Philippine Island of Palawan beyond the nine-dash line. These territorial claims usually draw upon rhetoric deeply ingrained into popular consciousness along the lines that “such territory historically belongs to China”. However, Australia, distant and lacking any historical ties to China, has required a different justification – emerging now through a troubling resurgence of pan-Asianism.

This new pan-Asianist wave appears to have originated from a popular online time-travel novel titled Illumine Lingao, nearly ten million words in length. Originally published in 2009, the novel fostered an influential faction among Chinese nationalists known as the Industrial Party, who firmly believe that China can ultimately “rejuvenate” by maximising its industrial production capacity.

Although labelled as “new”, the current theory differs little in substance from the pan-Asianism seen more than 90 years ago. Just as before, expansionist ambitions rest on naval power projection, envisioning one dominant East Asian nation presiding over an Asia-Pacific order. This country's developmental successes purportedly confer moral legitimacy upon its leadership, intertwined with ethnic chauvinism or even outright Asian racial supremacy.

This resurgence of pan-Asian ideology isn’t merely speculative; it manifests openly in online discussions among China’s youth. One lawyer explicitly asserted that “Australia has always been the frontline between yellow and white races, and between Han Chinese and Anglo-Saxons”, citing Australia’s discriminatory “White Australia Policy” (dismantled in 1973) as justification. He argued that China’s responsibility is to lead all Asians in punishing Australia for historical injustices.

China’s provocative Wolf Warrior diplomacy emerged precisely after internet-driven nationalism began to rise.

While this claim is unlikely to ever become Chinese policy, similar sentiments can nonetheless be found in some quasi official statements. As early as 2010, former CCTV journalist Rui Chenggang abruptly interrupted a South Korean reporter during a G20 press conference, claiming he could speak on behalf of all of Asia in front of then-US President Barack Obama. This moment signalled that, at least in the minds of some Beijing elites, the old “Central Kingdom” could once again aspire to lead a China-centric order. A slightly more moderate expression of this notion came in 2015, when Foreign Minister Wang Yi, in discussing the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank, declared to reporters that “Asia is the Asia of Asians”. To build this so-called “Asia for Asians”, Beijing has pushed for economic integration initiatives such as the China-Japan-South Korea Free Trade Agreement and the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, insisting that this process is irreversible.

But one must ask, what does any of this have to do with Australia, a country that does not even belong to Asia?

Some rationalise annexing Australia by arguing the continent was originally “unclaimed”, invoking nationalist fabrications based on the whataboutist rhetoric of an expansionist emperor: “If barbarians can go there, why can’t we?” One Chinese state-owned enterprise employee even mimicked a classical Three-Kingdoms-era strategic memo, the Longzhong Plan, writing: “Australia, isolated overseas, spans 7.74 million square kilometres, rich in resources – particularly iron ore – and blessed by favourable climate. Such land holds the promise of great ambition.” These online musings envision a blunt and radical solution to boosting China’s industrial production capacity – conquering a nation built atop a minecart.

Although this current wave of Pan-Asianism remains largely an online, grassroots movement without posing an immediate security threat to the South Pacific, the risks stemming from this extremist ideology cannot be overlooked. While such a movement might seem harmless now, some of its participants could eventually become influential figures – industry elites or even Communist Party officials – potentially shaping China's foreign policy in the decades to come.

It is also difficult to completely dismiss the possibility that even an authoritarian regime like that in China may be influenced to some extent by public opinion, particularly the kind that is tacitly endorsed by Beijing. China’s provocative Wolf Warrior diplomacy emerged precisely after internet-driven nationalism began to rise. While pan-Asianist claims about annexing Australia may currently appear too extreme even for Beijing, it’s not impossible that certain elements of this ideology might eventually gain acceptance.

Some may remain optimistic about China's highly educated youth, believing that those shaped by social media will ultimately drive China's political reform. Such optimism reached a peak during Shanghai’s “White Paper Movement” against the zero-Covid policy. Yet the sudden rise of this new and weird pan-Asianism underscores that caution is necessary. Rather than unambiguously moving towards progressive reforms, these young, educated Chinese reveal a troubling potential for embracing the most aggressive kind of nationalism, thereby complicating overly hopeful narratives of their future political roles.

About the author

Shijie Wang

Shijie Wang is a Master of Public Policy candidate at Georgetown University’s McCourt School of Public Policy, specialising in geopolitical risk analysis, US-China relations, and national security.

Topics

Asia China Australia Defence & security Cyber & technology