China’s rise has become one of the defining phenomena in the study of international relations. Yet, scholarly and policy analyses of Chinese foreign policy tend to converge on the same set of actors: Beijing’s military, its economic leverage, or its top political leadership. What these assessments consistently overlook is the institution operating quietly at the center of China’s global engagement—its Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA).
Dylan Loh brings MOFA back into focus. An Associate Professor in the Public Policy and Global Affairs program at Nanyang Technological University, Dr. Loh is a scholar of Chinese foreign policy and diplomacy whose research examines the actors, institutions, and bureaucratic dynamics that shape China’s engagement with the world. His book, China’s Rising Foreign Ministry: Practices and Representations of Assertive Diplomacy, received an Honorable Mention for the 2025 DPLST Book Prize from the International Studies Association, and won the 2026 HJD Book Award from the Hague Journal of Diplomacy.
The book challenges conventional understandings of Chinese diplomacy by foregrounding the Ministry and its diplomats as central actors in contemporary Chinese foreign policy. Loh traces how the Ministry gradually became China’s primary interface with the outside world and the principal vehicle through which the idea of “China” is produced, articulated, and represented on the global stage. The result is a theoretically ambitious reappraisal of Chinese assertiveness, with far-reaching implications for how scholars and policymakers alike understand China’s re-emergence as a global power.
Vimi Wang: Your book challenges one of the most common assumptions about Chinese foreign policy—that its assertiveness is driven by the military. If diplomats are actually driving China’s foreign policy, what does that change about how we should be responding to China on the world stage?
Dylan Loh: Both the scholarly literature and prevailing policy perception have historically attributed Chinese assertive behavior to its military, usually understood through the lens of China’s activities in the South China Sea among others. Some literature also points to China’s use of economic leverage through alleged unofficial sanctions and coercive measures. What has been largely overlooked, however, is that much of what observers cite as Chinese assertiveness is imputed from its diplomatic corps—through official statements, daily press conferences, and since 2019, through their presence on what was then Twitter. The more martial language and posturing that characterizes this assertiveness has been coming, in significant part, from the diplomatic side. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and its diplomats represent a critical missing variable in the existing literature.
What are the implications for policy response? Two things. First, MOFA demands far greater scholarly and policy attention—it remains a grossly understudied institution. There are some works in Chinese produced for the mainland market, but these are rarely engaged with outside China. The contrast with the literature on the PLA is stark: there is an abundance of scholarship on China’s military, but comparatively little on its diplomats. Second, their influence should not be dismissed. It is tempting to characterize Chinese diplomats as faceless bureaucrats faithfully implementing Xi Jinping’s directives, or to argue they carry little weight in policymaking. My book challenges both assumptions. These diplomats exercise genuine agency, animated by distinct institutional motives. And while they may not be party to grand strategic deliberations, their capacities in implementation are considerable—gatekeeping, directing information flows, signaling approval or displeasure toward target states. Cumulatively, that amounts to something quite consequential.
VW: For many Americans studying China, the analytical focus tends to fall on the CCP, on Xi Jinping, or on the PLA. China’s foreign ministry rarely enters the picture. You spent years studying MOFA between 2009 and 2020—was there a single moment that made you think this institution is far more powerful than it is given credit for?
DL: Honestly, there wasn’t a single moment—it was more like me following a series of breadcrumbs. For example, in 2018, China doubled its diplomatic budget, which was striking. But more visibly, I watched diplomats speak up and intervene on topics that traditionally weren’t their remit. An example is the border disputes with India. MOFA was actively shaping the narrative there in the 2017 and 2020 clashes: holding press conferences and issuing white papers. There was a sheer proliferation of diplomats, both in number and in their willingness to assert themselves publicly. If the Ministry of Foreign Affairs were truly as weak as the literature suggested, none of this should have been happening.
That initial observation, of course, was only the surface. I had to dig further: fieldwork in China, document analysis, mapping what I call the domestic diplomatic field. Soon, it became quite clear that you really cannot say with a straight face that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is a weak institution. Now, a separate question follows — are they powerful? I want to be precise here. I am not claiming they can resist the decisions of top leadership, because they cannot. But are they influential enough to shape outcomes in ways that scholars and policymakers have not fully reckoned with? Certainly. They have professionalized. They have been allocated greater resources. Their diplomats are now doing things that would have been unthinkable before, including publicly criticizing foreign leaders on social media. Something has clearly changed, and the analytical frameworks have not kept pace.
VW: China now has the largest diplomatic network in the world, surpassing the U.S. by 2019. What does it actually mean in practice to have that kind of reach, and is the West paying enough attention to it?
DL: A brief clarification: China overtook the US in 2019 by number of diplomatic missions, though the US did reclaim the top spot for one year. The data comes from the Lowy Institute, which tracks this systematically. But to your question: having the most diplomatic missions does not automatically translate into greater power or influence. What it does represent, however, is a prerequisite for that influence. Presence is a precondition for engagement. Every embassy or consulate entails real, ongoing costs—securing a location, deploying personnel, and supporting families. China’s continued willingness to expand signals clear strategic intent.
Moreover, a diplomatic presence is never purely diplomatic. It brings defense attachés, commercial officers, and implications for people-to-people ties. The spillover benefits are considerable. What the West tends to overlook is its fixation on more legible indicators of power: when China’s GDP will surpass that of the US, the number of aircraft carriers, or the development of fifth-generation fighter jets. Meanwhile, China has quietly built out its diplomatic infrastructure to the point where it surpassed the US as far back as 2019, and this receives comparatively little attention.
There is a prevailing sense that this diplomatic indicator is not the consequential variable to monitor. I would argue that is a mistake. Look at Africa, Latin America, Southeast Asia—Chinese diplomatic presence has allowed Beijing to entrench its interests in ways that are now deeply institutionalized—take a look at UN voting patterns. Being at the table matters enormously, even if presence alone does not guarantee success. To be fair, this is not entirely absent from elite discourse in Washington, it simply does not rank highly enough on the priority list. That failure of attention extends well beyond the US. The rest of the world ought to be paying far more attention to it.
VW: “Wolf warrior diplomacy” became a widely used term in Western media to describe China’s more combative diplomatic style. How accurate is that label, what did it describe, and why has that approach appeared to fade in recent years?
DL: You’re right that the label has faded. China has scaled back its most extreme “wolf warrior” behavior, particularly the personal, insulting attacks. Although not gone entirely, this approach has clearly been dialed down. Why? The results were mixed, prompting adaptation and learning, and the reputational costs ultimately proved significant. In their own calculation, they’ve shifted toward a more targeted, surgical approach rather than broad confrontation with any Western or American official. That shift is also why the “wolf warrior” label has gradually faded.
The origins of wolf warrior diplomacy trace most directly, rightly or wrong, to one figure—Zhao Lijian—who was the quintessential wolf warrior. He attracted enormous attention and, crucially, was not suppressed by the state for it. That created a clear institutional incentive: if aggressively defending China’s interests drew attention and implicit approval, others would follow. And for a period, they did. Several diplomats, when asked directly about the so-called “fighting wolf” spirit, openly defended it: if China is attacked, passivity is not an option.
What matters, however, is that the retreat of wolf warriorism as a stylistic mode does not mean its underlying logic has dissolved. Many of these assertive diplomatic practices predate Xi Jinping, and many will outlast him. The wolf warrior episode may have been a temporal spike, but the foundational instinct it expressed—defending China’s interests forcefully when challenged—remains latent and institutionalized within the diplomatic ecosystem. That is unlikely to change.
VW: So, diplomats found that as long as they defended China’s interests in ways the state wouldn’t penalize, that became an accepted practice. On a related note: you describe Chinese diplomats as architects of China’s global identity—not just messengers, but image-makers. How deliberately is that identity being constructed, and who is the intended audience: the world, or China’s own domestic public?
DL: Both. It serves a dual purpose. Domestically, projecting a confident, assertive China generates pride at home, strengthens national cohesion, and mobilizes nationalism as a tool for making citizens feel invested in China’s role on the world stage. That serves clear nation-building functions. Globally, the image projected shapes how other states perceive China: whether they accept its narratives, follow its lead, or resist it.
Is this identity being actively constructed? Yes, but with an important caveat. There are directives from the top: tell China’s story well, promote peaceful development, push back against the China threat thesis. That operates at the broad strategic level. But there are also competing tendencies. China seeks to project itself as a confident rising power prepared to lead, while its discourse simultaneously reverts to a victimhood narrative—relitigating historical grievances, framing itself as a nation that has suffered at the hands of others. The resulting image is not always coherent. In practice, China steps forward in certain multilateral forums while stepping back from global leadership responsibilities in others.
That tension is not unique to China. Most major powers pursue interests that do not always align neatly. But it does mean that even as diplomats work to project a consistently positive image, there are moments when behavior and messaging diverge. These competing narratives are more organic than top-down directed. Top leaders are not micro-managing day-to-day messaging. China is a large, complex state with many sub-national actors operating beneath the surface. Within MOFA alone, there are often divergent voices, and that’s before accounting for the Ministry of Commerce, the PLA, the International Liaison Department, state-owned enterprises, and provincial governments—all of which are entangled in foreign policy behavior to varying degrees. With so many actors pursuing distinct objectives, competing signals are almost inevitable. The Navy might conduct a patrol in the South China Sea that MOFA was not fully briefed on. When diplomats are asked about it at a press conference, they defer to the “relevant competent authorities,” something of an inside joke among close observers.
This is precisely why I argue that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has worked to elevate its institutional position. When so many actors are laying claim to foreign policy, it is natural for MOFA to seek to reclaim the microphone, to establish itself as the authoritative, definitive voice, and I think it has succeeded in doing so.
VW: You draw a distinction between assertiveness as a behavior and assertiveness as a perception, something constructed by outside observers. How much of China’s reputation for aggression stems from what its diplomats do, versus how foreign audiences interpret those actions?
DL: Conceptually the distinction matters, but in practice the two are co-constitutive: behavior generates perception. What is particularly revealing, however, is the gap in self-perception. Chinese officials do not regard their actions as assertive. They understand themselves as reactive, responding to a hegemonic West and defending against containment. In their framing, this is the legitimate defense of national interests. To outside observers, the same actions read as deliberate moves to advance Beijing’s interests at others’ expense.
That gap was among the clearest findings from my interviews with non-Chinese diplomats. They were increasingly attributing China’s assertiveness to its diplomatic corps and perceiving it not as reaction but as assertion. What frontline diplomats perceive filters back to their capitals, shaping China policy at home. The perception gap, in other words, carries real policy consequences regardless of which side has the more accurate read.
China is not unaware of this dynamic. It is a sophisticated actor, and it adapts. The evolution of wolf warrior diplomacy is itself evidence of that capacity. But there remains a persistent question of how accurately information about the true state of its external relations flows upward through the system, and how much weight it is afforded when it does.
VW: Your book covers 2008 to 2020, but since then tensions over Taiwan, trade, and technology have escalated dramatically. Do the patterns you identified still hold, or has MOFA’s role shifted again under the pressure of a more hostile international environment?
DL: Broadly, the patterns still hold. My core argument was that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has seen its influence, capacities, and resources grow—and that trend has continued. But much has changed in the six years since my coverage ended, particularly in the context of US-China competition.
Several developments are worth highlighting. The CCP’s International Liaison Department, which holds ministerial-level status and cultivates ties with foreign political parties, has assumed an increasingly prominent role in foreign policy. Provinces, too, are taking a more visible part in diplomatic activity. And within MOFA itself, there has been a marked intensification of party work. The Ministry’s current party secretary has no diplomatic background yet has pushed party-building activities aggressively. That drive toward ideological discipline is not unique to MOFA—it is being institutionalized across China’s bureaucracy. From the perspective of top leadership, the logic is straightforward: with so many actors involved in foreign policy, party structures are a mechanism for ensuring messaging discipline and minimizing slippage.
The other development I am watching closely is the proliferation of what I understand to be international communication centers being established across different provinces. These are units tasked with innovating on external messaging and how China projects itself to the outside world. What these reveals are two simultaneous and somewhat tension-laden movements: centralizing ideological control on one hand, while decentralizing the surface area of diplomatic activity on the other, driven by the sheer multiplication of demands placed on Chinese diplomacy. How that tension resolves itself over time is one of the more consequential questions worth watching.
VW: Pivoting to our last question—in the West, it is often argued that while China is an attractive trading partner, it lacks the capacity to generate soft power. Do you think that’s true?
DL: No. China has an immense capacity to generate soft power, they just don’t do it with the finesse or historical depth that the West does, partly because they don’t have the same tradition. Hollywood still dominates global pop culture. The most popular musicians, films, and books remain overwhelmingly Western, and in large part still American.
But China is not passive. When Joseph Nye introduced the concept of soft power, Chinese policymakers embraced it readily, because it offered a counter-narrative to the China threat thesis: influence through attraction rather than coercion. Soft power entered the official lexicon and became an explicit strategic objective. The results, however, have been uneven. Confucius Institutes, for instance, have been securitized and treated as a threat in the US, UK, and parts of Europe, a clear signal that the state-directed approach has its limits.
More instructive, perhaps, is what has happened organically. Labubu, the toy phenomenon, brought Chinese aesthetics to a global audience without state direction. It was commercial, and it worked precisely because of that. Black Myth: Wukong was a massive global hit, introducing Chinese historical mythology and culture to an international audience through gaming. What makes that case particularly interesting is the context: just a few years prior, China had been restricting its domestic gaming industry, limiting play time for young people out of concern that games were a harmful distraction. The success of Black Myth: Wukong shifted the calculus. That capacity for adaptation—revising policy in response to outcomes—is something China does more effectively than it is generally given credit for.
China’s soft power capacity is real. When state-directed, it is often wielded clumsily. But the organic, commercial expressions of Chinese culture are resonating globally, and that trajectory is unlikely to reverse. China, as we have seen, has a way of being further along than anyone noticed.