APEC을 계기로 한국에서 열린 트럼프·시진핑 정상회담은 무역 전쟁을 끝내지도, 세계 질서를 바꾸지도 못했다. 두 정상은 경제 전쟁의 일시적인 휴전, 즉 ‘무역 휴전’을 원했다. 양측이 도달한 합의안은 서로가 완전히 이길 수도, 완전히 질 수도 없는 싸움 속에서 시간을 벌기 위한 임시방편이었다.
양국은 상대방의 공급망·시장·기술 생태계에 심각한 타격을 줄 수 있지만, 그렇게 할 경우 자신도 큰 피해를 입는다는 엄중한 현실을 깨달았다. 이 때문에 정상회담 이전, 중국의 희토류 수출 제한 발표나 트럼프의 100% 관세 인상 선언은 사실상 엄포에 불과했다. 트럼프는 회담 직전 에어포스원에서 “관세 인상은 실행하지 않겠다”고 기자들에게 밝혔고, 중국 역시 희토류 수출 제한을 1년 연기했다.
중국은 펜타닐의 미국 유입 차단을 위한 단속 강화에 나서기로 했고, 미국은 펜타닐 관련 중국산 수입품에 매겨온 20% 관세를 절반으로 줄이기로 했다. 시진핑은 미국산 대두를 대량 구매하고 미국은 중국에 대한 301조 조치를 일시 중지하기로 약속했다. 미국도 수출 통제 확대를 중단하고, 상호 항만료 부과 중단을 약속했다.
하지만 양측 합의에는 ‘검증’의 비대칭성이 뚜렷하다. 미국이 양보한 관세 인하, 항만료 부과 중단, 수출통제 유예는 모두 측정 가능하고 이행 결과를 확인할 수 있다. 반면, 중국이 약속한 단속 강화, 대량 구매, 맞대응 중단은 모호하고 실행 여부를 확인하는 게 쉽지 않다. 확인하고 검증할 수 있는 객관적 메커니즘 없이는 합의가 쉽게 깨질 수 있다. 그래서 앞으로 양측은 얼마만큼 ‘양보’하느냐보다 확실한 이행 검증 메커니즘을 설계하고 구축해서 분쟁의 소지를 없애는 데 초점을 맞춰야 한다.
시진핑의 전술적 유연성 이면에는 일관된 전략, 즉 ‘고립 없는 요새’를 구축한다는 구상이 깔려 있다. 서방의 압박을 버텨내면서도 해외 시장, 해외 자금·기술을 끌어들일 수 있을 정도의 글로벌 통합을 유지하면서 주요 분야에서 기술 자립을 완성하는 나라를 만들겠다는 것이다. 무역 휴전은 이런 그의 전략에 딱 들어맞는다.
반면, 트럼프는 이번 정상회담을 거래의 관점에서 접근했다. 그는 장기적 안목보다는 관세, 일자리, 즉각적 정치적 성과 등에 집착했다. 그러나 미국의 진정한 강점은 ‘거래’가 아니라 동맹을 결집시키고, 규범·제도를 만들고, 개방 사회의 도덕적·제도적 호소력에 있다. 만약 미국이 이런 강점을 제대로 활용하지 못한다면, 중국이 원하는 ‘양자 협상’과 ‘파워 밸런스’라는 기울어진 운동장에서 경쟁할 수밖에 없게 된다.
이번 정상회담의 가장 고무적인 성과는 ‘휴전 합의 그 자체’가 아니라, 위기 때마다 협상과 재조정으로 균형을 되찾는 ‘메커니즘’이 마련됐다는 점이다. 미해결 쟁점(특히 대만 문제)은 미뤄뒀지만, 그 자체로 현명한 선택일 수 있다. 풀 수 없는 것은 미루고, 다룰 수 있는 것부터 해결하며 위험을 줄이는 것이다. 진정한 ‘빅딜’은 일회성 대합의가 아니라, 충격을 흡수하고 균형을 재조정하는 ‘지속적 협상 구조’의 구축일 수 있다. ‘영원한 적대 관계’가 아니라 ‘관리되는 경쟁’이야말로 미·중처럼 이데올로기적으로 대립적인 두 강대국에 세계가 기대할 수 있는 유일한 질서일 것이다.
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As I anticipated in my article for The Chosun Ilbo, the much-watched Trump–Xi meeting at APEC in Gyeongju was never meant to deliver a grand bargain that could stabilize and redefine the U.S.–China relationship for decades. Instead, both leaders sought something far more modest yet crucial: a trade truce—a temporary ceasefire in a protracted economic war that neither side can win outright nor afford to lose completely. The agreements reached were designed to buy time, not to resolve the structural contradictions that underlie the world’s most consequential rivalry.
Since President Trump launched his renewed tariff offensive in April after taking office, the two economies have spent seven months in an intense duel of economic coercion—tariffs, export controls, investment bans, and rare-earth restrictions. Through this cycle of action and counteraction, both Washington and Beijing have come to recognize a sobering truth: they are now locked in a form of mutually assured economic destruction. Each possesses the power to inflict great harm on the other’s supply chains, markets, and technology ecosystems, yet neither can do so without severe self-damage. This emerging “strategic balance of interdependence” does not mark the end of competition; rather, it defines a new phase of it. The United States and China have entered an unstable equilibrium—one in which the balance can be easily disturbed, sending the system into dangerous spirals of escalation. Trade, technology, and security are now so deeply intertwined that a tariff adjustment or export restriction can cascade into a diplomatic rupture or regional confrontation.
Before the summit, observers could clearly see that China’s announcement of rare-earth export restrictions to the world and Trump’s subsequent declaration of a 100 percent tariff hike were both bluffs. If the two sides truly intended to reach a trade truce, they would each have to abandon their respective threats. Indeed, just before the summit, Trump admitted to reporters aboard Air Force One that the tariff threat would not be carried out, while China postponed its export restriction plan by one year—which, in practice, means it will not be implemented at all, as there will be many opportunities to negotiate again within that time. These reciprocal retreats before the summit clearly showed that both leaders understood the costs of escalation and the necessity of compromise. The bluffs themselves served a purpose: to project resolve while leaving room for retreat. Once the signaling was done, each side quietly stepped back, opening a narrow window for the truce to be reached.
Against this volatile backdrop, the two sides concluded a limited one-year trade truce, with provisions subject to annual renewal. Beijing pledged to intensify its efforts to curb the flow of synthetic opioids such as fentanyl into the United States. In response, Washington agreed to cut by half the 20-percent tariff imposed on fentanyl-related imports, lowering the average tariff rate on Chinese goods from 57 to 47 percent. President Xi also promised large purchases of American soybeans and a suspension of China’s counter-measures related to Washington’s Section 301 investigations—those targeting subsidies, forced technology transfer, and intellectual property violations. The United States, in turn, agreed to halt the expansion of technology export controls to Chinese subsidiaries and to suspend reciprocal port fees. Both leaders announced reciprocal visits in 2026, with Trump to visit Beijing in April and Xi to travel to Washington “sometime thereafter.”
Yet the asymmetry in verifiability is striking. Every major U.S. concession—tariff reduction, suspension of port fees, delay in export controls—is measurable and enforceable. By contrast, China’s central commitments—“intensify control,” “large purchases,” “suspend counter-measures”—are vague and difficult to verify. Without a credible mechanism for verification and enforcement, the fragile trust between the two sides could quickly erode. This is why future negotiations must focus not merely on new concessions but on creating a verifying mechanism capable of monitoring compliance, reducing ambiguity, and preventing disputes from destabilizing the system.
Beneath Xi Jinping’s tactical flexibility lies a strategic constant: his pursuit of what may be called a “fortress without isolation” grand strategy. Xi aims to build an economy that is resilient, self-sufficient in critical sectors, and shielded from Western coercion—yet still integrated enough to access foreign markets, capital, and technology. The goal is to harden China’s defenses without repeating Mao-era autarky. The trade truce fits neatly into this strategy: it offers breathing space to consolidate supply-chain resilience, attract investment from the Global South, and expand technological partnerships beyond the Western sphere. Trump, by contrast, approached the summit in a more transactional manner. His negotiating instinct focuses on immediate gains—tariffs, jobs, and political optics—rather than constructing a coherent long-term framework. America’s advantage, however, lies not in transactional leverage but in its enduring ability to rally allies, shape rules, and project the moral and institutional appeal of an open society. If Washington fails to activate these systemic advantages, it will fight China on the terrain of Beijing’s choosing—bilateral bargaining and power balancing—where the U.S. edge is limited.
The Gyeongju summit also reminded the world that many key players—especially U.S. allies like South Korea, Japan, and Australia—are watching closely. They see in this fragile truce not peace, but a temporary pause in a contest that will define the region’s strategic architecture. These middle powers prefer stability, yet they also seek autonomy, wary of being forced to choose sides. America’s challenge is to reassure them that alliance with the U.S. means partnership, not entrapment, and that cooperation in building resilient supply chains, AI governance, and energy security is more rewarding than short-term neutrality.
Perhaps the most encouraging outcome of the summit is not the content of the truce itself, but the pattern it established: the notion that the two sides can, when equilibrium is disturbed, find a way back to stability through dialogue and periodic renegotiation. Regular renewal of agreements, however limited, institutionalizes crisis management. It represents an emerging mechanism to prevent the system from spiraling out of control—a way to transform rivalry from a zero-sum confrontation into a managed competition. Both leaders, in effect, postponed the questions they cannot yet answer—above all, Taiwan. Yet that postponement may be an act of wisdom. By deferring the insoluble, they preserved room for maneuver and reduced the risk of confrontation. This mechanism itself may be the grand deal they can possibly find. The real “grand deal” may not be a single sweeping accord, but the creation of a durable process—one that can absorb shocks, reset expectations, and sustain equilibrium amid turbulence.
In this new phase, turbulence will not disappear; it may even become necessary. Each side may occasionally provoke small crises to test the mechanisms of resolution, to ensure that the system still functions. This pattern of “trouble and repair” could paradoxically enhance stability, as long as both sides understand the boundaries of their contest. Managed rivalry, not perpetual hostility, is the closest the world can hope for between two powers so deeply interlocked yet ideologically opposed. The Trump–Xi summit did not end the trade war, nor did it redefine the global order. But it signaled the emergence of a new pragmatism—a shared recognition that stability itself is a strategic asset. Both Washington and Beijing are learning to live with rivalry, to regulate rather than resolve it. If they can institutionalize this pattern of recalibration—equilibrium, disturbance, new equilibrium—they may yet prevent the system from collapsing under its own contradictions. The real test will come when the next crisis hits. But for now, the Gyeongju truce has given the world something rare in the U.S.–China relationship: a breathing space, and perhaps, the first glimpse of a sustainable balance in an age of mutual vulnerability.