What Chinese citizens think about Trump’s visit: ‘I don’t welcome him because he has started wars’

As evening falls, an ordinary square in Beijing turns into a hive of activity. After dinner — which in China usually takes place around 6 p.m. — people head out to get some air, stroll a bit, and move around: a popular saying advises taking 100 steps after eating to live 99 years.

On a corner of Gongti North Street, a stone’s throw from the Workers’ Stadium, home of the local football team Beijing Guoan, lively groups of dancers, stern‑faced Chinese‑chess players, and whip‑cracking enthusiasts gather every night. More than a square, it is a microscopic universe of everyday people, an ideal place to gauge the mood — very roughly, given more than 1.4 billion people live in China — of the hottest political question of the moment: U.S. President Donald Trump’s visit to China, expected to take place between May 14 and 15. The temperature is delightful, dozens of people gather under the banana trees and dance music begins to play.

“I don’t welcome Trump because he’s started wars, and we Chinese like peace,” Mr. Yang replies as he runs clippers over a customer’s head. He cuts hair outdoors for 10 yuan ($1) at one end of the square. “Professional work,” reads a sign he’s hung above the bench next to a good display of razors, scissors, and other tools. Two spotlights powered by the battery of his electric scooter illuminate the scene. “Wars have brought so much suffering to the people of the Middle East…” he adds, switching on the hair dryer to blow the loose strands off his client’s shoulders.

Yang, 56, is a man who has held all sorts of jobs, from street barber to security guard. He considers himself a representative of the country’s “lowest class,” but he is well-informed, citing the price of Brent crude and the blockade of the Strait of Hormuz. He recalls that other U.S. presidents, like George W. Bush, “were welcomed by the people.” But with Trump, it’s different.

“He’s crazy,” his client adds. Little by little, other curious onlookers have joined the impromptu conversation, as would happen in any barbershop in the world: “He’s not a trustworthy person. He’s a businessman, not a good leader,” one chimes in. “He’s caused quite a mess in the world economy,” another says. “If someone likes peace, they can’t possibly like Trump,” concludes Yang, the barber, who suggests asking around the square. He thinks everyone will give a similar answer.

“If he wants to come, then let him come. It’s not so bad,” says Mrs. Pang, a construction worker. Smiling, the 53-year-old speaks while swaying to the music. “I come here often after work.” In front of her, couples dance in circles in the square. She sees Trump as someone driven by “self‑interest,” but adds: “I don’t hate the United States that much.” She believes the visit could be a chance to “improve” China’s economy.

Not everyone shows interest. The players of xiangqi, the ancient Chinese chess game, don’t even look up when asked. Meanwhile, the woman resting on a bench dodges the question: “It’s a national issue. The people don’t get involved. I’m from out of town; I only came to the city to look for work. You’d be better off asking the people in Beijing; they’re more cultured.” Her dance partner, Mr. Zhang, a 60-year-old cook, does offer his opinion: “It’s a delicate moment in the world. What’s the point? It’s going to cause a lot of misunderstandings.”

The strongest opinions come from the whip enthusiasts: they whirl their whips through the air, crack them with force, and the tip snaps like lightning. They say it keeps them fit. One of them, a man who delivers water jugs to homes (a very Beijing profession), proudly shows off the size of his biceps. They’re in good spirits, but before speaking, they make sure the reporter is from the right country. After Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez’s many visits to China, they consider Spain a friendly nation. “We hate Trump. We welcome [Russian President Vladimir] Putin. And Sánchez. Not Trump.”

When asked if they think Trump’s visit is important, they reply: “To add tariffs?”

The unexpected conversation energizes them, though they prefer not to give their real names, only their social‑media aliases, which, translated, sound something like Travel Through Wind and Clouds, 68, and Safe and Happy Life, 55. “Maybe he’s coming to ask for help with Iran,” one suggests. “Maybe he wants to clarify his position on Taiwan,” says another. These will undoubtedly be two key issues of the meeting. “The United States occasionally encourages Taiwanese separatists. It’s China’s red line.” They accuse Trump of committing crimes against humanity and of bullying small countries. They condemn the xenophobia they say that has been spreading: “I think the propaganda about China’s image in the United States isn’t very positive. We don’t welcome their people.”

It is difficult to encapsulate how Chinese people perceive the United States. But, broadly speaking, the view is not particularly positive — especially when it comes to politics. In a survey on attitudes toward the U.S. conducted between July and September 2025, respondents gave the country a score of 40.67 out of 100, and its government 2.07 out of 5; only 28.4% believed relations between Washington and Beijing had improved over the previous year; and 78.84% said the core U.S. strategy was “to try to slow China’s development and rise,” according to a study by Tsinghua University’s Center for International Strategy and Security.

In another survey from 2020 — carried out near the end of Trump’s first term — respondents were asked to describe the United States and Americans. Their top choices were, in order: “militarily powerful,” “aggressive,” “arrogant,” and “creative.” Very few considered them “peaceful,” “respectful of international norms,” or “friends of China.” Yet 56.7% still believed U.S. culture had a positive influence in China, according to the report by Peking University’s Institute of International Strategic Studies and the U.S. pollster Prime Group.

Beyond the geopolitical tension, many in China admire the world’s largest economy. After opening to U.S. influence in the 1980s and 1990s, hundreds of thousands of Chinese studied there or sent their children to its universities — including President Xi Jinping, whose only daughter graduated from Harvard in 2014. Disney films are often box‑office sensations (Zootopia 2 became the highest‑grossing imported animated film in China’s history). And Chinese consumers are avid buyers of U.S. brands, from Apple to Nike.

“Political issues don’t have to clash with cultural ones,” say Xu Enhui and Man Man, a Chinese couple aged 19 and 20, who have just finished a Kentucky Fried Chicken meal in a particularly symbolic location: this was the first Western fast‑food outlet in China. Located in Qianmen, on the southern edge of Tiananmen Square, it opened in 1987 and was a sensation in a socialist country that had not yet fully abandoned ration coupons. That year, KFC “crossed the sea to reach China,” recalls a mural inside.

Today, the chain has more than 10,000 outlets in the People’s Republic and stands as a clear example of the paradoxical relationship between the two superpowers. “If American culture is good, maybe we can learn from it,” the couple concludes before heading toward the Forbidden City. The KFC has a slightly greasy feel, but the mood seems broadly favorable to Washington. “I welcome Trump,” says Lili, a 30‑year‑old from Shanghai, as she waits to pick up her order. “I think it’s great that he’s coming to experience the culture of the great China.”

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