Narrative a comforting illusion for bruised egos

Before visiting Wuhan, I carried an image of the city shaped largely by distant impressions and secondhand narratives. I expected a place defined by concrete, technology and surveillance. Instead, I found something far more familiar: neighbors sharing food, children playing and people gathering in courtyards between apartment buildings.

The experience revealed a simple truth: distance is not always measured in miles. Sometimes it is created by the assumptions we carry about people and places we do not truly know.

That same distance is now shaping the way nations see one another. We have replaced genuine global cooperation with silent trenches and protectionist walls. We have stopped talking to each other. Instead, we are exclusively talking about each other.

If you listen to the political debates in Western Europe right now, the narrative around China is too often reduced to a trade deficit and supply surplus. It is a comforting illusion that nurses our bruised egos. Since Europe lags severely behind in artificial intelligence and other technologies, we console ourselves with arrogance.

When we fall behind, we do not run faster or innovate more. We build legal walls, impose tariffs and try to regulate our way out of competition, convincing ourselves that we can thrive in isolation.

But reality tells a different story. Not long ago, I stood in the dusty Gobi Desert in Gansu province and looked straight into the future. I saw a massive solar thermal power plant, its central tower rising 263 meters into the sky — taller than the pylons of Denmark's proudest engineering marvel, the Great Belt Bridge. While European politicians sit at home debating whether China can invent anything of value, China is literally capturing the sun. Europe is coughing in the sand, holding on to a fading illusion of supremacy.

Yet, the geopolitical divide is not just about solar panels, AI, or supply chains; it is fundamentally about how we view humanity. When we stop conversing — because of a war in Europe, political shifts in the United States, or trade panic — we lose the concept of a shared planet. We reduce entire nations to enemy algorithms.

After my visit, some European friends asked whether Wuhan was merely a high-tech metropolis of surveillance systems and concrete towers. Their question reflected how easily a complex society can be reduced to a single image.

What I encountered was something much more ordinary and universal: people sharing meals, chatting with neighbors, raising children and building communities in the spaces between modern buildings. These moments were not uniquely Chinese; the desire for connection, belonging and warmth is equally present in everyday life in Denmark and around the world. No algorithm can fully capture these realities. They cannot be reduced to data points, headlines or political narratives.

Visiting the Hubei Provincial Museum, I looked at the incredible Bronze Bells of Marquis Yi, cast more than 2,400 years ago. I stood there thinking that China essentially invented heavy metal music 2,500 years ago. When you witness millennia of deep cultural history, you realize how foolish it is when the West treats China like a newcomer on the world stage.

But you also realize something else: Great civilizations do not grow in isolation.

In Denmark, the philosopher N. F. S. Grundtvig shaped our entire modern society. He believed that books, laws and written rules are cold and dead if they stand alone. He believed in what he called "The Living Word" — the spoken conversation between two human beings looking each other in the eyes. Grundtvig taught us that society only progresses when we dare to meet the people we strongly disagree with.

Think about how physical warmth is created. If you rub your hands together gently without touching, nothing happens. But if you press them together firmly — if you create friction — you get heat. Friction is warmth. Disagreement is energy.

When countries build trade walls or retreat behind digital and cultural boundaries, we remove the friction. We create sterile echo chambers. If Europe and China only listen to their own voices, both of our civilizations will eventually stagnate. Throughout my political career, I have advocated for listening to "everyday experts" — the people whose lived experiences are often ignored by out-of-touch political systems. On a global scale, our nations are the everyday experts of our own cultures. We must listen to each other's lived realities.

True friendship and genuine dialogue require absolute honesty. I have clearly stated that Europe has lost its way by being arrogant and using tariffs to hide its own weaknesses. But conversation is a two-way street.

China's remarkable technological and social achievements are becoming an increasingly important part of the global conversation. Continued engagement with diverse perspectives and experiences can help foster greater mutual understanding, trust and cooperation. In the long run, global influence is shaped not only by economic and technological progress, but also by the ability to connect, communicate and work with others in an increasingly interconnected world.

We live on a single, fragile planet currently defined by geopolitical fear. The easiest path for any politician today is to build a wall, point at foreigners, and declare self-sufficiency. But that is the road to ruin. We must choose the difficult path. We must choose the Living Word. We must travel, disagree openly, trade ideas and challenge each other's convictions face-to-face.

In the end, understanding between nations begins with understanding between people. When we take the time to meet one another face-to-face, we may discover that what connects us is far greater than what divides us.

The author is former deputy speaker in the Danish Parliament.

The views do not necessarily reflect those of China Daily.

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