America’s latest argument over artificial intelligence has suddenly become apocalyptic. Former Anthropic researcher Jacob Coxon accused AI companies of “gambling with our lives.” Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei urged the industry to slow the development of frontier models, an idea supported by OpenAI CEO Sam Altman and Elon Musk. At the same time, opposition to the data centers needed to power AI is spreading across the United States.

China has noticed. X recently uncovered a suspected Chinese influence network of roughly 200,000 fake accounts; about 200 of them were directly involved in amplifying claims that American data centers were raising electricity prices and overwhelming the power grid.

This does not mean that criticism of AI or data centers is manufactured in Beijing. Concerns about electricity costs, water use, pollution, cyberattacks, job losses, and mass surveillance are real. But China does not need to invent American divisions. It needs only to identify, amplify, and exploit them.

Modern democracies periodically succumb to predictions that a new technology will destroy humanity. The fear may be legitimate, but its political consequences are not evenly distributed. Democracies permit protest, litigation, regulation, and obstruction. They may even abandon a technology out of fear.

Dictatorships suppress debate, concentrate resources, and use their rivals’ hesitation to catch up.

The first great technological apocalypse began with the atomic bomb.

As the Manhattan Project approached completion in 1945, scientists considered whether an atomic explosion might ignite nitrogen in the atmosphere or trigger an uncontrollable reaction in the oceans. Edward Teller raised the possibility; Hans Bethe and others calculated that the risk was physically negligible. The Trinity test proceeded.

The question nevertheless haunted Robert Oppenheimer. After Hiroshima and Nagasaki, he feared that scientists had opened a Pandora’s box. When Washington decided to develop the hydrogen bomb after the Soviet atomic test, he opposed it on moral and strategic grounds.

Oppenheimer’s Communist associations then turned a policy dispute into a political scandal. His wife and brother were members of the Communist Party USA (CPUSA), and he had many pro-Soviet acquaintances. Meanwhile, actual Soviet spies inside the Manhattan Project – including Klaus Fuchs and Theodore Hall – passed crucial nuclear information to Moscow.

The Soviet Union tested an atomic bomb in 1949 and a thermonuclear device in 1953. China tested its first atomic bomb in 1964, shortly after emerging from a famine that killed 40 million people. Neither Communist regime permitted a genuine public debate over the wisdom of nuclear competition.

The West did. Scientists, churches, students, and citizens organized enormous anti-nuclear movements. Their pressure contributed to test-ban treaties and arms control negotiations. Yet Americans still understood that the danger came not only from nuclear weapons but also from the regimes possessing them. After Sputnik in 1957, few believed the United States could safely withdraw from technological competition while the Soviet Union continued advancing.

After the Cold War, climate change became the next vehicle for apocalyptic politics.

Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth turned complex climate models into images of approaching catastrophe. Greta Thunberg transformed policy disagreements into moral indictments. Claims that humanity had only “12 years” remaining circulated widely.

Fear of climate change converted a scientific problem into an ideological commandment. Energy restrictions, endless permitting, penalties on traditional industries, and costly transitions were presented as the only acceptable path. These policies greatly contributed to and accelerated Western deindustrialization.

China followed a different course. Unrestrained by voters, environmental groups, or local governments, Beijing concentrated subsidies, land, energy, and credit to build complete industrial supply chains. The West congratulated itself for reducing domestic emissions while transferring production to China. It then discovered that it depended on China for pharmaceuticals, rare earths, batteries, solar panels, and electronics.

The pattern is now repeating with AI.

While Americans debate moratoriums, China is treating artificial intelligence, robotics, and computing infrastructure as pillars of national power. Its “Eastern Data, Western Computing” strategy is creating an integrated national computing network, moving the eastern seaboard’s data-processing demands to western provinces with abundant land and energy. Beijing intends to control not only AI models but also the electricity, chips, servers, communications systems, and data centers that sustain them.

China is also competing to write the rules. In 2026, 29 countries signed an agreement in Shanghai establishing the World Artificial Intelligence Cooperation Organization, which Beijing describes as the first intergovernmental organization devoted to AI. China does not plan to pause while America debates whether the future is too dangerous to build.

AI requires serious safeguards: independent testing, cybersecurity standards, protection against biological misuse, transparent energy pricing, and accountability for harms. But regulation should make development safer, not make development impossible. Data-center projects should bear their actual costs, but local objections cannot become a nationwide veto over the infrastructure of the next industrial age.

Open debate is one of democracy’s moral strengths. The power to suppress debate is one of authoritarianism’s strategic advantages. When democratic caution becomes paralysis, freedom itself becomes vulnerable to exploitation.

America can decide how it develops artificial intelligence. It cannot decide whether artificial intelligence will continue to develop. If the United States stops because it fears the future, China will not stop with it.