Rest of World

There is an excellent online magazine called Rest of World that surfaces technology stories from everywhere that is not in the normal Western-focused mainstream of international journalism — which adds up to a lot of places. The concept and its acronym (ROW) have long been used in US and UK diplomacy, not always in a good way: it was sometimes not much better than using “etc.” Rest of World was founded in 2020 by Sophie Schmidt, who has a diverse background in tech as well as whatever advantages accrue to being the daughter of Google’s Eric Schmidt. The tech angle is critical. Like Google itself in its youth, Rest of World saw tech as a spreader of knowledge and, especially, of economic capacity, including in non-industrial economies.

In the AI era, where massive investments in a few familiar companies are expected to generate massive returns, it remains worthwhile for investors not to forget the ROW. As always, India’s tech scene provides examples. SIGnal readers may remember an earlier post or two on this (The America Stack, 5 Feb. 2025; Network Powers - 2 of 2, 7 May 2026). Rest of World itself has always had a strong India game, as in “India’s VCs Are Beating US Investors at Home” just last week.

This kind of analysis isn’t just about national economies and how they deal with balancing inward FDI from major industrialized countries with the desire to build their own tech capabilities. It is also, and increasingly, about ROW capital and expertise themselves going into new markets. After all, part of the rise of Chinese digital technology from zero to global dominance featured tech transfer by Chinese companies into poorer ROW markets that Western and ex-China East Asian powerhouses (such as Samsung) would not bother with. That set a powerful example.

A good case today is Indian and Gulf investors in Africa. In the early days, both India and the Gulf relied on Chinese telecommunications companies to build affordable digital infrastructure. That in turn led to the development of local expertise and experience. Indian and Gulf investors then looked to Africa. Much of the investment has been in telecoms. India’s Bharti Airtel, via Airtel Africa, recently saw Q4 revenues climb by a quarter. It is not an easy market to operate in, but Indian companies can be well positioned to do what Chinese companies did 15 and 20 years ago: leverage their experience of a difficult (but also rather protected) market at home to enable success in difficult markets abroad.

Gulf investors are active at many levels. For example, Emirates Telecommunications Group has long been the top shareholder (now just over 17%) in Vodafone. Vodafone is in turn the main shareholder (65%) of Vodacom, which has more than 200 million customers across the African continent and recently bought control of Kenya’s Safaricom. Vodafone is usually described as a “British company” and Vodacom as a “South African company,” but that kind of shorthand can be a bit misleading. (Bharti Airtel is itself an “Indian company” but its largest shareholder at ~44% is Singapore Telecommunications, or Singtel.) Nigerian fintech companies are now at a point where they can look to expand into the Persian Gulf. They are partly inspired by the success of Kenyan payments system M-Pesa — itself part of Safaricom.

The point is that, even in tech, ROW investment and profits can circulate within the ROW markets without too much reference to the West and other regions that industrialized earlier. The tech future is not simply a choice between the US/Japan/Korea and China.  

Nor is it accurate to see poorer markets, as in Africa, as merely more vulnerable to geopolitical ructions like the closing of the Strait of Hormuz. Nigeria’s Dangote, featured in SIGnal last year (“The Nine Lives of Economic Nationalism” parts two and three), has benefitted, as a seller of petroleum and urea fertilizer, from instability in the Middle East. It is now preparing to list on the London and Nigerian exchanges but also, in smaller portions, on Ghanaian, Kenyan, and South African exchanges. This innovative move, according to Aliko Dangote, is meant to spread African corporate ownership across the continent. Meanwhile Africa’s mining companies are thriving as, in part, a direct result of US-China competition over minerals.

In short, the ROW is increasingly able to look after itself in terms of industrialization and digital development. The dominant global narrative of protectionism, self-reliance, and tech sovereignty is not the only story. There are also diffusion, IP transfer, Global South cross-investment, and much else. Economic power is very gradually becoming decentralized.  Developed-world retrenchment will affect that but it is not likely to change it.

The New Pessimism

Talks in South Korea between US President Donald Trump and China’s President Xi Jinping on Thursday went as expected: the two leaders negotiated away from confrontation rather than toward it. The transactional nature of current US foreign policy is sometimes over-rated, but in the case of China it is clear, and China’s leadership is more than ready to behave similarly, transaction by transaction. Given that China has for many years been identified by Trump as the leading challenge to American status globally, his reconciliation with Xi suggests that moral arguments about the US’s duty to lead its allies in opposing authoritarian government and promoting free markets are being left behind. This was the contention of two important commentaries last week by Michael Beckley and Ian Bremmer. SIG’s view is that the domestic crisis Bremmer identifies and the US’s “rogue superpower” behavior (Beckley) will last well into 2026 but then moderate. The reasons are the same as the ones that led Trump to make a deal with Xi: a lack of better options.

Ian Bremmer, founder and head of Eurasia Group, sees US President Donald Trump as leading a domestic “political revolution” that could involve “the kind of political chaos, realignment, and violence that America saw in the decades after the Civil War.” On the international side, Beckley, of Tufts and the American Enterprise Institute, sees the Trump administration as caught up in “the same logic of raw power that helped spur two world wars…What looms is not a multipolar concert of great powers sharing the world, but a reprise of some of the worst aspects of the twentieth century.” These are loud alarms from highly credible people.

Bremmer and Beckley are both what American political science calls “realists,” with political views somewhere on the center-right. Ian Bremmer started Eurasia Group in 1998 in Manhattan, just four years after earning his doctorate in political science at Stanford. (His dissertation was on the ethnic politics of Russians in Ukraine.) In his 2015 book Superpower, Bremmer wrote, “I’m proud to be a political scientist, one who takes seriously his responsibility to offer unbiased analysis. I’m also intensely proud to be an American….I love my country.” Growing up in a rugged part of Boston, with multiple and varied heritages in his ancestry, Bremmer, like numberless Americans before him, developed a profound sense of the US as uniquely a land of opportunity for all. He also saw it as having a unique and positive international role, although by 2015 he had turned against a “superhero foreign policy.” He mainly thought the US should lead by democratic example, rooted in the constitution. (“Congress is the guarantor of our security and our liberties. The president, every president, must respect its authority.”) Although in 2016 he called Donald Trump “a buffoon…willing to use racism, xenophobia, and all of the worst and basest impulses” to gain power, Bremmer generally stuck to foreign rather than domestic politics. Nonetheless, a certain type of constitutional democracy at home was seen as the essential basis for leading by example overseas.

It is the “replacing” of “the rule of law with the rule of Don” that led Bremmer to write last week that “a constitutional crisis before the next elections looks increasingly likely.” If the American system has become personal rather than constitutional, then it can no longer lead by example. So Bremmer now speaks of a “post-American order” in which other nations cannot expect American leadership, even by example.

Michael Beckley made his name with Unrivaled: Why America Will Remain the World’s Sole Superpower (2018). He had been advised as a PhD student by America’s international-relations royalty: Richard Betts, Andrew Nathan, and Robert Jervis. Beckley offered a very compelling argument that China’s prospects were over-rated and the US’s strengths were under-rated. It was read as an argument against US defeatism. Beckley, like Bremmer, was against US military problem-solving abroad. His worry, two years into the first Trump administration, was partisan division leading to the loss of “America’s purpose”: compared to fighting fascism or communism, “maintaining the liberal order may seem like an underwhelming call to greatness….But it is just as virtuous and just as vital.”

Seven years later, writing in Foreign Affairs, Beckley finds that, “As liberal democracy corrodes at home, liberal internationalism is unraveling abroad. In a world without rising powers, the United States is becoming a rogue superpower, with little sense of obligation beyond itself…. U.S. strategy is shedding values and historical memory, narrowing its focus to money and homeland defense. Allies are discovering what unvarnished unilateralism feels like, as security guarantees become protection rackets and trade deals are enforced with tariffs.”

Bremmer and Beckley are determinedly level-headed, experienced, deeply engaged political scientists at the top of their games. They both conclude that the US is falling apart at home, which in turn means that its status as a world power is also falling apart.

How does the Trump-Xi meeting look in this light?

They talked for two hours. Trump said Taiwan did not come up and that China signaled a desire for cooperation on Ukraine. The Chinese readout mentioned neither. The public takeaways included a US reduction in tariffs (and threatened tariffs) in exchange for additional Chinese measures to hinder exports of ingredients in fentanyl, an opiate that has become a leading killer of Americans who use it recreationally. China agreed to lift its ban on imports of US soybeans, returning them to roughly the same quantity as before the recent trade war. The US indicated it would ease restrictions on exporting to China advanced silicon chips, notably those produced by Nvidia. The Chinese readout said that the US had agreed to suspend for a year the implementation of a new rule targeting subsidiaries or affiliates of companies on the US Commerce Department Bureau of Industry and Security’s list of proscribed companies (Entity List) and military-related end users (MEU List). The first list is about 70% Chinese companies; the second is entirely Chinese companies. China in turn suspended for a year its export controls on rare earths and associated products going to the US. 

In all of these, the US seems to have been at a disadvantage. On soybeans, US farmers suffered the loss of a market while China diversified its soybean suppliers; the result of Thursday’s talks was at most a possible return to pre-tariff US soybean export levels.

Fentanyl-related tariffs were announced by the White House on February 1 under the authority of the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA). They were paired with “illegal aliens” as twin aspects of a “national emergency” invoked in order to apply tariffs to imports from China, Canada, and Mexico. The declaration of a national emergency was necessary in order for the executive branch to gain the authority to impose the tariffs. (The administration cited the same emergency IEEPA authority for the April 2 “Liberation Day” tariffs, with high US trade deficits said to constitute a “threat to the national security and economy of the United States.”) Now the fentanyl tariffs are to be reduced in the case of China.

What was missing from the statements and readouts on Thursday was anything about fentanyl use itself — which is the legal basis for the White House’s imposition of the tariffs. Non-fatal fentanyl overdoses actually ticked up from January to June 2025 then declined into August, but they remain where they were when the tariffs were first applied. By contrast, fatal drug overdoses, the majority linked to fentanyl, have been dropping steadily since August 2023 and are now at about the same number as in April 2020. On the first figures, the fentanyl tariffs have been a failure, so why revoke them? On the second measure, the overdose emergency itself has been abating steadily for two years, with the pace seemingly unaffected by the tariffs, so why retain emergency powers at all?

On silicon chips, export controls have been based on national-security grounds, as were Liberation Day tariffs. The same was true of the proposed expansion of BIS Entity List and MEU List powers. These measures have now been suspended or possibly rescinded. So is China now less of a threat to the US?

China’s suspension of its rare-earths export controls was its only significant move and it seems provisional. (China did not suspend its rare-earths controls from April, only the new rules announced in early October and not yet implemented.) China’s strategic management of its rare-earth resources and capabilities has been a consistent feature of its foreign policy since it suspended such shipments to Japan in 2010 over a maritime dispute. A one-year suspension of a new export protocol again, as with soybeans, represents a return to the status quo more than a concession. And as Rush Doshi said on Bill Bishop’s Sinocism podcast yesterday, the rare-earths sector is mainly controlled by a tiny number of Chinese companies that defer to government direction. That tap can be turned on or off at any time.

The import of the Xi-Trump negotiations, then, is not so much in the rather insubstantial terms themselves but in what the talks imply about the Trump administration’s power. It was playing a weak hand from the beginning. China still controls 90% of the rare-earths supply chain. The US was bargaining with soybeans that could be purchased elsewhere, tariffs that are already being priced in and hurt US firms and consumers as well as Chinese suppliers, and technology exports that have already proved difficult to control and for which China is very energetically developing substitutes.

But Trump’s hand was also weak in a different, possibly more important way that puts the grim prognoses of Bremmer and Beckley in an interesting light. It isn’t just that the national-security justifications for presidential tariff powers and export controls have been revealed as opportunistic. It is that Congress has begun to push back in this slow-burn constitutional crisis. As the White House is keenly aware, the Senate resolved, on the heels of the Xi-Trump meeting, that the “national emergency” invoked on Liberation Day was over. This followed two earlier Senate resolutions to oppose tariffs imposed by the White House on Brazil and Canada. In short, Trump was bargaining with Xi partly on the basis of powers that a Senate majority said the president did not have. (Those powers will be reviewed by the Supreme Court as well, on November 5.) It is worth recalling that it was also the Senate that rejected (by 99 to 1) the White House’s bid to forbid states from regulating AI. Senators this week will have noted that the president’s approval ratings have slipped and, perhaps more important, independent voters have swung toward blaming the president and the Republican party for the government shutdown that just reached its thirtieth day. (The record is 35.) At the same time, there is no indication that Congressional Republicans or Democrats have concluded that China no longer poses the threat to national security that inspired BIS and other tech export controls or that Xi has been cowed. Or that China’s control of the rare-earths supply chain has really been weakened.

Bremmer and Beckley were abundantly justified in raising the alarm over America’s ongoing constitutional crisis and its implications for US foreign and economic policy. But they might have called the fight a bit too soon.

The Market for Tech Containment

Recent moves by Microsoft and the Chinese government marked a new stage in the years-long process of tech decoupling, a SIGnal preoccupation. Meanwhile, the US and China are moving toward what might be significant high-level talks — and the US bull market continues, fueled by AI valuations that are dependent on American dominance of the AI future. None of these three elements seem at all stable. Even tech decoupling could be upended if US President Donald Trump decides to favor a megadeal that would bring Chinese investment into the US. The markets and the politics are both frothy indeed. SIG’s view has long been that AI technology as such will transform industrial processes and much else. A related but quite separate question is whether the massive investment into data centers, understood as the infrastructure of AI, is really necessary for the AI future. “Infrastructure” has a reassuringly solid sound, but if the much-anticipated burst of the AI bubble occurs then data-center capex is where the deflating is most likely to happen.

Microsoft’s withdrawal from China received less attention than it deserved. Bill Gates and his company have long been more pro-China than most of Big Tech. Microsoft’s China labs were crucial to China’s acquisition of AI expertise and experience. That is much of why China’s leader Xi Jinping mischievously greeted Gates as an “old friend” in Beijing in 2023, seven years into a bipartisan consensus that China was the pacing challenge for American security and the US economy. Microsoft’s withdrawal began late in 2024 and has continued through this year. The shuttering of its Shanghai AI lab early in 2025 was done very quietly but it reversed decades of company policy that had done much to create China’s AI industry in the first place. In short, when Microsoft decouples it really means something.

At the same time, China made a strategic shift this month with comprehensive restrictions placed on Chinese companies to prevent use of US silicon chips. This hit Nvidia particularly hard. Its share of the China market plummeted from 95% not long ago to 50%. Nvidia’s CEO, Jensen Huang, has done everything he can to hold on to what he still has. He is said to have the ear of President Trump. But the reprieve Huang secured in July seems to have been eliminated by China’s new moves. When China decouples at this scale, it really means something. 

Tech decoupling is a secular trend. It is the central force behind the current trade tensions, which both China and the US have been escalating, each placing the blame on the other. President Trump’s retaliatory tariffs, set to take effect November 1, responded to China’s weaponizing (not for the first time) of its tight grip on rare-earths production. All these moves revolve around the perceived centrality of AI to victory or defeat in the geoeconomic struggle between China and the US.

The two countries are nonetheless continuing talks. China hawks in Washington and elsewhere are genuinely worried that President Trump’s love of the grand gesture will combine with the influence of Jensen Huang and others to undermine the structure of tech containment built up in recent years. They might well look to Trump adviser Peter Navarro for reassurance. He has been ringing the bell about the China threat for 20 years. And indeed at the Council on Foreign Relations on Friday Navarro spoke of how the president’s tariff negotiations have already resulted in “19 trillion dollars” of promised investment: “foreigners are going to be paying to fix the vulnerabilities in our supply chain,” and once they have done so there will be a global “level playing field.” He also said that the US pre-Trump had “shipped 19 trillion dollars of our wealth” overseas. Nineteen trillion out, 19 trillion back in, and balance is restored. That is the idea. Navarro believed China’s new rare-earths policy is showing the world that China is everyone’s enemy: “The world will not go back to sleep on this.”

But if a three-year bull market, grounded in speculative bets on building data centers to set the infrastructural stage for future AI-driven productivity gains, wobbles enough, trade wars with China could lose their appeal. Tech containment and tech decoupling, though, will continue.

Changing Patterns of Foreign Direct Investment

The McKinsey Global Institute has published a report on patterns of foreign direct investment (FDI), specifically greenfield (new project) investment. It is both a thorough and  a methodologically innovative report. Interestingly, the report rather buries its headlines. This might well be because the MGI, like McKinsey itself, to the limited degree that it has a political perspective, is for efficient global markets based on mainstream economics, and therefore “for” globalization. It is not the McKinsey Institute for Successful Economic Nationalism. Given that this is an era dominated by economic nationalism, the MGI’s commitment to political neutrality probably makes it hard to rank its findings by significance.

For example, is it good news or bad news to show that announced greenfield FDI flows into China have decreased by 70 percent since 2022, in the teeth of Chinese policy? Is that finding more, or less, important than the related finding that Chinese outward FDI investment is dominated by what MGI calls “future-shaping industries,” which mainly means AI data centers? Similarly for the US, the report finds that announced inward greenfield FDI has soared but it is mainly in semiconductor manufacturing and, again, AI data centers. The report also notes the huge role of Gulf Cooperation Council countries such as the UAE and delicately acknowledges that much depends on “the ultimate form of trade deals between the United States and its partners.” It would take a brave investor to decide with confidence what that form would be or indeed whether those deals will ever have an “ultimate form.”

Another possible headline might have been built around the finding that FDI announcements in advanced economies other than the US have been anemic since 2024, with data centers barely picking up the slack from drop-offs in energy and advanced manufacturing.

Yet another headline is in the finding that announced greenfield FDI investments in 2025 (to May) “in each of the emerging Asia, Latin America, MENA, and sub-Saharan Africa regions are at 20-year lows….FDI investments across these regions have fallen by 50 percent from their levels during the 2022-24 period, on an annualized basis.” So while total global FDI has grown, it has gone down in all the poorer parts of the global market, as well as barely straggling along in most advanced economies.

This could be seen as a victory of sorts for the US and the Trump administration, if victory is measured by the signing (not execution) of deals in AI data centers and semiconductor manufacture. However, the Trump administration gained power with promises to bring back traditional manufacturing, and the MGI report finds investment in that sector plummeting nearly everywhere in the world, including the United States.

There are several other possible headlines that could be gathered from the MGI report, which amounts to a map of the intentions or hopes of mega-scale capital. (The corporate drivers in the report are dominantly major multinationals signing megadeals — yet another headline.) In a crowded field, SIG’s own choice would perhaps be that investments in low-emissions technology, which doubled from the 2015-2019 period to 2022-2024, have fallen by 70 percent in 2025 for low-emissions hydrogen and offshore wind. Other energy forms have remained about the same or, as for conventional fossil fuels, gone down. Geothermal and nuclear announcements have more than doubled but from such a relatively low base that “they hardly dent the aggregate energy FDI numbers.”    

What this suggests is that even the biggest investment decisions made by the largest corporations having (as with energy companies) the longest and deepest experience of greenfield FDI are being decisively shaped by political developments, above all in the US and China but also in the Gulf. If the political winds of January-May 2025 were to change, as they almost certainly will, then further massive shifts in FDI flows will also occur.

So both investment capacity and policy influence, when it comes to global greenfield FDI flows, are being concentrated and profoundly politicized. That clearly does not mean that they are becoming more predictable, only that there are fewer decision-makers. In the global struggle for political-economic power, this could mean that victory will go to the major power that is most stable and predictable, which is presumably China. The high degree to which Chinese multinationals, as the MGI found, are engaging in greenfield investment outside China — as well as, of course, outside the US, where they are not currently welcome — also suggests as much.

The Nine Lives of Economic Nationalism – Part Four of Four

Earlier posts in this series considered the multi-century trajectory of economic nationalism in reaction to empire, the resurgence of import substitution and major-power resource competitions, and the ways in which major-power economic nationalisms have made non-market-based economic development policies more popular than they have been in decades, almost regardless of levels of industrial development or economic size.

This final post considers some likely near futures of economic nationalism and economic sovereignty, with particular attention to AI.

First, the United States. The US was born in a determination to end external imperial dictation of economic policy and has, for the most part, guarded a relative autonomy from other economies ever since. The unification and then expansion of the 13 colonies across the continent integrated conquered territories into a “domestic” economy in a way that had few comparators elsewhere in the world. The resulting extent of US natural resources, from fresh water to arable land to natural gas, also proved to be unique. The US was peculiarly well suited to economic sovereignty, and with large-scale immigration it was able to grow on domestic demand better than anywhere else. Exports therefore accounted for a relatively smaller share of GDP than was the case in other industrial countries.

The constraining factor in the US case was not a lack of petroleum or fresh water or food but labor productivity. This was addressed through numerous means, from transport infrastructure to compulsory public education to industrialized agriculture. It helped that the US economy, unlike other industrialized economies, benefitted from both world wars. Productivity entered a crisis in the 1970s. It was eased, in a way, by the Internet and industrial globalization: your wage might be stagnant but it bought much more. But that improvement depended on production outside the US under working conditions that would be rejected in the US itself.

The extraordinary US investment in artificial intelligence comes from this.  AI holds out the promise of increasing productivity. But will it be global productivity or national productivity? Differently put, will the gains be captured by transnational capital and consumers or by tax-paying domestic markets and citizens? Will it be international or nationalist? Low unemployment, very slow job creation and high government and corporate debt all suggest that, absent an AI productivity miracle, the US will head into recession. That might well make the American people more nationalistic and insistent on economic sovereignty, but economic nationalism will not be able to solve their problems.

Chinese economic nationalism faces other constraints. A shrinking workforce and resistance to immigration mean productivity gains will have to come from labor-saving technology and investment in the non-Chinese global workforce. The first would be economically nationalistic. The second would be more like what US companies did in the 1980s and 1990s, and it could hollow out the Chinese jobs market as it once did the American. This would fuel the popular appeal of economic nationalism but, again, economic nationalism is not likely to be able to solve China’s labor productivity problems. An AI productivity miracle would help China as it would help the US. But it would be a miracle.

AI looks different outside the US and China. Those two countries thoroughly dominate the AI space. In AI terms, most other countries are takers, not makers. Africa’s population, a bit larger than China’s, captures 2.5% of the global AI market and is expected to attract 0.3% of global AI investment. The European Union attracts 7%. Britain, Canada, Israel and India also have significant investment, with Britain’s spend twice that of Canada’s. Nonetheless, the US and China attract 80%, with four fifths of it in the US. If an AI productivity miracle occurs in the existing economic-nationalist environment, it is difficult in political terms to imagine the benefits being rapidly diffused across the globe, since the goal of the investment is roughly the opposite.

AI aside, the resurgence of discredited 1960s-era development economics, from “national champions” and import substitution to infant-industry protection and tariffs, is becoming widespread. These policies were celebrated by the Left half a century ago as a way to withstand US corporate domination. Today their appeal is close to universal. They are even seen in the US as ways to ensure the US domination that they were once meant to block.

The essential point seems to be sovereignty. It is a phenomenon rich in paradox. The US-led Internet boom made possible a globalization that dramatically increased the wealth of once-poor countries, above all China but also India and others. These states could then afford to oppose what had just made them wealthy and to revive policies that had not helped them at all the first time around. China, India and other once-colonized nations wrap this in a rhetoric of anti-imperialism while hurrying to lock up poor-world resources before their once-imperial competitors do.

This is the central reason why China’s alternative global-governance schemes will go only so far: they are motivated by economic nationalism. Yet the same is true of US, Indian and European efforts, although European economic nationalism plays out on two levels at once, the national and the supranational. The major EU reform initiatives of 2024 were all premised on consolidating nation-based sectors into a super-nation capable of competing with the US and China.

For investors, at the national (or for the EU, supra-national) level, the play is in policy arbitrage, which is also political arbitrage. At the global level, as between major economic-nationalist actors like China, the US, India and the European Union, it makes sense to hedge with presences in at least two, navigating the relationship in each market among affirmative industrial and financial policy, protection, and market-based competitiveness. (A simpler way to do this, of course, is to invest in multinationals and funds with the proven capacity to do this kind of multi-market navigation themselves.) Beyond that, in countries like Nigeria and Ethiopia, which aim at economic sovereignty but lack much of what is necessary to achieve it, there are opportunities in the state-favored sectors themselves, the import and domestic sectors that provide the necessary inputs (such as electricity and raw materials), and the export sectors that ultimately make imports possible.

Little of this was featured in business school and Adam Smith would be appalled, but for the time being economic nationalism is the way of the world. 

The Nine Lives of Economic Nationalism – Part Three

Part one of this series discussed the roots of modern economic nationalism in anti-imperialism, then went on to consider how US-Chinese economic nationalism has scrambled established ideas about both empire and economics. Part two examined two cases in Africa: the first involved two formerly colonized countries (India and China) competing for dominance of resource extraction in other formerly colonized countries; the second focused on the successful import-substitution (oil refining, cement, fertilizer) companies of Nigeria’s Aliko Dongate and his new, $2.5 billion fertilizer-production deal with Ethiopia. In both posts, the through-line was the defense of national economic sovereignty in a world deeply interconnected through trade.

The third post in the series looks at the blowback created by US-China economic nationalism.

The first case of blowback must surely be the US reaction to Made in China 2025 itself. The original Chinese program was a sovereignty play. China did not want its economic future (green energy, smart manufacturing, biotech, etc.) to be dominated by US companies with massive first-mover and other advantages. Made in China 2025 was a project aimed at economic self-determination. It did not cause much concern at first in the US: President Barack Obama met China’s President Xi Jinping for positive talks in 2016, after the project had been launched, and visited him again in Beijing in 2017 after leaving office. But Trump’s signature economic nationalism, once he settled into the White House in 2017, gradually fastened onto Made in China 2025 as a legitimizing opponent. Much of corporate America and the Democratic Party went along with this, for reasons of their own. The economic nationalism of a still relatively poor country — Chinese GDP per capita in 2015 was less than a third of what it would be in 2025 — begat the economic nationalism of the dominant economy in the world.

The US elaboration of economic nationalism in reaction to, and often in imitation of, Chinese economic nationalism inspired similar reactions elsewhere, most notably in the world’s most populous nation, India. In May 2020, while Trump was still in office, Prime Minister Narendra Modi launched a Made in India campaign. He made free use of a term, swadeshi, deeply resonant of the anti-imperial movement a century before. It was probably Modi’s move, combined with the breakout of border conflict with China (also May 2020) and the ensuing expulsion of Chinese tech companies from the Indian networks they mostly built, that led China to reframe Made in China 2025 in a longer history of anti-imperialism and attempt to rival India as a leader of the Global South.

The die was cast. An economic nationalism, including import substitution and “food sovereignty,” that had seemingly left the world stage in the early 1970s was back, led by the two dominant economies in the world and its most populous nation.

At the same time, the US, China and India all knew that actual isolation from the global economy was impossible in any imaginable near term. Modi’s atmanirbhar (“self-reliance”) coincided with much closer relations with the US and US companies, for example, including military and tech cooperation, right up to Trump’s sudden and wrenching disenchantment with India in August of this year. US economic nationalism was also not just about autonomy in North America. It involved, for example, throttling Chinese export industries and doing whatever was necessary for “locking in dollar supremacy,” in Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent’s words, to preserve “extraterritorial power.” Similarly, Chinese self-reliance (zili gongsheng) developed alongside a lengthening list of quite internationalist projects, from the Belt and Road Initiative to promoting the Shanghai Cooperation Organization as a pseudo-NATO. Each of these large economic powers preached economic nationalism but also practiced internationalisms of various kinds and showed no actual desire to stay contentedly within its borders tending its own gardens.

Yet if major-economy economic nationalism in practice had a strong internationalist cast, it was nonetheless nationalistic in terms of the barriers erected against foreign participation in domestic economies. It was also exceedingly transactional, before Trump’s re-election and all the more so after. Friendly meetings at the beginning of September of this year among Modi, Putin, and Xi were often spun — not least by China — as evidence of an emerging international unity when faced with US trade and security policies. But there were no principles involved beyond sovereignty itself, and each of these actors, as well as Trump, has shown himself able to switch sides at will, and to switch back again.

So the sensible conclusion for countries in the rest of the world is to avoid alignment with any of these changeable states and to pursue their own self-sufficiency (“economic sovereignty”) — because you really never do know any more when your foreign supply chains will be reshaped by political policies over which you have no influence.

Economic nationalism fosters more economic nationalism. The unpredictability created by economic nationalism among major players — including the European Union with its quest for “autonomy” and resistance to becoming a US tech “colony” — has come to outweigh the profound efficiency costs. Better to slog through building your own fertilizer or cement industry or AI “stack” than give up what autonomy you have to politicized global markets.

The fourth and final post in this series will consider the future of economic nationalism.

The Nine Lives of Economic Nationalism – Part Two

Part one of this post discussed the roots of modern economic nationalism in anti-imperialism, then went on to consider how US and Chinese policies of economic nationalism over the past decade have scrambled established ideas about both empire and economics. The US-China model of economic nationalism, combining a desire for economic autonomy within the state’s borders and one for the projection of economic power outside them, has been embraced by powers both formerly imperial and formerly colonized. It is an episode in a very long history.

Two recent developments exemplify this. The first has to do with Indian-Chinese competition and Africa. India (and others ) now aims at securing African resources to compete with, and avoid dependence on, China. Writing in The Hindu, Samir Bhattacharya of the Observer Research Foundation argued, “African nations are growingly asserting their rights to value-added development. The old model of raw resource extraction in exchange for infrastructure or investments is no longer tenable in a region demanding agency, accountability, and economic sovereignty. … By challenging opaque contracts, enforcing environmental standards, and demanding value addition, they are redrawing the terms of engagement. If these trends continue, African countries are poised to reshape the global supply chain for minerals and their role within it, moving from exporters of raw materials to integral partners in the emerging green economy. This change would come at the expense of China’s long-standing dominance in the African mining sector.”

Bhattacharya neglected to mention that competing with China to secure African raw materials for Indian industries, with the goal of ending Chinese dominance of African mining, is Indian policy. And that policy is not solely motivated by a wish to help African nations achieve greater “agency” and economic sovereignty. Nurturing the economic sovereignty of Ghana or the Democratic Republic of Congo is not in itself a leading goal for Indian policy. Nonetheless, the language is important because it marks the enduring significance of anti-imperial politics when negotiating contracts with African states — and because it shows two former very large colonized nations competing to show which is less imperial in its motivations than the other. They would not be bothering to do that if it didn’t promise to improve business.

A century and a half ago, empires themselves competed in roughly this way, each claiming to be more liberal than its competitors — or, in the case of the Japanese empire circa 1910, claiming to be the champion of other non-white peoples, or at least Asian peoples, in rallying “the yellow races against the white as a common enemy,” as a Japanese professor put it in 1918. China and India in Africa today are marketing themselves in ways that stretch back to the late 19th century.

Of course, from an economic-nationalism perspective, on the ground in Lagos or Kinshasa, the key point is not to find more comrades for a united anti-imperialist front but to secure investment that can bring local production out of the raw-materials trap and advance it up the value chain. Just as Americans on both continents in 1800 did not want London, Lisbon or Madrid to keep them forever digging in the mines, felling the forests or laboring on export-oriented farms, the inhabitants of less-developed countries today do not want only to produce petroleum or cocoa or strategic minerals for refinement elsewhere. But actual transfers of intellectual capital, such as production methods, are not simple or easy. They often require a great deal of “agency” from local actors. Such actors will not always be loyal followers of mainstream economic theory.

A remarkable recent example is the deal struck at the end of August between Dangote Group, of Nigeria, and the government of Ethiopia. The story of Aliko Dangote, sometimes called the richest black man in the world, is well known, but in brief: Born in 1957 to a wealthy business family, Dangote was educated in a madrasa and public schools, then at Cairo’s celebrated Al-Azhar University. He began importing cement to Nigeria in the 1970s but his biggest business was in sugar refining. He formed the idea that he would lead in freeing Nigeria, and perhaps Africa, from dependence on imported refined materials — the classic post-imperial goal. When a friend became president of Nigeria, Dangote seized the moment. He acquired formerly state-owned cement plants and established a highly successful cement business, expanding to production elsewhere in Africa. His efforts were self-consciously mocking, in a gentle way, the Smithian economic doctrine that there was no point in Nigeria developing its own cement industry because it could import cement from countries that already excelled at cement production. Such “import substitution,” popular in the 1960s, had become deeply out of international favor. Dangote did it anyway and was hugely successful. By 2024 Nigeria was a net exporter of cement.

Petroleum is the biggest industry in Nigeria, but it has long been mainly a matter of exporting raw materials for refinement elsewhere. Dangote became a major player in oil refining, such that in 2024 Nigeria was a net exporter of petroleum products for the first time in decades. His other major sector has been fertilizer, which uses natural gas as its main input. Nigeria has immense natural-gas deposits. The $2.5 billion deal with Ethiopia last month involves Dangote (with a 60% share) developing Ethiopia’s fertilizer capacity using Ethiopian natural gas.

On X, Ethiopia’s prime minister, Abiy Ahmed, framed the deal as one ensuring “food sovereignty” and “food security.” Ethiopia currently enjoys neither, and the Trump administration’s cuts in food aid — Ethiopia had been the single largest recipient — made matters worse.

“Food sovereignty” has been a recurring issue in both US and, especially, Chinese economic nationalism. Now that their rivalry has so disrupted international markets, the reliability of food imports has gone down for everyone. The same is true of strategic-minerals imports, now such an important focus of Indian Africa policy. Indeed, one could say that US-China economic nationalism has created a world of economic nationalisms. The repudiated “import substitution” of yesteryear has returned, not from preference (or ideology) but from a necessity created principally, if unintentionally, by the policy decisions of the world’s two largest economies. One nearly certain result will be increased production outside of the US and China that will provide new competition to those dominant countries.

The next post in this series will look at how economic nationalism came to dominate the international scene.

The Nine Lives of Economic Nationalism – Part One of Four

To say that economists think poorly of US President Donald Trump’s economic policies is to understate matters. Most see him as an unhappy combination of a 19th-hole savant and that student — there is one in every classroom — who insists on the rationality and inevitability of socialism. President Trump differs from the student in that his own guiding star is economic nationalism rather than socialism.

But, as many have pointed out since the administration decided to take a 10 percent stake in Intel and cull 15 percent of Nvidia’s and AMD’s China revenues, economic nationalism and socialism are not so far apart. Each leans toward state self-sufficiency and tends to involve state control of the means of production. Both involve the state imposing its priorities on the market. Economists since Adam Smith in The Wealth of Nations (1776) have seen such state control as less efficient than market allocation of resources. Thus, in part, economists’ anxieties about Trump policy. 

This four-part series will look at how economic nationalism has persisted despite its theoretical irrationality. The question is significant for investors because investments are often based on assumptions about economic maximization in free markets. Economic nationalism confounds such assumptions and complicates investment. It might also make the global economy’s “weaponized interdependence,” in Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman’s phrase, exceptionally dangerous. This series tries to assess that threat.

Adam Smith argued that, whether inside a state or between states, producers should specialize in what they already do best. Trade would then ensure that the best products at the lowest prices would reach customers and the overall economy would produce the most and best for least. Restraining trade would by definition reduce efficiency.

That was a leading reason why Smith and most economists after him were anti-imperialist. To take over territory, people and resources and bend them to making things the imperial center wanted, rather than what they might do best, ran contrary to market economics. The American revolutions, from Buenos Aires to Haiti to Boston, were led by people who wanted to take control of production away from empires. Settler colonialism was, in this sense, a school for radicalism.

It was also, of course, a school for economic nationalism. Newly ex-colonial states like the US appreciated that their former masters had a head start in developing the most productive technologies and business methods. The point of anti-imperial revolution circa 1800 was not simply to exchange formal domination for informal subordination by superior economies. Economic nationalism was animated by the desire for sovereignty: the business of states, so to speak, rather than of businesses. Restraints on trade, in the service of economic nationalism, always operated alongside their opposite, namely free trade. This was true in the 18th century as it is today. It was a feature, not a bug, of modernity.

The first Trump administration, running contrary to modern economic theory, embraced such an economic nationalism and the restraints on trade designed to advance it. The proximate cause was China and its set of policies gathered under the name of Made in China 2025 (launched in 2015). If the state-controlled 18 percent of humanity known as China was going to structure its economy to further its own economic nationalism, then the US was going to do the same. Tellingly, in arriving at Made in China 2025, Chinese economic thought took the anti-imperial US economy of the late 19th century as one model in combining restraints on trade with a conditional embrace of free-market forces, both aimed at the political goal of economic sovereignty and the historical goal of catching up to the modern world’s first movers, which were primarily empires. (Industrializing, imperial Japan circa 1890, one of whose aims was unfortunately supremacy over imperial China, was a similar and powerful model, especially for non-Europeans.)

As Trump’s and then Joe Biden’s economic policies developed, it became clear that China and the US were jointly reconfiguring the global economy to advance their respective economic nationalisms. What neither the US nor China seems to have anticipated was that this dynamic would solidify among other large economies as well, from the European Union to India, to create the global economy we have now, raising up sovereignty and self-sufficiency at the sacrifice of overall economic efficiency. Such an economy is inherently conflictual as well as inefficient. Indeed Adam Smith’s economics was an important inspiration for 19th-century peace movements: a reduction in economic sovereignty was thought to create an interdependence and frequency of cross-border exchange that would tend to reduce interstate conflict. Smith would have seen today’s worldwide rise in military spending and investment as a dead weight on the economy. He would have seen today’s goal of economic self-sufficiency as hopeless and misguided. But the relationship between economic nationalism and economics is complicated. Businesses of many different kinds now find they have to negotiate both simultaneously.

The next post will look at two recent examples of how complicated, and unexpected, such negotiations can be.

Sputnik, AI, and the Nature of Victory

The US foreign-policy community has been gathering itself around the goal of winning the AI race against China. The problem is that defining “winning” is not at all easy. If winning consists of US companies, in cooperation with the US government, enjoying a monopoly on the best AI technology for some extended period — which does seem to be what is expected — SIG’s view is that winning is nearly impossible. The only way the US could come close is by sharing technology within some type of alliance. But that would entail non-American companies within the alliance having revenues and profits of their own. The US and US companies cannot “win” this alone.

As SIGnal has emphasized before, digital technology has been taking the world’s defense sectors by surprise for some 30 years. Whether it is low-earth-orbit satellite swarms, drones or navigational improvements, technology developed for one use becomes a military must-have for security uses. Proliferation is built into such a process. Military hardware needs software; software lends itself to proliferation, theft, imitation, and improvement. Artificial-intelligence software is no different.

Containment of American AI within US boundaries goes against the nature of the 21st-century technology industry. Most innovation comes from the private sector, whose ability to maximize profit and minimize costs depends on a global marketplace for products and labor. The defense sector is not the private sector but a curious public-private blend. American defense companies do sell a lot to overseas customers, but the customer whose needs shape the greater part of production is the US government. Proliferation of American defense contractors’ products, including software and data, is carefully regulated. Workers need to get government clearances. Contracts have to conform to official bureaucratic standards. There is plenty of red tape. The payoff for defense companies has been the security of long-term contracts and a relatively high level of protection from competition — notably from foreign competition.  The main downside is that profits from such quasi-public business, in the absence of corruption and favoritism, are limited by the obligation of Congress to ensure that government is not over-spending. Innovation within the defense sector thus seems to come up against natural limits. That is not the case in the private sector, which is why so much military innovation comes from outside the defense sector and commonly occurs for reasons that have nothing to do with defense.

This is abundantly true of AI innovation. If the US government wanted to make AI innovation henceforth a government-controlled process, it would amount to turning AI companies into defense companies — which would remove much of their incentive for innovation, defeating the purpose of the exercise. It would not be much of a victory in the race for AI dominance.

By contrast, operating with trusted partner countries would have some of the advantages of globalization — multiple labor and consumer markets to choose from — while preserving the goal of excluding China and other antagonists. Of course, forming some sort of digital alliance structure has been a US goal since the middle of the first Trump administration. Results have been mixed. There has been a contradiction at their core: The US wants partners but insists on being the dominant one. That kind of dominance cannot work in the case of private-sector-led technology innovation.

Fortunately US tech companies, although in their own ways just as hungry for dominance as the US government, have become accustomed in the last decade to competing in markets with foreign companies and not always winning. They have invested huge amounts in overseas markets: to pay suppliers, establish their own production, or attract customers but also to take advantage of the huge and growing innovation ecology that exists outside the United States. And foreign governments and private competitors have gotten used to them as well. The degree to which US tech companies can be profitably active in non-American markets without dominating them is an example of a type of loose alliance. The struggle with China is an important shaping factor but it does not distort everything it touches.

Learning from the success of this private-sector-led approach to the US-China tech contest could lead to a public-sector variant that could help control AI proliferation while accepting that winning the AI race with China, in the winner-take-all sense, cannot be done. A different type of victory might be possible though. After all, when the US, following the Soviets’ shocking Sputnik launch in 1957, went all out to win “the space race” against the USSR, it did not so much prevail as demonstrate its ability to continue to innovate at a pace the Soviet Union could not match. The result, in 1975, was American and Soviet astronauts living together in the International Space Station (as Russians and Americans still do) and the growth of an international scientific subculture that played an important role in bringing the Soviet experiment in oppressive governance to a close.   

Reversion to Mean

By Dee Smith

About a decade ago, we entered into a period of escalating social and political chaos, increasingly “hot” geopolitical conflict, and growing economic crises — a time that seems uncharacteristic given the previous decades. Unfortunately, the current period may represent a return to the norms of human history. The relatively peaceful, prosperous time we lived through may have been the deviation.

While not halcyon days, the 70 years after 1945 were a period in which great-power conflict was avoided, more than a billion people were lifted out of poverty, life expectancy — due to advances in sanitation, medicine, and living conditions — increased significantly, and norms regarding the value of human life changed dramatically. Murder, for example, was very common in most societies 200 years ago as a means of “solving problems.” Today, it is much less so.

The financial stability of recent decades was also new. There were no true global depressions, and highly disruptive events like sovereign defaults by major economies were absent. This was not true in the past.

Simply put, this relative economic stability was purchased by an overwhelming surfeit of debt. Two occasions on which this debt was used stand out: to rescue institutions deemed “too big to fail” in the financial crisis of 2008, and to stabilize world economies during the Covid pandemic. But debt has mounted continuously in most countries. In the US, public (government) debt is over $36 trillion. Private US debt is between $20 trillion and $30 trillion, depending on how it is counted. The extreme efforts to avert financial disasters mean that markets have never been allowed to clear. Like a forest in which fires are suppressed and undergrowth is never cleared by smaller burns, the fire, when it comes, may be cataclysmic.

After many years of increases in democratic governance in the 20th century, the 21st is seeing considerable backsliding. According to Transparency International:

In every region of the world, democracy is under attack by populist leaders and groups that reject pluralism and demand unchecked power to advance the particular interests of their supporters, usually at the expense of minorities and other perceived foes.

The form of democracy endures. In 2024, more people voted in elections than ever before in history. But with the rise of illiberal democracies, many countries are preserving the form but not the substance of democracy as it has been defined over the past 250 years. It is of particular interest that young people in many places are increasingly dissatisfied with democracy.

Why is all this happening? There are many interacting reasons, but I would suggest that four factors should be singled out.

First, as I have written before, are the broken promises so many people perceive in their lives. They feel that they played by the rules and were promised that their lives would improve and their children’s lives would be even better than their own. If anyone reading this sincerely believes this now, I would be surprised.

Second, the underlying conviction that economic well-being is the primary motivation of almost everyone and the most reliable source of human happiness — and that humans are rational self-interested agents who pursue and maximize their own well-being. This is the basis of not only capitalism, but also socialism and communism.

But, as it turns out, Marx was wrong in his estimation that economics is the moving force of history. It could rather be said that economic forces are moving history away from economics and toward identity politics. As people move or are moved en masse for jobs and economic production, community structures come apart, engendering an urgent need for identity. That need frequently takes the form of a desire to belong to some group that excludes others (social, religious, political, economic, even place-based).

A third factor is technology, particularly the technology of connectivity, and most particularly, mobile visual connectivity (smart phones, tablets, etc.). Not only do these devices demonstrably increase loneliness and affect cognition, as continues to be shown in studies, they also contribute two additional, crucial elements. The first is transparency. People now are intimately aware of how other people live to an extent that has never occurred previously. Whether such accounts are exaggerated, false, or accurate doesn’t matter much, the effects are often the same: envy, sadness, depression, and anger.

Second, mobile visual connectivity allows people with similar interests and thoughts —  including politically aggressive and polarizing ideas or destructive and self-destructive desires — to find one another, create relationships, share and develop ideas, and then act on them. It is perhaps most important that they are all able to do this from a distance and almost instantly. In the past, it was much more difficult for people whose thoughts were outside the norm to find one another and act in concert.

Fourth, much of the avoidance of major wars during the past 8 decades was due to the so-called Pax Americana, a system imposed on the world by the United States and made possible by American military power. Recently, with changes in military technology and the rise of other powers as near peers in military terms, this superiority begun to erode. Other factors are contributing to the eclipse of the Pax Americana, especially the debt load mentioned above. For the first time, the US last year spent more on government debt service than on its military.

All of these factors augur a more conflictual, impoverished, and insecure world. In other words, reversion to the conditions of most of human history. Perhaps some change or series of changes can avert this fate, and we should hope that they do. But if trends continue on their current path, life may be very different.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse – Part 6

by Dee Smith

We have quite recently left a period of history that was anomalous in several important ways. To understand what is happening now, it is essential to be aware of this and to understand how it is changing.

For the past 25 years, we have been moving from a period of relative quiescence into a period with very different characteristics. In some ways, this represents a return to unhappy norms of human history. In other ways, it represents a radical departure. But in all ways, it is leading to a very different world: one that is becoming less and less familiar, more and more quickly.

Unfortunately, many of the changes underway have produced or could produce very unpleasant and threatening outcomes. The series has looked at a few of these trends, but many cannot be included for obvious reasons of space. I have given short shrift to genetic engineering and its twin children, bio-error and bio-terror. And to AI, to resource depletion, to population and demographic changes. And to trans-national crime, the rise of authoritarianism and nationalism. And perhaps the most significant omissions: the twin potentially existential threats of climate change and environmental degradation.

Especially when considered in combination, these departures from perceived norms of the last half of the 20th century also represent a major, mass psychological problem. First, we are attuned, by both biological and cultural evolution, to expect that the near future will be like the recent past. Change was very slow through much of human pre-history. This expectation of continuity is now called recency bias and is closely related to the problem of induction in philosophy. Because we expect things essentially to remain the same, we are very alarmed when they change abruptly. But many major changes are often very abrupt. What this means is that we are unprepared to envision and come to terms with, let alone navigate, what is hurtling toward us with accelerating velocity — in fact, what is already happening. Our ability to grasp where change is leading, even change we see widespread evidence of, is woefully inadequate.

Second, the post-WWII period is commonly remembered now as a golden era that has since been lost. We want to think that the past was better and can be regained. The reason this is a mass problem is that in fact, for those of us who lived through it, the postwar period was enormously stressful. The US and the Soviet Union had arsenals trained on each other that could destroy human civilization several times over (and there were several close calls). There was also a stream of smaller conflicts and crises, often proxy wars engaged in by the two superpowers. This was not a short list. Ranging from Somalia to the Congo, from the Balkans to Iran, and from Peru to, of course, Iraq, many also featured repeating cycles of violence and conflict.

When the Cold War finally ended, social expectations were shaped by the  “long decade” between the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the World Trade Center attacks in 2001, a period during which almost everyone, in the West at least, fooled themselves into believing that we had entered a new, optimistic, and peaceful era — Francis Fukuyama’s “end of history”.  

The post-war half-century was indeed one of positive social and economic change in which millions of lives were improved markedly. People in many (but certainly not all) parts of the world today live with advantages — luxuries, even — unimaginable even to royalty 500 years ago. To give just a few examples: we mostly do not suffer from unremitting pain, as people once did from something as simple as an infected tooth. Many today have clean drinking water most of the time. We have such a high-calorie diet that obesity has become a huge problem, one that — again through more technology — is beginning to be addressed by pharmaceuticals.

The relative political and economic stability of the post-war period enabled these trends to advance dramatically. Eventually, despite all the conflicts and problems, more than a billion people were pulled out of extreme poverty. And the relative social quiescence extended to many aspects of life in general. Murder, for example, was very frequent globally 100 years ago; now it is much less so in most societies.

Strangely, the relative quiescence of this period included the climate as well. Most of the 20th century was fairly stable and predictable from a climate standpoint. This stability, combined with the technologies of the green revolution, allowed modern society to feed many more people that anyone had ever imagined. Although the increased human production of greenhouse gases (GHG) began to escalate in the 19th century, the concentrations were too low to have noticeable climate effects. And even as the levels increased in the 20th century, the parallel escalating injection of aerosol pollutants into the atmosphere from industrial civilization, which reflect sunlight, more or less balanced out the effects of increasing carbon and other GHGs. Global temperatures not only did not rise, in some decades they fell. But that ended around 1980, and a key cause was the global — and successful — effort to dramatically reduce air pollution. There was a kind of Faustian bargain to this: reducing industrial aerosol pollution (which was sickening and killing people) removed the “cap” it had placed on warming from GHGs.

And that is a prime example of unintended consequences, a concept key to understanding what is happening today.

The Uses of “Overcapacity”

Since US Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen’s visit to China in April 2024, during which she focused on “China’s industrial overcapacity,” the belief has settled in that China’s protection of its own market and mercantile approach to everyone else’s markets amounts to a massive unfair trade practice based on state-sponsored hyperproduction. Yellen and the European Union both focused on green-economy sectors (solar panels, electric vehicles), conjuring a scenario in which China would underprice the Western green economy to such an extent that it would never develop, giving China a geo-economic stranglehold on the post-carbon future. At that point, economic policy began to seem actually immoral. SIG’s view is that this popular argument is partial at best and certainly misleading.

Strictly speaking, “overcapacity” means having a production capacity in excess of demand. It is measured by the capacity-utilization rate. In an efficient, market-based economy capacity utilization should be around 80 percent. In China’s electric-vehicle industry, the capacity utilization rate is much higher than that, which means that the sector has the opposite of overcapacity. There is enough demand, domestic and international, for China’s biggest electric-vehicle maker (and largest private employer), BYD, to operate at close to 100% capacity. It is true that capacity-utilization rates  in China’s solar-panel industry are much lower, but that tends to depress prices (in order to stimulate demand). Affordable Chinese solar panels have been the key to the spread of solar-panel usage across the globe, speeding the green transition and stimulating the growth of panel-installation and maintenance industries. With cheap panels available, the cost of solar energy in the US dropped 40 percent over the past decade, and solar’s share of electrical power generation has gone from 0.1 percent in 2010 to 6 percent.

The current narrative on Chinese overcapacity also overemphasizes the China part. The three leading electric-vehicle exporters in China are BYD, SAIC, and  … Tesla. BYD’s largest shareholder for years has been Berkshire Hathaway. Pension-fund favorite BlackRock has also been a major and long-time shareholder. BYD certainly did receive government incentives for EV development and production but the benefits of its ensuing success did not only accrue to China or the Chinese.

The case of state-owned SAIC might seem simpler. However, SAIC and its state-owned competitor FAW have both been leaders in joining with Western automakers. There are FAW-Toyota and FAW-Volkswagen, along with SAIC-GM-Wuling, SAIC-GM, and SAIC-Volkswagen. These ventures, many begun in the 1990s, were created to bring Japanese, German, and American internal-combustion-engine manufacturing technology and expertise into Chinese industry, and to get Chinese-market access for the Western partners. FAW-Volkswagen was second to BYD in 2023 car sales in China. Other similar joint ventures (SAIC-Volkswagen, GAC-Toyota, SAIC-GM, FAW-Toyota) were in the top 10.

These corporate relationships have changed over time. Non-Chinese venture partners today learn at least as much as their Chinese counterparts do from working together. That process occurs with green companies as well. SAIC-GM-Wuling is third in the 2023 ranking of Chinese sales of new-energy vehicles (NEVs, which includes battery electric vehicles and plug-in hybrids), after Tesla and market leader BYD.

In short, Western and Japanese multinationals and investors have been part of, and have benefitted from, the growth of Chinese production and consumption that is behind the charge of overcapacity.

That is not so true of these sectors in countries like India, Brazil, or Turkey. They have perhaps piggy-backed on the overcapacity narrative, joining “the chorus of naysayers voicing concerns over China’s overcapacity conundrum,” as Bloomberg put it. The number of investigations brought by China’s trading partners against it more than doubled from 2023 to 2024 (from 69 to 160). Among the 28 trading partners involved, developing countries played an unusually large role. The major sources of complaint in 2024 were, in order of importance, India, the EU, Brazil, and the US, rather drawing into question BRICS solidarity, but Thailand, Peru, and Chinese ally Pakistan were also active. A strikingly high number of cases were brought after Yellen’s China visit and the related publicity given to overcapacity.

What is going on? States are using tariffs, non-tariff trade barriers, dumping complaints, and so on partly because of genuine concerns about unfair trade practices, partly in response to political pressure from domestic sources, and partly to force Chinese companies (including those with Western and Japanese investors or partners) to relocate manufacturing from China to their own territories, transfer technology to their own industries, and create jobs for their own citizens. The charge of overcapacity, especially in green industries like electric-vehicle production, gives a moral sheen to the unedifying process of using consumers as hostages to force in-country location of production. It is a hard pill for China to swallow. China has ample unemployment problems of its own. But the successes of Chinese manufacturing lead competing countries to desperate measures, particularly as US-China decoupling and US industrial policy force Chinese companies into less lucrative markets.

Ultimately this could have the effect of diffusing green-economy production and technology, notably in poorer manufacturing countries. That ought to be good for the planet. It can at least be good for investors as it creates opportunities that are not subject to the increasingly capricious US-China conflict.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse, Part 5

by Dee Smith

The severe economic crisis of 2008 led to the crumbling of another pillar of American and Western power. The so-called wizards of Wall Street had not anticipated the crisis and were only able to contain it, partially, with enormous collateral damage and repercussions felt to this day.

Central to the 2008 crisis was the creation of complex new financial products known as derivatives and including collateralized debt obligations (CDOs). These were based on highly sophisticated mathematical models, had astonishing levels of risk, were poorly understood even by those who used them, and were placed in a market characterized by a boom mentality, with hyper-intense competition animated by a fear of missing out (FOMO). CDOs and the like grouped together what had been illiquid assets, particularly US home mortgages, and “derived” (hence the term derivatives) from them liquid—that is, tradable—securities. These were heavily exchanged. The entire edifice collapsed, with dire repercussions reaching from sovereign states to investment banks to individuals.

 At that point, the post-Cold War global Washington Consensus (that economic development and political activity should follow the US model) was mortally wounded. It was seen to be deficient, even deceptive, in its assumptions. And it became clear to Americans themselves that their own faith in the system seemed unwarranted.

Blame has accrued to the investor class of asset owners and asset managers. But is this really a fair assessment? Isn’t almost everyone in effect an asset owner? Doesn’t everyone want more money, all the time? Doesn’t every retiree want more, even when this exceeds what can readily (or even realistically) be produced from returns on the assets underlying their pensions and 401ks? If you are going to blame greed, then blame has to be apportioned very widely. The fund managers have essentially been working for all of us. We are all to blame.

A long decade later, the COVID-19 pandemic resulted in a feeding frenzy of misinformation and disinformation, largely deployed for political preservation. The idea that COVID originated from wild animals rather than from a lab leak is still wielded politically by the Chinese government (while they refuse to release information that could demonstrate it one way or the other). And misinformation came from sources that were supposed to be trustworthy. For example, the World Health Organization said at the beginning of the pandemic that Covid was NOT transmitted through the air (they capitalized “not”), and early efforts focused on sanitizing surfaces when, in fact, the vast majority of transmissions are airborne. It took 2 years and far too many deaths to correct this misinformation.

The central point is that all of this has coalesced into a disdain for expertise: financial, political, medical, scientific, even religious.

People see that, over and over, experts and leaders make pronouncements that soon prove to be inaccurate at best, or outright lies at worst. Increasingly, people deduce from this that they should not trust or believe experts and leaders at all.

The problem is not that science is unsure and proceeds by creating hypotheses and testing them to try to falsify or verify them. That is the only way it could function. Science is by its nature a work in progress. It is the best method we have for producing valid and effective information.

The problem is that leaders and experts make overstated or even false claims to establish and buttress their own authority, and then try to stake a claim to protect their individual and collective territory — while framing alternative ideas as threats. The fundamental issue with the early WHO’s response to COVID was not just that it presented inaccurate information. It was that it did not admit that it really did not know and that the information was tentative. This entire phenomenon of overstated pronouncements is made even worse by experts trying to hide the fact that they have changed their minds when they are forced by events to do so.

Academia these days provides severe examples of all these tendencies. Over the course of working with and leading advisory boards for academic institutions, I have experienced situations where certain things were not permitted to be said or to happen because they were seen to be against the way the wind was blowing at a given place and time. I was actually in one situation where the director of a program was insisting on preventing a qualified speaker from presenting because of that speaker’s background. He finally told me: “Listen, I have children and a family to support, and I cannot put my job at risk even though I agree in principle he should speak.” Could I ask him to endanger his family? Needless to say, that speaker did not deliver his talk. This occurs on both the left and the right, which is why the term “woke” is at best incomplete.

I mention this to adduce a key reason why this kind of situation so often occurs. It is not necessarily personal adherence to an ideology. It is fear of retribution from one’s colleagues and administrative superiors, masquerading as fealty to one set of ideas or another. The noisy minorities expressing grievances to advance their interests (at both ends of the political spectrum) not only yell louder than the silent majority, but they threaten the spirit of free inquiry on which Western academic life has for centuries been based. If it lasts, this is a sea-change.

A View from the Gulf - Part 1 of 3

What do artificial intelligence, national identity, family values, and ethno-cultural tolerance have to do with each other? They provide interlocking means toward the goal of having an adequate labor supply for a coherent nation in a globalized world. How this works is perhaps nowhere clearer than in the United Arab Emirates. This three-part series will discuss the UAE based on conversations there during a recent visit. The first part will look more at the emirates in domestic terms; the second will place them in geoeconomic context; the final post will assess the implications of the emirates for the wider re-networking of globalization. The implications for investors are considerable. Understanding the re-networking of globalization is key to investing in it successfully, and for a variety of reasons the nature of this re-networking is revealed with particular clarity in the UAE.

The usual narrative one hears about UAE history stresses that the emirates once thrived on the trade in pearls. When artificial pearls were invented, the emitates’ economy collapsed. When oil and gas were discovered in 1958, the emirates got a precious second chance at developing a modern economy. Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan, the emir of Abu Dhabi, sought to join the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) in 1967. Sheikh Zayed, in collaboration with Sheikh Rashid bin Saeed al Maktoum, emir of Dubai, formed a federation of six emirates in 1971, which immediately became a member of OPEC. A seventh emirate, Ras al Khaimah, joined the initial six the following year. The UAE took on its current form, dominated by Abu Dhabi and Dubai with the emirate of Sharjah as the third power in the federation.

The core purpose of OPEC was to resist control by the industrialized, and often formerly imperial, powers that had the technology, expertise, and capital to develop oil and gas resources. Britain had dominated the emirates before withdrawing east of Suez in 1968, and the formative impulse of emirati federation was anti-imperial and developmental. The distinctive dynamism of the emirates is rooted in the fact that Dubai, while powerful, has few natural resources: 94% of emirati oil is in Abu Dhabi, which became the capital of the UAE. As a trading economy, Dubai led in diversifying the UAE’s development away from dependence on oil and gas. The relationship between Abu Dhabi and Dubai is often compared to that between Washington and New York, while the most frequently cited model for the UAE as a whole is Singapore.

The crucial point is that the UAE’s core political and economic driver was to grow through negotiating power with and among major industrialized countries that needed its petroleum resources to fuel their own development. To do so, it needed not only luck and skill but a labor force well beyond the capacity of a country with a population of roughly 300,000 in the 1970s. So it imported what it needed, usually on a contract basis and particularly from India, with which the emirates had long-standing commercial ties. The working conditions of this imported working class were often harrowing.

The country grew. Today the UAE’s population is over 10 million. About 10 percent are emiratis, Another 3 million are of Indian descent, a further million from elsewhere in South Asia. Emiratis grow up on Bollywood films. Mumbai is a two-hour flight away; it takes twice that time to reach Beirut. The emirates are effectively multicultural, with a decided orientation toward South Asia. This makes them different from other Persian Gulf cultures, and is a key to their prosperity, along with a commercial language and institutions taken over from imperial Britain and extended through relations with yet another former British colonial nation built on imported labor, often under very harrowing conditions indeed, the United States.

 As a minority in their own country, the emiratis kept tight control over their own political and economic power, led by a highly effective monarchical aristocracy accustomed to sharing out decision-making and commercial rewards. Intermarriage with non-emiratis was – as emiratis today tell the story – more common into the 1990s that it is now. The nature of emirati identity is a live issue, although not one that is easily aired in public discussion. Membership in emirati families brings privileges such as free land and healthcare. It also brings obligations of fealty to the monarchy, which can and does, for example, forbid travel by emiratis to states at variance with UAE policy. A variety of people can gain UAE residence permits and, increasingly, passports, but actual emirati-ness is recorded in a “family book” and conveys an identity and social power beyond citizenship.

To deal with the resulting tensions, the UAE has, among other measures, empowered emirati women and stressed productivity and discipline among emirati youth, particularly through subsidized education (including at top international institutions), military service, and sport. (Government ministries compete against each other in sports leagues.) Senior emirati ministers and other officials are strikingly young and very often female. The empowerment of women has the usual implications for overall fertility, and a notable aspect of government policy is a growing emphasis on pro-family measures. The three emphases of recent UAE strategic policy—AI, family, and national identity – represent an attempt to ensure and extend emiratis’ future as the core population of a country in which they are highly likely to remain a minority.

So, too, does the government’s emphasis on diversity, in several senses. Alongside a ministry for national identity is a ministry for tolerance. This only appears to be a paradox. To judge from numerous conversations with UAE officials and other emiratis as well as expatriates – an inadequate term for 90 percent of the population – the UAE leadership is keenly aware that the country can continue to thrive only through the tolerance of diverse religions and cultures. Managing a dynamic relationship between nationalism and internationalism might not be to every emirati’s taste but it is essential to survival, whether cultural, military, or economic. But especially, perhaps above all, economic: the UAE has enshrined in its basic strategy documents a commitment to private-sector-led development, and the government is trying every means to get young emiratis into private positions rather than having them follow the easier path of government service.

The next post will look at how the UAE is using this distinctive combination of national identity and market-driven economics to drive its political-economic growth.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse, Part 4

By Dee Smith

Several of the most important “pillars” supporting U.S. influence and power are now in danger of falling apart.

As noted earlier in this series, the U.S. was effectively the guarantor of global stability from the end of World War II until around 2010-2015. And a key reason it could do this was that the U.S. had unquestioned military superiority.

Not long ago, I was speaking to a senior military officer in an important (friendly) developing nation. He recounted how, 15 or 20 years ago, it was widely discussed among his peers in various countries that “you just don’t want to tangle with the U.S.—you will come off on the bad end of it.” This is why the U.S. could essentially send an aircraft carrier off the shore of a country and change its internal situation without firing a single shot.

But the U.S. is losing its military edge, hence more and more countries are less afraid of such a tangle. Why?

One straightforward reason is that the nature of conflict continues to change, as do its tools: drones, anti-drone systems, robots, autonomous weapons, lasers, cheaper missiles, fast missiles like “hypersonics,” and so forth are transforming war at an escalating pace. Generally, these technologies mean it is becoming easier for smaller forces to engage successfully with larger ones. But it is more than that. In the classic logic of an arms race, each new advance in weaponry is met by a countering system, which means the improvement may have limited effect. There is a “flavor of the month” quality to these advances—today’s favorite may not work that well tomorrow.

Even more important are the changes in battlefield dynamics. As Mara Karlin writes in the current issue of Foreign Affairs:

What theorists call “the continuum of conflict” has changed. In an earlier era, one might have seen the terrorism and insurgency of Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis as inhabiting the low end of the spectrum, the armies waging conventional warfare in Ukraine as residing in the middle, and the nuclear threats shaping Russia’s war and China’s growing arsenal as sitting at the high end. Today, however, there is no sense of mutual exclusivity; the continuum has returned but also collapsed. In Ukraine, “robot dogs” patrol the ground and autonomous drones launch missiles from the sky amid trench warfare that looks like World War I—all under the specter of nuclear weapons. In the Middle East, combatants have combined sophisticated air and missile defense systems with individual shooting attacks by armed men riding motorcycles. In the Indo-Pacific, Chinese and Philippine forces face off over a sole dilapidated ship while the skies and seas surrounding Taiwan get squeezed by threatening maneuvers from China’s air force and navy.

There are reasons to believe, as Karlin proposes, that we are entering a new era of comprehensive conflict, for which she invokes the old term “total war.”  She defines this as a situation in which “combatants draw on vast resources, mobilize their societies, prioritize warfare over all other state activities, attack a broad variety of targets, and reshape their economies and those of other countries.”

There are many elements to this evolution, but the return of maritime warfare is notable among them. In the post-9/11 “war on terror” period, most attacks, even by naval ships, were towards targets on the ground. But the naval military environment has quickly reemerged as a key area of conflict: in the Ukraine war, in the Houthi attacks against shipping in the Red Sea, in Chinese squabbles with its neighbors over territorial rights, and so forth. (Inter alia, the Houthi attacks are an excellent example of the rise of effective non-state—although often state-supported—actors in conflicts.)

Put simply, the U.S. has not invested enough in its navy, which by some measures is now smaller than China’s (although not in tonnage), to continue to deter other major powers at sea globally.

The pace of change and the scope of the demands that all this places on the U.S. military continue to escalate. The U.S. is responding to this need with upgrades, more rapid deployment of materiel (including to allies), and new or revived alliances, such as AUKUS and the Quad.

But all of this requires a great deal of money, and the U.S. military remains underfunded. Consider the Arctic, which is warming fast and may be partially ice-free year-round as early as 2030. It has enormous deposits of oil and gas, many already claimed—outside international territorial norms—by Russia. The thawing Arctic is also going to become a major global shipping route, offering enormous savings of time and money over traditional routes between the Pacific and Europe. In other words, the Arctic is already on its way to becoming an area of serious geopolitical conflict.

To address this important region, the U.S. has 5 operational icebreakers, but only 2 are heavy icebreakers (and none are nuclear-powered). Three more are planned.

Russia has 46 icebreakers—5 nuclear-powered—plus 14 on the way, 11 of which are under construction.

The U.S. spent so much treasure on ill-conceived wars in the Middle East that it not only diverted funding from much-needed military improvements and upgrades for many years, but it also provoked a reaction within the country.

As observed earlier, it would be hard to over-emphasize how tired the bulk of the U.S. population is of foreign wars, foreign commitments, foreign entanglements, foreign aid—they don’t believe any of it works to help them. The days of the American electorate accepting that they benefit when the U.S. defends other nations are gone. Instead, many Americans believe it just enriches the ruling elites of such countries, who, they think, play the U.S. like fools. Americans are done paying for this type of foreign policy.

And the question of money leads to consideration of another crumbling pillar of global American (and Western) influence: the post-Cold War primacy of the U.S. financial and governance model.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse, Part 3

By Dee Smith

After WWII, the US originated and enforced an international order based on rules. It worked in terms of avoiding nuclear war. However, many Americans are ready to ditch it because they do not see that it worked in terms of making their lives better.

They are also ready to unwind globalization.

This is very significant, because the whole world is now linked through globalization, so American unwinding will affect everyone. As globalization is unwound—through rising trade barriers, tariffs, and other protectionist measures—people in more and more countries are likely to turn against it as not being beneficial to them. De-globalization can become a self-reinforcing cycle. Even if globalization merely changes its shape, it will be much altered.

Perhaps even more significant, much of the US population wants the US to quit being “policeman of the world” and guarantor of the security of the international order.

Ten years ago, the admiral of the U.S. Pacific Fleet observed to me that the U.S. military and their families were already exhausted. And what has the succeeding 10 years brought?

Americans see that more than $8 trillion was expended in Middle East wars, and ask: for what? Iraq is a mess, Iran is stronger, Afghanistan is back under Taliban control (the result of a deal negotiated by the Trump I administration and implemented by the Biden administration), Israel and its neighbors are at war, and the Middle East is a seething cauldron.

The failure of 20 years of war—pursued by both U.S. political parties—further eroded trust in U.S. leadership and in the global position of America. Russia put its plan to attack and take Ukraine into effect after it saw the chaotic U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan (on the heels of not much American reaction against previous Russian action in Georgia and Crimea).

As the U.S. pulls back, players like China and Russia—and smaller “middle” powers like Iran—will take advantage of American absence and become more aggressive. This is the single greatest potential source of immediate and near-term major conflict.

Parties in the U.S. also want to undo being banker to the world: Americans increasingly don’t see why defending the dollar as a global reserve currency is important to their lives.

There is even a detectable desire to back off American global moral leadership —democracy promotion, anti-corruption, keeping various countries “in line” by creating policy conditions that have to be followed if you want U.S. money (which many Americans believe should not be meted out anyway). The U.S. is being out-competed by the Chinese, who provide (lend) money and don’t make autocrats give up coercive techniques or corruption—in fact, they sometimes aid these.

The modern West—the U.S.-centered set of ideas, concepts, rules, and alliances, based conceptually on democracy, free trade, and engendering rising living standards around the world—is at significant risk of being discarded by Americans themselves.

Within, the U.S. is unraveling as a country with a set of shared ideals. Americans are largely tired of being a “beacon” and a refuge. They don’t believe, themselves, that it has worked. They don’t want the openness towards immigration that is expressed by Emma Lazarus’s famous poem on Statue of Liberty:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

The erosion of internal American cohesion and resolve, and loss of self-esteem and self-confidence, together with the palpable fear of the future, has created a backlash against immigration of enormous breadth and power. For a nation built by immigrants, this shift in fundamental American attitudes is striking.

Isolationist sentiment is not just American. Josep Borrell Fontelles, High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy of the European Union, recently said:

The European Project [the EU] was built against the idea of power. Europeans . . . were fighting against [each] other for centuries. We . . . finally we decided to stop doing it and make peace. And the European project was founded on the idea of peace, exchange, cooperation, interdependency, vanishing borders, sharing the same currency. But today, this situation has become untenable.

Why is this? Because we have realized that economic interdependency in which our project was based is being captured by political and geostrategic rivalries.

We used to believe that trade will be in itself a source of security . . . trading among people will prevent them from making war . . . But then every interdependency became a weapon, and it obliged us to think differently.

Many Europeans want true borders again between their countries. They do not want the Schengen system of open travel and migration within the EU.

What went largely unrealized in setting up aspects of the globalized system was that, once it reaches a certain scale, immigration changes the culture and demographic composition of a nation in a way that no one bargained for or expected. People are not equipped to handle this, particularly given the inequality in outcomes of economic globalization and financialization, and the disorientation and fear from technological development.

But immigration is about to become much more pronounced, as climate change works its inexorable effects in making regions less and less habitable. Today, there are about 120 million forcibly displaced persons worldwide, doubling from around 60 million 10 years ago.

There will be many, many more. Global forced displacement is projected by IEP, an international think-tank, to rise to 1.2 billion in 25 years, as far from now as the year 2000 is in the past. Think of more than the entire population of North America and South America on the move! This is almost incomprehensible in its scope and effects. Combined with rising anti-immigration sentiment worldwide, it brings to mind the ancient paradox of what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse, Part 2

By Dee Smith

If I told you that my analytical take is that the U.S. is poised on a change so profound that it may become almost unrecognizable, you would probably assume I was referring to the incoming second presidency of Donald Trump.

I am not.

The second election of Donald Trump is a manifestation of a much more profound set of changes that the U.S.—and much of the rest of the world—is undergoing.

Let’s back up a bit.

It is worth remembering how the world we have been living in came to be.

After the devastation of World War II—following on the devastation of World War I and the subsequent global depression—the U.S. led an effort over a period of decades to invent a new world order. In some ways it was an illusion, in some ways it was defined ex post facto, and it was certainly self-serving, but it did bring some real change, particularly because the U.S. had the power to create, impose, and defend it.

This international world order was based on the idea that a set of governing rules would be put in place that would not only shape global order but would try to prevent the kind of conflict that had been so catastrophic in the first half of the 20th century.

The U.S. invited, and sometimes compelled, other nations to join, under US leadership. A kind of alternative system was offered by the Soviet Union, but even the USSR ultimately cooperated with the rules-based global order—the “liberal international order” (or LIO) as it came to be called (“liberal” here does not denote the political left).

The U.S. led and supported the creation of multilateral institutions, like the World Bank, and the United Nations and its multitude of sub-divisions (such as the COP meetings on climate). A primary role of these institutions in theory was to prevent conflict by providing a forum to address disputes, under the watchful eyes of the powers that triumphed in World War II—represented by the UN Security Council.

The U.S.—and this is critical—was the guarantor of this global peace and order, as well as the enforcer of the rules (and the rules were largely America’s). It had not only the influence but also the military might to prevail in many situations.

This system was seen by a large consensus of left and right in the U.S. to be profoundly beneficial to the country. The U.S. dollar became the reserve currency of the world, allowing the United States to sell its debt and finance its operations to an almost unlimited extent.

Eventually, the so-called “neo-liberal” economic order, based on the ideas of economists like Milton Friedman, and put in place particularly by Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, led to lowered trade barriers and massive globalization. Production went to the lowest-cost producers, resulting in cheap flat-screen TVs and the like. As mentioned above, it was obviously a self-serving system, but it did arguably pull a billion people out of extreme poverty (and of course, they could then become consumers of the products of U.S. corporations—although in an increasing number of cases, not products actually made in the U.S.).

That whole vision is now being abandoned by a majority of Americans, across the political spectrum. This was underway before Trump took office the first time (and led to his victory then), it continued during the Biden administration, and would have continued if Harris had won the election in November. Trump will simply accelerate it.

It is being abandoned not least for the straightforward reason that it is seen by a large and increasing number of Americans as not having worked, in the specific sense that it has not made their lives better.

This is particularly true for blue-collar workers, who feel that they have been “left behind” by developments in the modern world (including globalization and technology), and also feel their jobs have been increasingly taken by immigrants.

Last year, a self-produced song entitled “Rich Men North of Richmond” was put out by a singer called Oliver Anthony. It made a huge impact and debuted as No. 1 on the Billboard list—the first time anyone has done so with no prior chart history.  

“Rich Men North of Richmond” (Washington, D.C., is, of course, north of Richmond) is very telling and has serious implications, and is worth listening to for its political and social import.

The song touches on government power, inflation, taxes, low wages, food insecurity, welfare abuse, and child trafficking—as well as the general sense of dismay.

Here’s how the song begins:

I've been sellin' my soul, workin' all day / Overtime hours for bullshit pay / So I can sit out here and waste my life away / Drag back home and drown my troubles away.

And here is how it ends:

Well, God, if you're 5-foot-3 and you're 300 pounds / Taxes ought not to pay for your bags of fudge rounds / Young men are puttin' themselves six feet in the ground / 'Cause all this damn country does is keep on kickin' them down.

Anthony is a young, white male—and his song hits home for many. He was apparently very upset about the song’s invocation during last summer’s Republican National Convention: he means it as a condemnation of both parties, a sort of “pox on all your houses” approach.

The scope of the turn against the incumbent order in the U.S. (and not just in the U.S.) is breathtaking, especially when considered as a whole.

There is a massive reaction in the U.S. against the entire range of LIO ideas described above, which is a non-partisan. Martin Wolf, who writes for the Financial Times, has accurately described it as “an undoing project”. It is essential to understand the details, the causes, and the effects.

Feeling Better and Feeling Worse: Part 1

By Dee Smith

My attempts to analyze what is transpiring in as objective and unbiased way as possible apparently come across to some as a counsel of despair. That is certainly not what I intend.

But I get paid to face and analyze facts, as far as facts can be discerned. Before and after the U.S. elections, I appeared on several webinars, podcasts and in-person talks. These were to various groups with attendees ranging across the political spectrum. I observed that most Republicans clearly believed that “if only Trump is elected things will be much better” (and they now believe they will), and Democrats similarly believed “if only Harris is elected things will be much better.” The desire for relief was palpable.

Unfortunately, it is not that simple. Let me explain why.

The amount of agency any of us has is much less than we believe—even if you are president of the United States. I mean this is a very specific way: the ability to produce the outcomes you intend and expect.

Many of the problems we face are deep and structural, which is bad enough, but the real rub is that the hyper-complex social, political, geopolitical, economic and environmental situation in which the problems exist is unpredictable as a fundamental property of its nature.

First of all, it can be extraordinarily difficult to instigate actual change. Some time ago, I was doing a project directly for the CEO of a Fortune 100 company. In a meeting, he expressed his intense frustration that “getting this company to do anything — to change anything — is like turning the Queen Mary . . . and I’m the CEO!”

Large systems, whether companies or countries, become highly resistant to efforts to nudge them to change. For example, for all his attempts to do so, over a decade and multiple terms in office, Victor Orban has actually changed the trajectory of Hungary as a country very little.

People who take a disruptive approach can initiate change better than those working within the guardrails of a system. Trump is such a disruptor, so he will be able to instigate many changes. But the nature of the world we live in means that neither he nor anyone else can actually predict and control the effects of such change for long.

And sometimes intended changes are just impossible within a certain situation. For example, both Trump and Harris promised to revive the American industrial working class. But this is almost certainly doomed to failure. Within a decade or two, automation, robotics, 3D printing and other technologies will produce nearly all factory goods. Automation — not offshoring — already accounts for more than 80 percent of job losses in the past 2 decades. Promising a job-rich manufacturing renaissance is meaningless and unfulfillable.

Rigorous analysis of how complex systems behave is one of the triumphs of 20th century science. The study of complexity has explained why, when change occurs, it is often abrupt and unpredictable. Complex systems are full of hidden links. The 2008 financial crisis offered many examples. Even small changes can produce enormous effects downstream. Many actions have unintended consequences: unanticipated knock-on effects (2nd-order, 3rd-order, etc.). Complex systems are full of tipping points. If you add grains of sand to a sandpile, it builds up until the pile reaches criticality — and then experiences a small avalanche. Such systems also exhibit cascading phenomena and non-intuitive inverse relationships.

We have created the most complex human civilization ever. The insuperable interconnectedness and complexity of the world have raised such unintended consequences and related effects to an immense level.

The 18th-century European Enlightenment formalized a belief system proposing that the world was generally linear, logical and predictively manipulable — that certain inputs would reliably produce certain outputs. That is of course what modern science and technology are based on. If you isolate phenomena — a smooth ball rolling down a smooth incline, or a closed electrical circuit — that view is generally true. But in the real world, the balls are seldom smooth, nor are the inclines.  

A good example is in the practice of “pro-forma” financial analysis. The rise of spreadsheets like Excel has led people to believe that they represent the real world and can predict real-world outcomes. But they are abstractions and seldom forecast what actually transpires, because there are too many variables and exogenous elements. The use of such spreadsheets and the illusion of comprehensibility and predictability they engendered were deeply involved in causing the 2008 financial crisis.

There is a term that originated in the cyber security world called “security theater.”  It involves putting in place measures that look like they will increase security but actually offer little protection, if any. They are there simply to make people feel better and to offer legal protection to the entities that deploy them.

Much of politics is analogous. As a species, we seem to most want from our leaders promises that make us feel better. That the promises are impossible to keep seems to matter little or not at all. But, as those promises are broken, we become very angry, and, if we are living in a democracy, “kick the bums out” only to vote more in to make and break more promises. Over and over and over.

Where does all that leave us? How do we move forward?