In most cases, states that embrace capitalism will over time see a rift develop between the “haves” and the “have-nots” as the rich get richer while the less fortunate are left behind, unable to catch up socially, financially and academically. Through the “structural adjustments” imposed by the IMF, countries seeking loans from the international lender are often compelled to forsake social nets and embrace full-fledged capitalism, which again leads to a world of haves and have-nots. Sometimes the divide grows so wide that people seem to be looking at two countries rather than one.
Under Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平), China also embraced capitalism, although it managed to give it its own idiosyncratic form. Nonetheless, capitalism created a socioeconomic disequilibrium between the urban areas and the hinterlands, in effect giving rise to two countries within one, where rampant destitution meets stratospheric wealth in a seemingly unbreakable cycle.
China, however, has created a third country within its borders, one that soared like a castle upon the pillars of the Beijing Olympics and, this weekend, its first spacewalk. This third China exists only in the realm of the imagination, inflated by a sense of nationalism half-believed and half-imposed. It is a China that crushes everything in its path, where the extraordinary end goal justifies the means, regardless of the impact on the millions of poor and the environment. It displaces families by the hundreds of thousands, ravages identities and religions, and drowns entire regions as monuments of grandeur — from mega-dam projects to space exploration — scream for the world’s attention.
One wonders what the implications of this schizophrenia will be. With Chinese leaders and the faithless masses gazing fixedly at some distant horizon, the suffering of the present is no less pronounced, though Beijing may use a promised Utopia as an opiate. From the mishandling of the SARS outbreak in 2003 to a less-than-optimal response to the Sichuan earthquake this summer and now the expanding crisis over tainted dairy products, it is clear that China’s “great” accomplishments are being made to the detriment of meeting the needs of a normal state.
While images of a Chinese astronaut waving the Chinese flag in space may inflate pride and nationalism, it is also evident that such costly endeavors will achieve little in addressing the grave challenge of a country of 1.3 billion people in which many live barely above Stone Age conditions. China can put a man in space, but it is unable to ensure that babies will not die from the milk of its earth.
In a way, China’s race to some Asian Utopia is a mere variant on the other “great causes” of the previous century, such as communism, whose failings left in its wake streets littered with bodies and, at its darkest hour, took everyone to the brink of nuclear extinction.
As China prepares to celebrate National Day tomorrow and gloats in its ascension to the exclusive space club, the cause marches on. Having gained a life of its own, it brooks no dissent from those — rights activists, environmentalists, reporters and disgruntled citizens — who seek not to end the dream, but simply want to address the very real social problems that haunt the country.
Through its dream, China has blinded itself and grown incapable, or perhaps unwilling, to take stock of its situation. Like a drunk driver whose eyes are glued to the final destination rather than the road ahead, the consequences for those on board or in its path could be disastrous.
The closure of the Strait of Hormuz has sent the vast Asian chemicals industry into a tailspin. Deprived of the likes of Qatari natural gas and Saudi Arabian oil, the region’s fertilizer and plastics plants are slowing production or even shutting down. Everywhere except China, that is. In petrochemicals, China is unique. As well as a traditional industry that uses oil and gas as feedstock, it has parallel output that relies on its abundant domestic coal. Unsurprisingly, India and other regional powers want to copy and paste the Chinese method. This would not be easy — or climate friendly. The
KMT Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun’s (鄭麗文) recent visit to Beijing and her upcoming visit to Washington will serve as a high-level test of her diplomatic mettle. In Beijing, Cheng was received with symbolic gestures, a warm reception, and high-level access. In Washington, she will receive far less pomp and far sharper questions about the KMT’s vision for the future of Taiwan. Her challenge will be to persuade Washington that the KMT’s engagement with China can coexist with strong deterrence. Cheng’s April 7-12 visit to mainland China coincided with an intense period of conflict in Iran. Despite the strategic significance of Cheng’s trip,
History might remember 2026, not 2022, as the year artificial intelligence (AI) truly changed everything. ChatGPT’s launch was a product moment. What is happening now is an anthropological moment: AI is no longer merely answering questions. It is now taking initiative and learning from others to get things done, behaving less like software and more like a colleague. The economic consequence is the rise of the one-person company — a structure anticipated in the 2024 book The Choices Amid Great Changes, which I coauthored. The real target of AI is not labor. It is hierarchy. When AI sharply reduces the cost
US President Donald Trump recently repeated his claim that “Taiwan stole America’s chip industry,” reigniting public debate on the issue. As a former Taiwanese minister of economic affairs and an entrepreneur deeply involved in semiconductor supply chain development, I feel a responsibility to clarify this misunderstanding. From the perspective of global industrial evolution and the economic principle of comparative advantage, such a statement appears overly simplistic and risks obscuring the essence of the issue. The rise of Taiwan’s semiconductor industry was not built on “replacing America,” but rather emerged as a result of countries pursuing different development paths within the
RSS