In its efforts to portray itself as an investment haven for multinationals, the People’s Republic of China has shown itself to be far more accommodating to foreign companies than governments. Such has been its thirst for foreign investment as it modernizes that even companies headed by pro-independence Taiwanese have been treated with silk gloves.
Over the years, this strategy bore fruit for Beijing as foreign companies rushed to establish themselves despite growing criticism of China’s human rights record. This two-track approach — kind to businesses, intransigent with governments — has created a buffer between politics and business such that one does not threaten to undermine the other even during political crises. This helps explain, for example, why the corporate sector — even in Taiwan — showed itself so willing to resume operations in China after the Tiananmen Square Massacre in 1989.
The same applied to tensions over the US bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade in 1999, the occasional spat over Japanese leaders visiting the Yasukuni shrine, or accusations of Chinese spying. Governments spar rhetorically, but no one does anything to prevent economic exchanges.
One recent case, however, is threatening to undermine China’s image as an investment hub: the Rio Tinto spy scandal. Beijing’s National Secrets Protection Bureau claims that the Australian firm has spied on Chinese steel mills for six years, which it claims resulted in the mills overpaying US$102 billion for iron ore. Four Rio employees in Shanghai, including Stern Hu (胡士泰), an Australian, were detained last month on suspicion of stealing state secrets.
Some analysts have said that China may be using the accusations to put itself in a position of strength in iron ore price talks with Rio Tinto. Some also say the accusations lack transparency, are vague and hardly credible. For example, China’s claim that it overpaid US$102 billion for iron ore is odd given that Rio Tinto’s total iron ore revenue over the past six years was US$42.6 billion.
Depending on how the case goes and how the alleged spies are treated in a country that has a history of dealing swiftly with such individuals, the potential exists for the conflict to become political — for politics to intrude upon economics. In recent months, relations between Australia and China have become tense, largely the result of allegations of Chinese spying on Australian government officials and, in the past two weeks, Beijing’s campaign against the Melbourne International Film Festival over a film about the life of Uighur leader Rebiya Kadeer.
Since Deng Xiaoping’s (鄧小平) famous southern tour in 1992, China has dramatically improved its image as a place where foreign businesses can invest. Changes, including legislative reforms, have alleviated apprehensions among multinationals that in times of crisis they could be the targets of retribution or that their assets could be nationalized.
But the accusations of spying against Rio Tinto involve a China that is far more assertive than it was a mere decade ago, which means that its flexibility toward economic partners may be something of the past. In times of aggressive nationalism, that flexibility is bound to disappear altogether.
If it mishandles the Rio Tinto case, China could very well face its first crisis of foreign investor confidence.
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) has caused havoc with his attempts to overturn the democratic and constitutional order in the legislature. If we look at this devolution from the context of a transition to democracy from authoritarianism in a culturally Chinese sense — that of zhonghua (中華) — then we are playing witness to a servile spirit from a millennia-old form of totalitarianism that is intent on damaging the nation’s hard-won democracy. This servile spirit is ingrained in Chinese culture. About a century ago, Chinese satirist and author Lu Xun (魯迅) saw through the servile nature of
In their New York Times bestseller How Democracies Die, Harvard political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt said that democracies today “may die at the hands not of generals but of elected leaders. Many government efforts to subvert democracy are ‘legal,’ in the sense that they are approved by the legislature or accepted by the courts. They may even be portrayed as efforts to improve democracy — making the judiciary more efficient, combating corruption, or cleaning up the electoral process.” Moreover, the two authors observe that those who denounce such legal threats to democracy are often “dismissed as exaggerating or
Monday was the 37th anniversary of former president Chiang Ching-kuo’s (蔣經國) death. Chiang — a son of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), who had implemented party-state rule and martial law in Taiwan — has a complicated legacy. Whether one looks at his time in power in a positive or negative light depends very much on who they are, and what their relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is. Although toward the end of his life Chiang Ching-kuo lifted martial law and steered Taiwan onto the path of democratization, these changes were forced upon him by internal and external pressures,
The Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus in the Legislative Yuan has made an internal decision to freeze NT$1.8 billion (US$54.7 million) of the indigenous submarine project’s NT$2 billion budget. This means that up to 90 percent of the budget cannot be utilized. It would only be accessible if the legislature agrees to lift the freeze sometime in the future. However, for Taiwan to construct its own submarines, it must rely on foreign support for several key pieces of equipment and technology. These foreign supporters would also be forced to endure significant pressure, infiltration and influence from Beijing. In other words,
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