Mostrando postagens com marcador Sinica. Mostrar todas as postagens
Mostrando postagens com marcador Sinica. Mostrar todas as postagens

quinta-feira, 16 de abril de 2026

PM Pedro Sánchez's Tsinghua Speech: A Masterclass in Diplomatic Rhetoric - Sinica

Discurso do presidente do Gabinete espanhol Pedro Sanchez na Universidade Tsinghua, na China. O original em espanhol deve estar no site do ministério das RREE da Espanha, mas salvei este, traduzido para o inglês, publicado no site Sinica.

PM Pedro Sánchez's Tsinghua Speech: A Masterclass in Diplomatic Rhetoric 

On Monday evening after dinner, I met my good friend Julio for a quick beer before a scheduled phone call. As a Spaniard working in Beijing as an EU diplomat, Julio had been invited to attend Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez’s speech at Tsinghua, and gave me an excellent and detailed account of it that had me eager to read it. I looked around for a copy of it online, but was only able at last to find one this morning. The translation below comes from La Moncloa and was translated from the original Spanish by Claude, and has not been checked by a native Spanish-speaker, so apologies for any mistakes or inelegant renderings.

It’s a marvel of the rhetorical art. The Mateo Ricci cartographic framing of it — he leads with and, in a coda, comes back to the famous Jesuit who arrived in China in the late 16th century — was inspired, and I doff my hat and sweep it low to the speechwriter who came up with it. It’s such a perfect device to talk about geographic recentering, perspectival change, and cultural cross-pollination. 

He moves into a well-chosen set of riffs on the Spanish empire and China, reminding his audience that the two civilizations were already in active commercial exchange during the Ming dynasty — and doing so in a way that subtly flatters Chinese historical self-understanding. He’s not condescendingly acknowledging China’s “rise”; but something more like, you were already great, and we knew it. That’s a meaningful distinction, and a Chinese academic audience would feel it immediately.

The speech’s structural architecture is where the real rhetorical craft lies. Sánchez builds his argument around three pillars — multilateralism, balanced trade, and the provision of global public goods — and in doing so he pulls off something fairly difficult: he delivers pointed criticisms of Chinese behavior while keeping the overall register warm, collegial, even admiring. Think of it less as a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down, and more as a pill wrapped in jamon iberico. The treat is real, the medicine is real, and the patient swallows both.

The multilateralism pillar is the cleverest, because it hands Beijing something it genuinely wants — a full-throated European endorsement of multipolarity and a call for Western powers to relinquish their outsized representation in global institutions in favor of the Global South — while simultaneously making the implicit argument that China, as a major beneficiary of the rules-based order, has obligations to uphold it. The call for stronger multilateral institutions is music to Beijing’s ears; the implication that this includes adherence to international law in Ukraine is the catch. But Sánchez buries the Ukraine needle so deftly between layers of warm affirmation that it barely registers as a rebuke. He doesn’t say China should pressure Russia; he says China should do what it is already doing — demanding that international law be respected — only more. It is criticism structured as encouragement, which is perhaps the most face-saving form criticism can take.

The trade imbalance section is the speech’s most exposed nerve, and Sánchez handles it with impressive care. He arrives at it only after having established himself as a genuine believer in multipolarity and a critic of Western insularity — in other words, after having demonstrated that he is not lecturing from a position of assumed superiority. By the time he mentions that Spain’s trade deficit with China represents 74% of the country’s total deficit, my sense is he has earned enough goodwill in the room to say it plainly. And he frames it not as an accusation but as a structural problem that threatens the very multipolar order he and his hosts both profess to want. The logic is elegant: protectionism and isolationism (read: rightwing populism) in Europe are fed by trade imbalances; trade imbalances are therefore a threat to Chinese interests too. You, Beijing, have a stake in fixing this.

The closing Ricci reprise is beautifully done. It’s a callback that gives the speech a satisfying circularity. But the masterstroke is the invocation of the Artemis mission. Sánchez conjures the image of astronauts seeing the Earth as a borderless blue sphere from a distance no human had previously achieved, and uses it to make a case for cooperation and shared planetary stewardship. What he conspicuously does not say is that Artemis is a NASA program — which is to say, an American program — and that China is explicitly excluded from it because of the damn 2011 Wolf Amendment. Whether by design or by inspired omission, the effect is to lift a symbol of American technological ambition and redeploy it in service of a speech about multilateral cooperation delivered in Beijing. The Americans built the rocket; the Spanish Prime Minister pocketed the metaphor. Bravo.

The whole performance reflects a Spain — and by extension, perhaps a Europe — that is thinking carefully about how to navigate this post-Rupture world in which Washington’s reliability can no longer be assumed, and in which Beijing’s partnership, however complicated, cannot be refused. Sánchez came to Tsinghua to persuade rather than to lecture, and to find ground rather than draw lines. Whether or not the Chinese side found it equally compelling, as a piece of diplomatic rhetoric it deserves to be read with attention and, yes, a measure of admiration. What are you hearing from your Chinese interlocutors and out there on Chinese social media?

Here’s the speech:

Speech by Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez

Tsinghua University, Beijing, 13 April 2026

Respected President and Chancellor of Tsinghua University,

Professors,

Students of Tsinghua University,

Da jia hao.

It is a true honor to be in this temple of knowledge. A global reference in teaching and research. A place where human beings explore the limits of science and our imagination. And where we also find, at those limits, new ways of cooperating and of prospering.

Allow me to begin by speaking precisely about that: about science, and also about imagination. With a story that took place not far from here, more than four centuries ago.

In 1583, an Italian Jesuit named Matteo Ricci arrived in China. In his austere luggage, he carried several books, an astrolabe, and a map of the world.

It was a European map. Correct in its proportions, highly advanced in its level of detail, but biased in its perspective. Because what it did was show the world as the West saw it: with Europe at the center and Asia on its right margin. At the ends of the earth. Upon seeing it, the cartographers of the imperial court asked the Jesuit why China appeared at that far edge of the map. And the European scholar understood for the first time that the Mediterranean Sea was the center of his world, but not of others’. Every world had its own center, and so Matteo Ricci remade his map entirely. This time, using the Pacific Ocean as its axis and capturing within it the entire Eurasian continent.

More than 400 years have passed since then — more than 400 years. And yet there are still, unfortunately, people who continue to see the world as it appeared in that first map, distorted by Ricci. I say distorted because I know the world was not like that. I know that in the year 1583, China was already a great power representing one quarter of the world’s population and global GDP. That it traded with half the planet. And that it led science and technology in many fields.

I know this because at that time, Spain — as the University President has kindly reminded us — was also a great empire. An empire that exchanged raw materials and manufactured goods with the Ming Dynasty through the Manila corridor. And that crossed the oceans with magnetic compasses, muskets, and sternpost rudders — all technologies of Chinese origin.

The Spain of that era knew of China’s greatness. It knew that Beijing was not on the periphery of the world, but was one of its centers.

And present-day Spain knows this too. It knows that China is rebuilding its greatness. That it is already the world’s leading exporter of goods and fourth in services. That its industry and science are transforming the fight against global warming and reducing poverty. And that, as such, China is called to play an essential role in the future of the world.

That is why, for me, dear President, professors, it is a genuine honor to address this center of thought as a Spaniard, and also as a European.

There are those who insist on interpreting reality in zero-sum terms. On narrating the growth of some as a loss for the rest. Or on arguing that deepening certain relationships implies renouncing others.

But I believe this reading is not only wrong. It is also dangerous, because it is paralyzing. Because it makes us prisoners of the past and limits the possibilities the future offers us. Because it falls into the error of assuming that the world we see — the world of old maps — is the only possible world.

In my view, what is happening today is not a transfer of hegemonies. It is a multiplication of poles — not only of power, but also of prosperity. And this is wonderful news for Europe. Because for the first time in contemporary history, progress is germinating simultaneously in many places across the planet. Places, moreover, that do not resemble one another. That do not share the same culture. Nor the same political system, nor the same social conditions. And that do not need to ask anyone’s permission to grow. This is happening here in China, in Asia. But also on the African continent, and in a region very close to Spain: Latin America.

The multipolarity I describe is not a hypothesis. It is not a wish either. It is already a reality. The new reality in which the world lives. And therefore we must accept it. We cannot change it. We can only choose between denying it or embracing it.

And the Government of Spain — all of Spanish society — chooses to embrace it. It does so from realism, also from pragmatism, and without any doubt from responsibility. But I would like to underscore that we do so also from hope. Because we believe that if Spain, Europe, and China were able to prosper together in the past, there are no reasons to think we cannot do so again.

Evidently, it will not be easy. We know that. There are matters that also divide us. Issues on which we do not share the same view. In which we compete. Where we also disagree. Points on which we will not agree — perhaps we will never manage to agree.

But humanity advances when we build upon what unites us. Not when we deepen the trenches that divide us. With that spirit we work from Spain with many other countries — Brazil, India, South Africa, Mexico. And of course also in our relations with China.

Spain’s proposal, therefore, is clear: to build a relationship based on mutual respect. A respect that allows us, among other things, to cooperate in every possible domain. To compete where necessary. And to manage our differences when they are unavoidable.

And Spain defends this same vision everywhere in the world and in every capital. It does so in Madrid, our capital. In Brussels, the capital of Europe. And it does so in the rest of the world in the same way.

But for that vision to work, and for the world to prosper under the new multipolar order, we will need three very important things in the months and years ahead. Three elements I would like to share with all of you.

The first is that efficient multipolarity is not possible without a strengthened multilateralism.

There are those who believe the multilateral system is dead. We are seeing, unfortunately, many cases in the media — crises, wars taking place in the world. They think that indeed, this multilateral world is dead, that it belongs to the past. And I want to say here that I deeply disagree with that analysis. And I do so forcefully.

I believe that the instruments of global governance functioned in the twentieth century and are more necessary today than ever. That rules and cross-border cooperation are the only tools that will allow humanity to overcome the climate emergency and the other challenges of this era.

I believe the multipolar world needs a robust multilateral system — not to impose a single vision, but to turn the crucible of our perspectives into a strength for all of humanity. Not to eliminate our differences, but to deal with them peacefully and with respect.

Because multipolarity without rules leads to rivalry, and from rivalry only wars, trade conflicts, and ruin arise.

That is why Spain calls for a profound renewal of the multilateral architecture. We must make it more efficient, more transparent, more accountable, and also more inclusive and plural.

Because if multilateralism wishes to remain useful, it must change and better reflect the balances of power and the sensibilities of today’s world. We cannot allow the past to suffocate the future of multilateral bodies.

This is why I believe the West must relinquish part of its share of representation in favor of global stability and the trust of countries in the Global South.

This is why I believe we must transform the United Nations as soon as possible — with a much stronger General Assembly, a more representative Security Council, and a more democratic decision-making system in which all regions truly have a voice and a vote, and middle powers can also play a unifying and harmonizing role, which is what is expected of them.

And from Spain we also believe it would be fitting that, for the first time in history, a woman should lead the United Nations Secretariat.

The second element I wish to share with you is that this new multipolar order must function with trade relations that are balanced and reciprocal. We cannot move from the imbalances of the twentieth century to different ones in the twenty-first.

For that development to be stable, sustainable, and healthy, the multipolar order will need a more horizontal and fairer economy — one in which there are no losing regions and winning ones, but truly global supply chains that create employment and wealth at every latitude of the planet and share negative externalities proportionately.

Why do I say this? Because the European Union is doing its part. One can debate whether it does so quickly enough or slowly, with difficulties — certainly, I acknowledge that — but it is doing its part.

In the last decade alone, we have signed trade agreements with 25 countries. We have increased our imports from the so-called Global South by 80%, and we have created more than 25 million jobs annually outside our borders.

We need China to do the same. To open up, so that Europe does not have to close down. To help us correct the current trade deficit we have with it.

A deficit that is not balanced — one that grew again by 18% just last year — and that is unsustainable for our societies in the medium and long term. It is unsustainable because of the isolationist movements it fuels and the grievances and social hardship it causes. To give you a sense of scale: our trade deficit with China already represents 74% of our country’s total deficit.

I therefore believe it is important that we correct this, that we cooperate, and that we jointly build a globalized, balanced economy that generates shared prosperity.

The third element we will need for the multipolar order to function is greater engagement by the major and middle powers in managing and providing what academics call global public goods — for example, the fight against climate change, security, defense, and the struggle against inequality.

In short, emerging powers and established powers alike must provide these global public goods.

Size implies not only power, but also a responsibility that cannot be delegated. Because the great problems of the twenty-first century do not require visas — they cross borders and belong to all of us.

I think, for example, of the fight against climate change, or the challenges posed by global health, the development of responsible artificial intelligence, nuclear arms control, the eradication of poverty, and the safeguarding — as I mentioned — of global health. These are areas in which funding has fallen by 23% in just the past year — 23%.

Without the collaboration of the great powers, and of course China, these objectives are not merely difficult — they are simply unachievable. I know China is fully aware of this and is doing a great deal, and I welcome that. But I believe China can do more. For example, by demanding — as it is already doing — that international law be respected and that the conflicts in Lebanon, Iran, Gaza, the West Bank, and also Ukraine come to an end. Because international law is the foundation of everything. By sharing its technology with the most disadvantaged countries. By canceling debt and contributing to the financing of the system through participation in debt-swap mechanisms.

Naturally, Europe will also have to redouble its efforts, especially now that the United States has decided to withdraw from many of these fronts. Europe’s contribution is and will be essential. I therefore humbly ask that you see it in the same light — that you do not fall into Matteo Ricci’s error and allow yourselves to be deceived by maps.

Because Europe may appear small on a world map, but in reality it is quite the opposite. The figures are these: the European Union is at this moment the world’s largest trading bloc and the second largest economy. It is also the top recipient of foreign direct investment. It is the second most innovative ecosystem. It has a highly qualified workforce. It is the second most productive economy on the planet and the first in levels of life satisfaction, social cohesion, and wellbeing.

I do not say this to boast, nor to conceal our many shortcomings — of which we have plenty. What I wish to say is that Europe is a key actor in the stability, prosperity, and peace of the world, and that without a united Europe — and therefore without a fragmented one — there can be no stable international order and no prosperous future for humanity. Nor can there be one without the participation of this great country, China. That is why we are called to understand one another and to cooperate.

Dear professors and students, let me now conclude.

Four centuries after Matteo Ricci arrived in China and had to correct his map, humanity is still searching for the most accurate angle from which to see the world as it truly is — not as power or prejudice dictates.

A few days ago, four American astronauts traveled farther from the Earth than any human being has ever done. And from there, they obtained perhaps that angle. From there, they saw the Earth for what it truly is: a sphere with no edges and no borders.

A unique, unrepeatable blue sphere, in the most hostile environment to life that could possibly exist. We human beings are the result of that miracle. Perhaps the only such miracle in the universe. And therefore our duty is to understand one another and to cooperate so that this miracle may continue to flourish.

Thank you very much. Xie xie.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​



sábado, 7 de fevereiro de 2026

On Not Intervening in Iran - Kaiser Y Kuo (Sinica)

Uma reflexão sobre a tragédia iraniana, e o intervencionismo americano, por um especialista em China. Sim, Kaiser Y Kuo, entra no âmago da presente tragédia, e vale ler sua reflexão.

Contra o massacre dos manifestantes iranianos e contra a intervenção de Trump, ou dos EUA, nessa tragédia. PRA

On Not Intervening in Iran
KAISER Y KUO
Sinica, Feb 6, 2026

I’m wandering off from the usual China-centered fare in this essay because I’ve been thinking a lot about the right thing to do with Iran. It’s not wholly unconnected to China, as you’ll see as you read it. I don’t pretend to be any kind of an expert on Iran; I trust any errors will be pointed out to me by keen reader, and I sincerely hope some of you will share your thoughts on what we should do in the comments, open to all readers fort his one.

The question before us isn’t new, but the circumstances make it feel urgent in ways we haven’t experienced since the early 2000s. Iranian protesters, killed in a crackdown of staggering brutality, have pleaded for American help. President Trump drew and redrew red lines against mass killings, sent a carrier strike group toward the Persian Gulf, and threatened intervention. Yet as the death toll reportedly climbed into the thousands, no strikes came. Advocates for intervention frame this as a moral imperative — the chance to support a popular uprising without repeating the catastrophic nation-building mistakes of Iraq and Afghanistan. Limited strikes, they argue, could tip the balance toward regime change while demonstrating that America still stands with those fighting for their basic rights.

My instinct is against military intervention in Iran. Not reflexively, not out of pacifism, and not because I’m indifferent to the suffering of Iranians risking everything for dignity and basic rights. I lean against it because I’ve thought carefully about what intervention would likely accomplish versus what it would cost, because history offers devastating lessons about what happens when we conflate military capability with political wisdom, and because the very assumptions underlying liberal interventionism deserve scrutiny — especially now, as American hegemony wanes and the consequences of our actions become harder to predict or control.

For the record: I’d reach this conclusion under any American president. My objections aren’t about Trump specifically — though I think his administration both increases the risks of mismanagement and makes the moral case for intervention impossible to sell. The hypocrisy would be staggering. Our allies wouldn’t buy it, and neither would most of the world. But the fundamental problems with intervention hold regardless of who occupies the White House. I know there are people for whom this question is straightforward — who’ve concluded on principle that American military intervention is categorically unjustified, or who are so committed to ending American hegemony that suffering under regimes like Iran’s becomes an acceptable cost. I’m not one of them. Something in me resists foreclosing intervention as a category — whether that’s residual American exceptionalism I haven’t fully examined or something else, I’m not certain. But that pull toward the possibility of using American power for good doesn’t change where I land on this case.

Before explaining my provisional opposition, I want to engage honestly with the strongest arguments for intervention — arguments that reflect genuine moral concern and strategic calculation, even if I ultimately find them unpersuasive.

The humanitarian case is real. Between late December and mid-January, Iranian security forces killed protesters — estimates range widely, from several thousand to over 30,000, though the true toll remains deeply uncertain. The regime cut internet access, deployed live ammunition against unarmed demonstrators, and began threatening mass executions under the charge of *moharebeh* (enmity against God), a capital offense. These aren’t abstractions. They’re people who share the same aspirations for dignity and human rights that we claim to value universally. When some of them explicitly call for foreign help, what does it say about us if we turn away?

The strategic case has weight too. Iran’s regional influence has been significantly degraded — its “axis of resistance” battered by Israeli strikes, its nuclear program set back by Operation Midnight Hammer last June, its economy in freefall with the rial having lost over 40% of its value. The regime faces compounding crises: economic, political, legitimacy, deterrence. Pro-intervention voices argue this is the moment of maximum leverage, when limited strikes could accelerate internal collapse without the need for occupation or nation-building. They point to the Soleimani assassination and last year’s nuclear strikes as evidence that targeted American force can weaken the regime without triggering the “rally around the flag” effect that intervention skeptics predict.

There’s also the question of American credibility. Trump drew a public red line — “help is on the way” to the protesters — and then assembled military assets in the region. If he backs down, does it signal that American threats are hollow? Does it abandon the principles of liberal internationalism at precisely the moment when they’re being tested?

These arguments deserve more than perfunctory acknowledgment. Not all of them come from cartoon warmongers; many are thoughtful analysts grappling with impossible trade-offs. I simply think they’re likely wrong about what intervention would accomplish and what it would unleash.

Start with the most basic claim: that strikes would help the protesters. The historical record suggests otherwise. When external powers bomb a country during internal upheaval, the regime’s narrative of foreign conspiracy often gains instant credibility. Iran’s leaders have spent decades depicting dissent as American and Israeli manipulation. Military strikes would risk vindicating that propaganda in the eyes of many Iranians who might otherwise sympathize with the protests but aren’t willing to be seen as tools of Washington and Tel Aviv.

The 1953 CIA-backed coup against Mohammad Mossadegh remains Iran’s original sin in relations with the United States, precisely because it validated suspicions that America prioritizes control over genuine Iranian rights. Every intervention since — from support for the Shah to sanctions to the Soleimani killing — gets interpreted through that lens. New strikes would more likely reinforce this history than overcome it.

Nor would strikes necessarily “punish” the regime’s decision-makers in ways that change their calculations. The people who ordered the crackdown — Ayatollah Khamenei, the IRGC leadership, the security apparatus — have demonstrated repeatedly that they’ll tolerate enormous costs to maintain power. They survived eight years of devastating war with Iraq, decades of sanctions, international isolation, and multiple rounds of domestic unrest. The notion that targeted strikes would instill fear and deter future repression may fundamentally misread the regime’s decision-making logic. Their actions suggest they may fear losing control over Iran’s political future more than they fear American bombs.

Intervention might give hardliners much of what they want: an external enemy to rally around, justification for emergency measures, and grounds to frame protesters as traitors rather than patriots. The protests would likely wane as people fear becoming collateral damage in an American campaign, and opposition figures would face impossible choices between supporting foreign intervention or being labeled regime defenders.

Here’s where a comparison might be useful. Imagine mass protests erupting across Chinese cities — driven by economic collapse, political repression, and demands for fundamental change. Imagine the government cracking down with lethal force, killing thousands, and cutting internet access. Imagine protesters asking America for help. Imagine Trump threatening military strikes. Would we support intervention then?

I strongly suspect most Americans would recoil from the idea. The risks would be immediately obvious: nuclear escalation, global economic catastrophe, superpower war. We’d recognize that bombing China would likely strengthen the Party’s grip, that the protesters themselves would be divided on whether foreign intervention helps, and that America doesn’t have the competence or legitimacy to reshape Chinese politics through force. Many Americans were troubled by reports from Xinjiang, yet no one seriously proposed military intervention.

So why is Iran different? The standard answer is that China is a peer competitor with nuclear weapons while Iran is a middle power with degraded defenses — which is my point. The Iran intervention debate isn’t really about principles of liberal internationalism or humanitarian responsibility. It seems to me to come down to perceived feasibility. We’re willing to contemplate intervention in Iran because we think we can get away with it, not because the moral case is fundamentally different from scenarios we’d reject elsewhere. If our commitment to supporting protesters is calibrated entirely by military vulnerability rather than by whether intervention would actually help, then we’re not operating from principle — we’re opportunistic. And that opportunism corrodes the very international norms and moral authority we claim to be defending.

There’s another dimension to this debate that most discussions avoid but that’s essential to understanding the strategic calculations at play: America’s waning global hegemony. For policymakers in the Trump administration and the broader strategic class, Iran represents a test case for whether American power can still shape outcomes in a region where our influence has been declining. There’s an unspoken fear that inaction would be another nail in the coffin of American primacy — that if America can’t or won’t intervene when protesters are being massacred in a middle power whose regional influence has already been degraded, what does that say about our ability to shape global events going forward?

I understand this anxiety, but acting from it seems like a mistake. The fundamental problem with the liberal interventionist project isn’t that we haven’t applied it rigorously enough; it’s that the assumptions underlying it were always questionable and have become less tenable as American power has become more contested. The belief that American force can reliably produce liberal or even favorable outcomes, that we understand other societies well enough to predict second- and third-order effects of our interventions, that military strikes can substitute for political legitimacy — these were never as solid as their proponents claimed, and they’ve been systematically undermined by two decades of failure in the broader Middle East.

Intervening in Iran to demonstrate that American primacy remains viable might accomplish the opposite. If the campaign strengthens hardliners, fragments the opposition, or sparks wider conflict, it would confirm rather than refute doubts about American power. The smarter approach is to recognize these limits and work within them, rather than risk another costly failure trying to prove we’re still the hegemon we once were.

This is also a pivotal moment for liberal interventionism as a doctrine. Whether the U.S. strikes or chooses restraint, the decision will shape how seriously the international community takes humanitarian intervention arguments for years to come. If strikes fail to achieve their aims — or worse, backfire spectacularly — it may mark the final discrediting of a foreign policy tradition already battered by Iraq and Afghanistan. If restraint prevails but is seen as abandonment, it could equally undermine future claims that American power serves moral purposes. Either way, Iran may prove to be the case that forces a long-overdue reckoning with what military force can and cannot accomplish in service of liberal ideals.

This doesn’t mean I advocate abandoning Iranian protesters or accepting a purely realist foreign policy that ignores human rights altogether. It means understanding that genuine support requires listening to what Iranians themselves want — and they appear to be divided on intervention — and that the most effective support often comes through non-military means: communications infrastructure, targeted sanctions on regime officials (not broad sanctions that punish civilians), asylum for dissidents, intelligence operations that expose corruption, diplomatic isolation of the regime while maintaining channels to civil society. I don’t know what toolkit is available to us, but surely something short of brute force is possible.

I mentioned earlier that I’m not a pacifist, and I want to be clear about what I mean. There are circumstances where military force might be justified — where it’s genuinely the least-bad option among terrible choices. But those circumstances are narrower than liberal interventionists often suggest.

I don’t have a rigid set of criteria that would apply universally. When we confront real decisions about intervention, we’re forced to reckon with a huge range of factors including intensely personal and emotional ones, at least in my case. The Rwandan genocide haunts some of us precisely because non-intervention allowed an atrocity that might have been stopped. The Iraq War haunts us because intervention based on nonexistent weapons created catastrophe in pursuit of goals that also turned out to be illusory.

What I can say is that the burden of proof for intervention should be extraordinarily high. It requires not just that something terrible is happening, but that military force would make it better rather than worse, that we understand the society in question well enough to predict the consequences, that we’re willing to commit the resources necessary to see it through, and that we’re not acting primarily from other motives (strategic advantage, hegemonic maintenance, domestic political concerns) while dressing them up in humanitarian language.

The Iran case seems to fail most of these tests. We don’t have strong evidence that strikes would help protesters rather than undermine them. Our track record in predicting Middle Eastern political dynamics is abysmal. The motives are transparently mixed — genuine concern about human rights intertwined with nuclear containment, regional competition, and questions about American credibility. And crucially, the Iranian protesters themselves are divided, with many activists inside Iran explicitly opposing foreign military intervention even as some diaspora voices call for it.

What ultimately tips me toward provisional opposition isn’t just the pragmatic case against intervention, though that’s compelling by itself. It’s the recognition that genuine support for people fighting for dignity and rights means respecting their agency rather than imposing our preferred solutions.

The patronizing assumption runs through much of the pro-intervention literature: that we in the West know better than Iranians themselves what they need, that our military power can accomplish what their political organizing cannot, that the region’s future is primarily a question for American decision-makers rather than for the people who actually live there. This reflects a presumption of centrality — the idea that every global crisis requires an American “response” — that I find both morally and practically unsupportable.

Iranian protesters deserve support. They deserve diplomatic backing, asylum when they need it, assistance to those who manage to get out, and as bright a spotlight as we can provide on the regime’s violence. What they probably don’t need is American bombs turning their uprising into a proxy conflict, strengthening the very hardliners they’re trying to remove, and validating decades of regime propaganda about foreign manipulation.

This isn’t comfortable moral territory. There’s something genuinely troubling about having the power to act and choosing restraint while people die. But the alternative — acting from a combination of moral urgency and hegemonic anxiety without clear understanding of the likely consequences — has produced enough catastrophe already. Sometimes the hardest wisdom is recognizing the limits of what outside powers can accomplish, however much we wish it were otherwise.

That’s where I land: with opposition to intervention, deep discomfort about the moral trade-offs involved, and recognition that this conclusion flows from my broader worldview about American power, Western assumptions about universal governance models, and respect for the agency of people fighting their own battles. It’s not knee-jerk anti-interventionism, and it’s not indifference to suffering. It’s a position arrived at through wrestling with history, power dynamics, and the question of what genuine support actually requires. I’m open to arguments that might shift my thinking, but this is where the evidence has brought me.

segunda-feira, 28 de julho de 2025

SINICA, and Adam Tooze - Podcasts and Essays on China: The Thing We Still Can’t Say KAISER Y KUO

 SINICA, and Adam Tooze

Podcasts and Essays on China
The Thing We Still Can’t Say
KAISER Y KUO

JUL 17, 2025

SHAXI, 18 July 2025 — Adam Tooze came to visit me recently here in Shaxi, the little town in Yunnan where I spent the last month. We talked over meals and drinks, went mushroom picking in the hills, he met my bandmates and listened to us rehearse, and we taped an episode of the Sinica Podcast together:

Our conversations left me uneasy — not because I disagreed with him, but because I didn’t. I kept thinking about how rarely I’ve allowed myself to say, out loud, the thing he said. The thing I’ve thought privately for years. The thing that now feels almost undeniable.

In the interview, Adam put it plainly: China isn’t just an analytical problem. It’s the defining political reality of our time. He called it the “master key” to understanding modernity. The “biggest laboratory of organized modernization that has ever been or ever will be.” A place where the industrial histories of the West now read like prefaces to something larger.

He wasn’t saying any of this for effect. These weren’t hot takes or provocations. He was articulating something many of us who’ve spent years thinking about China have felt building for a while but still shy away from naming.

After the episode came out, I noticed a Twitter thread from David Wallace-Wells — best known for his writing on the climate crisis — highlighting long excerpts from the conversation, including the remarks above. His response didn’t feel performative. It felt like recognition. The kind that comes when someone who has tried for years to shake people out of climate complacency hears another slow-moving, system-level transformation being laid bare — and sees how few are metabolizing it.

That reaction stayed with me. It forced me to ask a harder question: Why haven’t I said the thing myself? Why have I hedged, deferred, watered down the implications, stayed in safer territory — even when the evidence has been pointing in this direction for some time?

I’ve been as susceptible to the usual hesitations as anyone. Part of it is temperamental: I try to avoid stridency. I don’t want to be misunderstood or misrepresented. I know how easily even a measured take on China can be distorted. I know how quickly any recognition of its accomplishments or capabilities can be spun into charges of apologism or naïveté. So I’ve held back.

But I wonder now whether the greater risk lies in saying too little.

Because Adam’s observations weren’t really about China alone. They were about how poorly we’ve come to terms with the world as it is. And that failure extends well beyond governments, media narratives, or expert consensus. It includes people who’ve spent years thinking about these issues — myself included.

Back when Sinica was still part of The China Project, I used to include in the intro to each episode a line of boilerplate, describing our coverage as being about “a nation that is reshaping the world.” I meant it, of course. But like any phrase repeated often enough, it lost some of its force for me. And meanwhile, China kept reshaping the world — through astonishing progress in infrastructure, manufacturing, digital platforms, and, as Adam emphasized, energy.

He pointed out that roughly three-quarters of all renewable energy projects currently underway are Chinese. That about a third of global emissions come from China. And that much of the growth in both emissions and decarbonization stems from one country’s development trajectory. Those are the sorts of figures I keep at the ready, can summon in debate. But I’ve been guilty, like many, of not really letting their full meaning sink in. That’s something I need to start doing more of.

This isn’t about celebration or condemnation. It’s about scale and structure. About recognizing when rapid change adds up to a shift in paradigm.

And yet most of the people I know — friends, colleagues, former classmates, fellow travelers in the China space — still speak about China with caution, or in some cases, with reflexive dismissal or deliberate deflatus. Yes, they’ll concede the infrastructure, the tech adoption, the industrial muscle. But something in the framing always pulls back. There’s always a “but.”

And it’s not only Western observers. Even some of my more patriotic and optimistic Chinese friends — people who take pride in the country’s accomplishments and see its system as resilient — seem unprepared to reckon with the full implications of what Adam laid out in the conversation. The idea that China is no longer just catching up, but redefining the arc of development itself, is hard to absorb — especially for those conditioned to see the West as a permanent reference point, even when viewed critically.

I don’t mean to sound holier-than-thou. I’ve been conditioned, like many, to temper big claims, to second-guess myself. Most of us came of age professionally during a time when certain assumptions were still foundational: that China was rising, yes, but still playing catch-up. That its system would hit structural limits. That liberal democratic capitalism, though battered, still set the normative horizon.

Letting go of those assumptions isn’t easy — not just intellectually, but emotionally. For some, it means rethinking the frameworks they’ve built careers on. For others, it means facing the prospect of a world in which liberal institutions are no longer the default engine of transformation. That’s a hard thing to sit with.

And maybe this isn’t just about ideas or career positioning. Maybe it’s something closer to denial. A reluctance to accept the implications of a world that no longer orbits the same cultural or institutional center.

We’ve seen this kind of reaction before. Climate change offers a familiar pattern: the science has been robust for decades, yet serious recognition came slowly, hesitantly, often wrapped in equivocation. It’s often not the facts we struggle with, but the scale of their implication.

With China, I sense a similar dissonance. We see the numbers, the breakthroughs, the pace, the policy coordination. And we reach for caveats: internal contradictions, looming crises, moral failings that will surely derail the trajectory. Some of that may be true. But it can also serve as a way to avoid admitting something harder — that the center of gravity has already shifted, and we haven’t yet found the language to reckon with it.

I don’t have a neat conclusion. Only a growing sense that clearer language is long overdue. Not to valorize or excuse, but to describe. To acknowledge the transformation underway. To stop waiting for someone else to say it first.

Adam Tooze said the thing. I’m trying to say it now too.

You’re currently a free subscriber to Sinica. Please support the work that I’m doing and upgrade to paid. 非常感谢!


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Here is the Podcast mentioned above:


I'm in Shaxi, a wonderful little town in the Dali Bai Autonomous Prefecture, and I was joined here by the Columbia economic historian Adam Tooze, who shared his thoughts on what he sees happening on the ground in China. Adam's been in China for the last month and reflects on his experiences learning about the country — and even attempting the language!

03:49 - The economic situation in China

10:42 - Patterns of consumption in China

14:38 - China’s industrial policy and renewable energy

18:52 - China vs. the U.S. on renewables

26:15 - China’s economic engagement with the Global South

33:13- Beijing’s strategic shift and Europe’s rethinking

37:49- The recent European Parliament paper

42:43 - Learning about China as an “Outsider”

51:31 - Adam’s evolving views on China

59:30 - Paying it Forward

01:01:07 - Recommendations

Paying it ForwardKyle ChanPekingology.

Recommendations: Adam: Caught by the Tide, Jia Zhangke (movie).

Kaiser: Empire of AI: Dreams and Nightmares in Sam Altman’s OpenAI, Karen Hao (book), Vera, or Faith, Gary Shteyngart (book).

domingo, 29 de junho de 2025

Como a China se tornou rica: 40 anos de crescimento - Kaiser Y. Kuo (Sinica)

 


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