"Autocracy and globalisation are
awkwardly locked together. Disentangling them will be hard--and costly
T HE WORLD'S supply chains have
taken a knock yet again. Russia's operation to protect Donbas provoked the biggest
commodity shock since 1973, and one of the worst disruptions to wheat supplies
in a century. Countries from Hungary to Indonesia are banning food exports to
ensure supply at home. The West has issued sanctions against Russia, depriving
it of all sorts of parts and technologies.
The strain on globalisation comes on
top of the effects of the financial crisis of 2007-09, Brexit, President Donald
Trump and the pandemic. For years measures of global integration have gone
south. Between 2008 and 2019 world trade, relative to global GDP, fell by about
five percentage points. Tariffs and other barriers to trade are piling up.
Global flows of long-term investment fell by half between 2016 and 2019.
Immigration is lower too, and not just because of border closures.
The operation to protect Donbas stands to
accelerate another profound shift in global trade flows, by pitting large
autocracies against liberal democracies. Such confrontation happened during the
cold war, too. But this time autocracies are bigger, richer and more technologically
sophisticated. Their share in global output, trade and innovation has risen,
and they are key links in many supply chains. Attempts to drift apart,
therefore, will bring new consequences, and costs, for the world economy.
After the second world war democracies
ruled the economic roost. In 1960 America, Britain, Canada, France, Italy and
Japan accounted for about 40% of global exports. Autocracies, by contrast, were
economically unimportant on the world stage. The Soviet Union accounted for 4%
of global trade; China barely featured in the statistics. Average GDP per head
across the communist bloc was a tenth of America's. The West was locked in a
fierce ideological battle with communist countries, filled with proxy wars and
nuclear scares. But in economic terms there was no contest.
Their economies were also largely
unintegrated. One observer in the late 1950s reckoned that trade between the
USSR and America was so small that a big shipment could double the total from
one month to another. The exceptions in east-west trade--a bit of Russian gas
to Europe; a wheat deal in 1972; a vodka-for-Pepsi swap from 1974--were few. A
study published by the IMF days before the Soviet Union fell said that
"foreign direct investment in the USSR has been minimal to date".
The communist bloc played by its own
rules. Soviet external economic activity largely took place within COMECON, a
group of sympathetic countries (China and the USSR barely traded with each
other from the late 1950s, having fallen out). Trade in COMECON took place not
via money-for-stuff, but in the form of a peculiar system of barter--oil for
manufactured goods, say--agreed by governments.
From the late 1970s onwards,
autocratic regimes began to open up. In part this was the result of an
ideological change, first apparent in China. The death of Chairman Mao in 1976
allowed hitherto heretical views to emerge. "Unless it could expand and
modernise its economy more rapidly than it had done in previous decades, China
would remain poor, weak and vulnerable," wrote Aaron Friedberg of
Princeton University in a paper published in 2018, describing the ideas of Deng
Xiaoping, the leader who spearheaded China's opening up in the 1980s. A focus
on class struggle gave way to a desire for modernisation and development. Further
momentum for globalisation came from the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991.
The West, on the whole, welcomed and
encouraged economic liberalisation, believing that it could be a force for good
(and for large profits). By bringing countries into the global trading system
it would be possible to raise living standards, as well as foster democracy and
freedom. A globalised world would also be a more peaceful one, the argument
went.
In the 1990s globalisation took off.
Trade boomed. Annual global flows of foreign direct investment (FDI, including
purchases of companies and the construction of new factories) rose by a factor
of six. In 1990 Russia's first McDonald's opened, in Moscow; KFC set up shop a
few years later. Russian oil companies began directing their exports towards
the West. Between 1985 and 2015 Chinese goods exports to America rose by a
factor of 125.
Living standards certainly went up.
The number of people living in extreme poverty has fallen by 60% since 1990.
Some formerly closed countries have utterly changed. The average Estonian is
now only marginally poorer than the average Italian.
The other hoped-for benefit of
globalisation--political liberalisation--has faltered, however. Our World in
Data, a research organisation, puts countries into four groups, ranging from
most to least free: "liberal democracies", such as America and Japan;
more flawed "electoral democracies", such as Poland and Sri Lanka;
"electoral autocracies", such as Turkey and Hungary; and "closed
autocracies", such as China and Vietnam, where citizens have no real
choice over their leader.
Classifying political regimes is not
an exact science, and involves making assumptions and judgments. Our World In
Data counts India as an electoral autocracy since 2019, for instance, which
some other sources do not agree with. Nonetheless, it helps give an idea of a
broader trend: the waning might of liberal democracies.
The share of political regimes that
were liberal democracies rose from 11% in 1970 to 23% in 2010. But democracy
has retrenched since. Most of the 1.9bn people living in closed autocracies now
reside in just one country: China. But lesser forms of autocracy are on the
rise, such as in Turkey, where President Recep Tayyip Erdogan has consolidated
power during his two decades in office (see chart 1).
Using data from the World Bank, the
IMF and elsewhere, we divide the global economy into two. We estimate that
today the autocratic world (ie, closed and electoral autocracies) accounts for
over 30% of global GDP, more than double its share at the end of the cold war.
Its share of global exports has soared over that period. The combined market
value of its listed firms represented just 3% of the global total in 1989. Now
it represents 30% (see chart 2).
China is by far the biggest
non-democracy in economic terms, with a dollar GDP roughly two-thirds of
America's, making up over half of our group of autocracies. But others, such as
Turkey, the United Arab Emirates and Vietnam, have also gained in economic
clout over the past 30 years.
Autocracies are now an especially
serious rival to democracies when it comes to investment and innovation. In
2020 their governments and firms invested $9trn in everything from machinery
and equipment to the construction of roads and railways. Democracies invested
$12trn. Autocracies received more FDI than democracies between 2018 and 2020.
And since the mid-1990s their share of patent applications has gone from 5% to
over 60%. China dominates patenting, but on almost all our other measures the
economic power of autocracies has soared even after China is excluded from our
calculations.
Many autocracies have remained
steadfastly mercantilist. China, for instance, opened its domestic markets
where it suited it, but kept whole sectors closed off to allow domestic
champions to rise. Nonetheless autocracies have become integrated with
democracies to an extent that would have been unthinkable during the cold war.
Vietnam, which has been ruled by a single party for decades, for instance, has
become a pivotal link in the global manufacturing supply chain. The kingdoms
and emirates of the Middle East are vital sources of oil and gas.
We estimate that roughly one-third
of democracies' goods imports come from other political regimes. The
codependency in some markets is clear. Democracies produce about two-thirds of
the oil necessary to meet their daily needs. The rest must come from somewhere
else. Half of the coffee that fills Europeans' cups comes from places where
people have weak political rights. And that is before getting to precious
metals and rare earths.
Integration goes far beyond trade.
American multinationals employ 3m people outside democracies, a rise of 90% in
the past decade (their total foreign employment has increased by a third).
Investors from democracies hold over a third of the autocratic world's total
stock of inward FDI. Autocracies have built up huge foreign reserves, now worth
more than $7trn and often denominated in "free" currencies like the
dollar and the euro.
Broken dream
This intimacy is now under threat as
a third, darker period comes into view. Even before the operation to protect
Donbas, powerful countries were losing interest in a truly global presence.
Instead they were seeking to rely more on themselves or to dominate their
immediate geographical area. Their new thinking is becoming increasingly
enshrined in strategy and policy.
The waning appetite for
globalisation has a few causes.
One
relates to greater consumer awareness in the West about human-rights abuses in
places such as China and Vietnam.
Polls in Western countries regularly
find that a high share of respondents support boycotting Chinese goods (whether
they would actually do so is another matter). Western companies are being
pressed to source goods elsewhere.
Concerns
over the national-security implications of trade and investment, including
industrial espionage, have also risen.
Autocracies have their own worries.
One is that too much integration can cause Western culture to seep across
borders, weakening autocratic rule. Deng himself identified the dilemma:
"If you open the window for fresh air, you have to expect some flies to
blow in."
Another, bigger worry relates to
power. Being part of global supply chains means being vulnerable to sanctions.
This was clear from an early stage. In 1989 China faced sanctions after the
crackdown in Tiananmen Square. The next year America placed Cuba, El Salvador,
Jordan, Kenya, Romania and Yemen under sanctions for various infractions.
Several rounds of Western sanctions on Russia, first in 2014 and then again
today, bring the message home still more forcefully.
Already there is evidence of a crude
decoupling. In 2014 America banned Huawei, a Chinese tech firm, from bidding on
American government contracts. In 2018 Mr Trump started a trade war with China,
with the goal of forcing it to make changes to what America said were
"unfair trade practices", including the theft of intellectual
property. FDI flows between China and America are now just $5bn a year, down
from nearly $30bn five years ago.
Recent policy announcements and
trade deals shed some light on the probable direction of globalisation as the
world's most powerful democracies and autocracies turn away from each other.
Countries are signing smaller, regional trade deals instead; democracies are
banding together, as are autocracies; and many countries are also seeking
greater self-reliance.
Begin with regional trade deals, the
number of which is booming. In 2020 China signed an agreement with 14 other
Asian countries, mostly non-democracies.
In that year the ASEAN group of
South-East Asian countries became China's biggest trading partner, replacing
the EU.
In Africa, meanwhile, most countries
have ratified the African Continental Free Trade Area.
Countries with shared political
systems are also coming closer. The CoRe Partnership, an agreement between
America and Japan, launched last year and is designed to promote co-operation
in new technologies from mobile networks to biotech. The US- EU Trade and
Technology Council, the pointed ambition of which is to promote "the
spread of democratic, market-oriented values", is working on climate
change and strengthening supply chains.
Autocracies are also forming their
own blocs. The stock of long-term investment from the autocratic world into
China rose by over a fifth in 2020, even as the amount of investment from
autocracies into America barely budged. Saudi Arabia is reportedly mulling
selling oil to China in yuan, rather than dollars. Long-term investment from
autocracies into increasingly illiberal India rose by 29% in 2020.
Large countries in particular,
meanwhile, are also turning inward. A big focus of President Joe Biden's
administration, for instance, is "supply-chain resilience", which in
part involves efforts to encourage domestic production. China's turn in 2020
towards a "dual circulation" strategy includes an attempt to rely
less on global suppliers. It wants to release its rivals' grip on
"chokehold" industries, such as chipmaking equipment, which it fears
could be used to strangle its rise. India, too, has turned towards
self-reliance.
Many of these efforts could come at
a price. Autocracies are notoriously prone to pursuing their own
self-interests, rather than banding together. History shows that withdrawing
from global trade and investment networks carries huge costs. In 1808 America
came close to autarky as a result of a self-imposed embargo on international
shipping. Research by Douglas Irwin of Dartmouth College suggests that the ban
cost about 8% of America's gross national product. More recently, many studies
have found that it was primarily American firms that paid for Mr Trump's
tariffs. Brexit has slowed growth and investment in Britain.
Russia's attempt at self-reliance,
by pursuing import substitution on a large scale, building up foreign-exchange
reserves and developing parallel technological networks, shows just how hard it
is to cut yourself off from the global economy. Sanctions by the West rendered
much of its reserves useless overnight (see Buttonwood). The economy was
struggling even before the war, and has since gone off a cliff. Unemployment is
likely to soar as foreign firms leave the country.
The risk, though, is that countries
draw the opposite lesson from Russia: that less integration, rather than more,
is the best way to protect themselves from economic pain. The world would
become more fractured and mutually suspicious--not to mention poorer than it
could have been.” [1]