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  1. Syrian Continuity

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    Abu Muhammad Al-Jolani, founder and commander of the Nusra Front, reached the outskirts of Damascus on December 8 last year, after a stunning rout of provincial capitals. Emerging from their stronghold in Idlib, the northeastern Syrian city near the Turkish border, Jolani’s rebel coalition—Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS)—took Aleppo, Hama, Deir ez Zor, and Homs, with the support of the Turkish-backed Syrian National Army (SNA). For the past decade, with the aid of Russian air cover and Hezbollah’s fighters, the Syrian National Forces had slowly expanded their territorial control in Syria’s civil war. In two weeks, Jolani’s opposition reversed these gains and ended fifty-four years of Assad dynasty rule. 

    The project of reconstruction the rebels inherit will be one of one of the region’s largest since the Arab Spring began in 2011. Of the civil wars in Syria, Yemen, and Libya set off by those uprisings, Syria’s has been the bloodiest. According to the Syrian Observatory of Human Rights, 656,000 people (more than 200,000 civilians) died violent deaths in Syria from the start of the revolution in 2011 to March 2025. About 12 million remain displaced. The physical infrastructure of transportation, health, and education is devastated. Syria faces severe drought and multiple, ongoing foreign occupations. But for Jolani’s cautious supporters, the possibility, however small, of a break with the Assad regime cannot be overlooked. What are the potentialities for change under the new Syrian government?

    Since taking the helm, Jolani—nom de guerre for Ahmad Al-Sharaa1A popular assumption about his (<)em(>)nom de guerre(<)/em(>) Jolani is that it refers to the Syrian Golan region where his family was displaced by Israel. A competing theory is that it refers to the Jolan neighborhood in the Iraqi city of Fallujah, where as a jihadist soldier in Al-Qaeda in Iraq, he may have served during the Anbar insurgency.—has pursued a program of sanctions relief and geopolitical realignment with Europe, the United States, and Gulf states. Syria has adopted a new flag, parliament, and constitution. But despite Sharaa’s attempts to distance the new regime from the symbols and alliances of its predecessor, the rebels’ first year in power has presented an image of economic statecraft that is more continuity than rupture with the political economy of the Assadist ancien regime. Key policies have included reducing subsidies and public services, privatizing state-owned firms, cutting taxes on the wealthy and corporations, liberalizing trade, and chasing Gulf investment. In the words of Minister of Economy Bassel Abdul Hanan, the new Syria will be a “free-market economy respecting Islamic laws” where private property is “sacred.” Foreign Minister Asaad al-Shibani emphasized this theme at the Davos conference in Switzerland, where he spoke in January 2025. For the people of Syria, how different will this be to Assad’s Syria?

    An Assadist Inheritance

    Bashar al-Assad accelerated a reform process started by his father, Hafez, who rose to Syria’s presidency through a series of coups d’etat in 1966 and 1970 as the head of the Syrian branch of the Ba’ath Party. The first reforms were gestures toward liberalism. “Elected” in June 2000,  Bashar released hundreds of prisoners, closed the notorious Mezzeh prison in Damascus, and authorized newspapers like al-Dommari, banned for four decades, to resume publishing. They were also politically centralizing: the once mighty Ba’ath Party was hollowed out: within two years, sixty top political and military officeholders, nearly all provincial governors, and all Ba’ath party provincial heads, were dismissed. In the 2003 parliament, 178 of the 250 deputies were newcomers, and the 2005 party congress ousted vice president Abdel Halim Khaddam—last of the Ba’ath old guard. Others, like the former interior minister Ghazi Kana’an, were found dead in their home. In their place, Assad recruited a crop of liberal technocrats with Western graduate degrees. 

    It was Bashar al-Assad, not Sharaa, who first enlisted Syria into obligations to western finance. Despite claiming the mantle of Arab socialism, a myth which persisted among elements of the American and European left, the Assad regime by the mid 2000s was privatizing most significant economic sectors.2Daher, Joseph. 2020. (<)em(>)Syria After the Uprisings: The Political Economy of State Resilience(<)/em(>). Haymarket Books: esp. chapter 1. Max Ajl, Bassam Haddad, and Zeinab Abul-Magd. 2021. “State, Market, and Class: Egypt, Syria, and Tunisia.” (<)em(>)A Critical Political Economy of the Middle East and North Africa(<)/em(>): 46–67. In 2001, after four decades of state control, private banks were allowed to operate again. Between 2003 and 2005, taxes on private sector profits were reduced from 63 percent to a range of 15–27 percent—easily evaded given lax or incapacitated enforcers. In its 2005 conference, the Ba’ath Party declared a “social market economy” as a new guiding star for policy. In 2007, a new Syrian Investment Agency was established. The next year, foreign ownership was legalized by decree. Foreign direct investment climbed geometrically, from $120 million in 2002 to $3.5 billion in 2010. 

    Departing from his father, Bashar gave ears to the International Monetary Fund and World Bank. Foreign exchange bureaus were liberalized, and a Damascus stock exchange opened in 2009. Bilateral trade agreements were signed with Turkey in 2004, Iran in 2006, and Arab League states in 2005, eliminating customs duties and simplifying cross-border trade. This contributed to a surge of imports, which grew at a faster rate than exports, deindustrializing the country as import-competing manufacturers shut down. The geography of factory closures shaped the country’s politics, concentrated in the Sunni-dominated suburban rings of cities where rural-to-urban migration was most intense—and where the first protests in 2011 began.3Matar, Linda. 2016. (<)em(>)The Political Economy of Investment in Syria(<)/em(>). Springer (page 115). 

    The gains of this new capitalist largesse largely benefited the upper class, especially a narrow group of oligarchs who exploited the new loosening of capital controls to transfer profits abroad.  Chief among them was Assad’s cousin Rami Makhlouf, who became the wealthiest man in Syria after winning generous state contracts for his Syriatel telecom company in the early and mid 2000s and reinvesting his earnings into real estate. Others received exclusive licenses to import luxury vehicles or buy large farms previously owned by the government.4These include Nader Qalai’s dealerships, Issam Anbouba’s agro-businesses and Samir Hasan’s Syria-Russia Business Council. The coercive apparatus also saw a change of guard: Bashar’s brother Maher became the de facto commander of the army’s special fourth Armored Division. Key government positions—head of the defense ministry, family security detail, major branches of the General Security Directorate and military police—were staffed by a narrow network of Bashar’s family and close associates.5See Donati, Caroline. 2013. “The Economics of Authoritarian Upgrading in Syria.” (<)em(>)Middle East authoritarianisms: Governance, contestation, and regime resilience in Syria and Iran(<)/em(>): 35–60. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2012. “Syria: From ‘Authoritarian Upgrading’ to Revolution?” (<)em(>)International Affairs(<)/em(>) 88(1): 95–113. And Hinnebusch, Raymond, and Tina Zintl. 2015. (<)em(>)Syria from Reform to Revolt: Volume 1: Political Economy and International Relations(<)/em(>). Syracuse University Press (pages 29–38). 

    On the lower end of the income distribution, the share of wages in national income slipped, and the share employed in services rose. As part of the de-Ba’ath-ification program, public sector workers over the age of sixty were retired, opening space for new cohorts, while state pensions were scaled back. The cost of living was allowed to rise, as rent controls were lifted and subsidies on food, gas, and other consumables reduced. New private schools were approved, and the health system was gradually privatized.6Al-Abdulla, Orwa, Maher Alaref, Agneta Kallström, and Jussi Kauhanen. 2025. “The Health System in Syria (2000–2024): Assembling the Pieces of a Fragmented System—A Scoping Review.” (<)em(>)Health Research Policy and Systems(<)/em(>) 23(1).(<)br(>) But as the public share of spending in education and healthcare dwindled, social inequities became more apparent. Real-estate speculation inflated housing costs for renters, and the housing construction sector found it unprofitable to build for the poor.7Ahmad, Balsam, and Yannick Sudermann. 2011. “Syria’s Contrasting Neighbourhoods: Gentrification and Informal Settlements Juxtaposed.” (<)em(>)Syria Studies(<)/em(>) 3(2): 1–63. Privatization of land, previously owned by the state but tended by the rural poor, was particularly brutal. Drought and cuts to fuel subsidies wiped out smaller farmers, forcing them to sell. 

    Provinces of Syria that produced the lion’s share of grain and hydrocarbons, like majority-Kurdish Jazirah in the northeast, were already among the poorest and least developed of Syria. In 2004, the government began allowing landlords to evict tenants who had worked the land for generations, replacing them with temporary workers. Syria’s agricultural labor force contracted by about 44 percent between 2002 and 2008, magnified by a two-year drought in 2007–08. With no corresponding growth in industrial sectors to absorb the surplus, the population in the outskirts of cities like Aleppo, Damascus, and Dara’a had grown by 300,000 families by November 2009.8Aita, Samir. 2010. “Is There an Agricultural Problem in Syria?” (Arabic) (<)em(>)Ar-ra’e. (<)/em(>)See also Ababsa, Myriam. (2015). “The End of a World: Drought and Agrarian Transformation in Northeast Syria (2007–2010)”. In R. Hinnebusch & T. Zintl (Eds.), (<)em(>)Syria from Reform to Revolt: Volume 1: Political Economy and International Relations(<)/em(>) (pp. 199–222). Syracuse University Press. For 300,000 families, see Mohamad Alloush, director of the environment department at the State Planning Commission (SPC) cited in IRIN, “Syria Drought Pushing Millions into Poverty,” 24 November 2009. On the eve of the revolution, an estimated 30 to 40 percent of Syria’s population lived in informal dwellings.

    The political economy of civil war

    As the social fabric strained, Bashar leaned on oligarchs like Rami Makhlouf to mobilize electoral support when needed. Religious foundations—newly licensed by the Assad regime and funded by Gulf capital, like the Jama’at Zayd—filled the vacuum left by the shrinking welfare state. In place of the old Ba-ath party network, tribal networks became increasingly important: in Aleppo, the Berri and Shahada tribes gained a new prominence, while in Raqqa, loyal tribes took over state farms privatized by Assad. This kleptocratic governance model, committed to imposing austerity, shredded a social contract and laid the foundation for a revolutionary uprising in 2011.9For a good comparative review, see Anand Gopal. 2020. “The Arab Thermidor.” (<)em(>)Catalyst: A Journal of Theory & Strategy(<)/em(>) 4 (2).

    The regime’s iron response to that uprising and the subsequent civil war, inflamed by a gridlock of foreign powers, claimed more than half a million lives and precipitated horrific crimes: sarin gas attacks in Ghouta, mass torture and executions in Sednaya, Yazidi genocide, US and Russian bombings that reduced Deir e Zor and Raqqa to rubble.

    The rise of ISIS—the extension of Abu Bakr al Baghdadi’s caliphate in Iraq, which established its headquarters in Syria’s rebel-held town of Raqqa in 2014—marked this violence at its most extreme. Ahmad Al-Sharaa had arrived in Syria three years earlier from Iraq, on al-Qaeda’s orders to raise an army. As ISIS followed the Euphrates upstream, occupying a string of cities in Syria, the US began arming a Kurdish-Arab militia calling itself the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). Turkey, in turn, began to arm a rival rebel group calling itself the Syrian National Army (SNA). In 2019, the Turkish military itself invaded northern Syria, displacing 310,000 Kurdish residents from the Afrin Canton, whose homes were seized and forcibly resettled with Arab transferees from eastern Ghouta.10Attempts to Arabize the Kurdish periphery had roots in the policies of the Ba’ath and Assad dynasty: in 1962, following a census, an estimated 120,000–150,000 Kurds were stripped of Syrian citizenship. The disincorporated Kurdish populace and the Kurdistan Workers Party’s (PKK) use of the Syrian cross-border safe haven made Syria a military target for Erdoğan, who was quick to claim credit for the new Islamist regime. See Tuğal, Cihan. “Erdoğan’s Syria?” New Left Review – Sidecar, 13 December 2024. Sharaa, for his part, had remained loyal to Al Qaeda in its split with Baghdadi. By 2017, he had dissolved Nusra and maneuvered its successors into an independent coalition: Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) in the western city of Idlib. For Assad, war propelled him to centralize control over his kleptocrats. By 2020, the palace had established a conglomerate of more than 100 companies in strategic sectors such as telecoms, banking, real estate and energy. Dubbed “Al Ahed,” it may have held more than 30 percent of Syria’s economic output by 2024.11Reinoud Leenders, in Timour Azhari and Feras Dalatey, “Syria is secretly reshaping its economy. The president’s brother is in charge.,” (<)em(>)Reuters(<)/em(>), August 6, 2025, (<)a href='https://www.reuters.com/investigations/syria-is-secretly-reshaping-its-economy-presidents-brother-is-charge-2025-07-24/'(>)https://www.reuters.com/investigations/syria-is-secretly-reshaping-its-economy-presidents-brother-is-charge-2025-07-24/(<)/a(>).

    This included the business empires of Samer Foz, Mohammed Hamsho, and the Qaterji brothers. Another consolidation scheme was the Syria Trust for Development, an NGO empire run by Asma al-Assad, wife of Bashar, who channeled development and humanitarian funds to regime-held areas, skimming off the cream for luxury consumption. After Bashar’s 2019 feud with his cousin Rami Makhlouf, she also seized control of his telecom company Syriatel in what she labelled an “anti-corruption campaign.”

    For the vast majority, war meant immiseration. The share of Syrians living below the poverty line tripled, from 30 to 90 percent, over the course of the uprising and civil war. Farm production sank to a quarter of pre-conflict values. The war unleashed an era of looting and narco-trafficking, particularly the amphetamine-like drug Captagon. The health sector collapsed: by 2016, almost half of Syria’s 453 hospitals had been damaged (a third fully destroyed), and the number of persons to physician rose from 611 to 1,442. A third of Syria’s housing stock—1.3 million units—was destroyed or severely damaged, leaving much of Aleppo, Yarmouk, and Daraya to prefigure the haunting landscapes that would later characterize Gaza. 

    The war precipitated a period of commercial isolation. US, EU, and UK sanctions froze Syria off from the global economy. By 2022, Syria had become the third heaviest sanctioned country in the world. Iran and Russia extended the Assad regime credit and fuel lines, comprising the majority of the current government’s estimated $23 billion of sovereign debt. As external liabilities grew, annual export earnings shrank from $8.8 billion to roughly $1 billion between 2010 and 2024. Bank-held foreign exchange reserves plummeted from $18.5 billion to $200 million, a 99 percent drop.  Beginning in 2019, to conserve hard currency reserves following a financial crisis in neighboring Lebanon, the Syrian central bank in Damascus introduced varied exchange rates for different economic sectors. By official exchange rates, the Syrian pound’s value against the dollar declined 300-fold—from 47:1 in March 2011 to over 11,000:1 in late 2024. At that time, Syria’s GDP still hovered at less than half of its 2010 value.

    Balkanization and the Idlib system

    The 2020 Idlib ceasefire did not lead to recovery. Impeded by scarce credit and Western sanctions, hydrocarbon production declined by 74 percent over the decade, particularly in the northeast of the country, under the Kurdish-led Democratic Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria (DAANES). After the US-backed SDF took control of the Rmeilan and Jabsah oilfields, these sites remained largely idle. In 2020, Turkey also began reducing the volume of Euphrates waters flowing into Syria, as part of Ankara’s planned construction of nineteen hydroelectric power plants and dams upstream—a regional development strategy that also deprives Kurdish-led Rojava of water.12As Bashar Youssef (<)a href='https://aljumhuriya.net/en/2025/07/11/thirst-and-geopolitics/'(>)argues (<)/a(>)in (<)em(>)Jumhuriya(<)/em(>).

    The last holdout against Assad, the rebel stronghold of Idlib in the country’s west, benefited from its proximity to the Turkish border. In an effort to ensure that Syria’s civil war did not escalate hostilities between Turkey and Russia, the two foreign military powers established a demilitarized zone across northern Syria. It was there that Sharaa spent the war establishing economic monopolies for a circle of loyal elites.13As Mansour Hussein (<)a href='https://aljumhuriya.net/en/2024/05/24/from-freelance-jihad-to-crony-capitalism/'(>)recounts(<)/a(>) in (<)em(>)Jumhuriya(<)/em(>). Under Assad, a businessman could only pursue accumulation up to limits set by regime insiders. When a luxury car initiative encroached too far on Rami Makhlouf’s Mercedes Benz dealership, for example, the government suspended its import license.14When another magnate refused to sell majority shares of (<)em(>)Orient TV(<)/em(>) to Makhouf, his Damascus office was shut down and raided by security forces.In Idlib, HTS similarly cracked down on local rival profiteers, protecting a coterie of monopolists dominating key sectors of the rebel economy: oil imports, building construction, monetary exchange, and animal products. Restrictions on smuggling were tightened, channeling trade through HTS customs authority and subsidiaries. 

    The Salvation Government that emerged in Idlib intervened to prevent the formation of independent labor union federations. It appointed its own leadership to professional associations. Espousing a platform of “e-governance” and permit reform, the statelet’s prime minister reformed zoning, lowered real-estate fees, and simplified planning regulations. Glitzy new shopping malls appeared. Idlib state contracts were awarded to a close circle of cronies including Sharaa’s son-in-law Abu Hafs Binnish and former HTS commander Mustafa Qadid. 

    The rebels assumed power in a country under multiple foreign occupations. By mid 2024, there were 102 foreign military bases in Syria, not including the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights: fifty-two for Iran, twelve for Turkey, twenty-one for Russia, and seventeen among the United States and its Western allies.15This is according to the (<)em(>)Jusoor (<)/em(>)independent think-tank.This is not without its expected consequences. As the Assad regime fell in 2024, Turkish and Turkish-backed forces in the Syrian National Army launched new offensives against the US-backed Syrian Democratic Forces in areas such as Kobani, Manbij, and the Tishrin Dam. From November to May, about 800 people had been killed in Turkish bombing or clashes between the SNA and SDF.16“Operation Peace Spring”, as Ankara dubbed the latest iteration of Erdoğan’s power game, has involved drone strikes on Kobani’s only water station, as well as DAANES oil refineries. See Tol, Gönül. 2022. (<)em(>)Erdoğan’s War: A Strongman’s Struggle at Home and in Syria(<)/em(>). Oxford University Press. In December, Iranian assets were overtaken by HTS forces. But the US has, to date, preserved eight major military bases, and Russia hopes to keep two. 

    Israel represents perhaps the most direct foreign threat to the regime’s stability. Already deeply involved in a genocidal war in Gaza, Israel invaded Syria last December and undertook a massive bombing campaign that destroyed 85 percent of Syrian surface-to-air batteries, as well as airfields, munition warehouses, and weapon production sites from Latakia to Palmyra. Moving beyond the Golan Heights (annexed in 1981), Israel seized the Syrian side of Mount Hermon, several towns in the Quneitra and Daraa governorates, as well as dam reservoirs along the Yarmuk river, placing its forces sixteen miles from Damascus and in control of approximately 30 percent of Syria’s remaining fresh water supply. Further Israeli advances are ongoing. 

    At more than a thousand missile strikes and counting, the bombing has ensured any Syrian government is at the mercy of Israeli air power. Against US injunctions, the Damascus General Staff compound was hit in July, even as Israeli prime minister Netanyahu announced plans to double the number of Jewish settlers in the Golan and attempted to peel off Syria’s southern Druze leaders into an Israeli alliance. Israel has used the pretext of ongoing bloodshed in Syria’s southern province of Sweida between Druze, Bedouin, and HTS forces to occupy the south while demanding an entire swath of it be “demilitarized.” Others in the Israeli governing coalition, frustrated with what they take to be the inadequate pace of Damascus’ capitulations, such as National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir and Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, have called for the new Syrian president to be “eliminated” and the HTS regime to be “dismantled.”

    Economic alliances new and old

    Against this backdrop of persistent military threats to HTS rule, Ahmad Al-Sharaa has rapidly expanded the regime’s network of foreign backers. Immediately, he switched his combat fatigues for a Western tie—a rare choice for Islamist party leaders—and in December granted high-profile interviews to the BBC, France 24, and the Saudi Al-Arabiya, projecting the aura of a calm and responsible statesman eager to turn a new page. As the new foreign minister Asaad al-Shibani, who founded the Nusra Front with Sharaa, said, Syria “has not and will not pose a threat to any party in the region.”

    US allies were responsive. In January, Sharaa met with German, French, and Italian foreign ministers. In February, many non-legislative EU, UK, and US sanctions on Syria were removed, while Sharaa’s high-profile handshakes with regional leaders—Mohammed bin Salman, Recep Erdoğan, King Abdullah, as well as Emmanuel Macron—signaled his permanence to domestic rivals and Washington. This process culminated in May with a visit with Donald Trump in Riyadh, followed by Sharaa’s address to the UN assembly in New York City in September and a Pentagon-proposed agreement on military bases. 

    Consequently, Syria’s economic isolation has begun to unwind. By May, Gulf monarchies Qatar and Saudi Arabia had paid off $15.5 million of Syria’s debts to the World Bank, allowing Damascus to apply for development assistance. The next month, the IMF sent a delegation to Syria, and the World Bank approved a $146 million grant to repair the country’s electricity sector.17This is the first grant to Syria since 2011. Qatar similarly pledged to double electricity supply, currently available in Syria for only two to three hours a day in most areas. Trump issued waivers for the 2019 Caesar Act, which sanctioned the Syrian government and its state-owned enterprises. In October, the US Senate voted to repeal it. Washington also lifted hundreds of Syrian names from its OFAC blacklist and removed most restrictions on US exports to Syria. European measures have unfrozen Syrian bank assets, removed export restrictions on oil, and unbanned national transport firms such as Syrian Arab Airlines. In June, Syria successfully carried out its first SWIFT bank transaction since 2011.

    Trump’s move to dismantle financial sanctions on Syria has been momentous.18See Jihad Yazigi ‘US sanctions remain the biggest obstacle’. Interview with (<)em(>)IPS Journal(<)/em(>). April 15, 2025. About 80–90 percent of forex trades are conducted in dollars. Given the sheer global reach of US correspondent banks and the dominance of New York-based clearance facilities for foreign exchange markets, like those of CLS Bank, the Gulf monarchies were reluctant to risk secondary sanctions over Syria. The same applied to private investor heavyweights. Following Trump’s announcement in May, the Syrian pound rallied, rising 30 percent against the US dollar in one day, where it has since stabilized. The thaw will likely continue: after Syria successfully avoided being added to Trump’s travel ban in June, HTS had its US-designated status as a Foreign Terrorist Organization rescinded in July. 

    A raft of new investment deals has followed. In February and March, agreements with the Kurdish-led DAANES and the US-backed SDF restored production of Syria’s oil and natural gas. Ministry of Transport officials host ongoing meetings with the Islamic Development Bank and builders from Italy, Cyprus, France, and Turkey to rehabilitate railways degraded during the war.19Syria recently signed a memorandum of understanding with a French engineering company Matière to rebuild three dozen bridges across the country, while Turkey has (<)a href='https://www.csmonitor.com/World/Middle-East/2025/0606/syria-hejaz-ottoman-railway-revival'(>)made(<)/a(>) ambitious promises to resurrect the Ottoman-era Hejaz Railway. In August, Saudi Arabia announced $6.4 billion in deals for 47 new investment projects, including a cement plant, baby formula factory, and hotels. Damascus also welcomed an entourage of foreign companies that month: Samsung, Nokia, Thales Group. American hydrocarbon developers in the region now include oilfield services company Baker Hughes and the oil and gas production companies Hunt Oil and Argent LNG; in September, Swiss energy conglomerate Vitol Group processed Syria’s first crude oil shipment since the removal of sanctions. Despite his overtures to the US and Europe, Al-Sharaa has also maintained cool, but cordial ties with old rivals. For instance, there is evidence that Russian oil and gas shipments to Syria have risen since December. Russia’s mint continues to honor its thirteen-year contract to print Syrian currency, and Russian oil companies have been invited to prospect and develop its northeast. The announcement by the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in May to end its forty-year insurgency against Turkey—a “bitter pill” to swallow, according to Alp Kayserilioglu—could ease northeast incorporation, which Ankara and US envoy Tom Barrack have been pressuring Kurdish leaders and the SDF to accept.

    For their part, Israeli policy shapers have envisioned a Syria balkanized into confessional micro-states—Alawite, Druze, Kurdish, and Sunni—dependent and easily dominated by foreign powers. Barrack recently clarified the motivation: “Strong nation-states are a threat, especially Arab states are viewed as a threat to Israel.” Syria’s geopolitical vulnerability, its proximity to Israel,  its lack of military defenses, plus the contestable position of Sharaa within the rebel movement all create strong incentives for him to extend his network of foreign backers. A general finding in the study of rebel politics is that groups that come to power without a clear hegemonic position within the rebel movement are vulnerable to spoilers or coups d’etat that push the country back into civil war.20See Clarke, Killian, Anne Meng, and Jack Paine. 2025. “Violent Origins and Authoritarian Order: Divergent Trajectories after Successful Rebellions.” Working Paper. Also Krause, Peter. 2017. (<)em(>)Rebel Power: Why National Movements Compete, Fight, and Win. (<)/em(>)Cornell University Press. This is why Sharaa himself characterized the Idlib system of governance and reconstruction, favorable to foreign investment under tight centralized control, as a “successful model to be emulated.”

    Nusra at Davos

    The Idlib model is a striking expression of Syrian neoliberalism. In January, Damascus announced plans to lay off one-third of public-sector workers, some of whom the regime claims are “ghost employees,” but which critics see as a pretext for preferential hiring. Thousands of nurses and teachers have been fired. Tariffs on Turkish products were reduced, leading to a 31-percent increase in Turkish imports, while the land and ports authority has signed a new free-trade zone memorandum with a Chinese firm.

    Syria’s foreign minister al-Shibani recently told the Financial Times that state-owned ports and factories, such as those in oil, furniture, and cotton processing will be privatized. The new income-tax law taking effect in 2026 will cut taxes on the wealthy in a bid to boost investment. In January, the electricity minister announced intentions to reduce electricity subsidies. The same month, the price for gas cylinders was raised six times over. The World Food Program, which has documented a 20-percent reduction in bread subsidies, estimates that HTS plans to eliminate this price support altogether would increase food insecurity by another 1.2 million people. 

    Damascus has also made attempts to incorporate sections of the Assad-era business elite. According to a Reuters investigation in July, a committee led by Sharaa’s brother Hazem, former PepsiCo manager in the Iraqi city of Erbil, has led far-reaching restructuring. Oligarchs like Foz and Hamsho both reportedly gave 80 percent of their assets to the new committee in exchange for immunity from prosecution. Sharaa also announced the formation of a sovereign wealth fund run by his brother and a development fund headed by his brother’s associate. Both schemes seem intended to develop stakes in major companies and NGOs. A presidential decree in October centralized all state-owned oil institutions and assets under the presidential palace. The conglomerate Al-Ahed created by the Assad family received a light rebranding, the Assad-era flag on its promotional materials simply swapped with the new one.21Issam Shammout, sanctioned head of Syria’s only private airline Cham Wings gave the committee a 45-percent stake. For other sanctioned oligarchs, the continued burden of US sanctions remains a powerful incentive to reach a deal: Anas Talas, Mazen Tarazi, and Wasim Kattan. Wael al-Alwani’s Syrian Observatory for Political and Economic Networks is especially useful in mapping these elites.

    As HTS establishes its new government in Damascus, the country’s center of economic gravity has shifted toward the leaders of the Idlib system. Cabinet, army, security apparatus, religious councils, and provincial heads of the caretaker government have been dominated with HTS and SNA hires. The new president of the Federation of Syrian Chambers of Commerce, Alaa Al-Ali, comes from Idlib. Leadership in the Syrian bar association was replaced by members of the Free Bar Council from Idlib. Despite this consolidation of national power by Sharaa’s Idlib system, Syria’s business elite have responded favorably, and diaspora capital is trickling back in: according to the Minister of Economy Mohammad Nidal al-Shaar, Syria had by April returned some 160 factories from neighboring countries. By June, the new Directorate of Companies had reportedly registered 5,768 new Syrian companies, the large majority wholly owned by Syrians.22The Aleppo and Damascus chambers of commerce also (<)a href='https://syria-report.com/government-reshuffles-chambers-of-commerce/'(>)received(<)/a(>) a major, unelected reshuffle which limited the number of board positions and replaced the majority of members. There is also a (<)a href='https://syrianobserver.com/syrian-actors/syrias-economic-reboot-three-ministers-one-mission.html'(>)layer(<)/a(>) of diaspora technocrats for the ministers of economy, finance, and transport, while opposition-supporting business networks, such as the Ghreiwati or Ferzat families, have already moved back.

    National purpose after Assad

    Amid austerity and authoritarian consolidation, what sources of hope are there for a democratic, class-conscious project of national regeneration in Syria? In February, protests erupted among public-sector workers against the announced employment cuts. These wildcat strikes and protests by the civil service, disproportionately women and minorities, originated outside the parameters of the General Federation of Trade Unions, the only national affiliate of collective bargaining groups in Syria, which did nothing to mobilize its affiliate members in opposing the mass layoffs beyond issuing a few letters to the government. No significant opposition party supported the protests, either.23The revolutionary government initially dissolved existing unions in December 2024. In February 2024, however, the GFTU held elections in which many new officers won formal leadership and the public-sector unions entered into contracts with the government. For doctors, lawyers, engineers, and journalists, union leadership is directly appointed by the government. In fact, in Damascus the protests were at the GFTU headquarters, suggesting it is as much an object of contestation as the government. Only the professional associations for lawyers and journalists demanded a fair democratic process for elections and open bidding on state contracts. 

    This represents another point of continuity with the Assad era. After a brief period of labor militancy, independent unions were crushed or co-opted in the 1970s. But public-service bureaucracies in Syria remained largely intact throughout the war and often stretched across rebel and regime jurisdictions; the winter protests underscore the potential of an autonomous labor movement to emerge from the public sector, capable of threatening the regime with mass strikes to extract political concessions. This scenario is not entirely unrealistic. That independent labor unions, especially in the public sector, can form in autocratic corporatist settings and exert pressure is a well-documented phenomenon among Syria’s peers, such as Egypt, Jordan, and Tunisia.24Bishara, Dina. 2018. (<)em(>)Contesting Authoritarianism: Labor Challenges to the State in Egypt(<)/em(>). Cambridge University Press. Parker-Magyar, Biff. (<)em(>)Striking from the Schoolyard: Workplace Networks and Civil Society in the Contemporary Middle East (<)/em(>)(forthcoming). Beinin, Joel, 2020. (<)em(>)Workers and thieves: Labor movements and popular uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt(<)/em(>). Stanford University Press. In Syria, Sharaa’s government backed down from some of its planned reductions in public-sector employment. Instead, the government announced a raise for remaining workers, justified as a bid to prime consumer purchasing power. 

    A common explanation for the difficulty of such mass labor action is Syria’s sectarian cleavages, often overplayed in simplistic accounts of the war. Currents of anti-sectarian solidarity and cooperation between ordinary Syrians endure. The northeast DAANES has managed, despite Turkish invasion and mass poverty, to govern with relative peace a multi-ethnic population of 4.6 million Syrians in the area of northeast Syria reconquered from ISIS. The DAANES government’s co-chair system includes a prominent place for women, as well as the combination of a majority-Kurdish leadership and a majority-Arab army.25Debate continues about the degree to which Rojava’s social revolution is real or romanticized. See Sinan Hatahet’s (2019) working paper “The political economy of the autonomous administration of North and East Syria” and Schmidinger, Thomas. 2018. (<)em(>)Rojava: Revolution, War and the Future of Syria’s Kurds.(<)/em(>) Pluto Books. 

    During the March massacre of Alawites on the coast, some Sunnis adopted the role of “little Schindlers”—sheltering neighbors from HTS-aligned forces. Similarly, after the bombing of a Christian church in Damascus in June, Syrians of all confessions lined up to donate their blood. Such national, cross-confessional solidarity is a motif throughout Syria’s modern history.26As dramatized by Syrian shows like (<)em(>)Bab al-Hara, (<)/em(>)episodes of shared Muslim-Christian resistance against French colonialism were routine and celebrated: Al-Ghazzi, Omar. 2013. “Nation as Neighborhood: How (<)em(>)Bab al-Hara(<)/em(>) Dramatized Syrian Identity.” (<)em(>)Media, Culture & Society(<)/em(>) 35(5): 586–601. The old Ba’ath Party, for instance, was established in 1947 by two Sunnis, an Alawite, and a Christian. The popular base for the party’s socialist agenda was also a coalition of Sunni rural farmers and marginalized minorities (Druze, Alawites). This national coalition was a powerful redistributive force, adopting what many have referred to as the most radical planning measures of any country in the Arab world, significantly leveling inequality in the process.27Max Ajl, Bassam Haddad, and Zeinab Abul-Magd. 2021. “State, Market, and Class: Egypt, Syria, and Tunisia.” (<)em(>)A Critical Political Economy of the Middle East and North Africa(<)/em(>): 47. See also Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2004. (<)em(>)Syria: Revolution From Above.(<)/em(>) Routledge.

    During the first years of the revolution, it was not unusual to hear expressions of solidarity that transcended sect. As Kurdish youth in Qamishli chanted, “No Kurd, no Arab, and Syrian people are one.” Or students in Damascus: “Not Sunni nor Alawi, we want freedom!” Or a banner in Zabadani: “Neither Salafi, nor Muslim Brotherhood … My sect is freedom.” That rejection of sectarianism is alive today: as could be read at a recent demonstration in the Mediterranean city of Latakia: “From Latakia to Sweida: one land, one blood, one fate.”

  2. Steel Politics

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    In April of this year, the UK Parliament was recalled for an emergency session—the first of its kind since the 1982 Falklands War. Parliament was summoned to vote on urgent measures aimed at preventing the closure of the two blast furnaces at Scunthorpe steelworks, the last remaining in the country following the closure of those at Port Talbot in 2024. If passed, the shutdown would have positioned the UK as the first G7 (and G20) nation to cease the integrated production of crude steel via blast furnaces.

    The Scunthorpe steelworks were ultimately rescued by a managerial government takeover.  But the debate over their future presents an important reality. Across much of the West, the steel sector is in crisis. Last June, Japan’s Nippon Steel closed its nearly $15 billion purchase of its American rival US Steel, which was conditional on $11 billion in new investments to be made by 2028. In the EU, industry giants like the German company ThyssenKrupp have announced major job cuts. Since their bailout in 2024, the Italian government has struggled to sustain the Taranto steelworks—the largest in Europe. 

    Overall, G7 countries, once the exclusive club of industrialised nations, now account for a mere 13.1 percent of global steelmaking production (the number would fall to 8.7 percent without Japan). Twenty five years earlier, they were at 40 perecnt.

    The notion that advanced economies have transcended the need for domestic steel production is fundamentally flawed. At the global level, steel use has increased in recent decades. Global per capita consumption of crude steel has averaged 224 kg in the past five years— up from around 150 kg in the mid 1980s. Unsurprisingly, among the highest per-capita steel consumers are high GDP countries: South Korea (991.2 kg), China (652.6 kg), Japan (435.4 kg), Germany (368.9 kg), Canada (354.2 kg) and the US (266.5 kg).

    With Western steel production in decline, other countries are picking up the slack. Though they account for 45 percent of the world’s population and for around 40 percent of global GDP (measured at purchasing parity power), BRICS+ nations currently represent a staggering 70.5 percent of global steelmaking production, up from 31.2 percent in 2000. China has surged as the dominant steelmaking superpower, representing more than half of global production. 

    This global imbalance in steelmaking is significant. The basic functioning of a modern industrial economy relies on a secure supply of high-quality, affordable steel to support strategic manufacturing activities and critical infrastructure. Globally, 52 percent of all steel is used to build essential infrastructure. Bridges, railways, pipelines, housing, clean energy systems and digital networks would be unimaginable without steel products. The same is true for transport: vehicles such as cars, trains, and ships account for another 17 percent of global steel consumption.

    16 percent of global steel use is devoted to producing the machines that manufacture everything else, including the electronic devices and food products we consume. Steel is irreplaceable in the production of everyday metal goods and household appliances, which together make up 12 percent of total steel usage. 

    Steel is also essential for the green transition. Because it is an essential input for clean energy equipment and infrastructure, global demand for steel in clean technology manufacturing applications is projected to increase three-fold by 2035 under the International Energy Agency’s (IEA) net zero emissions scenario. 

    Efficient and affordable steel production is therefore essential to any transformative economic agenda. In order to meet the developmental and environmental challenges of the coming decades, Europe and the US must rethink their relationship to steel. They must embrace a long-term structural approach that prioritizes its production and decarbonization. This will, in turn, necessitate rediscovering the virtues of industrial planning and public ownership. 

    Steel making in the age of capital

    Modern steelmaking began in 1865 with the introduction of the Martin-Siemens process, pioneered by two engineers – the French Pierre-Émile Martin and the German-British Carl Wilhelm Siemens. But it was Britain, with its natural endowment of coal and long-established ironmaking capabilities, that immediately became the global frontrunner in steelmaking. In the nineteenth century, British steel production was the driving force behind the Second Industrial Revolution 1Chris Freeman and Luc Soete, The Economics of Industrial Innovation. Routledge, 1997 . British steel production remained unmatched until 1890, when it was surpassed by the United States 2Ilva, Ilva. Altiforni e acciaierie d’Italia 1897–1947, 1948 . 

    Steel’s first major applications were in railway and long-distance shipping, making the world smaller and more interconnected. By the end of the century, process innovation in steelmaking had decimated production costs, enabling the widespread application of steel in mechanical engineering and manufacturing—facilitating the Third Industrial Revolution and the era of mass production. By the mid-twentieth century, steel was ubiquitous: in transport infrastructure, construction, machine tools and durable consumption goods such as automobiles and electrical appliances.

    In both North America and Europe, steelmaking was a highly lucrative business. In 1901, U.S. Steel was founded by James Pierpont Morgan, Charles Schwab and Andrew Carnegie through the merger of Carnegie Steel, Federal Steel, and National Steel. For much of the early twentieth century, U.S. Steel was the largest corporation in the world: the first to achieve a $1 billion market capitalization. By 1955, it still ranked third among US companies by revenues and seventh by profits 3 Fortune, (<)em(>)Fortune 500 List 1955(<)/em(>) , and in the late 1960s the US accounted for 22 percent of global production. It remained the world’s leading steelmaking nation until the early 1970s.

    In Germany, vertically integrated giants like Thyssen and Krupp formed the backbone of the country’s industrial strength and military power, securing vast fortunes for their founding families. It was significant that, after World War Two, the core driver of European economic integration was cooperation on coal and steel. In 1951, the European Coal and Steel Community was established to reduce tensions over such resources, promoting the development of national steelmaking industries. This early cooperation would form the groundwork for what would later become the European Union.  

    US-European hegemony over global steel markets would begin to decline in the 1960s and 1970s, in parallel with the rise of the Japanese steel industry. This had been coordinated and championed by Japan’s powerful Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI). Among other supporting measures, MITI promoted the 1970 merger between the country’s two largest producers, Yawata Iron & Steel and Fuji Iron & Steel, to form the national champion Nippon Steel Corporation 4 Daniel Okimoto, (<)em(>)Between MITI and the market: Japanese industrial policy for high technology(<)/em(>). Stanford University Press, 1989 . Nippon Steel quickly became the world’s largest steel-producing company by crude steel output and maintained that position until 2000. In 2023 it still ranked fourth. 

    But it was the 1973 and 1979 oil crises that dealt a fatal blow to the US-European steel supremacy. For decades after WWII, steel production had accompanied the Western model of economic development, sustained by an investment-driven industrialization process. Suddenly, the oil crises derailed new investments: soaring energy costs and heightened uncertainty stalled economic growth, forcing industrialized economies to shift away from energy and capital-intensive sectors. This had a major negative impact on steel demand and production. 

    Global steel production peaked in 1974, after three decades of continuous postwar expansion. It then stagnated for the next 25 years. The world’s crude steel output surged sixfold in volume between 1946 and 1974, while edging up by only 12 percent between 1974 and 1999. Suddenly, steelmakers were forced to compete aggressively in a stagnant market. Once highly profitable companies soon found their financial accounts deep in the red. 

    The 1970s steel crisis prompted a profound industrial restructuring across Europe and North America. Subsidies, nationalizations—notably under France’s Mitterrand presidency in 1981, and the introduction of protectionist quotas by the European Community throughout the 1980s were accompanied by plant-level restructuring and forced redundancies. The results were rising social tensions in affected regions, even as these measures improved the financial viability of steel producers. In the 1990s, mergers among national champions aimed to increase economies of scale. Arcelor, for instance, was created in 2002 through the merger of Arbed (Luxembourg), Aceralia (Spain), and Usinor (France), before being acquired by the Indian giant Mittal in 2006. A similar consolidation occurred in Germany in 1999, when Thyssen and Krupp merged to form ThyssenKrupp.

    But these efforts nevertheless failed to address the underlying structural weakness in demand for steel products. In fact, the opposition to industrial policy and conservative fiscal policies of the 1980s and 1990s accelerated deindustrialization in the Global North and reduced the scope for public infrastructure spending. As a result, the European and American steel industries never fully regained their production and competitiveness levels. Today, they together account for just 10 percent of global crude steel production, and many of their struggling players have been subject to foreign takeovers. 

    From British Steel to Baowu

    The world’s first major steel producer has taken a dramatically different trajectory from its present one. Last year, the UK produced just 4 million tonnes of crude steel, as much as it made in the late 1800s. Meanwhile, China has risen to become the world’s fifth-highest per capita steel consumer in the world at an astonishing 634.8 kg per capita 5 After South Korea, the United Arab Emirates, Taiwan, and Slovenia . Its crude annual steel output quadrupled between 1999 and 2008. By 2020, it had surpassed the 1,000-million-tonne threshold. It now accounts for an astonishing 53 percent of the global steel production.

    The comparative trajectories of the UK and China reveal important realities about the nature of steel production. Most importantly, state ownership and coordinated public planning were instrumental in spurring competitiveness in the case of both the British and Chinese steel industries, though at different stages of their development.

    British steel production peaked in 1970 at around 28 million tonnes, most of which produced under the state-owned British Steel Corporation—created following the 1967 nationalization by Harold Wilson’s Labour government 6 Alasdair Blair, “The British iron and steel industry since 1945,” (<)em(>)Journal of European Economic History(<)/em(>), 1997 . The publicly-owned steelmaking corporation could not escape the global crisis that gripped the industry in the early 1970s. British Steel’s financial performance plunged into the red, forcing management to cut production and drastically reduce its workforce, from 200,000 employees in the late 1970s to just 55,000 by 1987. This massive downsizing was partly driven by productivity gains achieved through substantial investments in more efficient production processes, which ultimately helped to restore British Steel to profitability in 1988—just in time for its privatization under Thatcher. That same year, the UK was still producing 19 million tonnes of crude steel.

    Since then, the privatised British steelmaking sector has experienced a gradual decline in production, mirroring the country’s broader process of deindustrialization. The UK’s share of manufacturing value added as a share of GDP fell from 16 percent in 1990 to just 9 percent by the early 2010s. Crude steel production dropped below 10 million tonnes in 2010, and declined further to just over than 7 million following the 2015 closure of Teesside Steelworks, which once operated the second-largest blast furnace in Europe.

    The spectacular rise of Chinese steel companies is similarly attributed to state ownership. Of the top fifty steel producers in the world, twenty-seven are based in China; only three are headquartered in the EU and four in the US. State-owned China Baowu is currently the world’s largest steel producer. Just this single company produces more crude steel than the entire European Union combined. Baowu reached such incredible dimensions not only by expanding its internal production capacity but also through mergers with other state-owned enterprises orchestrated by the State-Owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission (SASAC), China’s state-holding company. 

    Baowu is far from a standalone example. It is followed by Ansteel (the world’s third-largest steel producer), by HBIS (the world’s fifth-largest steel producer), and several other publicly-owned players. These companies compete at par with privately-owned steelmaking companies, and they are all backed by publicly-owned banks that provide patient and affordable loans for financing the long cycles of investments these companies need.

    Until recently, the growth of Chinese steelmaking primarily served the country’s domestic economic development. By building a self-sufficient and cost competitive steel industry, China avoided dependence on foreign suppliers for this critical product—relying only on a diversified import of iron ore—while simultaneously boosting the competitiveness of its downstream industries, particularly those exposed to international trade.

    A state-driven enterprise

    The British and Chinese experiences reveal an important reality: there has never been a successful free-market approach to steelmaking. Steel is an extremely capital-intensive sector that requires massive fixed investments. These are only feasible with access to long-term, patient capital. Steelmaking is also highly energy-intensive, requiring substantial inputs of coal, electricity, and natural gas. In Europe, this implies cost disadvantages, resulting from its structural dependence on imported natural gas and to electricity markets operating on marginal pricing systems, where the most expensive generation source (typically natural gas) sets the price for all electricity produced. As a result, European steelmakers face significantly higher energy costs compared to competitors in regions with more favorable, often state-administered energy pricing.

    Innovation in steelmaking is typically incremental and focused on improving process efficiency. Radical innovation—such as the transition to a fully sustainable steel production—demands long-term investment plans that private capital alone cannot sustain, especially given their thin profit margins. With unavoidably high fixed costs, cyclical fluctuations in raw material and finished product prices further increase uncertainty and narrow the scope for committing to long-term investments.

    This generates insurmountable entry barriers to the sector, favoring incumbent players that expand primarily through mergers and acquisitions. Once production capacity is lost, it is rarely recovered. It is therefore unsurprising that the industry is dominated by large firms: in 2024, the 10 largest steelmaking companies accounted for almost 28 percent of global output, while more than half of global crude steel is produced by the top thirty-four companies.

    Historically, these challenges have only been overcome through state intervention. The US and Germany became the world’s leading steel nations at the end of the nineteenth century thanks to heavy tariff protection. In Japan, the first steel plant was installed in 1901 by a government-owned company created specifically for that purpose. In the second half of the century, it was again the Japanese MITI that orchestrated strategic mergers to achieve competitive economies of scale. South Korea’s POSCO, currently the world’s seventh-largest steelmaker by output, rose to prominence as a state-owned company, founded in 1968 with support from the state-owned Korea Development Bank. Similarly, half of Italy’s infant steelmaking industry (including all of its primary steel production) was bailed out in 1933 and developed by the state-holding company IRI to become a major driver of Italy’s “economic miracle” in the 1950s and 1960s. 

    Finally, China’s current dominance of the industry fundamentally rests on direct state coordination over the past decades. Success would not have been possible without  patient orchestration through a long-term planning process that included strategic mergers and managed competition among key state-owned players, patient favourable financing conditions, and targeted use of public procurement.

    Green steel for climate resilience

    To undertake the transformational agenda required for the green transition, governments don’t just need to invest in steel. They must make sure that steel production is itself decarbonized. Steelmaking is a typical “hard-to-abate” industrial sector, responsible for approximately 10 percent of global greenhouse gas emissions. The great bulk of steel-related emissions come from the so-called “primary process”, where steel is produced through blast furnaces (BF-BOF). On average, a traditional BF-BOF plant emits more than two tonnes of CO₂ per tonne of steel produced. This is primarily due to the chemical reaction occurring in the blast furnace at very high temperatures between coke, limestone and iron ore. The BF-BOF process accounts for more than 70 percent of the world’s total crude steel production.

    The other, secondary, steelmaking process produces crude steel from scrap material melted in an electric arc furnace (EAF). This process is greener than the traditional BF-BOF one, but not entirely green. Substituting coal with electricity is not enough to reduce emissions, if the latter is produced burning fossil fuel. In fact, on a global scale, we are still far from fully decarbonising power generation, with 59 percent of total electricity produced still deriving from fossil fuel plants in 2024. However, even an EAF plant that is fully powered by renewables typically uses natural gas burners to optimise the melting process of scrap material. In this scenario, CO₂ emissions per tonnes of steel produced are substantially lower—around 0.1 tonnes—but they remain non-negligible. 

    Eventually, the full decarbonization of steelmaking, including primary steel, can only be achieved through the deployment of green hydrogen. Green hydrogen is produced via electrolysis, a process that separates the H₂O molecule into oxygen and hydrogen, using renewable electricity. One tested process, known as direct reduced iron (DRI), enables the production of steel from iron ore outside the traditional blast furnace, eliminating the need for carbon coke. While a DRI plant can be powered by natural gas, it could also operate using green hydrogen. In this case, primary steel can be produced with minimal CO₂ emissions.

    However, turning electricity into hydrogen remains an extremely energy inefficient process and absorbs huge loads of power. A DRI plant operating with green hydrogen may require more than 4,000 KWh of electricity per tonnes of steel produced—nearly 30 times the amount needed for a conventional BF-BOF plant and slightly less than 10 times the electricity consumed by a traditional EAF plant. In addition to the challenges related to investing in the infrastructure for producing and transporting green hydrogen, a key prerequisite for making it economically viable is an abundance of renewable electricity. Which is easier said than done.

    Transitioning to a clean steelmaking industry in the near future is technically feasible, but economically impossible without public investment and structural changes in the steel market. Capital expenditure required for switching to DRI plants and building infrastructure for green hydrogen production and storage is prohibitively high for any privately-owned industry player. Moreover, the electricity needed for generating green hydrogen involves high operating costs. Unsurprisingly, when market conditions deteriorated at the end of last year, European steelmakers immediately announced delays in their transition plans. Notably, ArcelorMittal suspended its investment in hydrogen-fuelled DRI plants, despite having been promised €3 billion in financial support from European governments.

    Market-based policy interventions such as the EU Emissions Trading System (ETS) have so far proven ineffective in fostering the decarbonization of steelmaking. Similarly, introducing a carbon price on imported steel products through the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism (CBAM), entering into force in 2026, is unlikely to have a transformative impact. 

    Not surprisingly, the “Hybrit” project, the world’s most advanced initiative for a full-scale DRI plant powered by green hydrogen, is being carried out by a partnership of state-controlled entities underpinned by strong public financing support. The project is led by the steelmaking company SSAB, which is jointly-controlled by the Finnish government and the Swedish state-owned mining company LKAB. The latter will provide the necessary iron ore for the new steel plant. Vattenfall, another fully state-owned electricity company, will ensure the provision of abundant and affordable clean power to produce the required quantities of green hydrogen.

    Following government coordinating directives, those companies have remodulated their external dividend payments to prioritise strategic reinvestment into the project. The Hybrit consortium has also received substantial direct financial support from both the Swedish state and the EU, in the form of capital injections, grants and loans. 

    Steelmaking is vital for economic development and the green energy transition. Countries in the global North would do well to learn from China’s example, orienting themselves to a future in which steelmaking is recognized as a strategically vital industry and embracing a renewed role for the state in planning to achieve long-term industrial and policy objectives, including through the public ownership and orientation of key industry players and financial institutions.

  3. State of Emergency

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    Ecuador’s May elections were a testament to the country’s extreme polarization. Incumbent Daniel Noboa, representing the right-wing Acción Democrática Nacional (National Democratic Action) party and supported by big business, won 55.6 percent of the votes in the second round. On the left, Luisa Gonzales won 44.3 percent of the vote, representing the Revolución Ciudadana (Citizen’s Revolution) movement, a product of the progressive party structure that governed the country for over a decade. With voters concentrated across these two major parties, the Pachakutik party, linked to the indigenous movement, was the only third party to survive, gaining 5.2 percent of first round vote.1The Pachakutik party is the political arm of the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (CONAIE) presided by Leonidas Iza. In the second electoral round, it (<)a href='https://www.primicias.ec/elecciones/ecuador2025/presidenciales/pachakutik-acuerdo-revolucion-ciudadana-luisa-gonzalez-segunda-vuelta-electoral-92751/'(>)announced its support(<)/a(>) to the candidate of the Movimiento Revolución Ciudadana Luiza González.All other political parties received less than 1 percent of the vote share.

    The election marks a crucial moment in Ecuadorian history, defined by the convergence of economic, political, energy, and security crises. But to understand the consolidation of right-wing power in the present, it is important to examine the two major political cycles that have characterized twenty-first century Ecuador. The Revolución Ciudadana movement, which held power from 2007 to 2017, promoted state intervention and redistributional policies.2Originally, the political project that brought Rafael Correa to power in 2006 was articulated under the name Alianza País. But in 2021, after the internal fracture during the government of Lenin Moreno, the Movimiento Revolución Ciudadana was founded, as an expression of the so-called Correismo.This decade-long rule was interrupted by the breakaway of Lenin Moreno from the movement in 2018, signaling the beginning of a reactionary turn.  

    The dominance of major business groups in the Ecuador’s national politics has formed what I refer to as an oligarchic-neoliberal model, characterized by extreme political polarization, weakened constitutional protections, and a return to indebtedness. The country’s recent dealings with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank should be viewed in the context of this political transformation. With a staff-level agreement reached with the IMF this October, Ecuador has entrenched its commitment to an austere economic program. This austerity accompanies Noboa’s harsh security agenda targeting an internal armed conflict, through which his government has instrumentalized emergency laws and used judicial proceedings against the opposition under the guise of a heightened security apparatus. Amid the parallel trajectories of economic liberalization and political repression, the oligarchic-neoliberal model has been fortified through tools of immobilization, neutralization, dissuasion, and political control. In just a few years, oligarchic rule has reversed the democratic and social gains won less than two decades prior.

    Political cycles

    Since the beginning of the Latin American debt crisis in 1982, Ecuador has experienced the severe consequences of the IMF’s structural adjustment programs. Consecutive Ecuadorian governments imposed austerity measures while dismantling the regulatory capacities of the state, culminating in the financial-monetary crisis of 1999, which prompted dollarization. In response to this crisis of neoliberalism, the Alianza País (Country Alliance), which would later become the Revolución Ciudadana, rose out of an alliance of several social and civic movements. Led by Rafael Correa, the movement sought a departure from the structural adjustment programs that had plagued the country, consolidating its gains in the constituent assembly of 2007–2008.

    With the support of the Alianza País, Correa won successive presidential elections and used the 2008 constitution to bolster his authority. The movement began to fracture early on, however, as Correa expanded extractivism and mining, leading to conflict with Ecuador’s indigenous organizations defending their territories. Correa’s efforts to increase state control also led to confrontations with civil society organizations, which accused him of authoritarianism. Still, from 2007–2017, the movement was able to preserve and maintain power through public investment, social spending in health and education, and the political instruments of a hyper-presidential constitution.3When the 2008 Constitution was approved, the Revolución Ciudadana, which at that time was called Alianza País, was at the beginning of the political cycle in which it would be hegemonic. To consolidate this hegemony it needed to control, directly, the key levers of power and these levers were the ability to control from hegemonic positions the control authorities, the State budget, the veto power of the President and his ability to legislate, the monopoly over public policies and the discretionary power over the public budget. It was because of this need for hegemony that Alianza País designed an executive power with hyper-presidential capacities. The government also coopted the Transparency and Social Control function of the new constitution, which served to guarantee citizen participation, accountability, and access to public information.4The other four functions established in the 2008 Constitution are the Executive, Legislative, Judicial and Electoral.

    In 2017, however, the election of Lenin Moreno under the banner of Alianza País and his subsequent political turn to the right divided the movement, representing a rupture within Correismo. Lenin Moreno rejected the social distribution model of the left and supported IMF-backed structural reforms which would eliminate fuel subsidies, promote labor flexibilization, reduce public spending, and encourage foreign investment. The 2017 election thus election commenced a struggle over the control of the state, with the right striving to dismantle state capacity and rebuild political domination, an effort with overlapped with the agendas of the IMF and the World Bank. Right-wing state capture would enable the implementation of an oligarchic-neoliberal model expressed not only in the reestablishment of the market and a reduction of regulatory functions, but also a corporate concentration of economic, political, and symbolic power. Democratic transformation was no longer a radical possibility.  

    In a two-party political dispute around government control, the central economic issues concerning the population and criticism of the IMF’s program were often overlooked in mainstream discourse. Political polarization was the main topic of most debate, and the population was divided into two camps. With the exception of the indigenous movement, polarization prevented the emergence of alternative paths.

    The following map testifies to the extent of polarization, showing the geographic concentration of the 2025 vote. Although Noboa surpassed Gonzalez with only 16,746 votes in the first round, he extended his advantage to more than 1.18 million votes in the second round. He won nineteen provinces—including Guayas, El Oro, Imbabura and Orellana, previously strongholds of Correism and the Revolución Ciudadana—while Gonzalez only held only five provinces. Even so, his party only obtained sixty-six seats in the National Assembly, compared to the sixty-seven obtained by the Revolución Ciudadana. Both blocs failed to reach the seventy-seven seats required for an absolute majority.

    2025 Electoral map of Ecuador, first round and second round
    Source: (Larrea and Saenz 2025)

    A return to indebtedness

    In 2019, Lenin Moreno signed a deal with the IMF, marking significant departure from the political and economic program of the Revolución Ciudadana. After more than a decade, Ecuador had returned to the IMF, and the credit and economic cooperation between the IMF and Ecuador increased drastically from 2020 onwards.

    Prior to the 2019 agreement, the IMF had not had a significant presence in Ecuador since 2003. The Revolución Ciudadana had no relationship to the IMF and the World Bank. But the agreement under Lenin Moreno, ratified in 2024, imposed a harsh fiscal adjustment and consolidation program, reducing public investment, government spending on social programs, allocations to universities, research for development, funding for public enterprises, and more.

    We can compare Ecuador’s fiscal adjustment to those of Argentina and Honduras. In the Extended Fund Facility Arrangement (EFF) with Argentina, signed in 2022, the IMF projected a fiscal consolidation of 2.2 percent of country’s GDP from 2022–2024.5The IMF uses the EFF as an instrument to “assist” nations facing medium-term balance of payments problems, derived from structural deficiencies that require a considerable period of time to rectify. This entails the installation of conditions such as cuts in public spending, fiscal reforms, privatizations or market liberalization, which in some cases have led to an increase in social inequality. In the agreement signed with Honduras in 2023, the fiscal consolidation program was set at 1 percent of GDP. In the case of Ecuador, the IMF proposed an adjustment program that, on average, amounted to 5 percent of GDP and in aggregate terms represented 10 percent. Ecuador thus faces a much harsher structural adjustment than other countries in the region, and the consolidation targets as a proportion of GDP have increased over the last five years.

    IMF fiscal consolidation targets for Ecuador as a percentage of GDP
    Measures and policies as % of GDPSAF-2019-21SAF-2019-21SAF-2019-21
    New revenue measures0.72.63.7
    Tax Reform1.83.01.9
    Previously adopted tax changes-1.000
    Elimination of ISD-0.200
    Monetization of assets (privatizations)000
    Other income0.201.7
    Expenditure measures4.32.91.8
    Wages and salaries1.00.61.2
    Goods and services0.80.70.8
    Other expenditures-0.100.2
    Capital expenditure (public investment)0.92.10
    Elimination of fuel subsidy2.11.10
    Social spending-0.4-0.9-0.4
    Total fiscal consolidation5.05.55.5
    Source: (IMF 2019a, 16;IMF 2020b, 17; IMF 2024a, 11).

    The following graph shows how public investment rapidly decreased as a result of the economic adjustment.

    The IMF adjustment program led to employment stagnation and reduced formal employment. In response to the poor labor market, the right advocated for weakening labor legislation and increasing labor flexibilization to boost employment levels.

    Ecuadorians paid for the austerity policies through unemployment and informality. The above graph indicates that full employment was close to 60 percent of the economically active population before the adjustment, and it dropped to around 30 percent afterwards. The IMF program also created an excessive amount of public debt, which rose from $17.6 billion in 2014 to more than $47 billion in 2024. At the same time, the program delinked public debt and development financing.

    These effects spurred an economic crisis. If spending and investment policies of the Revolución Ciudadana had continued, so too would have economic growth— the projected GDP for 2027 would have been close to $160 billion. The current projection in the IMF’s own forecasts (2024) points to a GDP of slightly less than $130 billion by 2027. The difference of $30 billion is the cost of the fiscal consolidation program.

    The structural adjustment also led to a reversal of the social protections in place since 2008. These protections were based on the guarantee of rights, in accordance with the new constitution. The sudden cutbacks to these programs sparked a series of social mobilizations against the agreement in October 2019 and June 2022, which were met with violent state repression. The government conducted mass arrests, with human rights organizations warning that 76 percent of detentions were arbitrary or illegal.

    In response to the protests, the government agreed to suspend a reform to fuel subsidies which would have increased fuel prices according to an automatic fuel pricing formula. The IMF wrote on the unrest:

    The (IMF staff) report should have recognized the fierce opposition to the reduction of fuel subsidies among influential groups in the population…. Ecuador faced weeks of destabilizing social unrest when fuel prices were revised. There were also violent social protests that nearly toppled the government when the administration attempted to cut fuel subsidies in October 2019, highlighting how politically sensitive the issue had already been prior to the program’s approval (Emphasis added).

    The economic recession sparked by the adjustment hurt both the poorest sectors and the middle classes. With the suspension of social programs and decreased spending on health and education, the absence of the state led to a power vacuum in many regions of the country. This was immediately exploited by sectors of organized crime and drug trafficking, leading to a serious internal security crisis. Organized criminal groups began to dispute urban and peripheral territories and state institutions, especially with the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic. Violence spilled across towns, and the state was accused of abandoning the population. Despite an exponential increase in violence, Ecuador did not update its Comprehensive Security Plan 2019–2030 until 2024.6The National Comprehensive Security Plan (PNSI) 2019-2030 was approved in its first year, but was not fully updated or implemented for several years, as a result of institutional instability, political crises, and lack of coordination among the bodies in charge of internal security. The intersection of the political, economic, social and security crises thus formed the basis of the 2025 election, in which Ecuador again saw the triumph of the right amid a hegemonic dispute.

    The oligarchic-neoliberal model

    There was no need for big economic groups and right-wing political parties to negotiate over power—right-wing political leaders came directly from the country’s oligarchic class. In Ecuador, as in most liberal countries, large business groups dominate the economy. As a result, markets are monopolistic or oligopolistic. The following chart displays the economic power of these groups:

    SectorEconomic group
    FinancePichincha; MultiBG-Banco Guayaquil
    Commercial distribution and importsLa Favorita; Mi Comisariato; Almacenes Juan Eljuri; Comandato; Tomebamba.
    Multinational Schlumberger; OCP; Claro; Movistar; General Motors; Halliburton; Nestlé.
    Agroexports and AgribusinessNoboa; NOBIS; Santa Priscila; Reybanpac; Ubesa.
    IndustryAndec; Arca; Dinadec; KFC; Alex; La Fabril; Adelca; Holcim.
    Health and Health InsuranceDifare; Future; Conclinica; Farmaenlace; Fybeca
    Source: Servicio de Rentas Internas (SRI), Grupos económicos y su relación con paraísos fiscales, June 27, 2025, last accessed June 27, 2025, https://www.sri.gob.ec/grupos-economicos.

    The income of these groups represents about 75 percent of domestic GDP. The heads of these groups participate directly in elections and ad hoc political parties on the right. Daniel Noboa, for example, is the heir to the Noboa Corporation and the NOBIS group. Guillermo Lasso Mendoza, who served as President from 2021 to 2023, served as the CEO of Banco Guayaquil. Otto Sonnenholzner, Vice President from 2018 to 2020, was linked to the Santa Pricsila Group. The oligarchic-neoliberal model is not just of influence, but of governance.

    The consolidation of the oligarchic-neoliberal model has transformed Ecuador’s political system. Since 2017, the right has sought to undermine the 2008 constitution. The government declared independence and autonomy of the Central Bank, alongside the Law for the Defense of Dollarization of 2021, and imposed fiscal ceilings on decentralized autonomous governments. These new policies have generated a contradictory and redundant legal regime, which has since been used to justify privatization, deregulation, and the imposition of the IMF economic program.

    The oligarchic-neoliberal model has sought state capture and intensified corruption. Through hyper-presidentialism, emergency economic laws have legislated all aspects of the transition and ensured political domination. The Organic Law of Public Integrity of 2025, for example, was presented as an urgent economic law, but it changed nineteen legal texts, many of which pertained to non-economic spheres.

    The oligarchic-neoliberal model has also mobilized lawfare against the Revolución Ciudadana, instrumentalizing legal codes, and particularly criminal law, to persecute the political opposition.7(<)a id='_ftn1' href='#_ftnref1'(>)[1](<)/a(>) Virgilio Hernández, Silvina Romano and Marcelo Maisonnave, coords., (<)em(>)Lawfare en Ecuador: Guerra contra la democracia y el derecho (<)/em(>)(Quito: Ruta Crítica, 2024). The State Attorney General’s Office has gone after political opponents, incapacitating the Revolución Ciudadana and preventing full electoral participation.

    Under Daniel Noboa, Ecuador’s state of emergency has been made permanent. Organized crime is now a “beligerant non-state actor,” and the internal conflict is the focus of state policy. To this end, Noboa issued more than eleven Decrees of State of Exception and Internal Armed Conflict, consolidating this permanent state of exception through both legal and electoral reforms. The vast majority of Noboa’s term has taken place under this state of exception, and extraordinary “iron fist” measures have become normalized. These harsh strategies have failed to reduce violence and received criticism from human rights organizations.

    Although oligarchic-neoliberal model seems incapable of resolving the security crisis, it does have a strategy to retain power. On one hand, business elites have dismantled existing state institutions to serve the interests of business elites and impose a model of indebtedness, dependent on IMF support. On the other hand, elites have used the armed conflict to gain political support, using a permanent state of exception to pacify the Revolución Ciudadana and prevent the opposition from recovering power.

    The only social sector that has escaped total political polarization is the indigenous movement, which captured 5 percent of the national vote. But Noboa’s government still managed to sway the majority of its representatives to the right. This cooptation was itself enabled by state repression—Noboa responded to social unrest with violence, criminalization, and persecution. While this move speaks to the growing power of the oligarchic-neoliberal model, it is important to recall that civic organizations and social movements have historically proved resilient in Ecuador. The current juncture marks just one conflictive episode in a history of political disputes, and an alternative path still remains a possibility.

  4. Great Power Antinomies

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    In late July, the Trump administration released “America’s AI Action Plan,” its executive strategy to fast-track domestic AI infrastructure and achieve technological supremacy. Like other US policies of any serious ambition, it bears an obvious insistence on bolstering the nation’s security against China. The Plan’s coverpage tagline is bold, if uninspired: “Winning the Race.”

    Even so, Washington’s national security experts aren’t entirely satisfied with Donald Trump’s technology policy. Of late, their ire has been directed at the administration’s decision to resume the sale of certain Nvidia chips to China. The chips in question, H20 graphics processing units, were designed to comply with Biden-era export restrictions; Trump’s Commerce Department rescinded those rules but later blocked H20 sales, anyway. They are not class-leading, but their technological edge at the stage of AI inference makes them extremely valuable. Accordingly, their sale to foreign adversaries, especially to the Chinese, has been the centerpiece of recent US geopolitical strategy. It took personal lobbying by Nvidia chief executive Jensen Huang to convince the President to drop the ban, arguing that it is better for America’s interests for China to depend on US-designed chips than to not have them at all. 

    For those that have spent the last half decade or more engaged in sophisticated supply-chain wargaming, the reversal of US semiconductor controls has been received as anathema. In a letter to Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick, security experts and former officials in the first Trump administration blasted the move as “a strategic misstep that endangers the United States’ economic and military edge in artificial intelligence.” Elsewhere, China hawks are explaining that such a self-evidently conciliatory move must be looking for concessions from Beijing ahead of trade talks.

    The abrupt change in export-controls policy hints at a shift in the administration’s theory of China competition. In March 2025, when the administration solicited public input on its forthcoming AI strategy, no major tech company dared to suggest that China gain access to leading American AI hardware. Political consensus was such that national security concerns took unimpeachable priority over selling key technology to rivals. The terrain on which that consensus rested is now breaking down. 

    Two recent developments are driving the shift. First, American tech business elites, having reached the profitability limits of hardware controls, are looking outside US borders. And within China, the Biden-era GPU restrictions are at least as likely to have spurred Chinese innovation as to have contained it. 

    If the US once sought to safeguard its comparative advantage of deep learning GPUs, it is now exploiting that advantage to facilitate grander imperial ambitions. The Trump administration’s reconfigured priority is to export the “American AI technology stack”—chips, data storage, foundation models—around the world. To navigate national antagonisms on the bleeding edge of technology, the US is reproducing what John A. Hobson, writing at the turn of the 20th century, saw in the conquests of old empire: a “political policy and practice,” brokered by the “industrial and financial chiefs,” to relieve “the pressure of capital for external fields of investment.”

    Building the China Consensus

    It wasn’t long ago that the People’s Republic of China was perceived as a strategic asset, not an existential threat, to American well-being. Through diplomacy and trade, official US government policy since Nixon was to bring China into the post-war international order, on the assumption that domestic liberalization would follow. On those terms, the bilateral flow of goods and services was desirable. Campaigning in May 2000, then-US presidential nominee George W. Bush put it in moral terms: “China is most free where it is most in contact with the world economy.” That view of China persisted through Barack Obama’s presidency, albeit shaded by greater degrees of hostility. The 2016 Trans-Pacific Partnership negotiated by the Obama administration was the capstone of that approach: a gambit to formalize trade rules with a belligerent China, bringing the region into an American-led system of commerce. “We can’t let countries like China write the rules of the global economy,” Obama said during final negotiations. “We should write those rules, opening new markets to American products while setting high standards for protecting workers and preserving our environment.”

    The TPP effectively died in January 2017, when the first Trump administration pulled the US out of the agreement before it began. China moved aggressively to become self-sufficient against American firms’ upstream position in supply chains, as well as secure the national production of key minerals. In this changed environment, President Trump put forward a new theory of American security, winding down the war on terror and prioritizing China. The administration’s 2017 National Security Strategy articulated, for the first time, that China’s economic rise was not only an issue of concern but an immediate military threat. Against that backdrop, Trump levied tariffs on China in response to perceived trade imbalances and intellectual property theft. Concerns about advanced technology moved into the foreground. The National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2019 prohibited the procurement of Huawei and ZTE equipment by US agencies. Later, the US Federal Communications Commission formally designated the two firms as threats to national security on suspicion of their ties to China’s military.

    As President, Joe Biden deepened  the antagonism toward China  pioneered by his predecessor. The production and shipping disruptions of the Covid-19 pandemic pushed the Biden administration to focus less on particular Chinese firms and more on China’s position in global supply chains. “Resilience” and “decoupling” became the operative words. In August 2022, the bipartisan passage of the CHIPS and Science Act, aiming to de-risk the domestic fabrication of semiconductors, made clear the shift in priorities: the US needed to stabilize its economic and technological advancement against global disruption. A few months later, the United States announced export controls restricting China’s access to advanced semiconductors designed in the United States, aimed at kneecapping China’s development of AI. Biden elsewhere described Chinese technology transfers as “anticompetitive” and “unfair.”

    As Andrew Elrod has described, Biden found, in the legislative implosion of his domestic social policy, a potent admixture of national security and public expenditure. Geopolitical rivalry was the ballast for costly industrial policy, completing a “national security synthesis” between the national security base and new fiscal ambitions. While Biden campaigned as a “return to normalcy” following Trump, his administration completed the economic-nationalist turn started by his predecessor, collapsing the distinction between economic interest and national security. 

    Other world powers, including the European Union, have followed suit, authorized by America’s security pivot. Well before the continent’s 2025 fiscal reforms, which permit greater borrowing toward defense, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen had been calling for “economic de-risking” in the face of “China’s explicit fusion of its military and commercial sectors.” The landmark Draghi report on European competitiveness foregrounded supply chain dependencies and the “innovation gap” as key challenges to growth; if Europe is to weather “less stable geopolitics,” they need to be addressed.

    Improbably, signs of a different security posture are emerging in the second Trump presidency. On the matter of China, the administration appears to be rethinking the usefulness of great power competition. What it has only recently begun to do—in fits and starts—is articulate a distinct economic interest that exists at the periphery, not the core, of US defense. 

    This new vision was most clearly articulated in a CNBC interview with Howard Lutnick. The Commerce Secretary explained that the US was easing export controls so it could “sell the Chinese enough that their developers get addicted to the American technology stack.” So much for the first Trump administration’s concern, described in its inaugural National Security Strategy, that China’s rise was “due to its access to the US innovation economy.” After all, dependencies go both ways. American innovation is similarly contingent on access to Chinese resources, e.g. physical, intellectual, and otherwise. What’s more, getting the Chinese addicted to the US tech stack appears to belie other parts of the administration’s new AI strategy, which aims to “prevent our adversaries from using our innovations to their own ends.” 

    SIlicon Valley Dominance  

    What is driving this nascent turn? One set of pressures emerges out of the US’s domestic economy, reflecting a rupture within the White House between experts from the national security state, on the one hand, and the Silicon Valley business elite, on the other. While the two sides are generally aligned on the role of advanced technology in geopolitical competition, they differ on certain policy details. Thus the contradictions: while the administration may describe its technology ambitions in a familiar national-security rhetoric—i.e., “winning the race”—its most consequential actions reflect a desire to engage, not exclude, China. 

    The Big Tech camp is led by Trump’s AI and crypto czar David Sacks. Like Lutnick, they understand that export controls, largely ineffectual, are foregone earnings. By September, only a few weeks after the administration rolled out its new AI plans, business leaders had well rehearsed the new party line. At an AI summit in Washington, AMD CEO Lisa Su perfunctorily acknowledged that the most advanced chips “should be export controlled” before getting on with the point: US tech companies cannot miss the “opportunity for us to get an AI stack that is based on American technology out into the world.” 

    The rift highlights the unresolved disagreements within the fissiparous bloc of national security and Big Tech, in other respects so closely joined in solidarity. Modern information technology is a product of mid-century defense spending and innovation planning by the US national security state. But the rapid emergence of commercial AI has aggravated internal “frenemy” dynamics, defined by the tension between deploying automated AI systems in the military-industrial complex and dislocating the power of well-settled arms manufacturers. In recent years, Silicon Valley has aggressively moved into defense tech, pursuing the revenue promised by lucrative Pentagon contracts. The Hill & Valley Forum, a tech-defense consortium founded in 2023 by top Trump donor Jacob Helberg (now a senior official in the State Department), is one of the premier sites of influence in Washington. 

    Yet the tech-and-security bloc is like any other interest group assemblage; its success at influencing the presidency depends on finding the synergies, and smoothing the frictions, between national defense and commercial profit. Eric Schmidt, the former Google chief executive and chairman who has since become one of the most prominent voices in Washington’s national security space, highlighted the problem in 2022: while “some degree of technological separation from China is necessary… we shouldn’t go so far as to harm US interests in the process.” After all, “China’s tech sector continues to benefit American businesses.” Finding the balance is the troublesome part. “How partial should this partial separation be?”, Schmidt mused. “Would 15 percent of US-China technological ties be severed, or 85 percent?” The surprise reversal of US chip controls illustrates that the “cut line”—a favored phrase of Biden’s Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo—has never been fixed. 

    However much the US tech sector, especially its manufacturing base, promotes defense technology and cheers the possibility of US-Sino conflict, they are not the same as their counterparts in the national-security state. Even as both groups pursue maximalist security, their material interests diverge in significant ways. The China hawks are true believers in a grand struggle between US democracy and CCP authoritarianism. The tech right are business leaders. Throttling China’s access to US chips on national-security grounds was generally seen as compatible with American commercial interests, but that understanding is now in question. The profit centers of the AI sector are turning away from export controls and looking toward new horizons of accumulation. 

    Spurring Innovation

    Part of the reason for Silicon Valley’s influence is practical. Chip export controls have not blocked Chinese innovation. The January 2025 release of DeepSeek-R1, a large language model roughly competitive with, and far more efficient than, OpenAI’s ChatGPT-4, indicated that Chinese firms are able to produce new innovations—even in the apparent absence of US-designed chips. In the aftermath, Nvidia shed almost $600 billion of its market value (the company’s stock has since rebounded to a very comfortable degree). Then came the recriminations. The US House Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party concluded that DeepSeek, far from pioneering in-house engineering innovations, circumvented US restrictions and purchased Nvidia chips through Singaporean intermediaries. 

    Here is the catch-22 for export controls: either the chip ban worked, and DeepSeek proved that innovations in deep learning do not depend on American AI hardware, or it was ineffectual, and DeepSeek got their hands on illegal American GPUs. Diagnosing what happened matters less than the conclusion in either event: the Commerce Department’s supply chain tactics aren’t stopping China’s technological revolution.  

    It has become increasingly untenable to insist that outmaneuvering China in value chains is going to succeed for the US. Even putting aside the failures of export control enforcement—the $1 billion Chinese black markets of illegal GPUs, q.e.d.—major players in China’s domestic semiconductor industry are aggressively ramping up R&D and fabrication of high-tech AI chips. Indeed, investors, if not American diplomats, have been delighted at China’s innovations. In 2025, Chinese tech stocks have outperformed their US counterparts, driven by domestic enthusiasm over breakthroughs in deep learning models and investments in AI infrastructure.

    More importantly, China is better prepared to win a war of supply-chain attrition. Worldwide, a rush to secure critical minerals, for which China enjoys enviable positioning, is supplanting a laser focus on semiconductor design provenance. China has limited the foreign access to rare earth elements, and so has hindered America’s ability to meet its technology and defense goals. The stakes are not lost on the Trump administration, which is seeking to expedite its own mining. The Interior Department has dismantled protections on public lands, and the Department of Defense is accelerating extraction at California’s Mountain Pass mine by means of a substantial ownership stake and a ten-year offtake agreement. 

    But even the best case for increasing domestic production will take time. In the short term, the Trump administration is still trying to reach a deal with Beijing. Even the State Department has tried to apply pressure, such as when it announced plans to cancel the visas of Chinese students in the US. Officials quickly dropped the student visa idea, seeing it would not alter negotiations. Meanwhile, Trump’s efforts to squeeze China with additional tariffs are constrained by the prospect of unruly equity markets. With such impotent tools of leverage, the reality is American reliance on Chinese mineral primacy. 

    Parasites

    If the new objective is to export American AI hardware and services, Secretary Lutnick’s media appearances aren’t exactly helping. His poor choice of words in the CNBC interview—getting the Chinese “addicted”—so angered Chinese officials that they quickly directed developers not to purchase H20s, instead encouraging the use of domestic semiconductors and older hardware. A few weeks later, China’s internet regulator officially banned the purchase of all Nvidia chips. In China, the issue of western-imposed “addiction” is sensitive. Memories of the “century of humiliation”—the era of depredation that resulted when Qing officials, staring down Victorian gunships, lifted China’s ban on opium imports—continue to linger.

    Lutnick may be eating his words, but China enjoys the privilege of a world-class tech sector. The prospect of humiliation now falls to other countries without the same luxury. This is the predatory element of Trump’s AI Action Plan, which elsewhere envisions the US leading “an enduring global alliance,” with the US exporting AI hardware and services to “all countries willing to join America’s AI alliance.” China has responded with the launch of its own multilateral governance initiative, called the World AI Cooperation Organization, to “deepen cooperation on innovation to unleash the AI dividend,” especially in the global South. 

    The new developments may be little more than political theater, especially for the Chinese, whose new plan is only a variation of the country’s long-running Belt and Road Initiative. For years, the Chinese state has brokered diplomatic agreements to build data centers in markets like Chile and Peru and install Huawei telecommunications and 5G infrastructure in Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, and other Latin American countries. Meanwhile, the new US plan to leverage advantages in AI infrastructure evokes a simplified version of Biden’s “AI Diffusion Rule,” the short-lived set of tiered export controls that similarly asserted US zones of influence. 

    What emerges are competing foreign development frameworks that leverage AI for political advantage. Whether a country chooses American or Chinese AI infrastructure is beside the point; in many cases, the benefits of adoption are unlikely to materialize. It used to be, in the palmy days, that foreign technologies held the possibility for developing countries to build expertise, launch local firms, and move up value chains. That is the story of China’s success, after all. With AI, what is being offered is not technology transfers in deep learning, but leased access to AI platforms. Neither open-source AI (publicly available source code, training data, and overall architecture) nor “open-weight models” (transparency into key training parameters) dislocates this dynamic.

    As Marietje Schaake has cautioned, the unique problem with AI is that, despite its opacity, it is “deeply embedded in critical processes” like infrastructure and defense. Replacement costs are high, as “the rapid pace of its evolution makes it difficult for alternative suppliers to maintain competitive alternatives, adding chokepoint effects.” This produces “powerful lock-in effects.” Developing countries that are reliant on foreign investment, not wanting to get left behind in the technological race, are likely to end up in positions of subordination. Cédric Durand has described the “dynamic of dependence” that results from the fusion of Big Tech and critical infrastructure, permitting “the monopolists to charge exorbitant rents and generate endless flows of monetizable data.” 

    Countries are well aware of these power asymmetries. In recent years, many have sought to achieve “digital sovereignty” by shedding critical dependencies on foreign technology infrastructure. Even the Europeans, in an extraordinary case of historical amnesia, are warning about the continent becoming a “digital colony.” Yet the dependencies have proven stubbornly resilient. Brazil’s recent efforts to drive AI adoption, for example, have largely underwhelmed in boosting domestic job creation and raising productivity. Recent efforts by Kenya to become a “Silicon Savannah” have evinced “remarkable innovation shadowed by troubling dependencies.” 

    In spite of these challenges—or perhaps because of them—massive capital expenditure is being funneled toward AI infrastructure. With low borrowing costs and high equity valuations, technology firms and hyperscalers are taking advantage of favorable conditions. In 2025, four US companies alone (Alphabet, Amazon, Meta, and Microsoft) are spending a cumulative $320 billion. So far, they are not sweating about overcapacity. In a July earnings call for investors, Microsoft’s finance chief noted that the company is still seeing demand improve for its AI services, driving strong earnings. 

    Yet most people using AI are using free versions, and businesses have been reluctant to pay for enterprise licenses. A recent US Census Bureau survey found that AI adoption is declining among large firms, and fewer than 1 in 10 companies are using the technology to produce goods or services. Indeed, beneath the optimism lie nagging doubts around the industry. In its Form 10-K filing in 2024, Meta shared that “there can be no assurance that the usage of AI will enhance our products or services or be beneficial to our business, including our efficiency or profitability.” 

    Meanwhile, in China, where expected 2025 spending on AI is a modest $98 billion, President Xi Jinping has sought to cool down investment. Haunted by “involution” in the domestic EV industry, Chinese officials have concerns that a glut of AI products may soon outpace demand, triggering price wars. Already, many newly-built data centers in China are under-utilized, as operators must either lease out compute power at barely-profitable rates or have servers of costly GPUs sit idle. In this regard, captive markets abroad offer an obvious arena for new demand. 

    These days, the global technological competition does not revolve around superior technical benchmarks. China is prioritizing low-cost AI applications that deliver practical, observable utility. The US is relaxing its chokehold on high-end GPUs, an admission that class-leading performance matters only inasmuch as it facilitates the diffusion of the American technology stack. If an AI competition exists, it mainly concerns the construction of opposing architectures of capital accumulation. To “win the race,” the tech and finance elite, both American and Chinese, are stoking, and capitalizing on, global anxieties over “being left behind” in a zero-sum age of AI.

    Advanced Technology Reorientation

    In early October, China’s commerce ministry announced sweeping export controls on rare earths and critical minerals. If Trump’s decision to permit the sale of certain GPUs to Chinese firms signaled a relaxation, Beijing is not following his lead. The unexpected move undermines the US strategy, even as it stands to invite retaliation and damage Chinese commercial interests. Yet despite the US-Sino antagonisms, some degree of cooperation between the two countries is necessary for the basic operation of technology supply chains. Jensen Huang was roundly condemned for calling China hawks “unpatriotic,” but from the perspective of American big business, he was only stating the obvious.

    The Trump administration’s actions on AI are likely to prove disastrous. By dismantling environmental protections and accelerating the unchecked deployment of AI, the administration stands to enrich dominant firms while positioning the US in a familiar predatory stance toward the global South. The strategy goes all-in on a technology of uncertain long-term utility and makes grand speculative investments at the cost of climate sustainability.

    As a general-purpose technology, AI is unlikely to be the magic wand of progress desired by so many countries. For all its impressive feats, generative AI’s effects on economic productivity appear, at best, modest and unevenly distributed; at worst, AI is only de-skilling jobs and degrading working conditions. Industry aspirations to achieve AI “superintelligence” are likely vaporware. As it exists now, the political economy of digital technologies does not bring good news: the AI sector is too much characterized by natural monopolies, worker subordination, and natural resource exhaustion to ever credibly produce the shared economic prosperity promised by its evangelists. Seen in this light, dominant AI firms act as rentiers in the market, capturing private value while degrading public innovation. 

    As a matter of first principles, though, it should be uncontroversial that technologies with the prospect of economic and social benefit should move around the world. The problem is not border-crossings of advanced technology; it is an enduring politics that delimits the coordination of research, investment, and shared reward on the boundaries of the nation-state. To sober minds, a different system is farce. 

    The politics of export controls, like many features of industrial policy, is about whose priorities get to stand in as the “national interest.” Where big business and national defense diverge, which gets first claim to the extravagant powers of the state? If nothing else, fluctuating chip controls hint at what years ago seemed unspeakable: a malleability of national security, once ironclad, as new ventures come into conflict with tactics of strategic exclusion.

  5. The State and Software Capital

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    Over the past fifteen years, India has emerged as a laboratory for incubating a new model of mass digitalization. This public-private approach to building software platforms for administrative and commercial functions is today promoted around the world as “Digital Public Infrastructure.” Positioned as an alternative to US, Chinese, and European tech, this approach is being embraced by dozens of governments around the world. Yet this model reflects the unique conditions of India in the 2010s, when the government and software capital joined hands to throw open state digital systems to the private sector.

    The centerpiece of this model, the Aadhaar digital identification project, was launched in 2009 with the promise of eradicating corruption and democratizing state-citizen relations. Following a breakneck rollout, in which enrollment with Aadhaar became a requirement for individuals accessing state social services, the technology was gradually exposed to commercial use as a tool for creating a new market of digital mass consumption. Today, over 1.3 billion Indians hold Aadhaar numbers, making it the world’s largest biometric identification program. While Aadhaar’s rollout and use in the administration have been relatively well studied, less attention has been paid to its transformations in the decade following its launch, when it became fused to the growth of India’s consumer software sector.

    This transformation was a contingent response to crises of neoliberal globalization.1Hemangini Gupta, (<)em(>)Experimental Times: Startup Capitalism and Feminist Futures in India(<)/em(>),. University of California Press, 2025. In the late 2000s, the entry of multinational corporations and cloud computing placed new pressures on India’s export-oriented software outsourcing industry, which had developed in the 1990s. For prominent software capitalists, a pivot to startup sales geared to the domestic market promised a way forward. Since 2014, these interests have been strategically aligned with those of a government that combined protectionist economic policy with a forceful embrace of technology. Digital systems promoted through government mandate, which were originally internal to the state, were remade to serve commercial interests.

    In India, this process has divided the responsibility for providing and using digital infrastructures: the state funds and promotes platforms for administrative purposes, which the private sector uses to access domestic markets and make profits. These platforms and policies promise to transform a vast population of Indians into digital consumers while forging a new alignment between the state and software capital.

    The software export model

    The Digital Public Infrastructure model is rooted in the Indian state and capitalists’ responses to structural shifts in the global software industry. Following the state’s failure to incubate a hardware manufacturing industry in the 1980s, the Indian information technology (IT) industry over the last forty-odd years has been dominated by software service exports. Indian software companies have specialized in routine tasks in the global division of labor: creating and maintaining systems for business processes like human resources, accounting, ticketing, and logistics. Indians performed these services at a fraction of the price demanded by their Western colleagues. In this setup, Indian software companies provide skilled labor to engineer and service back-end systems for large government and corporate clients in the West. Since the country’s economic liberalization in 1991, this industry has been a major driver of national economic growth.

    Engaging in labor cost arbitrage, Indian firms were competitive because they mediated between cheap and well-trained software engineering labor and US and European markets. The techniques of mediation reflected the available technologies. Until the early 1990s, in a setup known as “bodyshopping,” Indian firms sent engineers to the West, where they worked in-person on their clients’ computer systems, a costly transnational movement of people that significantly limited growth. In 1991, in what would be hailed as a masterstroke of the country’s economic liberalization, India’s Department of Electronics set up free trade zones for software, known as Software Technology Parks, and began building satellite uplinks, an infrastructure that enabled Indian labor to remotely work on Western systems, a much cheaper arrangement. The first uplink opened in 1993; by the end of the decade, satellite use had exploded.2Dinesh C. Sharma, (<)em(>)The Outsourcer: The Story of India’s IT Revolution(<)/em(>), History of Computing (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2015). Supported by an enabling policy environment and steady demand from Western companies all too eager to outsource, the industry grew rapidly.

    What resulted was a powerful industry employing a small population of skilled professionals. In 2010, software exports made up almost a fifth of total exports and contributed 6.4 percent of GDP but employed only 2.3 million Indians, or 0.6 percent of the workforce. Software companies like TCS, Infosys, Wipro and HCL—many of which are based in Bangalore—were central to the rise of a new consumer middle class. The sector’s industry body, the National Association of Software Services Companies (NASSCOM), became a major actor in national policymaking. “Software capital” emerged as a major force in the Indian economy and society.3Carol Upadhya, (<)em(>)Reengineering India: Work, Capital, and Class in an Offshore Economy(<)/em(>), First edition (New Delhi, India: Oxford University Press, 2016).

    Capital divided

    Recognizing the opportunity of Indian labor, global services giants like IBM, Accenture, EDS, and Cap Gemini rapidly scaled up operations in India throughout the 2000s. IBM alone grew from 5,000 employees in India in 2002 to 73,000 in 2007 and 130,000 in 2010.4Jyoti Saraswati, (<)em(>)Dot.Compradors Power and Policy in the Development of the Indian Software Industry(<)/em(>) (London: Pluto, 2012). Ignoring the longstanding practice of not poaching employees, the multinationals hired the best talent, driving up wages, chipping away at their Indian competitors’ profits. These global giants inserted themselves into the policy-making apparatus: by the mid-2000s, they came to dominate NASSCOM.5Saraswati, 2012.

    Another threat to domestic software capital was the rise of “cloud computing,” a then-novel paradigm driven by Big Tech firms like Google, Microsoft, and Amazon. In traditional computing, such as the satellite uplink-based model, storage and processing take place on local computers linked to one another through networks. With faster and more ubiquitous networking, storage and processing shifted to large off-site servers on the “cloud” and local machines were relegated to access points.6Devika Narayan, “Decoding Disruption,” (<)em(>)Economic and Political Weekly(<)/em(>) 52, no. 22 (June 2, 2017), https://www.epw.in/journal/2017/22/commentary/decoding-disruption.html. The shift to the cloud placed additional pressure on Indian companies’ market niche. While each unique in-house client system needs a cohort of engineers to build, maintain, and customize, cloud computing commoditizes components, requiring far less labor. Indeed, the downsizing of IT labor may have been a key objective of the turn to the cloud.7Narayan, 2017.

    Faced with rising costs and shrinking demand, the sector began to transform. Influenced by global giants, “NASSCOM changed from lobbying foreign governments on behalf of Indian software services firms to lobbying the Indian government on behalf of foreign firms.”8Jyoti Saraswati, (<)em(>)Dot.Compradors Power and Policy in the Development of the Indian Software Industry(<)/em(>) (London: Pluto, 2012). The industry body secured concessions for foreign firms, causing Indian outposts of Western firms to increase in number from 700 in 2010 to over 1000 in 2015 and over 1500 by 2023.9(<)a href='https://media.zinnov.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/zinnov_gcc_4.0_report.pdf'(>)https://media.zinnov.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/zinnov_gcc_4.0_report.pdf(<)/a(>) In the 2010s, these subsidiaries ventured beyond software and business services into high-paying, high-skill areas, such as R&D and product development.10Yuko Aoyama and Balaji and Parthasarathy, “Research and Development Facilities of Multinational Enterprises in India,” (<)em(>)Eurasian Geography and Economics(<)/em(>) 53, no. 6 (November 1, 2012): 713–30, https://doi.org/10.2747/1539-7216.53.6.713. The Indian services exporters, by contrast, doubled down on their labor cost arbitrage model, avoiding investments in R&D and sinking further down the value chain. Dynamism and transformation have made the services-export industry’s business cycles particularly volatile.11Balaji Parthasarathy, “The Political Economy of the Computer Software Industry in Bangalore, India,” in (<)em(>)ICTs and Indian Economic Development: Economy, Work, Regulation(<)/em(>) (SAGE Publications India, 2005), 199–230, https://books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=2o6HAwAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PA199&dq=info:HQcJ5uX-0G0J:scholar.google.com&ots=T_jc89S30u&sig=no_SoNs8uo0O1t337wIzeDMH8yc. Facing the threat of generative AI today, with layoffs and wages down, the business media is once again proclaiming the death of the Indian services exports majors.

    Given this instability, one cohort of Indian software capitalists announced a break from the export-led model altogether. In February 2013, newspapers announced the formation of the Indian Software Production Industry Roundtable (iSPIRT), a new thinktank that represented an insurgent fraction of software capitalists within NASSCOM. Though they downplayed their differences, these self-consciously nationalist entrepreneurs sought to cultivate a new industry in domestic “software products” that could create new opportunities for Indian software capital.12Bharat Goenka et al., “2014 iSPIRT Annual Letter” (Indian Software Product Industry Roundtable, 2014).

    At the time, iSPIRT’s theory of change hinged on so-called “public goods” that would make a domestic product market possible: “Truly successful product companies build private value on top of public goods. There would be no Google but for Stanford University, no Cisco but for DARPA and no RedHat but for … Linux.” Such public goods were “created by self-organizing communities that are inspired by the open source movement.”13iSPIRT. (<)em(>)Rewriting the Script of a Nation(<)/em(>). Bangalore, 2013. iSPIRT would turn India into a “product nation” by fostering an environment conducive to the emergence of such public goods. There were major obstacles ahead, however. In 2013, only 12.3 percent of Indians were online.

    Aadhaar: from welfare to banking

    As the software industry experienced upheaval, Nandan Nilekani, billionaire cofounder of IT giant Infosys, was appointed the founding chairman of the Unique Identification Development Authority of India (UIDAI), a new organization set up by the Congress government in 2009 to plan and implement a new digital identity system: Aadhaar. Nilekani had long had ambitions to digitally transform the state. In his vision, digital technology would tackle corruption and leakages in India’s vast public service delivery systems, which provide a lifeline for hundreds of millions of Indians.

    Although pitched as voluntary, in practice Aadhaar became mandatory as social welfare agencies stopped providing alternative ways for recipients to access benefits. Hundreds of millions enrolled and Aadhaar scaled rapidly after its 2009 launch. By September 2011, 100 million Aadhaars had been issued; in 2016, the billionth person was enrolled into the database. The system, which imposed stringent technical requirements on a massively diverse country, inevitably came up against snags; at this scale, every mismatch, malfunction, or oversight could result in massive exclusions from social welfare. In one state, for example, researchers found that over 1.5 million people lost access to food rations at some point during Aadhaar’s rollout.14Karthik Muralidharan, Paul Niehaus, and Sandip Sukhtankar, “Identity Verification Standards in Welfare Programs: Experimental Evidence from India,” Working Paper, Working Paper Series (National Bureau of Economic Research, February 2020), https://doi.org/10.3386/w26744. In the most severe cases, exclusions led to deaths from starvation.15“Aadhaar Linked To Half The Reported Starvation Deaths Since 2015, Say Researchers,” (<)em(>)HuffPost(<)/em(>), September 26, 2018, https://www.huffingtonpost.in/2018/09/25/aadhaar-linked-to-half-the-reported-starvation-deaths-since-2015-say-researchers_a_23539768/.

    From the beginning, UIDAI had contracted out Aadhaar’s internal functions to private vendors, but it only gradually opened it out to broad commercial use. Aadhaar always suffered from mission creep. Alongside the promise to reduce leakages in public service delivery, Aadhaar was imagined as a tool for achieving “financial inclusion,” promoted by the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) and international actors as a means of poverty alleviation. It was under the banner of financial inclusion that Aadhaar’s identification services were first made accessible to banks.16Aadhaar also altered the meaning and goals of financial inclusion. Financial inclusion shifted from referring to a comprehensive bundle of services that included savings accounts, credit cards, and checking accounts to a narrow focus on identity authentication and digital payments. Scholar and RBI financial inclusion advisor MS Sriram has argued that this redefinition made Aadhaar indispensable but ignored several more pressing issues in extending banking to the poor. MS Sriram, “Identity for Inclusion: Moving beyond Aadhaar,” Economic and Political Weekly 49, no. 28 (2014): 148–54. In 2013, after consultations with the banking industry, the UIDAI rolled out a design update that Nilekani described as “go[ing] back to the drawing board” to enable third party companies to use Aadhaar to digitally authenticate identity and residence.17Nilekani, Nandan, and Viral Shah. (<)em(>)Rebooting India: Realizing a Billion Aspirations(<)/em(>). Allen Lane, 2015. This new function was known as Aadhaar e-KYC or electronic Know Your Customer. In 2014, the RBI recommended that with this new function (known as electronic Know Your Customer), Aadhaar could serve as valid proof of identity and address in a banking system subject to strict compliance. Now, Aadhaar began facilitating customer acquisition for private sector banks, with the expressed goal of promoting financial inclusion.

    IndiaStack and commercialization at scale

    In May 2014, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) won a landslide in the national election. Aadhaar had originated in the Congress party agenda of the 2000s, and the BJP had originally opposed the project. Running on a strong anti-corruption platform, however, once in power the new government embraced the digital ID for its potential to tackle corruption and inefficiency within the bureaucracy.18Shankkar Aiyar, Aadhaar: A Biometric History of India’s 12-Digit Revolution (Chennai, [India]: Westland Publications Ltd, 2017); Aakash Solanki, “Management of Performance and Performance of Management: Getting to Work on Time in the Indian Bureaucracy,” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 42, no. 3 (May 4, 2019): 588–605, https://doi.org/10.1080/00856401.2019.1603262. As part of the flagship “Digital India” initiative, use of the technology rapidly expanded. The new government doubled down on making Aadhaar mandatory to access public services while opening it to the private sector.

    After banking, Aadhaar was opened to telecommunications, a sector with similarly stringent identity verification rules. As part of the launch of Digital India, the Prime Minister’s Office recommended the digitalization of mobile subscriber verification. By March 2015, the Department of Telecommunications partnered with mobile company Vodafone on a pilot to use the Aadhaar database to identify customers.19Justin Lee, “Indian Telcos Hope to Use Aadhaar Biometric Database for Faster Subscriber Verification | Biometric Update,” (<)em(>)Biometricupdate.Com(<)/em(>) (blog), September 2, 2015, https://www.biometricupdate.com/201509/indian-telcos-hope-to-use-aadhaar-biometric-database-for-faster-subscriber-verification; PTI, “Vodafone Starts Aadhaar-Based Verification of Subscribers in Kolkata,” (<)em(>)Business Today(<)/em(>), March 13, 2015, https://www.businesstoday.in/industry/telecom/story/vodafone-india-starts-aadhaar-based-verification-in-kolkata-142021-2015-03-13. In 2016, Aadhaar-based registration was made available for all major telecommunications companies.20Danish Khan, “Bharti Airtel, Vodafone, Idea to Issue New Mobile Connections Using Aadhaar eKYC – ET Telecom,” (<)em(>)ETTelecom.Com(<)/em(>), August 16, 2016, http://telecom.economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/bharti-airtel-vodafone-idea-to-issue-new-mobile-connections-using-aadhaar-ekyc/53725899. A major beneficiary of the push for the use of Aadhaar in telecom was Reliance Jio, a new mobile network launched in 2016 by India’s richest man Mukesh Ambani. Ambani repeatedly attributed Jio’s success in customer acquisition to Aadhaar, which enabled it to quickly obtain new users through digital customer verification.21“Mukesh Ambani Praises Nandan Nilekani’s ‘Phenomenal’ Work on Aadhaar; Says It Will Go down in History,” (<)em(>)Financialexpress(<)/em(>) (blog), October 19, 2016, https://www.financialexpress.com/india-news/mukesh-ambani-praises-nandan-nilekanis-phenomenal-work-on-aadhaar-says-it-will-go-down-in-history/424185/; IANS, “Mukesh Ambani Praises Aadhar, Says It Helped Jio Get Consumers Faster,” (<)em(>)India Today(<)/em(>), February 16, 2017, https://www.indiatoday.in/technology/news/story/reliance-jio-crosses-100-million-customers-mukesh-ambani-960949-2017-02-16. Ambani may have even played a role in convincing Modi to take up Aadhaar, which he had previously campaigned against because it had been an opposition project: “One knowledgeable observer speculated that, although Nandan Nilekani had contested the south Bangalore parliamentary seat as a candidate of the Congress party (he lost to his BJP rival in the election), this did not prevent a meeting with Prime Minister Narendra Modi, especially if a common friend, such as the multi-billionaire Indian business magnate Mukesh Ambani, had arranged it.” Vijay Sathe, “Managing Massive Change: India’s Aadhaar, the World’s Most Ambitious ID Project (Innovations Case Narrative: Project Aadhaar),” (<)em(>)Innovations: Technology, Governance, Globalization(<)/em(>) 9, no. 1–2 (January 1, 2014): 85–111, https://doi.org/10.1162/inov_a_00204. At its height, the company was enrolling one million customers a day.22Block, 2019. Aadhaar’s exposure to commercial use was growing but regulatory approval for private access was still limited to a handful of large companies in two sectors.

    Sensing an opportunity, iSPIRT, the software thinktank, became involved in the commercialization of Aadhaar. As part of the Digital India initiative in May 2015, all e-governance initiatives were required to publish “open application programming interfaces,” enabling government agencies to share data with each other and with private companies. iSPIRT rebranded this as “IndiaStack” and began evangelizing it to the startup industry, showcasing how various government systems, including Aadhaar, could be programmatically accessed by entrepreneurs at scale.23Ministry of Communications & Information Technology, “Policy on Open Application Programming Interfaces (APIs) for Government of India,” May 19, 2015.

    While the necessary technical capacities had been built and a branding campaign was under way, Aadhaar had to be legislatively remade into a platform that could be programmatically accessed at scale by the private sector. In 2016, the Parliament passed an Aadhaar Act as a “money bill,” a legislative instrument usually reserved for routine financial matters, bypassing the body’s upper chamber where the BJP lacked a majority. The law allowed Aadhaar authentication to be used by any private actor for any purpose notified by the government. Now, private companies of all sorts had a statutory basis to access Aadhaar, with public documentation showing software engineers how to integrate it into their programs. Security apps used it to run background checks on domestic workers. Fintech apps could use it to rapidly identify new customers. In the wake of the new law, almost overnight, a new industry of intermediaries emerged to facilitate private sector access to Aadhaar; many were run or funded by iSPIRT insiders.24Aria Thaker, “The New Oil: Aadhaar’s Mixing of Public Risk and Private Profit,” (<)em(>)The Caravan(<)/em(>), May 1, 2018, https://caravanmagazine.in/reportage/aadhaar-mixing-public-risk-private-profit.

    Another centerpiece of the digitalization of India’s economy was the 2016 launch of the Unified Payments Interface (UPI). In the works since 2012, when Nilekani chaired a task force on an Aadhaar-based payments system, the new mobile phone-based payments platform was built and maintained by the National Payments Corporation of India, a private not-for-profit company jointly owned by the RBI and a consortium of banks. The organization had previously developed systems for Aadhaar-based government-to-citizen welfare payments, paving the way for a payments system for broad public use. Notably the organization serves as both an infrastructure provider and a quasi-regulator, largely evading public oversight and accountability.25Smriti Parsheera, “India’s Policy Responses to Big Tech: And an Eye on the Rise of ‘Alt Big Tech,’” SSRN Scholarly Paper (Rochester, NY, December 14, 2022), https://papers.ssrn.com/abstract=4343996. This strategy is replicated in other organizations that run DPIs, like the Open Network for Digital Commerce and the DigiYatra Foundation, as part of a strategy developed in 2011 by the Technology Advisory Group on Unique Projects, headed by Nandan Nilekani. This structure also means that the organization is not subject to India’s Right to Information laws as well as policy that recommends open sourcing all e-government projects. Nandan Nilekani et al., “Report of the Technology Advisory Group for Unique Projects” (New Delhi: Ministry of Finance, January 31, 2011). After its launch, iSPIRT evangelized the new platform, incorporating it into IndiaStack and portraying it as a crucial tool for financial inclusion.26Sunil Abraham, “Unified Payment Interface: Towards Greater Cyber Sovereignty,” ORF Issue Brief (Observer Research Foundation, July 2020), https://www.orfonline.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/ORF_IssueBrief_380_Unified-Payments.pdf.

    Digital India

    The new government not only opened Aadhaar to the private sector, it also compelled its continued adoption and use. The 2016 Aadhaar Act was central to this. Despite multiple Supreme Court orders, in 2013, 2014 and 2015, affirming Aadhaar’s voluntary nature, Aadhaar became ever more entrenched in everyday life. The law enabled agencies to mandate its use for everything from secondary school exams to senior citizen railway discounts to the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act—a lifeline for millions of Indians seeking work.

    But the most dramatic step towards the wide-scale adoption of IndiaStack related not to Aadhaar but to the government’s promotion of UPI. In November 2016, with the stated goal of cracking down on corruption, the government instituted an overnight ban on Rs 500 and Rs 1000 currency notes, removing 86 percent of currency value from circulation. Millions of Indians were suddenly in hardship without access to cash. Yet demonetization accelerated digital finance, the widespread use of UPI and the rise of a “cashless society,” creating by fiat a domestic consumer base for software products.27Cyril Fouillet, Isabelle Guérin, and Jean-Michel Servet, “Demonetization and Digitalization: The Indian Government’s Hidden Agenda,” (<)em(>)Telecommunications Policy(<)/em(>) 45, no. 2 (March 1, 2021): 102079, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.telpol.2020.102079. Two months after the ban, digital payment transaction volumes saw a sixfold increase. The RBI hailed the transition as “a structural break in the volume and value of retail electronic payments, coinciding with the onset of demonetization.”28https://rbidocs.rbi.org.in/rdocs/Publications/PDFs/03CH_290720243D31CB65DF034EDA9BCD04356B4DFAE8.PDF Today, UPI processes over 650 million transactions per day, more than the worldwide volumes of Visa or Mastercard.

    The trajectory of IndiaStack was also shaped by challenges from civil society. In a landmark 2018 ruling, acting on a case brought by a broad coalition of civil society actors, the Supreme Court struck down all commercial use of Aadhaar as unconstitutional. While this fell short of the petitioners’ demands, it put a halt to the emerging IndiaStack industry. Yet a series of legislative amendments provided a workaround.29Jitendra Singh, “Leaked Audio Reveals iSpirt and Khosla Labs Knew about Aadhaar Amendment Bill,” Entrackr, January 7, 2019, https://entrackr.com/2019/01/ispirt-khosla-labs-aadhaar-amendment/. By 2021, large-scale use of Aadhaar by banks, and telecommunication companies was back on track.30Jyoti Panday, “India Stack: Public-Private Roads to Data Sovereignty” (Internet Governance Project, 2023), https://www.internetgovernance.org/research/india-stack-public-private-roads-to-data-sovereignty/. https://www.medianama.com/2021/09/223-aadhaar-for-telecoms-reintroduced/  A recent amendment passed in January 2025 further expanded the use of Aadhaar to private sector services that promote “ease of living,” a verbiage that effectively opens the door for any use.31Himanshi Lohchab, “Aadhaar Amendment for Private Sector Does Not Violate SC Order: Ashwini Vaishnaw,” (<)em(>)The Economic Times(<)/em(>), February 5, 2025, https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/tech/technology/aadhaar-amendment-for-private-sector-does-not-violate-sc-order/articleshow/117924405.cms?from=mdr.

    In effect, a dual movement was taking place: the compelling of widespread and rapid adoption of Aadhaar and UPI as well as ever greater exposure to commercial use. For iSPIRT, “public goods”, still central to the organization’s theory of change, were no longer understood as the products of “self-organizing communities that are inspired by the open source movement.” Rather, “public goods” now referred to IndiaStack platforms built collaboratively by the state and the software industry.32Goenka et al., “2014 iSPIRT Annual Letter.” A far cry from the collaborative spirit of open source, these platforms were imposed not only on Indians who sought to participate in government programs but in virtually all market transactions—that is, in economic life altogether.

    Citizen as customer

    With the growth and development of IndiaStack, startups can now access over one billion Indians who just a few years earlier were scarcely imaginable as a market. Aadhaar has reduced the costs for banks, telecommunications companies, and startups to acquire new customers; according to unsourced but widely circulated calculations, the cost of onboarding a customer for a bank fell from $0.12 to $0.06 after Aadhaar. At the time, The Economist reported these savings might expand a loan company’s target market from the richest 15 million Indians to over 500 million Indians. UPI, subsidized by the state from 2018 onwards, allowed companies to make and receive payments from citizens without any fees. The import of new cheap mobile phones from China and a massive drop in mobile data rates—caused by the entry of Reliance Jio, itself facilitated partly by Aadhaar—supported these radical shifts.

    In software capitalist slide decks, the citizen became congruent with the customer; the national population is reborn as a “Total Addressable Market.” As Aadhaar moved from the terrain of state-citizen relations to industry-consumer relations, iSPIRT’s imagined demand for software products shifted—from medium-sized businesses (such as regional hospitals) to the private affairs of the most impoverished individuals. A fictional vegetable vendor named Rajni, ubiquitous in Digital India’s advertising, became an exemplar of the potential of the new approach. With the new technologies of IndiaStack, Rajni no longer had to depend on local moneylenders; instead she could track her transactions, earn and pay in digital cash, and borrow at lower interest rates from fintech startups to enterprise her way out of poverty.33N. S. Ramnath, “Aadhaar 2.0: Creating India’s Digital Infrastructure,” Mint, June 28, 2016, sec. politics, https://www.livemint.com/Politics/afjuy0dHgS4beFggSTVddP/Aadhaar-20-Creating-Indias-digital-infrastructure.html; Regina Mihindukulasuriya, “‘All about Helping Rajni’ — Tech Gurus at iSPIRT Quietly Power India’s Digital Revolution,” ThePrint, June 25, 2022, https://theprint.in/india/all-about-helping-rajni-tech-gurus-at-ispirt-quietly-power-indias-digital-revolution/1007652/. In this fiction, private innovation delivered through state-funded digital infrastructures empowers the poor and develops the nation. This is a transformation in the means and the ends of economic development. “Financial inclusion,” pitched as a strategy for growing businesses while supporting the poor, operates today as an alternative to developmental aspirations of mass industrial employment that we have inherited from the twentieth century.34Toby Carroll, “‘Access to Finance’ and the Death of Development in the Asia-Pacific.” (<)em(>)Journal of Contemporary Asia(<)/em(>) 45, no. 1 (2015): 139–66. (<)a href='https://doi.org/10.1080/00472336.2014.907927'(>)https://doi.org/10.1080/00472336.2014.907927(<)/a(>).(<)br(>) In the future, as customers, citizens will pay for their own development.

    This dream has yet to come to fruition. Recognizing the structural limitations of the “poverty market,” investment in the startup sector has largely focused on the demands of rich urban Indians. The current boom in the startup sector is in Quick Commerce, which uses technology—including IndiaStack—to exploit labor to deliver groceries and other consumer goods to rich urban Indians in under ten minutes. Today, mass digitalization is mediating between India’s relatively small urban software capitalist sector and the vast subsistence sector while exacerbating the divide between the two. The poorest one billion Indians are, according to a recent venture capital report, “unmonetizable.”35Sajith Pai, Anurag Pagaria, and Nachammai Savithri, “Indus Valley Annual Report 2024,” Blume. This is not the “product nation” that iSPIRT set out to build. Yet the mass market of 1.4 billion digital consumers remains a shared dream of the state and capital, orienting strategies and investments for the future.

    India’s Digital Public Infrastructure was born from a unique articulation of forces in the 2000s: a remarkable alignment between a powerful state, a skilled software industry, and incipient capital in finance and consumer-facing startups in one of the most unequal countries in the world. The Indian script of mass digitalization is now being taken up by governments from Latin America to Africa as a path to inclusive development. Its promoters — from the Gates Foundation to the UN to the World Bank — tout the Indian model as a win-win scenario for the private and public sector. Yet as it is grafted into contexts very different from India, it is unclear whether it will take root, and what fruit it will bear.

    I thank Harshwardhan Pushkin Sharma for their invaluable assistance in the preparation of this article.

  6. India in the New Global Order

    Comments Off on India in the New Global Order

    At the Polycrisis, we’ve taken a special interest in the question of  how India has been positioning itself in the new world order that has been emerging since 2022. Our inaugural essay featured India’s nonalignment in the Ukraine war as a bargaining chip for trade, investment, security, and technology deals from both the West and the Russia-China bloc. We interviewed Navroz Dubash on the developmentalist turn in global climate politics that owes much to Indian intellectuals and the aspirational pressures of 1.4 billion people. We talked with Ravinder Kaur on Hindu nationalist designs and globalist visions. We wrote about Modi’s bid for technology transfers in the Biden era, at a time when the Western alliance was positioning India as a bulwark against China. Jairus Banaji analyzed the evolution of Indian big business for Phenomenal World.

    For this edition of the Polycrisis, we asked Shreyas Shende, who runs the fantastic Indialog newsletter, and who works with Tim at Johns Hopkins, to analyse the momentous breakdown in India-US relations. In what follows, he asks whether or not India will accept Trump’s offer of being locked into a US-led carbon coalition or break free with its own green developmentalist growth model. — Kate Mackenzie and Tim Sahay

    When President Trump announced an additional 25 percent tariff on imports from India in August—ratcheting up the total to 50 percent, among the highest in the world—he threw the bilateral relationship into peril. Writing in Foreign Affairs last month, Jake Sullivan and Kurt Campbell warned of the “unprecedented discord” threatening the future of the relationship; Evan Feigenbaum at the Carnegie Endowment highlighted the risk of “dismantling” a relationship “painstakingly built” over twenty-five years, and experts in New Delhi noted that “long-term damage of Trump’s policies” should not be underestimated. According to Trump, the new tariffs are punishment for India’s purchase of Russian oil, plus the longer standing protectionist nature of India’s market. To many analysts, there are also more personal reasons for the fallout between the two strongmen. What are the likely consequences of this significant diplomatic dustup?

    A day after Trump’s tariffs announcement, India’s National Security Advisor Ajit Doval was at the Kremlin meeting with Putin and highlighting the “strategic and special partnership” shared by the two nations. Moscow was not the only recipient of New Delhi’s attention, which is seeking to consolidate ties with other economies and to demonstrate its autonomy on the world stage. In recent weeks, Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi made a visit to India, as did Singapore’s Prime Minister Wong and Germany’s Foreign Minister Wadephul. Leader-level calls were held with Brazil’s President Lula, French President Macron, and Finnish President Alexander Stubb, while Modi flew to Japan and China.

    When it comes to diplomacy, New Delhi likes to have what foreign minister Subrahmanyam Jaishankar calls “multiple choices.” But a 50 percent tariff rate from the US means that New Delhi is left with one less choice. This has consequences, in turn, for the way India will be able to manage its energy ties with other powers, key among them China, Russia, and the EU.

    Engagements with Russia and China

    Though recently circulating images of Modi-Putin-Xi bonhomie suggest strong ties, the relationship between India and Russia has been in decline for some time. It’s in that context, and from a position of weakness, that India is now re-engaging with China.

    For two consecutive years, in 2022 and 2023, India and Russia failed to hold their joint annual summit. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 meant steep hikes in food and fuel prices in India, and a time when it was still dealing with the economic fallout from Covid. It was at this time that India’s imports of Russian oil began to surge. In 2021, Russia accounted for just 2 percent of India’s oil imports; by May, it supplied 40 percent of India’s oil.

    Russian oil exports to India by oil product, January 2016–July 2025 (Source: CSIS)

    India bought Russian oil at a discount, below the $60 a barrel price cap, and domestic firms (including the Russian-backed Nayara Energy) refined it both for domestic consumption and for external markets. Under Biden, these high imports of Russian oil were criticized but they were also seen as a stabilizing factor; the US “wanted somebody to be buying Russian oil,” as the then Ambassador to India put it. Under Trump, all this has changed but as the world’s third largest energy consumer and second-largest net importer of crude oil, access to cheap fuel remains key to India’s energy security.

    As Indo-US relations have floundered, New Delhi has sought to strengthen its ties with China, which remains a key source of critical industrial materials. In 2020, simmering tensions between the neighboring countries erupted when soldiers violently clashed at the contested Galwan border but in more recent months, things have begun to improve. Last month, Modi made his first visit in seven years to Tianjin for the annual Shanghai Cooperation Council Summit. There, he stated that the China-led grouping could “play a guiding role in promoting multilateralism and an inclusive world order.” This belies the stark difference between India and China’s view of the global order and their respective ambitions therein. On top of this, the disputed border remains unresolved; each side views the other’s activities in the subcontinent and the Indian Ocean with suspicion, and India remains wary of China’s support for Pakistan (exemplified in May during the latest India–Pakistan clashes).

    What of the two countries’ economic relationship? China remains India’s largest goods trading partner and total trade between the two is increasing; it shot up from $86.4 billion in 2020–21 to $127.71 billion in 2024–25. The relationship is asymmetrical however, with India’s exports to China decreasing as imports from China rise. This has given rise to a staggering trade deficit of $99.21 billion in 2024–25.

    India’s trade deficit with China (Source: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace)

    There are sections of India’s elite advocating for greater economic ties between the two powers. As one Indian government official noted last year, “China is the world’s factory” and so it “cannot be dispensed with.” This was followed by the Ministry of Finance’s annual Economic Survey, which argued that, “to boost Indian manufacturing and plug India into the global supply chain, it is inevitable that India plugs itself into China’s supply chain.”

    Since then, business groups have successfully pushed for streamlined visa policies for Chinese engineers and technicians, and senior government officials have advocated for Sino-Indian joint ventures. This has borne some fruit, including prominent partnerships between battery manufacturers. Indian firms recognize that across a number of clean tech sectors, China is dominant and India needs access to advanced Chinese tech and know-how. The 2023–24 Economic Survey also pointed out that “well-chosen imports with investments from China raises the prospect of creating domestic know-how down the road.”

    China, for its part, is dealing with economic headwinds and reining in what it calls “involution”—or excessive competition leading to deflation—in clean tech sectors such as EVs and solar. Crucially, as Gerard DiPippo has argued, even though the Chinese economy has grown to a point where it is “too big to rely on exports for a large share of its growth,” it still depends on external markets. In this context, neighboring India is especially attractive.

    The strategy has its limitations, however. Indian officials understand that they are dealing with China from a position of weakness; as the Economic Survey puts it, it has to choose between “second and third-best choices.” and there is a risk of economic coercion. To list a few examples, since October 2024 when the normalization of bilateral ties was first announced, China has at various points blocked the exports of tunnel boring machines, specialty fertilizers, and specialized manufacturing equipment. It has pulled Chinese workers and technicians from India to stall Apple Inc’s manufacturing push in India, and reportedly encouraged “regulatory agencies and local governments to curb technology transfers and equipment exports to India.”

    India’s industrial policies and the clean energy boom

    India’s relationship with China, as with Russia and the United States, needs to be examined in the context of its energy security needs, its decarbonization goals, and its initiatives to build out clean energy capabilities. The Indian government has set the target of meeting “50 percent of its installed electrical capacity from non-fossil sources” by 2030—a goal it achieved five years ahead of schedule. Beyond this, it wants to become “self-reliant” in the energy sector by 2047, and reach net-zero emissions by 2070.

    There are several key components of India’s clean-energy ambitions. They include the National Steel Policy (2017), the National Policy on Biofuels (2018, revised in 2022), the National Mission on Transformative Mobility and Battery Storage (2019), the Production Linked Incentives (PLI) scheme (2020), and the National Green Hydrogen Mission (2023). The PLI scheme has focused on the twin goals of boosting India’s manufacturing capabilities and reducing import dependence on China. It targets a range of industries, including specialty steel, high-efficiency solar PV modules, and advanced chemistry cell (ACC) batteries.

    While there has been notable success in the large-scale electronics manufacturing sector, PLI has struggled to make gains in the clean-energy sector. This is partly thanks to the way that the policy was designed to favor larger firms, and some targeted sectors such as textiles actually saw their exports decrease. Scholars have questioned the painfully slow rate of subsidy disbursal, the scheme’s complex regulatory regime, the spread of incentives across a disparate range of arguably non-strategic sectors, and the lack of focus on more fundamental market and land reforms, with government officials (anonymously) noting that “excessive red tape and bureaucratic caution” stall the scheme’s effectiveness.

    Perhaps the most searing indictment of the PLI scheme, and broader attempts at boosting manufacturing over the past decade, can be found in the data on the value add of manufacturing as a percentage of GDP. Through the PLI scheme, the government hoped to raise the share of manufacturing to 25 percent by 2025. But in 2024, the value add of manufacturing dipped to 13 percent—the lowest figure since 1967. With the percentage of value added in PLI-targeted sectors still in single digits, the government is planning to let the scheme lapse for all sectors except electronics manufacturing.

    Insofar as it aimed to reduce dependency on China, the PLI can be counted unsuccessful. Reuters reported that eight of the twelve firms selected for the scheme, including units of Reliance and Adani Group, were unlikely to meet their targets according to sectoral analysis conducted by the Ministry of New and Renewable Energy (MNRE). However, PLI scheme misfires don’t accurately represent the progress in India’s renewable energy sector as policymakers have deployed a broader industrial policy toolkit.

    India’s installed renewable energy capacity grew roughly three-fold from 76.37 GW in March 2014 to 226.79 GW in June 2025, with renewable energy generation’s share in overall power generation increasing from 17.2 percent to around 22.2 percent in the same period. The growth in solar in particular has been strong with capacity rising from 2.82 GW in 2014 to 110.9 GW in 2025. In the decade from 2014 to 2025, India’s solar PV module capacity rose from 2.3 GW to 88 GW, and solar PV cell capacity from 1.2 GW to 25 GW.

    This growth in manufacturing capacity parallels an investment surge in renewables; in 2024, 83 percent of power sector investments were in clean energy. The Indian government has instituted a range of industrial policies to improve its clean-energy manufacturing capacity and lower its reliance on Chinese imports. These include demand pull interventions, tariffs on solar modules and cells from China and parts of Southeast Asia, and the Approved List of Models and Manufacturers (ALMM) that mandates the use of listed solar PV models and module manufacturers for domestic solar projects.

    Policy measures instituted by India on China’s clean energy products (Source: UCSD 21st Century India Center)

    The challenge is that as India’s solar manufacturing capabilities have expanded, it remains dependent on China for key inputs. India’s imports of solar PV cells from China rose 141 percent from about 1.89 billion units in 2023–24 to 4.55 billion in 2024–25. MNRE officials have attributed the rise in imports to the increase in manufacturing capacity for domestic solar PV modules. While India’s solar PV cell capacity rose to 25 GW in 2025, it remains unable to meet the total demand for solar modules.

    Indian firms relying on component imports from China (Source: Bloomberg)

    Domestic manufacturers expect a substantial growth in cell manufacturing capacity in the coming years, with plans to ramp capacity up to 100 GW by 2030. Even as India strengthens its solar manufacturing capacity and shifts its dependence on China further upstream, challenges will remain. For instance, the current wafer manufacturing capacity stands at 2 GW (expected to rise to 40 GW by 2030) and wafer imports are rising to cater to cell production. In addition to this, Indian regulators are investigating an anti-dumping case on Chinese solar cell imports, while China instructs its local firms to “rein in overcapacity and cut-throat pricing.” China also retains a “near-monopoly on cutting-edge wafer manufacturing systems” which are restricted from being exported to India.

    India’s expansion of clean energy manufacturing capabilities will help with energy diversification while strengthening its manufacturing base. A key challenge, however, will be China’s chokehold on the sector.

    India in the new global (green?) order

    More than a third of the countries that have placed sanctions and set price caps on Russia since 2022, including the United States, import a substantial chunk of oil products from the Jamnagar refinery in India. This Reliance-owned refinery is the world’s largest and most complex single-site refinery, with a capacity to process 1.4 million barrels per day. It was built using US equipment and technology financed by a $500 million loan guarantee from the Export-Import Bank of the United States with Bechtel, one of the US’s oldest and largest infrastructure and construction companies, which plays a critical role in the creation and then expansion of the refinery complex.

    Many of New Delhi’s policy challenges turn on the issue of energy security. Despite the response from the US, India has no plans of turning away from Russian oil. On the contrary, Indian refiners have been pressuring Russian sellers to reduce prices and state-owned refiners have reportedly “snapped up September- and October-loading cargoes.”

    India’s state-owned refiners are some of the top buyers of Russian oil, 2022-June 2025 (Source: Bloomberg)

    The United States’s diktats about where Indian can and can’t procure its energy from will only have the effect of increasing New Delhi’s drive to diversify its energy sources and strengthen its domestic clean energy manufacturing base. Indian policymakers are acutely aware of the need for energy security, especially in light of the vast gulf in per capita energy consumption between developing and developed nations. An average American, for example, consumes in a month roughly the same amount of energy as an average Indian does in a year.

    While India has ramped up energy purchases from the United States in the first half of 2025 and promised to establish the latter as a “leading supplier of crude oil and petroleum products and liquified natural gas” to the former, the fact remains that Washington D.C. wants to stall decarbonization globally. On the other hand, Beijing is “reducing costs and accelerating uptake of clean electro-technologies in other countries” as Ember has outlined.

    In the midst of this new geopolitics of the green transition, India’s green industrial strategy is significant. Navigating these new dynamics whilst pursuing clean-energy goals is no simple task. India’s policymakers will seek to stabilize trading relationships, ensure access to cheap energy sources and, more generally, maintain good ties with leading powers. . To shore up its clean energy ambitions, there are a number of steps available to policymakers, as outlined by the Net Zero Industrial Policy Lab. These include focusing on solar, steel, and batteries, embracing the process of industrial strategy where failure is part and parcel, and appropriately investing in its innovation ecosystem.

    There are no perfect solutions. Even as New Delhi’s relations with Moscow and Washington realign, policymakers need to be wary of substituting reliance on one hydrocarbon power with another. In the pursuit of its clean-energy ambitions, India will need to work with China, but the past has made it clear that over-reliance on Chinese products comes with a significant cost. Might a new green developmentalist model be possible? What provides India greater freedom of choice and sovereignty? Locking into hydrocarbon coalitions or doubling down on investments for a green electro-state track? How India chooses to address this question will shape the destiny of its 1.4 billion citizens—and the world.

  7. Bitcoin under Bukele

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    In May 2021, presenting before an audience of crypto-enthusiasts at the Bitcoin Conference in Miami, Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele announced that Bitcoin would be legal tender in El Salvador. He evoked a techno-utopian vision for the Central American country: “We as humanity can do almost anything we imagine. In El Salvador we are trying to rescue this idea.” A month after the surprise announcement, El Salvador’s Legislative Assembly approved the adoption law in just three hours. Six months after Bukele’s speech in Miami, El Salvador became the first country to adopt Bitcoin as legal tender.

    Earlier this year, however, the Legislative Assembly quietly put an end to the experiment. This formed part of the country’s agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF), which included a condition to change the status of Bitcoin so that its adoption “by the private sector is voluntary and public sector participation in Bitcoin-related activities [is] ring-fenced.” El Salvadorans can no longer pay taxes in Bitcoin, and the state-owned “e-wallet” Chivo has been decommissioned.

    The Bukele government’s urgent need for financing bolstered the position of the IMF, which agreed to a $1.4 billion loan. In 2020, El Salvador’s public debt ballooned to 95.4 percent of GDP. Since then, between 18 and 23 percent of the public budget has gone to principal and interest payments. The IMF concluded that the country’s public debt was on “an unsustainable path.”  El Salvador’s adoption of Bitcoin was strongly criticized by the IMF and financial media from the start. Despite Bukele’s triumphant rhetoric, Bitcoin use was never popular among Salvadorans. As Bukele struggled to justify the fledgling Bitcoin policy, the IMF negotiation offered him an elegant escape from this political entanglement.  

    Cryptocurrency was initially presented as a solution oriented towards financial inclusion and “unbanked” populations. The government created the Chivo digital ecosystem for Bitcoin’s “alternative” financial system. The emphasis later shifted to “modernization” based on digital technologies. More recently, with Donald Trump’s support for cryptocurrency, the Salvadoran government has again justified Bitcoin’s use as a “strategic reserve.”

    The Bitcoin strategy was a “soft” adoption from its inception, a trial-and-error process that sought to navigate restricted scope of action in El Salvador’s political economy. These political and economic restraints are the result of El Salvador’s development model over the last decades and reinforced in the most recent IMF agreement. But the experiment, emblematic of a “Bukele model” of economic strategy, cannot change El Salvador’s position in the global economy. While admired by autocrats in the north and the south, Bukele’s disruptive techno-utopian discourse failed to materialize into a transformative shift. Instead, Bukele has relied on an authoritarian security agenda and new alliances to expand the boundaries of financial speculation and extraction.  

    An engine of remittances

    Although El Salvador is still known as a coffee republic, agriculture has played a minor role in the economy for the past two decades, contributing only 5 percent to GDP in 2024. The major sectors in the Salvadoran economy today are maquila manufacturing (14 percent), trade and vehicle repair (13 percent), and finance and insurance (9 percent), whose importance is attributed to the influx of remittances. Limited productive capacity and development sustain high levels of informality and economic precariousness, making remittances even more essential.

    In 2024, remittances accounted for 24 percent of El Salvador’s GDP. Remittances reflect Salvadoran’s deep integration in the US labor market, as the US is the source of 98 percent of remittances. Attempting to address the influx of dollars, El Salvador officially adopted the dollar as legal tender in 2001. Dollarized remittances boost and sustain the existing economic model, but they also restrict the scope of monetary policy. The Bitcoin experiment in El Salvador had a strong precedent in the 2001 dollarization, which significantly reduced the cost of incorporating a new currency. Bitcoin could even be interpreted as an alternative to the restrictions imposed by the US dollar.1Boos, T., & Grigera, J. (2025). Two legal tenders, no currency. El Salvador’s bitcoin adoption between world money and international money. (<)em(>)Progress in Economic Geography(<)/em(>), (<)em(>)3(<)/em(>)(2), 100045. (<)a href='https://doi.org/10.1016/j.peg.2025.100045'(>)https://doi.org/10.1016/j.peg.2025.100045. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.peg.2025.100045(<)/a(>)

    Since the 1990s, structural adjustment programs in El Salvador have pursued market liberalization, privatization, and financialization. These programs were the result of conditionalities imposed by international financial institutions, but they also received support from local elites. As a result, the Salvadoran economy today is highly dependent on exported labor, foreign debt, and remittances. With low levels of productive development, El Salvador lacks the capacity needed to satisfy the needs of the population. Remittances function as a mechanism of private subsidies from the diaspora to the material concessions necessary to sustain social cohesion—and thus political instability—in the country. Remittances are the main source of income for 30 percent of recipients, and more than 90 percent of remittances support daily sustenance and consumption.

    The complex network that manages these massive remittance flows comprises the financial system, monetary transfer operators (MTOs), and local remittance agents. This network grounds the financial services industry in El Salvador, which can then use remittances as a base for other services, like private credit. The domestic consumer market thus benefits from the massive influx of remittances.

    This underlying logic of the Salvadoran economy has not changed under Bukele, and there is no indication that it will. Bukele has deepened this pattern of dependent development, with an aim to acquire new sources of financing.

    Soft adoption

    El Salvador’s Bitcoin adoption built on Bukele’s 2020 Digital Agenda, which proposed a nationwide digital transformation to address poverty and exclusion.  This vision of technological development would modernize and digitize state administration and increase innovation and competitiveness in the Salvadoran economy. The program sought the creation of technology parks, venture capital funds to support information and communications technologies (ICT), and a new regulatory framework for the financial technology sector (fintech) to strengthen digital financial services. The National Financial Inclusion Policy of March 2021 further prioritized financial service expansion to lower income groups through new products, digitized financial services, financial education, and support for Salvadoran companies. The Digital Agenda provided the strategic framework for Bukele’s Bitcoin experiment, building on an ambition to turn El Salvador into the “Singapore of Latin America.”

    By 2021, Bukele’s Nuevas Ideas (New Ideas) Party held an absolute majority in the legislative assembly, allowing the body to rapidly greenlight the Bitcoin experiment. An initial transfer of $150 million inaugurated FIDEBITCOIN, a trust that supports dollar to Bitcoin conversion. Subsidized by public funds and facilitated by foreign private companies, the government launched the Chivo system, which included a digital wallet and Bitcoin-enabled ATMs.2Chivo, in El Salvador, is a colloquial expression that refers to something “great, good, positive”. The Chivo system, launched in 2021 as part of the Bitcoin experiment in El Salvador, was conceived as a key tool to promote financial inclusion through the use of cryptocurrencies. Chivo facilitated access to cryptocurrencies, promising fast and cheap transactions. Salvadorans who downloaded the application received $30 bonus.

    Despite rolling out Bitcoin in the name of the unbanked, Bukele soon announced his intention to build a Bitcoin City at the Latin American Bitcoin and Blockchain Conference. Bitcoin City would be a special economic zone dedicated towards innovation in ICT, foreign direct investment, and Bitcoin mining with volcanic energy. At the same conference, Bukele also unveiled a proposal for the Volcano Bond—a Bitcoin-backed government bond which could finance the project attractive interest rates.3Volcano Bonds refer to debt securities issued by the Salvadoran State in digital format backed by (<)em(>)blockchain (<)/em(>)technology. Their name derives from the fact that they would be backed by the geothermal energy generated by the country’s volcanoes, such as the Conchagua volcano, where the construction of the so-called (<)em(>)Bitcoin City (<)/em(>)was planned. In November 2022, Bukele announced on his social networks that the government would buy one Bitcoin a day, creating a massive and volatile state reserve.4The government of El Salvador has not disclosed official data on these purchases. In March 2024, Bukele revealed the (<)a href='https://mempool.space/address/32ixEdVJWo3kmvJGMTZq5jAQVZZeuwnqzo'(>)blockchain address(<)/a(>) where all the country’s Bitcoin is supposedly stored. According to these public BTC accounts, El Salvador would have around 6237 BTC today. This amount differs significantly from the amount tracked based on Bukele’s purchase (<)a href='https://x.com/nayibbukele/status/1767323587071947195'(>)announcements(<)/a(>), where other sources of BTC inflows, such as state mining, are attributed. However, it is difficult to determine how many dollars were spent on Bitcoin purchases, as trackers estimate average market prices for the day or tweets mentioning the price paid.

    The adoption of cryptocurrency was accompanied by the creation of a new institutional framework to manage the new financial tools. This included the National Bitcoin Office (ONBTC) headed by American crypto-enthusiasts Stacy Herbert and Max Keiser); the National Commission for Digital Assets (CNAD), responsible for the regulation and supervision of public offerings of cryptocurrencies; and the Bitcoin Fund Management Agency (AAB), in charge of managing investments in public offerings and their returns, such as Volcano Bonds. These institutions, endowed with their own budgets, function under the supervision of the President, thus forming a parallel administrative and financial structure within the state. The framework has made the Bitcoin project largely opaque—the public has no information on the companies that manage Chivo, data on funds and expenditures, nor the uses of cryptocurrency.

    The crypto sector is characterized by vague regulation and tax incentives. The Law for the Promotion of Innovation and Manufacturing of Technologies (2023), for example, promises tax privileges to certified competitive technology industries. As El Salvador was already a dollarized economy, the systemic risk of the Bitcoin experiment was relatively low. Bitcoin was not intended to replace the dollar as legal tender but to become an optional, voluntary currency.5From the beginning, the use of Bitcoin in El Salvador was voluntary-the Bitcoin Law of 2021 clarified that companies with the means could accept it. When the Legislative Assembly revoked Bitcoin’s status as legal tender in 2025, the legal repercussions were limited to not being able to pay taxes through Bitcoin.  According to estimates, government spending on the Bitcoin project amounted to $329 million, equivalent to 0.7 percent of GDP. However, the lack of transparency around the role of the private sector and cryptocurrency infrastructure has raised suspicions that the real costs were much higher.

    The Bitcoin paradox

    The Bitcoin project in El Salvador revealed the limits of cryptocurrency’s anti-establishment narrative: to be effective as a global medium of exchange, Bitcoin needed to be integrated into existing infrastructures, which contradicts its own “comparative advantage.”6Bitcoin understands itself as a decentralized monetary system based on distributed ledger or (<)em(>)blockchain (<)/em(>)technology, in contrast to a monetary system based on the reliability of centralized authorities like a central bank and intermediation by commercial banks. As a decentralized system, transactions are approved through the (<)em(>)proof-of-work(<)/em(>) mechanism. This means that system participants provide computational capacity to solve computational functions and thus confirm transactions and chain them in the (<)em(>)blockchain (<)/em(>)registry. This computational work is rewarded with an amount of Bitcoin that is created in this process, known as “Bitcoin mining.” See Nigel Dodd, “The Social Life of Bitcoin,” (<)em(>)Theory, Culture & Society (<)/em(>)35, no. 3 (2018): 35-56, https://doi.org/10.1177/0263276417746464. When considering the infrastructure that enables large-scale remittance flows, the Bitcoin paradox reveals how its “soft adoption” allowed Bukele to conduct a low-risk experiment.

    Private remittances take many different forms, ranging from material goods or payment for telecommunications services, to direct monetary values. In El Salvador, monetary transfers represent the largest proportion of recorded remittances (95 percent), but they take different routes involving correspondent banking, physical transport of cash, or internal transactions of MTOs such as Western Union and  Bitcoin. El Salvador has a low level of banking: only 35.9 percent (in 2021) of the population over fifteen years of age had a bank account, and only 27 percent of remittances were channeled through banking channels. By facilitating a large volume of remittances, MTOs have inserted themselves into a lucrative financial services sector in El Salvador as well as in other parts of the world. In Central America, more than 90 percent of remittances are converted into cash.

    Through Chivo, the Salvadoran government promoted all types of payments inside the system: sending remittances, commercial payments, and tax payments. But Chivo also needed to be plugged into the existing financial system. Chivo ATMs were installed both in El Salvador and in the United States, but there were only fifty in the US and about 150 in El Salvador. Users also encountered technical problems with the ATMs, which made them underused. Chivo also enabled digital transfers to a bank account, but did not resolve the problem of access for the “unbanked.”  

    Banks have been reluctant to interoperate with the Chivo system. Bukele stipulated that banks operating in the digital wallet could not earn a commission. The banks also faced difficulties complying with international standards of the Financial Action Task Force, with the lack of clarity in the Chivo system constituting an operational risk. These factors resulted in low use: barely 1 percent of remittances were operated through crypto services in 2024, down from a peak of 1.7 percent in 2020–21.

    International regulations around anti-money-laundering, financing for terrorist groups, and know-you-customer frameworks came into conflict with the crypto sector’s vision. The number of institutions involved undermined the fictional autonomy of Bitcoin. Meanwhile, remittance transfer costs were transferred to the state, in the form of digital wallets, Chivo ATMS, and the process of converting and exchanging Bitcoin for dollars.

    A failed experiment

    Despite its techno-solutionist promises—among them “generating employment opportunities, promoting true financial inclusion and generating economic dynamism”—Bitcoin failed on several counts. Still, the financial inclusion mantra has retained its appeal as an anti-poverty measure. El Salvador’s national policies fit within this global paradigm, which has been promoted by development agencies since the 2008 financial crisis. Today, only about one third of El Salvador’s population has a bank account, a figure that drops to 23 percent among the poorest 40 percent of the population.

    Bitcoin did not improve banking levels. The limited data available shows that the use of Chivo and other crypto wallets is minimal, and those who use it tend to be already banked, young, education, and male. After the initial spike in usage during the months following Chivo’s launch, less than 10 percent continued to use the app after withdrawing the $30 bonus. At the business level, the adoption of Bitcoin as a means of payment has been concentrated primarily among large international companies, which account for 20 percent of all businesses, excluding the informal sector.

    In El Salvador, the promise of financial inclusion is closely linked to the hope of reducing the costs associated with sending private remittances. Compared to the region, the costs of facilitating remittances to El Salvador are low in part due to dollarization, but they still represent up to 9 percent of the transaction. Although transferring remittances in the Chivo system should be subsidized by the state and therefore free, crypto-wallets remain a tiny share (1 percent) of total remittances.7Although within the Chivo system remittances should in theory be free, as the state subsidizes the transfer, the available data do not show a relevant volume of remittances that would have gone through digital wallets between 2021 and 2025. When analyzing the amounts sent by clearing agents, it is evident that sending funds through crypto wallets does not contribute significantly to this gradual increase. Most of these funds (about 56 percent of the total volume in 2024) are settled by remitting agents (such as Western Union), followed by the banking sector (about 37 percent of the total volume in 2024). There is also no evidence that the Bitcoin project has led to an increase in foreign direct investment.8The sectors that have received the largest increases in investments are trade, financial and insurance activities. Investments come mainly from the Central and North American regions (Costa Rica, Panama, Guatemala, Mexico and the United States), as well as Spain. The existing data do not allow definitive conclusions to be drawn about the specific effects of the measure and must be interpreted in the context of the retraction and return of investments due to the Covid19 pandemic. If Bitcoin was meant to explore alternatives to traditional financing options in the monetary order, it is clear that the position of the El Salvador remains unchanged.  

    The IMF opposed the conversion of Bitcoin into legal tender from its inception. Markets similarly rejected the measure, which further complicated access to international credit, as they downgraded the country’s credit rating. While a 2021 debt swapwith China gave the government a temporary respite, the situation worsened so much so that Bukele finally relented at the end of 2024 to unlock negotiations with the IMF and enable the disbursement of $1.4 billion. The subsequent 2023 report confirms that Bitcoin policy was a source of friction between the government at the IMF.

    The agreement between the IMF and El Salvador has forty-month term and includes disbursements of $3.5 billion by international agencies such as the World Bank and the Inter-American Development Bank. Among the conditions of the agreement is the withdrawal of state participation in cryptocurrencies—the end of the Chivo system— as well as a transparency requirement for the sector.9The National Bitcoin Office is (<)a href='https://x.com/bitcoinofficesv/status/1933574580867854782'(>)publishing(<)/a(>) that El Salvador is still continuing to buy Bitcoin through the state account. Due to the lack of transparency, the compliance status cannot be assessed. The agreement gave the government access to international markets and provided a simple exit from the failed Bitcoin experiment.

    Rather than establishing autonomous and independent systems created from scratch, the Bitcoin project showed how digital finance systems are necessarily embedded in the existing global monetary hierarchy.10Beaumier, Guillaume/Kalomeni, Kevin (2022): Ruling through technology: politicizing (<)em(>)blockchain (<)/em(>)services. In: (<)em(>)Review of International Political Economy(<)/em(>), Routledge, 29 (6), 2135-2158;(<)/p(>) (<)p class='wp-block-paragraph'(>)Bernards, Nick/Campbell-Verduyn, Malcolm (2019): Understanding technological change in global finance through infrastructures. In: (<)em(>)Review of International Political Economy(<)/em(>), Routledge, 26 (5), 773-789; Westermeier, Carola/Campbell-Verduyn, Malcolm/Brandl, Barbara (Hrsg.) (2025): The Cambridge Global Handbook of Financial Infrastructure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. This hierarchy manifests itself in the dollarized nature of the Salvadoran economy, marked by a high level of indebtedness and dependence on the United States and private remittances. The failure of the Bitcoin experiment as legal tender speaks to these hard constraints.  

    New frontiers

    In July 2024, Bukele presented a grand economic plan for his second term. While he promised to break from the country’s historic economic trajectory, the details of his vision remain vague. Some clues can be found in the 2025 budget. With the IMF agreement stipulating a fiscal adjustment of 3.5 percent over the next three years, the budget saw a 10 percent reduction in expenditures, cutting resources in fourteen of sixteen ministries (the only two that were spared are Armed Forces and the communications and press offices of the President). Contrary to Bukele’s announcement of an economic transformation, the budget does not entail large investments in digital or physical infrastructure for technology parks and logistics. Despite some investment from Google and Rumble, the digital sector currently plays no significant role in the economy. The techno-utopia remains a fiction.

    El Salvador’s existing model of dependence has been deployed in new arenas.  While Bitcoin City and Volcano bonds never saw the light of day, large-scale development utopias have driven land speculation. In El Zonte Beach, also known as “Bitcoin Beach,” prices per square meter since the announcement of the Bitcoin project rose more than 130 percent as a result of luxury real estate projects. Between La Union and Conchagua, hundreds were displaced to make way for the construction of the new Pacific airport and facilitate access to the Bitcoin City crypto hub. Land prices increased by up to 3,000 percent, a trend that has already been evident in the region over the past twenty years. The eviction of the local population has served a highly insular ruling class allied with transnational crypto capitals.

    The crypto-friendly regulatory ecosystem and tax exemptions for financial inclusion initiatives have allowed to fintech sector to advance a model based on accumulation and financial speculation. The Chivo system has long lacked transparency, obscuring the profits of the private companies that operated within it.11Lack of data limits accurate estimates in this area, but it is clear that through the Chivo system large sums of public money go into private hands. Estimates of the costs of installing the Chivo system amount to about $330 million, or 0.7 percent of GDP, without the ongoing costs of transactions over the Bitcoin or Lightning network, or the costs of maintaining the infrastructure. Of the companies operating the Chivo system, only a few have confirmed collaboration with the Salvadoran State: Alphapoint Corporations (Chivo app), River Financial (Lightning), Athena Bitcoin (ATMs), NETKI (KYC/AML, record validation), Genesis Coin (ATM-Lightning connection). According to the National Bitcoin Office, on 11/07/2025 the Bitcoin reserve reached (<)a href='https://www.criptonoticias.com/comunidad/adopcion/elsalvador-bitcoin-700-millones-dolares/'(>)6234 coins(<)/a(>) which on this day is equivalent to more than 700 million  dollars. In addition to these digital inclusion initiatives, the Bukele government has also expressed interest in expanding the exploitation of natural resources, particularly in the north of the country, which contains approximately $3 billion worth of metals and minerals. The passage of the new Metallic Mining Law late last year, which repealed a landmark 2017 ban on mining, forewarns a significant shift.

    These policies allow us to understand who benefits from the “Bukele model.” Since the 1990s, Salvadoran elites have been transnational in character and drew wealth from trade and service sectors. While the “Bukele model” shares core features with earlier economic policies, there has been more pronounced corruption in the current administration. Those with personal ties to the Bukele family have gained political influence and managed to expand their financial holdings.  Since 2019, Bukele’s personal entourage has increased their land holdings by a factor of twelve. The crypto alliance has also inaugurated a new elite. The Board of Directors of Chivo and the leaders of the ONBTC and Bitcoin Beach all consist of figures close to Bukele himself.

    The recent deals with Trump are an extension of the “Bukele model,” which ultimately sustains its political legitimacy through the promise of security. The powerful security regime has harmed democracy and human rights, as demonstrated by the expanded use of the Terrorism Confinement Center (CECOT) to detain those illegally expelled from the US. These acts of authoritarian diplomacy undergird a model based on speculation, corruption, and security, enforced by both the Armed Forces and the President’s close circle. The Bitcoin project confirms the essence of this rule. Despite reiterating a commitment to transparency, the project displayed the presidential management of funds without public control, for the benefit of the private sector and a new domestic elite.

  8. New Triangular Relations

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    In response to President Trump’s “tariff war,” Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum’s economic team recently presented a draft decree that would apply 1,400 new tariffs of up to 50 percent on purchases from China. These drastic measures reflect the intense pressure on Mexico to meet US demands of limiting the role of China in Mexico’s foreign trade. The US remains the largest market for Mexican goods, and exclusion would have severe consequences for Mexico’s economy. 

    The Trump tariffs are the latest iteration in America’s “security-shoring” strategy, which subordinates trade relations to US national security interests. The Biden administration initially defined this strategy with three pillars: investment in strategic sectors; alignment with allied countries; competition with China in technological areas such as semiconductors, artificial intelligence, and quantum technologies. Through security-shoring, the US has attempted to pressure trade partners to limit ties to China, placing third countries in a difficult position.1See Enrique Dussel Peters, “Security-shoring y la nueva relación económica triangular China- Estados Unidos-México,” (<)em(>)Revista de Economía Mexicana. Anuario UNAM(<)/em(>), no. 9 (2024: 163): 157-188 and Enrique Dussel Peters, (<)em(>)Latin America, China and Great Power Competition. New Triangular Relationships ((<)/em(>)Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2005). Mexico must navigate complex relationships with its two most important trading partners, the two largest economies in the world. This formulation is what I refer to as “new triangular relations” between Mexico, the US, and China.  

    The Mexican position is unique. Mexico has long maintained a deep political and economic relationship with the United States, holding stronger bilateral ties to the US than other countries in Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC). The past twenty years have also seen a growing presence of Chinese imports and foreign direct investment (FDI), which are now essential for the functioning of the Mexican economy. These two trade relationships are closely linked: Chinese imports serve as essential inputs to the production of Mexican goods, the majority of which are then exported to the US. 

    These new triangular relations have emerged from the recent process of “globalization with Chinese characteristics,” which has forged global interconnectivity through Chinese-funded infrastructure projects, such as those in the Belt and Road Initiative, alongside the establishment of new institutions that provide an alternative to trade and capital liberalization.2China seeks to offer technology, financing, companies, suppliers, construction, labor force and multiple services linked to these infrastructure projects -from ports to highways, hydroelectric plants, internet connection- to countries interested in joining and integrating this cooperation proposal. The proposal not only includes greater interconnectivity, but also favors an intensification of trade, investment and financing. It also aims to increase social, political and economic ties that go beyond the commercial sphere. Enrique Dussel Peters, “Una globalización con características chinas,” (<)em(>)Nueva Sociedad(<)/em(>), February 2018, https://nuso.org/articulo/una-globalizacion-con-caracteristicas-chinas/. With the US-China confrontation coming to a head, Mexico must now develop a trade strategy that recognizes its triangular relationships within a chaotic and moving geopolitical arrangement. The absence of a clear trade policy could harm companies specialized in foreign trade and undermine the basis of Mexico’s export-oriented economic model. 

    Development and trade in Mexico

    In 1988, former President Salinas de Gotari implemented a rapid and far-reaching export-oriented industrialization strategy to control inflation, limit the fiscal deficit, and boost foreign trade. Across the domestic economy, however, export-oriented industrialization has had disappointing results—low GDP growth, stagnant investment rates relative to GDP, and reduced real minimum wages compared to the early 1980s.3For a statistical analysis of a group of variables on Mexico in recent decades, see: Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC), (<)em(>)América Latina y el Caribe ante las trampas del desarrollo: transformaciones indispensables y cómo gestionarlas (<)/em(>)(Santiago, Chile: ECLAC, 2024). The Mexican export model was based around a small group of foreign and Mexican firms with minimal forward and backward linkages.4Enrique de la Garza, “Nota crítica. El regulacionismo en México,” Estudios Sociológicos VII, no. 19 (1989): 139-157. Enrique Dussel Peters, (<)em(>)Polarizing Mexico. The Impact of Liberalization Strategy (<)/em(>)(Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2000). Gary Gereffi, Nearshoring in Mexico. Diverse Options for Industrial Scaling (Mexico: ECLAC, 2025). Juan Carlos Moreno-Brid and Jaime Ros, (<)em(>)Development and Growth in the Mexican Economy. A Historical Perspective (<)/em(>)(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Historical export incentives—such as exemption from tariffs, income tax and value added tax—became disincentives over time, as massive incentives were created to import parts and components. Unlike the experience of East Asian countries, export-oriented industrialization failed to incorporate exporting companies into the national productive apparatus, proving a lack of “territorial endogeneity.”5Enrique Dussel Peters, Polarizing Mexico. The Impact of Liberalization Strategy (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2000). Until recently, export processes in Mexico had specialized in low value-added processes and products, under the notion of “temporary imports for export.”6Mexico’s export orientation requires massive imports of parts and components. This is the case even for the global auto parts-automotive value chain (CGVAA), Mexico’s most emblematic. The National Institute of Statistics Geography and Information (2023) published in 2022 that the (<)a href='https://www.inegi.org.mx/contenidos/saladeprensa/boletines/2024/VAEMG/VAEMG2023.pdf'(>)Global Manufacturing Export Value Added (VAEMG)(<)/a(>): a. accounts for 2.4 million jobs (or just 4 percent of the economically active population) and the CGVAA for 24.09 percent; the automotive segment barely accounts for 4.71 percent and the auto parts 19.39 percent in 2021, b. CGVAA’s VAEMG is higher than manufacturing, but particularly in its automotive segment, 39.76 percent in 2021 (and 33.48 percent in 2003); for its main supplier, the auto parts segment, the coefficient was just 17.14 percent in 2021 (and 10.26 percent in 2003). The gap between productivity gains and real wages (the “Fordist equation”) widened, producing social tension and instability. Today, the Mexican economy faces multiple structural problems: low growth, limited fiscal capacity (specially in revenue generation), very low levels of investment in science and technology, a weak domestic supply structure for exports, and low real wages. These conditions stem from the country’s industrial organization, in which manufactured processes and products depend heavily on imported parts and components.7See Enrique Dussel Peters, (<)em(>)Latin America, China, and Great Power Competition (<)/em(>)(Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2025).

    “Globalization with Chinese characteristics”—prevalent since 2013—has reformulated this economic model, heightening interconnectivity and infrastructure as the central axis of Mexico’s international cooperation strategy. This new globalization can be contrasted with the postwar Bretton Woods settlement, in which the global economy was based on the liberalization of capital, goods and services and benefits streamed to higher echelons of society.8Dani Rodrik, The Globalization Paradox: Democracy and the Future of the World Economy (New York: W. W. Norton, 2011). Joseph Stiglitz, (<)em(>)Globalization and Its Discontents (<)/em(>)(New York: W. W. Norton, 2016) The Chinese proposal, unlike its Western counterpart, has sought to improve the quality of life of the global South, promoting infrastructure projects that benefit greater swaths of the population. This model draws from China’s own experience of recent decade and represents a direct and explicit alternative to the US-led global project, laying the foundations for the direct confrontation of these two visions.

    US-China competition in the twenty-first century places third countries in a challenging position.9The United States first recognized its relationship with China as a “(<)em(>)great power competition(<)/em(>)” (NSS 2017:27). Since then the administrations of Trump, Biden, and the second Trump presidency in 2025-also based on growing negative perceptions of the U.S. population toward China (Pew 2025)-have allowed for a deepening of a generalized confrontation with China and respective responses by the Chinese public sector. Third countries don’t just face a trade war, as it is often simplified in public discourse, but a much deeper and structural dispute.10Chad P. Bown, (<)em(>)US-China Trade War Tariffs: An Up-to-Date Chart (<)/em(>)(Washington, D.C.: Peterson Institute for International Economics, 2025). For third countries in Latin America, doing without either China or the US is not a viable option at present. The concept of the new triangular relationship is also distinct from debates around a new Cold War.11Daniel Green, “The New Cold War with China,” (<)em(>)The Daily Signal(<)/em(>), May 25, 2025; Jisi Wang, “America and China Are Not Yet in a Cold War,” (<)em(>)Foreign Affairs(<)/em(>), Nov. 23, 2023. Aside from the Cold War era space race, the current systemic competition between the United States and China is incomparable. China’s science and technology budget is approaching 2.5 percent of its GDP—an absolute amount comparable to that of the United States. 

    The US Congress’s US-China Economic and Security Commission (2024) has highlighted concerns around China’s technological advances, particularly in advanced semiconductors, energy, cloud computing, artificial intelligence, quantum technology, biotechnology, and advanced batteries. China already has multiple advantages in several sectors, even before the DeepSeek breakthroughs were made public. Recent studies by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute (2024) have noted that Chinese companies currently lead in fifty-seven out of sixty-four “core technologies” in 2020-2024, while from 2003–2007 US companies led in sixty out of sixty-four technologies, and China just three. These advancements in Chinese technology over a short period of time have been framed as a central concern of US national security, thus serving the justification for a new global trade strategy focused around “security-shoring.” 

    Security-shoring

    In 2023, Janet Yellen, then Secretary of the Treasury stated categorically that US strategy towards China would prioritize national security,12Janet Yellen, (<)em(>)Remarks by Secretary of the Treasury Janet L. Yellen on the U.S.-China Economic Relationship at Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies (<)/em(>)(Washington, D.C.: Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies, 2023). presenting a new paradigm of security-shoring. Issues such partner development, free trade, multilateralism and even reciprocity have since been subordinated to the goal of national security. The Biden administration framed its China strategy under the slogan “invest, align, compete,” through the notion of “managed competition.”13Antony J. Blinken, (<)em(>)The Administration’s Approach to the People’s Republic of China (<)/em(>)(Washington, D.C.: The George Washington University, 2022); Jake Sullivan, (<)em(>)Remarks and Q&A by National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan on the Future of U.S.-China Relations (<)/em(>)(Washington, D.C.: Council on Foreign Relations, 2024). Massive investments aimed at confronting China’s rise, accounting for 15 percent of US GDP in 2022, make up the core of this strategy.14These are the (<)em(>)Inflation Reduction Act(<)/em(>), (<)em(>)CHIPS and Science Act (<)/em(>)and the Infrastructure Act (McNeece 2023).

    Unlike Trump’s first government, which sought a bilateral solution between the United States and China, the current Trump administration has attempted to force third countries into this dynamic most aggressively through the imposition of tariffs, referencing national security in a slew of orders around the US relationship to Canada, Colombia, Panama, and Mexico. Competition is concentrated in technologically strategic sectors, with the goal of preserving US leadership in innovation. Until now, the United States has concentrated its security-shoring strategy on high-tech semiconductors, limiting Chinese FDI, exports, and FDI to China. In other sectors, including artificial intelligence, electric transportation and healthcare, the United States is not a technological leader.  

    Security-shoring is closely linked to new triangular relations for third countries. In the case of Mexico, security-shoring has transformed the economic terrain. The US has tried to pressure Mexico to restrict Chinese investments in Mexico and announced massive 25 percent tariffs on all Mexican imports except for products covered under the USMCA.15During the visit of Janet Yellen, U.S. Secretary of the Treasury, to Mexico in December 2023, a joint working group was proposed for Mexico to monitor the traceability of the origin of corporate resources, particularly those of Chinese companies (Dussel Peters, 2024). This working group with the Ministry of Finance and Public Credit in Mexico has not generated specific results so far. But even the future of the USMCA, which Trump signed in 2020 remains an open question. Tariffs openly contradict the treaty, and its review is scheduled for 2026. Trump’s threats around the US trade difference, as well as the issues of fentanyl and water access, are likely to emerge in tense negotiations. 

    Mexico’s foreign trade with China and the US (2000–2024)

    We can see Mexico’s new triangular relations through an examination of foreign trade. From 2010 to 2022, foreign trade in goods and services accounted for 72.42 percent of Mexico’s GDP. This is a significant jump from earlier periods, reflecting the depth of Mexico’s export-centric economy: from 1980 to 1988 foreign trade accounted for just 28.38 percent of GDP, and it accounted for under 10 percent until the early 1980s. Mexico’s export orientation and dependence on foreign trade is also significantly higher than the rest of LAC, where regionally, foreign trade accounted for 48.06 percent of GDP during the same period). Mexico’s foreign trade dependence is also higher than China (where foreign trade accounted for 41.46 percent of GDP), and the United States (where foreign trade accounted for 27.86 percent of percent).

    Foreign trade is clearly a fundamental aspect of the contemporary Mexican economy, which is now exposed to profound changes in the international order. As a result of a growing “trade war” and the attempted decoupling between the US and China, China’s share of US trade fell from its peak in 2017 (at 16.34 percent and the US’s top trading partner) to 10.92 percent in 2024, when China became the US’s third largest trading partner after Mexico and Canada. Imports from China fell from 21.59 percent of total US imports in 2017 to 13.43 percent in 2024. Accompanying this shift, Mexico became the top US trading partner in 2023, consolidating its presence in 2024 with respect to Canada and China (Figure 1). Mexican tariffs on total US imports have been increasing from 1.23 percent on the amount of imports in 2008 to 2.34 percent in 2024. In 2024 Mexico paid a tariff of 0.25 percent on its total exports to the United States; the tariff was 10.66 percent for China.16 Center for China-Mexico Studies (Cechimex), (<)em(>)Statistics(<)/em(>), accessed at http://www.economia.unam.mx/cechimex/index.php/es/estadisticas. Trump’s tariffs—a 25 percent tariff on steel, aluminum and autos—is 100 times higher than what Mexico paid for its exports to the US in 2024. The US threat has tried to prevent third countries like Mexico from becoming a “back door” for Chinese imports.

    This rapid and profound process of trade disintegration between the world’s two major trading powers bears profound consequences at the firm, regional, and national level. Recent studies based on input-output matrices have shown that the domestic value added in LAC exports to the United States has been declining steadily since 1995, from 73.3 percent in 1995 to 68.77 percent in 2020.17Enrique Dussel Peters and Lesbia Pérez-Santillán, “Chinese Value-Added in Latin American and Caribbean Exports. Conditions and Challenges,” in (<)em(>)Latin American Exports to China. Local Experiences and Challenges(<)/em(>), coord. Enrique Dussel Peters (Mexico: Red ALC-China, UDUALC and UNAM/Facultad de Economía, 2025), 9-28. The differences between countries are notable: while Brazil reached 82.3 percent domestic value added in its exports to the United States in 2020, Mexico only added 64.3 percent domestic value added.18Input-output matrices make it possible to study how the different sectors of an economy are interconnected, i.e., how the products of one sector (inputs) are used by other sectors as raw materials or components to produce goods or services (final products). (<)em(>)Ibid(<)/em(>). On the other hand, Chinese value added in Mexican exports to the United States has increased steadily to reach 7.5 percent in 2020, though 70 percent of Mexico’s imports to the US are manufactured by US firms.19Jimena Tolama and Italia López, “México tiene que estar abierto a la inversión china: subsecretario de Comercio Exterior,” (<)em(>)Bloomberg Línea(<)/em(>), November 13, 2024. China’s value added in Mexico’s exports to the US make up 21.2 percent of foreign value added, a higher percentage than in Costa Rica (10 percent), Brazil (13 percent), and Colombia (13.3 percent). The US is still the largest source of LAC’s foreign value added, but its share has fallen from 59.1 percent in 1995 to 35.8 percent in 2020. 

    Exports from LAC to the US: Percentage of domestic added value (1995–2020)
    ArgentinaBrasilChileColombiaCosta Rica
    199589.887.984.788.579.1
    199689.68884.188.478.5
    19978986.983.688.478.6
    199889.686.982.689.178.3
    199990.28583.39278.8
    200090.784.681.587.778.5
    200191.282.979.686.779
    200289.983.679.586.779.3
    200389.384.278.28779.1
    200487.18479.187.578.2
    200587.28577.388.476.9
    20068785.57988.675.2
    200786.18678.588.676.1
    200885.385.475.588.276.1
    200987.48779.390.779.1
    201087.386.48091.379.6
    201186.985.677.790.979
    201287.184.878.591.179.3
    20138783.778.391.280.6
    201488.784.379.888.181
    201588.8838287.383.2
    201687.284.383.686.883.6
    201787.184.483.287.582.3
    201886.582.481.687.181.1
    201986.582.181.786.782.2
    202088.482.382.288.181.8
    Source: Authors’ own elaboration (Dussel Peters and Pérez-Santillán 2025)

    The complex structure of the external value added in Mexican exports to the United States has created a new industrial export organization from Mexico, oriented towards the United States and with a growing Chinese value added. Moreover, direct US imports from China have been increasingly substituted by imports from Mexico,  which in turn incorporate Chinese inputs.

    Even in the face of Chinese trade growth, the United States continues to be Mexico’s main trading partner. In 2024, 83.06 percent of Mexican exports went to the US, the highest share in the twenty-first century. At the same time, Mexico received an all-time high share of imports from China (20.76 percent). By 2024, these new triangular relations consolidated in the highest concentration in exports to the United States and imports from China.

    Nonetheless, Mexico has a drastic trade deficit with China, its largest relative to any other country, with an import/export ratio of 13 to 1 in 2024. Mexico also has a significant surplus with the US, with an import/export ratio of 0.49 for the same year. A process characterized by massive imports of inputs from China, assembly in Mexico, and the subsequent export of final goods to the US explains these trade dynamics.  

    The table below presents the five main items imported by Mexico from China in 2024, which accounted for 75.05 percent of total imports from China that year. In addition to the interesting composition of Chinese imports–-significantly concentrated in electronics, auto parts and, increasingly, in the automotive sector—we can see competition between Chinese and US imports to Mexico. Across these three sectors, imports from the US were by far the most relevant historically in Mexico. In 1995, for example, Mexican imports in electronics and auto parts from the United States represented 79.2 percent and 35.5 percent of total Mexican imports in these areas. Chinese participation, alongside imports from the European Union and Asia, was secondary. We now see a drastic shift in the present. In 2024, for example, Chinese imports accounted for 33.6 percent of Mexico’s total electronic imports in 2024. These imports have been growing significantly since the beginning of the twenty-first century and have displaced U.S. imports since 2006 (which accounted for only 21.7 percent). 

    Similar competition trends can also be seen in auto parts. In 2024, for the first time, Mexican imports from China in this sector were higher than those from the United States. Throughout the automotive supply chain, transnational companies source parts and components from their own plants or from third-party companies established in different countries, at times making it difficult to establish trade relations.20 For the auto parts-automotive chain in Mexico, see, for example: Jorge Carrillo and Humberto García, “La paradoja del TLCAN: alta productividad y bajos salarios en la industria automotriz”, in (<)em(>)La reestructuración de Norteamérica a través del libre comercio: del TLCAN al TMEC(<)/em(>), eds. Óscar F. Contreras, Gustavo Vega Cánovas and Clemente Ruiz Durán (Mexico: El Colegio de México and El Colegio de la Frontera Norte, 2020), 163-184. Enrique Dussel Peters, “The New Triangular Relationship between the US, China, and Latin America. The Case of Trade in the Autoparts-Automobile Global Value Chain (2000-2019),” (<)em(>)Journal of Current Chinese Affairs (<)/em(>)(November 2021): 1-23. (<)em(>)Mexico News Daily (<)/em(>)(MND), “Boom of Chinese Car Sales in Mexico Could Be Ending After Growth Slowed in 2024,” MND, January 13, 2025.

    Mexico: imports from the US and China (1995–2024)

    Imports from China

    19952000201020172018
    Electronics0.811.9630.1735.5035.82
    Auto parts0.381.6423.6822.6924.11
    Automotive0.060.233.337.408.99
    Special classifications0.170.0016.5020.7619.19
    Plastics0.540.975.899.059.03
    Total0.721.5415.1317.6417.99
    Based on major imports from China in 2025, percentage of total imports in each sector. Source: Authors’ own elaboration based on data from Cechimex (2025)

    Imports from the US

    19952000201020172018
    Electronics79.201.9626.7424.7723.39
    Auto parts61.6376.5540.1438.4637.27
    Automotive80.0972.1858.8748.3748.62
    Special classifications67.760.0026.8735.0636.57
    Plastics89.7089.1474.6866.8465.51
    Total74.4970.3248.2546.3846.58
    Based on major imports from the US in 2025, percentage of total imports in each sector. Source: Authors’ own elaboration based on data from Cechimex (2025)

    Towards a non-exclusive triangulation

    Over the course of the year, US trade negotiations with all trading partners will impart enormous economic repercussions for Mexico. The processes of temporary imports for export in Mexico will undergo important changes, though at the moment it’s unclear if these impacts will be positive or negative for the country in the short and medium term. The specific conditions of this new triangular relationship will vary depending on the third country, across issues of investment, infrastructure, tourism, and services. Certainly this new triangular relationship will result in diverse configurations, in which the US and China alternate in significance. For Mexico, the US-China tariff war has disrupted decades-long processes of commercial specialization, generating profound uncertainty for thousands of foreign and Mexican companies embedded in the country’s model of industrial organization. This new triangular relationship is not the result of security-shoring—the growing presence of China in Mexico’s foreign trade can be traced back to the beginning of this century, with foreign companies established in Mexico, and particularly U.S. companies, as the main actors importing from China. 

    Nonetheless, security-shoring since the Biden administration—and intensified under Trump—has reshaped the terrain. The accusation that Mexico is a “back door” for Chinese value added misunderstands the country’s industrial organization. Transnational companies established in Mexico that import massive quantities of parts and components for their exports to the United States. Surely some of these processes could be reversed, although these intra- and inter-firm links took decades to develop. 

    There are a few proposals attempting to address this new triangular relationship.21Liljana Arsovska, Eugenio Anguiano Roch and Enrique Dussel Peters (coord.), (<)em(>)Aspectos para una agenda estratégica México-China. Nuevas relaciones triangulares (<)/em(>)(Mexico: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Facultad de Economía y Centro de Estudios China-México, 2024). One proposal is the creation of a strategic agenda formed between the Senate of the Republic, universities, and relevant ministries, including the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Finance and Public Credit, and the Ministry of Economy. This agenda would seek to promote economic diversification and formulate a coherent and proactive policy to navigate the challenges and opportunities presented by China’s rise. A Subcommittee on Mexico and China within the Senate could also coordinate economic, trade and infrastructure issues. Finally, a new stage in the bilateral trade relationship with China could refocus on issues of technology transfer and Mexico’s place in higher value segments of the global value chain, while promoting Chinese FDI in strategic sectors. For now, the Mexican state and the private sector have focused their actions on responding to the US, but they must also define a strategic agenda with China. The failure to do so will bring enormous costs for Mexico, undermining an economic model grounded by foreign trade.  

  9. The Anti-Climate Common Sense

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    Climate action in the US has lately suffered a series of disorientating reversals and is under vertiginous assault. Across the 2010s and into the 2020s, climate advocates successfully connected beliefs about the future with coalition building that made climate action an unavoidable priority for the US government. A new common sense had been built around a single premise: that the future is carbon constrained. This premise cohered a vast but fragile ecosystem of sometimes competing interests around the imperative of responding with economy-wide decarbonization.

    But since 2023, skepticism has grown about the timeline on which carbon constraints will bind, and doubt has seeped in regarding the ability of climate action to deliver for its constituencies. In all its forms, the Trump assault on climate policy aims to convince Americans that climate action will make them worse off, and, in doing so, to blow up the painstakingly assembled coalitions that made US climate action possible. The undermining of both American confidence in climate action and its coalitional foundations risks locking in self-propelling negative feedback loops.

    The following poses the challenges we face starkly, in the hope of sparking grounded debates about the path forward. Finding that path requires clear strategies, which in turn depend on an accurate analysis of the terrain on which advocates now have to fight.

    Creating the new climate common sense

    Since the 2015 Paris Agreement and the 2018 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report that predicted disastrous consequences if global warming reached above 1.5 degrees Celcius, advocates of climate action shaped an understanding of the future that would rearrange the self-interest of actors in the present. Among the parameters of that imagined future: Global warming is real, and anthropogenic; as emissions accumulate and temperatures rise, ecological and economic systems will be destabilized, presaging a future that is considerably worse for human civilization; the prospect of that future, and the increasing signs of it in the present, will ultimately force governments to act to restrict carbon emissions, one way or another. In other words, the future is carbon constrained. We can call this the New Climate Common Sense (NCCS).

    The strategy and solution that flows from the NCCS is rapid decarbonization. Transitioning to a low-carbon economy is in nearly everyone’s interest because the costs of mitigation and adaptation grow with delay, asset stranding threatens both public and private balance sheets, first-actors in a post-carbon system will have an advantage in a carbon constrained world, and the life prospects of ordinary people would be dramatically improved by a more stable climate system. Whereas prior consensus in the climate community understood the problem primarily as one of collective action, the new common sense advanced a theory of competition among policy makers, companies, and countries to be first to solve for the post-carbon future.

    The establishment of this view in elite power centers spread rapidly in the middle of the last decade. At the highest levels of coordination—corporate boards, multilateral organizations, national and subnational governments—the new common sense turned into novel forms of commitment, and in some cases action. Net zero commitments proliferated in the corporate and financial sector, following the Nationally Determined Contributions under the Paris Agreement. Ideas for shifting financial power toward low-carbon activity emerged, like ESG and the Glasgow Financial Alliance for Net Zero. Governments undertook policies to propel the energy transition, including subsidies for renewables, carbon markets, and so on. These policies functioned as proof that the future was carbon constrained, as an accelerant on further corporate and government action, and as a wager that leadership would produce followers.

    Translating NCCS into concrete climate action required prevailing in a political struggle with all of the interests opposed to decarbonization—whose nucleus is powerful business models organized around carbon intensive energy and production. A new flourishing of strategies emerged to chart a path forward, predicated on the goal of building a coalition powerful enough to overcome the political power of this carbon bloc. Among a range of actors, the emergent strategy was that of “co-benefits”—the production of alignment among many constituencies who could pursue multiple goals through decarbonization. Social movements, corporate leaders, and policy makers acting in the national interest could all find their alignment.

    Youth social movements, most prominently Fridays For Future and the Sunrise Movement, garnered enormous media attention by focusing squarely on the question of their own futures. New formations like the BlueGreen Alliance (where I work) pursued policies and organizing that could win union members to the cause of climate change, by protecting workers affected by decarbonizing industry—the just transition—and to attach labor standards to public investment in the new green industries. Green New Deal activism oriented discursive and movement demands toward a vision of social renewal, in which the generational fights against income inequality and racial stratification could merge with the existential battle against climate collapse.

    Corporate interest was forged by policy makers and corporate activism. Those with some carbon assets, which could plausibly become green, like electric utilities and the automakers, could be offered “decarbonization bargains” in the form of subsidies, guaranteed markets, and so on. Acting in line with the new common sense, which described an inevitable future of technological development, growing consumer demand, and government regulation, they could take the deal. And the multinational giants of the oil and gas industry began—however dubiously—placing bets on shifting off of fossil fuels and onto transition technologies like carbon capture, hydrogen, and so on. Meanwhile, the falling costs of renewables—the levelized cost of solar fell by half from 2010–2015, and again by half from 2015–2020—encouraged deployment and bolstered the common sense argument that the transition was less about trade-offs than who would reap the benefits of the inevitable era of abundant and affordable energy. Climate action was increasingly seen to mean an impending investment boom.

    Meanwhile, Democratic Party foreign policy elites—absorbing the electoral rejection of the liberal establishment with Trump’s victory in 2016—increasingly alighted upon climate as a key part of a strategy of liberal renewal. The world’s technological leader, largest historical emitter, and most powerful country could spur other countries to action and supply the technology and financing needed to make the transition. Arriving at the view that climate change represented the world’s biggest challenge, but also an opportunity for the US to demonstrate constructive leadership on the global stage, and to position the US economy at the forefront of a coming technological revolution, members of this community increasingly linked public investment to fight climate action with an attack on domestic economic inequality designed to undo the economic and political damage of deindustrialization. Notably, in their February 2020 programmatic essay on this subject, Jake Sullivan and Jennifer Harris argued that a transformation in domestic economic policymaking was central to US foreign policy success—with climate action as a key factor linking the two.

    The coalitional theory was one of positive feedback loops. By lowering the cost of transitioning from carbon to noncarbon business and economic models, by delivering social benefits that make climate action electorally popular, and by persuading actors that the future will in fact be carbon constrained, all would be further incentivized to get ahead of it. Each step taken in response solidified the belief that the future is low-carbon, and increased the perceived costs of inaction. This theory of change contributed to the unprecedented centrality of climate to the 2020 election. By the start of primary season in 2019, this common sense was hegemonic within the Democratic Party, such that one of the major factors the presidential candidates debated was just how aggressive they would be in combating climate change.

    Common sense and consensus

    The new common sense asserted the decarbonization imperative, and advanced a theory of transformation that involved co-benefits. But on a more fundamental level, the consent and action of power brokers was based on the recognition of three macro trends: the rise of China as an economic and technological power, the economic and political disturbances in advanced economies since the Great Financial Crisis, and the unavoidability of climate change itself. All of these developments—China, the crises of democratic capitalism, and climate—interacted with and shaped each other. For example, the “China shock” was blamed for deindustrialization and the rise of populism among blue collar workers. And climate action was framed either as a space in which the US and China could cooperate, or, increasingly, the need to compete with China became a reason to prioritize climate policy.

    These trends had set the foundations for breaking policy orthodoxy among leading Democrats. The idea that fiscal rectitude had harmed their political prospects—in particular, that the limited fiscal response to 2008 had contributed to Trump’s election—was widespread. Helped along by (of all people) Larry Summers’s resurrection of the liberal Keynesian idea of “secular stagnation” in 2013, and the absence of any inflation in response to the loose fiscal policy of Trump’s first term, Democrats began to wonder if they had overlearned the lessons of the 1970s. The radicalization of the Republican Party—and the rise of Bernie Sanders and a “populist” wing among the Democrats—suggested that tepid bipartisanship and the median voter theorem were no longer politically winning. And China’s extraordinary economic development ignited a competitive panic, and an interest in industrial policy—which, in light of the earlier failure of cap-and-trade, came to be seen as a central vector for climate action.

    The Covid-19 crisis generated a new sense of urgency and possibility. Supply chain snarls and the sudden visibility of global production networks affirmed arguments about industrial policy and domestic economic resilience. The reaction to the Covid-19 economic depression made calls for enormous fiscal stimulus commonplace—and enlivened the political possibility of public spending on all manner of social needs. Then, on January 6, 2021, the Capitol riot managed to temporarily convince national Democrats that they could and should act on a partisan basis to address the present crises—Covid, climate, inequality, and racial justice, per Biden’s inaugural.

    By the beginning days of the Biden Administration, Democratic Party leaders were persuaded that something like “green industrial policy”—with pro-labor and environmental justice provisions, alongside a set of long-deferred welfare state expansions—would be the skeleton key to addressing a set of crises that went far beyond climate change. Reflecting the desires of the coalition’s constituent parts, it was thought that “big green fiscal” could reinvigorate the American economy, reduce inequality, advance racial equity, and buttress American democracy.

    The trajectory from the American Jobs Plan to Build Back Better to the IRA is, by now, well-known. But it bears repeating that the sheer magnitude and number of crises that Democrats believed climate action could address—carried by the dramatic alignment around the new climate common sense—led them to prioritize climate over practically every other priority when their initial ambitions were curtailed by Manchin and Sinema in late 2021.

    Governing with the common sense

    The policy design of the IRA reflected the theory of the new climate common sense. Interventions were developed to align with Paris goals—most significantly the technology neutral clean electricity tax credits, which were set to last until emissions fell 75 percent from 2022 levels. The federal government was assigned a major role in guiding and financing investments in infrastructure and technologies—through uncapped investment and production tax credits, a wide assortment of grant programs, and the massive expansion of the loan authority given to the Department of Energy—with the aim of steering the transformation of the entire US energy system. Prevailing wage and apprenticeship bonuses were attached to IRA tax credits, for the first time embedding labor standards in the tax code and connecting them to low-carbon investment. Decarbonization bargains were offered to autos and the power sector, but also industry and agriculture—heading off some amount of opposition from those sectors. Domestic manufacturing was promoted, as was the notion of long-term business certainty provided by the assurance that long-term investments were being made to tackle the climate problem.

    And these policies were aimed to lock in to a political economy hostile to climate action. The heartlands of the carbon coalition received the majority of new investment flows, on the conviction that future Republican congresses and administrations would be unlikely to reverse policies that were directly supporting investment and jobs in their districts. The initial impacts were considerable: capital did appear to be “crowding in” to clean energy sectors, and subsidy uptake exceeded Congressional Budget Office estimates, suggesting that, despite Manchin’s efforts, “big green fiscal” was indeed getting into gear. Together with state and federal regulatory actions that signalled a further push towards decarbonization on the heels of IRA subsidies, NCCS was being affirmed and strengthened, and positive feedback loops looked poised to kick in.

    The Green New Scam

    The political right and the hard-core of the carbon bloc took aim at the new common sense. Powerful and purely ideological campaigns proliferated. The push was especially strong in Republican-controlled states, which saw preemption of local climate laws and boycotts of private sector actors, representing the specter of “woke capital,” who they claimed were discriminating against their states, and grassroots misinformation campaigns to discredit the entire agenda. Finding their footing on culture war terrain, the right increasingly framed climate action as an exercise in coercive social engineering by “radical left lunatics” who hate America.

    Among Democrats, developments beginning already in 2022 raised questions about whether decarbonization was quite the economic, political, and geopolitical slam dunk it appeared to be in 2021. Awkwardness first emerged in response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, when lowering energy prices became a domestic political imperative and US LNG looked to many like a source of both power and plenty on the world stage. Full employment, forty-year-high inflation, and the end of the Fed’s Zero Interest Rate Policy cut against some of the economic and political-economic justifications for big green fiscal, especially in the rank ordering of job creation vs. affordability among top concerns in the electorate, while also making the economics of many decarbonization investments more difficult. The eruption onto the scene of generative AI in late 2023 exploded everyone’s sense of what it would take to decarbonize the power grid. In conjunction with heightened anxieties about competition with China, AI increasingly presented a cause for “realism” with respect to the pace of decarbonization. BYD’s success underscored a growing gap with China in clean tech and raised fears of a “second China shock,” this time directly associated with decarbonization.

    All the while, doubts grew as to whether the promised co-benefits of climate action were materializing. The administration consistently spoke of “good, union jobs,” but relatively few manufacturing jobs in particular were on course to be union. Commentators and advocates wondered whether procedural issues and efforts to tie direct local benefits to projects were slowing the pace of investment, and therefore slowing the timeline along which a broader set of people would experience the co-benefits  (“everything bagel”) of climate action. Had Harris defeated Trump, these questions would have formed the terrain of climate politics during her administration. With Trump’s victory, they became the fissures that the new administration would exploit in its attempt to unravel what climate advocates, the Biden administration, and congressional Democrats had accomplished.

    Trump’s 2024 presidential campaign made the “Green New Scam” a central theme. When Trump and the GOP won the White House and the Congress, it was clear there would be fights and reversals. But there were countervailing factors locked in by the IRA: hundreds of billions of dollars in investments and hundreds of thousands of jobs, overwhelmingly located in Republican districts and downstream of IRA tax credits. The AI boom was exploding electricity demand—cutting off clean energy tax credits would raise the price of energy precisely at the time when powerful firms and regular people wanted it abundant and cheap. And the bipartisan commitment to competition with China would demand government support of potential competitor firms in the US.

    None of this has so far stopped the Trump administration from unilaterally cancelling hundreds of grant contracts tied to IRA programs, in line with the President’s early executive orders targeting “DEI.” The IRA tax credits—by far the biggest source of big green fiscal firepower—were caught up in the fight over renewing Trump’s 2017 tax cuts and the rest of the President’s domestic legislative agenda that played out over the first half of this year. Upwards of two dozen Republican members of Congress publicly articulated their desire to keep most or all of the tax credits in place. Their opposition to cutting the credits was backed by major business lobbies, unions, local elected officials, and more. But the combination of hard-line fiscal hawkery from the likes of the House Freedom Caucus, Trump’s own personal animus, the inclusion of many other things those same Republicans liked (not least, even bigger tax giveaways to the wealthiest Americans than the 2017 bill contained), and Trump’s iron hold over the entire GOP meant that all of those Republicans who would have liked to keep the IRA tax credits in place simply caved and voted for a bill that largely gutted them, even with the knowledge that the loss of the credits would inflict real economic pain on workers and businesses in their districts.

    The decimation of the common sense

    Starting in the closing weeks of the OBBB Act fight, when hardliners like Chip Roy teamed up with charlatans like Alex Epstein to mount an all-out attack on renewables, the erstwhile “all of the above” GOP energy consensus has been replaced with an all-out assault on everything related to climate, including a policy of active discrimination against solar and wind energy in particular. Backed by DOE Secretary Chris Wright, the Trump administration’s spurious yet official position is now that solar and wind power actively harm the power grid by requiring costly investment in transmission and backup power. Further, deploying clean energy is now argued to play to China’s sectoral dominance, thereby weakening the US position. In a move resembling a black mirror version of anti-pipeline activism, the Trump administration has revoked permits from offshore wind projects that are 80 percent complete.

    Few meaningful counterpressures presently exist. The broad coalition of civil society, important sectors of capital, and the Democratic Party that came together to enact a large-scale program of public support for decarbonization has been, to date, unable to mount an effective response to this assault. Part of that failure to mobilize reflects the acute fear that Trump has instilled in all sorts of powerful actors, perhaps especially—and, most shockingly, seeing as this is still the United States of America we’re talking about—the leaders of major US and multinational corporations. Part of it reflects a shift in priorities among some actors that were formerly stalwarts of the coalition. Big tech, to take an important example, would still surely prefer federal support for cheaper clean energy. But Silicon Valley firms’ Net Zero commitments were already creating challenges for them as the AI boom sent their electricity demand into the stratosphere. As these firms face intensifying competition with Chinese companies, they are anxious to remain in the White House’s favor, and see no alternative to increasing their consumption of carbon-based electricity as their total electricity demand rises by a staggering 25 percent every single year. The NCCS is inevitably weakened when even those sections of capital seemingly most amenable to a post-carbon economy demonstrate through their investment and procurement decisions that the pace of decarbonization is unlikely to match their former goals.

    At a deeper level, however, the actions taken by Trump and the GOP seem precisely calibrated to obliterate the new climate common sense itself. The US government now states confidently and proudly that the US will not decarbonize. US companies, states and localities, and foreign governments alike face open and economically injurious discrimination if their attitude towards carbon diverges from the White House’s view. How could this fail to convince many actors in the US and beyond that, at the very least, the pace of US decarbonization is going to be much, much slower than many had believed just a few short years ago? Confronted with those transformed views about how soon carbon is likely to be constrained, it is only to be expected that many actors will hedge. In those hedges lie a severe weakening of the climate coalition. Of course, the weaker the coalition, the more the NCCS will erode, as the negative feedback loops kick in.

    Climate action whipsaw

    In the present situation, we will see slower rates of decarbonization across sectors than we would have in a world where the 2024 policy status quo remained in place. We are already seeing projects cancelled—like Australian company Fortescue’s battery and hydrogen factory that, poignantly, was to be housed in the hulking Detroit ruin of the Fisher Body plant—and there are surely more to come. There will be fewer clean energy jobs, and, most likely, higher electricity prices.

    The rollback of IRA tax credits means that everyone has to factor in the likelihood of continued whipsaw, undermining the feedback loops that solidified the new consensus. Shrunken domestic markets for low-carbon technology will make it harder for companies to lead in key sectors. And companies that were pursuing hedged decarbonization bargains will hedge further, especially amid a policy environment of hyperactive discrimination against clean energy. Further, firms in decarbonizable sectors may decide to make an outright bet on a carbon unconstrained future—particularly those not seeking sales outside the US market.

    And in the states? The 2010s saw state-level climate action contribute to positive policy feedback loops. But the mid-2020s pullback of federal support for decarbonization will exacerbate existing pressures to retrench on climate goals. Withdrawn tax credits will lead utilities to push for less ambitious integrated resource plans, which will add yet more pressure on states to relax mandates. Catastrophic cuts to Medicaid and SNAP in the OBBB are likely to take precedence over filling in gaps from federal clean energy finance for Democratic state legislators. Just as ambitious state policy helped build the new climate common sense, a retreat, if it happens, will weaken it.

    Further negative spirals may wait in the wings. For example, climate policy makers have increasingly looked to use carbon intensity in trade as a way to provide incentives for decarbonization. Europe’s Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism (CBAM)—which is set to impose a fee on the carbon intensity of imports to match the costs European producers must pay for emissions certificates under their Emissions Trading System—is frequently cited as a reason why it is in the interest of US firms to decarbonize. In the recent US-EU trade “negotiations,” the US side pushed for exemptions from the CBAM for US producers, and appears to have won at least a rhetorical concession. Rather than utilizing trade as a vector for advancing decarbonization, the Trump administration is weaponizing trade against decarbonization. Already, the fortunes of US fossil fuel producers are being enlarged by Trump forcing energy purchases in trade agreements with Japan and the EU.

    The IRA was enacted just past the peak of Democrats’ break from fiscal policy orthodoxy. The idea of using the fiscal firepower of the federal government for aggressive climate action was a point of remarkable consensus. Even prior to the enactment of OBBB, higher interest rates were making the fiscal cost of 6 percent of GDP annual budget deficits impossible to ignore. OBBB is almost certain to worsen that fiscal picture, ensuring higher interest rates into the future, and enormous pressure for fiscal consolidation on any future Democratic administration and Congress. Deploying fiscal firepower for decarbonization is likely to be a tougher sell in 2029 than it was in 2021. Those who need to place bets now on the future direction of policy will factor that in.

    Even before the OBBB’s passage, parts of the Democratic foreign policy establishment called into question whether US power was actually served by decarbonization. Varun Sivaram, who worked under climate envoy John Kerry and was most recently in government affairs at Danish offshore wind giant Ørsted, authored a striking piece in Foreign Affairs called “Climate Realism,” and was quoted in the NY Times saying “The energy transition is actually very bad for the United States, because we cede geopolitical and economic ground to a rival in China.” The loss of the foreign policy establishment as part of the climate advocacy coalition may mean a weaker commitment to decarbonization in a future Democratic governing moment, and could further erode NCCS.

    All of this is taking place as the Trump administration incinerates the credibility of the United States as a counterparty with which firms, countries, or even the US Congress can strike reliable agreements. The damage from the Trump administration’s governing-by-extortion is likely to be lasting, because, having elected Trump not once but twice, there are no actors in America who can credibly promise any counterparties that a future administration won’t do exactly the same thing all over again.

    Decarbonizable sectors want the government to pay for as much of their decarbonization as possible. But it’s never cost-free for the firms. Firms want to partner with the US government because the terms are attractive and because of the NCCS—they see it as in their long-term, enlightened self-interest to decarbonize. But what happens when the US government starts not just whipsawing on policy but outright canceling cost-share agreements? Would these companies want to partner with the US government in the future? What level of subsidy and extent of guarantee would they demand for their participation, since, again, America as a whole cannot promise that we won’t elect Trump-like presidents in the future? Would our political system support the terms they might demand? Even if somehow NCCS wasn’t being eroded in all these other ways, Trump’s evisceration of US credibility vis-à-vis our own capitalists will increase the price of future decarbonization bargains, already more expensive due to fiscal constraints, smaller markets, and lost time. More expensive decarbonization bargains mean fewer decarbonization bargains, achieving less decarbonization. This is yet an additional way that NCCS erodes.

    Broken terrain

    The three years since 2022 have served to weaken beliefs about how carbon constrained the future will be, and thus how quickly decarbonization will proceed. For some firms and policy makers, the risk of being left behind in a carbon constrained world is now weighed against the risks of losing out in a world that decarbonizes much more slowly. The slower they move, the more they retain carbon assets, the less they stand to gain from further decarbonization policy, and the less supportive of climate action they become. These developments will constitute significant headwinds to a renewal of ambitious climate policy even if the present anti-climate common sense breaks in a few years. All of us who wish to see such a renewal need to devise strategies that are resilient to these headwinds.

    There are, at the same time, some factors that may constitute tailwinds for a renewal of climate action. A brief stock-stake of these mitigating factors might suggest some paths forward.

    First is cost: Clean energy is cheap. Gas is getting more expensive, especially as the US redoubles its commitment to liquified natural gas and turbine makers are reluctant to increase capacity. More expensive gas means wind and especially solar are more attractive to meet marginal energy demand, especially when paired with storage, for which tech neutral tax credits survived. Designing and selling climate policy with a strong focus on how it can address the high cost of living could retain or increase support for climate action. The cost of energy is also likely to be a pain point for the Trump administration, and may create openings for persuading the Trump administration to at least temper their policy of wanton discrimination.

    Second is markets. Even as US policy kneecaps the growth of domestic markets for clean technologies, many American firms believe their long-term success depends on their ability to compete in the markets where the vast majority of future growth is expected to come from. In those markets, policy is not turning against clean energy, and Chinese firms look well positioned to run the tables. This reality is likely to limit the extent to which US automakers, for example, retreat from EVs.

    Third is supply chains, whose vulnerability was a powerful impetus behind the IRA. To the extent that US actors believe that clean technologies have some role to play in the future energy mix, there is likely to continue to be an an interest in onshoring those supply chains. Any association of clean energy with manufacturing jobs will blunt efforts to penalize clean energy, and will limit the extent to which NCCS erodes. The fact that the 45X advanced manufacturing tax credit (which provides a per unit subsidy for domestically produced solar, wind, and battery components as well as critical minerals) mostly survived the IRA repeal effort is strong evidence for this assertion, and 45X’s survival will provide some succor to clean technology manufacturing for the foreseeable future.

    Fourth is “clean firm.” The “tech neutral” clean energy tax credits mostly survived for everything besides solar and wind. If strong power demand and a weakening of solar’s cost advantage helps spur demand for “clean firm”—geothermal, nuclear, gas with CCS—then perhaps we will see emissions decline and some positive feedback loops for further climate action, especially if the US does manage to keep a technological edge in at least some of these power sources. There appears to be continued startup activity and venture backing for new energy technologies. If there is any potential for enlisting the current US government as a partner in carbon-free energy, it lies here.

    Fifth is climate change itself, which does not care what common sense guides policy makers. Extreme weather events will happen more frequently and cause more damage. The reality and future likelihood of extreme weather events will only further reverberate through insurance markets, and through them into home prices, property taxes, local government services, and state budgets. (Of course, we can’t ever straightforwardly assume that experiencing the adverse effects of climate change will make people into stronger supporters of climate action. Whether it does or doesn’t is a political assumption—which the political right is fully prepared to contest.)

    Sixth is industrial policy, whose return does not appear to be going away, even if the goals toward which it is being put are changing. The MP Materials deal, which made the Department of Defense (War?) the largest shareholder of the rare earths firm, is a strong indication that the US government will continue to utilize industrial policy tools in new and creative ways, some of which, perhaps, could be built on in the future.

    Finally there is Trump himself. He is always smashing shibboleths. With his flamboyant jawboning around tariffs and prices, he may well have contributed to some price restraint and margin trimming by US companies. As in the MP Materials deal, and even more strikingly with Intel, he has broken norms surrounding public ownership. The “golden share” shoe will some day be on the other foot, and advocates for aggressive climate action may have tools they did not believe they had before for directing investment towards desired ends.

    But these factors will be up against powerful centrifugal forces that threaten to cleave the coalition further. In particular, those of us looking for ways to slow and ultimately reverse the Trump era assault on climate action are likely to encounter trade-offs that big green fiscal mostly allowed us to defer in 2021–2022.

    Cleavages in the NCCS

    The loss of subsidies is going to significantly increase cost pressures on solar and wind developers and on clean tech manufacturers (since they will all be competing for smaller markets, and they’ll have lost provisions like the assembly and critical minerals requirements in the clean vehicles tax credits and the domestic content bonus in the clean electricity credits, which were designed to level the playing field for US producers). The final shape of a new tariff regime is still completely unknown, as are its effects on domestic prices. Tariffs may provide cushion from cost pressure for some manufacturers of clean technologies, but are likely to squeeze others.

    In the face of cost pressures, companies can be expected to look for ways to cut back on job standards and limit unionization, push more aggressively for deregulation, and pull back from commitments to “community benefits.” A more cutthroat green capital sector delivering fewer co-benefits alongside decarbonization investments will heighten the anxiety many workers have that the transition will be bad for job quality, and the concern many communities have that economic development takes place at their expense. It will be a harder bargain to find unity between such a sector and the social and electoral coalition that won its subsidies.

    Strains on the grid from data centers and other new sources of energy demand were already creating pressure to relax statutory clean energy goals at the state level. The loss of federal subsidies and federal regulations is likely to exacerbate those tensions, as utilities look to pass on the cost of more expensive solar and wind to ratepayers, and as industries seek relief from state-level cap-and-trade requirements. The previously discussed tightened state budgets will therefore increase the likelihood of “economy vs. environment”-type conflicts even in bastions of climate action, with ratepayers, blue collar workers, Medicaid recipients, and others pitted against climate spending in a struggle for scarce resources.

    What is to be done?

    Climate action is on track to be slower, less well equipped to deliver co-benefits, and more fraught with trade-offs and distributional conflicts. Each of these is a threat to future climate action and erodes the new climate common sense. It may be impossible for the climate community to prevent any of these developments from transpiring over the next several years; it is almost certainly impossible for the climate community to prevent all of them from transpiring.

    We are going to be dealing with scarcity politics. In such an environment, minimizing cleavages within the coalition that forged the NCCS and broadening the base of political support for climate action is imperative. But doing so may mean acquiescing to a slower pace of climate action in some circumstances—which raises the task of ensuring that a slower pace of progress in the short term doesn’t translate into the sorts of hedging behavior that will make more ambitious action harder in the medium term. This may mean searching for focus and efficiency in our policy interventions. What policies deliver the biggest impact for the lowest cost? Are there certain climate-related investments that are especially popular or politically significant, around which rearguard action can be prioritized? Are there opportunities not just to entice capital, but to compel it to invest in certain ways? Can we get more creative about financing? Can we get better at embedding climate action in other areas of policy that are more salient for ordinary people (e.g. housing)? What opportunities exist for leveraging scale, through coordinated actions across climate aligned states? What sorts of transnational coordination can help to avert negative feedback loops from setting in (since many other countries are facing similar pressures)?

    It is unlikely that the climate community will align around a single answer to all of these questions. But hopefully a shared analysis of the challenges we face can help to forge greater unity of purpose. Beyond policy design, it seems urgent to recommit to movement building as a precondition for climate action. What corporations and policy elites believe their interests to be is not given, but is rather shaped by movements and politics. The world has changed in many ways, but the need for people in the US and across the world to stand up for a future in which all people can thrive has never been greater.

    The views presented here belong to the author alone and do not represent the BlueGreen Alliance or its partners.

  10. The Paradox of Reform

    Comments Off on The Paradox of Reform

    Although Colombia’s landmark pension reform was signed into law on July 16, 2024, its validity remains in question more than a year after its approval. The country’s Constitutional Court is considering a lawsuit filed by opposition parties alleging procedural flaws in the bill’s legislative process, and pending a final decision on the lawsuit, the court has suspended the implementation of the law.

    Earlier this year, President Gustavo Petro celebrated the reform’s approval in the House of Representatives as a victory for the left, fulfilling the promise of expanding the social safety net and combating poverty and inequality. “We have triumphed, long live the grandmothers and grandfathers of Colombia,” he wrote on Twitter, his social media of choice. News of the approval resounded throughout the region, marking the success of his social democratic agenda. But a closer examination of the law’s design gives room for pause. Why does the flagship reform of Petro’s progressive government adopt a typically neoliberal architecture for social welfare?

    At its core, Petro’s pension reform seeks to correct a regressive, costly and segmented pension system.1Fundación Cisoe, Cecilia López Montaño and María Claudia Holstine, ‘La Reforma Pensional En Colombia. El Debate Pendiente. Lecciones de América Latina’ (Banco de la República de Colombia, 2019); Stefano Farné and Alejandro Nieto, ‘¿ A Quiénes y Cuánto Subsidia El Régimen Pensional de Prima Media En Colombia’, (<)em(>)Bogotá: Universidad Externado de Colombia(<)/em(>), 2017; Leonardo Villar and David Forero, ‘Elementos para una propuesta de reforma del sistema de protección económica para la vejez en Colombia’, Cuadernos de Fedesarrollo, no. 58 (2018): 82; Francisco Azuero, ‘El sistema de pensiones en Colombia: institucionalidad, gasto público y sostenibilidad financiera’, (<)em(>)CEPAL(<)/em(>), Macroeconomía del Desarrollo 206, 2020, 2020, 61; Juan Pablo Córdoba and Gabriel Piraquive, ‘Escenarios de ajuste al sistema pensional colombiano’, Documentos CEDE, 2019. But in a break from the demands of the left, the reform does not eliminate Colombia’s private pension system and instead retains the logic of Colombia’s neoliberal reforms of the 1990s. The reform maintains a multipillar system with several “solidarity” components, alongside a capitalization scheme managed by private funds.2Mitchell A Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform ((<)/em(>)Princeton University Press, 2008).

    The trajectory of the reform reflects both international and domestic political shifts. At the international level, over the last decade, pensions reforms in the global South have attempted reverse the fiscal consequences of the privatization wave of the 1990s. In Colombia, a particular balance of interests made a reform based on compromise the most likely to succeed. The reform led by the Petro government both expands the coverage of elderly Colombians while retaining the structure of a private pension market.

    The new pension law demonstrates the limits of progressivism in fragmented political contexts. It also represents the latest iteration of an historic dispute around the form of the welfare state in the global South. By interrogating the concessions and successes of the reform, as well as the tensions that arose around its approval, we can begin to understand how the pension system offers a new vision of the Colombian state.

    Pension reforms around the world

    Over the last three decades, countries around the world have transformed their pension systems in response to demographic, economic, and institutional pressures.3OECD, (<)em(>)Pensions at a Glance 2023; OECD and G20 Indicators (<)/em(>)(Paris: OECD, 2023); OECD, (<)em(>)Pensions at a Glance 2015(<)/em(>), 2015, 2015, https://doi.org/10.1787/pension_glance-2015-en; Hervé Boulhol, Maciej Lis, and Monika Queisser, ‘Trends in Pension Reforms in OECD Countries 1’, in (<)em(>)The Routledge Handbook of the Economics of Ageing (<)/em(>)(Routledge, n.d.), 262-84. The trajectory of these reforms has not been uniform. In Europe and the global North, reforms have responded to the stresses caused by an aging population.4Boulhol, Lis, and Queisser, ‘Trends in Pension Reforms in OECD Countries 1’; Giuseppe Carone et al, ‘Pension Reforms in the EU since the Early 2000’s: Achievements and Challenges Ahead’, (<)em(>)European Economy Discussion Paper(<)/em(>), no. 042 (2016). In the global South, reforms have been sparked by the fiscal aftermath of the privatization wave of the 1990s, a persistently high level of labor informality that excludes most of the working population from social protection, and general poverty that afflicts the elderly population, who often require state welfare for subsistence.5Alberto Arenas de Mesa, (<)em(>)Pension Systems at the Crossroads. Desafíos para la sostenibilidad en América Latina(<)/em(>), Libros de la CEPAL 159 (CEPAL, 2019); Isabel Ortiz et al, ‘Reversing Pension Privatization: Rebuilding Public Pension Systems in Eastern European and Latin American Countries (2000-18)’, (<)em(>)Available at SSRN 3275228(<)/em(>), 2018.

    Since the 1980s, pension systems in Latin America have undergone a wave of structural reforms following a neoliberal agenda, drawing from the notion that freedom and welfare are maximized when economic activity is organized on the basis of private property, competition, and the free movement of capital. State action should thus be limited to guaranteeing macroeconomic stability, protecting property rights, and creating markets where they do not exist.6Thorsen, ‘The Neoliberal Challenge. What Is Neoliberalism?’

    When it came to the provision of public services, this agenda sought to restrict public pay-as-you-go pillars, instead opting for minimal welfare function supplemented by more dominant privately managed schemes. This shift channeled savings into financial markets and transferred investment and longevity risks onto workers.7Leokadia Oręziak, (<)em(>)Pension Fund Capitalism: The Privatization of Pensions in Developed and Developing Countries (<)/em(>)(Routledge, 2022); Mitchell A Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform ((<)/em(>)Princeton University Press, 2008); Mitchell A Orenstein, ‘Pension Privatization in Crisis: Death or Rebirth of a Global Policy Trend?’, (<)em(>)International Social Security Review (<)/em(>)64, no. 3 (2011): 65-80; Mitchell A Orenstein, ‘Pension Privatization: Evolution of a Paradigm’, (<)em(>)Governance (<)/em(>)26, no. 2 (2013): 259-81. With these reforms, social security became structured according to the principles of profitability and financial accumulation, displacing its original foundation of intergenerational solidarity.8Robin Blackburn, (<)em(>)Banking on Death: Or, Investing in Life: The History and Future of Pensions (<)/em(>)(Verso Books, 2002).

    Multilateral organizations led the charge towards structural reform.9Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform(<)/em(>); Carmelo Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>), Friedrich Ebert Stiftung (Mexico City: FES, 2020). With its seminal report Averting the Old Age Crisis (1994), the World Bank offered a so-called “multipillar” insurance structure that combines a basic public pillar of tax-financed social assistance, a mandatory capitalization pillar (collective or individual), and a voluntary pillar (also capitalization).10World Bank, (<)em(>)Averting the Old Age Crisis: Policies to Protect the Old and Promote Growth. Summary (<)/em(>)(The World Bank, 1994). Underlying the multipillar design is the idea that market solutions should occupy the core of the system, relegating the state to patch the gaps left over. The most extreme example of this design was the Chilean pension system implemented by the Pinochet dictatorship in 1981.

    The 1994 World Bank report went on to be very influential,11Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform(<)/em(>). and the multipillar typology reappeared in discussions on pension reforms in the world. Most international institutions adopted their own ‘pillar’ scheme,12International Labour Office, ‘The ILO Multi-Pillar Pension Model: Building Equitable and Sustainable Pension Systems’ (International Labour Conference, 2018). and as a result of conferences, technical assistance programs, and credit conditionalities from the World Bank, the architecture served as a conceptual basis for pension reforms over the following twenty years (see below).13Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform(<)/em(>).

    Almost all Eastern European countries introduced funded schemes in the late 1990s. In Latin America, Mexico, Argentina, and the Dominican Republic followed the same path.14Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform(<)/em(>); Robert Holzmann, ‘Global Pension Systems and Their Reform: Worldwide Drivers, Trends and Challenges’, (<)em(>)International Social Security Review (<)/em(>)66, no. 2 (2013): 1-29. The Colombian and Peruvian cases are of particular interest. Although these countries also introduced funded systems, they did not entirely eliminate their public pension systems. Public systems remained in competition with private systems for basic old-age insurance. This gave rise to Colombia’s odd “parallel” pension scheme, the only one of its kind in the region.15Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Assessing Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>); Arenas de Mesa, (<)em(>)Pension Systems at the Crossroads. Challenges for Sustainability in Latin America(<)/em(>).

    The premise of the 1990s pension was the same everywhere: private fund management, based on individual capitalization, would improve the efficiency and sustainability of the system.16Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluation of Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>). Underlying this was the conviction that pay-as-you-go systems were doomed to fail because of their “political nature”—they were incapable of maintaining a transparent relationship between contributions and benefits. Only a system based on individual ownership of savings, operated in competition with private entities, could simultaneously guarantee personal freedom and collective prosperity.17Oręziak, (<)em(>)Pension Fund Capitalism: The Privatization of Pensions in Developed and Developing Countries(<)/em(>). Nikola Altiparmakov and Milan Nedeljković, ’25 Years of Averting the Old Age Crisis in Eastern Europe’, (<)em(>)Global Social Policy (<)/em(>)22, no. 1 (2022): 84-102; Marek Naczyk, ‘Agents of Privatization? Business Groups and the Rise of Pension Funds in Continental Europe’, (<)em(>)Socio-Economic Review (<)/em(>)11, no. 3 (1 July 2013): 441-69, https://doi.org/10.1093/ser/mws012; Carmelo Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>), Friedrich Ebert Stiftung (Mexico City: FES, 2020). In Latin America and Eastern Europe, the advocates of this model suggested that privatizing pensions would help domestic savings, boost capital markets, increase economic growth, reduce tax evasion, eliminate fiscal deficits, improve administrative efficiency, and allow workers to tailor their pensions to their individual preferences through voluntary savings.18Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>); Altiparmakov and Nedeljković, ’25 Years of Averting the Old Age Crisis in Eastern Europe.

    With the turn of the century, criticism of the privatization agenda began to emerge more forcefully.19Peter R Orszag and Joseph E Stiglitz, ‘Rethinking Pension Reform: Ten Myths about Social Security Systems’, (<)em(>)New Ideas about Old Age Security(<)/em(>), 2001, 17-56. The reforms transferred significant and unjustified risks—investment, inflation and sustainability—from the state to the individual.20Orenstein, (<)em(>)Privatizing Pensions: The Transnational Campaign for Social Security Reform(<)/em(>); Oręziak, (<)em(>)Pension Fund Capitalism: The Privatization of Pensions in Developed and Developing Countries(<)/em(>). Policymakers began to reevaluate the enormous costs of pension privatization, which were not sufficiently estimated at the time of adoption.21 Orszag and Stiglitz.As a result of these discussions, the World Bank itself reconsidered the architecture of the original multipillar model, admitting the need to incorporate in its ideal architecture a “pay-as-you-go” pillar limited to basic redistributive functions.22Robert Holzmann, (<)em(>)Old-Age Income Support in the 21st Century: An International Perspective on Pension Systems and Reform (<)/em(>)(World Bank Publications, 2005).

    In countries that reformed their pension systems, coverage rates failed to increase as expected, benefits were insufficient for large sectors of the population, transition costs were high, and evasion persisted.23Ortiz et al., ‘Reversing Pension Privatization: Rebuilding Public Pension Systems in Eastern European and Latin American Countries (2000-18)’; Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>). The global financial crisis of 2008 was the final test, revealing the exposure of pensions to financial risks.24Mitchell A Orenstein, ‘Pension Privatization in Crisis: Death or Rebirth of a Global Policy Trend?’, (<)em(>)International Social Security Review (<)/em(>)64, no. 3 (2011): 65-80. This eroded the legitimacy of the multipillar model, spurring a second wave of pension reforms—namely reversals in privatization—around the world.

    Reversals in at least partial privatization of pension systems

    Source: Ortiz et al,25 ‘Reversing Pension Privatization: Rebuilding Public Pension Systems in Eastern European and Latin American Countries (2000-18)’, 1.

    This second wave of reforms incorporated more non-contributory mechanisms, allowing pension systems to expand to older populations in informal labor markets, address elder poverty, and buttress low pensions.26Larry Willmore, ‘Universal Age Pensions in Developing Countries: The Example of Mauritius’, (<)em(>)International Social Security Review (<)/em(>)59, no. 4 (2006): 67-89; David E Bloom and Roddy McKinnon, ‘The Design and Implementation of Pension Systems in Developing Countries: Issues and Options’, in (<)em(>)International Handbook on Ageing and Public Policy (<)/em(>)(Edward Elgar Publishing, 2014), 108-30; Gibran Cruz-Martinez, ‘Older-age Social Pensions and Poverty: Revisiting Assumptions on Targeting and Universalism’, (<)em(>)Poverty & Public Policy (<)/em(>)11, no. 1-2 (2019): 31-56.; Cruz-Martinez, ‘Older-age Social Pensions and Poverty: Revisiting Assumptions on Targeting and Universalism’. In 2008, Chile pursued a policy change along these lines, a reform that served as a key example for President Petro’s pension reform proposal.27Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>).(<)/p(>) (<)p class='wp-block-paragraph'(>)Petro’s proposal is thus a product of trends in pensions across the global South, in countries committed to reversing privatization and guaranteeing social assistance for the poorest older adults. But instead of dismantling Colombia’s private system, as had occurred in Argentina and other countries that eliminated their funded pension systems, he chose to reconfigure the balance in the system inherited by Colombia’s Law 100.(<)/p(>) (<)h3 class='wp-block-heading'(>)The failures of Law 100(<)/h3(>) (<)p class='wp-block-paragraph'(>)Law 100 of 1993, enacted during the liberal government of César Gaviria, was the policy that set forward the privatization of the Colombian pension system according to economic liberalization and market reform principles. The law “modernized” the country’s pension system, creating a single system to cover all public and private sector workers. Prior to 1993, public and private sector workers were fragmented into more than 900 pension subsystems, each with its own rules and requirements, making it virtually impossible to ensure their coordination and proper oversight.[fn]Ana María Muñoz Segura, (<)em(>)La Pensión de Vejez En Colombia. El Recorrido Histórico Entre La Exclusión y La Universalidad(<)/em(>), Historia y Materiales Del Derecho (Bogotá: Universidad de los Andes, 2019). In addition, Law 100 attempted to expand the coverage of affiliates and pensioners, which, at that time, barely reached 21 percent, and sought to guarantee the system’s financial sustainability.28Mauricio Santa María et al., ‘El Sistema Pensional En Colombia: Retos y Alternativas Para Aumentar La Cobertura’ (Fedesarrollo, n.d.), 7.

    Law 100 was in part inspired by Pinochet’s 1981 pension reform in Chile. While the original bill proposed copying the Pinochet model and completely privatize the system, unions and public employees fought to establish a “parallel” or “dual” system that allowed for public and private options.29This dual system allowed workers a certain freedom of choice between regimes. However, several challenges followed. The first of these related to the financial education needed to make a good decision. When the first members of the new private system began to retire, they realized that the promises of funding did not translate into better pensions. In fact, their pensions ended up being much lower than those of the public system. This led to a series of reforms on the limits and guarantees to be able to choose which system was more convenient for each member. By 2024 there were more than 25,000 pending cases of people seeking to leave the private regime and return to the public pension system. For many workers, however, the public system guaranteed higher pensions.

    By 2023, coverage under the system created by Law 100 barely rose by 10 percent. Today, less than one-third of the elderly receive a contributory old-age pension, and two-thirds remain unprotected. The system is not financially sustainable—imbalances represent a cost of 4 percent of annual GDP, equivalent to 30 percent of the country’s tax revenues.30Diego Alejandro Chaves Martínez et al., ‘Estudio Intersectorial. Reforma Pensional En Colombia: Antecedentes y Elementos Para Su Discusión’ (Contraloría General de la República, December 2023), 43; Oscar Becerra et al., ‘Regresivo, Excluyente e Ineficiente ¿Qué Hacer Con El Sistema de Pensiones?’ (Universidad de los Andes, 2022), 2. The presence of two different regimes and the competition to attract affiliates have generated incoordination, inequities, and high costs.31Azuero, ‘El sistema de pensiones en Colombia: institucionalidad, gasto público y sostenibilidad financiera’; Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluación de cuatro décadas de privatización de pensiones en América Latina (1980-2020): Promesas y realidades(<)/em(>); Farné and Nieto, ‘¿A ¿A Quiénes y Cuánto Subsidia El Régimen Pensional de Prima Media En Colombia’; Cisoe, Montaño, and Holstine, ‘La Reforma Pensional En Colombia. The Pending Debate. Lessons from Latin America’.

    While the public system faced a growing fiscal deficit, the private system failed to provide adequate pensions to all its affiliates.32Farné and Nieto, ‘¿ ¿A ¿Quién ¿And Cuánto Subsidia El Régimen Pensional de Prima Media En Colombia’. With these problems afflicting both the private and public systems, there has been some consensus around the need for reform.33Villar and Forero, ‘Elementos para una propuesta de reforma del sistema de protección económica para la vejez en Colombia’; Córdoba and Piraquive, ‘Escenarios de ajuste al sistema pensional colombiano’. Most countries in the West (Sweden, Belgium, the Netherlands, the United States, the United Kingdom) and Latin America (Uruguay, Costa Rica, Panama) structure their pensions with multipillar models,34Holzmann, (<)em(>)Old-Age Income Support in the 21st Century: An International Perspective on Pension Systems and Reform(<)/em(>); Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>). usually with a robust public pillar that offers basic coverage for the entire population, complemented by a second pillar of mandatory savings (privately managed or mixed) for those with higher incomes, and finally a voluntary pillar.

    Calculating possibilities

    Petro’s reform builds on the work of previous commissions and proposals in Colombia. In 2015, the Ministry of Labor in Juan Manuel Santos’s government presented a reform bill that sought an expanded non-contributory social pension, a pillar system, and higher retirement ages. In Colombia, the retirement age is sixty-two for men and fifty-seven for women, significantly lower than the OECD average of sixty-four.  While the bill failed in Congress, it offered a technical model for the multipillar system in Colombia, one supported even by the trade union movement.35Cisoe, Montaño, and Holstine, ‘La Reforma Pensional En Colombia. The Pending Debate. Lessons from Latin America’. Petro’s reform draws from this proposal but prioritizes integration and universal coverage and leaves the retirement age unchanged.

    In 2008, under the government of Cristina Fernandez de Kirschner, Argentina nationalized all private pension funds, expropriating individual savings into public funds. This type of radical change was politically unfeasible and legally impossible in Colombia. The governing party barely held a relative majority in Congress, and the first governing coalition—which included the participation of centrists and managed to pass an ambitious tax reform—had already imploded. The Petro government attempted to pass a reform through a fragmented Congress, and thus opted for a moderate proposal, which did not eliminate private funds. The government also had to negotiate constitutional limits: Colombian jurisprudence protects acquired rights and ownership of pension savings, making a complete nationalization of the individual funds unconstitutional.  

    Petro and his team assumed a pragmatic position to promote a gradualist structural reform, one that could gather consensus and overcome political obstacles. This follows the course of other center-left governments in Latin America, whose pension reforms sought greater equity without eliminating private funds. Uruguay incorporated solidarity pillars and partially reversed the funded system in the 2000s. In 2020, Mexico significantly increased the employer’s contribution and expanded the minimum guaranteed pension, but maintained the individual accounts managed by the Afores.36Mesa-Lago, (<)em(>)Evaluating Four Decades of Pension Privatization in Latin America (1980-2020): Promises and Realities(<)/em(>).

    The scope of the reform

    In Colombia, only one-third of people over sixty receive a contributory pension, and in 2020, only 23 percent of older adults received pensions through contributory schemes.37Azuero. As a result, the elderly face high rates of poverty: In 2020, 45 percent of urban seniors lived below the poverty line and 18 percent lived in extreme poverty. Petro’s reform aimed to close this gap in social protection.   

    The new model incorporates a solidarity pillar aimed at guaranteeing a basic income to older adults without a pension.38The idea is that every person over 65 years of age in a condition of poverty, extreme poverty or vulnerability is entitled to a life annuity equivalent to the extreme poverty line. In 2024, that amount was set at $223,800 pesos per month (about $55 USD). This benefit, financed with fiscal resources, represents a significant improvement over previous programs: it raises the amount of the subsidy and extends its potential coverage to more than 2.5 million people. Although it represents only a quarter of the monthly minimum wage, the objective is to mitigate indigence among the elderly without income.But a right to a pension does not guarantee its fulfillment. The experience of Colombia Mayor, the previous old-age social assistance program, illustrates the risks of structuring these programs as flexible expenditures. Without budgetary security, transfers are subject to fiscal restrictions and the will of the president in office. For example, for more than half of the last twenty years, the state failed to fulfill its cofinancing commitments to Colombia Mayor, as shown below.

    The reform’s second major objective is to reduce the state’s heavy fiscal burden and improve equity across the system. Public spending on pensions grew from 1.4 percent of GDP in 2000 to 4.5 percent in 2017, an explosive increase that led ECLAC to rank Colombia as the Latin American country with the fourth-highest level of fiscal pressure from pensions.39Arenas de Mesa, (<)em(>)Los sistemas de pensiones en la encrucijada. Challenges for sustainability in Latin America(<)/em(>). Moreover, these resources mainly benefited a small group of relatively higher-income pensioners—many of them former civil servants with high pensions—which made the scheme very regressive. In 2019, the richest 20 percent of households captured 75 percent of pension spending, while the poorest older adults received almost nothing.40Azuero, ‘El sistema de pensiones en Colombia: institucionalidad, gasto público y sostenibilidad financiera’. This situation was socially unjust and financially unsustainable.

    The new law introduces a Contributory Pillar, in which part of the mandatory contributions are channeled to the public system to finance basic pensions, thus reducing the outflow of resources from the Treasury. The central element is the contribution threshold. Through the reform,  Colpensiones, the public system, will receive all contributions on the portion of each member’s income up to 230 percent of the minimum wage, while the private pension funds will receive contributions on the portion of income exceeding 230 percent of the minimum wage.41In other words, each worker will contribute to the public system up to 2.3 times minimum wages (about 2.6 million pesos today) , thereby building the right to a pension in Colpensiones; only if he/she earns above that level, the surplus will go to his/her individual account in an AFP, to contribute to a complementary pension. According to official estimates, more than 80 percent of contributors earn less than 230 percent of the minimum wage. As a result of increased contributions, the Ministry of Finance estimates that the reform will save the state about 0.6 percent of GDP annually in the short term by reducing Colpensiones’ operating deficit.42Bill for the Reform of the Integral System for the Protection of the Elderly.

    One of the main points of debate in the reform approval process was the power of private funds. In the previous system, private for-profit pension funds managed savings of some 18 million members—capital equivalent to approximately 26 percent of Colombia’s GDP. These resources made pension funds major economic players and crucial investors—approximately 34 percent of private pensions funds were invested in Colombian public debt and another 36 percent in foreign instruments. This allowed pension funds to weird strong political influence through their association, Asofondos.43Azuero.

    The reform process thus faced significant pushback from the private sector. Petro publicly argued for raising the threshold for public contributions to four times the minimum wage, so that Colpensiones would receive more contributions and could guarantee basic pensions in the long term.44Initially, the Petro government proposed a relatively high threshold (the figure of 4 minimum wages was under discussion); this would have implied that only those earning more than 4 minimum wages would contribute to the AFPs, concentrating the vast majority of contributions in Colpensiones. According to data presented by the President, with a threshold of 4 minimum wages the public PAYGO fund would have projected solvency until 2074, while with lower thresholds the reserve would be exhausted earlier (until 2070 with a threshold of 3 minimum wages, and much earlier with 2 minimum wages). However, this proposal clashed with the interests of the financial sector. Congress members outside the governing coalition, form the Liberal Party and U Party, also rejected this proposal, and their votes were essential to the reform’s passage.45The AFPs and their supporters preferred a low threshold, such as 1 or 1.5 salaries, which would allow them to continue capturing a larger portion of mandatory contributions. A very high threshold, from their perspective, would bury their business, drastically reducing the funds they manage. In the end, a compromise was achieved. The Senate approved setting the threshold at 2.3 times the minimum wage, and although Petro later tried to raise it in the House, his own coalition dissuaded him so as not to jeopardize the vote.

    The agreed threshold illustrates a delicate balance present throughout the design of the reform. Colpensiones will recover an important portion of contributors, but private funds will maintain contributions from higher earners. In exchange for losing some contributions,  private funds are permitted to charge a commission on the accumulated balance of the funds they manage—up to 0.7 per annum. This new rule has generated controversy, as it would consolidate a stable and high source of income for private funds, independent of the number of new contributors. Asofondos calculated that they could collect an additional 1.3 trillion pesos a year in commissions thanks to this change (approx. $340 million). This is the fine print that led the financial sector to accept the reform.

    The future of the reform

    The current wave of global pension reforms can be read as a reversal of the privatization agenda of the 1990s, though it falls short of nationalization. Instead, the pension schemes supported by center-left governments have pursued a strong redistributive component and expanded welfare coverage while simultaneously guaranteeing a form of complementary capitalization.

    With this new system, Colombia is moving closer to multipillar models adopted by Belgium, the United Kingdom, and Uruguay. The World Bank has recommended this reform structure, and in 2022 announced its support of Colombia’s pension reform process. Although the reform does not eliminate the private sector, it does reduce the private funds’ total control over social security. Thes state has recovered its role in guaranteeing a basic pension for all.

    Several challenges lay ahead, however. First, the long-term sustainability of the system is still uncertain. The reform did not alter the retirement age nor the number of weeks required for a full pension (1,300), which are low when compared to the region.46(<)a id='_ftn1' href='#_ftnref1'(>)[1](<)/a(>) The reduction of the number of weeks in the case of women was the result of two rulings of the Constitutional Court. Ruling C-197 of 2023 and Ruling C-054 of 2024. Likewise, Colpensiones will have to incorporate millions of affiliates who currently contribute in private funds, especially those with lower incomes. This requires a profound operational transformation and robust technological development.47Cisoe, Montaño, and Holstine, ‘La Reforma Pensional En Colombia. The Pending Debate. Lessons from Latin America’. In its implementation, then, the new public system must be seen as legitimate. In Chile, the failures of a flawed individually funded system catalyzed nationwide protests. These movements show that with social legitimacy, any institutional architecture is doomed to fail.