Viewing geopolitics through the lens of "what China is doing" is a flawed model. Reality consists of individuals and cohorts struggling for power. Nation-states are just the largest "gangs," distracting from the real controllers—like undisclosed central bank shareholders—who wield more power than any politician.
Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto demands a state monopoly on money and credit. Since all modern economies use central banks to control the money supply, they are built on a Marxist principle. With money being half of every transaction, these economies are at best 50% capitalist and 50% Marxist.
China's promotion of open-weight models is a strategic maneuver to exert global influence. By controlling the underlying models that answer questions about history, borders, and values, a nation can shape global narratives and project soft power, much like Hollywood did for the U.S.
Unlike the old Cold War with Russia, the U.S. and China's deep economic interdependence prevents open conflict. The current "Rice War" is like water polo: while business and diplomacy occur on the surface, a covert intelligence and influence war rages underneath.
In Russia, nominally private companies like Gazprom function as direct extensions of the state. Their international investments are designed not just for profit but to achieve geopolitical goals, creating a system where foreign policy, business interests, and the personal wealth of the ruling class are completely inseparable.
The public narrative of fighting narco-terrorism in Venezuela is a red herring. The true strategic goal is to justify a U.S. military presence in the Caribbean to counter China's growing economic and military investments in the region, including control of key shipping routes and military partnerships.
President Xi Jinping used a phone call with President Trump not just for bilateral issues, but to strategically signal displeasure with Japan's hawkish stance on Taiwan. This "shadow play" diplomacy shows China leveraging its relationship with the U.S. to indirectly manage and warn other nations, making the U.S. a channel for its geopolitical messaging.
Anne Applebaum highlights a disturbing shift where high-stakes foreign policy, like the Ukraine peace plan, is conducted by businesspeople seeking personal financial gain. This mirrors the kleptocratic systems of autocratic states, prioritizing private profit over national or allied interests, and raises questions about who American foreign policy truly serves.
Despite narratives of higher purpose, the bedrock of modern life is economic specialization. This system ensures survival and allows for hyper-specialization, which is why economic disruptions so easily unravel societal stability and lead to global conflict.
A historical indicator of a superpower's decline is when its spending on debt servicing surpasses its military budget. The US crossed this threshold a few years ago, while China is massively increasing military spending. This economic framework offers a stark, quantitative lens through which to view the long-term power shift between the two nations.
From 2001 onwards, while the U.S. was militarily and economically distracted by the War on Terror, China executed a long-term strategy. It focused on acquiring Western technology and building indigenous capabilities in AI, telecom, and robotics, effectively creating a rival global economic system.