On April 5, President Trump called China—hold on, let me go look it up—a currency manipulator. And while that is true, the reality is much worse. That’s not even close to how bad it’s gotten.
At first, no one really saw it. They sat at the horse tracks and the race tracks, mesmerized at the sight of beasts going around in circles. Four hundred times. Five hundred, in Daytona.
That’s exactly where we were, when I noticed that the entire earth had been encased in some sort of clear membrane. The Daytona Speedway, waiting for our turn to test drive one of the racecars for something called “The NASCAR Experience.” Sitting there in sunny Florida, in the aluminum stands, drinking micheladas with acid-laced salt rims, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“What the hell is that?” I asked looking up at the throbbing sky.
My friend’s large misshapen head slowly tilted. “Yea, the guy driving number 11 looks like he’s gonna slam into the wall.”
“No, up above.”
He looked up. His jaw slacked and his face went white. “Holy shit.”
This was the start.
A week later, now, more people have noticed the membrane. Not many, but more. My editor is one of them. He’s given me a lead to speak with an economist in China. Apparently, this man has linked the whole thing to the efforts being used by Xi to prop up his Yuan. To machines he calls “profit-engines.” And so, off to the East I go.
On the plane, I peek out my window and electric waves of terror shoot up my spine. It’s right there. Just above us is the membrane. Sunlight can still get through, but we are all trapped. Planes all have to fly in this low, reduced airspace, zigzagging around each other to avoid crashing in the crowd.
“I’m gonna be sick if he doesn’t stop flying this thing like a rollercoaster,” my friend says holding his stomach. I’ve brought this friend of mine, Hugo—the one with the amoeba-like head—, as he is the only one I know who has a cocaine connection in Beijing.
“Only 13 more hours,” I say leaning back, holding up a magazine as a precautionary shield.
When we land, Hugo has puked five times and my New Balances are ruined.
After checking into our hotel, we get straight to business. Hugo calls his connection, and we decide to thoroughly test the quality of the coke before I head off to the interview. It is good stuff.
In some back office of Tsinghua University, I finally meet with Professor David Daokui Li. He’s 56, but looks quite young. He’s easy to be around.
“To achieve this result,” he says, apparently halfway though an explanation I don’t remember. “Xi built machines to think at hyper-speeds. Anything for a workable idea to keep the Yuan above seven per dollar. These machines require huge amounts of energy. Runoff from them is almost impossible to clean up.”
“So, it’s really an environmental problem?”
“It’s all linked. America’s trade war has caused the Yuan to fall below seven per dollar, which has in turn caused Xi to crank up the machines. They were overburdened and they boiled up. The runoff went into the atmosphere and crusted over like a soufflé.”
“It’s a standoff between two leaders, but both actually want the same thing. We should want the Yuan to stay high, so that Xi can turn off the machines. And, so that China can rebalance away from exports?”
“Exactly. The U.S. has problems with its intellectual property being stolen, and that is largely due to China heavily relying on exports in the global market. It does what it needs to survive. If we can allow the Yuan to rise again, by lifting the sanctions, it’s good for everyone.”
I leave the back office. Outside the building, the membrane pulses. Veins and hair have appeared now.
I’m no economic expert, but, the Yuan and the membrane its machines have created show us just how unsure the future is when major economic players refuse to back down. That things have slipped out of our hands. The people at the top are changing the world however their egos see fit. They’ve put this cocoon around us as if to get us ready for something.
