我在中国有一半时间是在工厂里度过的，至少感觉上是这样的——而这也正是我所追寻的一种感觉。工厂里有上亿中国工人在辛勤劳作，生产出来的相机、衣服和各种各样的其他产品涌向世界各地，对于我来说，这些工厂是当今中国给人的最为震惊的强烈印象，而且它们现在又是最重要的。说让人震惊首先是因为它的规模之庞大，从上海的摩天大楼和连接机场的时速240英里的磁悬浮列车，到北京日夜不息的建筑施工，尘土飞扬和忙乱喧嚣，这些我都早有耳闻，因为所有关于当代中国的报道都会提到。然而对于已经成为世界制造中心、南邻香港、绵延千里的广东省珠三角地区，我倒是毫无了解。这样一个省的劳动力居然超过整个美国的总和：尽管来自中国的统计大多是估计，数据显示的广东省现有人口已达到9千万左右。就算只有1/5的人口从事制造业（这个比例在大城市里很正常），那也要有1800万的劳动人口了，而整个美国的总劳动人口不过1400万！
在广东省就有这么一家工厂——著名的富士康工业园，它位于深圳外部的一个卫星城中心，占地面积相当于一个大型机场。工厂流水线上工作着大约24万名员工（这是我最常听到的数字，外界估计在20到30万之间），睡在公司宿舍，吃在公司食堂。我听说富士康的食堂每天要宰杀3000头猪以供员工们食用，这个数字也很合理——大约80个人吃一头猪，因为中国的猪体型偏小，而猪肉又是主要食用肉类（我就从没听过对鸡肉的估计）。深圳和香港是珠三角地区的两个主要运输港口，仅去年一年就从这两大港口运出了相当于4000多万个20英尺标准集装箱的货物，这些货物运抵目的地港口后再由大卡车或火车运到各个角落。这样的货物运输量相当于一年365天，每天24小时里，每一秒都有一只集装箱从这两大港口运出——而这还不到中国出口总量的一半。这些集装箱中有些是运往美国的，那么从美国运回来的集装箱里装的又是什么呢？我猜是“美金”。事实上，美国船运到中国的出口货物中，按容积算最主要的两样是供回收再利用的废纸和废铁。
这些工厂无论对中国还是其他任何国家来说都很重要。或许将来有一天，中国会因其政治体制或战略抱负而在国际上举足轻重。这在现在已有所表现，但奠定中国在世界的地位的还是其制造业上的成就。在过去的30年间，如果说中国还有什么值得称道的地方的话，那也都是直接或间接地来源于这些制造工厂。中国拿公款来修路、造房子还有建学校——主要是修路。广大农村人口如今拥有了他们祖辈极其缺乏的，且世界上其他地区的贫苦农民如今依旧缺乏的一样东西——打工挣钱的机会，也就是摆脱农村贫困的机会。美国人抱怨中国出口的大量廉价的垃圾产品，但他们又很依赖中国产的不那么“垃圾”的产品，并且这些产品低廉的价格对美国的工业和家庭生活有着重要影响。现代消费文化离不开这样一个前提：最精致、最先进的产品——电脑、音响和超大屏幕电视等等——将会一年比一年便宜。这种变化的形成在部分上归因于摩尔定律（摩尔定律的一种版本说道，相同运算能力的电脑的价格每18个月就会下降一半）；而中国的廉价工厂在其中也起到相当大的作用。
在给当今中国造成危害的事物中，很多也来自这些工厂。中国境内一部分人口以及几乎所有境外人口可以规避中国政府政治控制的直接影响，但要想躲避中国产生的污染就要难许多。中国城市的空气质量比我预想的要差，并且由于污染范围很广，受到影响的人数众多，即使是伦敦、曼彻斯特、匹兹堡等工业革命时期闻名世界的制造业中心在过去急速资本主义工业化的最黑暗时期，也不能与之匹敌。空气污染直接来自于推动中国兴旺发达的钢厂、水泥厂及其他重工业设施，间接来自于为每个场所提供电力的发电厂。（还有越来越多的汽车，虽然中国人均汽车拥有量还不及美国的1/30。）看看从中国各地的制造工厂和发电厂排放出来的烟尘和废气吧，其增长速度之快、排放量之大，使得中国的空气污染问题不再只是一国的问题，而是已经成为世界性的问题。但发达国家最为担心的不是这些，而是中国新创造出的成千上万的工作岗位，这意味着美国、加拿大、德国乃至日本将有不计其数的工人失去工作。
然而这些工厂既令人惊异又十分重要，只是是在一个不那么明显的底部层面上来讲的。它们的运作方式和美国人口中讲的几乎毫无共同之处。美国关于“中国机遇论”，乃至“中国威胁论”的不友好的政治辩论看上去仅仅停留在理论层面上，和这些采用外包模式、从事出口业务的工厂是那么不贴切。那些负责决定要转移多少生产量到中国来的欧美日实业家谈论这一进程时与美国政界人士迥然不同，举个例子：人民币对美元的汇率被人为压低，这成为美国抱怨中国外贸政策时最常被挂在嘴边的事情；而贸易官员探讨在外建厂事宜时，这个话题只能排在8-10位。即使是谈论到这方面的问题，也是在考虑人民币升值会不会迫使公司为了节省开支而避开在拥挤的中国沿海建新厂，换成在工资水平较低、商业地价实惠的内陆省份，或者干脆到越南或柬埔寨建厂。
其他抱怨也是如此，诸如中国政府对出口业的补贴、大量侵犯知识产权的现象、甚至是许多工厂中存在的“奴役劳工”现象。这些抱怨中有的是有理有据的，有的则不是。但即使都是真的，也可能在描述上有所偏差，或者程度上有所低估。在中国的工业进程中，美国人所扮演的角色好比19世纪时的欧洲人，当时欧洲人将美国的工业崛起简单解释为其拥有丰富自的然资源，剥削移民和奴役劳工，而且对版权及专利法律态度随意，无法很好地保护外国书籍及发明——主要是英国。（今天，美国人走进中国的大街小巷，随处可见待售的廉价盗版货，盗版的正是他们的电影、音乐、软件和书籍。而一个半世纪以前，在刚成立不久的美国，走在街上的查尔斯·狄更斯愤怒地发现有人盗版他的小说低价出售。）所有这些因素都起到一定作用，然而这并不是美国崛起的全部真相——同样，相应地，当代中国类似的行为也无法完全解释中国取得的成就。
我不能说自己了解中国工业崛起的方方面面，但是我可以向各位描述我的所见所闻，以及对我想法影响最大的地方。
经济大转型所带来的影响已经超出了单纯的经济层面。美国人不需要做中国崛起过程中的敌人，但是他们需要小心最终的结果。凭借高人一等的规模和实力，美国是唯一一个在对华交往中不只是屈从，而是试图对其施加对外政策的国家。所以，从现在开始，美国人需要在他们所关心的经济、环境、政治以及社会目标等方面来抵御中国崛起带来的影响。
这一考虑最好从改变了我想法的那点入手：直到现在，美国的对华经济往来都是成功且有利的——而且是互惠的。自由贸易不一定对每个参与者都有益，而与中国的长期贸易则可能置美国于险境。但是基于我在中国的所见所闻，以及与我来之前所想象的完全不同的事实，到目前为止，自由贸易的作用与所宣传的是一致的。在思考什么需要改变之前，美国人应该认清什么是好的。对此，深圳是一个好的起点。
如何作用：从福朋喜来登酒店说起
每次去深圳的福朋喜来登酒店用早餐时，我都感觉自己仿佛置身于电影之中。我脑海中有一幕与此景十分贴合：这是一部典型二战片，某艘航空母舰上，机组成员齐聚作战室，在临行前讨论他们即将执行的任务。
早上的福朋喜来登也是一片噪杂声，人们都在展望着新的一天。中国深圳位于香港“新界”正北，里根入住白宫时还不是个城市。它原是一个只有七、八万人的渔村，在中国来说简直是不值一提。其他几个现今的大型沿海制造业中心，像厦门、广州、杭州和上海，几个世纪以来一直都是中国的重要城市。深圳则不然。在过去的25年里，深圳人口增长了至少一百倍，而其它城市只有三四倍。它的人口密度几乎与纽约等同，我沿途经过的很多中国城市也是如此。而且深圳有着无数的摩天大楼，以及成百上千的工厂。
深圳的崛起可以算是当代中国工业化进程的第一章。“在创建初期，深圳人民毅然决然地打破了旧思想的束缚，”深圳市博物馆内的英文版城市史如是说，带着当代中国特有的毛式浮夸与大资本家派头相结合的语气。“用以市场为导向的改革作为突破点，他们摆脱了计划经济的桎梏，逐渐建立起新的管理体系。”
这里所提到的是1980年夏末深圳“经济特区”的建立，在经济特区，国家的限制及管控相对较少，并广邀世界各地的商家前来开店建厂。作为试点，深圳非常具有吸引力，不仅仅是因为它紧邻有着良港与机场的香港，也是因为它远离北京。如果尝试失败，那么把恶果控制在这座中国最南端的城市内要容易的多。深圳改革甚至去除了几乎所有可能限制商业发展的条条框框。一批自由贸易加工区相继成立，无论是原料和机械设备的购进，还是出口的货物的输出，都是免税的。
当代深圳很容易让美国人联想到阳光地带*——历史短暂、尚未开发、自然淳朴、充满机会——这些也正是曼彻斯特、底特律、芝加哥和洛杉矶在其快速发展时期的特征。报纸上提到深圳时，多是讲毒品、犯罪以及在极其拥挤的居民区发生的恶行，在那里，墙上和人行道上遍布喷涂的电话号码，有的是卖淫的，但也有很多是专门给那些找工作的人办假证的——比如健康证、文凭和暂住证。
（*译注：美国南部地区，南部地域经济昌盛，素享有阳光地带，即Sun Belt，的佳誉）
福朋喜来登酒店便是深圳发展进程的一部分。外国人想要在中国买东西的时候，它是去处之一。
上海的外国人大都在三五十岁之间，多为金融家、顾问或者律师。他们常有一副好身材、穿着讲究、打扮得体。北京的外国人通常是外交官、学者、或来自基金会和非政府组织。他们看上去稍微随意一些。而深圳又是另一番景象。虽然来自世界各地——美国、台湾、欧洲、日本，但他们属于同一阶级。实际上他们全都是设计师、工程师，或者是前来会见中国业主的外国买家。这个团体中的美国人比上海北京的更强壮，从相貌看更具中西部特征。有些人干脆穿着口袋上印着公司标志的工作服或者尼龙夹克。
早上6点30分，福朋酒店开门营业，外国人汇聚到此享用早餐。早餐时候人们格外想念家乡美食。酒店大自助台上为不同的顾客摆放了各种食物：欧洲人的肉片、奶酪、美味的面包、浓咖啡以及麦片和酸奶；日本人的咸菜、寿司、冷面和鳗鱼饭；台湾和大陆人的蒸包、点心和热粥；以及美国人的丹尼餐厅式的“大满贯”早餐：厚厚的华夫饼、鸡蛋、煎土豆饼、香肠、培根和火腿。我的妻子后来指责我说，我在深圳呆了那么长时间，就为了这里的早餐。
酒店里很嘈杂，人们有的在讨论一天的计划，有的在会见将带他们参观的中国工厂人员。9点钟，房间一下子就空了，人们或坐上公车，或开动卡车纷纷离去。一天的工厂之旅或合约签署就此开始。通过与客人的交谈，我得知自己大概是所有到福朋酒店的人中唯一没有采购任务的。
几乎每天早上都有一位41岁的爱尔兰单身汉，在同一张桌子旁坐下。到了深夜，他也在那张桌子上享用晚餐。这张桌子靠近门口，从门口看，屋内一览无余。基本上每晚，他名下的公司都会在这家酒店预订10-15个房间，提供给那些前来和他做生意的外国客商。时常会有一些人与他一起用餐。服务生一看见这个爱尔兰人来了，就会端上地道的西餐——肉和土豆，他们知道他喜欢吃这些。“你每天晚上都吃一样的东西吗？”看到侍者条件反射般的服务，我问道。“我来这可不是为了吃东西。”他回答说。
过去两年间，他一直住在福朋酒店的套房中，在此之前，他还在深圳的其他酒店住了八年。他强调，一定要跟别人说自己不会中文。他说，大多数尝试说中文的客商不得不花很大力气去应付语言，反倒忘了谈判的内容。但是在谈判的关键时刻，他会冒出几句中文，于是人们就会猜想他会不会听懂了刚才的谈话（他说他根本不懂）。这位爱尔兰人名叫利亚姆·凯西（Liam Casey）。我把他看作“中国先生”。
“中国先生”的叫法早已有之，好比《人物》杂志的“2003年度全球最性感男士”一样。从马可·波罗的年代开始，就不断有外国人私下较劲，想让人认为他们确实了解中国，并且能在中国成就一番事业。2005年出版的搞笑传记——《中国先生》中，年轻的英国金融家祈立天（Tim Clissold）讲述了在中国一路坎坷的心酸历程。在中国刚开始向西方开放市场之际，他自认为可以解开在这个国家取得成功的秘密。
在祈立天的伤心地，利亚姆·凯西大获成功，但他一直小心着不要表现得太自负。“当你认为你对眼下的事情了如指掌时，危险已经来临，”他说。“你看见市场上出现了一些新产品，但不知它们是从哪儿冒出来的——结果发现竟然来自一家5年来你每天开车都会经过的工厂，然而你从来就不知道里面在干什么！你可能在这里呆了很久，但你对它的了解却依然很少。”不过对我而言，他就是中国先生，因为他处在给中国带来全球性工作的人流的中心。
不在福朋用餐或休息的时候，凯西要运营一家完全为他所有的公司。这家公司拥有800名雇员（除50名来自爱尔兰、美国等十几个国家外，其余的都来自中国），去年的营业额达到1.25亿美元。凯西中等身材，看起来很精悍，有着一头浓密的黑发和一张长脸，常给人一种诙谐的感觉。他说话带着浓重的爱尔兰口音，穿戴很随意。凯西言行十分麻利，以至于我需要加快动作才能跟上。
凯西在科克（Cork，爱尔兰南部海港，第二大城市）郊外的一座农场长大，高中毕业后没再接受正规教育。他的第一份工作是在服装店做销售员，先是在科克之后到了都柏林。他和朋友在爱尔兰创办了一家Crate & Barrel（美国著名家具品牌）风格的商店，要从欧洲采购服装，之后他决定出去走走。29岁时，他到了南加州，在一家贸易公司工作了一段时间。他说自己本想留在美国——“拉古纳省，纽波特沙滩，啊，我多么喜欢”。但他没拿到绿卡，没有长期工作许可，也不愿每天偷偷摸摸地度日。
（我想说：美国为外来人才的工作和学习提供越多便利，国家就会越富强、越受人尊重——在海外写作的每篇文章中我都会这样讲。美国吸引世界精英的能力是其他国家难以比肩的一大优势——只要美国别因为恐惧而过分限制签证，丧失了这种优势。）
于是1996年，30岁的凯西前往台北参加一个电子商务展览，这是他第一次到亚洲。他说：“我知道这就是机遇之地。”不出一年，他在深圳地区建立了业务，并创办了自己的公司——普诚华信息科技咨询公司（PCH China solutions）。PCH即Pacific Coast Highway（太平洋海岸公路，南加州欣赏海滨景色的著名旅游公路），以此纪念他在南加州的美好生活。
这家公司是做什么的呢？简单地说就是外包业务，也就是为外国销售商联系可帮其生产商品的中国厂家。凯西如此描述他的使命：“帮助开拓者打开中国制造业的链条”。要想知道这是如何运作的，就要提到如今向中国南方聚集的庞大人流，正是凯西这样的公司在其中发挥作用。
其中之一是大量从中国乡镇来到深圳等城市的人，他们大多是没受过正规教育的青年。有些人来的时候已由亲戚或中介安排好工作；有些人来到城市后才开始找工作。在电影《巴尔扎克与小裁缝》中，文革时期下乡的两个城市小伙与村里的一个姑娘成为了朋友。一天，这位姑娘不辞而别。她的爷爷告诉他们，她要“到大城市碰碰运气，她说她想要新的生活”。她要找的新生活就在深圳。
很多时候，事情也许并不像电影那么戏剧性，但这就是工业城镇的真实写照。正如故事里一样，进城打工者中许多都是年轻妇女。我见过的珠三角和上海周边的轻工业车间中，女工占据了绝大多数。本质上讲，与工厂的签约意味着工作就是生活。来到沿海大工业中心的工人，要么就像小裁缝一样还未结婚生子，要么就把孩子托付给家中的老人或亲戚。在电子和家用产品工厂里，包括我见过的一些，工人们的最高薪水一般是每月900到1200元，差不多在115到155美元之间。而在他们的家乡，一个务农家庭一年的收入大概只有几千元。台湾或内地公司的工厂薪水普遍最低，但纪律却最为严格。巨头富士康（创始人是台湾的郭台铭）便以军事化管理而闻名。西方企业的就业岗位最轻松，但同时也很稀缺，因为大型欧美公司都从当地承包商进货。凯西说，他的工厂里月工资比当地平均水平要高出几百元。一般而言，工人们干上几年就会走，凯西的目标是将工人留住，让他们的技术更加熟练，并培养出更浓厚的企业精神意识。
工厂里每一班通常是12小时，其中有两次休息用餐（有补助或免费）的时间，每周工作6或7天。当工作停下来的时候——如流水线因某种原因出现故障了，或者工人在用餐时间里有多余的空闲——许多工人就一头趴在桌子上，似乎立马就进入了梦乡。中国法律规定一周标准工作时间是40小时，这就意味着有大段时间属于加班，而加班费已包括在上面提到的工资里。由于内地工人回趟家要坐几天火车或汽车，他们一年只回去一次，并且都在同一个时候——春节，也就是中国新年。这时候，码头和工厂会关闭一周时间，全国的交通则会变得异常拥挤。“人们工作非常努力”，某美国工厂的美国经理告诉我，“他们年轻，动作麻利。你不会听到美国人那种‘我得去接孩子’的扯淡。”
在每一家我到过的电子工厂里，每个工人的流水线工作台上都挂着一堆档案：照片、姓名、员工号，有的还有中英双语的工作任务。通常工人的业绩也会很明显地标注出来。对于整条生产线，有每小时目标产量和实际产量，以及可容许和实际不合格率。我在一些台湾工厂里见过的个人业绩指标是一棵带叶子的树，就像小孩子画的简笔画。每天轮班之后，树叶就会被涂成红色或绿色，绿色表示这名工人完成了指定配额，并没有出错；红色则表示她的工作区出现了不合格产品。每月允许有一片红叶子，要有两片就糟糕了。
正如此前所有的工业大潮一样，许多人最终留在了城市里，这就是为什么深圳发展地如此迅速。但与英美工业的繁荣时期相比，更多的乡下人，尤其是年轻妇女，工作两三年后选择带着积蓄回到乡下，在村里开家店、结婚生子、买块地，或者接济亲戚。
显然，工厂里的生活很辛苦的，而重工作业则非常危险。就在弗吉尼亚理工学院32人死于枪击案的那一周，北方一家钢厂发生意外事故，32名中国工人被一钢包钢水烫死。然而即使在中国的报纸上，对这个惨剧的报道还不及美国枪击案；而致命的矿灾频繁出现，以至于对其的报道就和交通事故一样。与之相比，中国南方的轻工业虽然乏味，但却没那么危险。我向一位台湾电子工厂领班提到恶劣的工作条件时，他回答道：“那你见过中国的农村吗？”一位在中国工作的美国工业设计师告诉我，有名美国学者曾来参观过他所在的工厂，见到年轻女工被链子拴在工作台上，她吓坏了。其实她看到的是大多数电子工厂强制要求佩戴的地线。流水线上，每个人的手腕都戴着一条维可牢带子（Velcro），连到工作台，以避免产生静电损坏电脑芯片。
大量流动人口给深圳及其周边地区带来了不稳定性。中国南方的方言是广东话，但工业城市的通用语是普通话，中国各地人民最可能听懂的语言。“我不喜欢这儿”，一位三年前从北京外派到深圳的中国经理告诉我，“这里没有根基也没有文化”。“我最初来的几个星期，觉得这个地方简直没有灵魂，”对这座十年来就是他的家的城市，利亚姆·凯西说，“但就像任何快节奏的地方，活力才是主角。好比在纽约，你走出机场，进入市区，当你走下出租车时，没人知道你从哪里来。你可能刚来一小时，也可能已来了十年——谁也说不准。在深圳也是一样，这才刺激。”凯西对我说，对他而言上海节奏缓慢，是“为游客准备的”。的确，我常常惊讶地发现，街道上的上海人都在溜达，而不是大步流星：这是一个可闲步中庭的繁忙都市。也可能我是被凯西的观点传染了。
另一股涌向深圳等城市的人流，是前来建厂的企业家。深圳自由主义的精髓不是培养某一个产业，而是为建厂的商人们创造便利。
许多企业家为台湾企业而来，台湾经济多为小型家族企业，这在当今中国南方极为常见。总的来说，中国大陆的发展模式更接近于台湾，而不是日韩。包括这些国家在内的东亚各国政府采取了许多措施促进工业产值最大化：税收政策、贸易条款、币值等等。日韩的政策倾向于培养本土大型领先企业——如三菱、丰田、LG和三星，而台湾的出口商却是成千上万的小公司，少数几家规模逐渐扩大。当然，中国比其他几个国家加起来都大，但它的外向型企业规模却很小。形成这种小而多的现象的原因之一，是普遍的不信任和腐败，以及法制的不健全。就连中国最大的出口商——富士康，在去年的全球财富500强排名中也不过排在206位。外国人难以打入日韩市场，多是因为碰到了当地保护本土大型知名企业的壁垒。而在中国却恰恰相反：面对大堆毫无秩序、定性模糊的小企业，外国人不知该如何开始、与谁交涉。
对我而言，中国市场体制的零散性还体现在深圳另一番惊人的景象上：深圳赛格电子广场，这座地处市中心的七层大楼每一寸都挤满了夫妻店的电子产品货柜。“我根本不敢想象在美国能买到这的芯片，稀罕的陶瓷电容我只有在梦里才能见到！”麻省理工学院的美籍华裔电子学博士黄欣国（Andrew "Bunnie" Huang）逛过后在博客中写道，“我看得眼花缭乱。当我绕到下一个拐角，看到商店里堆满了上亿个电阻和电容的时候，我再也无法抑制住自己期待的笑容。”他说，“往北不到一个小时的车程”就有几百家工厂“接受任何电子产品的设计构思，之后整船整船地生产”。这里在某种程度上是一个长期的永久性的贸易展销会，又是为突然需要给原型机或紧急项目购置电容或连接器的顾客准备的供应站，同时还是商贩们处理余货的平台。
最后一批涌入深圳的人流以福朋喜来登酒店的人为代表，正是他们的到来，带动了其他人流的涌入：作为来自高薪国家的买家，他们决定利用而非打败那些低成本的中国制造商。这其中便有我们的中国先生，和其他像他那样的人。
这里还有一层迷雾。做了几十年的军事报道，我还没怎么见到过像在深圳及其它类似城市碰面的买家和供应商们这样专注于保密的人。他们要保护什么？姓名、地点和商品号，这些信息都可能透露出哪家西方公司从哪些中国供应商处得来的哪些商品。他们的担心有他们的道理，有能说的，也有不能说的。
不能说的理由是“耐克问题”——也就是商家想要最小化自身品牌与外包，尤其是与亚洲血汗工厂的联系。这得名于耐克在印度尼西亚工厂产生的公关问题*。按中国人的标准，最成功的出口型工厂应该是强硬派，而非剥削者；但这些在西方消费者眼里也许行不通。
（*译注：此处应指耐克在印度尼西亚的虐工事件）
能说的理由牵涉到“供应链”在操作上的核心重要性。要找到一家合适的工厂，设计出合适的生产体系，保证零部件和原材料的适当供应，采用合适的质量标准，建立合适的信赖关系，这些都并不容易。但凡解决了这些问题的公司都不愿意告诉竞争对手他们是如何做到的。“供应链就是知识产权”，利亚姆·凯西如此评论。想要一家西方公司给你提供其中国供应商的信息，就好比让一个记者将其线人名单拱手交出。
对于买家而言，保持供应链的秘密性非常重要，因此他们试图强制性约束其供应商保密。若是外来企业在设计和品质上声名卓著的话——例如索尼、博朗和苹果——许多中国分包商就会想暗示他们也参与到了其供应链中。但是真正参与其中的分包商如果想维持买方的信任、继续与其合作，言行必须格外谨慎。
因此细节我就不多说了，但是我可以直接告诉你：当你想到下面这些领域中的美国或欧洲大品牌，他们的产品可能就产自我将要提到的工厂。这些领域有：电脑，包括台式机、笔记本电脑和服务器；通信设备，从路由器到手机；音频设备，包括各种MP3相关产品、家庭音响系统、大部分便携式设备以及头戴式耳机；各种视频设备，从照相机到摄像机到播放器；个人护理用品和高端专业商品；医疗设备；体育用品和运动器械；各种电子产品或配件；还有所有你能想到的。而我将要提到的工厂有的位于深圳，还有的临近上海、杭州、广州、厦门等地。
国外公司都是为什么冲着我们的中国先生来呢？我问凯西，如果我是匹兹堡某家钢铁厂，在寻求削减成本的方法，他会怎么回答我。“我不感兴趣”，他说，“产品太重，而且你们厂可能已经生产过程自动化了，只需要个人按个按钮就行。在中国找个人去按钮也会花这么多钱。”
他说，他最感兴趣的是这样的工厂——已经树立好品牌形象、建立好与零售商之间的关系网并且清楚接下来要推广或出售的是什么，他们需要的是在生产需要大量组装工序的产品时节省时间和成本。“这才是用得着我们的地方，因为到这里来你就会发现，这里的工厂比美国或德国那些合作厂家要好很多。”
这里有几个基于真实情况的案例：假设你宣布要推出新的旗舰产品，在媒体中获得了强烈的反响。但是发布时间要到了，你才发现一个必须修正的设计问题——而没有一家美国工厂能及时调整其生产流程。
但中国工厂却可以做出更为迅速的反应，这并不仅仅是因为12小时工作制。“在其它任何地方，你都得进口不同的原材料和零部件，”凯西这样告诉我，“可在这里，方圆一英里内你就能找到九家不同的供应商，当天下午就可以带来样品。大家都以为中国有的只是廉价，但事实是他们的速度也超快。”不仅如此，相比于富裕国家的竞争对手，中国工厂使用更多的人力劳动，昂贵的机器人和组装机器则少些。“人是适应性最强的机器，”一位在中国工作的美国工业设计师告诉我，“机器需要重新编程。而人则可以下周就去做完全不同的工作。”
再比如你是一位美国发明家，发明了一款家用节能产品。但是你需要快速将其推向市场，因为大公司也可能在生产类似的产品；而且你需要将零售价控制在100美元。“除了中国，没有其他地方能做到这一点，”中国先生边说边向我展示已经完成的成品。
又或者你来自一家美国知名企业，为确保零售店的供货，公司在美国设了多处补给仓库，这占用了太多的资金，让你很是担忧。在中国先生的帮助下，你转而在网站上强推直接的零售模式——运输等所有工序将全部在一个位于深圳的补给仓库，由一群年轻的中国女工帮你完成，产品从这里直接发往各零售店。
在多次访问深圳（深圳的早餐令人难忘！）和其他加工制造区的过程中，我听到很多类似上面的例子，也见识过一些设备，发现了西方国家将中国视为加工制造中心的个中缘由。
有的设备已实现计算机化。凯西的普诚华信息科技咨询公司拥有一个类似于谷歌地球的系统，他将这十年间与中国分包商打交道过程中的所得融入其中。你提出一件自己想要制造的产品——比如说，一款新型箱包或者手机使用的耳机。凯西轻点地图，就会显示出可以提供必需的组件的公司——甚至是他们之间的准确路程。在这个城市地图印发后几乎马上过时，地址总是不准确的地方，这可是无比宝贵的信息。（凯西每次去访问工厂时，都会细心地从装有全球定位系统的手机上读取坐标，然后将其输入他的地图进行定位。）如果你看好某工厂，再次点击，就能看到其里里外外的照片、管理概况、甚至还有些运转中的流水线的视频、规格说明书和已完成订单的工程图。类似的一些程序还使凯西及其客户可知悉他们的产品在世界的任何一个角落是由哪艘船、哪架飞机或者哪辆卡车来运输的，以及了解任何一个货栈和仓库的现有存货量。（他们是怎么知道的呢？每一件成品，甚至几乎每一个零部件都有独一无二的条形码，每次有人接手时都会进行扫描。）
尽管表面上看不出来，但是凯西所监管的这些工厂的工作流程千差万别。最初我认为中国工厂的模式只有一种：四四方方、像个仓库、通常为五层高的大型混凝土结构；外面刷成白色或灰色；相对较大的窗户，这点你从员工宿舍就能看出来；为适应机器，通常有高高的房顶。然而在内部，有些是高度自动化，但有些竟仍依赖于手工劳动。我所说的还不是那些充斥着毛泽东时期的重工业的中国北方地区，那里的工厂通常破旧、危险、又落后。西方国家在数十年前已经利用机器完成的工作，在一些新建的工厂中仍依靠手工。设想拆开一件商品——一部手机、一把电动牙刷、一个无线路由器——找到一个被安装或粘贴好的零部件。也许这就是位每天工作12小时，每分钟重复无数次同样工作的年轻中国女工完成的。
众多设施难以尽数，但其中之二让我为之侧目。第一个是极度自动化的代表。这是英业达旗下管理的一家公司。行销世界各地的众多品牌的便携式和笔记本电脑中，绝大多数是由五家总部位于台湾的公司生产对，英业达便是其中之一。在美国几乎人人知道戴尔、索尼、康柏、惠普、联想-IBM Thinkpad、苹果、日本电气、捷威及东芝。但是几乎没人知道广达、仁宝、英业达、纬创资通及华硕。然而，近百分之九十的知名品牌的便携式及笔记本电脑，都是在这五家公司位于中国大陆的工厂中制造完成的。我曾目睹三个“相互竞争”的品牌在同一生产线上生产。
我所见的英业达组装基地位于上海一处专门的出口商品加工区，公司进口零部件、出口成品享有免除一般性税收和关税的优惠。在这里，上述某品牌的笔记本电脑日产量超过30000台。每天，英业达工业区里的一个厂房就能生产出几百台大型的、知名品牌的服务器，以满足互联网运作的需求。
这里就像福特汽车公司的胭脂河*老厂区一样。在胭脂河的全盛时期，工厂运入橡胶、钢铁以及其它的原材料，生产出成品汽车。而此地，每天运入的是绿色的电路板裸板、电容、芯片组以及其它的零部件，生产出的是笔记本电脑。也有一些高级零部件运来时就是组装好的：比如来自台湾或新加坡的磁盘驱动器，产自韩国或日本的LCD显示器，中国其它工厂供应的键盘和电源。
（*译注：胭脂河-River Rouge位于密歇根州，1917年-1928年福特公司沿此在迪尔伯恩市建立了举世闻名的福特胭脂河厂区）
整个过程和你所能想象的高科技流水线一样。输送机和机械人将组装中的电脑从一个工作台送到另一个工作台；工人刚完成前一台产品，下一台紧随而至。零部件组装前需要扫描条形码以确认其是否合适；组装后，需要整机“称重”，确保新的重量是否恰当。成百上千的小晶体管、芯片、以及其它的电子零部件都通过机械人“拿取并安装”在电路板上，众多机械臂让人目不暇接。电路板上的焊点会用激光扫描以检查缺陷。问题产品挑出后，由女技师借助高倍放大镜进行重焊。这家工厂为何在机械人与设备工具上投资如此之多呢？我就此咨询了其台湾籍主管。“手工作业精度不够，”他解释道。这些工厂中采用自动化的不是人力非常昂贵的工序，而是相对精细的工序。
很多笔记本电脑都是通过网上订购的，当接近完成时，每一台都会根据它的目标地进行“个性化”。我拜访的当天，正巧有一台发往东京的电脑，这台电脑装有日语键盘，并在箱子的适当位置贴有日本商标；而下一台是发往美国的。安装好显示器以后，每一台电脑都会被放在沿着工厂天花板布置的一个类似跑道的地方，运行数个小时，以确保所有零部件都可以正常工作。然后传送带将之运至最终的个性化步骤——“安装”操作系统，我拜访当天安装的是多种语言版本的Windows Vista系统。一位工程师指出，因为Vista需要10倍于XP的硬盘空间来安装，流水线不得不进行改进，以便其进行时间更长，速度更慢的烧机。
另一个吸引我的设施，在利亚姆·凯西位于深圳的公司，它们为另一家美国知名公司处理在线订单。我到那的时候大概是黎明时分，正是关键时刻。由于跟美国东海岸有12个小时的时差，美国人午后确认的订单到达中国时已经是夜深人静时分。就像我看到的，一位伊利诺伊州帕拉丁市的客户可能是在自己的办公室里点击美国公司的网站，订购了两个价值25美元的配件。几秒钟后，订单出现在7800英里之外的深圳的某个显示屏上。装箱和地址单，还有一些条形码标签已经自动生成。一位年轻女工将地址标签贴在棕色货运箱上，同时放入装箱单。货运箱经由传送带送至负责电子标签辅助拣货系统的另一位女工面前：她站在一个货柜面前，客户可以通过网络订购的所有物品都存放在敞开式的单独柜格里；每一个存有最新订单中指定的产品的柜格上的灯会点亮，她将物品从柜格中取出，用扫描仪确认其编号（同时发送信号使灯熄灭），将之放置在货运箱中。接下来还会检查重量并重新扫描，封箱后，几个小伙子把箱子搬到运输货盘上。
下夜班的时候已是北京时间早上八点——帕拉丁市晚上七点，美国东岸晚上八点，美国来的订单也渐渐变少了。更重要的是，联邦快递的取件时间要到了。早上9点，快递员就会前来取件，然后载着货物匆匆赶往香港机场。联邦快递公司飞往安克雷奇的航班将在下午6点起飞。飞机在安克雷奇着陆后，这家公司货盘上的货物就会和其它中国出口货物放在一起，重新理件后再分别运往美国各地。当那位帕拉丁的客户在电脑上点击“马上购买”，仅仅48小时后，他购买的商品便送至门前。商品的退货地址是位于美国的一个公司库房；包装盒的底部有一个小小的标签，印着“MADE IN CHINA”。
深圳，早上八点，这些下了夜班的年轻女工走下流水线，摘下工作时一直戴着的帽子和发网，抖开乌黑的头发。她们走过车间入口的金属探测器（出入车间都必须经过这个探测器），走下楼梯，到自行车架前取回自己的车。她们穿着公司发的红色夹克，这是工作服之一。同时，几乎人人都穿着低腰紧身的蓝色牛仔裤，裤缝处有刺绣或亮片装饰，而这是一件非正式的工作服。这些人大多骑自行车回宿舍，余下的有步行回去的，也有推着自行车走回去的，她们一边走一边聊着天。到了晚上，她们会返回各自的工作岗位。与此同时，马路上涌现出另一批穿着红上衣、蓝裤子的年轻女工，她们骑着自行车赶往厂房，准备上早班。
有利可图——就目前而言
对此我们应该得出什么结论？事实出乎我的意料：这种相互作用对大多数参与者来说都还是不错的——到目前为止。
对中国来说，工厂的繁荣发展是好还是坏？答案当然是好。的确，环保压力也随之而来，如果不对污染加以控制，恐怕会给中国乃至全世界带来毁灭性的后果。将于2010年*结束的“十一五计划”把中国的发展方向这一核心主题定为“构建和谐社会”。“和谐社会”是中国领导人口中的高频词，就好比美国领导人三句不离“全球反恐战争”一样。在中国，建设“和谐社会”就是要试图解决收入不均的问题，尤其是贫困农民以及上百万流动农民工的问题。这其中也涉及环保问题，至少是已开始讨论了。
（*译注：原文写于2007年）
而且，在中国繁荣发展的过程中，工厂中的确有许多人受到虐待和压迫，有的甚至过劳死。即便有些工人不曾受到虐待，也可能饱受孤独与迷茫的折磨，这对中国的社会结构无疑有破坏性的影响。然而，这一切在英美两国也曾发生过——如火如荼的工业化建设，翻天覆地的城市化进程，最终孕育出了规模庞大的中产阶级。对中国而言，当下的情况远不及过去五十年所遭受的最严重的社会混乱。至少与二十世纪五十年代的大跃进运动、六七十年代的文化大革命相比，目前这般忙乱的景象对国家和人民来说还是有些好处的。
有些西方人可能觉得，即便是如今中国人“正常的”工作条件也还和奴隶一样——月收入100美元，生活围着工厂转，工作时间太长，以至于休息时间除了在拥挤不堪的宿舍里小睡一会儿外什么也干不了。我正等着某位中国官员揭露一个令人尴尬的事实——可以说，从内陆到深圳打工的女工比在芝加哥工作、拿着最低工资的女工的经济状况要好得多。前者可以存下大半部分的工资，而且觉得自己会慢慢过上好日子；但后者既存不了钱也看不到过上好日子的希望。未来两年，美国的最低工资有望涨到7.25美元/时。假设一周工作40小时，每月入账不到1200美元，约为中国工人工资的十倍。不过，这还没有扣除工资税和食宿费，而在中国工业区，工人是不用出食宿费，或是有补贴的。
中国发言人是从另一个角度捍卫本国经济的，他们不厌其烦地说了那么多次，西方人早就不想听了。他们说，“不说别的，中国的经济发展已经使上亿人脱了贫。”这是个重要的事实，并且在这当中，“中国制造”出口热一直是个重要因素。但经济的腾飞显然不能证明中国的所作所为就是正确的，尤其是中共对一切挑战其一党专政的行为的打压。然而，中国发展取得的成就之大是不可忽视的。在世界银行的监管下，向众多国家提供的资金援助已有数十亿美元，其中，在过去至少半个世纪里，中国给世界最多的贫困人口带来了最大的好处。这在很大程度上都应该感谢外包业务的蓬勃发展。
对美国公司来说，业务外包给中国是否有利可图呢？答案似乎除了肯定外，别无选择——不然，他们为什么要这样做呢？可以想象，合作伙伴差劲，知识产权被盗用，品牌稀释，物流服务噩梦以及其他各种麻烦已让不少公司对业务外包感到不是滋味。这几种情况我都从国外高管那里听说过。但我听过的更有意思的是关于“微笑曲线”理论的，这正好解释了为什么他们愿意克服种种不便将业务外包给中国。
“微笑曲线”是一个U型弧线，取材于二十世纪七十年代流行的笑脸图案，曲线从起点到终点代表着一个产品从研发到销售的全过程。首先是公司品牌，如惠普、西门子、戴尔、诺基亚、苹果。接下来是产品概念，比如一个iPod，一台新型电脑，一部有照相功能的手机。接着是高端工业设计，即对产品的外观与功能的构思。然后是具体的工程设计，它决定着产品的生产过程。再就是确定必要的组件，之后便是实际的制造与装配。成品完成后进入运输配送和零售流程。最后是售后服务以及零配件的销售。
重要的是，中国的经济活动处于微笑曲线的中段——即产品制造，还包括一些零部件供应和工程设计——美国则处于微笑曲线的两端，而这正是有利可图之处。微笑曲线反映了各阶段的赢利能力和附加价值。该曲线始于高附加价值的品牌形象和产品概念，随后急剧向下降至制造阶段，再回升至零售和服务阶段。简单地说：真正赚钱的是品牌名称，再加上零售环节——这或许显而易见，但是其背后的涵义却很有启发性。
每参观一家工厂，我便请经理估算一下产品卖出去的钱最终到了谁手中，各分得多少。品牌实力是最重要的因素。如果一个产品足够出色，且品牌吸引力足够强，产品价位会很高，零售商可以从中获得一半的收入（想想阿玛尼套装和星巴克的拿铁咖啡）。而大多数电子产品的价格战愈演愈烈，因为顾客很容易便能从互联网上找到价廉物美的产品。正如我在一个现代化工厂看到的一台搭载Windows操作系统的普通笔记本电脑，在美国可能卖到1000美元左右，零售商所得不足50美元。
余下的钱被谁瓜分了？工厂的经理猜测，每台电脑中，英特尔公司和微软合计拿走了300美元，显示屏、磁盘存储装置及其他电子原件的制造商可能分得150美元左右。键盘厂家分得15或20美元；联邦快递或UPS快递公司分得的羹就更少了。将其他所有的成本加总起来，也许只有30至40美元——占产品售价的3%-4%——留在中国为工厂主和流水线上的年轻女工所得。
再看看其他例子：西方一家大名鼎鼎的音频设备公司所售的便携盒单价不足30美元。每生产一件便携盒，这家公司支付给中国供应商6美元，其中购买原材料就要用掉一半。余下24美元归这家大公司所有。另一家美国音频设备品牌中，诸如耳机之类的配件零售价也约为30美元。据我得知，中国的制造商仅分得3美元。我还见过一套高端以太网连接电缆，同种规格的电缆分别装在三种不同的包装内，在美国以三种不同的形式销售：专业产品、全国性办公用品店的自有品牌产品、易趣无品牌产品。这三种渠道的零售价分别为29.95美元、19.95美元和15.95美元。位于深圳的厂商仅从每个产品中分得2美元。
如果这还不够明确，可以这么说：年薪1000美元的中国工人在帮那些周薪高达1000美元（及以上）的美国设计师、营销人员、工程师和零售商获取更多收入。另外，他们也为美国总部的股东谋取了更多利益。
这一切却与一种现象不符，即中国的贸易顺差正转化为以美元计价的巨额储备金，关于这点我会在另一篇文章中论述。大家都清楚，短期内，中国对美元储备的处置让美国捡了不少便宜。中国在美国股票和债券市场上投下了一万多亿美元，提振了美国经济。使得资产价格比平时更高；美国家庭按揭贷款，或美国纳税人为不断加重的联邦债务融资的利率水平比平常更低。美元也没贬值得那么厉害，这在短期内有利于美国消费者继续购买中国制造的商品。
大家也心知肚明的是，从长远看，中国必须改变这一政策。中国不断将利润拱手让给美国，而本国的基础设施却很不完善，学校、医院、铁路——人民需要的东西太多了。中国政府不会永远将积蓄花在购买美债上，因为这几乎意味着人民币的持续升值。今年，中央政府成立了一个委员会，旨在制定更为科学的长期外汇使用方案。没有人会认为委员会最终建议中国政府继续购买美元。大家想知道的是改变会在何时、以何种方式发生，怎样改变，结果如何。
中国目前的另一发展特点有助于美国公司更好地处理美中关系。事实上，到目前为止，中国在许多关键点上有别于美国之前在亚洲的最大挑战者：日本。美国如今觉得日本经济是个笑话，主要是因为东京证券交易所近20年来持续低迷。尽管如此，日本仍然保持着世界第二大经济体的地位。日本丰田公司已取代通用汽车，成为最大的汽车制造商；日本电子产品和其他高价值产品的出口额持续增加；虽然消费者和投资者蒙受了一定损失，但由来已久的日本经济体制*依旧完好无损，因此生产商的好日子仍未过去。
（*译注：日本式经济体制的思想基础，首先是生产优先或生产第一主义。无论是在战争期间，还是在经济高速增长期间，扩大生产和提高劳动生产率都始终是日本政府和企业优先考虑的课题。生产优先或生产第一主义思想意识的形成，与日本长期落后于欧美各国，一直要实现经济赶超有很大的关系。这一思想一定程度上阻滞了日本经济体制改革。）
20世纪80年代，美日两国贸易摩擦加剧时，日本已是发达的现代国家，而中国至今仍未迈入发达国家行列。更为重要的是，日本龙头企业经常能与美国老牌高附加值、高科技企业正面竞争，比如日本富士通对IBM，东芝对英特尔，富士对柯达， 索尼、松下电器对摩托罗拉等等。不论对底特律汽车公司那样拘泥守旧的企业，还是技术上灵活先进的半导体制造商而言，日本公司的收益常意味着美国公司的直接损失。
就目前而言，中国的情形与日本截然不同。中国的公司多如牛毛却小打小闹，不成气候。联想和青岛啤酒可谓是两大全球知名品牌，然而这也不过是因为联想从IBM收购了ThinkPad，而美国安海斯-布希公司（Anheuser-Busch）拥有青岛啤酒四分之一的股权。在为西方公司打工而非与其正面竞争时，中国的出口商做得相当出色，就像富士康（和众多小企业一样）一直在尽心尽力为苹果服务。显然，中国政府想要做大本国品牌，例如对于一家飞机制造公司，中国希望它能与波音和空客抗衡。但是，中国的“产业规划”主要是强调总体上的招商引资，而没有具体的目标，深圳吸引外资的优惠政策亦如此。
虽说在严格意义上属于社会主义，中国经济的开放程度却出奇的高于日本。在二战后头四十年的发展中，日本实际上杜绝外国所有权及外国投资。（德州仪器和IBM是众所周知的两个特例。）相比之下，中国的产业发展始于2001年加入世贸组织之后。在世贸组织规则的约束下，其对外国所有权和外国投资的开放在发展阶段上反而比日本要早得多。中国的出口热就是由外商的到来带动的。尽管中国市场充斥着侵权、隐性贸易壁垒等障碍，但总体来说，外国经济或企业在中国要想通过贸易政策进行索赔比在日本难。
上世纪80年代末我在日本期间，正值日本经济繁荣期，我在这本杂志上提到，日本的行为反映出一些重大历史事实，这是任何一个经济模式都难以涵盖的。在经济学家看来，社会有时对于消费者利益最大化的追求并不理性。这同样体现在美国的战争时期，也包括其以国家利益之名发展军事项目时：如洲际公路、载人航天、有朝一日也许还开发替代能源储备。几十年来日本尤甚。
有点经济学基础的人都会认为：那是他们的问题！他们在为人们制造高品质的产品，为什么要反对呢？但在过去10年，越来越多的知名经济学家表示，事情没那么简单。如果一个国家刻意发展高技术、高附加值产业，这些产业在这个国家会不断增多，同时会有更多的高薪职位，超出预期数目。从经济学角度看这并不理性——欧洲就因空中客车公司承受着沉重的薪水负担。然而，在空中客车公司的竞争下，波音公司卖出的飞机与雇用的工程师数量比预期都有所下降。美国未必要步欧洲或者日本后尘，但美国需要对其做法以及可能引发的后果有所了解。（尽管侧重点不同，麻省理工大学的保罗·萨缪尔森、普林斯顿大学的艾伦·布林德及威廉·鲍莫尔和阿尔弗雷德·斯隆基金会的负责人拉尔夫·高莫利都提出了这一论点。）
比起日本，中国及中国企业的行为更符合标准经济理论。迄今为止，诸如在福朋喜来登达成的交易对各方来说总体有利。中国民众的生活有了转机。美国客户有了更多的选择，投资者有了更好的回报。但是，负面影响也随之而来。
首先是会产生全球范围的社会效应，过去中共称之为“矛盾激化”。贸易全球化引发了一个巨大的矛盾：资金、产品及理念互通的阻碍越小，在哪里生活就越发无关紧要。但毕竟大多数人并不能走出国门，居住地必然会有影响。没有摩擦、绝对全球化的贸易会使人们整体上越来越富。但每个国家内部的阶级划分、生活质量和幸福水平的差距比现在更大。全球热销人才更加富有，因为他们的潜在市场最为广阔。其他人则更加贫穷，他们要同数十亿的劳动力大军争饭碗。没有贸易壁垒，荷兰就不见得比印度富。每个社会都将包含全球收入分配的一个缩影——前提是其国民都生活在国境之内。
我们离这一步还很远，可是中美经济的进一步融合将推动两国向其迈进。这对中国总体有利；对美国则不尽然。这意味着富者愈富，穷者愈穷，让本已脆弱不堪的同胞情谊和机会共享更加风雨飘摇，而正是这些让像美国这样多元与不公的社会凝聚在一起。
还有一个问题，中国的经济和政治领导者十分清楚微笑曲线对他们的影响。当然，有一份年薪1000美元的工作总比一分钱不挣要好，但是要能挣更多倍的钱、在曲线上占有更有利的地位会更好。如果美国处在中国的位置，美国会尽一切可能在国内创造更多的高薪工作，这也正是中国现在努力做的事。它的努力随处可见。
举几个例子：在中国东北，英特尔公司已经决定建立一座芯片制造厂，该工厂不仅提供装配工的岗位，也提供工程师和设计师等高薪岗位。在北京，微软和谷歌都已设立真正的研究中心，而不只是服务本地市场的办事处。在中国南部城市深圳，利亚姆·凯西的公司正在创建几个工业设计中心，这里不仅生产、组装产品，还会有产品设计。而在上海，不久前的厂房区如今正优化升级；当地主管部门要求工厂外迁10英里，如此一来，原有工厂建筑就可以变身为白领们的策划及设计中心。
到现在为止，我所见到的中国年轻女工在工厂里从事的工作还不是从美国“抢来”的，因为在美国，装配类的工作是由机器来完成的。但是，中国的目标无疑是谋求更丰厚的利润。
很多人表示，现阶段中国企业在产品设计、公司管理和品牌建设上同国际标准存有较大差距，因而中国产业发展将会是个缓慢的过程。麦肯锡公司亚太区主席鲍达民（Dominic Barton）说：“想想看，众多国际大公司中，印度籍的总裁和管理人员不在少数，而中国籍的却极少。”鲍达民还表示，造成这一现状的主要原因是具备熟练的外语能力，以及丰富的国外工作经验的管理人才的缺失。加州设计业巨头IDEO公司亚太区总裁安迪·斯维克（Andy Switky）称，在中国，质检的常态是“好坏无碍”。如此一来，便很难从本土低端市场进军国际化高端市场。一家台湾音频设备厂的管理者表示：“即使是现在绝大多数中国人也没有iPod或者笔记本电脑，因此要他们进行产品升级难上加难，他们甚至连辨别好坏的能力都很差。”总有有这样或那样的原因阻碍中国发展的脚步，但美国若因此放松警惕未免高兴的太早。
在如何应对中国的讨论中，美国那些最常见的措施也只能是为将来打下一个长期基础。相对美元而言现下人民币的确在贬值，中国出口商品因此更为廉价。人民币确实应该升值，而且也将要升值。但是即便如此，深圳的工作也不会再度回到俄亥俄州，充其量也就只能让美国诸如机车、高科技医疗设备、酒水和软件之类的出口产品更具吸引力。这样的商业胜利对美国当然重要，但人民币不加快升值就威胁中国对其实施报复性关税的做法并不能促成这一胜利。此外，美国对人民币贬值的速度越快，中国政府也会越快将资产转移到其他更坚挺的货币中。
今年，美国政府开始对中国进口的蜡光纸征收一项特殊关税——反补贴税。蜡光纸可用于印制杂志和目录册，2004年到2006年期间，中国向美国出口的蜡光纸增加了十倍。美国政府表示，此税旨在抵消中国制造商通过低价贷款、税额减免等优惠政策获得的出口补贴。在世贸组织框架下，任何形式的出口补贴都是不允许的。美国官员、学者以及贸易团体整理了一份中国事实补贴的清单，这些补贴使中国出口到美国的商品便宜了25%、40%、乃至更多。（和欧洲、澳大利亚以及其他国家一样，中国立刻反驳道美国的许多产品也享有补贴，尤其是那些大型农场的出口商品。）
这显然是具有重要意义的。不过回头想想，一根标价为29.95美元的网线，制作成本仅为2美元。去除各种补贴，其成本可能升至3美元，就比方说增加到4美元吧。高昂的制作成本会对那些将产品外包给中国制造的厂家造成很大的影响。如果一来，他们会考虑是提高零售价格，还是接受更低的利润，抑或是将下一个工厂建在越南？但是不管怎么样，下一个工厂是绝对不会建回到美国的。
政府的政策扶持虽然在中国的道路建设和土地开发中起着主导作用，但在外包热潮中只起着次要作用。当我问中国先生，如果我想要了解深圳政府和公司之间是如何相互合作的，我该采访哪位政府官员时，他表示他并不知道，也没有见过这样的官员。
美国对中国的人民币、补贴和其他行为的抱怨之中，有一点是相同的：他们认为缓解中美贸易长期压力的责任在于中国。我认为这个假设过于天真，如果美国对中美互动感到不满，这是美国的问题，而不是中国的问题。美国如果寄希望于通过挑刺、恐吓和诱导等方式阻止中国谋求自身经济腾飞的脚步，那真是痴人说梦。如果一个国家不喜欢与别国的贸易关系，那么它需要做的是改变自己的政策，而不是幻想世界为其改变。中国就是这样做的，也是出于为自身利益着想。而且至今为止，这也给美国带来了福利。
我们是否对美国正被全球经济力量左右感到不适？对不平等呢？或者有些人本应得到的权利？还有其它人被扼杀的机遇？亦或是我们因对当下趋势——借贷、消费、自私、基础设施的消耗——可能使美国在未来难以继续保持领先地位的事实的普遍恐惧？尤其是想到还有中国？如果真是这样的话，那么这些趋势本身，及其背后美国所做出的选择，才是我们所要指责的。这不是中国的问题，亦不是任何一个深圳人的错。
Half the time I have spent in China I have spent in factories. At least that’s how it feels—and it’s a feeling I sought. The factories where more than 100 million Chinese men and women toil, and from which cameras, clothes, and every other sort of ware flow out to the world, are to me the most startling and intense aspect of today’s China. For now, they are also the most important. They are startling above all in their scale. I was prepared for the skyline of Shanghai and its 240-mph Maglev train to the airport, and for the nonstop construction, dust, and bustle of Beijing. Every account of modern China mentions them. But I had no concept of the sweep of what has become the world’s manufacturing center: the Pearl River Delta of Guangdong province (the old Canton region), just north of Hong Kong. That one province might have a manufacturing workforce larger than America’s. Statistics from China are largely guesses, but Guangdong’s population is around 90 million. If even one-fifth of its people hold manufacturing jobs, as seems likely in big cities, that would be 18 million—versus 14 million in the entire United States.
One facility in Guangdong province, the famous Foxconn works, sits in the middle of a conurbation just outside Shenzhen, where it occupies roughly as much space as a major airport. Some 240,000 people (the number I heard most often; estimates range between 200,000 and 300,000) work on its assembly lines, sleep in its dormitories, and eat in its company cafeterias. I was told that Foxconn’s caterers kill 3,000 pigs each day to feed its employees. The number would make sense—it’s one pig per 80 people, in a country where pigs are relatively small and pork is a staple meat (I heard no estimate for chickens). From the major ports serving the area, Hong Kong and Shenzhen harbors, cargo ships left last year carrying the equivalent of more than 40 million of the standard 20-foot-long metal containers that end up on trucks or railroad cars. That’s one per second, round the clock and year-round—and it’s less than half of China’s export total. What’s in the containers that come back from America? My guess was, “dollars”; in fact, the two leading ship-borne exports from the United States to China, by volume, are scrap paper and scrap metal, for recycling.
And the factories are important, for China and everyone else. Someday China may matter internationally mainly for the nature of its political system or for its strategic ambitions. Those are significant even now, of course, but China’s success in manufacturing is what has determined its place in the world. Most of what has been good about China over the past generation has come directly or indirectly from its factories. The country has public money with which to build roads, houses, and schools—especially roads. The vast population in the countryside has what their forebears acutely lacked, and peasants elsewhere today still do: a chance at paying jobs, which means a chance to escape rural poverty. Americans complain about cheap junk pouring out of Chinese mills, but they rely on China for a lot that is not junk, and whose cheap price is important to American industrial and domestic life. Modern consumer culture rests on the assumption that the nicest, most advanced goods—computers, audio systems, wall-sized TVs—will get cheaper year by year. Moore’s Law, which in one version says that the price of computing power will be cut in half every 18 months or so, is part of the reason, but China’s factories are a big part too.
Much of what is threatening about today’s China also comes from its factories. Many people inside China, and nearly everyone outside, can avoid the direct effects of the country’s political controls. It is much harder to avoid its pollution. The air in Chinese cities is worse than I expected, and because the pollution affects so many people in such a wide range of places, it is more damaging than London’s, Manchester’s, or Pittsburgh’s in their worst, rapidly industrializing days. The air pollution comes directly from the steel works, cement plants, and other heavy-industry facilities that are helping the country prosper, and indirectly from the electric power plants that keep everything running. (Plus more and more cars, though China still has barely one-thirtieth as many per capita as the United States.) The sheer speed and volume with which factories and power plants across China increase their output of soot and gases make the country’s air-pollution problems the world’s. The heightened competition for oil, ore, and other commodities to feed the factories affects other nations, as do slapdash standards of food purity and safety, which may have led to tainted worldwide supplies of animal food. The ultimate fear in the developed world, of course, is that as China creates millions of new factory jobs unknown millions will lose such jobs in America, Canada, Germany, even Japan.
But these factories are both surprising and important in a less obvious, though also fundamental, way. Almost nothing about the way they work corresponds to the way they are discussed in the United States. America’s political debates about the “China opportunity” and, even more, the “China threat” seem distant, theoretical, and imprecise from the perspective of the factories where the outsourcing and exporting occur. The industrialists from the United States, Europe, or Japan who are deciding how much of their production to move to China talk about the process in very different terms from those used in American political discussion. One illustration: The artificially low value of China’s currency, relative to the dollar, comes near the top of American complaints about Chinese trade policy. (The currency is the yuan renminbi—literally, “people’s money”—or RMB). This is more like the eighth or tenth issue that comes up when business officials discuss the factories they are opening in one country and closing in another. And when it does come up, the context is usually whether the RMB’s rise will force a company to put its next factory not in China’s crowded coastal region but someplace with even lower costs, like the remote interior provinces, where salaries are lower and commercial space is cheaper—or perhaps Vietnam or Cambodia.
So too with complaints about Chinese government subsidies for exporting industries, widespread abuse of intellectual property, and even “slave labor” inside the vast factories. Some of these complaints are well-founded, others are not; but even if all were true, they would misdescribe and undervalue what is going on here. Talking about Chinese industrial growth, Americans are in the position of 19th-century Europeans who acted as if America’s industrial rise could be explained simply by its vast natural resources and its exploitation of immigrant and slave labor, plus its very casual attitude toward copyright and patent laws protecting foreign, mainly British, books and inventions. (Today, Americans walk the streets of China and see their movies, music, software, and books sold everywhere in cheap pirate versions. A century and a half ago, Charles Dickens walked the streets of young America and fumed to see his novels in cheap pirate versions.) All those factors played their part, but they were not the full story of America’s rise—nor do the corresponding aspects of modern China’s behavior fully explain what China has achieved.
I can’t pretend to know the complete story of China’s industrial rise. But I can describe what I have seen, and the main way it has changed my mind.
Large-scale shifts in economic power have effects beyond the purely economic. Americans need not be hostile toward China’s rise, but they should be wary about its eventual effects. The United States is the only nation with the scale and power to try to set the terms of its interaction with China rather than just succumb. So starting now, Americans need to consider the economic, environmental, political, and social goals they care about defending as Chinese influence grows.
The consideration might best start from the point about which I’ve changed my mind: So far, America’s economic relationship with China has been successful and beneficial—and beneficial for both sides. Free trade may not always be good for all participants, and in the long run trade with China may hold perils for the United States. But based on what I have seen in China, and contrary to what I expected before I came, so far it is working as advertised. Before thinking about what should be changed, Americans should appreciate what has gone right. A good place to begin that story is Shenzhen.
How it works: The view from the Four Points
Each time I went to breakfast at the Sheraton Four Points in Shenzhen, I felt as if I were in a movie. I had a specific scene in mind: the moments aboard a U.S. aircraft carrier in a typical World War II movie when the flight crews gather in the wardroom to discuss the mission on which they’re about to embark.
The morning crowd at the Four Points has that same sort of anticipatory buzz. Shenzhen, which is the part of China immediately north of Hong Kong and its “New Territories,” did not exist as a city as recently as Ronald Reagan’s time in the White House. It was a fishing town of 70,000 to 80,000 people, practically unnoticeable by Chinese standards. Today’s other big coastal manufacturing centers, such as Xiamen, Guangzhou, Hangzhou, and Shanghai, were for centuries consequential Chinese cities. Not Shenzhen. Its population has grown at least a hundredfold in the past 25 years—rather than merely tripled or quadrupled, as in other cities. It is roughly as populous as New York, like many Chinese cities I keep coming across. Shenzhen has scores of skyscrapers and many, many hundreds of factories.
The story of Shenzhen’s boom is in a sense the first chapter in modern China’s industrialization. “During the founding period, Shenzhen people were bold and resolute in smashing the trammels of the old ideas,” says the English version of the city’s history, as recounted in Shenzhen’s municipal museum in an odd, modern-Chinese combination of Maoist bombast and supercapitalist perspective. “With the market-oriented reforms as the breakthrough point, they shook off the yoke of the planned economy, and gradually built up new management systems.”
What all this refers to is the establishment, in the late summer of 1980, of Shenzhen as a “special economic zone,” where few limits or controls would apply and businesses from around the world would be invited to set up shop. Shenzhen was attractive as an experimental locale, not just because it was so close to Hong Kong, with its efficient harbor and airport, but also because it was so far from Beijing. If the experiment went wrong, the consequences could be more easily contained in this southern extremity of the country. Nearly every rule that might restrict business development was changed or removed in Shenzhen. Several free-trade processing zones were established, where materials and machinery coming in and exports going out would be exempt from the usual duties or taxes.
Modern Shenzhen has traits that Americans would associate with a booming Sun Belt city—transient, rough, unmannered, full of opportunity—and that characterized Manchester, Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles at their times of fastest growth. Newspapers that cover Shenzhen are full of stories of drugs, crime, and vice in the most crowded tenement areas, where walls and sidewalks are covered with spray-painted phone numbers. Some are for prostitutes, but many are for vendors who can provide fake documents—health certificates, diplomas, residence credentials—for those seeking work.
The Sheraton Four Points is part of the process that keeps Shenzhen growing. It is one of the places foreigners go when they are ready to buy from China.
The foreigners in their 30s through 50s who come to Shanghai are often financiers, consultants, or lawyers. They tend to be lean, with good suits and haircuts. Those in Beijing are often diplomats, academics, or from foundations or NGOs. They look a little less polished. The scene in and around Shenzhen is different. It is an international group—Americans, Taiwanese, Europeans, Japanese—of a single class. Virtually all of them are designers, engineers, or buyers from foreign companies who have come to meet with Chinese factory owners. The Americans in the group tend to be beefier than the Shanghai-Beijing crowd, and more Midwestern-looking. Some wear company shirts or nylon jackets with their company’s logo on the pocket.
When the Four Points restaurant opens at 6:30 in the morning, foreigners begin assembling for breakfast, the meal when people most crave their native cuisine. It is laid out for all comers on a huge buffet: for the Europeans, sliced meats and cheese, good breads, strong coffee, muesli and yogurt. For the Japanese, pickles, sushi, cold noodles, smoked eel over rice. For the Taiwanese and other Chinese, steamed buns, dim sum, hot congee cereal. For the Americans, the makings of a Denny’s-style “Slam” breakfast: thick waffles, eggs, hash-brown potatoes, sausage and bacon and ham. My wife finally accused me of spending so much time in Shenzhen just for the breakfasts.
The room is noisy, as people discuss their plans for the day or meet the Chinese factory officials who will conduct them on their tours. The room empties dramatically by nine o’clock, as people go out to meet their drivers and vans, and the day’s factory touring and contract signing begin. As best I could tell from chatting with fellow guests, in all my trips to the Four Points, I was the only person there not on a buying mission.
Nearly every morning one man, a 41-year-old Irish bachelor, sits at the same table at the Four Points. Very late in the evening, he is at that table for dinner too. The table is near the entrance, from which the rest of the room can be surveyed. On a typical night, the company he owns will have 10 to 15 rooms booked at the hotel, for foreign visitors coming to do business with him. Often a few will join him for dinner. When the waiters see this man coming, they bring the plain Western food—meat, potatoes—they know he’s interested in. “Do you have the same thing every night?” I asked him when I saw the waiters’ reflexive response to his arrival. “I didn’t come here for the food,” he replied.
This man has lived in an apartment at the Four Points for the last two years, and in other hotels around Shenzhen for the previous eight. He makes a point of telling people that he does not speak Chinese—most business visitors who try, he says, have to work so hard to cope with the language that they forget what they’re negotiating about. But at useful points in meetings he drops in Chinese colloquialisms so that people must wonder whether in fact he has understood everything that has been said. (He tells me he hasn’t.) His name is Liam Casey, and I have come to think of him as “Mr. China.”
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MR CHINA: Liam Casey stands beside workers assembling laptop computers
“Mr. China” is an established jokey honorific, like People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive—2003.” Since the days of Marco Polo, successive foreigners have competed informally for recognition as the person who really understands the country and can make things happen here. The hilarious 2005 memoir Mr. China, by Tim Clissold, describes the heartbreak and frustration of a young British financier who thought he could figure out the secrets of success in China when it was first opening up to Western commerce.
Liam Casey has succeeded where Tim Clissold was frustrated, but he is careful not to sound overconfident. “Just when you think you know what’s happening here, that’s when you’re in danger,” he says. “You see some new product on the market, and you wonder where it was made—and it turns out to be a factory you drove by every day for five years and never knew what was going on inside! You can be here so long and know so little.” But for my purposes he is Mr. China, because he is at the center of the overlapping flows of humanity bringing the world’s work to China.
When not dining or sleeping at the Four Points, Casey runs a company he owns outright, with 800 employees (50 of them are from Ireland, America, or one of a dozen other nations; the rest are Chinese) and sales last year of about $125 million. He is of medium height and fit-seeming in a compact way, with thick dark hair and a long face that generally has an impish expression. He has a strong Irish accent and dresses informally. He walks, talks, and moves so fast that I was generally scrambling to keep up.
Casey grew up on a farm outside Cork, had no formal education after high school, and first worked as a salesman in garment shops in Cork and then Dublin. He got involved in buying garments from Europe, with a friend set up a Crate & Barrel–style store in Ireland, then decided to travel. At age 29 he arrived in Southern California and worked briefly for a trading company. He says he would be in America still—“Laguna, Newport Beach, ah, I luvved it”—but he could not get a green card or long-term work permit, and didn’t want to try to stay there under the radar.
(I might as well say this in every article I write from overseas: The easier America makes it for talented foreigners to work and study there, the richer, more powerful, and more respected America will be. America’s ability to absorb the world’s talent is the crucial advantage no other culture can match—as long as America doesn’t forfeit this advantage with visa rules written mainly out of fear.)
So in 1996, just after he turned 30, Casey went to Taipei for an electronics trade show. It was his first trip to Asia, and, he says, “I could see this is where the opportunity was.” Within a year, he had set up operations in the Shenzhen area and started the company now known as PCH China Solutions. The initials stand for Pacific Coast Highway, in honor of his happy Southern California days.
What does this company do? The short answer is outsourcing, which in effect means matching foreign companies that want to sell products with Chinese suppliers who can make those products for them. Casey describes his mission as “helping innovators leverage the manufacturing supply chain here in China.” To see how this works, consider the great human flows that now converge in southern China, which companies like Casey’s help mediate.
One is the enormous flow of people, mainly young and unschooled, from China’s farms and villages to Shenzhen and similar cities. Some arrive with a factory job already arranged by relatives or fixers; some come to the cities and then look for work. In the movie version of Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress, two teenaged men from the city befriend a young woman in the mountain village where they have been sent for rustication during the Cultural Revolution. One day the young woman unexpectedly leaves. She has gone to “try her luck in a big city,” her grandfather tells them. “She said she wanted a new life.” The new life is in Shenzhen.
Multiplied millions of times, and perhaps lacking the specific drama of the Balzac tale, this is the story of the factory towns. As in the novel, many of the migrants are young women. In the light-manufacturing operations I have seen in the Pearl River Delta and around Shanghai, the workforce is predominantly female. Signing on with a factory essentially means making your job your life. Workers who come to the big coastal factory centers either arrive, like the little seamstress, before they have a spouse or children, or leave their dependents at home with grandparents, aunts, or uncles. At the electronics and household-goods factories, including many I’ve seen, the pay is between 900 and 1,200 RMB per month, or about $115 to $155. In the villages the workers left, a farm family’s cash earnings might be a few thousand RMB per year. Pay is generally lowest, and discipline toughest, at factories owned and managed by Taiwanese or mainland Chinese companies. The gigantic Foxconn (run by its founder, Terry Guo of Taiwan) is known for a militaristic organization and approach. Jobs with Western firms are the cushiest but are also rare, since the big European and American companies buy mainly from local subcontractors. Casey says that monthly pay in some factories he owns is several hundred RMB more than the local average. His goal is to retain workers for longer than the standard few-year stint, allowing them to develop greater skills and a sense of company spirit.
WORKERS at an Inventec factory in Shanghai check computer motherboards
A factory work shift is typically 12 hours, usually with two breaks for meals (subsidized or free), six or seven days per week. Whenever the action lets up—if the assembly line is down for some reason, if a worker has spare time at a meal break—many people place their heads down on the table in front of them and appear to fall asleep instantly. Chinese law says that the standard workweek is 40 hours, so this means a lot of overtime, which is included in the pay rates above. Since their home village may be several days’ travel by train and bus, workers from the hinterland usually go back only once a year. They all go at the same time—during the “Spring Festival,” or Chinese New Year, when ports and factories effectively close for a week or so and the nation’s transport system is choked. “The people here work hard,” an American manager in a U.S.-owned plant told me. “They’re young. They’re quick. There’s none of this ‘I have to go pick up the kids’ nonsense you get in the States.”
At every electronics factory I’ve seen, each person on an assembly line has a bunch of documents posted by her workstation: her photo, name, and employee number, often the instructions she is to follow in both English and Chinese. Often too there’s a visible sign of how well she’s doing. For the production line as a whole there are hourly totals of target and actual production, plus allowable and actual defect levels. At several Taiwanese-owned factories I’ve seen, the indicator of individual performance is a childish outline drawing of a tree with leaves. After each day’s shift one of the tree’s leaves is filled in with a colored marker, either red or green. If the leaf is green, the worker has met her quota and caused no problems. If it’s red, a defect has been traced back to her workstation. One red leaf per month is within tolerance; two is a problem.
As in all previous great waves of industrialization, many people end up staying in town; that’s why Shenzhen has grown so large. But more than was the case during America’s or England’s booms in factory work, many rural people, especially the young women, work for two or three years and then go back to the country with their savings. In their village they open a shop, marry a local man and start a family, buy land, or use their earnings to help the relatives still at home.
Life in the factories is obviously hard, and in the heavy- industry works it is very dangerous. In the same week that 32 people were murdered at Virginia Tech, 32 Chinese workers at a steel plant in the north were scalded to death when a ladleful of molten steel was accidentally dumped on them. Even in Chinese papers, that story got less play than the U.S. shooting—and fatal coal-mine disasters are so common that they are reported as if they were traffic deaths. By comparison, the light industries that typify southern China are tedious but less overtly hazardous. As the foreman of a Taiwanese electronics factory put it to me when I asked him about rough working conditions, “Have you ever seen a Chinese farm?” An American industrial designer who works in China told me about a U.S. academic who toured his factory and was horrified to see young female workers chained to their stations. What she saw was actually the grounding wire that is mandatory in most electronics plants. Each person on the assembly line has a Velcro band around her wrist, which is connected to the worktable to avoid a static- electricity buildup that could destroy computer chips.
That so many people are in motion gives Shenzhen and surrounding areas a rootless, transient quality. The natural language of southern China is Cantonese, but in the factory cities the lingua franca is Mandarin, the language that people from different parts of China are likeliest to share. “I don’t like it here,” a Chinese manager originally from Beijing told me, three years into a work assignment to Shenzhen. “There are no roots or culture.” “For the first few weeks I was here, I thought it was soulless,” Liam Casey says of the town that has been his home for 10 years. “But like any fast-moving place, the activity is the character. It’s like New York. You arrive at the airport and go downtown, and when you get out of that cab, no one knows where you came from. You could have been there one hour, you could have been there 10 years—no one can tell. It’s similar here, which makes it exciting.” Casey told me that, to him, Shanghai felt slow “and made for tourists.” Indeed, I am regularly surprised to find that people stroll rather than stride along the sidewalks of Shanghai: It’s a busy city with slow pedestrians. Or maybe Casey’s outlook is contagious.
Another great flow into Shenzhen and similar cities is of entrepreneurs who have come and set up factories. The point of the Shenzhen liberalizations was less to foster any one industry than to make it easy for businesses in general to get a start.
Many entrepreneurs attracted by the offer came from Taiwan, whose economy is characterized by small, mainly family-owned firms like those that now abound in southern China. Overall, mainland China’s development model is closer to Taiwan’s than to Japan’s or Korea’s. In all these countries and throughout East Asia, governments use many tools to maximize industrial output: tax policy, trading rules, currency values, and so on. But Japanese and Korean policy has tended to emphasize the welfare of large, national-champion firms—Mitsubishi and Toyota, Lucky Gold Star and Samsung—whereas Taiwan’s exporters have been thousands of small firms, a few of which grew large. China is, of course, vaster than the other countries combined, but its export-oriented companies are small. One reason for the atomization is pervasive mistrust and corruption, plus a shaky rule of law. Even Foxconn, China’s largest exporter, was only No. 206 on last year’s Fortune Global 500 list of the biggest companies in the world. When foreigners have trouble entering the Japanese or Korean markets, it is often because they run up against barriers protecting big, well-known local interests. The problem in China is typically the opposite: Foreigners don’t know where to start or whom to deal with in the chaos of small, indistinguishable firms.
For me, the fragmented nature of the Chinese system is symbolized by yet another of the stunning sights in Shenzhen: the SEG Electronics Market, a seven-story downtown structure whose every inch is crammed with the sales booths of hundreds of mom-and-pop electronics dealers. “Chips that I couldn’t dream of buying in the U.S., reels of rare ceramic capacitors that I only dream about at night!” Andrew “Bunnie” Huang, a Chinese-American electronics Ph.D. from MIT, wrote in his blog after a visit. “My senses tingle, my head spins. I can’t suppress a smirk of anticipation as I walk around the next corner, to see shops stacked floor to ceiling with probably a hundred million resistors and capacitors.” As he noted, “within an hour’s drive north” were hundreds of factories that could “take any electronics ideas and pump them out by the literal boatload.” The market is part permanent trade show, part supply stop for people who suddenly need some capacitors or connectors for a prototype or last-minute project, part swap meet where traders unload surplus components.
FACTORY WORKERS on their way to work in Shenzhen
One last flow coming into Shenzhen, which makes the other flows possible, is represented by the people at the Four Points: buyers from high-wage countries who have decided that they want to take advantage of, rather than compete with, low-cost Chinese manufacturers. This is where our Mr. China, and others like him, fit in.
This is also where a veil falls. In decades of reporting on military matters, I have rarely encountered people as concerned about keeping secrets as the buyers and suppliers who meet in Shenzhen and similar cities. What information are they committed to protect? Names, places, and product numbers that would reveal which Western companies obtain which exact products from which Chinese suppliers. There are high- and low-road reasons for their concern.
The low-road reason is the “Nike problem.” This is the buyers’ wish to minimize their brands’ association with outsourcing in general and Asian sweatshops in particular, named for Nike’s PR problems because of its factories in Indonesia. By Chinese standards, the most successful exporting factories are tough rather than abusive, but those are not the standards Western customers might apply.
The high-road reason involves the crucial operational importance of the “supply chain.” It is not easy to find the right factory, work out the right manufacturing system, ensure the right supply of parts and raw material, impose the right quality standards, and develop the right relationship of trust and reliability. Companies that have solved these problems don’t want to tell their competitors how they did so. “Supply chain is intellectual property,” is the way Liam Casey put it. Asking a Western company to specify its Chinese suppliers is like asking a reporter to hand over a list of his best sources.
Because keeping the supply chain confidential is so important to buyers, they try to impose confidentiality on their suppliers. When an outside company’s reputation for design and quality is strong—Sony, Braun, Apple—many Chinese contractors like to drop hints that they are part of its supply chain. But the ones who really are part of it must be more discreet if they want to retain the buying company’s trust (and business).
So I will withhold details, but ask you to take this leap: If you think of major U.S. or European brand names in the following businesses, odds are their products come from factories like those I’m about to describe. The businesses are: computers, including desktops, laptops, and servers; telecom equipment, from routers to mobile phones; audio equipment, including anything MP3-related, home stereo systems, most portable devices, and headsets; video equipment of all sorts, from cameras and camcorders to replay devices; personal-care items and high-end specialty-catalog goods; medical devices; sporting goods and exercise equipment; any kind of electronic goods or accessories; and, for that matter, just about anything else you can think of. Some of the examples I’ll give come from sites in Shenzhen, but others are from facilities near Shanghai, Hangzhou, Guangzhou, Xiamen, and elsewhere.
Why does a foreign company come to our Mr. China? I asked Casey what he would tell me if I were in, say, some branch of the steel industry in Pittsburgh and was looking to cut costs. “Not interested,” he said. “The product’s too heavy, and you’ve probably already automated the process, so one person is pushing a button. It would cost you almost as much to have someone push the button in China.”
But what is of intense interest to him, he said, is a company that has built up a brand name and relationships with retailers, and knows what it wants to promote and sell next—and needs to save time and money in manufacturing a product that requires a fair amount of assembly. “That is where we can help, because you will come here and see factories that are better than the ones you’ve been working with in America or Germany.”
Here are a few examples, all based on real-world cases: You have announced a major new product, which has gotten great buzz in the press. But close to release time, you discover a design problem that must be fixed—and no U.S. factory can adjust its production process in time.
The Chinese factories can respond more quickly, and not simply because of 12-hour workdays. “Anyplace else, you’d have to import different raw materials and components,” Casey told me. “Here, you’ve got nine different suppliers within a mile, and they can bring a sample over that afternoon. People think China is cheap, but really, it’s fast.” Moreover, the Chinese factories use more human labor, and fewer expensive robots or assembly machines, than their counterparts in rich countries. “People are the most adaptable machines,” an American industrial designer who works in China told me. “Machines need to be reprogrammed. You can have people doing something entirely different next week.”
CHIP RESISTORS displayed in martini glasses at a booth inside the SEG Electronics Market in Shenzhen
Or: You are an American inventor with a product you think has “green” potential for household energy savings. But you need to get it to market fast, because you think big companies may be trying the same thing, and you need to meet a target retail price of $100. “No place but China to do this,” Mr. China said, as he showed me the finished product.
Or: You are a very famous American company, and you worry that you’ve tied up too much capital keeping inventory for retail stores at several supply depots in America. With Mr. China’s help, you start emphasizing direct retail sales on your Web site—and do all the shipping and fulfillment from one supply depot, run by young Chinese women in Shenzhen, who can ship directly to specific retail stores.
Over the course of repeated visits to Shenzhen—the breakfasts!—and visits to other manufacturing regions, I heard about many similar cases and saw some of the tools that have made it possible for Western countries to view China as their manufacturing heartland.
Some involve computerized knowledge. Casey’s PCH has a Google Earth–like system that incorporates what he has learned in 10 years of dealing with Chinese subcontractors. You name a product you want to make—say, a new case or headset for a mobile phone. Casey clicks on the map and shows the companies that can produce the necessary components—and exactly how far they are from each other in travel time. This is hard-won knowledge in an area where city maps are out of date as soon as they are published and addresses are approximate. (Casey’s are keyed in with GPS coordinates, discreetly read from his GPS-equipped mobile phone when he visits each factory.) If a factory looks promising, you click again and get interior and exterior photos, a rundown on the management, in some cases videos of the assembly line in action, plus spec sheets and engineering drawings for orders they have already filled. Similar programs allow Casey and his clients to see which ship, plane, or truck their products are on anywhere in the world, and the amount of stock on hand in any warehouse or depot. (How do they know? Each finished piece and almost every component has an individual bar code that is scanned practically every time it is touched.)
The factories whose workflow Casey monitors vary tremendously, though not in their looks. I’ve come to think that there is only one set of blueprints for factories in China: a big, boxy, warehouse-looking structure, usually made of concrete and usually five stories; white or gray outside; relatively large windows, which is how you can tell it from the workers’ dormitories; high ceilings, to accommodate machines. But inside, some are highly automated while some are amazingly reliant on hand labor. I’m not even speaking of the bad, dangerous, and out-of-date factories frequently found in the north of China, where leftover Maoist-era heavy-industry hulks abound. Even some newly built facilities leave to human hands work that has been done in the West for many decades by machines. Imagine opening a consumer product—a mobile phone, an electric toothbrush, a wireless router—and finding a part that was snapped on or glued into place. It was probably put there by a young Chinese woman who did the same thing many times per minute throughout her 12-hour workday.
I could describe many installations, but I was fascinated by two. The first represents one extreme in automation. It is owned and operated by Inventec, one of five companies based in Taiwan that together produce the vast majority of laptop and notebook computers sold under any brand anywhere in the world. Everyone in America has heard of Dell, Sony, Compaq, HP, Lenovo-IBM ThinkPad, Apple, NEC, Gateway, Toshiba. Almost no one has heard of Quanta, Compal, Inventec, Wistron, Asustek. Yet nearly 90 percent of laptops and notebooks sold under the famous brand names are actually made by one of these five companies in their factories in mainland China. I have seen a factory with three “competing” brand names coming off the same line.
The Inventec installation I saw was in an export-processing zone in Shanghai specially created for the company, in which imported components for manufacturing and finished products for export were free of the usual duties or taxes. It turns out more than 30,000 notebook computers per day, under one of the brand names listed above. Each day, an Inventec plant on the same campus produces hundreds of large, famous-brand-name server computers to run Internet traffic.
This is today’s rough counterpart to the Ford Motor Company’s old River Rouge works. In the heyday of The Rouge, rubber, steel, and other raw materials would come into the plant, and finished autos would come out. Here, naked green circuit boards, capacitors, chip sets, and other components come in each day, and notebook computers come out. Some advanced components arrive already assembled: disk drives from Taiwan or Singapore, LCD screens from Korea or Japan, keyboards and power supplies from other plants in China.
The overall process looks the way you would expect a high-tech assembly line to. Conveyers and robots take the evolving computer from station to station; each unit arrives in front of a worker a split second after she has finished with the previous one. Before a component goes into a machine, its bar code is scanned to be sure it is the right part; after it is added, the machine is “check-weighed” to see that its new weight is correct. Hundreds of tiny transistors, chips, and other electronic parts are attached to each circuit board by “pick and place” robots, whose multiple arms move almost too fast to follow. The welds on the board are scanned with lasers for defects. Any with problems are set aside for women specialists, looking through huge magnifying glasses, to reweld. Why did this factory invest so much in robots and machine tools? I asked a supervisor from Taiwan. “People can’t do it precisely enough,” was his answer. These factories automate not what’s too expensive but what’s too delicate for human beings to perform.
Many of the notebook computers have been ordered online, and as they near completion each is “flavored” for its destination. The day I visited, one was going to Tokyo, with a Japanese keyboard installed and Japanese logos snapped into the right places on the case; the next one was headed for the United States. After display screens are installed, each computer rides on a kind of racetrack along the ceiling of the factory, where it runs for several hours to make sure that all components work. Then the conveyers carry it to the final flavoring step—the “burn in” of the operating system, which on my visit was Windows Vista, in many languages. One engineer pointed out that because Vista requires up to 10 times as much disk space as Windows XP, the assembly line had to be altered to allow a much longer, slower passage through the burn-in station.
The other facility that intrigued me, one of Liam Casey’s in Shenzhen, handled online orders for a different well-known American company. I was there around dawn, which was crunch time. Because of the 12-hour time difference from the U.S. East Coast, orders Americans place in the late afternoon arrive in China in the dead of night. As I watched, a customer in Palatine, Illinois, perhaps shopping from his office, clicked on the American company’s Web site to order two $25 accessories. A few seconds later, the order appeared on the screen 7,800 miles away in Shenzhen. It automatically generated a packing and address slip and several bar-code labels. One young woman put the address label on a brown cardboard shipping box and the packing slip inside. The box moved down a conveyer belt to another woman working a “pick to light” system: She stood in front of a kind of cupboard with a separate open-fronted bin for each item customers might order from the Web site; a light turned on over each bin holding a part specified in the latest order. She picked the item out of that bin, ran it past a scanner that checked its number (and signaled the light to go off), and put it in the box. More check- weighing and rescanning followed, and when the box was sealed, young men added it to a shipping pallet.
By the time the night shift was ready to leave—8 a.m. China time, 7 p.m. in Palatine, 8 p.m. on the U.S. East Coast—the volume of orders from America was tapering off. More important, the FedEx pickup time was drawing near. At 9 a.m. couriers would arrive and rush the pallets to the Hong Kong airport. The FedEx flight to Anchorage would leave by 6 p.m., and when it got there, the goods on this company’s pallets would be combined with other Chinese exports and re-sorted for destinations in America. Forty-eight hours after the man in Palatine clicked “Buy it now!” on his computer, the item showed up at his door. Its return address was a company warehouse in the United States; a small Made in China label was on the bottom of the box.
At 8 a.m. in Shenzhen, the young women on the night shift got up from the assembly line, took off the hats and hairnets they had been wearing, and shook out their dark hair. They passed through the metal detector at the door to their workroom (they pass through it going in and coming out) and walked downstairs to the racks where they had left their bikes. They wore red company jackets, as part of their working uniform—and, as an informal uniform, virtually every one wore tight, low-rise blue jeans with embroidery or sequins on the seams. Most of them rode their bikes back to the dormitory; others walked, or walked their bikes, chatting with each other. That evening they would be back at work. Meanwhile, flocks of red-topped, blue-bottomed young women on the day shift filled the road, riding their bikes in.
Good for Us—For Now
What should we make of this? The evidence suggests what I hadn’t expected: that the interaction has been good for most participants—so far.
Has the factory boom been good for China? Of course it has. Yes, it creates environmental pressures that, if not controlled, could pollute China and the world out of existence. The national government’s current Five Year Plan—the 11th, running through 2010—has as its central theme China’s development as a “harmonious society,” or hexie shehui, a phrase heard about as often from China’s leadership as “global war on terror” has been heard from America’s. In China, the phrase is code for attempting to deal with income inequalities, especially the hardships of farmers and millions of migrant laborers. But it is also code for at least talking about protecting the environment.
And, yes, throughout China’s boom many people have been mistreated, oppressed, sometimes worked to death in factories. Even those not abused may be lonely and lost, with damaging effects on the country’s social fabric. But this was also the story of Britain and America when they built their great industries, their great turbulent industrial cities, and ultimately their great industrial middle classes. For China, it is far from the worst social disruption the country has endured in the last 50 years. At least this upheaval, unlike the disastrous Great Leap Forward of the 1950s and Cultural Revolution of the ’60s and early ’70s, has some benefits for individuals and the nation.
Some Westerners may feel that even today’s “normal” Chinese working conditions amount to slave labor—$100 a month, no life outside the factory, work shifts so long there’s barely time to do more than try to sleep in a jam-packed dormitory. Here is an uncomfortable truth I’m waiting for some Chinese official to point out: The woman from the hinterland working in Shenzhen is arguably better off economically than an American in Chicago living on minimum wage. She can save most of what she makes and feel she is on the way up; the American can’t and doesn’t. Over the next two years, the minimum wage in the United States is expected to rise to $7.25 an hour. Assuming a 40-hour week, that’s just under $1,200 per month, or about 10 times the Chinese factory wage. But that’s before payroll deductions and the cost of food and housing, which are free or subsidized in China’s factory towns.
Chinese spokesmen do make a different point about their economy, and they rattle it off so frequently that Western audiences are tempted to dismiss it. They say, “Whatever else we have done, we have brought hundreds of millions of people out of poverty.” That is true, it is important, and the manufacturing export boom has been a significant part of how China has done it. This economic success obviously does not justify everything the regime has done, especially its crushing of any challenge to one-party rule. But the magnitude of the achievement can’t be ignored. For all of the billions of dollars given in foreign aid and supervised by the World Bank, the greatest good for the greatest number of the world’s previously impoverished people in at least the last half century has been achieved in China, thanks largely to the outsourcing boom.
Has the move to China been good for American companies? The answer would seemingly have to be yes—otherwise, why would they go there? It is conceivable that bad partnerships, stolen intellectual property, dilution of brand name, logistics nightmares, or other difficulties have given many companies a sour view of outsourcing; I have heard examples in each category from foreign executives. But the more interesting theme I have heard from them, which explains why they are willing to surmount the inconveniences, involves something called the “smiley curve.”
The curve is named for the U-shaped arc of the 1970s-era smiley-face icon, and it runs from the beginning to the end of a product’s creation and sale. At the beginning is the company’s brand: HP, Siemens, Dell, Nokia, Apple. Next comes the idea for the product: an iPod, a new computer, a camera phone. After that is high-level industrial design—the conceiving of how the product will look and work. Then the detailed engineering design for how it will be made. Then the necessary components. Then the actual manufacture and assembly. Then the shipping and distribution. Then retail sales. And, finally, service contracts and sales of parts and accessories.
The significance is that China’s activity is in the middle stages—manufacturing, plus some component supply and engineering design—but America’s is at the two ends, and those are where the money is. The smiley curve, which shows the profitability or value added at each stage, starts high for branding and product concept, swoops down for manufacturing, and rises again in the retail and servicing stages. The simple way to put this—that the real money is in brand name, plus retail—may sound obvious, but its implications are illuminating.
At each factory I visited, I asked managers to estimate how much of a product’s sales price ended up in whose hands. The strength of the brand name was the most important variable. If a product is unusual enough and its brand name attractive enough, it could command so high a price that the retailer might keep half the revenue. (Think: an Armani suit, a Starbucks latte.) Most electronics products are now subject to much fiercer price competition, since it is so easy for shoppers to find bargains on the Internet. Therefore the generic Windows-style laptops I saw in one modern factory might go for around $1,000 in the United States, with the retailer keeping less than $50.
Where does the rest of the money go? The manager of that factory guessed that Intel and Microsoft together would collect about $300, and that the makers of the display screen, the disk-storage devices, and other electronic components might get $150 or so apiece. The keyboard makers would get $15 or $20; FedEx or UPS would get slightly less. When all other costs were accounted for, perhaps $30 to $40—3 to 4 percent of the total—would stay in China with the factory owners and the young women on the assembly lines.
Other examples: A carrying case for an audio device from a big-name Western company retails for just under $30. That company pays the Chinese supplier $6 per case, of which about half goes for materials. The other $24 stays with the big-name company. An earphone-like accessory for another U.S.-brand audio device also retails for about $30. Of this, I was told, $3 stayed in China. I saw a set of high-end Ethernet connecting cables. The cables are sold, with identical specifications but in three different kinds of packaging, in three forms in the United States: as a specialty product, as a house brand in a nationwide office-supply store, and with no brand over eBay. The retail prices are $29.95 for the specialty brand, $19.95 in the chain store, and $15.95 on eBay. The Shenzhen-area company that makes them gets $2 apiece.
In case the point isn’t clear: Chinese workers making $1,000 a year have been helping American designers, marketers, engineers, and retailers making $1,000 a week (and up) earn even more. Plus, they have helped shareholders of U.S.-based companies.
All this is apart from a phenomenon that will be the subject of a future article: China’s conversion of its trade surpluses into a vast hoard of dollar-denominated reserves. Everyone understands that in the short run China’s handling of its reserves has been a convenience to the United States. By placing more than $1 trillion in U.S. stock and bond markets, it has propped up the U.S. economy. Asset prices are higher than they would otherwise be; interest rates are lower, whether for American families taking out mortgages or for American taxpayers financing the ever-mounting federal debt. The dollar has also fallen less than it otherwise would have—which in the short run helps American consumers keep buying Chinese goods.
Everyone also understands that in the long run China must change this policy. Its own people need too many things—schools, hospitals, railroads—for it to keep sending its profits to America. It won’t forever sink its savings into a currency, the dollar, virtually guaranteed to keep falling against the RMB. This year the central government created a commission to consider the right long-term use for China’s reserves. No one expects the recommendation to be: Keep buying dollars. How and when the change will occur, what it will be, and what consequences it will have, is what everyone would like to know.
One other aspect of China’s development to date has helped American companies in their dealings with it. This is the fact that China, so far, has been different in crucial ways from America’s previous great Asian challenger: Japan. Americans have come to view the Japanese economy as a kind of joke, mainly because the Tokyo Stock Exchange has been in a slump for nearly 20 years. Nonetheless, Japan remains the world’s second-largest economy. Toyota has overtaken General Motors to become the largest automaker; Japan’s exporters have continually increased their sales of electronics and other high-value goods; and the long-standing logic of the Japanese system, in which consumers and investors suffer so that producers may thrive, remains intact.
Japan was already a rich and modern country, as China still is not, by the time trade friction intensified, in the 1980s. More important, its leading companies were often competing head-to-head with established high-value, high-tech companies in the United States: Fujitsu against IBM, Toshiba against Intel, Fuji against Kodak, Sony and Matsushita against Motorola, and on down the list. Gains for Japanese companies often meant direct losses for companies in America—whether those companies were seen as stodgy and noninnovative, like the Detroit firms, or technologically agile and advanced, like the semiconductor makers.
For the moment, China’s situation is different. Its companies are numerous but small. Lenovo and Qingdao are its two globally recognized brand names. But Lenovo is known mainly because it bought the ThinkPad brand from IBM, and a quarter of Qingdao Beer is owned by Anheuser-Busch. Chinese exporters have done best when working for, rather than against, Western companies, as Foxconn (like numerous smaller firms) has in working with Apple. While the Chinese government obviously wants to strengthen the country’s brands—for instance, with an aircraft company it hopes will compete with Boeing and Airbus—its “industrial planning” has mainly taken the form not of specific targeting but of general business promotion, as with the incentives that brought companies to Shenzhen.
China’s economy, technically still socialist, has also been strangely more open than Japan’s. Through its first four decades of growth after World War II, Japan was essentially closed to foreign ownership and investment. (Texas Instruments and IBM were two highly publicized exceptions to the rule.) China’s industrial boom, by contrast, is occurring during the age of the World Trade Organization, to which it was admitted in 2001. Under WTO rules, China is obliged to open itself to foreign investment and ownership at a much earlier stage of its development than Japan did. Its export boom has been led by foreign firms. China is rife with intellectual piracy, hidden trade barriers, and other impediments. But overall it is harder for foreign economies or foreign companies to claim damage from China’s trade policies than from Japan’s.
When I was living in Japan through its boom of the late ’80s, I argued in this magazine that its behavior illustrated some great historic truths that economic models cannot easily include. Sometimes societies pursue goals other than the one economists consider rational: the greatest possible growth of consumer well-being. This has been true of America mainly during wartime, but also when it has pursued martial-toned projects thought to be in the nation’s interest: building interstate highways, sending men into space, perhaps someday developing alternative energy supplies. In a more consistent way, over decades, this has been true of Japan.
For anyone who has taken Ec 101, the natural response would be: That’s their problem! They’re making high-quality products for everyone else, so what’s not to like? But in the past decade, a growing number of respectable economists have argued that the situation is not that simple. If one nation deliberately promotes high-tech and high-value industries, it can end up with more of those industries, and more of the high-wage jobs that go with them, than it would have otherwise. This is not economically “rational”—European countries have paid heavily for each job they have created through Airbus. But Boeing sells fewer airplanes and employs fewer engineers than it presumably would without competition from Airbus. The United States does not have to emulate Europe’s approach, or Japan’s. But it needs to be aware of them, and of the possible consequences. (With different emphases, Paul Samuelson of MIT, Alan Blinder and William Baumol of Princeton, and Ralph Gomory, head of the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, have advanced this argument.)
China’s behavior, and that of its companies, is easier to match with standard economic theories than Japan’s. So far, deals like those struck at the Sheraton Four Points have been mainly good for all parties. Chinese families have new opportunities in life. American customers have wider choices. American investors have better returns. But, of course, there are complications.
First is the social effect visible around the world, which in homage to China’s Communist past we can call “intensifying the contradictions.” Global trade involves one great contradiction: The lower the barriers to the flow of money, products, and ideas, the less it matters where people live. But because most people cannot move from one country to another, it will always matter where people live. In a world of frictionless, completely globalized trade.
