Government Bubble Blowing
Land
speculating is, of course, as old a practice in Japan as it is in any
capitalist country. But a big inflator of the bubbles in Japan has
always been the favorable climate of government attitude: little land
regulation; less land-use policy; low tax rates and loophole-ridden tax
laws on capital gains from land; and strictly regulated interest rates
and artificially mandated credit ratings that have allowed major
players, such as trading companies, and minor ones, such as real estate
agencies, to raise speculative capital easily at low cost, no matter how
high the debt-to-equity ratio on any corporation’s books.
But
now there is something new: land value inflation has become almost an
instrument of administrative policy in Japan. The confluence of three
powerful forces led to virtual—although unintentional—government
sponsorship of the start of the land value boom: Japan’s lagging public
investment in infrastructure, its promise to its trading partners to
stimulate domestic demand, and the spectacular rise in the value of the
yen following the Plaza Accord of 1985, which threatened Japanese
exporters’ price competitiveness in global markets.
In
the mid-1980s, under Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone, Japan began to
formulate a new master reconstruction plan. Its purpose was to frame a
comprehensive vision and a set of goals for national development that
would boost domestic demand to towering heights. The government was to
unveil this Yonzenso, or fourth national development plan, formally in
June 1987, but its most important themes were under public discussion
long before that. There was much discussion of the need for
decentralization, but one of the most significant aspects of this plan
was that, on balance, it unmistakably pointed to Tokyo’s continuing role
as Japan’s single center of national government, economic, and
industrial policy-making and management—the capital for all three of
these spheres. In the context of the United States, Tokyo’s
concentration of power and influence exceeds even the colocation of all
of Washington, D.C.’s politics and all of New York City’s economics.
Very simply, the plan’s final message was that to be involved in Japan,
to be a participant in important events, is to be in Tokyo. Thus the
Yonzenso sees population in the greater Tokyo area growing by 3 million
people—a 10% increase—by the
year 2000. This growth would come on top of Tokyo’s existing population
density: 30 million people in a 30-mile radius. While Japan is
certainly not a planned economy in the Soviet sense, and nothing was
mandatory about the Yonzenso’s development targets, the plan did
indicate to Japanese industry leaders where government policy,
investment, and budgeting pointed for the future: to intensive
commercial and infrastructural development. And it came at a pivotal
time.
While
the plan was still in research and drafting stages in late 1985, the
Plaza agreement brought about the precipitate expansion in value of the
yen—which, at one stage, almost doubled against the dollar. This
development prompted deep concern on the part of both industry and
government: if the yen rose high enough to force corporations to raise
their prices overseas, it could cut into the nation’s command of export
markets. But a look at the background against which the currency
realignment took place helps to explain why it too contributed to
triggering the Tokyo land boom.
For
decades, Japan’s Finance Ministry had been the absolute arbiter of the
credit resources with which Japanese industry rebuilt itself after World
War II. Large Japanese corporations did not raise capital in equities
markets but borrowed it, usually from banks or insurance companies
within their own industrial groups, keiretsu.
These institutions dispensed the high private savings of the nation
more or less at the informal direction of the Ministry of Finance,
acting through the Bank of Japan.
That
began to change from the late 1970s. With a strong dollar boosting
Japanese exports to the United States and high-tech products commanding
high margins, corporate profits soared: between 1978 and 1983, for
example, annual profits of Matsushita Electric Industrial rose by more
than 60%, from ¥116 billion
to ¥195 billion; those of Toyota doubled, from ¥202 billion to ¥415
billion; and those of both Fujitsu and Toshiba quintupled—in just five
years. These strong earnings, in turn, began to make it unnecessary for
many big Japanese companies to rely on heavy borrowings to finance their
continued growth. And the Ministry of Finance began to feel a threat to
the considerable measure of informal power it had long held over these
companies through credit controls.
To
reinforce its influence in the industrial sphere, the Ministry of
Finance switched to a policy of encouraging continued corporate
borrowing, not on the basis of actual capital needs but on the basis of
supporting the banks—which then had no other customer base as strong as
the major companies, inside or outside Japan. In other words, for
reasons of its own, and to boost domestic demand, the Finance Ministry
set a policy of “cheap money” lending to corporate borrowers. And it
encouraged the banks to spread their liberal lending activities downward
and outward through the economy, to medium- and small-size companies,
opening up a second tier of liquidity circulation and another arena for
land speculations with borrowed cash. In turn, the companies applied
much of this cheap money not to operations but to speculation in the
capital market, or zaiteku.
In
1986, when the soaring yen began to put immense pressure on Japanese
export prices in overseas markets, the specter of market share loss by
Japan’s flagship corporations and even domestic recession loomed
frighteningly close. Rather than give up market share, the corporations
and their suppliers kept price hikes to a minimum and swallowed
consequent losses. At the same time, they scrambled to find new ways to
lower their production costs and regain some balance through the
diminished yen prices of imported raw materials and component parts. The
Finance Ministry also responded admirably: first, it conveniently
yielded to foreign pressure to lower national interest rates to the
lowest in the developed world; second, it pursued deregulation and
domestic stimulation in the ways that flooded the national economy with
extra cash. In the previous decade, the Bank of Japan had kept growth in
the money supply, broadly defined, to around 8% per year. But from May 1987 to April 1989—for two full years—Japan’s money supply showed a growth rate of 10% or higher on an annual basis, in every month.
The
government was thereby setting the stage for borrowed money to finance
the domestic demand surge, the production cost reduction, and the
absorption of out-and-out losses that would help Japanese companies
survive the high yen. Once these companies got through the hard year of
1986, when GNP growth slowed to 2.4%, and into 1987, when it sprang back to 4.3%, once they were adjusted to the high yen, they could switch their capital flows into central Tokyo land—60%
of which is owned by corporations—with their now-surplus borrowed cash.
This, then, is what helped turn a speculators’ bubble into the genuine
vortex of land price acceleration in Tokyo: 10.4% in 1986, 57.5% in 1987, 22.6%
in 1988. Residential, industrial, commercial: the increases spread all
across the real estate landscape. Corporations suddenly found the asset
value of the land on their books going up by multiples. The “average”
Tokyo square meter that cost ¥1 million in January 1986 had an appraised
value of ¥2.13 million at the end of 1988. And that was just the
average: in the central three wards of downtown Tokyo, some prices
climbed over 400%.
To
corporations, the appeal of these quickly inflating asset values was
that banks were eager to lend against the land as collateral at 80% or more of “fair market value.” So corporate credit lines, at interest rates then under 5%,
rose in multiples right along with them. The 13 most important Japanese
city banks and other big lenders such as insurance companies were
transformed into fountainheads of corporate credit that grew along with
the speculative value of the land—whether sold or unsold.
Mitsubishi Estate, for example, which made such a dramatic appearance in the U.S. media last fall with its $846 million purchase of 51% of the Rockefeller Group Inc., could easily afford that outlay: its unrealized land assets alone have reportedly reached $70 billion. In fact, latent real estate values held by all Japanese corporations are estimated to have grown by more than $2
trillion in the three years between 1985 and 1988. That is an amount
equal to half the value of the entire Tokyo Stock Exchange as it stood
at the end of 1989.
Leveraging the Land
But
even these hidden—and therefore untaxed—profits were not the full value
that Japanese corporations derived from the land boom. Banks and
insurers will also lend to corporations against the collateral of stock
portfolios—at “fair market value.” And Japan’s big corporations have
long preferred to have the majority of their shares held by creditors
and other corporate members of their keiretsu—industrial families such
as Mitsui, Mitsubishi, and Sumitomo, each numbering dozens of
corporations among its members, besides those that carry its flagship
name. This pattern is known as “stable shareholding” because it guards
against takeover attempts: stable shareholders are also creditors,
suppliers, partners, or customers—or all four—of the company whose
shares they hold. And that company is, in turn, a holder of a large
number of their shares. So pervasive is this pattern in Japan that as
much as 70% of all major
corporate equity is estimated to be in the portfolios of Japan’s big
corporations. In other words, companies hold most of each other’s stock:
70% of the staggering ¥580
trillion at which the Tokyo Stock Exchange First Section, which lists
the country’s principal corporations, was valued in early 1990.
Because
of tight government regulation of the domestic financial industry and
because of low prevailing interest rates, funds raised for zaiteku
investment during this period had no truly inviting domestic targets
other than the Tokyo stock market (or else, overseas financial markets).
Fueled by speculative borrowings against the land values held by
businesses and private landlords (even home owners), the Tokyo stock
market swung into its now famous skyward climb. Shares held by
corporations became another asset with rapid rates of growth in value and
in value as collateral for borrowings. Although operating profits were
quite good for many of the principal Japanese corporations in 1987 and
1988, a look at the price-to-earnings ratios of the Tokyo Stock Exchange
indicates that it wasn’t only the basic business performance of listed
companies that was bringing in investors. It was “land money”—which
created a kind of double leveraging of the land itself: capital value
reflected in land prices and
in share prices, the latter realized as cash through the liquidity that
land speculating had created. And, of course, the more capital acquired
by corporations in the stock market, the more available to them for
further nonoperating investment—such as more land. The Japanese had
created a sort of “never-ending circle.”
To
illustrate the effect, in 1987 alone, capital gains of the whole
nation, including the unrealized gains from inflation of land and stock
prices, reached ¥480 trillion, the equivalent of more than $3.43 trillion at the exchange rate of ¥140 to $1. That figure was 40% more than the total nominal GNP.
And
then a third kind of leveraging of the land began. As corporations
watched the values of their shares rise, they have increasingly turned
to the equities markets for something rather novel in Japan: major
capital increases. New share issues became frequent occurrences in
Tokyo; in fiscal 1988 and 1989, they were expected to total nearly ¥10
trillion in value. But since Japanese corporations always seek to
maintain the patterns of “stable shareholding,” when they issue new
shares they make sure that their family members and creditor
corporations maintain their high ratio of shareholding. In other words,
they expect their lenders and family members to keep the proportions of
total corporate shareholding stable by absorbing the appropriate
percentage of the new issue. These shareholders do so on the strength of
two considerations.
First,
as long as share prices are rising, the value of their own portfolios,
which serve as a primary collateral for still more borrowing at the
bank, grow with each acquisition of shares. Second, they can each in
turn ask all the other creditors and family members to buy similar
proportions of their new issues when they make them. In effect, these
purchases can thus be made close to cost-neutral: what cash a
corporation gives to a family member to buy its new shares comes back
more or less, sooner or later, when it sells its new shares to the same
family member. And, of course, the companies can collateralize the
resulting rise in the values of both portfolios for further borrowing.
They also use these accelerated share values as collateral in other
ways: by issuing large amounts of warrants and convertible bonds, at
home and overseas, at very low issuing costs.
If
all of this seems dizzying, consider the larger implications. Land is
the ultimate security for a vast portion of all of this debt and much of
the new capitalization. The exact ratio of total bank debt
collateralized directly or indirectly by land is not known but has been
estimated at 30% or more.
Other creditors active in the real estate and corporate and household
lending markets, such as insurance companies, leasing companies, and
financial services firms, presumably add heavily to the volume.
If
those land prices were to decrease sharply, so also would the abilities
of many of the landowners who are not first-rank corporations to
service the debts they collateralize—especially those companies in the
real estate industry itself. If there were defaults, the business
results of the lenders would also decrease sharply. And so too, if paper
“fair values” were to drop, would the asset values of the borrowers.
The lenders would, in turn, find the value of much, if not all, of their
real estate collateral declining drastically—and with it the stability
of their vast loan portfolios. And if stock assets had to be liquidated
on any large scale to meet loan payment schedules, the stock market
would certainly be affected as well.
Japan’s
financial bureaucracy, working mainly through the Bank of Japan, has
never allowed even the most abysmally managed Japanese bank to fail. Nor
has it thus far allowed the Tokyo stock market to become engulfed in
any real crisis, such as that surrounding the mini-crash of 1987 in the
United States. As the stakes grow each day, should there be a land
crash, it is hard to imagine that the government can or will change that
policy soon.
Thus
the government can allow nothing to be threatened but the most marginal
investments in land: the risks of a real burst of the land bubble would
spread too far. But this government protection against a Japanese-led
global bust raises another, more fundamental question: Is a market that
the national government directly and ultimately underwrites against
major loss to the point that it is virtually risk-free for its biggest
players (almost all of whom are Japanese) really what Americans
understand by the term “free market”?
Japan’s Budgetary Demographics
What are the results of this huge ratcheting-up of Japanese credit and capital?
The
first is to guarantee the continued upward spiraling of land prices in
Japan. In 1988, land prices across the nation rose an average of 8.3%, but regional cities showed much higher increases: Osaka rose by 32.1%, reaching levels nearly two-thirds those of Tokyo; Nagoya land went up by 16.4%. Tokyo’s residential land is still going up as well: over the first nine months of 1989 it rose by 3%.
And even though the rate of growth has slowed, loans to real estate
companies for land purchases continue to soar: aggregate loans expanded
in 1989 by 14.4% over 1988—and 1988 was up by at least 12.8%
over 1987. Other cities have been reporting astronomical growth rates.
In Narita City, near Tokyo’s soon-to-be-expanded international airport,
residential land prices doubled between 1988 and 1989. In Utsunomiya,
100 kilometers from Tokyo, commercial land prices rose 31% over that same time period.
This
year’s downturn in the Tokyo stock market, though attributed to other
causes, may be in part a reflection of the staggering overvaluation of
Japan’s land assets—as well as a corrective to its inflationary impact.
The downswing cooled, temporarily, the ardor of many corporations for
new securities issues, an expansion of corporate capital so large and
rapid that it had begun to push domestic prices up sharply in late 1989.
The government, watching pressures mount for large and still further
inflationary wage increases in Japan’s annual spring labor negotiations,
must have felt strong relief in seeing at least a temporary
constriction in the growth of money streaming into the corporate
economy. By year-end, its own priorities had refocused strongly on
controlling inflation. As of this writing, it remained to be seen
whether stock market developments would also influence the upward march
of land prices—or lending against securities portfolios.
But
the reason for the spreading land price impact is more than just the
“bicycle effect” of the land price increases themselves. It is not just a
speculative impulse that is at work but a subtle change in Japan’s
budgetary demographics. As Japan’s fourth national plan points out, the
country is badly in need of a wide range of urban and suburban
upgrading. In the past, government funding of public works projects has
played the leading role in these investment efforts. A large percentage
of funds for public works projects has come, however, not from the
regular national budget but from the Fiscal Investment and Loan Program,
a fund that is fed mainly by the national postal savings system. In
turn, this system has historically been fed by the deposits of enormous
numbers of small savers, holding a large percentage of the nation’s
storied private savings as long-term deposits because of tax exemptions
granted on earned interest.
Now,
however, Japan’s partial financial deregulation and the recent removal
of this favorable tax treatment has begun to drive small savers away
from the Post Office in search of higher returns. Moreover, the
progressive aging of the Japanese population—with its heavy demographic
skew toward an older base—means that more people will spend their life’s
savings and fewer people will accrue them. Both factors mean that Japan
must now find new ways to raise capital to rebuild—or build
initially—the public works and infrastructure that the country so badly
needs.
The
only realistic answer the Japanese government can embrace to build
public projects while avoiding the abyss of public debt is
private-sector investment. Land price inflation has made this conclusion
unavoidable: in urban areas, especially Tokyo, as much as 80%
of some public works budgets go just to purchase the land. And, of
course, the government realizes nothing in the way of speculative
benefits from the land it acquires. On the other hand, businesses
sometimes can—if the public improvements, such as new roads, convention
centers, bay-front reclamation, airports, and so on, also engender
commercial development opportunities. The Japanese have found a way to
draw in private money for public works through minkatsu,
or third-sector corporations that combine national and local government
funding with private commercial investment. These joint ventures offer
corporate investors the chance—perhaps even the certainty—that land
investments will ultimately show the kind of appreciation rates that
have become common in Osaka and elsewhere, perhaps even the same as in
Tokyo.
More
than 500 development projects are now either underway, planned, or
under consideration in the greater Osaka-Kyoto-Kobe area alone,
including the construction of a new international airport and a “science
city” that will eventually become one of Japan’s premier
government-industry cooperative research parks. Approximately 75%
of the money being invested in projects already underway is from Tokyo
institutional sources. In other words, the Tokyo land play is now being
transplanted to Kansai. It has produced the average annual appreciation
in Osaka urban commercial land of more than 35% over the past two years; next it will likely move to Nagoya, then to other cities such as Hiroshima and Sendai.
It
is a paradoxical fact that the land price boom has spurred more
development investment, not less. It is because ventures that otherwise
would be infeasible economically suddenly sprout promise when the asset
value of land appreciates by large percentages each year. Of course,
once the projects are completed, the question becomes, where will the
real returns come from? The answer is, they will come from higher rents
and user fees and higher price markups for the goods and services
marketed in the completed developments. Which is another way of saying
that the investments are bound to create strong pressure for future
regional inflation.
Homes
in Tokyo now sell for 15 times the average salaried worker’s annual
gross wage. Even small condominium units, 68 meters square, sell for
nearly 10 years’ pay. First-time buyers would have to contract 50- to
90-year mortgages to make the payments, even at Japan’s relatively low
interest rates; one lender has even begun offering 100-year housing
loans. Land prices paid in the Tokyo run-up made returns on some
commercial property a matter of a century or more. It is clear that,
once leases begin to expire, steady rent increases will have to
ameliorate that impossible pressure. The result: inflation and a
downward trend in home ownership for first-time buyers are being built
into the Japanese economy for decades to come.
Global Financial Power
Japanese
corporations, with their huge realized and latent assets, are now as a
whole the wealthiest in the world: they account for nearly half of the
total market capital value of the world’s top 1,000 corporations,
according to one recent survey. The result cannot help but be felt
abroad and goes far beyond funding the U.S. Treasury’s debt through bond
absorption: Japan’s net overseas assets at the end of 1988 stood at
more than a quarter of a trillion dollars, the highest figure of all
nations for the fourth consecutive year. The world’s ten biggest banks
are all Japanese. And those banks are using their capital-cost
advantages to capture ever growing shares of the world banking
market—just as Japanese companies have used pricing in the past to
capture huge shares of the world consumer electronics, automotive, and
memory chip markets. Nearly half of the Japanese overseas assets belong
to banks, and Japanese banks have already become the largest lenders in
international banking, with a world share greater than 20% for the first half of 1989.
According
to one recent report, Japan’s 13 largest banks now have more than five
times the combined capitalization of America’s 50 biggest banks and may
enjoy an estimated cost-of-funds advantage of at least half a percent.
Lower cost, underselling, investment in marketing networks—these are
classic Japanese means of achieving domination in foreign markets.
Already Japanese banks control 25%
of California’s banking, in a state which by itself possesses the
world’s sixth largest economy. Some U.S. bankers reportedly feel that
the Japanese could capture the same percentage of the entire U.S.
commercial loan market by the mid-1990s.
Some
U.S. businesspeople outside the banking and financial industries who
have watched the trend in U.S. business toward reliance on debt
financing may be inclined to welcome these new Japanese creditors. After
all, they represent a strong competitive element, one that will help
reduce business costs by anchoring the low-interest end of the lending
market. But as Japanese businesses absorb dozens of American businesses,
large and small, these same observers might well ask themselves how
comfortable they would be if a competitor of theirs were acquired by a
member company of a Japanese industrial family group, which could then
turn to a bank belonging to the same family for preferential loans. In a
sharply contested market where even a small difference in interest
costs could make all the difference between profits and losses, between
those who can afford to compete and those who cannot; or in a recession,
when debt management by a cooperative borrower-lender “team” could
spell the difference between receivership and survival—in these and
other crucial circumstances, preferential credit could make a huge
difference in the real terms of competition. Many companies that the
Japanese are now acquiring in the United States are in highly
competitive technology fields where access to R&D funds is crucial
or cyclical retooling costs are very high. What strengths do these
competitors gain with access to preferentially termed Japanese loans?
Of
course, land prices in Japan have already begun to affect land prices
in the United States: the Japanese outbid other contenders for such
properties as the Rockefeller Group with its Plaza holdings not only
because of their enormous liquidity but also because real estate returns
in the United States now average 7% annually, versus 2%
annually in the overpriced Japanese market. Japanese land generates
capital; foreign land generates income. The world is the real
marketplace for Japanese real estate buyers. Japanese life insurers
reportedly invested nearly £500 million in the British real estate
market from September 1988 to early fall of 1989; observers forecast
continued dramatic growth.
At
a time when, in the words of one Japanese commentator, “Tokyo has
become a bazaar of American assets,” the effects of Japanese merger and
acquisition activity in the United States are still not well understood.
Americans have often bought a company as much with the idea of breaking
it up to realize immediate profits as operating the new acquisition as a
going concern. When the Japanese buy a company, they often do so not
merely to acquire assets and plant. They also acquire market
share—something they previously had to struggle to build through their
own costly and time-consuming marketing efforts.
Wall Street gasped when Bridgestone far outbid Pirelli to pay $2.6
billion for a Firestone enterprise that had weak market share and
antiquated plant. But the tire industry itself gasped when, less than a
year later, Bridgestone announced that it would pour an additional $1.5
billion into Firestone, mainly to modernize and expand production.
Recent reports indicate that Firestone is already posing a newly
sharpened competitive challenge to Goodyear, the world’s largest tire
maker. How many more American companies of lesser rank will be surprised
at the reshaping of their domestic market’s competitive landscape by
the inflow of capital from Japan?
In
1988, Japan’s private sector outspent the United States itself in
capital investment, with a figure totaling nearly half a trillion
dollars. For the fiscal year ending March 31, 1989, the Japanese
manufacturing sector indicated plans to increase capital outlays again,
by some 25% over the
preceding year’s levels. The real race in manufacturing industries now,
for the Japanese, is to transform their low capital costs into low
production costs. And they are doing that, with plant modernization and
capacity expansion programs on an enormous scale.
The Value of Money
Some
years ago, Peter Drucker said prophetically that the business future
belongs to those enterprises with the best access to capital. Japan is
proving him correct. What neither he nor anyone else in American
business could foresee is that the Japanese would create their capital
advantage by realizing a theory that every capitalist nation knows but
no others have yet dared to act on for open advantage: money is only
paper, with no intrinsic value other than what buyer and seller agree
on.
The
real Japanese innovation came, as usual, in linking something old and
familiar with something new and opportune: manipulation of the domestic
land market and the global deregulation of capital markets. By claiming
that their land is worth anything the buyers and sellers of credit claim
it is, and by realizing that amount as actual cash, through the
wide-open, cheap-money lending policies of the Ministry of Finance (and
the securities markets, where billions of dollars of that money is
pooled), Japanese corporations are making the theory work for them.
How
could it be done on such a breathtaking scale, without so far
triggering the ruinous inflation that the laws of free market economics
would seem to dictate? Part of the answer, certainly, is Japanese
domination of entire industries—the manufacturing machine that continues
to generate consumer and industrial products that the entire world both
needs and wants. The economic and political system that underlies this
manufacturing performance has produced a growth machine that is
unparalleled in the world; the Japanese now forecast that by the year
2000, they will have a GNP roughly equivalent to that of the United
States.
Another
part of the answer is the way in which the Japanese have been able to
apply that industrial growth system to the larger workings of the whole
economy. So pervasive is the ability of the elite bureaucrats, business
leaders, and industrial groupings to maintain informal, extralegal
control over economic processes, including the workings of the
marketplace, that the conventional term “free market capitalist economy”
hardly applies at all. Ultimately, no country or enterprise competing
within the framework of a genuinely free market can hope to compete with
it either in Japan or abroad. Policymakers in the United States will
soon be forced to face the fact that the problems in the relationship
with Japan are not essentially of an economic nature, but are much more
intractable: they are political problems.
This
recognition is the most critical feature for American business and
political leaders, most of whom remain captive to the terms of their own
economic ideology. The economists’ argument continues to hold sway that
the import of capital to the United States is entirely beneficial: it
bolsters industries, creates jobs, rejuvenates companies, and generates
healthy new cash flows as Japan’s businesses are integrated with those
of the United States. Moreover, the argument goes, it is ultimately a
vote of confidence by the Japanese that the United States, despite
temporary economic difficulties, has the stronger, more powerful economy
and the greater future. Undeniably these claims are true; doubtless the
Japanese investors do see a promising future in the United States.
But
the problem remains: Japanese direct investment capital does not really
“migrate.” Quite apart from the vital questions of which country the
R&D will be done in, or where components will be produced, the
crucial fact is that, once the Japanese acquire an American company,
management, not just ownership, shifts to Japanese control. That means
that management’s functions and perspectives fit a Japanese, not an
American, schematic of industrial and economic plans and goals.
This,
then, becomes the question: How much actual control of strategic and
vital industries shifts to Tokyo with every new acquisition of another
American corporation? The answer emerges only in the context of the
Japanese system that powerfully joins industrial groupings and
government bureaucrats to target global industries and markets, while
keeping its own home market inhospitable and its corporate ownership
closed to outsiders. Until U.S. business and government leaders are
prepared to face this reality and everything it implies, American
business will continue to operate blindly in a competition in which
winning is not possible while adhering to the rules of free market
economies.
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