China Private Equity

If I had one minute of national air time in China and could provide a single piece of information to correct a deep cultural misunderstanding, here’s what I would say, “You like to try, but it’s really hard, maybe impossible, to guess a white person’s nationality.”

Just about every Chinese I meet asks me where I’m from. My usual response is “Where do you think?”. What then follows, almost invariably, is “You look like you are from…” following by the name of various countries inhabited by large numbers of white people. Canada, France, Australia, Spain, Russia, Switzerland, Italy. I’ve heard them all.

There’s usually a note of certainty and keen deductive reasoning about it, for example, “people as tall as you are come from France, so you must be French”, or “people in America have big noses, and you do, so you are American, right?”, or “you are so friendly, you are English”, or “Canadians have blue eyes, so you should be Canadian”.

There is universal disbelief when I explain that white people pretty much all look the same, and that in most cases, I can’t tell by looking at Caucasians where they are from. The small clues I might use – differences in clothing, accent, hairstyles – are not perceived or understood by Chinese. They just look at the skin color and then form a conclusion.

About one-third of the time, someone guesses right. When I ask them why they think I’m American, I hear all kinds of things, some flattering, some not. Equally, when I correct a wrong guess, I’m then often lectured, in a friendly way, why I couldn’t possibly be American, because American men are all lighter-skinned than me, or have mustaches, or are balding. And so on.

I always enjoy these little exchanges. As far as I can tell, my Chinese interlocutors do as well. If I have the time, I’ll explain that white Americans are really deracinated Europeans, whose ancestors came from England, Germany, Ireland, Italy, Eastern Europe. We still look pretty much the same as people still living in those places.

This usually is news to Chinese. I suggest to them that just as lots, though not all,  Japanese and Koreans can pass for Chinese, and that large numbers of Thai, Indonesian and Filipino citizens have Chinese ancestry, so many white people look like they could come from any number of different countries.

From what I can tell,  many Chinese think there is a distinct American “race”, with unique appearance and physique. Sometimes I fit that “genotype” for them. Sometimes not.  Chinese are used to hearing over and over how their own country is made up of 55 different ethnic minorities, many of whom look rather similar to the Han people who make up 91%.5 of the country’s 1.3 billion peope.  Quite a few, therefore, surmise countries in Europe and North America are populated by unique “races” , all somewhat similar, but each with its own unique ethnic identity. Sometimes costumes as well.

The irony is that when pressed, most Chinese will admit that to them, all white people look pretty much the same. They are happy to guess a white person’s nationality, despite the fact that to them whites all look more or less alike. From what I can tell, Chinese don’t “see” a white face the way white people do. They don’t apprehend the big differences among whites in hair, eye and skin color.

If some of these more subtle differences don’t make of an impression, overall Chinese have gotten far more familiar seeing white faces, mainly on TV, but also in major cities like Shanghai and Beijing. Compare this to the situation 200 years ago when Europeans first began making their presence known, often forcefully, to the Chinese. Then, Chinese described foreigners mainly as peope in garish costumes, with long red beards, and an overall appearance not unlike either monkeys or the devil. (The porcelain plate displayed above is from that time, the Qing Dynasty, showing a Chinese official receiving a European envoy.)

Truth to tell, I don’t much like being mistaken for a Russian, the most common guess. But, I’m always greeted warmly and with genuine curiosity and goodwill. That’s something those earlier visitors of European ancestry rarely, if ever, experienced.

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Ask Chinese where the country’s leader Hu Jintao comes from and you will be told “Anhui Province”. Simple. Except it isn’t. In Jiangsu province recently, I was told by several locals that Hu was raised and schooled in Taizhou, a small city in the northeastern corner of their province. Disinformation meant to confound a foreigner? Apparently not.

In this case, as well as in China more generally, both can be true simultaneously true, that a person is said to come from one place, although he was actually born and raised in another. The reason for this seeming conundrum is the central importance Chinese themselves place on the concept of 老家，(“laojia”), literally one’s “old home”. It is, after asking someone’s name, the most common as well as most pertinent question you hear people ask one another when first introduced, “where in your laojia?” .

Chinese ask because nothing else is meant to be as telling, as shorthand, in determining the character, interests, personal habits, even taste in food of a person you’ve just met. Your laojia is Henan? It’s a place of con artists and simple poor peasants. Hubei? The smartest Chinese come from here.  Guangdong? Not keen on education but good at making money. Shandong? Strongly influenced by the values of the province’s native son, Confucius. And so on.

Laojia matters because Chinese are convinced it does. Living here, I’ve adopted the habit of asking a person’s laojia and have come to see it as providing some clues to a person’s character – if nothing else, it can often indicate a person’s tolerance for spicy food, preference for noodles or rice, yen for hard liquor.

In Hu Jintao’s case, he is considered a native of Anhui because his grandparents (and probably innumerable generations before them) came from this region of China. It is meant to inform his judgment, personality and provide the main reason Anhui Province is said to have experienced very high gdp growth during Hu’s tenure. He oversaw policies and spending decisions that gave a big boost to this once-poor area of China.  In US politics, this is known as “bringing home the bacon”.

And yet, from what I was told, Hu has little personal connection to Anhui. He was born and spent all his formative years in Jiangsu.  His grandparents emigrated there.  Then and now Jiangsu was among the most developed, economically successful areas of China, with a strong tradition of higher education and high professional achievement.

Hu’s spoken Chinese bears no trace of an Anhui accent, or any regional accent for that matter. His working years before becoming China’s party secretary were spent in various corners of the country, including Tibet and Guizhou, but never in Anhui. But, from what I was told, his parents raised him on Anhui food, and with a strong sense of identity as “安徽人”, or a person whose laojia is Anhui. My guess is that is you asked him to name his laojia, he would say “Anhui”.

China’s likely next leader, Xi Jinping, is a born and bred Beijinger.  He is about to embark on an important visit to the US, a kind of trial run ahead of his elevation to the top spot as Party Secretary later this year. He is son of a first generation leader of the Communist Party, and grew up, it is widely assumed, with all the perks available to a child of one of the country’s top officials.  And yet, his laojia is considered to be Shaanxi, the ancestral home of his father, and a place he was sent to at 16 years old, during the Cultural Revolution.

Shaanxi is the cultural and historical heartland of Han China. Xi, it is widely assumed, will bring to the job of China’s leader not so much the values of a Beijing son of high privilege and power, known in Chinese as a 太子党, or “Communist Party Prince” but the practicality and diligence of Shaanxi folk.

 When Chinese find out I’m American, they often follow up by asking “where do your ancestors come from?” In effect, I’m being asked to name my laojia. I offer the answer (in my case, Middle Europe) and also a quick discourse on why this idea of laojia hasn’t such resonant meaning outside China.  Americans tend to be far more interested in where a person was raised and schooled, rather than the locus of the ancestral burial ground.  Anyway, I often explain to Chinese that as a Jew, my ancestors were pretty much on the run for 1,900 years before disembarking from a ship on New York’s Ellis Island over a century ago. We have no ancestral burial ground. No home turf. I am, for all practical purposes, a person without a laojia.

That would never be possible – or acceptable – for a native Chinese. Laojia provides a middle layer of identity for all Chinese, between family and country. Yet, unlike those other two, laojia is often as much mystical as it is practical.

For many Chinese, not just the current and likely future leader of China, one’s laojia may be a place you’ve seldom, if ever, visited. And yet it’s also the root source of one’s values and preferences, shaping one’s choice of friends, profession, entertainment, food. In China, one can be of a place but not from it.

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“Women”, in Mao Zedong’s memorable phrase, “hold up half the sky”. While not strictly the case in the business world, Chinese women do play a far more prominent role, both in starting and running big companies in China, than their sisters do elsewhere, particularly in the US and Europe.

According to a study last year by accounting firm Grant Thornton,  women hold 34% of the senior management positions in China, compared to an average of 20% elsewhere in the world. The percentages are also moving in opposite directions, with a greater proportion of top jobs in China going to women recently. Women held 31% of management jobs in China in 2009. Meantime, women are becoming less common in senior management in Europe and US, down from 24% over the same period.

And, no, it’s not just a case of women dominating “soft functions” like HR and accounting, as they often tend to do in the West. In China, 19% of women in management roles are serving as CEOs, compared to 8% elsewhere. A significant quotient of partners at private equity firms in China are women. The most talented and capable person in investment banking in China I know, Wang Yansong,  is female — even better, she works with me.

If there is a “glass ceiling” in China, it must be quite porous.

In my three-plus years in China, I’ve met far more successful big-time women entrepreneurs and bosses than I did in 25 years working in US and Europe. I’ve also been lucky enough to work with several, including one of China’s most well-known entrepreneurs, Mrs. He Yongzhi, the founder of the country’s largest spicy hotpot restaurant chain, 小天鹅, or “Little Cygnet”, with over 400 high-end restaurants across China.

Mrs. He started the business 30 years ago in a tiny alcove, with just five tables –no capital, no powerful backers and a competitor on every street corner. And yet, she has thrived. She invented the now-ubiquitous “yin-yang” twin-flavored stock pot commonly used not just in her own restaurant but in hotpot restaurants around the country.

Along with the restaurant chain, she also runs a food processing company, producing bottled hot sauces with her face on every label, and a large commercial real estate business, including five hotels in Chongqing, Sichuan and Tibet. Her daughter Weijia is a chip off the entrepreneurial block,  having started a high-end tea business called Nenlü.

Mrs. He’s  restaurant company has Sequoia Capital as an investor, and is planning an IPO next year that will likely make her into another of China’s self-made billionairesses. Already, half of the world’s self-made billionaires are from China. Over 10% of the richest businesspeople in China are women. That may not sound like much, but is light-years ahead of most every place in the world. In a typical working year, I will meet at least 10 women bosses who are well on the way to building an enormous fortune as founder and majority-owner of companies that may likely one day have an IPO in China.

Indeed, it’s one of the great joys of my working life, that I meet so many great “lady laoban”, as we call them, using the Chinese word for “boss”. I especially like meeting with women running metal-bashing businesses.  One of the more successful and elegant women bosses I know started and runs one of China’s largest private auto parts companies, making aluminum ventilation and heating systems for cars and large trucks.

At the factory, she wears a smock with the cotton elbow-protectors once in vogue among 19^th century English bookkeepers. Her husband works for her, as head of the security team. Her likely successor? Her one daughter, a recent new mom, who runs the company in tandem with her mother. Both mother and daughter are warm, lovely, attractive, fully at ease talking to truck mechanics and engineers, or walking the factory floor.

It may be a coincidence, but many of the women bosses I know do not have sons. Only daughters. Did they work harder in their professional lives to overcome the stigma (then large, now thankfully smaller) of having only girl children? It could be. But, such Western-style psychological theorizing seems misplaced. China has more great women entrepreneurs because 30 years ago, as China was ending its costly experiment with Maoist socialism, there were new huge areas of money-making opportunity open to all.  Gender mattered less than ambition, diligence, persuasiveness, business acumen and leadership skills. China after 1978 was a commercial “tabula rasa”. There were few established business rules and basically no role models (positive or negative) for anyone to follow.

China traditionally is a male-focused society, with deep-set roots in Confucian thinking that put husbands and sons well above the rank of wives and daughters. In many ways, this mindset still persists in China. And yet, paradoxically,  a society that puts men on a higher social plane can also provide women entrepreneurs with something of a level playing field in business.

In the last year, along with the two lady bosses already mentioned, I’ve met women who started and now run successful companies that make high-end LED screens, lease cars, provide an online B2B transaction platform, make and export embroidered blankets to Williams Sonoma. Never once have I heard a complaint about gender-discrimination or even a hint that the company has been victimized by negative perceptions about female bosses.

In the end, starting a company anywhere requires a tolerance of — if not full bear hug embrace of — risk. Women, so I’ve read, are programmed from birth to shun risk. It’s meant to be the reason there are comparatively few women combat soldiers and motorcycle riders, as well as successful entrepreneurs.

Gender theorists obviously never looked closely at China. Equally, Chinese women weren’t taught why they were destined by biology to underperform men in the workplace, to start fewer businesses, to climb high on fewer corporate ladders. Spared knowledge of these “facts”, they’re in full pursuit of their dreams and ambitions.

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Newspapers, as everyone knows by now, are a crummy business, being slowly but surely pounded to death by two major forces they can’t control. First, news is now available for free, instantly, online. So, no need to wait for – and pay for — tomorrow’s newspaper to find out what’s happened today. At the same time, Google and Craigslist have created a far more efficient, and generally far cheaper,  form of advertising online than traditional print advertising.

On the whole, it’s a very gloomy picture. But, there is one new newspaper business model that not only goes from strength to strength, it will likely continue to make big money for many years to come. It’s the free newspapers distributed on subway and metro systems. The first one appeared in Sweden in 1995. Shenzhen, where I live, this year got its first entrant, called “地铁早8点”( “8 O’clock” in English). These free newspapers seem inoculated from every pathogen that is killing off the big urban newspapers around the world like the New York Times, LA Times, Le Monde, South China Morning Post. 

Start with the fact they are free. That certainly makes it easier to find readers. Next, there’s guaranteed, efficient and low-cost distribution. In the case of 8 O’clock， the paper is handed out by reps or left in big piles weekday mornings at many of Shenzhen’s 137 subway stations. Based on my daily subway commute, I’d say the newspaper is now being read by well over 60% of the people on my morning rush-hour train. The newspaper is bulging with ads. By any standards, this is a both a business success and a repudiation of the notion that print newspapers are sledding towards extinction.

The key to success for 8 O’Clock is knowing who its readers are and what they want to read about. 8 O’Clock, like most free subway newspapers, attracts mainly under-40 office workers. They have very clear editorial tastes, and these differ in some key ways from the many newspapers that are now headed for the boneyard. For one thing, 8 O’clock doesn’t try to break major stories or even stay current on political or economic stories fighting for headlines elsewhere. Instead, it offers its readers a mix of brief articles about celebrities, sports stars, oddball “human interest” tales and the occasional local scandal. Around half of each page is pictures, either advertising copy or outsized art work accompanying the short articles.

8 O’Clock is owned by the biggest traditional newspaper publishing company in Shenzhen, called Shenzhen Press Group. It has ten other newspapers in Shenzhen, all using the conventional paid-circulation model. This offers some obvious traps for Shenzhen Press Group, most obviously in selling a product at newsstands with some strong similarities to the one it’s giving away for free in subway stations.  But, against that, Shenzhen Press Group is reaching people with 8 O’clock that most likely never buy paid-for newspapers. What’s more, Shenzhen Press Group already has an in-house advertising team and deep knowledge of the local market to sell ads efficiently in 8 O’Clock. A full-page color ad sells for around USD$25,000-$35,000, depending on the day of the week and placement. Readership is somewhere around 300,000 a day.

Beijing, Shanghai, Shenyang and Guangzhou all have their own free subway newspapers. All seem to be thriving.  Other countries also have them, including US, UK, Germany.

China is the ideal place for free subway-distributed newspapers to thrive. Start with the fact, of course, its cities are huge and subway ridership dwarves that of most Western cities. But, as important, the newspaper industry in China is relatively new. Chinese aren’t imprinted in the way that so many Americans and Europeans are about what newspapers are for. The popular ones see themselves, unashamedly, as for-profit vehicles: an effective advertising medium. Not as a civic trust.

The editorial goal is to get enough people reading articles at the top of the page to deliver big audiences, efficiently, for the advertisers renting space at the bottom. For 8 O’clock, the advertisers are mainly large auto brands, hospitals, realtors and big chain stores all of whose businesses are thriving in China’s booming domestic economy. 

In cities like Shenzhen, Shanghai and Beijing, purchasing power, along with property prices, are reaching first world levels. There’s massive net migration into large cities in China, compared with stagnant, or declining populations in most big Western cities. The subway systems are themselves mainly new, with extensive networks – 14 lines in Beijing, 11 in Shanghai, five in Shenzhen, with two more on the way. As the systems grow, so too will the profits of the free subway newspapers like 8 O’clock.

A generation ago, there was basically only one newspaper of any importance and readership in China, the Communist Party’s People’s Daily (“人民日报”).  It’s still published, and has changed little down the years, a slim sheaf of turgid and often theoretical writing barely leavened by photos or ads. Meanwhile, thousands of newspapers and magazines have entered the market with a broad range of content.

All major media in China are still subject to censorship and, in theory, under the control of the Party’s propaganda department. But, 8 O’clock has ample scope to provide what Shenzhen’s subway commuters are after, at a price they can’t argue with.  A financially healthy newspaper serving a financially prospering city– 8 O’clock will keep waltzing compared to the wretched papers in the US and Europe.

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Among major cities in China, Chengdu takes the prize as most pleasant, livable,  comfortably affluent, relaxed and charming. I arrived back here today. I’m reminded immediately there’s much to like about Chengdu, and one thing to love: the food.

Chengdu is famed for its “小吃”, (“xiaochi”) literally “small eats”. To translate 小吃 as “snack”, as most dictionaries do, doesn’t even remotely begin to do it justice. A 小吃  is a often one-bowl wonder of intense, jarring flavors. They not only take the place of a full meal with rice, they make the Chinese staple seem almost superfluous, a waste of precious space in the stomach.

There are about a dozen小吃 that can stop me in mid-stride, any time of day. These include several varieties of cold noodles, including the bean jelly ones called 凉粉, literally “cold powder”，as well as dandan noodles served dazzlingly hot, in both senses of the word.

My favorite 小吃 , by a wide margin, is 抄手 , literally, “to fold one’s arms”. It’s an odd name, since the last thing I’d ever do when I see a bowl of抄手 in Chengdu is fold my arms. They are always thrust outward, in anticipation.  抄手 is a bowl of wontons steeped in a fire-engine red soupy sauce, optimally with enough Sichuan pepper corn to numb the tongue all the way down the gullet. This frees up the nose to do the real work of decoding all the subtle flavors.

Offiically, Chengdu has a per capital income of around $5,200, about half Shanghai’s. But, I’d prefer living and working in Chengdu any day. So would many Chinese I know. The economy is doing well, despite some geographic disadvantages. Chengdu is the most westerly of China’s large cities, and so isolated from the most developed regions of China. It’s over 1,000 miles to Shanghai, Beijing, and almost as far to Shenzhen.

Chengdu is doing well economically – though you don’t always have a sense this ranks as high on the list of civic priorities as drinking tea and playing mahjong. The electronics and telecom industries are both doing well. Quite a few companies have received PE investment.

The one industry, however, that is still relatively undeveloped is the food business. This is odd. By logic, Chengdu should be a center of China’s food processing and restaurant industry. Not only is it a great food town, situated in a very region valley producing some of China’s best fruits and vegetables, but it is also capital of Sichuan Province.

Sichuan food is almost certainly the most popular “non native” cuisine across China. Within a mile of where I live in Shenzhen, there are probably over 50 Sichuan restaurants. It’s the same in Beijing, Shanghai and most other major cities.

There’s an innate association in Chinese minds between Sichuan and good food. In this, Sichuan reminds me a lot like Italy. Italian food is prized across all of the Western world, and as a result, some of the Western world’s biggest and most successful food companies are based in Italy. Among the larger ones are Barilla, Bertolli, Buitoni, Parmalat, Ferrero. These, and thousands of smaller ones making wine, cheese, salami, all benefit from the widespread popularity of Italian food, and the high market value of associating a food brand with Italy.

Chengdu and Sichuan should be no different. It should be the capital of China’s food processing industry. But, as far as I can tell, there are as of yet no great food companies or food brands based there.  If you shop around in Chengdu, the food products being marketed as “authentic Sichuan food ” are mainly an assortment of beef jerky, along with sweet and savory biscuits made from beans and peanuts.

There’s nothing wrong with any of these products, but there isn’t a big brand national brand among them. The mass market is going unserved.

Let’s look at two of the biggest food product categories where Sichuan brands should predominate: chili sauce and instant noodles. Each of these product areas have sales of billions of dollars a year in China. Yet, the leading brands come from outside Sichuan. In the case of instant noodles, the leaders are mainly Taiwanese and Japanese.

In chili sauce, the biggest brands all seem to come from Guizhou province. This, particularly, should cause a collective loss of face across Sichuan. Their spicy food  “owns” the palettes of hundreds of millions of people and yet the main brands of chili sauce in supermarkets come from the poorer province to its south.

The companies selling bottled pre-made Sichuan sauces (for popular dishes like Gongbao Jiding, Mapo Toufu and Yuxing Rousi) mainly come from Taiwan, Shanghai, even Hong Kong. It’s as if the most popular brands of spaghetti sauce were made in Brazil. Chinese food companies all over are eating Sichuan’s lunch.

This situation is unnatural and, I’d hope, unsustainable. Sichuan companies should by rights eventually dominate the market for many food products in China, much as Italian food companies are among the largest in Europe.

Some lucky PE investors should someday make a lot of money backing Sichuan food companies. Me and my company would love to play our part in this. Ambitious food entrepreneurs in Chengdu, call us anytime — 0755 33222093. If ever there were a billion-dollar unfilled market opportunity in China, this would be it.

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You’ve got to love the timing. With U.S. mired in a debt and spending crisis, with tax revenues stagnant and its government about to run out of borrowed money to spend, the Chinese government just announced that its fiscal revenues during the first half of 2011 rose by 29.6% compared to a year earlier. One country is a fiscal train-wreck, the other a fiscal gusher.

China’s tax revenues are surging for a host of reasons that set it apart from the US – the economy is booming, and in particular, businesses are thriving. According to the Chinese Ministry of Finance, profit taxes are growing especially quickly. Income and corporate tax rates are stable, at rates far lower than the US. China levies a nationwide VAT, while most of the US charges sales tax. Consumer spending is growing by over 20% in China, while it’s basically flat in the US.

To all these must be added another crucial difference: China is modernizing so quickly, that every year money pours in from new sources. China doesn’t need to raise tax rates to increase tax revenue. It just allows its citizens to get on with their lives.

Take auto sales. A decade ago, China produced and sold about two million cars. This year, it will sell about 20 million. China passed the US two years ago to become the world’s largest auto market. Since then, sales have grown by a further 40%.

Along with creating some of the world’s worst traffic congestion, all these new car sales do wonders for the country’s fiscal situation.  Start with the fact that every car sold in China has not just a 17% VAT built into its price, but a host of other taxes and levies. A consumption tax adds as much as 40% more to the sticker price depending on the size of the engine. Customs duties are also levied on imports.

These all add up fast. The government’s tax take from the sale of a single Mercedes-Benz can easily top Rmb325,000 (US$50,000). Last year alone, sales of Mercedes-Benz in China doubled. This year, Mercedes will sell about 180,000 cars in China. Total tax take: about USD$1 billion. Keep in mind that Mercedes-Benz has less than 1% of the Chinese market. BWM, Porsche and Lexus are also doing great in China. While they are all doing well, the Chinese government does even better. The government earns far more on the sale of every luxury car than the manufacturers do.

The sales and consumption taxes are just the start. Most news cars in China are sold to new drivers. That means, every year, there’s a significant net increase in the consumption of gasoline. Each liter of gasoline also carries a variety of different taxes – VAT, consumption tax, resource tax. Plus, almost every gas station and refiner in China is owned by companies majority-owned by the Chinese government. So, profits at the pump flow back to the government.

At the moment, the gasoline price in China is about Rmb7.5 per liter,  or Rmb30 ($4.60) per gallon. Figure the Chinese government is making about Rmb10 ($1.50) per gallon sold in tax. Each new car sold this year will likely contribute an additional $500-$600 in fuel taxes, or about Rmb100 billion in total. Again, a big chunk of that will be a net increase in fiscal revenues, since there are so many new drivers each year.

Think the same for sales of new apartments, air-conditioners, iPads and iPhones, plane and high-speed train tickets. Each one has all sorts of taxes built into its sales price, and then an annuity of future tax revenues from energy taxes, fees and assessments.

In the US, taxes and spending are so high, people grow more and more reluctant to spend. Huge budget deficits today, as Milton Friedman long ago established,  creates the expectation of tax increases tomorrow. Americans adjust their spending accordingly. Not so in China. Chinese keep spending and the government reaps the bounty.

As flush as the Chinese fisc now is, tax revenues represent only one part of the government’s huge cash hoard. To begin with, there is the over $3 trillion in official foreign exchange reserves. This money contributes little to no benefit to the economy as a whole, except bottling up pressure on the Renminbi to appreciate against the dollar. It’s basically money buried in the backyard.

The government also owns significant – often controlling — shares the country’s biggest and most profitable companies, including SinoPec, China Mobile, China Telecom.

Net profits at the 120 biggest centrally-controlled Chinese SOEs rose by 14.6% year-on-year during the first half of 2011, reaching Rmb457.17 billion yuan ($71 billion) . These 120 SOEs are meant to pay taxes and levies of almost twice that, Rmb850 billion, up 26.4% from 2010. No one quite knows how much of that money actually reaches the Chinese Treasury. But, of course,  the money is there, should it be needed – in a way the US Social Security “Trust Fund” most assuredly is not.

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China’s government is engaged in mortal combat to control rapidly-rising real estate prices. Or so you would believe from reading the newspapers and listening to all the economic commentary. But, it’s not entirely true. The reality is, China’s government is trying to navigate a tricky path between the interests of current homeowners, and those who’ve yet to join the housing ladder. Current homeowners, of course, are perfectly happy for prices to keep rising. In today’s China, homeowners are one-and-the-same with the country’s most important political constituency.

When I first came to China in 1981, this country was, both in its rhetoric and policy, still a nation of and for “workers and peasants”. These “have-not” groups enjoyed preferential access to housing, jobs and higher education.

Today, most power belongs to society’s “haves”, the urban and educated population that creates and captures the benefits of China’s remarkable economic growth. The government must seek to keep this group content. The easiest way to do this, of course, is to create policies and conditions where personal incomes continue to rise. Since most personal savings is tied up in housing and the stock market, the government must focus heavily, in ways perhaps no other government in the world does,  on measures that produce favorable outcomes for people with money tied up in property or shares.

Overall, China’s government has been consistently successful doing this. With housing prices, they’ve perhaps been a little too successful, since the policy mix has created a situation where prices continue to rise by over 50% on an annualized basis, and are now often higher, per square meter, than they are in most of the US and Europe. For the tens of millions who have owned property for more than six months, this translates into very significant increases in personal wealth.

In short, for every person currently priced out of the housing market, there maybe three or four who are feeling flusher than they ever have. That means, if you could measure such things, greater net happiness in China when property prices are rising.

China’s government, if it wanted to,  has the power to drive down housing prices in a hurry. It owns all the land in China. By releasing more of it for residential development, the certain outcome would be to lower or even roll back the growth of housing prices. Yet doing so will also have wealth effects on those who already own.

The other policy levers at the government’s disposal – introducing property taxes, restricting people from buying more than one residential property, raising minimum down-payments,  – can have some impact. These are the main tools the government is now using to moderate housing price inflation. But, all evidence is, these steps aren’t having a major impact. Property prices continue to rise, if less explosively than they did in 2009 and 2010.

Most of the talk from government is about increasing affordable housing, especially in cities. But, the policy mix is still designed in such a way that prices should continue to move upward.

Hong Kong is a constructive example. There too, property prices are high and moving higher, and the government is tinkering with policy changes to slow rapid increases. But, high property prices have been a fixture of Hong Kong life for a generation.

The Hong Kong government owns most of the undeveloped land. It tightly controls the amount of new land auctioned each year. This maximizes the government’s profits from land sales, while sustaining upward pressure on property prices overall. This makes all current owners, from large developers like Li Ka-shing’s Hutchinson Whampoa and Cheung Kong Holdings, happy as well as the two-thirds of Hong Kong citizens who own their own homes.

Home ownership in China is not quite as high overall. But, it is likely just as high, if not higher, among the huge part of China’s population whose political and economic clout is greatest. China is wise to want to extend to more people the benefits of home ownership. But, the next time you hear that China’s property prices are rapidly rising, the meaning is: the country’s very many haves now have very much more.

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Chinese real estate is no longer the easiest legal risk-adjusted money-making business in the world. It’s been a swift reversal. For the better part of twenty years, there’s been no simpler way to amass a great fortune than developing property in China.

The business model was as simple as it was profitable: acquire a piece of property from friends in government at a fraction of its market value, mortgage the property heavily with obliging state-owned banks, sell out most of the units (either offices or apartments) within weeks of construction beginning, and then pocket returns of 500% or more before the building was even occupied.

Continuously rising property prices, often increasing by 10% or more per month,  provided incentive to hold onto some units for later sale. A final wrinkle was to demand a cash advance from the construction company when awarding the building contract, so limiting even more the amount of capital needed, and improving return-on-equity even more.

There was just about zero risk in deals like this. Then, the Chinese government began clamping down, starting gingerly about a year ago and then with added ferocity in recent months,  in an effort to restrain property prices and overall inflation. At this point, what was once the easiest business in China has become one of the hardest. Sweetheart land deals are far more rare, as the central government in Beijing is no longer turning a blind eye.

More importantly, banks have all but stopped lending to property developers. This has dried up liquidity in an industry that was for many years awash in it. The projects getting built now, for the most part, are those where little or no bank debt is required. That means heavy upfront equity investment, or taking money from loan sharks who charge interest rates of 25%-30% a year. This fundamentally alters the arithmetic of a real estate deal in China. The more equity and high-interest debt that goes in, the lower the returns and, it seems,  the more likely a project is to hit problems.

And problems have become the norm. Another government change, little reported but absolutely crucial to the change in fortunes of the real estate business in China, is that it’s no longer easy and cheap to get current residents off the land, so it can be sold at a high price to a developer. New rules make it very expensive and risky for any developer to undertake this process of relocation and demolition.

Any delay, and delays are rampant, can quickly drain away a developer’s cash. For example, if one old tenant refuses to take the relocation money and move out, it is no longer a simple thing in most instances to get the local government, or hired goons, to force them out. Until all old tenants are resettled, no construction can begin. This can push back by months or even years the date that developers can begin pre-sales. Meantime, you keep paying usurious interest rates to lenders who have taken the whole project, as well as many of other unrelated assets, as collateral.

A final nail: residential real estate prices are now rising far more slowly. This is the result of tighter mortgage rules, property taxes in some cities, as well as new regulations that limit the number of apartments people can buy. In Beijing, for example, you need to prove you have paid local Beijing taxes before being allowed to buy.

Of course, taking the easy money out of real estate is a prime policy objective of the Chinese government. That the government would be successful in this was never much in doubt. The speed and geographical scope of the impact, however, has caught a lot of people (including me) by surprise. Projects that six months ago looked like sure things are today struggling. The sudden evaporation of bank finance, in particular, is playing havoc. Banks in China are state-controlled. When they responded slowly, earlier this year, to government suggestions they slow the flow of funds to the real estate sector, the government took more active measures, including raising six times banks’ reserve requirements.

Rocketing property prices are a major contributor, directly and indirectly, to inflation, which is now, by official figures, at its highest level in China in over three years. So, the government’s actions had a broader purpose than altering the return formula for real estate investment in China. At the moment, though, that’s been the main impact, to make it far harder to do both residential and commercial real estate projects in China. When and by how much inflation will be curbed is unclear.

The bigger question is: has the game changed permanently in Chinese real estate, or will things revert as soon as inflation is down to where the government wants it to be. The rising real estate prices of the last 20 years have not only helped the country’s real estate barons. They have also been a main source of rising middle class wealth in China. That’s where the government policy becomes more an art than science: how to strip away real estate developers’ easy profits, while keeping the middle class feeling flush and contented. I’ll write about that in a following blog post.

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China’s only abundant and inexhaustible natural resource is the entrepreneurial talent of its people. Nowhere else in the world can match the number of talented businesspeople, both in absolute numbers and as a share of the active population. That’s what I’ve learned in a 25-year career working alongside great entrepreneurs in the US, Europe and Asia. Today’s China is the most entrepreneurially-endowed place in the world. What that means, above all, is that China’s economy, propelled by robust entrepreneurial activity,  will prosper for the next several decades at least.

Entrepreneurs everywhere seem to share a common gene, and have more in common with one another than they do with the rest of the population in their home countries. They are more tolerant of risk, more compelled to try or invent new things, more able to see opportunities for profit, especially when they are invisible to others.

But, in China, entrepreneurs have some unique characteristics compared to those in the US and Europe. For one thing, until comparatively recently, China’s economy was a near-perfect socialist vacuum in which entrepreneurship could not survive.  The economy was almost entirely in state hands. Laws giving equal treatment to private companies were only introduced in 2005. Decades of pent-up entrepreneurial energy were unleashed. More great private companies have been started in the last ten years in China than in any other place in history.

We are still in the early years of the Big Bang of Chinese entrepreneurship. Everyone in the world is feeling the effects. Within China, private entrepreneurs now supply much of what China’s vast consumer market buys. Outside China, much of what’s labeled “Made in China” is produced in factories started and run by these new entrepreneurs.

There are some other important ways in which China’s entrepreneurs are different than those in US and Europe. A very minor percentage of China’s entrepreneurs are university graduates. They build their companies with almost no capital, and no access to bank credit. They face daunting challenges unknown to entrepreneurs most everywhere else: an absence of clear commercial laws or intellectual property protection, very burdensome tax and labor rules, holdover policies that give state-owned companies significant advantages.

Despite it all, every year, more of China’s population are going into business for themselves. Not all will build billion-dollar businesses. But, more will do so in China over the next several decades than anywhere else.

Partly, it’s simple math: China has both a huge domestic market and is the world’s largest manufacturing and exporting nation. But, these factors are themselves the product of China’s earlier entrepreneurial success, not a precondition for it. Earlier entrepreneurs created the fertile environment for today’s new private companies to thrive. The process is cumulative, and very fast-moving.. I see this every day in my work. We are meeting more great entrepreneurs now, on a weekly basis, than we did three, six or twelve months ago.

Another fact stands out when I compare these Chinese entrepreneurs to others I’ve worked with in the US and Europe. Chinese entrepreneurs do most everything single-handedly. They build companies without relying on a big management team or a circle of advisors. Decision-making is mainly based on hunch and experience, not on market research or focus groups. Even large private companies in China are managed like sole proprietorships. Nothing of importance is delegated. One person controls all the decision-making levers, casting the one and deciding vote on any issue of importance to do with operations, marketing, finance, strategy, sales. They are lone navigators, steering their businesses through very tricky waters, dealing with government officials, suppliers, customers, as well as their own employees.

Since starting China First Capital three years ago, I’ve been fortunate enough to meet several hundred outstanding Chinese entrepreneurs from dozens of different industries. Most are cut from the same cloth — crisp, confident, charismatic. With few exceptions, most do not have college degrees or much experience working for anyone else. They are born entrepreneurs.

Take one boss I met recently. He began his working life 30 years ago, after high school, as a trader. He was good at it, and saved enough, eventually, to go into manufacturing one of the products he was selling as a wholesaler to others. He moved up quickly, from producing basic low-margin commodity products to investing in his own R&D. He kept plowing profits back into the R&D work, and then to build new factory lines to produce a range of unique, patent-protected products he invented. These products deliver higher margins and target a larger, richer market than anything he previously manufactured.

The business is now growing very swiftly. Also typical, his son has joined the business, after getting a college degree abroad.  This boss, like most others I have met, knows how to work the system to his maximum advantage. His new products let him qualify as a high-tech enterprise, and so pay a much lower corporate income tax rate. The local government has shown its further support by selling him a large tract of land to build a new factory on, at a fraction of its market price.

This boss, somewhat uncommonly, has a very strong management team around him to manage finances, factory production and marketing. He is the force of gravity holding whole business together. It’s hard to imagine anyone else, except perhaps one day his son, could run this business as well. That’s another characteristic shared by most good entrepreneurial companies in China – they are never quite as successful once the founder steps down.

Another distinguishing trait of entrepreneurship in China – there are far more women bosses here than I ever saw in the US or Europe.  The ones I’ve met, along with being successful entrepreneurs, are also all quite elegant, attractive, even seductive. Those aren’t words usually associated with entrepreneurs anywhere else in the world.

According to the magazine China Entrepreneur, there are currently more than 29 million female entrepreneurs in China,  or about 20% of the total number of entrepreneurs in the country. Overall, China has more entrepreneurs, male and female, than most countries have citizens.

China’s economy continues to perform at a level never achieved by a major economy. Can this continue? I believe it can. The most emphatic reason is the entrepreneurial genius of so many of its citizens.

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It is certainly the largest annual mass underwear change in the world. This week, as many as 100 million Chinese will take off their red underwear for the first time in a year and change into other colors. Meanwhile, 100 million other Chinese this week will pull on red underwear and wear no other color for the next twelve months.

It’s not fashion that rules this process, but supersition. This week is Chinese New Year. Wearing red underwear is meant to provide protection against misfortunes likely to target the one-in-twelve Chinese who this year will celebrate their 本命年 (“benming nian”), or birth year . This is a Rabbit Year. Everone born during a previous Rabbit year is likely going to take some precautions this year, including the red underwear. A red string bracelet or belt are also commonly worn by people during their birth year.

One’s birth year isn’t automatically going to be unlucky. But, there’s thousands of years of folk tradition that says people should extra mindful. This extends across most aspects of daily life. Many Chinese will try to avoid making larger life changes, or consequential business decisions, during their birth year.  I have one client, for example, whose founder was born 72 years ago, in a Tiger Year. The company is booming. The founder had numerous offers during 2010 to sell his business for a significant sum, or start work on an IPO. He chose to do nothing but wait things out. Now that Rabbit Year is dawning, he is ready to start considering his exit options. And, of course, changing back to a more neutral color of underwear.

As a Westerner, it takes some getting used-to, this notion that one’s birth year may come freighted with potential misfortune. After all, in all belief systems except possibly the Nihilists, one’s birth is considered a blessing.  But, in Chinese tradition, the anniversary of one’s birth year is a time when things can go especially awry. Or worse. The red underwear is meant to act as a kind of lightning rod, attracting an added flow of good luck during the year.

Red, of course, is associated with happiness, prosperity and good fortune in Chinese culture. Two of the more common sights in stores and on streets in China this time of year are crimson-colored envelopes and similarly-colored underwear. The envelopes, of course, are used to hold the cash handed out as New Year gifts to family and coworkers. The new underwear for men, women and children, in all sizes and styles,  is the flight suit for those about to traverse their birth year.

There’s also quite a lot of red underwear on sale this time of year in the US and Europe. But, it’s generally of the skimpy and sexy Victoria’s Secret variety, given by husbands and boyfriends as a Valentine’s Day gift. That custom is catching on rather quickly also in China, where Valentine’s Day is celebrated twice a year, on February 14 and also usually sometime in August (the date changes every year according to the lunar calendar), when the traditional Chinese version known as 亲人节  (“Qinren Jie”) falls.

Underwear is less commonly given as a Valentine’s gift in China. However,  fathers, brothers, husbands and boyfriends are supposed to buy red underwear for the women in their lives about to enter their birth year. Love in China is often expressed as a protective impulse.

I tended to view the mass changeover of one-twelfth of China to red underwear as a quaint superstition, one of the evermore scarce expressions of an antique and thoroughly unscientific traditional culture. But, over the last year, I saw at first hand the kind of mischief and harm that can target people during their birth year.

Last summer, I got word that another client of mine, one of my favorite people in China, was arrested while trying to cross into Hong Kong. He was accused of paying a bribe to a senior government official in one of China’s less developed inland provinces. He was taken from the Hong Kong border to a prison in the province’s capital, then held in detention for over three months while his friends and family raised the money to free him.

Under Chinese law, paying a bribe is treated more leninently than accepting one. But, it also signals rather emphatically the person has money.

I saw him soon after he got out. He was a shambles, gaunt, with a prison buzzcut and clothes that no longer properly fit him. I offered to help out his new venture, unrelated to the one that landed him in jail.

I invited him for lunch again a few weeks ago. He was his old self again, brimming with vigor and good cheer. As soon as the tea was poured, he proposed a toast, “To a happy Year of the Rabbit, and a quick end to the Tiger Year, my birth year.” We never discussed directly his time in prison, or even that I knew about his ordeal. He’s elated to be out of jail – and, by all appearances, almost as happy to be out of his birth year.

I glanced down at his feet.  He was wearing red sox.

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How long would it take an ordinary Chinese peasant to save up and buy a nice apartment in Beijing? You’ll need to brush up on your dynastic history.

1,400 years ago, as the Tang Dynasty dawned in China, a peasant began farming a small plot of decent land 6mu (one acre) in size. Every year, in addition to providing for his family’s needs, he was able to earn a small profit by selling his surplus. His son followed him on the land, and maintained his father’s steady output and steady profit. Same with is children, and children’s children, through the Song, Yuan, Ming, Qing Dynasties into the Republican period and then the modern era marked by the founding of the People’s Republic in 1949, down to present day.

Some 280 generations later, there should now be just about enough in the family bank account for the family to pay cash for a new two-bedroom apartment in Beijing. This is assuming no withdrawals from the bank account during that time, and even more unlikely, no bad years due to floods, famine, locusts, rebellion.

I heard this calculation second hand, and so can’t check the figures. But, it certainly has a ring of truth about it. Property prices in Beijing particularly, but other large cities as well, have reached levels utterly disconnected from average earning levels, especially in rural China.  New apartments can now cost over USD$1 million. Prices continue to rise by over 5% a month, despite aggressive actions by government to curb the increases in residential property prices. According to the Wall Street Journal, “Housing prices in the U.S. peaked at 6.4 times average annual earnings this decade. In Beijing, the figure is 22 times.”

The collapse of this “housing price bubble” has been widely predicted for years now  — not since the Tang Dynasty, but it sometimes seems that way. The housing price crash was meant to be imminent two years ago, when prices were about 30% of current levels.

Still, they keep rising, most recently and most dramatically in second and third tier cities in China, places like Lanzhou, a provincial capital in arid Western China, where the cost of a 100 square meter apartment has doubled in price in the last year, to about $300,000.  Some apartment owners in Lanzhou earned as much profit  during 2010 from the sale of their property as a typical peasant in surrounding Gansu Province might make in a century.

My prediction is that housing prices may soon peak relative to incomes, but will keep moving upward. There are a few fundamental factors at work that raise the altitude of housing prices: rising affluence, China’s continuing urbanization and a dearth of alternative investment opportunities. Real estate, despite what can seem like dizzying price levels, is often seen to be a safer long-term bet than buying domestically-quoted shares.

Introducing property taxes, and allowing ordinary Chinese to buy assets outside China, would both alter the balance somewhat.  But, many a hard-working peasant is still going to need a thousand years of savings to join the propertied classes in Beijing.

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Is this the zero-emissions green vehicle of the future? For the masses, possibly not.  For me personally, maybe so. It’s a battery-powered electric scooter, with solar panels for recharging during daylight hours.

I’ve become a big fan, and a minor authority, on battery-powered electric scooters. I’ve owned a few. A Chinese-made electric scooter was my primary form of urban transportation while living and working in Los Angeles until moving to China last year.

Though I never saw another one on the road in LA, I’m a passionate believer in this mode of transport. In China, electric scooters are almost as common as passenger cars, with upwards of five million sold every year. The streets and sidewalks are crowded with them. They run on lead acid batteries, the same kind used in car batteries.

The electric scooters sold now in China rely on plug-in battery rechargers. That’s the biggest drawback of driving one. Lead acid batteries can take up to eight hours to recharge. This new solar-powered recharger should solve that problem. The battery recharges automatically as you ride around, as long as there’s sunlight. Assuming the solar recharger works, this electric scooter becomes a street-legal perpetual motion machine, never needing, at least during daytime, to stop for a recharge.

I met the inventor, Zhao Weiping, at a trade exhibition. I could barely contain my excitement. We discussed the science, the capacity of the solar panels, and the potential to upgrade the batteries to lighter, longer-lasting lithium batteries. He’s only built prototypes so far. He expects the cost, for a base model, to be around Rmb3,000 ($440).

With lithium batteries, the price goes up to around $750. Lithium batteries take half the time to recharge.

Another benefit of lithium: the batteries weigh less than half lead acid ones. Less weight means less drag and so farther range on a full battery and faster top speeds.  Engineer Zhao guesses top speed should be about 50kph (30mph) compared to 30kph (18mph) for lead acid models.

To me, it sounds like the ideal form urban transport: zero emissions, reliable, fast enough to keep up with traffic, and will rarely, if ever, require mains electricity to recharge. In other words, zero cost per kilometer traveled.

It gets better: in much of the US, including California, you don’t need a driver’s license or insurance to drive an electric scooter, and you can drive it legally in bicycle lanes. Of course, few traffic cops know any of these facts. I was pulled over routinely in California, while riding my electric scooter. Eventually, I created a plastic-coated car card with all the relevant clauses of the state traffic code. I’d present it to traffic police, and they’d usually let me head off after a few minutes.

In LA, I drove a Chinese electric scooter upgraded with lithium. Top speed was about 24 mph. Recharging time: four to five hours. As commutes go, my 9-mile trip to work was about as pleasant and relaxing as any could be. Most of my route was along the Pacific Ocean, and then through some of the hipper areas of Santa Monica and Venice. When the roads were crowded at rush hour, I’d switch into the bicycle lane. You can park anywhere on the sidewalk, just like a bicycle.

The biggest hazard is pedestrians. The scooters are so quiet that people don’t hear it coming. I had a few near misses.

I never understood why so few in California ride electric scooters. I never saw another one on the road. California is certainly one of the most environmentally-conscious places on earth. Motorized transport doesn’t get any greener than electric scooters. Zero emissions, zero fossil fuels, zero direct carbon footprint.

Those green credentials were never my main reasons for riding an electric scooter. I liked the convenience, the tranquility, the absence of traffic and the sheer exhilaration of riding it.

Exhilaration, however, is instantly transformed into despair when your battery runs out of juice.  It happened to me a few times, when I miscalculated the range. Open throttle riding, going uphill, lots of stops and starts can all drain the battery rather quickly. The meter showing battery life is, at best, unreliable. When the battery is empty, the scooter will shudder once, then conk out completely.

Run out of fuel with an internal combustion engine, you call the AAA or find a gas station. Run out of electricity with an electric scooter and your only real choice is to push the vehicle home for recharge. I’ve had to do it more than once.

Engineer Zhao’s solar-powered recharger should make that problem less common, if not eliminate it altogether. At worst, if the battery empties, you park it and in daytime, come back in a few hours and drive it away. Limitless range should make for limitless enjoyment.

Yes, but will Engineer Zhao’s machine work? Talking with him, it’s hard not to be confident it will. The solar panels are powerful enough to keep the batteries recharged and light enough not to create a lot of extra drag. The only way to find out, of course, is to get one. I’m thinking now of commissioning Engineer Zhao to build me one, with lithium batteries.

If it works, I’ll help Engineer Zhao get venture capital funding to build his company. My gut tells me I’m not the only one who’d ride around on one, and that there could be a very big market in the US, Europe and China for this solar-charged scooter.

I don’t particularly relish the idea of driving any sort of vehicle on Shenzhen’s streets. Driving is chaotic. Accidents common. Pollution awful. There are no bicycle lanes. But, I’m prepared to put my money – and perhaps my health – on the line to prove this is a vehicle with a future and perhaps even a mass market.

Wish me luck.

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Food prices in China, as everyone inside and outside the country now knows, are rising fast, in some cases by over 30% during 2010. The Chinese government puts some of the blame on speculators who are said to be buying large quantities of fresh food, holding it off the market and then profiting from price increases. There seems to be some evidence of this.

There’s no short-term fix for these price increases. The Chinese government has released for sale some of its food stocks. It is also urging peasants, and local cadres who govern rural China, to make sure more food is grown next year to increase supplies. The peasants probably won’t need any such encouragement.

The increases this year in food prices have done more, in a shorter time, to lift income levels for many of China’s 600 million peasants than any other single measure taken over the last 30 years.

There has never been a  better time, in China’s long agrarian history, to be a peasant. Fundamentally, food price inflation in China represents a colossal transfer of wealth from China’s more affluent urban areas to the rural hinterland where half of China’s population still lives.

If this lasts, it will narrow the gap in living standards and income levels between China’s cities and countryside. This is one of the overarching goals of the Chinese government. And yet, no one is applauding.

Instead, the Chinese central government has reacted with some alarm to the recent price increases. It knows that higher food prices are putting the squeeze on city-dwellers, including, of course, those in the capital Beijing and other major cities. In China, communist power originally took hold in the countryside, and a lot of party doctrine still speaks about its roots among the peasantry. But, political power today is firmly rooted in urban areas.  China’s political, economic and cultural elite all live in major cities, as do most of their friends and family. So, price rises effect this group directly.

When apples, the staple autumn fruit in most of China,  almost double in price, as they have this year, political leaders will soon hear about it. The fact that China’s apple farmers now have a lot more money in their pockets is not necessarily part of the political calculus.

Yet, it is undeniable that the fastest and most effective way to raise peasant living standards and real incomes is higher farm prices that don’t fuel overall inflation. There are signs that’s now the case, that the only area of significant double-digit inflation is in food prices. If so, this is unquestionably the best time in Chinese history to be tilling the land.

How long will this last? Of course, commonly, a spike in food prices leads to overall price levels rising as well. This can erode, or even wipe out,  the rise in income for farmers from higher food prices. Also, today’s high prices will certainly lead to more land being cultivated next year, as farmers chase the fat profits from today’s prices.

I was just in Jiangsu Province, in central China, and it seemed like most of the farmland is under plastic cover this winter, allowing peasants to keep growing and selling vegetables. Supply goes up, price comes down. Eventually.

How high are food prices at present? Looking around my local covered market, prices in the stalls for many fruits and vegetables are now as higher or higher than prices commonly seen in the US. Looking just at autumn fruit, apples are about $1 a pound; navel oranges around 60 cents; clementines about $1 a pound; bananas are 50 cents a pound. Meat prices have risen sharply.

Pork remains comparatively cheap at about $2 a pound, but chicken is quite a bit higher here. Garlic and ginger, the two fundamental staples of all Chinese cooking, are both at all-time highs of around $1 a pound.

So far, in my experience, higher food prices haven’t yet fed through to higher prices at restaurants, noodle shops or even the outdoor steamer wagon where I buy corn-on-the-cob and potatoes as snacks. This means restaurant margins must be hurting. One notable exception, McDonalds in China. They recently announced price increases to counter effect of rising raw material costs.  With about 900 restaurants in China, all in larger cities, McDonalds feeds a lot of people.

Wages are also rising very steeply in urban China, as is household wealth for anyone who owns property. This seems to be allowing most urban Chinese to absorb higher food costs without much of a fuss.

In other words, just about everyone across this country of 1.4 billion is doing much better, year by year. For now, the 600 million peasants are doing best of all. Viewed across the breadth of China’s long history, no less than across the last 30 years of unparalleled economic progress, this is a singularly welcome development.

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China recently overtook Japan to become the world’s second-largest economy. China’s population, of course,  is ten times larger than Japan’s. So, per capita, China is still one-tenth as affluent as its Asian neighbor.

A far more important, if little noticed, economic trend is that China’s middle class is now far larger than Japan’s. Indeed, the Chinese middle class will soon surpass, if it hasn’t already,  America’s, and so become the largest middle class country in the world.

There is no standard definition of “middle class”. So, measuring the number of people falling within this category is an imprecise science. It generally refers to people whose household income allows them to enjoy all the comforts of life well-above pure subsistence: these include vacations, air-conditioned homes, the full assortment of labor-saving home appliances, personal transport, and sufficient savings to cope with shorter-term economic problems like unemployment or a health emergency.

In China, by my estimate, there are at least 250-300 million people who now fall into this category. This is an economic achievement of almost unimaginable scale. Thirty years ago, there was no “middle class” in China, and but for a tiny group of top or well-connected party officials, virtually no one in the country of 1.4 billion could be described as living above basic subsistence.

Today, China has more internet and mobile phone users than anywhere on the planet. It is the world’s largest market for new cars. Housing prices across the country, in most of the major cities, are at or above the average levels in the US.

These housing prices are a big reason for the swift rise in the middle class in China. With few exceptions, anyone who owns a home in a Chinese city can now be considered middle class. That’s because most urban housing now is worth at least $50,000-$70,000. In major cities like Shanghai, Beijing or Shenzhen, housing prices are now among the highest in the world, and so just about every property-owner is sitting on an asset worth well in excess of $100,000.

Most Chinese either own their homes outright, or have mortgages that represent less than 50% of the home’s current value. Even in more rural parts of China, there are tens of millions of home-owners who have equity of at least $20,000 in their home.

Unlike in the US, Chinese can’t easily tap into the wealth locked up in their homes by taking out second mortgages. But, the wealth effects are still very real in China. People know how much their home is worth, have confidence the price will likely continue to appreciate. So, spending habits can reflect this.

In fact, most Chinese have a better idea of the current value of their homes than anyone in the US or Europe. That’s because property is sold based on price per-square-meter, and everyone in China seems to know that current value of the square meters they own. The Chinese government has been trying for the last sixth months, with limited success, to moderate the fast rise in property prices across the country.  Most housing has appreciated by at least 15% this year.

Housing is the main bedrock of middle class status in China. But, salaries are also rising sharply across the board in the professional class (as well as those working in factories), putting more cash in people’s pockets. The stock market has also become a major additional source and store of wealth.

It’s a common characteristic of the middle class everywhere to feel a little dissatisfied, and a little anxious about one’s economic future and ability to remain among the more better-off. This is very noticeable in China as well. Many of China’s middle class don’t consider themselves that comfortable.

The pace of social and economic change is so swift, and prices for many middle-class staples like cars, foreign vacations and housing are so high,  that people don’t have a real sense of “having made it’.  They also fret about their retirement, about saving enough to put their kids through the best schools, about job security. In other words, they’re very much like the middle class in the US.

Middle class spending is the single most important source of economic activity in the US. This isn’t yet true of China, but each year, it will become more important. This reality should be at the top of the agenda for boardroom planning at companies in China and much of the rest of the world. China’s middle class will become a market not only larger in size, but in purchasing power, than America’s.

China’s very rich (it now has more billionaires than any other country except the US) and poor tend to be the focus on most of the reporting by the world’s financial press. They are generally blind to the most significant development of all, the emergence over the last ten years of an enormous middle class in China. Without a doubt, more Chinese join the middle class each year than in the US, Europe and Japan combined.

Remember, many of the most successful global businesses in the US over the last 50 years – Ford, McDonalds, Disney, Coca-Cola, P&G, Wal-Mart to name just a few – got that way by focusing originally on selling to America’s middle class. China’s middle class is fast becoming an even richer target.

Anyone selling services or products for the middle class ought to find a way to do so in China. Quickly.

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Soon to be the world’s largest pool of investment capital for the private equity industry, China’s National Social Security Fund will be responsible for paying the pensions of hundreds of millions of workers in China. It will eventually need trillions of dollars to do so. The good news for workers in China, the NSSF is professionally, carefully and competently run. China’s huge pool of pension cash is in safe hands.

I recently talked to the partner at a Chinese PE fund that is soon to receive some of the NSSF money. The report: the NSSF, though new to the world of private equity investment, has a process for choosing PE firms that is as rigorous as many of the world’s most sophisticated and investment managers. There are multiple levels of due diligence, including outside lawyers, accountants, and consultants who assess the investment performance and strategy of a PE firm, interview PE partners at length, and then provide the NSSF with recommendations.

The NSSF has used Singapore’s much-smaller but very well-managed Central Provident Fund as a model. Workers contribute part of their pay, and the money is then managed and invested by the government fund to achieve a solid rate of return that will provide for a reasonable monthly pay-out at retirement.

In contrast, the public pension systems in the US and much of Europe are thinly-disguised forms of taxation. The government collects money with each paycheck, promising to pay workers a monthly allowance when they retire. Cash from current workers is used to pay the pensions of those who have already retired. The system works fine when pensions are kept to a modest level and there are always many more people working then retired. Neither of these are true in Europe and the US. These pension plans have enormous unfunded liabilities that can be met only through cutting pension payments in the future, raising taxes on current workers or both. It’s grim.

China, wisely, chose a much sounder method of funding public pensions, when it began introducing state pensions over the last decade. Cash is invested for the future, not spent as soon as it arrives. A 35 year-old Chinese worker has a far better chance of collecting a decent state pension in 30 years than an American one. The US system is technically insolvent. The Chinese one is rolling in cash.

The NSSF had Rmb 777 billion ($120 billion) in assets at the end of 2009.  The assets are growing swiftly. More Chinese each year join the urban workforce, and so have a percentage of their salary handed over to the NSSF. Salaries are also rising fast, which sends more money into the pension system each year. Either by the end of this year, or certainly by next, the NSSF’s assets should surpass those of CALPERS , and become the world’s largest pension fund and largest Private Equity Limited Partner (“LP”), as investors in PE firms are called.

Though a government agency, the NSSF is managed like a private pension fund. It invests its capital in a mix of assets, to earn a reasonable, safe, risk-adjusted return to meet pension obligations in the future. Depending on NSSF’s investment performance, its assets should be approaching $500 billion within five years.

Most of the NSSF capital is invested in low-risk and low-yielding bonds. The NSSF’s target is an investment return of at least 3.5% a year. As part of the asset mix, the NSSF is also planning to invest about 10% of its capital in “alternative assets”,  mainly with private equity firms investing in China. It has already begun placing capital with PE firms, including CDH, SAIF Partners, New Horizon Fund.

The NSSF will likely commit over Rmb20 billion ($3 billion) a year in new capital to private equity in China. That dwarfs the activity of all other LPs in the world, including pension funds, insurance companies, university endowments.

As long as the NSSF maintains its professional approach to choosing PE firms to invest with, I’m confident it will earn a good rate of return on its PE investments. The better PE firms are earning returns of over 33% a year from their investments in China. Looking out twenty to thirty years in the future, state pensions in China will be more secure and more generous because of the investment in PE funds.

There is no better risk-adjusted asset class in the world today than investing in private Chinese companies. This is precisely what Chinese PE firms do. They provide growth capital to companies that are usually already large, profitable and successful.  The only constraint is capital. PE firms provide it, generally at modest valuations of around ten times current year’s profits.

In two to three years, these same companies will IPO in China at valuations of at least forty times past year’s profits. It’s an investment formula that can reliably produce returns of 500%-800% over two to three years.  Nowhere else in the world can match China, both on the number of attractive private companies to invest in, and the returns from doing so.

China’s private companies, and their millions of customers and employees,  will benefit from the capital provided to PE firms by the NSSF. China’s entire working population will eventually benefit as well, as these companies grow larger, more successful, and become valuable public companies. Profits from the successful PE investments will flow back to the NSSF, to support the retirement of millions.

Of course, a PE firm needs to know what it’s doing, how to select good companies, and also how to assist them in making a successful transition to publicly-traded businesses. The good ones do. The NSSF’s screening process is designed to determine which firms are the best, and then place money with them.

The main coin of the realm in China, as everyone knows, is “guanxi”, or the personal relations that tie people together and form the basis for most business deals. Fortunately for China’s working population, the NSSF, from what I’m told,  is guided by fiduciary principles and best practices, not personal ties, in assessing where to put the nation’s savings.  Along with the interviews and legal scrutiny, the NSSF also hires FOF firms (“Fund of Funds”) to evaluate PEs on its behalf. It’s another smart move. FOF firms have the most detailed knowledge and experience choosing good PE firms, and monitoring their performance.

The NSSF is responsible for the long-term financial security of hundreds of millions of people. It’s an awesome responsibility. By all evidence, they are doing important work, and doing it well.

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