High on a secluded mountain ridge in southeastern Laos, an enormous white blade gracefully cut through the clouds, appearing to float effortlessly. Towering over 600 feet above quaint wooden homes, it rotated majestically before disappearing back into the mists. Soon, more blades followed, and as the clouds parted, a breathtaking array of colossal wind turbines emerged, stretching across the ridge as far as the eye could see.
For the villagers of Dak Cheung, witnessing powerful new technologies appear in their remote landscape was not entirely new. Decades ago, during the Vietnam War, American warplanes unleashed millions of pounds of bombs here. Today, in this Triang ethnic minority district, many homes still stand on stilts crafted from American bomb shells. An elder, gesturing with his bamboo cane towards the old Ho Chi Minh Trail, recounted how “the bombs fell like rain,” recalling the relentless attacks on the North Vietnamese Army’s hidden supply route.
Now, where bombs once scarred the land, Chinese wind turbines stand tall. On the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail, a massive wind farm—Southeast Asia’s largest onshore project—has just been completed by a Chinese state-owned company. The $950 million Monsoon Wind Power Project, featuring 133 turbines, began commercial operations in late August. Developed by PowerChina and managed by a Thai consortium, it promises to reduce carbon emissions by over 32 million tons in 25 years. However, all its generated electricity will flow to Vietnam, solidifying Laos’s image as “the battery of Southeast Asia,” yet offering little direct benefit to Dak Cheung’s local communities.
The elder, who was born in a distant village still lacking electricity, had watched for months as the enormous 275-foot turbine blades were slowly transported along the road at night. He was profoundly impressed by their sheer scale, but their ultimate function remained a mystery to him. “I see them,” he admitted, “but I’m sorry, I don’t know what they’re used for.”
Laos’s inaugural wind farm is a small piece of China’s colossal clean-energy revolution, yet it starkly highlights how the world’s leading greenhouse gas emitter has come to dominate the global renewable energy market. China’s staggering $625 billion investment in clean tech in 2024 alone has driven immense change. The country now manufactures two-thirds of global electric vehicles, over 60 percent of wind turbines, and more than 85 percent of battery capacity. The International Energy Agency predicts that within a decade, China’s clean-energy tech exports will hit an annual $340 billion, mirroring the combined oil exports of Saudi Arabia and the U.A.E.
The world’s leading superpowers are diverging sharply in their energy strategies. While the U.S., under the Trump administration’s so-called “big beautiful bill,” is curtailing support for wind, solar, and electric vehicles, China is aggressively consolidating its control over almost every aspect of the renewable energy supply chain. Milo McBride, a clean-energy expert, notes these “tectonic shifts” are central to the U.S.-China power competition. The U.S. focuses on oil and gas, while China expands its role as the global manufacturing and export hub for future clean-energy technologies.
While China’s internal green transformation is crucial for the planet, its surging clean-energy exports are creating an even broader, long-lasting impact on global climate and geopolitics. Affordable Chinese green technology now inundates nearly every corner of the globe. From new Chinese electric vehicles in Bangkok, São Paulo, and Addis Ababa, to Chinese-made solar panels in Pakistan and Argentina’s high-altitude plains, and towering wind turbines in Bosnia, Kenya, and Laos—China’s reach is immense. Last year alone, China supplied clean-energy technology to an astounding 191 out of 192 UN member states, with only the Central African Republic not receiving its exports.
Whether driven by China’s surplus manufacturing capacity or developing nations’ need for affordable energy independence, these exports are significantly curbing global carbon emissions. Lauri Myllyvirta estimates that China’s clean-tech exports in 2024 will reduce global emissions outside China by a remarkable 1 percent, preventing 220 million metric tons of carbon from entering the atmosphere—the equivalent of taking 50 million gas cars off the road annually. While he calls this “huge,” Myllyvirta acknowledges it falls short of the Paris Agreement’s ambitious goals.
Just twenty-five years ago, China’s export success hinged on “the old three” (lao san yang): clothing, furniture, and home appliances. Today, it’s all about “the new three” (xin san yang): solar, electric vehicles (EVs), and lithium-ion batteries, with wind turbines possibly joining soon. China initially pursued clean energy to lessen its dependence on oil, particularly given the vulnerable Strait of Malacca shipping route. However, by 2010, Chinese leaders recognized clean energy as a unique opportunity for economic prosperity, geopolitical influence, and enhanced energy security. Historically, nations pioneering new energy technologies have reshaped global power dynamics.
A decade ago, Chinese clean-energy firms initially eyed European and U.S. markets. However, the global financial crisis and increasing protectionism, particularly in the U.S., prompted a dramatic pivot. Chinese companies began relocating factories abroad to circumvent tariffs—producing solar panels in Indonesia, for instance—while actively seeking new global markets. Kelly Sims Gallagher of Tufts University notes, “The mentality of Chinese companies is so global.” Initially pursuing export-led growth, Chinese solar firms later flooded their domestic market once costs decreased. With overproduction driving down solar panel prices by 50 percent in two years, nations worldwide are eager for China’s affordable clean tech. As a result, China has minimal dependence on American consumers; only 4 percent of its wind, solar, and EV exports reach the U.S., rendering the U.S. “a footnote” in a market growing 30 percent annually.
Developing nations are experiencing the most explosive growth, accounting for 70 percent of China’s solar, wind, and EV export growth over the past four years. Last year, nearly half of all Chinese clean-tech exports went to these countries. Despite intense competition and falling prices potentially impacting some Chinese clean-tech firms, these export trends are expected to intensify. McBride predicts that “in three years, Chinese products will be entering new countries at speeds and scales we haven’t seen yet.”
Despite its formidable dominance, China has found it challenging to leverage its clean technology prowess into “soft power.” Some experts advocate for Beijing to launch a “green Marshall Plan,” inspired by the post-WWII American aid program in Europe, to achieve this. However, China has largely pursued a more insular, nationalistic strategy. Chinese companies seem more focused on selling products and securing market share rather than fostering indigenous clean-tech industries in recipient nations. Joanna Lewis of Georgetown University observes, “Chinese companies are going where the demand is. They’re not primarily choosing countries based on diplomatic aims.”
For financially struggling nations like Laos, Chinese clean-energy projects are incredibly appealing, offering cheap fossil fuel alternatives, a path to combat climate change, and energy security amidst global instability. Yet, this promise comes with the inherent risk of dependence. Laos serves as a crucial example for countries navigating their relationship with China: how to capitalize on clean energy without succumbing to overwhelming debt or reliance. This complex dilemma echoes through the mountains of southern Laos, where the Indigenous Triang people now live alongside Southeast Asia’s largest wind farm.
A gentle rain was falling in Dak Cheung as PowerChina’s “big boss” arrived to celebrate the Monsoon Wind Power Project’s completion in early July, during the monsoon season. Chinese managers hosted a dinner in town, a stark contrast to the workers’ main camp a short drive away. Funds from the wind farm’s construction have transformed this Vietnam-border outpost into a thriving mini-boomtown, boasting a new hotel, a Chinese barbershop, karaoke bar, and five vibrant stores selling Chinese mobile phones. Even a brand-new Sichuanese restaurant with its name hastily scribbled on cardboard has appeared. Yet, the town’s most striking feature remains the serene row of wind turbines gracefully turning across its picturesque reservoir.
That evening, the PowerChina boss arrived at the restaurant in a black Toyota Land Cruiser, proudly displaying a red “#1” sticker and vanity plates (6688), which in Mandarin evoke “flowing wealth.” Thirteen identically dressed men in white or blue shirts rose to greet him. After dinner, they toasted their leader, celebrating the completion of the 600-megawatt Monsoon project. The last of 133 turbines had been installed in April, and the test run was successful. PowerChina’s largest wind farm built outside China was now fully operational. “Gongxi, gongxi, Laoban!” (Congratulations, Boss!), they cheered.
Roughly ten miles southwest of Dak Cheung, the Monsoon Wind Power Project’s main camp commanded a small hill overlooking the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail, adjacent to a new 500-kilovolt substation transmitting power to Vietnam. This fenced-in complex of cement structures sharply contrasted with the surrounding Indigenous mountain villages. Constructed by PowerChina, the camp featured orderly rows of blue-roofed dormitories, a basketball court, a large fleet of white Toyota Land Cruisers, and, notably, abundant floodlights—a clear sign of limitless electricity. Most of the hundreds of PowerChina employees have now departed, their construction phase complete as the project transitions to operations. The company flag, still flying, bears Chinese characters declaring: “Responsibility and efficiency are best.”
China’s efficiency is strikingly evident in Laos, a landlocked communist nation that Joshua Kurlantzick of the Council on Foreign Relations terms a “satellite state” of China. PowerChina completed the massive Monsoon project in a mere 27 months, spanning a mountainous area twelve times the size of Manhattan. Before construction, bomb-disposal teams meticulously cleared unexploded ordnance from the Vietnam War era. Access roads were carved along forested ridges to facilitate the arduous transport of Chinese-made turbines to the high plateau. Battling rain and high winds during the monsoon season, the company navigated significant engineering hurdles and the intricate social dynamics of building on the sacred ancestral lands of the Indigenous local population.
Driven by Beijing’s global ambitions, PowerChina has delivered renewable energy projects worldwide—from geothermal in Indonesia and hydropower in Nigeria to solar in Chile and wind in Pakistan. However, its deepest imprint is arguably in Laos, where it has undertaken over 150 projects in three decades. These include the $6 billion Laos-China railway and a $2.7 billion series of hydroelectric dams on a Mekong River tributary, projects that have faced public criticism for environmental damage and displacing Indigenous communities from over 100 villages.
PowerChina has almost single-handedly cemented Laos’s role as “Southeast Asia’s battery.” Three-quarters of the country’s electricity, predominantly from hydroelectric dams, is now exported to neighbors like Thailand, Cambodia, and Singapore. The Monsoon Wind Power Project, specifically, sells all its output to Vietnam via a 44-mile cross-border transmission line. While Laos gains foreign currency, primarily through royalties, there’s a significant catch: in 2021, to reduce debt, Laos transferred 90 percent of its national power grid control to a Chinese state-owned entity, effectively granting China oversight of all domestic and international electricity distribution, including to Vietnam.
These foreign agreements have yet to alleviate Laos’s deep poverty or burgeoning debt, with the average rural income hovering around $18 a month. Even assuming no official corruption, analysts indicate that much of Laos’s energy revenue is diverted to service its escalating external debt. This presents a Catch-22: infrastructure projects intended for economic growth have instead burdened Laos with over $10 billion in foreign debt, half of which is owed to China. The Lao government struggles not only to repay the principal but even to meet interest payments. An April 2025 report by the Lowy Institute asserted that China has, “whether by design or neglect… created a debt trap in Laos,” concluding that without significant debt relief, Laos cannot escape its financial crisis.
Beijing’s leverage over its financially strained neighbor, Laos, continues to grow, regardless of its underlying intentions. Ian Baird of the University of Wisconsin-Madison states that “The debt is having a crippling effect on the economy,” directly translating into increased political influence. China’s takeover of Laos’s national power grid, operational since last year, was perhaps unavoidable, given that Chinese firms, financing, and technology largely constructed it. PowerChina, which declined to comment, is also pushing Laos to settle its debts; a subsidiary this year sued Laos’s state utility for $555 million in unpaid hydroelectric bills, raising concerns about what other state assets Laos might be forced to relinquish.
Narut Boakajorn, general manager of Monsoon Wind Power Company Ltd., assures that the Dak Cheung wind farm will not exacerbate Laos’s debt, as the Lao government has no loans or ownership stake (nor does PowerChina, despite its contracting role). Boakajorn suggests the project “could help reduce debt somehow.” However, given its compromised position—relinquishing control of the land to Monsoon, the grid to China, and the electricity to Vietnam—the Lao government might only accrue $100 million in royalties and taxes over 25 years. While preferable to deeper debt, Boakajorn believes the wind farm’s true value lies in demonstrating a viable, less impactful path to clean energy, aligning with Laos’s goal of a 60 percent emissions reduction by 2030, unlike traditional hydropower.
Indeed, wind power is gaining significant momentum in Laos. A new wind farm, more than twice Monsoon’s capacity, is already under construction north of Dak Cheung, with another planned for the same area, according to Boakajorn. Monsoon anticipates a quarter-century presence, and bomb-removal teams have already cleared new sites. A two-story office complex is rising on a nearby red-dirt lot, destined to be the new operational hub. It appears that soon, a fresh wave of workers, many Chinese, will arrive to construct even more towering wind monuments.
Almost a decade ago, the world experienced a rare alignment when the United States and China collaboratively championed the Paris Agreement. Over 200 nations pledged to reduce greenhouse emissions and curb global warming, fostering discussions on shared climate visions, international cooperation, and even global governance. This optimistic period, however, lasted under three years. The first Trump administration launched a trade war with China, while China concurrently solidified its control over every critical aspect of clean-energy development. Sam Geall of Chatham House notes that this “sense of shared vision has really waned in favor of a highly competitive era of green-energy statecraft,” a shift most evident in China’s assertive role.
China frames its adoption of renewable energy as a dedication to “ecological civilization,” and extending this commitment globally has been a deliberate strategy. President Xi Jinping affirmed in April that “China will not slow down its efforts to address climate change,” regardless of international shifts. Beyond this apparent altruism, China’s focus on clean-energy development also serves its own national interests: energy security, economic growth, and geopolitical leverage. Alex Wang, a UCLA law professor and author of “Chinese Global Environmentalism,” highlights how China’s green-energy statecraft skillfully aligns global environmental concerns with its national security objectives.
In this global competition, what transpires when the United States withdraws? The Trump administration’s elimination of tax credits and incentives for solar, wind, and electric vehicles has already derailed tens of billions in planned clean-energy investments, potentially setting back U.S. renewables for years, even a generation. Myllyvirta calls this “a massive own goal” in the U.S.-China rivalry. This stark contrast was highlighted in late August: the U.S. government halted construction of a nearly finished $4 billion offshore wind farm in Rhode Island, precisely as the Monsoon Wind Power Project commenced operations. Trump’s actions not only cede clean-energy industries to America’s primary competitor but also relinquish global leadership on climate issues to China.
In Beijing, some influential figures advocate for China to escalate its green-energy statecraft, viewing this as an opportune moment. Historically, the global proliferation of Chinese green technology has been driven by enterprises seeking to absorb surplus manufacturing capacity, rather than a deliberate government strategy for soft power. Furthermore, most exports have been equipment sales or construction services, not extensive technology transfer. Nonetheless, some analysts argue that maintaining China’s influence within the business sphere, separate from politics, offers advantages. As Javier Borràs observed, “China is managing to create a new kind of green soft power that doesn’t need Beijing’s stultifying propaganda.”
However, an accidental or disorganized approach to soft power is insufficient to propel a global low-carbon transition. A 2023 UN report revealed a stark challenge: developing nations require approximately $1.7 trillion annually in renewable-energy investments to meet climate goals, yet received only $544 billion in foreign direct investments the preceding year. Inspired by this, Huang Yiping of Peking University proposed a “Marshall Plan” for clean energy, arguing that only China possesses the necessary expertise, financing, and productive capacity to bridge this gap. By sharing these resources, Huang suggests, China could simultaneously “drive global green development, boost its own economy and strengthen its international leadership.”
While a “green Marshall Plan” would represent the pinnacle of soft power, Beijing appears hesitant to fully embrace such a commitment. China’s continued reliance on coal and oil, accounting for 90 percent of global CO2 emissions growth since 2015, further complicates this. However, Sam Geall suggests China could gain by focusing on simpler exports, like the inexpensive solar water heaters common in rural China. He argues that genuinely pursuing South-South climate cooperation through such accessible technologies would “unlock such great development benefits,” contrasting this with the current trend of “very high-tech, flashy, modern projects” that, he believes, cause China to “really miss a trick in terms of soft power.”
For nations wary of excessive dependence on China, a key objective is to cultivate their own low-carbon industries. Lewis states, “I do not see evidence of a grand strategy in the way that China has exported clean-energy technologies.” She sees a tremendous opportunity for China to significantly advance the low-carbon energy transition in the Global South, not merely through technology exports, but by assisting these countries in establishing their own green industries and adopting China’s industrial policy model.
This organic, bottom-up process is already underway. In Kenya, for instance, an EV distributor is reportedly shifting from importing pre-built Chinese vehicles to assembling them locally. Such partnerships offer mutual benefits: local job creation, technical skill development, and profits for host nations, while providing Chinese manufacturers direct access to vibrant new markets. However, success isn’t guaranteed; in Chile, two Chinese firms recently withdrew from plans to build lithium cathode plants, impacting the nation’s goal to advance beyond raw lithium exports. Brazil, hosting a global climate summit in November, stands out as a successful partner, having secured deals with Chinese companies for EV factories and a wind-turbine assembly plant, even amidst U.S. punitive tariffs.
Given its severe indebtedness, Laos is in no position to dictate terms to China. Yet, as the Monsoon Wind Power Project’s final turbines were erected this spring, the Lao government reportedly inked another $1.45 billion deal with a different Chinese firm for an 1,800-megawatt clean-energy project. Laos’s role as an energy exporter appears set to continue, perhaps even accelerate, despite—or because of—its substantial financial obligations to China.
Less than a mile from the Monsoon main camp, the village of Dak Dor gracefully curves along a river. Here, traditional daily life proceeds undisturbed. Inside one home, women care for a new mother and her infant, employing herbs and warm cloths to ward off evil. Nearby, men and boys prepare an old water buffalo for a community feast. Yet, hints of external influence are visible: rice sheds supported by American cluster bomb casings, and a modern two-story cement house under construction, reportedly belonging to a PowerChina employee.
A hillside pasture above Dak Rant village offers a striking tableau of recent history. In the foreground, a herd of cows grazes placidly amidst circular depressions—bomb craters from American planes over 50 years ago, now the only places where trees and bushes grow on the otherwise barren hill. Beyond this scarred landscape, sleek new Chinese wind turbines rise in endless rows, stretching to the horizon. Beneath these towering structures lie 32 villages, home to approximately 17,000 people, 90 percent of whom are Triang ethnic minority members.
During construction, Monsoon faced numerous challenges from villagers, from agricultural land loss to concerns over “environmental spirits.” In Dak Bong, residents protested PowerChina’s plan to run a transmission line over their sacred ancestral cemetery. Boakajorn confirmed that the company rerouted the line to respect their venerated spirits, and locals often performed rituals when foreign workers were nearby. Overall, Monsoon paid $1.3 million in compensation for lost land, trees, income, and cultural heritage—a minor expense in a billion-dollar project. Crucially, Boakajorn highlighted a major success: not a single family was forcibly displaced by the Monsoon project.
While the wind farm’s arrival was disorienting, hundreds of villagers found temporary employment as construction workers, cooks, security guards, or truck drivers. Truck drivers earned over $200 a month—many times the local average. However, most jobs ceased after PowerChina installed the final turbine in April. Few locals possess the necessary education or skills for operational roles, though Boakajorn states Monsoon retains 120 villagers for tasks like forest protection and community relations. With an annual community development fund exceeding a million dollars, Monsoon functions almost as a local government, providing scholarships, promoting coffee farming, and supplying solar modules to remote villages. The main camp is even being converted into a community training facility. Despite these efforts, a critical fact remains: the local population receives no electricity from the wind farm built on their land.
By the roadside, a barefoot woman in her early twenties managed her family’s open-air convenience store, serving customers seated at a wooden table on beer crates. When asked about changes brought by the Monsoon project, she gestured to the old, boarded-up house next door. “The shop used to be there,” she explained, “but business was good so we built this new one.” The new cement structure features whitewashed walls, linoleum tiles, a new refrigerator, and a freezer. Chinese workers, she noted, often stopped for “Pepsi and sweets,” but the significant boost in business came from local villagers, many of whom were earning cash wages for the first time.
Conversation paused as three enormous trucks rumbled past, laden with bauxite from a nearby mine, destined for Vietnam and, eventually, China. A PowerChina SUV then appeared, followed by a Land Cruiser emblazoned with a Norwegian aid group’s logo and an American flag sticker. The latter vehicles carried bomb-removal experts, still meticulously surveying the area for unexploded ordnance over five decades after the last American bombs fell. Their work, however, is now indefinitely stalled; the USAID program that funded such crucial efforts was discontinued this year.
This young woman harbored ambitions beyond her family’s roadside shop on the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail. She is a trailblazer, the first in her family—and one of the few in her region—to attend college. During her holiday, she returned home to assist her parents. Upon graduation, she plans to leave the village, seeking opportunities in larger towns like Dak Cheung, or perhaps even further afield in the city of Sekong.
For now, however, her immediate aspiration was simpler. Inspired by the Chinese engineers and PowerChina’s introduction of advanced technology to her undeveloped highland region, she expressed a strong desire to learn their language.
“I want to learn Chinese,” she stated, “if somebody could teach me.”
Brook Larmer is a contributing writer for the magazine based in Bangkok. He is the author of “Operation Yao Ming,” a book about China’s rise told through sports.