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Inside Out & Outside In
Opinion
David Dodwell

Outside In | Donald Trump should learn a lesson from imperial China’s failed rhubarb war with Britain

  • Rhubarb played an overlooked role in the opium war, after Qing China made a ludicrous miscalculation of foreigners’ reliance on the plant. In the current trade war, is Trump similarly in danger of misjudging China’s economic situation?

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A farmer works in a rhubarb field in Gansu province, China. In the Qing dynasty, the imperial court in Beijing believed that rhubarb could be used as a trade weapon against foreigners who would become critically ill without the herb. Photo: Xinhua

Revisiting the English county of Yorkshire this month for the first time in decades has brought back sharp, poignant memories – and none so peculiar as those of the frost pocket known as the Rhubarb Triangle between Leeds, Wakefield and Bradford.

I’m sure most readers have neither heard of nor ever tasted rhubarb. But old-timers like me nurture fond post-war ration-era memories of plundering the rhubarb patch in the back garden, of rhubarb pies, rhubarb with custard, and of the stolen pleasure of chomping on long red sticks of rhubarb plonked into a bowl of sugar.
While rhubarb has fallen quite out of fashion in recent times (and beyond reliable global measures of production or trade), the vegetable claims a startling role in Britain’s opium wars against China, at the heart of what must be one of the most ludicrous strategic miscalculations in recent Chinese history. For anyone involved in trade conflicts – like the United States and China today – it serves as a warning about how cultural differences and misunderstandings can lead to fatal errors.
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Rhubarb seems to have originated in the northern parts of Russia and China, and it was being used as far as 2700BC. For the Chinese, rhubarb – called da huang or “big yellow” in Mandarin – was a potent purgative, used only to treat grave illness. Only the roots and fluorescent red stalks were consumed; the huge green leaves contain large quantities of oxalic acid, making them highly toxic. In the Ming dynasty, the Chinese pharmacopoeia Bencao Gangmu, or Compendium of Materia Medica, listed 48 uses for the plant; Zhang Jiebing, a physician at the time, extolled rhubarb as one of the four cardinal drugs.

Export demand for rhubarb became massive during the 1700s – a Russian royal monopoly on Chinese rhubarb was in force until 1781 – and silk, porcelain, tea and rhubarb were Qing China’s main exports.

But it seems the Chinese emperor and his court had little knowledge of, or interest in, why Westerners consumed so much rhubarb. During a long border war with Russia in the 1780s, Chinese threats to cut off rhubarb exports seemed to bring the Russians quickly to the negotiating table, and the imperial court in Beijing concluded that there was something special about rhubarb that made foreign barbarians peculiarly reliant on it.

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