Goodbye Washington Confusion, hello Wall Street Consensus: contemporary state capitalism and the spatialisation of industrial strategy

ABSTRACT Recent scholarship has narrated the financialization of development, which Gabor (2021) refers to as the Wall Street Consensus (WSC), whose purpose is to facilitate the investment of global capital in Southern infrastructure by institutionalising the distribution of risk, reward and responsibility between investors and states. Gabor’s conceptualization of the ‘de-risking state’ subordinated to global finance capital stands in stark contrast with scholarship on state capitalism, which charts the unprecedented entrepreneurial role played by states as investors and market participants. Our objective in this article is to reconcile the apparent paradox presented by the simultaneous emergence of the WSC and evolution of state capitalism. We argue that the WSC affords de-risking states scope to pursue autonomous strategic visions, and many have responded by embracing infrastructure-led development designed to integrate places within global value chains in ways that foster economic diversification, industrial upgrading and balanced regional growth. We present three examples in which de-risking states have implemented spatialised industrial strategies – Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030, Kenya’s Vision 2030 and Thailand 4.0. In each of these cases spatialised industrial strategies undertaken by de-risking states have fuelled the proliferation of large-scale infrastructure projects and served to justify political centralization.


Introduction
Approximately 3,500 attendees from the rarefied world of global high finance gathered at the Ritz-Carlton in Riyadh in October 2017. The reserved atmosphere gave way to excitement when the Kingdom's youthful prince, Mohammed bin Salman, announced that his government planned to spend half a trillion dollars building a futuristic new city called Neom. One Japanese investor became so animated by the utopian possibilities afforded by petro-fuelled greenfield urbanization that he exclaimed Neom would amount to a 'new Mecca' (Yergin 2020, ch. 35). bin Salman quickly corrected him and explained that there is only one Mecca. Indeed, rather than a centre of global Islam to rival Mecca, Neom is designed to appeal to a global elite who will supposedly staff its high-tech and highend producer services firms that will establish it as an influential node in global production networks. It is a key component of Saudi Arabia's spatialised industrial strategy outlined in Vision 2030, whose objective is to wean the country off its dependency on oil exports and turbocharge its nascent hightech sectors.
Similar initiatives have proliferated worldwide and the 'rate of adoption of both formal industrial policies and individual policy measures targeted at industrial sectors appears to be at an all-time high' (UNCTAD 2018: 128-129). Examples include the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, Indonesia Vision 2045, and the developmental aspects of Mexico's 'Fourth Transformation' such as the Tehuantepec Isthmus Interoceanic Corridor (CPEC 2017, Government of Indonesia 2019, Duhalt 2021). These industrial strategies are underpinned by spatial planning that calls for the construction of large-scale infrastructure projects whose purpose is to integrate commodity frontiers into global value chains in ways that not only result in economic growth, but also combine a number of the following objectives: (1) chart pathways of structural transformation, (2) enhance firm/sector competitiveness, (3) diversify economic activity, and (4) balance regional growth.
In attempts to finance these ambitious spatialised industrial strategies, governments in many lowand middle-income states have cultivated a close relationship with global finance and embrace policy frameworks designed to incentivise asset managers in the OECD to align their investment strategies with objectives that are ostensibly 'developmental.' These efforts are underpinned by an emergent policy framework that Gabor (2021) terms the Wall Street Consensus (WSC), which institutionalises a distribution of risks and rewards between Southern states and Northern investors. Quite simply, rewards accrue to investors while states absorb many of the risks associated with infrastructure projects. This is achieved through the implementation of domestic institutional reforms whose result is the emergence of what Gabor (2021) calls the 'de-risking state.' Alongside a greater subordination of states to financial capital, however, we observe an apparently paradoxical tendency towards state capitalism, wherein states are increasingly active within markets, as participants and owners of capital as well as entrepreneurial and regulatory agents in the world economy (IMF 2020).
Our objective in this article is to reconcile the concurrent rise of the WSC and contemporary state capitalism. Here we use the term reconcile in two ways. First, we offer a historical-analytical explanation of political economic transformations in the global development regime that can account for both trends. Second, we demonstrate empirically how governments in developing countries have indeed exercised agency while accommodating global finance in their pursuit of spatialised industrial strategy. The de-risking agenda envisions a more expansive role for states in terms of creating, promoting and backstopping new bankable projects in order to attract capital flows. In turn, these expanded functions provide scope for states to pursue more ambitious agendas of development and structural transformation, albeit within limits circumscribed by the extended disciplinary reach of financial markets. Our central argument is that this marriage of global finance capital and governments is congruent with and expressed through an emerging consensus surrounding the merits of spatialised industrial strategy, underpinned by large-scale infrastructure projects that ostensibly facilitate the integration of places within global value chains. In contrast to the Washington Consensus which advocated 'spatially blind' policy (see Barca et al., 2012) and undermined the agency of states in the Global South through the imposition of structural adjustment facilities, the WSC affords states considerable scope to articulate 'state spatial objectives' (Brenner, 2004) as long as they assume risk and adhere to certain international financial norms and standards. This is where we diverge from Gabor (2021), who asserts that the WSC's policy framework 'lacks an autonomous strategic vision, unless 'more infrastructure' can be described as such ' (2020, p. 4). We argue that infrastructure projects underpin spatialised industrial strategies that are indeed constitutive of autonomous strategic visions. Furthermore, we demonstrate that the de-risking state can be entrepreneurial, and hence, the emergence of the WSC can, at times, complement state capitalism.
Our empirical focus is on three cases that show how the de-risking state is also entrepreneurial and pursues an autonomous strategic vision through the implementation of spatialised industrial strategy -Saudi Arabia's Vision 2030, Kenya's Vision 2030 and Thailand 4.0. As noted above, Saudi Arabia seeks to diversify its economy and buy its way into twenty-first century hi-tech sectors; Kenya's objective is to cement itself as a regional hub of value addition in agribusiness and extractive industries; Thailand's military government seeks to upgrade its industrial capacity from relatively labour-intensive mass production (e.g. automobiles) to capital-intensive high-tech sectors (e.g. automation and robotics). In each case, new institutions were created or existing institutions were empowered to implement spatialised industrial policies. Their authority supersedes most existing governmental institutions, and they report directly to the executive branch of government. Thus, we conclude that the WSC provides developing countries the opportunity to articulate autonomous strategic visions, while it is used to justify the centralization of governance.
This article proceeds as follows. In the following section, we briefly narrate the establishment of a consensus surrounding the virtues of spatialised industrial policy after the 2008 financial crisis, and we identify its key objectives and institutional contours. We then proceed to ground these dynamics in Saudi Arabia, Kenya and Thailand. In the conclusion we summarise our findings, and we discuss the implications of our analysis for scholarly debates on contemporary state capitalism, the rise of the Wall Street Consensus and the political economy of industrial policy.

The return and repurposing of spatialised industrial policy
We locate the emergence and proliferation of new modalities of spatialised industrial policy underpinned by large-scale development projects within three significant trends in global development: (1) a crisis of the Washington Consensus, which made way for renewed interest in infrastructure-led development and state-led spatial planning; (2) the formation of a global coalition of powerful state and market actors around the idea of funding spatial planning schemes by mobilising international private finance; (3) a broader reconfiguration of the state's role as promoter, supervisor, and owner of capital across the world economy. Our main contention in this section is that the new spatialised industrial strategies are a product of the conjunction of these three distinct trends. They are both a manifestation of the opportunities afforded by these trends, and a negotiated outcome of the tensions and contradictions among them. Firmly situating new spatialised industrial strategies within these broader developments thus allows us to highlight their historical specificity and to identify their key contours, objectives and modalities, notably in comparison with earlier regimes of stateled industrial development.
From 'Washington confusion' to state-led spatial planning While state-led spatial planning has a long history, we trace the roots of contemporary spatialised industrial policy to the early-2000s, when the Washington Consensus institutions were convulsed by debate surrounding the poor results of two decades of neoliberal reforms (Öniş andŞenses 2005, Rodrik 2006). The acrimony led to the unravelling of the Washington Consensus and gave way to what Dani Rodrik (2006) referred to as 'Washington confusion,' characterised by soul-searching and recriminations among development policy stalwarts. Reformists based mainly at the World Bank advocated introspection and re-appraisal of the neoliberal model that had been the cornerstone of Washington Consensus policy for more than two decades. 1 Alternatively, hardliners based mainly at the IMF argued that the neoliberal model was not the problem, but that reforms had failed because they were not faithfully implemented. At stake in this policy failure postmortem was nothing less than the integrity of the neoliberal assumption that 'free' markets are a prerequisite for development and transformation.
This debate was interrupted by the collapse of the highly financialised and securitised US housing market and the subsequent crisis. The US responded by implementing expansive monetary and fiscal policy, which offered many governments the scope to re-introduce market regulatory mechanisms. 2 One of the fields in which states sought to exercise authority was spatial planning. State-led spatial planning, industrial policy and infrastructure investment served as the basis for a renewed consensus among the global development policymaking elite (Wilson, 2011). The 2009 World Development Report conceptualized development as a spatial process that required the expansion of global capital (Wilson, 2011), yet its rejection of spatially blind policy and endorsement of state-led spatial planning represented a break with neoliberal orthodoxy. The policy framework that evolved identified an 'infrastructure gap' as the main barrier inhibiting places from connecting with global value chains (Goodfellow 2020). Thus, in contrast to earlier rounds of neoliberal restructuring when the primary imperatives were to get the prices and institutions right, the emphasis of 'infrastructureled development' was to 'get the territory right' (Schindler and Kanai, 2021).
Infrastructure-led development was a welcome shift towards demand-side policy for closet Keynesians, because it afforded states the opportunity to respond to the financial crisis by initiating public works projects. The World Bank's Chief Economist at the time, Justin Yifu Lin, outlined a theory of 'new structural economics,' in which large-scale infrastructure investments are supposed to alleviate bottlenecks and fundamentally transform the comparative advantage of developing countries (Lin 2012a(Lin , 2012b. He proposed a global Marshall Plan which was essentially a turbocharged New Deal on a planetary scale (Lin and Domeland 2012;Lin and Wang 2013). Meanwhile, free-market hardliners embraced the return of state-led spatial planning because it conveniently identified the failure of previous rounds of neoliberal restructuring as inadequate infrastructure rather than an endogenous flaw in the neoliberal model. A global growth coalition mobilised, and it included multilateral and regional development banks, international governmental organizations such as the G20 and OECD, elite consultancies, and powerful nation-states like the US, China, Russia and Japan (Ougaard 2018, Schindler andKanai 2021). A host of continental and even trans-continental spatial plans were articulated that employed spatial planning strategies from the mid-twentieth century such as new towns and development corridors. 3 Mobilising Wall Street to finance infrastructure-led development?
The post-2008 global liquidity glut and the rise of China as a bilateral creditor provided states in lowand middle-income countries the means to fund many projects via public debt financing. However, the monumental nature of these spatial planning schemes meant that they were extremely costly, 4 especially relative to most countries' fiscal capacities. To meet this apparent gap, the OECD, G20 and even the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank have prioritised the establishment of a model of 'blended finance' to encourage private investment in infrastructure (Anguelov 2021). 5 Concerted efforts to mobilise private capital for state-led spatial plans began by rendering infrastructure an investible and financialised asset (Torrance 2009, O'Neill 2013, Furlong 2020. However, the construction of greenfield inter-city infrastructure in low-and middle-income countriesi.e. where the 'infrastructure gap' is most evidentremained too risky for most Northern-based institutional investors (Griffiths andJosé Romero 2018, Grabel 2019). This explains why the relationship between finance capital and borrowing states is subject to a growing list of norms and rules surrounding infrastructure investment that institutionalises the distribution of risk, reward and responsibility. Gabor (2021) refers to this emergent regime as the Wall Street Consensus (WSC), and she highlights how the 'derisking state' in low-and middle-income countries partners with international institutions (such as the G20 or World Bank) to assume risk in an attempt to entice institutional investors from the OECD (such as pension, index or sovereign wealth funds) whose protocols mandate risk-return profiles that would otherwise be unachievable in low-and middle-income countries. Quite simply, risk is allocated to states so that investors are virtually guaranteed to realize returns 6 (see . De-risking is achieved in a range of ways and at various scales. Project-specific arrangements are outlined in public-private partnerships, while the broader mission of the de-risking state involves an overhaul of domestic financial sectors, away from bank-based systems towards bond-based structures and securitisation. 7 The WSC represents a somewhat confounding mix of policies that double down on some of the most controversial aspects of previous rounds of reform, such as fiscal discipline (heavily implicated in the preference for PPP project finance), the avoidance of capital controls 8 and the privatisation of domestic pension funds. Gabor compares the WSC unfavourably with East Asian developmental states, on the basis that the latter played a de-risking role for domestic industrial capital rather than global financial capital. For Gabor, the WSC subordinates governments in low-and mediumincome countries to global financial capital, and this leads her to assert that it 'lacks an autonomous strategic vision, unless 'more infrastructure' can be described as such ' (2021, p. 4). However, our empirical cases will demonstrate, the junior partner role of states within the WSC still represents an expansion of the roles of the state with respect to planning, regulating and backstopping new investable projects in order to attract financial flows. More broadly, disempowerment of states vis-à-vis global financial capital is taking place alongside a concomitant resurgence of state participation in markets as owners of capital and investors as well as regulators. These trends explain the proliferation of scholarly interest in contemporary state capitalism (Alami and Dixon 2020a;2020b;Wright et al. 2021).

The parallel rise of contemporary state capitalism
State capitalism is a categorical label that generally designates capitalist social formations where the state plays a particularly significant role in the organisation of economy and society by supervising and administering capital accumulation, occasionally through the direct ownership, control and allocation of capital (e.g. Bremmer 2010; Kurlantzick 2016; Nölke et al. 2019). The term has a long history (cf. Sperber 2019), and its recent popularisation within academic and policy-oriented circles is due to the proliferation of state-sponsored corporate entities (such as development and policy banks, stateowned enterprises, sovereign wealth funds, and state-supported national champions) since the early 2000s (Musacchio and Lazzarini 2014;Cuervo-Cazurra 2018). For instance, in 2020 there were 127 sovereign funds, which is more than six times as many as there were in 2000. Over the same period, the assets controlled by these funds have increased from less than $1 trillion to more than $8.5 trillion (swfinstitute.org 2021). Similarly, according to recent IMF figures, 'the share of state-owned enterprises among the world's 2000 largest firms doubled to 20 percent over the last two decades … their assets are worth $45 trillion, equivalent to half of global GDP' (IMF 2020, p. 5-6). In addition to the sheer amount of capital over which states maintain control, contemporary state capitalism is also characterised by qualitative novelty. In comparison to earlier periods in which states exerted significant regulatory control over capitalist economies and societies, state-sponsored entities are now more deeply integrated into transnational networks of production, trade, finance, infrastructure, and corporate ownership (Werner 2021;Babic et al. 2020;Haberly and Wójcik 2017;Horner 2017). In some instances, they are lead firms in global value chains (Lim 2018). In the context of their expanded control and strategic location in global networks, states have modified their regulatory functions to include interventionist industrial policy, which has often involved reconfiguring how they act as promoter, supervisor, and owner of capital .
Contemporary state capitalism was on display during the commodity super-cycle as states played a fundamental role in the various models of post-developmentalism, post-neoliberalism, resource nationalism, and other forms of state-led development that proliferated across the developing world (Jepson 2020). More recently, states have implemented turnkey infrastructure projects designed to foster structural transformation, economic diversification, industrial upgrading, and redistributive strategies geared towards more balanced regional growth (Nem Singh andChen 2018, Kim 2020;Schindler and Kanai 2021). Indeed, these are the overarching policy objectives of most governments that have embraced a variant of state capitalism, and their pursuit has coincided with the emergence of muscular forms of statism, including economic patriotism, strategic protectionism, techno-nationalism, and neo-mercantilism (Clift and Woll 2012, Roberts et al. 2019, Helleiner 2021, Weiss and Thurbon 2021. A central imperative of industrial strategy is to ensure that domestic firms and national champions are able to participate favourably in global value chains, by including policies surrounding the acquisition of technology, innovation, intellectual property, trade. Importantly, since the renewal of interest in spatial planning policies, industrial policy also tends to address infrastructural connectivity, logistics networks, and territorial integration into global production and financial networks. 9 Here we are presented with an apparent paradoxon one hand, the WSC appears to subordinate governments to global financial capital, while on the other hand many governments have embraced a novel role as market participants. To reconcile this apparent paradox, we argue that although the WSC requires states to de-risk infrastructure projects, it simultaneously affords them with considerable agency and scope to experiment with spatialised industrial strategy. Indeed, the WSC and state capitalism are not only at times complementary, but they are co-constitutive, as states are able to access capital for entrepreneurial spatial plans. Thus, Gabor is undoubtedly correct that the nascent de-risking state of the 2020s is exposed to the vagaries and volatility of global financial capital, and are not impervious to the risks posed by the further entrenchment and normalisation of financial logics in development (Mawdsley 2018). Indeed, we are not endorsing the Wall Street Consensus as an inherently effective or emancipatory development model, yet we do assert that states operating within its parameters are able to articulate and pursue 'state spatial objectives' (Brenner, 2004) that would not have been possible under the Washington Consensus.

Key contours of the new spatialised industrial strategies
In the following section we present three examples of de-risking states that have willingly embraced the policy grammar of the WSC, agreeing to its conditions and assuming some of its risks, because it allows them to formulate spatialised industrial strategies centred on the state-coordinated expansion of infrastructure. For now, let us further specify how the three trends discussed so far (Washington confusion, WSC, and state capitalism) are reflected in the fundamental contours, objectives and modalities of new spatialised industrial strategies, particularly in comparison with earlier regimes of state-led industrial development.
In some ways, de-risking states borrow components from Justin Yifu Lin's (2012a, 2012b) new structural economics (particularly surrounding large-scale infrastructure investments) as well as the logic of the developmental state that was designed to guide market forces and foster macroeconomic environments in which strategic industries could flourish (Öniş 1991). They largely retain the ends from these industrial policy frameworks while inverting some of the means. For example, rather than institute capital controls in order to protect domestic industries, states now seek to create a supportive macro-financial environment and encourage investment into infrastructure to open historically lagging regions to global capital. Furthermore, states are re-embracing their roles as owners of capital and as investor-shareholders, albeit in a more 'marketized' manner, with state-capitalist entities (such as state enterprises and sovereign funds) emulating the practices and organisational structures of comparable private-sector entities such as adopting the techniques of modern finance, and resorting to mixed-ownership (see Alami and Dixon 2022). Moreover, a crucial distinction between the industrial strategy of de-risking states and previous policy frameworks is their emphasis on enhancing connectivity. Effective spatial planning is thus seen as the sin qua non industrial policy imperative for achieving structural transformation and balanced regional growth, enhancing firm/sector competitiveness, integrating with transnational value chains, and attracting global investment.
Finally, the implementation of spatial industrial strategies is undertaken by newly created or reformed intuitionsthe contemporary avatar of what Öniş (1991) referred to as 'pilot agencies' that wield power to de-risk projects, acquire land, devise and undertake spatial plans, and oversee the construction of infrastructure. In some instances, they invest in enterprises and launch commercial ventures. These institutions answer directly to the executive branch and their authority supersedes other governmental institutions. The de-risking state, therefore, tends towards centralization and in addition to de-risking infrastructure investments it embraces the role of promoter, supervisor, and owner of capital.

Implementing spatialised industrial policy: Saudi Arabia, Kenya and Thailand
In this section we turn to the spatialised industrial strategies of Saudi Arabia, Kenya and Thailand. The cases are informed by analyses of public government documents that outline the current industrial strategy and institutional reforms that enable its realization. We demonstrate that in each case, the 'de-risking' state employs spatialised industry strategy consistent with trends in contemporary state capitalism. Furthermore, these strategies are undertaken by bespoke institutions or existing institutions empowered to de-risk as well as act entrepreneurially.

Saudi Arabia Vision 2030
Saudi Arabia's extreme dependence on oil was laid bare in 2014-2015 when oil prices collapsed. Oil rents fluctuate but on average account for about 87 per cent of annual government budget revenues, 42 per cent of GDP, and 90 per cent of export earnings (Nurunnabi 2017). The sharp decline in oil prices has therefore resulted in large fiscal deficits since 2014 (accentuated by the rising costs of a brutal military campaign in Yemen), forcing the government to tap into its reserves and sovereign wealth fund (Habibi 2019). Substantial downward pressure on oil prices is likely to continue given demand for oil is expected to peak in the next two decades due to mounting environmental concerns, the shift away from carbon-based energy, as well as the rising supply of shale oil (Bradshaw et al 2019;Mirzoev et al. 2020). For the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA), this means oil prices are likely to consistently remain lower than the 'breakeven point' (i.e. the price that balances the government's budget). This poses an existential threat to KSA's strategy of accumulation and associated social contract, which is fundamentally based upon the redistribution of its vast oil wealth amongst members of the ruling families, merchant classes, and the broader native Saudi population (Faudot 2019;Bradshaw et al 2019).
An ambitious national development plan, Vision 2030, was announced in April 2016 with the explicit aim of preparing for a 'world after oil,' in the wake of Crown Prince and de facto ruler Mohammed bin Salman's expeditious rise to power (Hanieh 2018;Habibi 2019). A central objective of the plan, which encompasses three '5-year strategic planning cycles' (beginning in 2016, 2020 and 2025) and a long list of economic reforms and quantitative targets, is economic diversification (notably by developing 'knowledge-based' and high-tech sectors) and increasing the contribution of the private sector in the Saudi economy (KSA 2017a: 61). Vision 2030s strategic features clearly evidence a shift towards the spatialization of industrial policy and infrastructure-led development it aims to comprehensively redesign national territory in ways that will enhance economic diversification, competitiveness, and industrial upgrading. KSA planned to develop four 'smart' cities in the mid-2000s including Jazan Economic City along the southwest Red Sea coast, which was supposed to become a premier centre of heavy industry, a regional logistics hub, and an export platform. 10 The construction of these cities is not only accelerated under Vision 2030 but the plan also features three other 'giga-projects.' The flagship giga-project is 'The Line,' a $500bn futuristic 170 km carbon-free urban conurbation, along the country's north-western Red Sea coast. It will purportedly 'adopt state-of-the-art technology in urban design, automation, and sustainable technology' and anchor an infrastructure network that extends to neighbouring Jordan and Egypt (Habibi 2019: 4). Other giga-projects include 'Qiddiya, a more than $15bn sports and entertainment complex, and a high-end Red Sea tourism development that is expected to cost about $10bn' (England 2021).
Vision 2030 outlines a nationwide division of labour in addition to economic diversification (e.g. religious tourism in Mecca, recreation in Qiddiya, renewable energy and high-tech innovation in The Line, mining and petrochemicals in Jazan, finance and business services in Riyadh, etc.). These key urban nodes serve as logistical anchors in a complex integrated infrastructure network encompassing digital infrastructure, a national gas distribution system, electricity grid expansion, air, maritime and terrestrial transports. This, it is hoped, will integrate the national economy with transnational networks and reaffirm KSA as a regional hub and a 'distinctive logistics and trade gateway to three continents: Africa, Asia and Europe' (KSA 2017a: 58). Saudi firms are meant to leverage this logistical connectivity to strategically couple with transnational value chains (KSA aims to become a platform for both exports and re-exports). Inter-and intra-regional connectivity and transnational integration are also portrayed as central to the 'National Companies Promotion Program,' a national champion policy which attempts to boost the large Saudi conglomerates which dominate the economy and the wider region, and 'promising growth sectors' are targeted: defence, gas, renewables, mining, and food retail (Hanieh 2018;KSA 2017b). A host of 'soft' and flexible regulatory innovations are included in Vision 2030, such as new zoning strategies that encourage the creation of special economic zones and economic corridors 'in exceptional and competitive locations,' and subsidies for strategic sectors (e.g. logistics, tourism, industrial development and financial services) (KSA 2017a: 51; KSA 2017b: 430-472). The most notable example is Programme HQ which offers tax and other incentives to transnational corporations in high tech, oil services, and finance, with the objective of convincing them to relocate their regional headquarters from Dubai to Riyadh (Kerr and England 2021).
The vocabulary, norms and parameters of the WSC are deeply embedded within Vision 2030. This is particularly apparent in the way it apportions the distribution of risks, rewards, and responsibility pertaining to the financing of giga-projects. The mobilisation of foreign capital is prioritised (e.g. KSA 2017a: 50, 57), while fiscal discipline and an attractive and competitive legal and regulatory framework are highlighted (KSA 2017a:50; 80). There is a strong focus on the privatisation of state-owned assets and government services ('Unlocking state-owned assets for the private sector'), and an emphasis on PPPs as the preferred mode of finance, especially in the infrastructure and transportation sector (KSA 2017c: 8). De-risking is presented as yet another advantage offered to both global finance and the domestic private sector, so Vision 2030 articulates a clear rationale for state capitalist instruments in this respect. The National Development Fund, set up in 2017 in order to oversee and upgrade the performance of the various state-owned funds and development banks, will use its $93bn worth of financial resources to 'mitigate risks' that prevent investors from entering the infrastructure sector. According to its governor Stephen Groff, the fund's 'long-term strategy is to transform into an integrated development financing entity, where the focus will be on how to support private sector activity and encourage private investment' (Arab News 2020). It will also work 'towards establishing an infrastructure fund, which will have various financial tools to satisfy the different needs of investors wishing to enter this field' (ibid).
The combination of de-risking infrastructure investments and spatialised industrial strategy is nowhere more obvious than in the restructuring of the Public Investment Fund (PIF) (KSA 2017d). This sovereign wealth fund was created in 1971, and Vision 2030 dramatically expands its purview (Habibi 2019: 4). With assets under management expected to grow to $1tn by 2025 (currently worth $400bn, partly thanks to the proceeds from the initial public offering of 1.7 per cent of Saudi Aramco in 2019), the PIF has pledged to invest more actively internationally in various sectors (real estate, high tech, infrastructure) and various asset classes in pursuit of higher returns and key technology and knowledge (KSA 2017d). It also partners with diverse global investors such as SoftBank Vision Fund (notably to invest in high tech), Blackstone (to invest in US infrastructure), with French private equity managers, as well as with other sovereign wealth funds (such as the Russian Direct Investment Fund) (2017d: 76-79). It plans to invest $200bn domestically over the next five years, where it will act as the 'anchor investor' and strategic partner of international investors in infrastructure megaprojects, industrial upgrading efforts, and in the restructuring of strategic state assets (KSA 2017d; England 2021).
In summary, the Public Investment Fund and the National Development Fund are tasked with achieving Vision 2030. They embody the experimental entanglement of (1) the WSC policy framework and (2) spatialised industrial policy underpinned by large-scale infrastructure projects, as well as the role that both play in (3) the reconfiguration of the state's role as promoter, supervisor, and owner of capital (i.e. the new sate capitalism).
Vision 2030 clearly exhibits a tendency towards concentrating territorial power and spatial planning functions at the national level in the executive arm of the state. It is piloted by two high-ranking councils (the recently established Council for Economic and Development Affairs and Council of Political and Security Affairs) chaired by Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, who 'exerts full control over all economic reforms and development plans associated with Vision 2030' (Habibi 2019: 5). This centralization of territorial power and top-down spatial planning functions and also reflects (and has been instrumental in) the broader concentration of political power in the hands of bin Salman, with little or no public oversight.

Kenya Vision 2030
Keyna's Vision 2030 11 was launched in 2008 and aims to transform Kenya into a 'newly industrialising, middle income' country (Government of Kenya, 2008Kenya, , 2013aKenya, , 2018 by combining state-guided planning with a strong role for domestic business, while also embracing many aspects of liberalisation and export-orientation. It is inspired by the experiences of Malaysia and Singapore, both former British colonies that ameliorated ethnic tensions via rapid growth and industrialisation. This model found favour among Kenyan elites in the wake of violence following the disputed 2007 general election (Fourie 2014). The overall blueprint for Vision 2030 has been retained over subsequent years. However, under President Uhuru Kenyatta (2013-) state capitalist elements have become more pronounced and orientation towards institutional investors has increased, in reaction to disappointing progress and financing difficulties.
Vision 2030 prioritises infrastructure development above all else. Internal connectivity across national territory is stressed, with the integration of historically 'remote' northern frontier areas featuring prominently. Enhancing external connectivity is also an aspiration, in terms of cementing Kenya's status as a regional hub and strengthening linkages with global value chains. As such, each of the three Medium-Term Development Plans (MTDPs) released under the aegis of Vision 2030 so far envisage a series of investments in in new roads, ports, airports, energy generation and transmission facilities, oil pipelines and resort cities.
The latest MTDP (2018-22) provides something of a reorientation of priorities, broadly retaining Vision 2030s direction of travel while extending the state's role in supporting both producers and investors. This shift reflects President Uhuru Kenyatta's signature Big Four agenda, comprising food security, affordable housing, manufacturing, and affordable healthcare. Of particular interest in terms of industrial policy is the manufacturing pillar, whereby the goal is to increase the contribution of manufacturing in Kenya's GDP from 8.4 per cent in 2017-15 per cent by 2022. Specific policy initiatives have included grants and directed credit for textile firms (with a view to import substitution), the creation of new SEZs and industrial parks, producer energy subsidies and local content stipulations in construction and extractive sectors.
The component of Vision 2030 which perhaps best illustrates its grand ambition, as well as the combination of spatialisation and financialisation is LAPSSET (Lamu Port-South Sudan-Ethiopia Transport Corridor). Initially proposed in the 1970s but revived and substantially expanded under Kenya's Grand Coalition government in the late 2000s, LAPSSET promises a new 32-berth port at Lamu, along with pipelines carrying oil not just from South Sudan, but also from recently discovered Kenyan deposits near Lake Turkana (Browne 2015, p.12-14). Beyond this, though, the plan calls for rail and highway construction, with parallel fibre optic and power lines, running along a northern corridor linking Lamu to Isiolo and then on to both South Sudan and Ethiopia. Additionally LAPSSET includes a 693 MW dam at Kibuka Falls, an oil refinery and 1050 MW coal plant at Lamu (recently cancelled) and three new airports and resort cities at Lamu, Isiolo and Lake Turkana (Yi 2021). The Corridor's width varies between 500 m and 10 km along the route to allow for adjacent project development, but in order 'to ensure securitisation of land' an additional 50 km either side may be designated as a '[s]pecial investment zone … planned to generate productive economic activities to sustain the Corridor traffic' (GoK 2015). While the Kenyan Government presents LAPSSET as an investment, its estimated cost to the public is $24.5bn, or around 25 per cent of the country's GDP (GoK 2016, p2; World Bank n.d). The LAPSSET Investment Prospectus itself states that this is 'no mean task and cannot be left to the Government's limited resources alone,' so privatesector participation is prioritised: through infrastructure bonds and equity participation among other money market instruments … hence the need has arisen for the government to structure and package bankable projects that are investor ready (GoK 2015, p12).
In order to mobilise private investment, a number of reforms consistent with the WSC have been implemented, such as deepening local bond markets and encouraging retail investors to participate, while issuing domestic (tax free) debt tied specifically to infrastructure. For example, the M-Akiba scheme situates these shifts in an agenda of financial inclusion, and it markets infrastructure bonds to small investorsthe minimum purchase is $30as a means of personal saving via mobile money accounts (Kazeem 2018; Business Daily Africa 2020). While domestic bond issuance does alleviate currency risks, a lack of capital controls means debt and equity markets are still exposed to shifts in global financing conditions. Simultaneously, Kenya has continued to borrow on international markets as well as bilaterally, including $4.7bn from China Exim Bank for the Standard Gauge Railway project running from Mombassa to Naivasha (SAIS-CARI n.d). The dangers of combining high public debt levels and an increasingly market-based financial system in this way became clear during the COVID-19 pandemic. Amidst the economic fallout, Kenya initially declined to accept an offer by the G20 to suspend bilateral debt payments, for fear of the impact on credit ratings, and the government has said it will not pursue any wider restructuring of existing debts for the same reason (The East African 2021; Miriri 2021).
Over the past decade the World Bank, under its Maximizing Finance for Development initiative, has provided Kenya with funding to help develop a standardised legal and institutional framework conducive to attracting PPP investment (World Bank 2018). Kenya's 2013 and 2021 PPP Acts were borne out of this initiative, and permit the Treasury to provide private investors with guarantees on revenue, demand, credit, refinancing and foreign exchange risk. After apparent concerns that guarantees were being abused by investors, policy was tightened to limit de-risking to projects considered 'strategic' and 'in the public interest' (Anyanzwa and Muchira 2018;GoK 2018, p. 26-27). Additionally, the government has established a Project Facilitation Fund, which both finances these guarantees and includes provision for viability gap finance that subsidises otherwise nonbankable projects (GoK 2011, p. 7;GoK 2013b).
The development and implementation of Vision 2030 has been associated with a proliferation of new centralised institutions which exist in parallel toand often supersedeexisting line ministries. The LAPSSET Corridor Development Authority (LCDA), Vision 2030 Secretariat and National Economic and Social Council (NESC) all comprise a mix of politicians, business leaders and technocrats (GoK n.d., LAPSSETCDA n.d), consciously drawing on examples of East Asian planning agencies (Fourie 2014). 12 Reflecting an increasingly difficult fiscal situation and consequently even greater emphasis on securing PPP finance, a new PPP Directorate with control over selection and prioritisation of projects was created in 2021 (Barclay and Woolley 2021). This Directorate sits within the Treasury, but appears to operate largely outside of political oversight, in a move rather reminiscent of the drive towards central bank independence common to many Washington Consensus reform programmes (Kitoo 2021).
Results have so far been disappointing. A few projects have been completed, 13 though largely using traditional debt financing (from the African Development Bank and China Exim Bank) (GoK 2016). Falling oil prices, security concerns and land disputes in northern Kenya, instability in South Sudan, Ethiopian rapprochement with Eritrea and completion of the Addis Ababa-Djibouti railway have all combined to make LAPSSET a less attractive investment prospect than when the initiative was first announced in 2012 (Browne 2015;GoK 2013). However, two recently agreed PPP road projects may indicate that Kenya's de-risking policies are beginning to bear fruit. A $550 m Nairobi toll expressway will be built and operated by China Road and Bridge Corporation, and handed over to the state after a 27-year concession (Koech 2021;BBC 2021). More notable is the upgrading of the 233 km Nairobi-Mau Summit road to a four-lane highway, which is financed through a PPP with the Rift Valley Connect consortium (made up of French firms Vinci and Meridian). The €1.3 billion agreement is for a 30-year Design-Build-Finance-Operate-Maintain-Transfer contract (Mwangi 2022), in which the Kenyan Government assumes risks of inflation and exchange rate fluctuation while it also agrees to cover any difference between revenue and service payments (the latter is partially backstopped by the World Bank) (Global Infrastructure Hub 2019, p. 174).
Any greater 'success' in finding financing which may flow from establishing the new PPP Directorate is in practice likely to add significantly to the state's fiscal burden, in an environment where public debt is expected to reach 70 per cent of GDP in 2021 (IMF 2020). Amid the COVIDrelated economic disruption, a recent $2.34bn IMF loan agreement seems to herald harsh austerity measures, alongside further commercial and concessional borrowing. With the IMF itself more amenable to infrastructure projects than in previous eras, some elements of Vision 2030 may well survive the coming retrenchment, though only, it would seem, at the expense of severe cuts in other areas.

Thailand 4.0
Democratically-elected Prime Minister Yingluck Shinawatra was deposed by the Thai military in 2014 in the latest development in a high-stakes political struggle among fractions of Thai elites. Her brother Thaksin Shinawatra served as Prime Minister from 2001 until 2006 when he, too, was ousted by the military. His administration was dogged by allegations of corruption, yet he remained popular among a relatively broad cross-section of Thai society. Yingluck Shinawatra embraced populist policies aimed at maintaining this base of support, particularly in rural areas where the Thai government launched a program to buy rice from farmers above market rates. Perhaps more galling to traditional Thai elites than redistributive economic policies was the way the Shinawatras restructured the underlying ideology upon which the state's legitimacy historically rested. The traditional reference points were 'nation-religion-king,' but under the Shinawatras it became 'nation-economy-Thaksin' (Desatova 2018). The military junta that seized power in 2014 hoped to re-affirm the traditional pillars of rule and promised to restore a liberal-democratic system of governance by the end of 2015. These objectives proved incompatible because free elections would have almost guaranteed the return of a Shinawatra-aligned government. The military government postponed elections and has frantically sought to shore up support by promising 'economic growth based on rebranded Thaksin-style populist policies in exchange for people's social and political obeisance' (Desatova 2018, p. 690). For this task, the junta rehabilitated technocrats from previous Shinawatra governments that were deemed sufficiently flexible. One of these, Suvit Maesincee, became Deputy Commerce Minister and he drafted the junta's strategic development vision -Thailand 4.0.
Thailand 4.0 is underpinned by a narrative that divides Thai history into four stages. 14 According to this history, Thailand 1.0 was an agricultural society that transformed with the growth of lightindustry (2.0), and foreign investment ultimately led to the expansion of more advanced manufacturing and heavy industry (3.0). Indeed, Thailand captured a significant share of industry offshored from the OECD from 1990-2010 (Baldwin 2016). Perhaps most notably was its emergence as a regional hub of production and export for Japanese carmakers (ibid.). But according to the military government this era has run its course and the country risks falling into a middle-income trap if it does not embrace the so-called 'Fourth Industrial Revolution.' This is the essence of Thailand 4.0, although details of the plan are far from granular. Media coverage in Thailand celebrated the plan's aspirations and its transformative potential has largely been taken for granted: 'Thailand 4.0 economic model will change the country's traditional farming to smart farming, traditional SMEs to smart enterprises, and traditional services to high-value services' (Asia News Monitor 2016).
Rather than an industrial policy per se, Thailand 4.0 is a set of guidelines designed to inform policy makers and key policy documents such as the 20-year National Strategy and the 12th National Economic and Social Development Plan. The formulation of a 20-year development strategy signals the military junta's intention to remain in power. Its scope is broad and it includes a significant amount of spatial planning. For example, it seeks to cement Thailand's status as a regional hub by promoting 'seamless regional connectivity between East and South Asia, with Thailand being the hub of such economic corridor for transport, logistics, trade, investment, and tourism' (National Strategy Secretariat Office 2018, sec. 4.4.1). The national spatial development strategy is more explicit in the 12th National Economic and Social Development Plan, which includes 'minor targets' that serve as waypoints en route to the industrial transformation outlined in Thailand 4.0. It emphasises Thailand's potential to be a regional hub, and aligns the national spatial plan with other regional integration schemes (e.g. the Greater Mekong Subregion).
Perhaps in an attempt to curry favour among Thailand's rural poor, the plan underlines the need to foster balanced regional growth by decentralising urbanisation and industrial activity. Generalturned-Prime Minister Prayut Chan-o-cha explained that Thailand 4.0 would target peripheral areas with an 'area-based development policy' (Thai News Service 2017, p. 2), and the 12th plan: emphasizes using physical infrastructure linkages as a basis for the development of areas, economies and communities along transborder economic corridors, upgrading their competitiveness and distributing wealth to the communities, provinces, and cities along these economic corridors as well as other domestic linkage areas.
These objectives are manifested in the Eastern Economic Corridor development plan, the junta's flagship spatial planning and industrial development initiative which concentrates transformative industrial investments in the eastern border areas. To implement the spatial plan the Eastern Economic Corridor Office of Thailand (EECOT) was established in 2018, and it undertakes de-risking functions while it is simultaneously straddles the boundary between regulatory body and private enterprise. 15 The EECOT describes itself as 'a vital public agency aiming to encourage investment, uplift innovation, and advanced technology in Thailand for the future generation. We are the business facilitator that adds value across the entire project lifecycle and coordinates closely and proactively with other public authorities and private sectors to ensure the success of the projects' (EECOT 2021). The EECOT's authority supersedes other public institutions in questions surrounding land acquisition and use, and it de-risks investments by offering a host of incentives such as lengthy tax holidays and fast-track approval of PPPs. It offers sector-specific packages in an attempt to upgrade Thailand's industrial base: 'next-generation automotive,' intelligent electronics, advanced agriculture and biotechnology, 'food for the future,' high-value and medical tourism, automation and robotics, and aviation and logistics. 16 The EECOT claims that $21 billion has already been invested in five large-scale infrastructure projects, including a seaport, airport, airport city, 'industrial port,' and a highspeed rail. All are PPPs and the Thai Government's contribution is $6.5, yet the EECOT expects a whopping return on public investments of $14.6 billion (EEC 2019). This demonstrates the capitalist nature of the Thai state's spatialised industrial strategy, yet despite the EECOT's glossy promotional material, the nagging question remains: Will foreign investors buy in to the narrative of Thailand's total transformation? At present, it seems unlikelyindeed, about $10 billion was withdrawn from Thai stocks and bonds by foreign investors in the first three quarters of 2020 (Reed 2020). The junta's desire to offer stability has been undermined by waves of student protests, and it has recently pursued cases against American tech giants for failing to remove unflattering social media posts about the newly installed Thai monarch (Reed 2020). Even in the absence of protests and ham-handed internet censorship, one wonders if Thailand 4.0, and the EEC more specifically, would attract investors given the significant profit margin enjoyed by public institutions. In other words, might foreign investors prefer other countries whose allocation of risk and reward is more favourable? The two most likely explanations for the EEC's distribution of risk/reward are: first, in addition to projecting an investorfriendly image, Thailand 4.0 is targeting a domestic audience. The junta seeks to legitimise its rule by promising major economicif not politicaltransformation (see Desatova 2018). Thus, it must balance its efforts to de-risk Thailand's investment ecosystem with demands from civil society that would balk at generous giveaways to foreign investors. Second, by outlining a 20-year development strategy, the military has established itself as the primary agent of development. This is reminiscent of the Cold War, in which Southeast Asian societies were subjected to top-down 'military modernization' (Simpson 2008), only this time around militaries are not under the direction of American advisors and technocrats. Instead, they have become autonomous economic enterprises themselves (Waitoolkiat and Chambers 2017). After the 2014 coup the Thai military 'comfortably transformed its political clout into an economic empire,' and senior military figures also populate the boards of Thailand's state-owned enterprises (Waitoolkiat and Chambers 2017, p. 40). Thus, the military government may balance its desire to attract foreign investment through de-risking strategies, with demands from domestic constituencies and/or the financial ambitions of its loyalists.

Conclusion
In this article, we argued that the recent turn to spatialised industrial strategies in low-and middleincome countries is a product of three distinct trends in global development, namely a crisis of the Washington Consensus, which opened space for infrastructure-led development and state-led spatial planning; the formation of WSC whose project is to mobilise international private finance to fund development interventions; and the concomitant rise of state capitalism. The new modalities of spatialised industrial policy simultaneously embody the opportunities afforded by these trends, and reflect some of the tensions and contradictions among them. We demonstrated that governments willingly embrace the policy grammar of the WSC, agreeing to its conditions and assuming some of its risks, because it allows them to formulate spatialised industrial strategies centred on the state-coordinated expansion of infrastructure. As such, the WSC may determine how states intervene in markets, but governments are nonetheless able to pursue spatial and developmental objectives by framing them in terms of the rules and norms of the WSC. The extent to which this will prove an effective strategy for developing countries is a matter of future research. However, we can speculate that some states may be able to strike better deals with investors than others (in terms of the allocation of risks, rewards, and responsibility) and secure better outcomes overall. The outcomes may very well pivot on a state's ability to strategically adopt some of the jargon and policy preferences of the Wall Street Consensus while taking full advantage of the room that it affords for expanding state prerogatives and limiting the socialisation of risks. Indeed, there is evidence that a new vision of the state is emerging in official agendas and discourses about development, which embraces a far more expansive role . The successful mobilisation of the space and flexibility provided by this ideological adjustment and the policy framework of the WSC may prove to be the defining factor that determines development policy and outcomes in the coming post-pandemic era.
Future research should further explore the complex ways in which contemporary state capitalism and the Wall Street Consensus are entangled. The relation between the two has so far been studied in terms of the competition between rival models of development finance, typically, the expansion of state-supported Chinese finance increasingly rivalling more western-centric forms of marketbased finance in sovereign lending and in funding infrastructure projects across the global South. This scholarship highlights various points of tension, difference, and similarities between these two models (e.g. the securitisation of infrastructure assets), as well as how tensions between the two are shaping the emergent development regime (Anguelov 2021;Chen 2021;Mawdsley and Taggart 2021). Our analysis suggests that there are myriad other ways in which state capitalism and the WSC are co-implicated. Examples discussed in this article include the use of state capitalist instruments to de-risk private finance, and the strategic adoption of the policy grammar of the WSC by Southern governments in order to politically justify and legitimate an extension of the state's role as a development actor and owner of capital. Thus, contemporary state capitalism (encompassing both the expansion of state economic activity and reconfigurations of state-capital relations) is (1) a global process not reducible to the rise of China, and (2) it is not necessarily at odds with the spread of market-based financial systems.
Finally, our analysis contributes to debates on the revival of industrial policy since the 2008 global financial crisis (see e.g. in the pages of this journal, Berry 2020; Weiss and Thurbon 2020; Schedelik et al. 2020). This literature has produced extremely valuable insights concerning the determinants of such revival, including political and ideational struggles, as well as the role that new forms of industrial policy have played in the reconfiguration of neoliberalism, developmentalism, and the search for new accumulation strategies. We note, however, that questions of infrastructure, territorial integration, and logistical connectivityor more broadly put, questions surrounding space and spatial planninghave, curiously, been largely underexplored (see, for example, Chang and Andreoni, 2020). This is problematic because, as we have shown, contemporary industrial strategy in developing countries has become thoroughly spatialised, and its proponents insist that largescale infrastructure projects will play a pivotal role in structural transformation. If claims that we have entered an 'age of logistics' are indeed true (Cowen 2014), spatial-territorial dimensions are likely to be even more important to the political economy of industrial policy in the future.