Every time you buy a Cornish pasty in Yorkshire or ship Stilton to Scotland, you’re taking part in globalisation – in miniature. The movement of goods, the protection of regional identity, the rules that allow you to slap “Devon” on cream or “Melton Mowbray” on a pork pie – that’s globalisation. We just call it something else when it happens within our borders.
We like to think globalisation is some far-off phenomenon – vast ships, foreign factories, multinationals lurking in jungles of glass and steel. But in truth, it starts at home. Trade between counties mirrors trade between nations. The same questions apply: Who benefits? Who gets left behind? And who’s making the rules?
The problem isn't trade – it's how it’s managed. For decades, we’ve let capital move freely, with barely a speed bump in sight. Jobs flowed east, profits flowed west, taxes vanished altogether, and communities were left to rot. It was sold as progress, but the dividends were concentrated at the top, while the costs were quietly offloaded onto the rest of us.
And into that vacuum steps populism – cloaked in bunting, puffed up with patriotic bluster, promising to take back control from the so-called globalist elite. “Sovereignty”, “freedom”, “British jobs for British workers” – they shout it loud enough, and people listen. But peel back the flag-waving, and the truth stinks.
Because here’s the con: the loudest voices in the anti-globalist camp are globalists themselves – just of a nastier, more cynical sort. How exactly is flogging the NHS to American health firms a stand against global capitalism? How is lowering food standards to chase a trade deal with the US an act of national self-respect? How is selling out British farming to deregulated markets a blow against global elites?
They aren’t against globalisation. They’re against sharing its benefits. They’ve no problem with global flows of capital, as long as it’s flowing to them. They rail against Brussels while cosying up to Washington. They whinge about foreigners, but bow to billionaires. Their brand of nationalism is just free-market fundamentalism dressed in tweed.
Let’s not pretend globalisation is all bad. It’s pulled millions out of poverty, particularly across Asia. It’s sped up innovation, connected minds, and delivered a staggering range of goods to our doorsteps. Someone in a Cotswold village can order a Japanese garden hoe and have it by Wednesday. We shouldn’t ignore those gains.
But nor should we ignore the costs. Local industries dismantled. Town centres hollowed out. Wages undercut. The safety net shredded. All while the architects of this model told us to retrain, relocate, and smile.
- So yes – we need to talk about globalisation. But the answer isn’t to burn it down. It’s to govern it properly.
- We need fair trade rules, where companies pay tax where they make money, and workers aren’t treated as disposable. Trade deals must uphold environmental standards and human rights – not undermine them.
- We need domestic investment – in skills, infrastructure, regional development. Not “levelling up” nonsense that paints over the rot with a Union Jack mural.
- We need global labour standards, enforced by trade mechanisms. If a company operates across borders, it should answer to rules that transcend them too. That £3 T-shirt didn’t fall from the sky – someone paid the real cost.
- We need strategic autonomy – not the Farage variety, all fish and fury – but serious investment in domestic capability for essentials like food, energy, and medicine. We don’t need to make everything here – but we do need to be able to when the world goes sideways.
- And above all, we need to stop being taken in by populists who claim to fight globalism while feathering their nests with its spoils. They’re not rebels – they’re middlemen. They’re not taking on the elite – they are the elite, just louder and more lubricated with lager.


4 comments:
"But nor should we ignore the costs. Local industries dismantled. Town centres hollowed out. Wages undercut." Sounds rather like imperialism.
Trump's 'policies' are basically globalisation.
How are we shipping out the NHS?
We’re not loading it onto container ships and waving it off from Tilbury Docks, if that’s what you mean. The sell-off isn’t theatrical – it’s bureaucratic, quiet, and piecemeal. But make no mistake: it’s happening.
The 2012 Health and Social Care Act effectively mandated the NHS to open up services to competitive tender – and in walked private providers, many of them foreign-owned. Centene, a US health insurance giant, now runs dozens of GP surgeries in the UK via its UK arm, Operose. Other contracts – diagnostics, mental health, data management – have been awarded to similar outfits, some with very different values to what the NHS was founded on.
This isn’t a one-off. It’s a pattern. A deliberate policy choice, carried out under the radar, often without public scrutiny – and certainly without consent.
So while the NHS logo still appears on the door, what’s behind it is increasingly fragmented, profit-driven, and answerable to shareholders, not patients. That’s not safeguarding the NHS – that’s hollowing it out.
If you’re only looking for sales signs and shipping containers, you’ll miss what’s really going on.
It’s not a fire sale. It’s death by a thousand contracts.
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