Foreign Trade

Margaret Atkins MunroLet's Talk About MoneyLeave a Comment

I lead a very cosmopolitan life. Or, more accurately, the things that populate my life do. This morning’s grapes came from Chile, the bananas from Columbia. My Egyptian cotton clothes were manufactured in Indonesia, Bangladesh and Guatemala, my car comes from Japan and my spinning wheel from New Zealand. Even my stove is a bilingual Canadian. And lurking in the deepest part of my basement, like the bogeyman in the closet, is my oil tank, filled with foreign fuel. In fact, I’ve been searching through all the stuff in my house, and am having a hard time locating much that was produced in this country. Closer to home, literally, the only Vermont-made products are cheese, maple syrup, and the house itself.
Normally, I don’t pay much attention to where the accoutrements of my life started. Like most Americans, knowing that I have the money in my wallet necessary to buy what I need, and what I want, when I need it or want it, is enough. Lately, though, I’m beginning to focus more on how much I use, and where it comes from.
Because increasingly, what I—and probably you—use is not produced here. In fact, we don’t produce much of anything right here, and that’s a problem.
In this country of untold natural wealth and opportunity, we’ve moved increasingly away from our literal roots—this huge expanse of land that has provided so ably for us for so many years. We’ve replaced an economy based on what was available here with one reliant on the resources of other places. Rather than looking to produce what we can here, our economy is becoming more and more dependent on what we can acquire through trade with others.
Trade, of every kind, is an essential component of all complex economies. Whether we speak of small, subsistence groups, where one person barters agricultural products for the bread another bakes, or of larger, more developed economies, where one country exchanges its technology for another country’s wheat, all trade-based economies work on the assumption that the goods traded have equivalent value. When it is impossible to equate the two, then money is used to balance the equation.
This country was founded on trade of all sorts, both foreign and domestic. Most schoolchildren can tell you about the fur trappers who exchanged their furs for food, for fuel, and for money. They can quote chapter and verse regarding the so-called “Triangle Trade” between the Americas, Europe and West Africa, where rum from the West Indies was traded for West African slaves, with European slavers acting as go-betweens. The end of the slave trade didn’t end foreign trade—we found other commodities to exchange instead, whether cotton, oil or wheat. Great fortunes were amassed in the process; as additional markets opened, producers increased the amount they sold, and the amount they earned.
Of course, a necessary piece of this equation is that both parties must have something the other wants; the constant back-and-forth maintains the equilibrium between the trading partners. When only one has merchandise, that balance is upset.
And this is where we are now finding ourselves. The U.S. is producing less and less that the rest of the world wants to buy, while needing more and more of what everyone else is producing. It’s no mystery why Toyota has become the world’s largest automaker while G.M. and Ford fall behind, and why Wal-Mart continues on its merry, profitable way, flogging Chinese merchandise that it buys for a fraction of what comparable American-made goods would cost. We rant and rage about the obscene profits of the oil companies, but are we, individually or collectively, doing anything substantial to wean ourselves off the oil they import?
It’s easy to blame both consumers and corporations. We’re the ones, after all, supporting these foreign economies at the expense of our own. And it’s fun to use Exxon’s CEO as the face on my dartboard. But placing blame, while somewhat satisfying, does nothing to address the imbalance; understanding that this country needs to be producing something, whether it’s tangible goods, or technology, or food, or all of the above, at a competitive price, does.
We can all take many paths towards reducing our dependence on foreign goods and commodities. We can, for example, decrease our consumption. Like overeating, overusing does none of us any favors, and the consequences may be just as drastic to our health, both physical and financial. We can also support local industries. As oil prices continue to rise—and they will—it will become more economically viable to buy locally produced foods and other goods. And we can, and should, value all members of society based on the value of their contributions, not the size of their paycheck.
Remember, should the day ever come—and I sincerely hope it does not—that the value of money is reduced to the amount of heat generated by burning it, our farmers will be worth far more to us than our investment bankers.

I lead a very cosmopolitan life. Or, more accurately, the things that populate my life do. This morning’s grapes came from Chile, the bananas from Columbia. My Egyptian cotton clothes were manufactured in Indonesia, Bangladesh, and Guatemala, my car comes from Japan and my spinning wheel from New Zealand. Even my stove is a bilingual Canadian. And lurking in the deepest part of my basement, like the bogeyman in the closet, is my oil tank, filled with foreign fuel. In fact, I’ve been searching through all the stuff in my house, and am having a hard time locating much that was produced in this country. Closer to home, literally, the only Vermont-made products are cheese, maple syrup, and the house itself.

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to where the accouterments of my life started. Like most Americans, knowing that I have the money in my wallet necessary to buy what I need, and what I want, when I need it or want it, is enough. Lately, though, I’m beginning to focus more on how much I use, and where it comes from.

Because increasingly, what I—and probably you—use is not produced here. In fact, we don’t produce much of anything right here, and that’s a problem.

In this country of untold natural wealth and opportunity, we’ve moved increasingly away from our literal roots—this huge expanse of land that has provided so ably for us for so many years. We’ve replaced an economy based on what was available here with one reliant on the resources of other places. Rather than looking to produce what we can here, our economy is becoming more and more dependent on what we can acquire through trade with others.

Trade, of every kind, is an essential component of all complex economies. Whether we speak of small, subsistence groups, where one person barters agricultural products for the bread another bakes, or of larger, more developed economies, where one country exchanges its technology for another country’s wheat, all trade-based economies work on the assumption that the goods traded have equivalent value. When it is impossible to equate the two, then money is used to balance the equation.

This country was founded on trade of all sorts, both foreign and domestic. Most schoolchildren can tell you about the fur trappers who exchanged their furs for food, for fuel, and for money. They can quote chapter and verse regarding the so-called “Triangle Trade” between the Americas, Europe and West Africa, where rum from the West Indies was traded for West African slaves, with European slavers acting as go-betweens. The end of the slave trade didn’t end foreign trade—we found other commodities to exchange instead, whether cotton, oil or wheat. Great fortunes were amassed in the process; as additional markets opened, producers increased the amount they sold, and the amount they earned.

Of course, a necessary piece of this equation is that both parties must have something the other wants; the constant back-and-forth maintains the equilibrium between the trading partners. When only one has merchandise, that balance is upset.

And this is where we are now finding ourselves. The U.S. is producing less and less that the rest of the world wants to buy, while needing more and more of what everyone else is producing. It’s no mystery why Toyota has become the world’s largest automaker while G.M. and Ford fall behind, and why Wal-Mart continues on its merry, profitable way, flogging Chinese merchandise that it buys for a fraction of what comparable American-made goods would cost. We rant and rage about the obscene profits of the oil companies, but are we, individually or collectively, doing anything substantial to wean ourselves off the oil they import?

It’s easy to blame both consumers and corporations. We’re the ones, after all, supporting these foreign economies at the expense of our own. And it’s fun to use Exxon’s CEO as the face on my dartboard. But placing blame, while somewhat satisfying, does nothing to address the imbalance; understanding that this country needs to be producing something, whether it’s tangible goods, or technology, or food, or all of the above, at a competitive price, does.

We can all take many paths towards reducing our dependence on foreign goods and commodities. We can, for example, decrease our consumption. Like overeating, overusing does none of us any favors, and the consequences may be just as drastic to our health, both physical and financial. We can also support local industries. As oil prices continue to rise—and they will—it will become more economically viable to buy locally produced foods and other goods. And we can, and should, value all members of society based on the value of their contributions, not the size of their paycheck.

Remember, should the day ever come—and I sincerely hope it does not—that the value of money is reduced to the amount of heat generated by burning it, our farmers will be worth far more to us than our investment bankers.