Globalisation and its Discontents

Ray Freeman Cycles, founded in 1890, was a lovely family-run business that served Norwich with all its cycling needs for over 125 years. Nestled at the end of Heigham Street, this charming shop, with its distinctive yellow sign and large front windows, had a delightful Victorian feel; place Fred Dibnah might’ve adored. It was based on traditional, socially conservative communitarian beliefs. Everyone who worked there knew your name and family. It was somewhere you could go for a chat, as well as anything bike-related. If you had a puncture, you’d go to Ray’s. Whether you’d knocked your chain off the gears or buckled your wheel, the guys there could fix it in no time.

I still vividly remember stepping into that shop as a kid: the place was a treasure trove with its endless shelves of dusty screws, bolts, and tyres. The air carried that unmistakable, comforting yet overwhelming, smell of oil. When my bike was ready, one of the guys would show up in grease-covered overalls, give my father a firm handshake, and the two of them would sort out the price with ease. That all ended recently. Richard Freeman, the proud fifth-generation owner, decided to retire in 2021 after fifty years of committed service to the community through bicycle maintenance.

Imagine if bricks could tell stories: Freeman Cycles survived the Great Depression, the fuel crisis of the 1970s, and the challenges of Covid for over a century. It defied the forces of creative destruction, standing tall as nearby locations transformed into vape shops, hipster cafes, ethnic food markets, and the ubiquitous Turkish barbers that now line the neighbouring road.

It’s disheartening to see that empty store, a quiet reminder of how isolated and impersonal things can feel these days. Just a stone’s throw away, there’s a towering new Halfords, sleek and sprawling. You can have a bike built from scratch, test-ride an electric one for half an hour, or get a free bike check — but it’s all done in this cold, clinical space that feels like a dentist’s waiting room, and the part-time staff count the minutes until their shift ends.

Free market proponents contend that the extensive range of options available to consumers is ultimately beneficial, as freedom of choice is generally seen as a good thing. Is an abundance of choices necessary? Psychologist Barry Schwartz suggests that modern Western consumers face what he calls the “paradox of choice”, whereby having options is a good thing, but an excess leads to dissatisfaction, confusion, and an impaired ability to make rational purchasing decisions.

While I am not anti-capitalist, capitalism is not without flaws. The market responds to some consumer demands — low prices — but not to others. A company grows less responsive as it gets bigger. If, say, my local independent record store sold me a damaged LP and I complained, threatening to take my business elsewhere, the owner would be apologetic. If half a dozen customers did the same, he would implement a new system, possibly manually reviewing the records before selling. This does not work in the same manner for big stores such as Tesco. Supermarkets, which can benefit from economies of scale, use their power to crush farmers’ profits. Small businesses and local independent traders are unable to compete.

The landscape of the British high street has undergone rapid transformation. Living in a busy city I can personally attest to these changes. Within my relatively short lifetime, I have witnessed my city evolve to the point of being nearly unrecognisable. Once flourishing independent businesses, such as family-owned butcher shops and shoe repair stores, have steadily been supplanted, illustrating a broader societal transition influenced by the state-endorsed principles of multiculturalism. For example, on just one side of the street — though this is not an exhaustive list — there is now a Halal butcher, betting shop, Turkish restaurant, West-African weave shop, Turkish barber, world food market, three U.S-style fried chicken takeaways, Vietnamese restaurant, and two shuttered premises. Although high taxes and soaring business rates have played a significant role, globalisation has profoundly impacted my local community, stripping it of its identity, traditions, and sense of belonging, while discouraging expressions of in-group preference.

Past decisions and events can shape or constrain future choices, potentially leading to less favourable outcomes — a concept referred to in economics as “path dependency”. In the 19th century, the mass importation of affordable guano for fertiliser led to the creation of our combined sewage system, which currently discharges thousands of gallons of sewage into rivers and seas during rainfall. Changing the system would require extensive infrastructure work, including excavating every street nationwide and replacing thousands of miles of single pipes with double pipes, costing hundreds of billions of pounds.

Future historians will view our reliance on mass immigration as an example of path dependency. The influx of hundreds of thousands of low-skilled workers has led to suppressed wages, rapid demographic change, and competition among native British citizens for limited resources, including housing, school places, and hospital appointments. Globalisation dictates that we can import both goods and labour without regard for the potential consequences.

It’s also influencing our behaviour, as the constant demand for the latest technological innovations has led to a culture of upgrading and discarding older products. As such, the practice of repairing things has fallen out of fashion. The tendency to forego repairs in favour of purchasing new items as it is often cheaper and more convenient, exemplifies this shift.

A stark consequence of this trend is the rise in fly-tipping, with alarming statistics. 50% of such incidents in Norfolk occur in Norwich. Between 2022 and 2024, incidents of illegal rubbish dumping rose by 25%, tarnishing the city’s aesthetic and harming the surrounding natural environment. There is a small woods five minutes from my flat that runs alongside the river. Shopping trolleys are dumped in said river, makeshift tents are tethered to trees, rubbish is everywhere, and drug paraphernalia litter the narrow trail.

The London borough of Croydon was recently identified as the fly-tipping capital of England, recording over 38,000 reported incidents within the past year. Comparable figures were also recorded in Camden, Hounslow, and Nottingham City Council. Wherever you are, one thing is clear: England has a fly-tipping problem. There were 1.15 million incidents in 2023-24, a 6% increase over the previous year. Most cases pertain to the improper disposal of household waste, with pavements and roads identified as the most frequent locations for illegal dumping. In January, residents in rural Staffordshire awoke to find a two-metre-high, fifteen-metre-long mountain of rubbish dumped in Lichfield overnight.

Local councils bear significant responsibility for this issue. Lacking sufficient central government funding — whether due to allocating resources toward ill-conceived progressive initiatives or, as in Birmingham’s case, facing financial collapse following a contentious “equal pay” ruling — they frequently exploit waste disposal as a revenue source. Many councils now impose charges exceeding £50 for garden waste disposal while simultaneously reducing bin collection frequencies to fortnightly, or, in some areas, as infrequently as once every three weeks. Residents have no choice but to visit the local tip, but that comes with problems. In this area, there are only two sites, both located on the city’s outskirts, requiring a vehicle for access. Further restrictions have been imposed, necessitating prior online booking of a timed slot to visit the site. For those unable to access the site themselves, hiring a small trader is often the only alternative; however, this option is increasingly unaffordable. Traders now incur charges based on vehicle size for disposing of trade waste, with one local business estimating costs of up to £350. Combined with licensing expenses and exorbitant fuel costs, this pricing structure renders waste disposal an unlikely option for many small businesses.

Given the prohibitive expenses and regulatory obstacles, it is not surprising that poor neighbourhoods frequently appear abandoned and dilapidated. This also explains why skips usually get filled with things such as an old mattress and broken prams. Walking through such areas, it is not uncommon to see an old fridge freezer abandoned in a front garden.

Fly-tipping is primarily an urban problem affecting large cities, further exacerbated by economic illiteracy and decades of unrestricted immigration. Many new arrivals in our towns and cities display a concerning disregard for this country and the state of our shared environments, often allowing them to be marred by piles of rubbish. A lack of care for something inevitably leads to a lack of effort in maintaining or preserving it.

Cultivating a sense of civic pride is rooted in fostering respect and care for one’s community. On early evenings and Sundays, a resident who has lived on my street for thirty years heads out with a litter grabber, bin liners, and friends to pick up trash. This merry band of volunteers performs essential social functions out of goodwill and a sense of charitable duty. They are doing what a properly functioning state should be doing. However, the state and its vast bureaucratic infrastructure appear to be receding, unwilling to fulfil the electorate’s needs. Locals have had enough of a poorly managed, dysfunctional ruling class that is subservient to globalisation and multiculturalism.

Tradition is a necessary defence against the relentless growth of a homogeneous global culture and trading system. All politics is local. As Voltaire once observed, Il faut cultiver notre jardin, meaning we must cultivate our garden. If society adopts a viewpoint that supports not only the decriminalisation of fly-tipping — given that just 12% of all convictions result in fines — but also removes any associated stigma, it will inevitably lead to an increase in such activities. Consequently, areas such as my neighbourhood will transform into permanent dumping grounds.

My respect for my community is not grounded in reductive abstractions such as politics or economics. Rather, I make decisions guided by a sense of civic duty and responsibility toward both current and future generations. These islands we inhabit are only temporarily ours, and eventually we will need to leave them for new occupants. I aspire to lead this world in a slightly better condition than when I entered it.

These dedicated local litter pickers deserve commendation for their efforts in maintaining cleanliness and order within our community. Their success is crucial for the common good and fostering social cohesion. Appreciating one’s community is not a zero-sum game; clean streets improve the quality of life for all residents.

An inefficient and bloated government that prioritises its own interests while adopting fashionable liberal shibboleths, resulting in deteriorating local areas, ultimately serves no one. So thank you to the little platoons.

Whether it’s the phony ideology of the luxury belief class or illegal immigration there is only one option: clear them out.