Globalisation and my family photo frames

Taking a walk, of an evening, along an increasingly worn track, I got to thinking big thoughts. Bigger than wondering if I’d still have a job in a few months, bigger than pondering the yet-to-be-felt economic impact of the pandemic. Bigger even, than worrying about how the Black Caps were keeping in form.

I got to thinking about globalisation and market economies. To be honest, I’m far, far from expert on either. Although I did read The Wealth of Nations once.

Anyway, there I was on my worn track, the sun setting behind the distant Kawekas, when I got to thinking about picture frames. Like many, we have a wall of family photos. The frames we use are bought from one of those colourful, bigbox megastores on the edge of town.

They’re so cheap, these frames. Way cheaper than I remember them being decades ago. They’re cheap because they’re made in a far-off nation, where wages and living conditions are lower, materials are cheaper, there are no (or poorly regulated) environmental laws around sourcing, manufacturing and disposal of waste, and where we can’t see any of this.

The thing that struck me is that we – I – have no idea about the provenance of the picture frame.

Why was I thinking about picture frames? Well, a frame was one of the last things I bought pre-lockdown, and I’d started thinking about the possible lasting effects of the pandemic. Could it be that, as a nation, we become a bit more selfsufficient, that we consume more products made locally?

The optimist in me believes we will come out the other side with a more composed, sustainable, view of what is

Sreally important. The pessimist has less faith in human nature, and sees the megastores soon back to bursting with people getting their consumption fix. People like me, buying picture frames.

My dad has always been a proponent of globalisation. It’s one of few arguments we have in which he raises his voice. I can see the appeal. Some nations are blessed with the resources or abilities to produce commodities or services that others cannot, or cannot cheaply.

But the idea has just never sat well with me, and it dawned on me, as I made my walk in the gloaming, why not.

It all comes down to proximity; the nearness of people – something we are all too aware of these days. We are viscerally attuned and affected more by something occurring near to us, involving people and landscapes we know.

If the glass for the picture frames was made in, say, Stratford, and the wood was milled in Gisborne, and they were assembled in Porirua, then I would be comfortable knowing that each workplace was subject to regulation that I had some sort of say in. Regulation that made them safe, environmental laws monitored by a regional council to ensure they did not damage our waterways, and labour laws that ensured workers were treated in a way we as a nation considered fair.

I am aware that other nations, like the one making my frames, have laws on these matters, but I’ll confess to doubts as to how strong, or well regulated, they are.

I’d have few, if any, doubts if they were made in New Zealand. I’m sure there will be some readers itching to tell me that my picture frames would be more expensive in that case. I do realise that. My point is that while we hear, see and have a say in what affects the people and environment in our own nation, we have no such ability when it comes to people and environments elsewhere.

It’s more convenient to assume, or hope, that these cheap products we buy come from countries where people have the luxury of equal rights and environmental regulation, and with equal ability to influence.

None of this may come as news to you, I’m sure, but it took a pandemic for me to work out what is really very simple.