The left diagnosed ills of globalisation but the right is eating our lunch

Free trade and the freedom of capital to move across borders have been the cutting edge of globalisation. They’ve also led to the succession of crises that have led to the widespread questioning of capitalism as a way of organising economic life — and of its paramount ideological expression, neoliberalism.

The protests against capitalism at the recent G20 meeting in Hamburg may seem superficially the same as those which marked similar meetings in the early 2000s. But there’s one big difference now: Global capitalism is in a period of long-term stagnation following the global financial crisis. The newer protests represent a far broader disenchantment with capitalism than the protests of the 2000s.

Yet capitalism’s resilience amidst crisis must not be underestimated. For trade activists, in particular, who’ve been on the forefront of the struggle against neoliberalism and globalisation over the last two decades, there are a number of key challenges posed by the conjuncture.

Neoliberalism’s surprising strength

First is the surprising strength of neoliberalism.

The credibility of neoliberalism, to which free trade ideology is central, has been deeply damaged by a succession of events over the last two decades, among which were the collapse of the third ministerial of the World Trade Organization in Seattle in 1999, the Asian financial crisis in 1997-98, and the Global financial crisis of 2008-2009, the effects of which continue to drag down the global economy.
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McDonald's, the residue of American empire

Walking down the cobblestoned streets of Antigua, Guatemala, I looked at the sandy red roofs of the Spanish colonial-style houses. I watched stray dogs grovel on the streets as motorcycles drove by and the vendors sold freshly cut mango and passion fruit. I was a passing American foreigner trying to make sense of what I saw before me. The looming Volcán de Agua in the distance was a reminder that I was in a different world than the small-town suburbs of New Jersey where I grew up. But as I neared the community supermarket on Poniente Street, something familiar caught my eye: a clear set of golden arches on a dark brown sign hanging on a speckled red wall. It was a McDonald’s.

“Look at how many plants and trees and flowers they’re growing inside,” my Spanish teacher-turned-guide said as we watched customers order and pick up their food. “There’s even a large fountain for children to throw coins in and for families to sit around.” She was right. Gleaming in the sunlight, the McDonald’s fountain was the centrepiece of what looked like a miniature park. A life-size statue of Ronald McDonald sat on a bench next to the fountain looking over an outdoor plaza. “This may be the most lavish place in Antigua,” she concluded. There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, as though something wasn’t quite right. And yet her tone didn’t betray any cynicism or exasperation.

American reviewers on Trip Advisor seemed to agree with my teacher’s assessment, but not her tone. “The Most Beautiful McDonald’s in the World,” read one commentator’s proud title. Others called it a “hidden gem” and “a little bit of paradise for Antigua” with a “beautiful atmosphere and regular hamburgers.” A New York City visitor wrote that “if this place was named anything else, it would be in every guide book.”

McDonald’s wasn’t the only American fast food establishment on Poniente Street. Opposite the Golden Arches was a Little Caesar’s Pizza, and further up the road, a Burger King with all the same features. All three teemed with costumers – American and Guatemalan alike – sometimes trailing out of the front door. Indeed, Guatemala appeared as though it really had become “America’s backyard,” to borrow the lexicon of the US policymakers who plotted the 1954 coup in the country.
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