American markets: dependency yes, but free ride no

Critics of the United States (US) trade policy often argue that America is deeply protectionist. Tariffs on steel, aluminum, and Chinese imports, subsidies for farmers, and new industrial supports like the CHIPS and Science Act are frequently cited as proof that Washington talks free trade but practices favoritism at home. Yet the US is hardly an outlier. Around the world, governments of every stripe have built walls around industries they consider vital, all while demanding open markets abroad.

China is perhaps the most obvious case. Its economic rise has been fuelled by a carefully managed combination of subsidies, currency management, market-entry barriers, and technology-transfer requirements imposed on foreign companies. India, under its "Make in India" agenda, has steadily increased tariffs on cars, electronics, and agricultural products to promote domestic producers. Japan and South Korea, two of Asia's export powerhouses, continue to guard their agricultural sectors, particularly rice, with tariffs and quotas. Brazil has long been notorious for its high import duties, designed to nurture local industries from automobiles to textiles. Russia, especially since Western sanctions, has embraced import substitution in everything from food to defence. Indonesia uses export restrictions to compel foreign firms to process resources locally, while Turkey maintains protective tariffs and local-content requirements to defend its manufacturing base. Even France and Germany -- often portrayed as champions of global rules -- quietly shelter their agricultural, energy, and automobile industries under layers of subsidies and regulatory barriers.

The European Union (EU), in fact, runs one of the most protectionist systems in the world through its Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). This massive subsidy regime props up European farmers while keeping out cheaper imports from Africa, Asia, and Latin America. For decades, Japan drew Washington's ire for keeping its markets closed to American cars and electronics, and OPEC states have long been accused of protecting their oil industries through collective production quotas and pricing strategies. In truth, nearly every government invokes the language of free trade while practicing selective protectionism when it comes to politically sensitive sectors.

Protectionist impulses are not confined to states; they run deep in societies as well. French farmers are famous for blockading highways and dumping manure in protest against agricultural imports and free-trade agreements. American labour unions have historically resisted trade deals such as NAFTA and the TPP, citing job losses and declining wages. The Brexit campaign in the United Kingdom (UK) was fuelled in part by demands for greater control over trade and immigration policies, which many voters saw as essential to protecting British industries and jobs. Argentina's industrialists, too, have long lobbied for tariffs and import restrictions to shield domestic factories from foreign competition. And in China, nationalist consumer movements routinely call for boycotts of foreign brands to strengthen home-grown companies.

Why, then, does America receive the bulk of the blame and resentment abroad? The answer is scale, visibility, and expectation. As the world's largest economy and the loudest champion of globalisation, the US is held to a higher standard than others. When Washington preaches the virtues of open markets but shields its own steel plants or chip makers, critics see hypocrisy. Moreover, US actions carry global consequences. A tariff in Washington can disrupt supply chains stretching from Mexico to Malaysia, while a farm subsidy in Iowa can undercut producers from Kenya to Bangladesh. The hue and cry that erupted after Donald Trump's imposition of tariffs revealed just how dependent global economies are on access to the American market to sell their products and to buy the US technologies. If countries truly objected, they could simply boycott American markets-- no one forces them to send their exports to the US. But they do not, because what they want is one-way trade, not reciprocal trade. That hypocrisy is obvious, yet it is America that bears the blame.

There is also a psychological dimension. Countries expect the US, as the architect of the post-war free-trade order, to abide by the rules it helped create. When Washington retreats into protectionism, it feels like a betrayal of its own ideals. China or India may shield their industries without raising eyebrows, but when America does so, it is cast as a sign of weakness, hypocrisy, or decline. In global politics, reputational costs matter as much as material ones - and the US often pays them more heavily because it is seen as setting the rules of the game.

Still, the larger question remains: should countries simply give away their prized assets - industries and technologies built with taxpayer money-- to global competitors for free? Governments of all kinds argue that they cannot. National security, food security, job preservation, and technological leadership are common justifications for protectionist policies. Critics counter that such measures are inefficient, distort markets, and invite retaliation. But no country willingly dismantles industries in which it has invested decades of public resources. The semiconductor, aerospace, and pharmaceutical sectors in the US mirror the protected agricultural sectors in Europe and Asia. Each case reveals the same instinct: nations guard what they see as essential to their survival and prosperity.

The debate, then, is not about whether protectionism exists -- it does, everywhere. The real question is whose protectionism we are willing to tolerate. When smaller economies protect their industries, it is seen as understandable, even necessary. When the US does the same, it triggers accusations of hypocrisy because of the global reach of its policies and the gap between its rhetoric and its behaviour. But stripped of moral judgment, America's protectionism is no different from anyone else's. It is the political expression of a universal instinct: to defend what has been built with the sacrifices of taxpayers, workers, and generations of investment.

In the end, every country shields what it values most. The difference is that America, by virtue of its size and influence, cannot hide its protectionism in the shadows. It will always be noticed, and it will always be criticised. Yet the irony is plain: every nation wants a free ride, eager to exploit America's geopolitical hegemony while condemning it for doing exactly what they themselves practice. If protectionism is a sin, then it is one that all nations commit-- America's only crime is being caught in the spotlight.

The EU was not formed with protectionism as its goal. Its origins--beginning with the European Coal and Steel Community (1951) and the European Economic Community (1957)--were primarily about preventing another war in Europe and integrating European economies so deeply that war would become impossible. The core goal was intra-European peace and prosperity, not opposition to the US.

However, as European integration deepened, the EU became a powerful economic bloc able to negotiate trade on equal terms with the US This led to:

n Trade protectionism in certain sectors--especially agriculture under the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), which heavily subsidized European farmers and restricted U.S. agricultural imports.

n Regulatory protectionism, where the EU's strict standards on food safety, environment, and digital privacy sometimes acted as non-tariff barriers (NTBs) to American firms.

So, while the EU was not created to be protectionist against the US, it did evolve into a counterbalancing economic power - one that often protects its market through policies the US views as protectionist.

Dr Abdullah A. Dewan is Professor Emeritus of Economics, Eastern Michigan University, USA, and former physicist and nuclear engineer, Bangladesh Atomic Energy Commission.

aadeone@gmail.com