The classroom was drowning in silence.
Through the foggy window, the sun cast uneven rectangles onto the desks, as if someone had drawn them at random, without intent.
A fan buzzed in the corner — tiredly and pointlessly.
The teacher walked along the blackboard, speaking as though reciting something he wasn't particularly interested in himself:
Free trade is an economic policy aimed at reducing or entirely eliminating tariffs, quotas, subsidies, and other barriers to the import and export of goods and services between countries...
He paused now and then — so the students could catch up with their notes.
Most weren't even listening. Some lazily copied from the board. Others just doodled in the margins.
Free trade…
In the main character's mind, those words sounded completely different.
As if echoing through metallic clang.
What a beautiful definition.
As always. Simple. Elegant. And — fake, down to the last comma.
He straightened up, placed his hand on the notebook, and began to write.
Firmly. Without a draft. Line by line, not like notes, but like a sentence.
---
No. Free trade isn't about freedom.
It's about control.
It's a tool of modern imperialism.
Not the kind with flags stabbed into soil, but the kind where rules are written not by nations — but by corporations.
---
In the background, the teacher went on:
...this concept is based on the principle that each country should specialize in producing goods and services where it has a comparative advantage...
Theory.
Crisp and clean, like a paper blueprint in a vacuum.
Only — the world isn't a vacuum.
---
That's what Smith and Ricardo taught.
Long ago. In the 18th and 19th centuries.
Back when the world was simple. Linear. Honest — at least in theory.
Japan doesn't grow coffee — it buys it from Brazil.
Brazil doesn't make high-end tech — it buys it from Japan.
Everyone's happy. Everyone grows.
Only in practice, it turned out differently. Much more twisted.
---
He looked up. A couple of classmates were whispering to each other.
The teacher kept pacing by the board, noticing no one.
The class existed on its own. He — on his own.
---
Take Nike, for example. An American brand.
Over half its sales are in the US and Western Europe.
And where is the footwear made?
In countries of Asia, Africa, South America. Why?
Wages. That's all.
A U.S. worker costs $30,000 a year.
A Vietnamese one — $5,000. A Chinese one — the same, or less.
Since the 1970s, corporations began shifting factories to places where they could pay less — and no one would ask questions about the law.
---
Isn't this a new form of slavery?
No whips. No chains.
Just logistics and contracts.
He paused. His hand hovered above the notebook for a moment.
Then continued writing — slightly smaller now.
---
They're told: you're part of globalization. You've been included in the market. You are respected.
But the truth is, they've only been included as cheap labor.
With no rights. No future.
---
At that moment, the teacher returned to his desk and asked:
Any questions about the theory?
Silence. No one raised a hand.
The boy looked at the others — then dropped his gaze again.
Of course not.
They don't care why Nike manufactures in Asia.
They care if there's going to be a test.
---
He flipped the page and kept writing.
In the margins — neat underlines, as if he wasn't just taking notes, but designing.
A construction of lies. Precise. Clean.
---
Cotton.
One of the oldest commodities.
Light, white, almost innocent.
But entire empires have been built on it.
In the north and west of Africa — some of the poorest countries in the world.
People survive off oil exports, a bit of cocoa, but for many — cotton remains the only way to stay alive.
It's cheap.
Not because it's bad, but because the people there are paid next to nothing.
The average wage — ten times lower than in the U.S.
Primitive tools. Almost zero amortization.
If we followed the logic of the free market, African cotton should be dominating.
It's cheaper — so it's more profitable.
Simple.
But that's not what happens.
And the reason isn't quality, or logistics, or weather.
It's subsidies.
---
He circled the word in red pen.
A single word. But inside it — billions of dollars.
---
The U.S. government pays billions to its farmers every year.
Just so they don't lose in competition.
That's why American cotton — despite high production costs and expensive labor — is still among the cheapest on the market.
That's why African farmers can't sell their cotton.
They've been pushed out. Left with nothing.
---
Outside, someone yelled — probably from the gym.
Inside — silence.
Someone yawned.
A girl at the board whispered the definition from her textbook.
Perfect cover.
The world sleeps.
Everything's functioning.
Everyone's happy.
---
When African nations saw the numbers — they filed a complaint. In 2003.
Against the U.S. At the WTO.
The world waited.
They waited.
And then — nothing.
No sanctions. No decisions.
The case dragged on.
For years.
Still going today.
And the subsidies — still flowing.
---
He looked up.
The teacher was now talking about the World Trade Organization as a step toward a unified economic order, toward market equality.
The boy exhaled quietly, with emphasis.
Almost smirked.
Equality.
---
The WTO was created in 1995.
A grand idea: all countries are equal, every vote matters, trade is fair.
But in reality: the rich write the rules.
They arrive at negotiations with dozens of experts, lawyers, economists.
The poor countries — with one or two diplomats, barely familiar with international law.
It's like a match between the world all-stars and a rural school team.
Technically fair.
In practice — a farce.
---
He wrote one final line before the bell rang:
Free trade is a façade. A front. The world isn't ruled by markets.
It's ruled by those who have the resources — money, knowledge, influence.
The rest — are extras.
---
The bell.
The teacher looked up.
Next class — there will be a test, he said dryly. Be ready.