I’m currently drinking port from Portugal that I purchased at my local grocery store. I’m also composing a blog post on my recent trip to England, a trip for which both the outward and return legs were a mere 9 hours. I’m also waiting on a pizza (an American imitation of Italian food) that I ordered from my favorite local shop, which is owned by a very nice family of Russian immigrants. I then plan to email my girlfriend, who’s currently traveling in France and whom I could call with my smartphone made in China from a Japanese design, if not for the inconvenience of different time zones.

Yesterday, at work, I found myself in the breakroom at lunch time. In the time it took me to make myself tea (green, the extra fancy kind imported from Japan), I heard one coworker take a call in Italian, a pair of coworkers greet each other in their native French, and a large group of fellow developers having lunch at a table near by talk excitedly in a language that I assumed to be Hindi. Hindi is a language spoken by almost one person in twelve in the world and probably closer to one in five in my group.

No one tell any of this to the xenophobes or trade warmongers in government. While they’re busy standing astride history yelling “STOP!” the rest of us can quietly enjoy the fruits of the globalization that they have (thankfully) failed to prevent.