Last century, the US stood as the pinnacle of industrial power. With unmatched manufacturing capacity, cutting-edge innovation, and a dynamic domestic labour force, the US not only produced at scale, but also created a vast middle class through industrial employment. But since the early 21st century, this dominance had eroded. Despite the continued global success of Apple, Microsoft, etc, the US found its industrial core hollowed out. This paradox—where the strategy won, but the nation did not—is at the heart of this exploration.
The US led the global shift toward liberalisation and globalisation, embracing free trade, deregulation, and offshoring as strategies for economic growth and competitive advantage. These ideas crystallised during the Reagan-Thatcher era and were institutionalised in policies such as NAFTA and the support for China’s entry into the WTO. The logic was simple: relocate labor-intensive manufacturing to lower-cost countries, focus domestically on high-value services and innovation, and reap the benefits of global efficiency.
For US corps, this approach worked magnificently. Apple built one of the most valuable ecosystems in the world, with tightly integrated design, software, services, and hardware. But much of this hardware was manufactured and assembled overseas, particularly in China. Microsoft dominated software and enterprise services, but its global cloud and platform ecosystem increasingly depended on international data centers, developer networks, and supply chains that were vulnerable to political shifts.
What became apparent over time was that these ecosystem-based strategies—while brilliant in achieving scale, market control, and profitability—were fundamentally fragile. They were built on assumptions of a stable global environment, unrestricted cross-border flows of labour, capital, and data, and a geopolitical consensus that no longer exists. The COVID-19 pandemic, the US-China business war, and the rise of protectionist and nationalist policies globally exposed just how brittle these supply chains and platform dependencies were.
The heart of the flaw is in the over-optimisation for efficiency at the expense of resilience. By offshoring critical manufacturing, the US lost not only jobs but also industrial knowledge, logistics infrastructure, and the ability to rapidly pivot production domestically in times of crisis. This strategic vulnerability became clear when shortages of semiconductors, PPE, and other essentials during the pandemic brought entire industries to a standstill.
Moreover, the US model of capitalism encouraged short-termism. Public companies were driven to maximise quarterly earnings and shareholder returns, often by cutting labor costs or outsourcing rather than reinvesting in domestic capacity. Labor unions weakened significantly, and with them, the political and social infrastructure that once supported a strong working class. The cultural shift toward a “knowledge economy” reinforced the idea that physical production was less valuable than digital platforms, intellectual property, and financial engineering.
This ideology extended into the UK as well, which closely mirrored US strategies in economic liberalization. Under Thatcher in the 1980s, the UK privatized major industries, deregulated finance, crushed unions, and repositioned itself as a global hub for services—especially financial services. The “Big Bang” of 1986 opened up London’s financial markets, turning the City into a magnet for global capital. Much like the US, the U.K. allowed its manufacturing base to atrophy in favour of high-value services concentrated in the Southeast, particularly London.
However, the UK, unlike the US, lacked the scale, resource diversity, and global technological dominance to buffer the negative effects of this transition. The result was stark regional inequality, declining productivity, and chronic underinvestment in infrastructure and education in much of the country. Brexit, in many ways, was the political expression of this economic alienation—a rebellion against globalisation, centralisation, and the perception of being “left behind.”
In both countries, we see a core contradiction: while companies triumphed globally, the broader national economies suffered from fragility, inequality, and a loss of sovereignty in key strategic sectors. The ecosystem-based strategies of firms like Apple and Microsoft continue to generate massive returns, but they do so by depending on fragile geopolitical arrangements, low-cost labor overseas, and complex, just-in-time logistics networks that are increasingly prone to disruption.
The irony is that ecosystems, as conceptualised in nature, thrive on diversity, redundancy, and mutual support. Business ecosystems, as built by the tech giants, often lack these qualities. They tend toward centralisation, dominance, and efficiency, making them look more like monocultures than true ecosystems. When stress hits—in the form of sanctions, pandemics, or trade wars—these systems do not bend; they break.
So is the ecosystem model flawed? Not entirely. It remains one of the most powerful frameworks for value creation in a networked economy. But it needs to evolve. Firms must build ecosystems that are not just efficient, but resilient and adaptable. This means diversifying supply chains, investing in local capabilities, supporting the long-term health of partners, and accounting for political and environmental risks.
Nations, too, must rethink their approach. A return to protectionism is not the answer, but neither is blind faith in market liberalism. Strategic sectors must be rebuilt or supported domestically not only for economic competitiveness but for national resilience. Policies must incentivise long-term investment, regional regeneration, and industrial policy aligned with innovation.
Ultimately, the story of the past few decades is not that globalization and liberalization were inherently wrong. Rather, they were applied too narrowly, with too little foresight, and with insufficient regard for the long-term health of national economies. The US and the UK offer lessons—both cautionary and hopeful—for any country navigating the next era of global business, where resilience, sovereignty, and inclusive prosperity will be just as important as efficiency and innovation.
