In the U.S. there are many people willing to work on $9 per hour

Host: The evening feels weighted, the air dense with the kind of unease that comes from discussing uncomfortable truths. The faint hum of the city outside seems distant as Jack and Jeeny sit across from each other, the glow of a single desk lamp casting long, deliberate shadows. Gina Rinehart’s words—sharp, pragmatic, and laced with economic realism—hang between them. It’s a quote about industry, about globalization, but also about what happens when nations lose sight of the delicate balance between profit and preservation.

Jeeny: “Gina Rinehart once said, ‘In the U.S. there are many people willing to work on $9 per hour, which is causing Tasmania to lose its famous apple industry and Australia to import more and more of its fruit and food from lower cost countries. In fact, all over Australia there are warning signs of us killing or restricting our own industries.’” She leans back slightly, her tone thoughtful but concerned. “It’s a pretty stark warning, isn’t it? She’s talking about global competition—how the push for cheaper labor and lower costs abroad is undercutting local industries. It’s the kind of issue that doesn’t just affect economies—it affects identities, communities, and the sense of national self-reliance.”

Jack: He exhales slowly, his gaze steady. “Yeah, and it’s not just Australia. It’s the same story in so many developed nations. When industries chase low-cost production, local manufacturing, agriculture, and craftsmanship start to crumble. It’s ironic—globalization was meant to connect us, but it’s also hollowed out entire sectors. Rinehart’s quote isn’t just economic commentary—it’s a statement about complacency. She’s saying we’re slowly eroding the foundations that make us self-sufficient, all because we’re not willing to adapt to a more competitive world.” He pauses, voice firm but weary. “We’ve outsourced our future for short-term savings.”

Host: The lamplight flickers faintly as Jack’s words settle. There’s a tension—between progress and preservation, between the global and the local. The air feels dense with a truth too many prefer to ignore.

Jeeny: “But isn’t there also an ethical question here?” she asks, her tone soft but pointed. “When countries rely on low-cost labor from abroad, they’re often depending on inequality—on people being willing or forced to work for less. It’s not just about losing industries; it’s about the morality of a system where one region’s prosperity depends on another’s exploitation. And yet, if we shut ourselves off from trade or cheap imports, people complain about higher prices and inflation. It’s like we’re caught in a loop—wanting fairness but demanding cheapness.” She shakes her head, eyes reflective. “Maybe the real problem is our mindset—we value convenience over sustainability.”

Jack: “You’re right. But convenience is the modern addiction,” he says quietly. “We’ve built a global economy where everything is measured in cost and speed. But the invisible cost—the cost to local workers, to national industries, to long-term stability—is what’s killing us. Look at what’s happening with Tasmania’s apple industry. It’s not that people stopped loving Tasmanian apples. It’s that importing cheaper fruit became easier and faster. Over time, that economic efficiency erases identity.” He leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. “Every nation has its own version of that story—the things they gave up for the illusion of progress.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly it—the illusion,” she replies, her voice tinged with sadness. “We tell ourselves we’re becoming more efficient, more modern, more globalized. But what we’re really doing is outsourcing our essence. The loss isn’t just financial—it’s cultural. The apple industry in Tasmania isn’t just about apples. It’s about generations of families, traditions, pride, and local knowledge. Once it’s gone, you can’t import that back.” She pauses, her tone softening. “It’s strange, isn’t it? We talk about progress as if it’s inevitable, but maybe progress without balance is just another form of decline.”

Jack: “I think that’s what Rinehart is really warning about,” he says after a moment. “She’s not anti-globalization. She’s anti-complacency. She’s saying that we can’t compete if we refuse to adapt. If we cling to old systems without evolving, we’ll end up restricting ourselves out of existence. It’s a call for resilience—for innovation. Maybe the problem isn’t the world changing—it’s that we’re not changing fast enough to meet it.” His tone turns more deliberate. “If we can’t find a way to make our industries both sustainable and competitive, we’ll keep watching them die one by one.”

Host: A silence fills the space, deep and heavy, as the words hang in the air. Outside, the faint hum of traffic feels distant—like the sound of progress moving just out of reach.

Jeeny: “So what’s the solution, then?” she asks softly. “Because it feels like a tightrope. If you chase cost efficiency, you risk losing your soul. But if you cling to tradition, you risk becoming irrelevant. Maybe the only way forward is to rethink what we value—not just economically, but culturally. We need to ask ourselves: What are we willing to pay more for? What’s worth preserving?” Her eyes glint with conviction. “Because some things—like national industries, local pride, or even a farmer’s livelihood—shouldn’t be reduced to numbers.”

Jack: “I agree,” he says, voice steady but solemn. “But that shift has to start with awareness. People have to see the connection between their choices and the bigger picture. When you buy something cheap, you’re voting for the system that made it cheap—sometimes at someone else’s expense. Rinehart’s warning isn’t just about Australia. It’s about every country that’s letting its backbone industries die because it’s easier to import than to build.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “The danger isn’t in losing an industry—it’s in losing the will to rebuild it.”

Host: The lamplight flickers again, casting long shadows that seem to stretch with the weight of history and consequence. Jack and Jeeny sit in silence for a moment, both aware that Rinehart’s words are less about economics and more about identity—the kind of warning that echoes through generations.

Outside, the wind carries the faint scent of earth and rain, as if reminding them of something simpler, older, and worth saving.

Host (closing): The future, they both know, will belong not to the cheapest bidder, but to those who remember what truly sustains a nation—not just its economy, but its spirit.