The working family in the manufacturing towns of Europe will notice this in the cost of the very tools and pots they use to earn their bread. That is where the analysis begins. When a man goes to buy a sturdy iron pan for his hearth, or when a smith seeks the metal to mend a plough, he will find the price has been nudged upward by a heavy hand from far away. It is not a change in the weight of the metal, but a change in the weight of the tax laid upon it.

The men in the high offices of the European Union have come forward with a new decree. They speak of “protecting domestic industry” and “counteracting unfair trade practices.” They use these fine, polished words to describe a simple act of fencing. They have looked across the borders to the East, seen the flood of cheap steel coming from China, and decided to build a wall of tariffs. They say this wall is fifty per cent high.

Let us strip away the Latinate gloss. To “protect domestic industry” is a phrase used by those who wish to keep the price of goods high for the consumer so that the owners of the great mills may keep their profits steady. To “counteract unfair trade practices” is merely a way of saying they intend to make the foreign goods more expensive by force of law, rather than by the strength of their own efficiency. They are not competing in the open market; they are closing the gate and charging a toll to anyone who tries to bring better, cheaper wares through it.

I have seen this pattern before. It is the same spirit that drove the Enclosure Acts. When the common land was fenced, the lords told the people it was for “improvement” and “agricultural efficiency.” They did not say it was to ensure that the value of the land stayed in the hands of the few, while the man who actually worked the soil was left with nothing but a patch of dirt too small to feed a goat. This tariff is a new enclosure, not of land, but of the market. It fences off the European market from the cheap steel of the East, and while the steelmakers in the great industrial cities may cheer, the man who uses that steel to make his living will feel the pinch.

The steelmakers are the ones who profit from this. They are the men who own the furnaces and the heavy machinery; they are the ones who do not have to worry about the price of a loaf, but rather the margin on a ton of ore. They seek to insulate themselves from the competition of a more efficient producer, using the power of the state to ensure that their customers have no cheaper alternative. They do not work for their living in the sense of a man who sweats in a field; they live off the regulation of the trade.

But look to the downstream. Look to the small workshop, the local smithy, and the manufacturer of simple household goods. These are the people who rely on the availability of affordable metal. When the cost of the raw material rises because of a political decision made in a distant hall, their costs rise too. They cannot simply pass this cost on to a hungry public that is already struggling to keep the coal in the grate. They must either shrink their margins or let their businesses wither.

The officials will tell you this is a matter of “strategic autonomy” and “economic sovereignty.” These are more of those hollow, expensive words. They mean that Europe wishes to be a fortress, self-contained and shielded. But a fortress is a heavy thing to maintain, and the cost of the stone and the garrison is always paid by the people living within the walls.

The result of this policy will not be found in the ledgers of the great steel corporations, but in the quiet struggle of the small manufacturer who finds his margins eaten away by a tax he did not ask for. The policy is designed to save the industry, but it may well starve the tradesman. We shall see the cost of this “protection” when the price of the common iron goods rises, and the heavy weight of the tariff settles, like a shroud, upon the small workshop.