Many people who call themselves free‑marketeers begin from a sincere fear of “creeping socialism.” They see every new regulation, planning rule, workplace standard, environmental requirement and every tax as another brick in a wall that hems in enterprise and erodes liberty. They believe that once government starts managing economic life, it rarely stops. Which creates a contradiction at the heart of a lot of modern political rhetoric. Parties, especially of the Right, describe themselves as advocates of free‑market nations, committed to open trade, open capital, open competition, lower taxes — and then insist that immigration must be tightly controlled. It sounds like a reasonable compromise, a balancing act between global economics and local sentiment. But it’s also a rejection of the classical liberal tradition we claim to inherit. Smith, Ricardo, Mill, Bastiat — none of them imagined markets as a buffet where you could pick capital and goods but decline labour. For them, the free movement of labour was not an optional extra but a structural necessity. Capital moves to where it earns the highest return; goods move to where they are most valued; labour moves to where it is most productive. These are not moral preferences but mechanical facts. Remove one gear and the machine does not slow down politely; it compensates, strains, and distorts.

Yet modern politicians try to keep the first two gears spinning while jamming a stick into the third. Where capital must be free, goods must be free, but labour must be fenced, filtered, and  rationed. The economic equivalent of declaring your devotion to physics while exempting yourself from gravity on weekends. Once you restrict labour mobility, you are no longer operating a free market. You are operating a managed economy with selective liberalisation. This may be politically popular. It may even be economically defensible in certain circumstances. But it is not classical liberalism.

And the distortions appear everywhere. If labour cannot move, something else must. Capital moves instead: offshoring, outsourcing, investing abroad. Goods move instead: imports rise to fill the gap. Wages diverge between protected insiders and excluded outsiders. Productivity stagnates as firms rely on scarcity rather than innovation. Regions hollow out as young workers leave and old workers remain. Demographics collapse as fertility falls and dependency ratios rise. Ironic, really: anti‑immigration sentiment produces the very globalisation its supporters resent. Block the worker, and the factory moves, the goods arrive instead, the demographic pyramid inverts. You can restrain labour, but you cannot restrain arithmetic.

Adam Smith warned that restrictions on labour mobility were a violation of natural liberty — an eighteenth‑century way of saying that such rules protect incumbents at the expense of everyone else. Immigration controls raise domestic wages artificially, raise prices for consumers, reduce competition, entrench inefficiency, and subsidise native labour at the expense of the global poor. This is protectionism by another name. And once you accept protectionism in labour, you have accepted the principle that economic policy must be directed by the Government for the public good. And that free markets do not deliver the optimum national outcomes.  A country can choose many things — a managed economy, a protectionist economy, a high‑skill selective system, a low‑migration demographic strategy. All of these are legitimate political choices. But what a country cannot choose is to restrict labour while claiming to champion free markets. That is not a philosophy; it is a branding exercise.

Wealth of Nations, Book I, Chapter 10

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