'Empty Vessel' critiques globalism through the journey of a single ship

Ian Kumekawa’s "Empty Vessel" explores the global economy’s complexities through a wandering container ship, offering a leftist critique of neoliberalism and international trade.

Illustration by Aelitta

By Anna Fadiah and Hayu Andini

The world has become intimately familiar with anti-globalism, largely thanks to populist-right figures like Donald Trump. But before Trump’s tariffs and fiery rhetoric dominated the headlines, skepticism toward global trade had long simmered on the populist left. In Empty Vessel: The Story of the Global Economy in One Barge, historian Ian Kumekawa offers a deeply researched, ideologically charged contribution to that tradition—using the unlikely vehicle of a container ship to chart the rise and impact of globalization.

Kumekawa, a Harvard scholar, frames the book around the long and varied life of a single container ship—dubbed “the Vessel”—whose changing roles across decades provide a lens through which to examine trade, labor, politics, and neoliberal capitalism. In doing so, Empty Vessel critiques globalism not merely as an economic system but as a disjointed, often exploitative force reshaping societies and industries alike.

A ship as symbol of global capitalism

The ship at the center of Empty Vessel is more than a transport mechanism; for Kumekawa, it’s a metaphor for the modern global economy. Originally constructed in Sweden for a Norwegian shipping magnate, it was registered in the Bahamas and would go on to serve in waters from the North Sea to Nigeria. Over its four-decade journey, the Vessel changed hands, flags, and names multiple times—a process Kumekawa likens to the mutability of capital and trade in the neoliberal era.

This stateless nature, Kumekawa argues, is emblematic of global capitalism itself. Like international corporations, the ship has no fixed identity, no national loyalty, and no singular purpose beyond serving its current tenant. It is a “chameleon,” he writes—a term he repeats often—adapting to economic shifts and political needs with little regard for its past functions or the people it carries.

From goods to people to prisoners

The book meticulously follows the Vessel’s varied transformations. After its 1979 completion, the ship was refitted not for freight, but for human use. It was equipped with a library, bars, sports courts, and rooms with private bathrooms, intended to house temporary workers across different industries. Later, when commercial contracts waned, governments found new uses for it.

In 1982, it was leased to the British Ministry of Defence following the Falklands War. Kumekawa, who has little sympathy for Margaret Thatcher, positions this moment as emblematic of the British state’s reliance on private infrastructure. Subsequently, the Vessel served as a floating prison—first in New York during the crime-scarred 1980s and later off England’s Isle of Portland to alleviate prison overcrowding.

These transformations allow Kumekawa to critique the evolving role of public institutions in the neoliberal age. From housing soldiers to incarcerating the poor, the Vessel becomes, in his view, a microcosm of a world economy shaped more by convenience and capital than by justice or public need.

A critique steeped in ideology

Though the narrative of Empty Vessel is anchored in the biography of a ship, its real target is neoliberalism. Kumekawa accuses this political-economic philosophy—which favors free markets, deregulation, and global trade—of enabling “extractive imperialism,” perpetuating racism, and extending the logics of slavery into the modern oil trade.

What’s missing in this account, critics may note, is a balanced reckoning with globalization’s benefits. While Kumekawa briefly acknowledges technological advances like containerization—pioneered to supply U.S. troops in Vietnam and later revolutionized global trade—he focuses almost exclusively on the system’s shortcomings. There’s little mention of the fact that global trade has lifted billions out of poverty or allowed consumers in wealthy nations access to affordable goods.

Instead, Empty Vessel critiques globalism through a decidedly moral and ideological lens. For example, when discussing the Vessel’s deployment as a prison ship in Portland, Kumekawa frames it as a grim return to Britain’s “violent carceral past,” despite reports that the facility was viewed favorably by both prisoners and locals.

Stretching the metaphor

At times, Kumekawa’s commitment to his metaphor threatens to overwhelm the material. He characterizes international shipping as a shadowy industry of tax havens, shell companies, and “free zones”—places that skirt labor protections and environmental standards. While there is truth in these claims, his rhetoric grows heavy. He repeatedly describes the Vessel as an “artifact of global capitalism” and speaks of “abstracted” systems and “financialized” networks in ways that can feel more academic than illuminating.

The book also veers off course when Kumekawa tries to connect global trade to other social phenomena. In a chapter on the Vessel’s stint in New York during the Ed Koch administration, he links free-market ideology to rising incarceration rates. He questions whether crime was real or merely “perceived,” even as he acknowledges the devastating effects of crack cocaine and drug addiction in the 1980s. His skepticism toward mainstream economic history extends to the Federal Reserve, where he downplays the impact of high interest rates in ending inflation—despite official records stating that the 1982 recession was the worst since the Great Depression.

Ideological overlap with the populist right

Ironically, the book’s deepest ideological kinship may not be with the traditional left, but with elements of the populist right. Like Trump-era critics of globalism, Kumekawa views trade not as a tide that lifts all boats, but as a force that sinks national industries and distorts democratic accountability. While his rhetoric and framing differ drastically from conservative nationalists, both share a suspicion of international commerce and multinational institutions.

This is not to equate Kumekawa with Trump—indeed, the author would likely be appalled by the comparison—but it underscores how globalism has become a target for ideologues across the political spectrum. Empty Vessel critiques globalism from the left, but echoes similar anxieties about the erosion of sovereignty, identity, and local control.

A worthwhile, if uneven, contribution

Ultimately, Empty Vessel is an ambitious attempt to narrate the history of the global economy through the life of a single, shapeshifting ship. Ian Kumekawa’s historical detail is impressive, and his desire to interrogate the costs of globalization is timely. Yet, the book falters when it strays from its central subject into broader polemics that lack nuance or economic rigor.

For readers interested in how infrastructure can embody ideology—and how one vessel might reflect the currents of capitalism—Empty Vessel offers a compelling, if sometimes overstated, voyage. Its critique of globalism may be partial and ideologically rigid, but it contributes meaningfully to a broader conversation about the future of trade, labor, and national identity in an interconnected world.