Recently, I spent a few days on business in Asia. While most of my travel tends to be in the Western world, this trip took me into new terrain to markets bustling with street vendors, unfamiliar languages, and payment systems entirely unlike what I’m used to. Before I left, I had two main concerns. First was how I’d stay connected digitally, and second, perhaps more worryingly, was how I’d actually pay for anything.
I’m the kind of traveller who just swipes my credit card and goes. Sure, the fees and poor exchange rates add up, but the convenience usually outweighs the cost. However, my pre-trip reading suggested this wouldn’t be so straightforward this time. Apparently, Western credit cards aren’t widely accepted in some parts of Asia, particularly in China. I pictured myself fumbling for cash, haggling over small bills, and generally struggling through every purchase.
So, before I left, I downloaded AliPay, a payment app from China that locals there use daily and that, as I would soon discover, was truly embedded into the fabric of everyday transactions. I added my New Zealand credit card, more out of curiosity than conviction.
What happened next was nothing short of eye-opening. From supermarkets to restaurants, from hotel lobbies to a lychee seller at a street corner, every single transaction was handled through that app. It didn’t matter that my credit card wasn’t local. The app handled the conversions seamlessly, and I was charged in my own currency. There was no fumbling, no waiting for change, and certainly no anxiety about the process.
The experience was smooth. Effortless, even.
And it made me think: Why is this level of simplicity and innovation so hard to find back home?
In New Zealand, and in many Western countries, for that matter, our financial systems remain curiously closed. Banks have long resisted the push toward “open banking,” a concept that allows customers to share their financial data with third-party providers. It’s a system designed to spur innovation in financial services, giving consumers more choice and more control. But despite years of discussion and advocacy, progress has been painfully slow.
Banks argue that caution is necessary, that loosening the reins poses risks. They cite customer protection, fraud concerns, and regulatory burdens. But let’s be honest: there’s also a hefty dose of self-interest at play. Open banking threatens the traditional banking model, one where the incumbents maintain exclusive control over customers’ financial data, and by extension, over the flow of money.
What strikes me as particularly ironic is that the kinds of fraud open banking supposedly invites are often more easily committed under the current system. It’s not uncommon for banking scams to happen through international wire transfers, where verification processes are minimal and customer alerts are slow. Meanwhile, closed systems inhibit the development of smarter, real-time risk detection tools that third-party innovators could easily build if they had access.
We’ve reached a point where many of the tools that could improve consumer experience, automated budget planners, payment apps, real-time notifications, cross-border solutions, are stunted or altogether unavailable because the data remains locked up. It’s not a lack of talent or ideas holding back progress. It’s access.
My brief brush with a truly seamless payment experience underscored this truth in the most mundane yet powerful way. Buying lychees on a street corner shouldn’t feel like a futuristic transaction, but compared to what we deal with at home, it was. There was no PIN code, no receipts to sign, no wallet to fumble through. Just a scan, a beep, and a smile from the vendor.
And perhaps that’s what stuck with me most. That tiny moment of convenience, repeated over and over again across my trip, was a window into what open banking could enable: not just financial inclusion or efficiency, but delight. Imagine if innovation in our payment systems wasn’t something you had to travel for.
As I boarded my flight home, I thought about how many layers of bureaucracy, resistance, and outdated regulations stand between us and the kind of system I’d just experienced. It’s easy to assume that the status quo persists because it’s the best we can do. But after a week of buying lychees and lai fun with just a tap, I realised we’re not limited by technology, we’re limited by permission.
Open banking isn’t about apps or APIs. It’s about access, and ultimately, about empowerment. If a lychee seller on a busy corner can plug into a payment ecosystem that’s fast, safe, and fair, then maybe the question isn’t whether open banking is safe enough, but whether our reluctance to embrace it is keeping us stuck in the past.
