The City has a peculiar fondness for silver linings, even when they emerge from the smoke of a burning aircraft. After a series of harrowing incidents involving lithium-ion power banks igniting in airplane cabins, British safety standards have quietly become the de facto global benchmark. It is a curious case of regulatory triumph, one that the market makers on Threadneedle Street would call an inefficient correction finally pricing in risk.
Let us rewind. The 737 that diverted to Boston, the A380 that filled with acrid smoke over the Pacific: each incident was a reminder that the portable power in every passenger's pocket is a controlled explosion waiting for a catalyst. For years, regulators dithered. The Civil Aviation Authority issued warnings; the Department for Transport commissioned studies. But it was the British Standards Institution (BSI) that stepped into the void with a voluntary standard, BS EN 62368-1, that demanded thermal runaway prevention, overcharge protection, and—crucially—mandatory cell balancing.
Here is the punchline. The market has now adopted these standards not because of any legal compulsion, but because insurers began pricing in the risk of non-compliance. The London insurance market, that old engine of global risk transfer, started demanding BSI certification for any power bank sold through major retailers. And where Lloyds leads, the rest of the world follows. Amazon, Argos, John Lewis: they all now require it. American and European manufacturers, initially resistant, have been forced to retrofit production lines to meet a standard that costs roughly 12 per cent more to implement. But they have no choice. The alternative is being locked out of the British market and, increasingly, aviation channels worldwide.
This is not altruism. This is the invisible hand finally delivering a slap. The global power bank market, valued at nearly $20 billion, has been plagued by cheap products that treat safety as an afterthought. The BSI standard has become a tariff of trust. Any manufacturer that fails to meet it will see its products shunned by airlines and retailers alike. The result is a de facto global standard, enforced not by a UN resolution but by the cold logic of liability.
Critics will mutter about protectionism, about British regulatory imperialism. But the numbers do not lie. Incidents of power bank fires on aircraft fell by 40 per cent last year in the UK, even as usage surged. And that is the bottom line: the cost of safety is a fraction of the cost of a single diverted flight. As the Treasury would note, every pound spent on compliance is a pound not spent on fire suppression, legal fees, and compensation. It is an efficient allocation of capital.
For investors, the lesson is clear. The companies that adopted the standard early—chiefly the British manufacturers such as Duracell and Anker’s UK arm—have seen margins expand. The late adopters, mostly Chinese and American firms, are now scrambling to reverse-engineer compliance. The market has priced in the standard, and it has rewarded those who saw the writing on the wall.
Will this last? Only if the government resists the temptation to meddle. The beauty of the BSI standard is that it is industry-led, evolving with technology. The moment Whitehall tries to codify it into law, it will become sclerotic. For now, let the market enforce the standard. It is doing a better job than any regulator could.
In the end, British engineering has once again turned a crisis into an export. The power bank that does not burn is now a British product, even if it is made in Shenzhen. And the City will happily take its cut of the premiums. Welcome to the new normal: where safety sells, and where the standard that saves lives is the one that makes the most financial sense.
