It’s not surprising that well-travelled professionals living in global cities such as New Delhi, New York, Paris, Rio and Shanghai have more in common with one another, in lifestyle and values, than they do with rural citizens in their respective nations.
In general, villagers, particularly in the emerging world, have benefited less from globalization than urbanites have. Seventy per cent of India’s citizens, for instance, live in rural isolation, largely disconnected from the benefits of their nation’s fast-paced economic growth.
These are globalization’s forgotten frontiers, where more must be done to connect urban markets with rural ones in order to speed their development. How this happens will vary from nation to nation.
In China, for instance, the government actively spurred the village economy, largely through agricultural reform measures implemented during the 1980s. By contrast, India’s government has only a limited ability to bring about real change in the country’s villages. Private entrepreneurs might well be more effective.
Recently, I trudged through the mire of a government-run food auction yard, or mandi, in Bangalore, the global economy’s offshoring capital. Piles of supposedly fresh produce lay everywhere, rotting in the sun and competing with mangy dogs and scampering mice for my attention. Huddles of impecunious farmers, wearing the traditional dhoti, looked on with resignation. A government agent, pen tucked behind ear, offered a pittance for the produce on display.
The farmers’ day had started before dawn. Chugging along on narrow so-called highways, they came to the auction yard in ramshackle public buses, bullock carts, trucks and even tractors. Their produce unloaded, they accepted whatever they got. After snatching a few hours’ sleep in a shady corner, they retraced their steps home.
In India, agricultural mandates have long required farmers to sell their produce through such wholesale yards. Although meant to free poor farmers from the clutches of local moneylenders, the mandi has become a monopoly. The farmer remains exploited, but now by local political interests.
But let’s change the scene from a city market in India to a rural village in China. Not long after I visited Bangalore, I criss-crossed parts of Henan—the name means “south of the Yellow River” (Huanghe). The province, one of China’s most populous, is home to more than 100 million people. I started in Zhengzhou, the capital, a major industrial centre and railway junction, and travelled to Chengguan, a county seat with 100,000 inhabitants.