India's Pandora’s Box is now being opened

Foreign Direct Investment will help some of India, but won't correct growing inequalities.

Last Friday, the Indian government announced big bang reforms signalling that the Indian economy is now wide open for business. The landmark decision includes allowing 49 per cent foreign direct investment (FDI) in aviation, raising the FDI cap in the media industry to 74 per cent and most pertinently allowing 51 per cent FDI in the sector of multi-brand retail. This means the Tescos and Walmarts of the world can now set up shop in India.

In the lead up to the high octane announcements the ruling party at the centre - the Congress - that leads a coalition government which rather tellingly goes by the moniker of UPA 2 (United Progressive Alliance; "2" to indicate its second term) was reeling under the vertiginous impact of "Coalgate" – a scam unearthed by the national auditor, the CAG (the Comptroller and Auditor General). Suggestive of crony capitalism, the government "gifted" coal mining permits to private players fleecing the national ex-chequer to the tune of £33bn. The new wave of economic liberalisation policies is a laudable attempt to take the spotlight off the scam. The policies are also a damage limitation attempt by a floundering government to counter allegations of inertia in national and foreign publications. The unflattering foreign reviews unsurprisingly hurt most.

The new measures were explained by India’s Commerce and Industry Minister, Anand Sharma, in an "exclusive" on India’s premier news channel, NDTV. He said the reforms, in particular, those in multi brand retailing were what India needed. Let’s set the record straight here. Which India was the minister referring to? If we look at India’s 1.2 billion population as a pyramid, at the apex sit 1.2 million affluent households. They tend to live in India’s top eight cities. Approximately 300 million people are middle class. It is the base of the pyramid that comprises the biggest section in terms of the number of people – at least 700 million people consisting of 114 million families. This is nearly 60 per cent of the country’s population. They include "struggling India" and "destitute India"; those for whom making needs meet is a daily battle and those who are below the poverty line. Surely, the minister was not referring to this chunk of the Indian "market"? They simply do not have the purchasing power for a Carrefour or a Walmart. Their everyday grind absorbs them, survival overwhelms them. Conspicuous consumption does not feature on their agenda of preoccupations. Neither will the big retailers be counting them in. It is a mutual disaffection.

A strong argument in favour of FDI in mammoth retail is that it will generate employment. Surely, it will. But we can’t let the question lie there. We must ask, for whom? Will it source employees from the unskilled, illiterate vegetable vendors who, akin to a capillary network, are spread across the length and breadth of the country? Operating at the point of delivery to the grocery shopper, they are the lifeblood of India’s unorganised grocery sector. Succinctly asked – will the giant retailers employ from the displaced workforce? If the big chains simply usurp their livelihoods what will become of their families entirely dependent on their incomes? Or are they simply not part of this narrative? In which case let’s be clear – in the way FDI is being sold it isn’t for the appeal of the Indian imagination but of a sliver of the Indian imagination.

Since the first wave of economic deregulation reforms in 1991 (ironically passed by the incumbent Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh when he was finance minister) select segments of India have unequivocally prospered. Even a cursory look at the 2G spectrum scam and "Coalgate" make clear the benefits accrued to the political brass and to the corporate sector. The famous Indian middle class has also expanded. And on a recent visit to South Kolkata, in the vicinity of an upmarket supermarket, the prosperity of urban sprawl was also plain to see. An open garbage dump heaved and street urchins ran around it. A friend plaintively remarked "garbage dumps are flourishing too". The brush of 1991 painted some of India gold, the other parts left to fester into elision.

Will the brush of the 2012 reforms paint India differently? In the "spillover" effect of the big foreign companies operating in India, there will be benefits to be had. The promises of improved supply chain infrastructure and the elimination of middlemen (how the middlemen will be redeployed is another matter) have been reiterated over and over. The headlines of the "in-favour" rhetoric relay thus - more FDI will drive consumption, manufacturing, economic growth and GDP. But for the holistic temperature of the development of a nation the Gini Coefficient and the Human Development Index are more apposite thermometers – and on both counts, unlike the growth index, India’s score is not reassuring. Also, if we put to the test the theory of how gigantic foreign retailers will encourage Indian manufacturing by citing the example of the "Walmart effect" on American manufacturing – then the prognosis is slim. The bottomline is this: it will certainly help "some" of India, but it is definitely not the panacea to India’s most pressing woes.

 

Members of The Indian National Association of Street Vendors shout anti-government slogans during a protest against Foreign Direct Investment. Photograph: Getty Images
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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue