QUOTE : THEY ARE NOT NEWS In the south of India, at the Nallamada hospital, a failed suicide revives. Around his bed, smiles from the ones who brought him back to life. The survivor eyes them and says: “What are you expecting, a thank-you? I owed a hundred thousand rupees. Now I’m also going to owe for four days in the hospital. Some favor you imbeciles did me.” We hear a lot about suicide bombers. The media blather on about them every day. But we hear nothing about suicide farmers. According to official figures, India’s farmers have been killing themselves steadily, at a rate of a thousand a month since the end of the twentieth century. Many suicide farmers die from drinking the pesticides for which they cannot pay. The market drives them into debt, then unpayable debt drives them into the grave. They spend more and more, earn less and less. They buy at penthouse prices and sell at bargain-basement markdowns. They are held hostage by the foreign chemical industry, by imported seeds, by genetically modified crops. Once upon a time, India worked to eat. Now India works to be eaten.