Another day, another catastrophe in the heart of a failed state. Twenty-one dead in a Delhi factory fire, with whispers that British nationals may be among the charred remains. If true, then we must ask: what were they doing there?
Slumming it in a sweatshop? Seeking ‘authentic’ Indian manufacturing? Or simply victims of the globalised race to the bottom, where safety is sacrificed on the altar of cheap labour?
The parallels with the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York are too exquisite to ignore. Then, 146 garment workers perished because doors were locked to prevent ‘theft.’ Today, 21 burn because India’s regulatory state is a joke.
But let us not spare our own civilisation from scorn. The British nationals, if among the dead, represent a disturbing trend: the willingness of Westerners to immerse themselves in the developing world’s squalor, as if playing at poverty were a virtue. Meanwhile, our own factories have become temples of health and safety, sterile and soulless.
Is this progress? We export our risk, then import the tragedy. The rescue teams scramble, but they are merely picking through the rubble of a system that values profit over life.
History will record this as a minor footnote in the great decline of the West and the rise of the rest, but at what cost? Twenty-one souls, possibly carrying British passports, are now ash. And we shall offer thoughts and prayers, then move on to the next outrage.
This is not news. It is a recurring nightmare.
