Writings on poverty and inequality in India are voluminous, spanning over seven decades of rigorous debate, policy analysis, and academic research. Manu Joseph attempts to present a socio-psychological examination of India’s enduring social stability despite extreme and highly visible wealth inequality. The plight of the poor in India has been a central and enduring theme in Indian literature, serving as a powerful engine for social realism and moral critique since the early 20th century. Authors like Mulk Raj Anand consistently brought the marginalized to the forefront with novels such as Untouchable and Coolie unflinchingly detailing the degradation and exploitation faced by the lowest castes and urban proletariat; Premanand’s stories highlight the experience of being economically and socially marginalized. Similarly, writings like Bhabani Bhattacharya’s So Many Hungers!, P Sainath’s Everyone Loves a Good Drought, Amartya Sen’s essays on economic disparity, and Kamala Markandeya’s Nectar in a Sieve focused on the desperation caused by famine and the struggle for survival in rural life. VS Naipaul’s travelogue is a rude awakening of the romanticized travels across India. More recently, authors such as Aravind Adiga and Arundhati Roy have written novels elucidating how global capitalism and the persistent shadow of the caste system impact the modern poor, ensuring that their struggles remain a vital part of the nation’s literary conscience! The economic inequalities in India are palpable, perceivable and unmistakably all around us.
Why the Poor Don’t Kill Us is not a conventional academic treatise but a highly provocative, polemical critique that utilizes journalistic observation and rhetorical analysis to challenge prevailing narratives on poverty, class, and social cohesion in the Indian subcontinent.
The central thesis addresses the conspicuous anomaly of low class-based revolutionary violence in a nation characterized by both stark economic disparity and democratic freedoms. Joseph posits that the maintenance of this equilibrium is not primarily due to state coercion or strong economic safety nets, but rather due to deep-seated psychological and cultural mechanisms operative within the impoverished population.
Who after all should be considered poor? This is perhaps the most enduring and contentious area of research. Academics and policy-makers have constantly grappled with defining who is poor and how many there are. Since the 1960s (starting with the Working Group of 1962), the Indian Government has established various expert groups attempting to define the poverty line based on—minimum calorie requirements and/or minimum consumption expenditure per capita. Economists have extensively analysed data and come up with the Multidimensional Poverty Index. Moving beyond simple income or consumption, modern studies consider deprivations in health, education, and living standards. Joseph makes some statements in the direction. Early on in the book he writes , ‘Most Indians are poor by the standards of the modern world’ (p. 14). So poverty is then perhaps relative—and all of us, when we compare ourselves to people richer than us, run the risk of feeling poor. Is poverty then in the material possession of wealth or in the satisfaction that the possessions give us? Elsewhere, the definition of the poor is ‘anyone who does not feel economically comfortable in a particular situation.’ This statement makes it even more all-encompassing—almost making the reader wonder if there are any rich people at all! We as humans run the risk of being dissatisfied with our status. Throughout the book we see the author grapple with this tough question; he provides some insights: Joseph’s definition of poverty is not about the amount of money, but about the psychological submission, the cognitive burden, and the total exposure to hardship that enables the comfortable life of the wealthy to persist without violent challenge. Certainly plausible but also fleeting.
Joseph views Indian society as a ruthlessly pragmatic ecosystem where the privileged benefit from the low self-worth and fragmentation of the marginalized, ensuring their own ‘fragile safety’ through psychological manipulation and systemic apathy. The stability is thus framed as a psycho-social phenomenon rather than a purely structural or institutional one, shifting the analytical focus from material conditions to the psychology of aspiration and endurance. The writing is built on a foundation of deliberate provocation. The title itself sets the tone; the author is not interested in comforting the reader but in challenging the most fundamental assumptions of social peace and privilege. ‘Why the Poor don’t Kill Us’—already demarcating that the reader isn’t poor and the fact that they are still alive and safe is not an assumption one must take for granted. He goes on to add a byline to the title ‘The Psychology of Indians’—and here is the sweeping statement revelation—the psychology of Indians is too large an umbrella for the subject that the book covers. Provocative statements written like facts—an unassuming reader, looking to verify the claims is left searching for more. The book makes many sweeping statements—without context or reference—attacks everyone—the rich, the poor, the Left activists, the politicians, the public, the institutions and the parallel systems. What the book doesn’t do is leave the reader with any method or direction to resolve and negotiate with this very skewed, unjust society. A book that could be a compelling commentary ends up reading like an op-ed.
As a psychological curiosity, I wonder not just what makes the poor remain poor, or the forces of over-consumption in this capitalist living and what ‘deprivations’ is this really fulfilling but also would have appreciated an enquiry into what draws the rich to writings on the poor. Many books written, much research done—what is the impact of this work on the subjects? I understand better why the authors may want to write about these areas—these may come from lived experiences, as does in the case of Manu Joseph, along with the need to put out their anger, share experiences and ensure the experiences of the marginalized; not just remain on the margins. The author, after provoking disgust and anger at our ‘comfort’ with the current state of affairs—many dinner table conversations, moral judgements and perhaps even some self-loathing, leaves us in want of more answers—are we just reading these books as an act of charity? Many wealthy people are drawn to reading about the struggles of the poor perhaps because such stories offer a window into lives far removed from their own, provoking empathy, curiosity, or even a sense of moral responsibility. These accounts can challenge their assumptions about success, opportunity, and merit, revealing the structural inequalities that shape society. For some, reading about poverty provides emotional distance—a way to vicariously experience hardship without facing it—while for others, it could become a means of understanding the world more fully. In either case, the plight of the poor often acts as a mirror through which the rich examine their own privilege and place in society. But is this the only inclusivity we are willing to provide? Most of these books aren’t being read by the people on whom they are based—then why do they still sell and intrigue us? Don’t we need to do more than just uncover the ‘psychology’ behind it all?
Surabhika Maheshwari is Associate Professor of Psychology, Indraprastha College For Women, University of Delhi, Delhi.