<p>India has mastered a division of responsibility. The government will make us a developed country but someone else will pick up the wrapper. Meanwhile, the citizen, exhausted by the demands of civility, lowers the window of his expensive car and contributes a small plastic offering to the nation. Your columnist recently visited Yangon and encountered something profoundly unsettling. The pavements he walked on were maintained and the busy attractions he visited were clean. People appeared capable of finishing a drink without launching the container into public space. There were pedestrians on the footpaths, an arrangement that struck an Indian visitor as almost experimental.</p><p>Myanmar is considerably poorer than India. Yet the streets your columnist saw offered an embarrassing lesson in manners. One visit cannot certify an entire city, but it can demolish a favourite excuse. Apparently,we need not wait for a higher GDP before discovering what a dustbin does. Nor does holding on to an empty bottle require an advanced university degree. We should be careful about declaring India the world's dirtiest country but for a nation so pleased with its economic ascent, we display an uncontrollable determination to toss the packaging onto street. Delhi provides an instructive tour. Leave the manicured comforts of Lutyens' and the capital's commitment to public cleanliness becomes more adventurous. Too many neighbourhoods offer rubbish heaps, broken walking surfaces and storm-water drains enjoying a second career as waste repositories. The VIP gets a boulevard, while the taxpayer gets an obstacle course with optional dengue.</p><p>Elsewhere, the scenery changes but the wrapper remains. Hill towns receive tourists who love nature so much that they leave something behind for it. Beauty spots acquire bottles and roadsides collect takeaway cups. Future archaeologists may conclude that ours was a civilisation devoted to snacks. Footpaths deserve their own obituary. Hawkers occupy them, shops extend across them and motorists park on whatever survives. While vendors need livelihoods and proper vending spaces, pedestrians too need somewhere to walk. A functioning municipality ought to manage both without declaring either species expendable. The most revealing contrast, however, lies across our own thresholds. Shoes off inside and rubbish outside. Public property is treated as property belonging to nobody. Consequently, the boundary of civic responsibility often coincides with the boundary wall. Money alone cannot explain this. An expensive education can produce a defence of national greatness without producing the instinct to carry litter home.</p><p>The remedy begins with basic competence. Municipalities must provide reliable collection, usable bins and proper processing. Asking households to separate waste is pointless if the collection truck reunites it each morning. Sanitation workers need equipment, protection and respect, rather than annual appearances behind a politician’s broom. Then enforce the rules with heavy fines. Mandate markets, food stalls and event organisers to manage their waste. Keep walking routes clear through sensible vending arrangements and action against illegal parking. At tourist sites, make disposal convenient and dumping expensive. The prospect of losing money can achieve remarkable improvements in civic philosophy. India would become immeasurably more pleasant through millions of small acts of restraint. We are forever demanding that the world recognise our greatness. Perhaps we could begin by making it possible to walk down the road without stepping on rubbish.</p><p>National pride should survive the little inconvenience of carrying a bottle to the next bin, even when nobody is watching and there is no photograph to post. This should not count as heroism.</p>
<p>India has mastered a division of responsibility. The government will make us a developed country but someone else will pick up the wrapper. Meanwhile, the citizen, exhausted by the demands of civility, lowers the window of his expensive car and contributes a small plastic offering to the nation. Your columnist recently visited Yangon and encountered something profoundly unsettling. The pavements he walked on were maintained and the busy attractions he visited were clean. People appeared capable of finishing a drink without launching the container into public space. There were pedestrians on the footpaths, an arrangement that struck an Indian visitor as almost experimental.</p><p>Myanmar is considerably poorer than India. Yet the streets your columnist saw offered an embarrassing lesson in manners. One visit cannot certify an entire city, but it can demolish a favourite excuse. Apparently,we need not wait for a higher GDP before discovering what a dustbin does. Nor does holding on to an empty bottle require an advanced university degree. We should be careful about declaring India the world's dirtiest country but for a nation so pleased with its economic ascent, we display an uncontrollable determination to toss the packaging onto street. Delhi provides an instructive tour. Leave the manicured comforts of Lutyens' and the capital's commitment to public cleanliness becomes more adventurous. Too many neighbourhoods offer rubbish heaps, broken walking surfaces and storm-water drains enjoying a second career as waste repositories. The VIP gets a boulevard, while the taxpayer gets an obstacle course with optional dengue.</p><p>Elsewhere, the scenery changes but the wrapper remains. Hill towns receive tourists who love nature so much that they leave something behind for it. Beauty spots acquire bottles and roadsides collect takeaway cups. Future archaeologists may conclude that ours was a civilisation devoted to snacks. Footpaths deserve their own obituary. Hawkers occupy them, shops extend across them and motorists park on whatever survives. While vendors need livelihoods and proper vending spaces, pedestrians too need somewhere to walk. A functioning municipality ought to manage both without declaring either species expendable. The most revealing contrast, however, lies across our own thresholds. Shoes off inside and rubbish outside. Public property is treated as property belonging to nobody. Consequently, the boundary of civic responsibility often coincides with the boundary wall. Money alone cannot explain this. An expensive education can produce a defence of national greatness without producing the instinct to carry litter home.</p><p>The remedy begins with basic competence. Municipalities must provide reliable collection, usable bins and proper processing. Asking households to separate waste is pointless if the collection truck reunites it each morning. Sanitation workers need equipment, protection and respect, rather than annual appearances behind a politician’s broom. Then enforce the rules with heavy fines. Mandate markets, food stalls and event organisers to manage their waste. Keep walking routes clear through sensible vending arrangements and action against illegal parking. At tourist sites, make disposal convenient and dumping expensive. The prospect of losing money can achieve remarkable improvements in civic philosophy. India would become immeasurably more pleasant through millions of small acts of restraint. We are forever demanding that the world recognise our greatness. Perhaps we could begin by making it possible to walk down the road without stepping on rubbish.</p><p>National pride should survive the little inconvenience of carrying a bottle to the next bin, even when nobody is watching and there is no photograph to post. This should not count as heroism.</p>
