surrounded by paddy fields and forest—some 60,000 hens lay many millions of eggs a year. They are cooped up in rows of battery cages that stretch almost as far as the eye can see. Each bird occupies a space smaller than a laptop, where she will spend most of her short life. Several countries in Europe have banned battery cages, as have a number of states in America. In Asia, by contrast, around 89% of the region’s commercial laying hens are raised in cages, compared with 55% in America and 16% in Britain. Factories that go cage-free need a lot more space, which can increase costs by 20-40%. Few consumers in India or Indonesia are willing to shell out that kind of a premium. Nor have governments much appetite to intervene. Many officials see factory farms as a much-needed boost to agricultural productivity, and eggs as essential food for growing populations. Around the region people are busily trying to crack the problem. Many businesses that are keen to buy cage-free eggs, such as posh hotels, struggle to get hold of them. The “cage-free credit”, pioneered by Global Food Partners, a consultancy in Singapore, seeks to address this. The companies in its scheme buy cage-free eggs when they realistically can. When they cannot, they buy eggs from cages—but at the same time they also buy a credit, the proceeds from which are used to help farmers somewhere in their region go cageless. This is a rare example of a smart policy that genuinely boosts animal welfare, argues Elissa Lane, a co-founder of the outfit. The idea is slowly starting to take flight. A number of big companies in India, Indonesia, the Philippines and Vietnam have bought or signed up for cage-free credits. They include the Asian arms of major food firms such as Compass Group, Kellanova and PizzaExpress. In April Compass’s Indian operation bought enough credits to offset 4m caged eggs. In time technology could also offer ways to make egg production less irksome. In-ovo sexing, which detects and culls male embryos before they hatch, tackles the grim practice of killing male chicks (useless to egg producers) at birth. In parts of Europe, where culling is banned, this technique has already spared 110m chicks, reckons Innovate Animal Ag, an American think-tank. A pilot began in Australia last month. The most radical solution would be to do away with the hen altogether. In 2022 Float Foods, a
Singaporean firm, hatched OnlyEg, Asia’s first commercial plant-based whole-egg substitute—complete with a legume-based yolk. Vegans cannot get un oeuf of them. ■ For exclusive coverage of Asian politics, economics and security, sign up to Asia Bulletin, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/11/asian-activists-say-too-much-egg- production-is-cruel
Can India’s cockroach party become a political movement? The government is betting that the answer is no June 11th 2026 ABHIJEET DIPKE, the founder of the Cockroach Janta Party, predicted that when he landed at Delhi airport he would be arrested and the protest he had planned would be banned. That might have sounded a bit dramatic for a man who, a month ago, was posting memes from his home in Boston, in America. But Mr Dipke has accidentally found himself at the helm of a movement. His party, which began as a joke in response to a nasty comment made by the Supreme Court of India’s chief justice about the country’s jobless young, has attracted millions of followers. As it went viral, the Indian government’s first response was to try to squash it.
Once Mr Dipke landed on June 6th, however, it became clear that the government had adroitly changed tack. The Delhi police swiftly granted him permission to hold the rally. A jetlagged Mr Dipke, a 30-year-old communications professional, proceeded to a protest site in central Delhi. By midday there were perhaps one or two thousand people there, mostly young, many filming themselves. They drummed and chanted slogans, calling for the education minister to resign because of scandals involving botched exams. Mr Dipke held aloft an autobiography by B.R. Ambedkar, a Dalit leader, and gave impromptu speeches that were inaudible. At one point he appeared to faint, hardly surprising given the sweltering heat. The grievances that Mr Dipke has tapped into run deep and wide. Like many young people across India, the protesters were angry about a lack of jobs and an education system that can often seem designed to crush their aspirations. Many complained that those in power are unaccountable, and suppress dissent. Naveen, who had travelled from Jaipur, said the problem was not the education minister but “the whole system”. Arvind Singh, from Chandigarh, said that the nascent party had given angry but fearful youngsters the confidence to speak out. “When something gets too big organically, it comes and bites you back,” he said. Both wore cockroach masks. “We are cockroaches!” the crowd chanted. Mr Dipke has promised more rallies across India. He has plenty of discontent to draw on and a powerful symbol, which counts for something in Indian politics. But his movement is inchoate. It has no real organisation (the turnout in Delhi was surprisingly small), it lacks a coherent message, and it is not clear that Mr Dipke will have the skills to turn a burst of anger into a movement. Those in power seem to doubt that it will be any more than a minor pest. It is up to the cockroaches to prove them wrong. ■ Stay on top of our India coverage by signing up to Essential India, our free weekly newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/11/can-indias-cockroach-party-become-a- political-movement
Japan is rethinking its divorce laws A move to introduce joint custody marks a big shift June 11th 2026 WHEN SHIBAHASHI SATOKO divorced her husband a decade ago, she did not want her ten-year-old son to see his father. The break-up had been ugly, and she recoiled at the thought of a reunion. Then she met another divorced mother whose child, denied access to his father, looked miserable. “I thought: what a terrible mother,” she recalls. “But then I realised I’m no better.” She called her ex-husband to arrange a meeting. He has been part of the boy’s life since. Her change of heart mirrors a broader one. For decades Japan was the only G7 country not to recognise joint custody after divorce—so that the parent granted custody, usually the mother, could easily shut the other out. A government survey in 2021 found that only one in three children of divorced
parents had any contact with the absent parent, typically just once a month. In April, following a revision of a civil code unchanged for nearly eight decades, Japan introduced joint custody. The change reflects a profound shift in how the country thinks about family life. Despite traditional family values, divorce is common. James Raymo, a demographer at Princeton University, estimates that at its peak in the 2000s, around a third of Japanese marriages ended in divorce, though that has eased to roughly a quarter today as people marry more selectively. Japan is among the world’s easiest places to split: rather than seeking a court order, as couples must in America or Britain, a Japanese pair need only sign a form at their local ward office. Around nine in ten divorces are settled in this way. That creates problems. Decisions over money, child support and custody are made while tempers run hot, with no neutral party to cool them. The results are bleak. Only 28% of single mothers get child support from ex-husbands. Combined with a large gender pay gap, this helps explain why the relative poverty rate for single-mother households, at 45%, is one of the highest in rich countries. The same desire to sever ties shapes contact with the children. In principle, the non-custodial parent retains the right to see them; in practice, that contact is limited and easily withheld. Divorce in Japan, notes Allison Alexy, an anthropologist, follows a “clean break” model, in the belief that shuttling between two households harms children. When ex-spouses leave, says Ms Shibahashi, they are often treated as if they have died. Critics point to an even bleaker consequence. Japanese courts tend to award custody to whichever parent the children already live with, creating a perverse incentive: a spouse anticipating a break-up may simply take the children first. Such “parental abductions” have become hotly debated. In 2021 a Frenchman staged a hunger strike in Tokyo demanding the right to see his children after his Japanese ex-wife took them away; but she did not relent. Supporters of joint custody hope that the new law will help. It requires divorced parents to make big decisions—over schooling, say, or relocation —together, and puts parent-child contact on a firmer legal footing. Officials
hope that fathers with a continuing stake in their children’s lives will be likelier to pay support; the reform has been paired with a new statutory child-support measure. Opposition has come mainly from women’s-rights groups, which argue that joint custody could force victims of domestic violence back into contact with their abusive former partners. The concern is by no means baseless, though a survey suggested that only 8% of divorces were caused by physical violence. It will take time to judge the law in practice. But the direction seems right. As Ms Shibahashi puts it: “Grown-ups may fight each other, but a child should never lose a parent because of that.” ■ For exclusive coverage of Asian politics, economics and security, sign up to Asia Bulletin, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/11/japan-is-rethinking-its-divorce-laws
Money troubles are driving India’s states to drink Things are so dire that one state has produced a rational alcohol policy June 11th 2026 Just like many humans, Indian states have a conflicted relationship with booze. The Directive Principles of State Policy enshrined in the country’s constitution call on governments to “endeavour to bring about prohibition”. India celebrates its independence day, and many other public holidays, by imposing abstinence. In Kerala the first day of every month is dry. In Maharashtra drinkers must (in theory) have a state-issued permit. These attempts to cut down should be familiar to anyone who has ever woken up worse for wear and vowed never to drink again. On the other hand, the Directive Principles are a non-binding list of aspirations likened even at independence to “resolutions made on New Year’s Day which are broken on the 2nd of January”. There is always a