Elliot Wilson

Elliot Wilson explains why international condemnation of Burma’s brutal military leaders is so ineffectual: because many other countries are eager to do deals with them The satirist P.J. O’Rourke once noted that the more references to democracy a country has in its official title, the greater the chance it is run by a grubby totalitarian regime. Hence the People’s Republic of China and the Kim dynasty’s heroically misleading ‘Democratic People’s Republic’ of North Korea. Burma — or Myanmar, as its leaders prefer — has its equivalent in the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC).

Elliot Wilson explores how investors can back ventures that lend to the world’s poorest entrepreneurs Prathminda Kaur is the modern version of the Little Match Girl, only with a twist: instead of perishing in a Victorian winter, she’s making a nice living for herself selling red onions and bell peppers in a Mumbai market. Kaur arrived in the Indian coastal city eight years ago. To start with she slept on the street, borrowing money from a loan shark at dawn, handing him more than 90 per cent of her profits at dusk. On an average day, the interest on her loans worked out to an annual rate of 10,000 per cent. But two years ago a friend introduced her to SKS Microfinance, an Indian lender that makes millions of tiny loans to local entrepreneurs like Kaur.

Hu Bin is your archetypal Chinese real-estate entrepre­neur. Built like a bull, with a huge, moon-shaped head, a permanent grin and tiny, nicotine-blackened teeth, he is also the embodiment of Beijing’s sudden determination to use its huge capital reserves to buy the world. Despite an estimated £5 billion fortune, Hu Bin would normally have remained a low-key figure, even in China. His company, Shanghai Zhongzhou International Holding, is the unlisted owner of isolated packets of high-end residential property dotted around Shanghai.

Russia may have set the bar pretty high, but Kazakhstan still has to be one of the most extraordinarily business-unfriendly places on the planet. A visit to this vast Central Asian state is like a modern reworking of Malcolm Bradbury’s satire Why Come to Slaka?, which catalogued the dubious attractions of a fictional East European state in the Cold War. On the surface, this giant, underpopulated nation is doing remarkably well. From being virtually bankrupt a decade ago, the two main cities — Almaty in the south, and the northerly capital of Astana — now brim with confidence and cash. Mercedes and Bentleys jostle for road space with Ladas and Moskvitches; octogenarian babushkas take out loans with HSBC and Citibank to refurbish their plush inner-city apartments.