Elderly Sugarcane Farmers Face Market Slump: Unable to Sell, Yet Forced to Plant

Sister Zhen has a son and a daughter; her son and daughter-in-law live in Tanzhou, Zhongshan, where they work and raise their children. Her daughter suffers from mental illness and is unemployed. At 20 yuan per dan, not only would the elderly woman’s year of toil be for nothing, but she would also face a loss of over ten thousand yuan. Life is a struggle for her; the clothes she wears were gifts from friends, and her shoes were bought from Pinduoduo for 8 yuan a pair—she bought two. The ones she is wearing already have holes, with both big toes poking through. The other pair, worn for six months, has had the heels completely worn away, yet she still hasn’t thrown them out. If she accepted this price, relying on a monthly pension of only six or seven hundred yuan, they would not even be able to clear the debts from last year’s pesticides and fertilisers. She turned down the only sugarcane middleman who had made an offer this year.

II. Not Even a Chance to be Quoted

Chen Shun hoped to wait until the sugarcane grew a bit more to fetch a higher price. By New Year’s Day, however, he began to worry. He contacted a sugarcane broker he knew and eventually sold those two mu at 70 yuan per dan. The year before, this variety of black-skin sugarcane could fetch over a hundred yuan per dan. Half a month later, another mu was sold at 60 yuan per dan. During the Spring Festival, seven mu were sold sequentially at 40 yuan per dan; once the land rent of 1,500 yuan per mu and labour costs were factored in, this price barely allowed him to break even.

After last year’s Spring Festival, the price of black-skin sugarcane rose significantly. This year, however, the prices offered by brokers plummeted from 40 yuan per dan to just 5 yuan. Those of slightly lower quality were ignored, even when offered for free. Chen Shun’s final seven mu of sugarcane remained unsold as late as March.

“There isn’t even a chance to sell the sugarcane in bulk,” explained a village official from Yansha Village in Lanhe Town. In late March, farmers in the village reported a total of over 500 mu of unsold sugarcane, more than 400 mu of which was the black-skin variety. Chen Jiao, a villager in her sixties, has planted over ten mu of black-skin sugarcane. Her husband passed away years ago, and her children help in the fields on weekends if they aren’t working overtime. Between land rent and hired labour during the peak season, costs exceed 7,000 yuan per mu. When market conditions were good last year, a year of hard work could yield 100,000 yuan in profit. But this season, her sugarcane has been entirely ignored. “Not a single person has even come to ask the price.”

In Nansha, every plot of sugarcane is enclosed in black screens. Usually after the sixth lunar month, as the cane grows taller and the sun becomes more intense, the stalks must be shaded to prevent them from turning red. High-quality black-skin sugarcane has a deep, glossy black peel. Farmers also write their phone numbers on the screens; after the Mid-Autumn Festival, if a broker or a business owner is interested, they call to make arrangements, and some even pre-order. Once a plot is reserved, the farmer writes “Sold” on the screen.

Chen Jiao also posted her number early, but no one has contacted her to buy. The growth cycle for fruit sugarcane in Nansha is about a year; for local farmers, “spring planting” actually begins the previous winter. To ensure the next crop of black-skin sugarcane matures by the end of the year, March is the deadline. To avoid delaying the spring planting, Chen Jiao gave away the sugarcane planted earliest—which was nearing the end of its season—to brokers at rock-bottom prices or even for free, urging them to harvest it quickly. “Any later, and I won’t be able to plant.”

There is a local proverb: “Sugarcane at Qingming is more toxic than a snake”. As the Qingming Festival approaches and temperature and humidity rise, improperly stored sugarcane can easily mould and turn red, producing a neurotoxin known as 3-nitropropionic acid.

“The quality of black-skin sugarcane declines once it’s past its season,” the village official said. While yellow-skin sugarcane can be sold year-round, it is the black-skin variety that must be sold urgently. Consequently, government bodies, schools, hospitals, and compassionate individuals have joined efforts to support the farmers. However, according to feedback from village officials, most of this help is merely a drop in the ocean, far less effective than commercial procurement: a single broker’s trailer can carry 35 tonnes of sugarcane from four mu of land, whereas a thousand tourists might not even clear a single mu. In response, the local government introduced a sugarcane collection subsidy, offering brokers or other farmers a reward of several hundred yuan for every mu of sugarcane harvested, available until 5 April.

III. The harvesters are also elderly

In previous years, the cutters began taking jobs after the Mid-Autumn Festival. The work starts before 6 am every morning, and most cutters must rise at four or five. Each team has a foreman responsible for coordinating the location, quantity, and price with the sugarcane middleman. These middlemen establish long-term partnerships with the cutters through these foremen.

A team typically consists of a dozen or so people, with a clear division of labour. The vanguard first takes one ridge each, using shovels to sever the roots and pry the sugarcane from the soil before trimming away the root hairs. The shovels used for digging are custom-made, roughly one metre long with a narrow, flat, and sharp blade. Once dug out, the sugarcane is usually propped shallowly back into the ground; since the protective netting has not yet been removed, the tops of the canes lean against ropes and do not fall.

Once the sugarcane is dug out, the team operates like an assembly line. One group pulls out the rootless canes and strips the leaves from the top sides. Another group takes iron stools, turns them upside down, and stacks the canes one by one into the grooves formed by the stool legs. They tie them into bundles of 12 to 14 stalks, each weighing over 100 jin. To ensure stability, each bundle is tied in four places, and finally, half of the leaves at the tail end are cut off. This “with-tail” style of sugarcane is more durable and can withstand long-distance transport.

Sugarcane leaves are sharp; farmers who dress lightly in the heat often end up with rows of scratches on their hands and necks. These cuts are shallow and do not bleed, but they swell and redden. When exposed to sunlight, grit, soil, and sweat, they sting with a burning pain.

The most strenuous part is carrying the bundles onto the lorry. A single bundle is too heavy for one person; two people must lift it from either side while a third tilts their head and hoists the middle onto their shoulder. The sugarcane is rigid and digs painfully into the shoulder, so farmers usually use a pad—sometimes a tied piece of cloth, a folded woven sack, or a torn piece of cardboard.

The fields are pitted and uneven, requiring great care when walking. Plank bridges are used to get from the fields to the road base, and from the road to the lorry bed. Crossing the bridge is the most exhausting part; the long canes press down on the elderly, their expressions growing grave under the weight.

On 24 March, in Shajiao Village, Lanhue Town, a middleman hired 17 cutters to harvest about 4 mu of land. A buyer from Anhui purchased the sugarcane from these 4 mu at a price of 15 yuan per dan; the buyer also paid the fees for the middleman and the cutters—1.1 yuan per dan for the middleman and 11 yuan per dan for the cutters. Uncle Wang, 47 this year, is the youngest in the team. Their average age is over 55, with the oldest being 72. Uncle Wang says that almost every year, a cutter collapses in the fields. The excessively long hours, the sheer intensity of the labour, and the scorching heat can all prove fatal.

Rainy days are the most dangerous. If work has already begun and it starts to rain, the middleman will not agree to stop, as they must meet delivery deadlines. The fields become muddy and the roads slippery, requiring extra caution when walking across wet plank bridges.

A few years ago, Uncle Wang’s elder brother fell from a plank bridge while carrying sugarcane onto a lorry. Three toes on his right foot were shattered in a comminuted fracture. The medical fees cost 40,000 yuan, and he can no longer perform heavy labour. It was only through Uncle Wang’s efforts in arguing with the middleman that he received 20,000 yuan in compensation. With permanent steel pins in his body, his brother once asked Uncle Wang with concern: “Does this mean I’ll never be able to experience flying on a plane again?”

Continuous cropping leads to soil degradation and an increase in pests and diseases. The long-term cultivation of sugarcane and bananas has resulted in a decline in both quality and yield. In recent years, many of the bananas grown by local farmers suffered reduced yields or total crop failure due to Yellow Leaf Disease. “The quality of sugarcane isn’t great now either,” says one farmer. “The internodes are too short and the thickness is uneven; it can’t compete with the new plantations in places like Yunnan and Fujian.”

Uncle Wang has been growing sugarcane in Shajiao Village for nearly 20 years. He has observed that ten years ago, applying 4 to 5 bags of fertiliser (100 jin per bag) per mu was enough to last until harvest; now, at least 10 bags are required. However, the overuse of chemical fertilisers further degrades the soil: “If you apply too much, the sugarcane simply stops growing.”

In recent years, the price of a bag of fertiliser has risen to over 300 yuan, meaning the cost of fertiliser alone exceeds 3,000 yuan per mu. To safeguard quality and yield, sugarcane farmers must continuously use the highest-grade fertilisers and pesticides. He estimates that when land rent, bamboo supports, and labour are included, the cost per mu exceeds 8,000 yuan. Even if the land is owned and no outside labour is hired, the cost is at least 6,000 yuan.

V. No Choice but Sugarcane

Nansha has approximately 90 square kilometres of arable land, nearly two-thirds of which is concentrated in the northern towns of Lanhe, Dongyong, and Dagang. These areas are the primary growing regions for sugarcane and bananas in Nansha. The *Nansha District Arable Land Protection Special Plan (2021-2035)* notes that returns from grain crops are significantly lower than those from cash crops; consequently, farmers lack the incentive to grow grain, meaning the issue of “non-grainization” remains severe.

A cadre from Yansha Village explained that policy requires arable land to be used for grains or non-grain crops such as cotton, oil, sugar, and vegetables. Sugarcane is classified as a sugar crop, whereas planting fruits with higher economic value—such as bananas, papayas, guavas, and citrus—is considered “non-grain” and is not permitted under current policy.

In recent years, Nansha has intensified its efforts to rectify the “non-grain” use of arable land. A public report from late December 2022 showed that in less than two months, Lanhe Town completed 86 rectification cases covering 237.41 mu, with the total completion rate for “non-agricultural” and “non-grain” rectification exceeding 30%. Once banana and other crops were cleared, sugarcane was the only option left for local farmers.

“Since the removal of bananas, the area planted with sugarcane has grown year by year,” revealed the Yansha Village cadre. By 2025, the village’s sugarcane planting area exceeded 3,400 mu. Public reports indicate that in Lanhe Town, the area for fruit-grade sugarcane was only 13,800 mu in 2022, rising to 17,000 mu by 2025. With the burden of “food security” placed upon elderly farmers, they chose to reject the lowest-profit option—rice—and instead selected sugarcane from the government’s permitted “whitelist”.

Ensuring food security cannot be the sole responsibility of the farmers. A cadre from Lücun Village recalled that the “non-grain” rectification in various towns and villages met with opposition from most residents. The government had encouraged farmers to plant other crops from the “whitelist”, such as vegetables. However, vegetable farming is less profitable and requires farmers to spend all their time in the fields.

Farmers plant bananas and sugarcane not only out of a planting habit spanning nearly 30 years, but because it allows them more leisure time during the off-season to take on odd jobs. After harvesting sugarcane, Uncle Wang travels to other provinces to help other farmers build shelters; Chen Shun has leased out four mu of his land and does not intend to farm it, returning to construction sites after the spring ploughing; Sister Zhen and her husband, who are physically frail, pick vegetables to sell at street stalls.

Even with this year’s lack of market demand, many choose to keep planting; they rely on sugarcane to cover their losses and sustain their livelihoods.

As March draws to a close, livestreaming has indeed brought Sister Zhen a fair amount of business. Some customers have travelled from Shunde to harvest over 100 stalks. While her husband helps with the harvesting, customers usually only want the middle stems; he cuts off the top 30 centimetres—the part with leaves—to use for breeding the next season’s crop.

They are continuing to plant sugarcane this year. She is unwilling to use virus-free seedlings, as these represent another significant expense—especially since she has had to buy fertiliser on credit this year.