Coffee, argues Augustine Sedgewick in this informed and entertaining book, is the quintessential drink of globalisation. From its origins in Ethiopia, the drink spread via Yemeni traders, entering Europe first via Venice and then Vienna.
London took to it with particular enthusiasm after the first coffee stand opened in 1652. In the 19th century, the Americans took to it, too. Now, more than 2.2 billion cups are drunk every day. “What does it mean,” Sedgewick asks, “to be connected to faraway people and places through everyday things?”
Such an enormous topic could easily sprawl, so Sedgewick, a historian at City University in New York, wisely focuses on a single grower in El Salvador, James Hill.
Born in working-class Manchester in 1871, Hill travelled to Central America at 18 to seek his fortune. He died, in 1951, as one of the richest and most prominent growers in El Salvador, with 18 plantations employing more than 5,000 people. His life, and the history of El Salvador over the past 200 years or so, serve as a case study for the recent story of coffee.
When the Spanish arrived in El Salvador in the 16th century, they found a relatively stable society with a prosperous mixed economy, which gave way over the next centuries to one of the world’s most pernicious monocultures, the effects of which are still being faced today.
Coffee plantations began there in earnest after the American Civil War, when rations issued to Confederate troops created a lasting boost in demand. The Spanish retreat from central and South America in the late 19th century created a vacuum for foreign expertise, which the British rushed to fill.
Aided by a canny marriage to the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner, Hill became one of the most prominent farmers in El Salvador, committed to efficiency and unafraid to take risks where he saw opportunity. Sedgewick paints a compelling picture of Hill as the epitome of the British imperial capitalist, by turns industrious, shrewd, humble and harsh to the point of cruelty.
From his childhood among the smokestacks of Manchester, Hill had learnt that the most powerful motivating force for workers was hunger. In El Salvador, where food grew freely, he had to create it artificially, by planting inedible crops and limiting the rations of tortilla and beans he gave to his labourers. The effects of his strict rule, which was taken up by other plantation owners, came to a head in the 30s: the workers rose up, seizing land and buildings, only for the government to respond with bullets.
Coffeeland is thoroughly researched and Sedgewick is a stylish writer. As a historian of labour, he has a clear sense of how this fits into the wider narratives, with Marxism always simmering gently below the surface. Some of the most interesting passages in the book are digressions on how coffee has been bought and sold around the world. A turning point in Hill’s fortunes was when coffee came to be prized for its flavour, rather than appearance, necessitating a whole new language of description, the effects of which are still visible in hipster coffee shops.
As Covid-19 causes governments to reassess the limits of globalisation, it is an apt moment to revisit a commodity that encapsulates the history of international trade as well as any. Through the efforts of Hill, his employees and millions of others, a once-luxurious drink became the world’s favourite drug, cheap enough to be enjoyed the world over and used daily by 80 per cent of the planet.
Coffee’s future is far from settled. A recent Dispatches documentary exposed child workers on coffee farms, showing that the issues surrounding price and labour in coffee have not gone away. At the same time, climate change is rapidly threatening the land suitable for this notoriously capricious plant.
From a commercial point of view, though, the world is coffee, and coffee is the world.
Coffeeland: A History by Augustine Sedgewick is published by Allen Lane (£25)