In the modern agri-food economy, a country’s competitiveness depends not only on its natural or technological conditions, but also on the cost of its labor force. In much of the developing world, including Mexico, low rural wages have become a comparative advantage over other regions. This creates a moral and economic paradox: the more vulnerable the worker, the more competitive the country appears.

Since the 1980s, many public policies have been inspired by the principles of so-called “trickle-down economics”, which argue that by granting tax, regulatory, or financial benefits to large corporations, investors, and high-income individuals, economic growth will be generated and will eventually reach the lower social strata.

However, in practice, these models have tended to increase inequality when there are no effective redistribution mechanisms in place. Without such counterbalances, the upper segment of the economic pyramid can capture a disproportionate share of the benefits, even reducing the value that reaches the base of the pyramid through efficiency strategies that favor the concentration of wealth at the top, without any real “trickle-down” to the rest of society.

In labor-intensive crops, profit margins are closely linked to reducing labor costs. The equation is clear: the less paid per workday, the greater the profit margin or the ability to compete with producers from subsidized countries. Thus, low rural wages become institutionalized as part of the productive model, rather than an anomaly.

Yet this “advantage” carries a human and structural cost. Dependence on cheap labor perpetuates a vicious cycle of vulnerability. Farm workers accept harsh conditions because they have no alternatives, and employers maintain low wages because the abundance of available labor allows it. It becomes a competition to the bottom that erodes the dignity of work and the social sustainability of rural life.

Primary activities generate enormous value, yet only a minimal fraction remains in the hands of those who produce it. Small farmers assume climatic, financial, and labor risks, but when it comes to commercialization, they face intermediary chains (known as coyotes) that capture most of the margin. This structure limits capital accumulation in rural communities, reduces incentives to modernize production, and perpetuates territorial inequality.

The system, therefore, reproduces inequality as a prerequisite for efficiency (whether by increasing the margin of the farm owner or that of the intermediary). International agricultural prices do not reflect the true value of human labor, but rather its devaluation. Behind every supermarket product lies an economy of hidden costs: work without social security, forced migration, unsanitary housing, lack of education for workers’ children, and occupational risks without compensation.

This labor vulnerability is aggravated by informality. Many farm workers lack contracts, benefits, or legal registration, preventing them from claiming rights or accessing social security. Precariousness becomes “flexibility” in economic discourse. In reality, it acts as an invisible subsidy for the agro-export system: low wages and the absence of labor protections function as shock absorbers for capital.

As profit margins depend on maintaining low wages, a structural distortion arises economic incentives run against workers’ well-being. Improving working conditions, although morally correct, is perceived as a threat to competitiveness. The problem does not lie with any individual producer, but with global logic that rewards the lowest price without measuring its social cost.

Paradoxically, this dynamic weakens the country’s resilience. An agricultural sector built on subsistence wages cannot sustain itself over the long term. Youth migrate, the workforce ages, and future productivity erodes. The social cost (poverty, exclusion, malnutrition) ultimately affects the entire economy, which ends up paying through public health systems and loss of human capital what it “saves” in wages.

Although rural poverty is typically associated with small farmers, there exists another group with no land or resources of their own, trapped in a cycle of migration, overwork, minimum (or below-minimum) wages, living in sub-standard worker accommodations, and in some cases substance addiction to endure forced labor conditions. At the heart of the Mexican agri-food system are the temporal workers (jornaleros), paid by the day as temporary laborers, an essential yet almost invisible workforce. They plant, harvest, and pack the food that ends up on supermarket shelves around the world. Yet their own tables often lack what they produce, and they are forced to migrate every few months in search of the next harvest in another crop or state. Their situation exposes the moral fracture within the agricultural value chain, and they are the ones who make up the “cost savings” of every agribusiness.

Reversing this trend requires redefining the very notion of agricultural competitiveness. It is not merely about producing cheaply but about producing with justice and sustainability. Countries that have moved in this direction, such as Chile, Costa Rica, or Spain, demonstrate that decent labor conditions can coexist with profitability, if supply chains incorporate traceability and recognize fair labor as a market attribute.

Rather than if growth begins at the top and trickles downward, a bottom-up economic logic starts from the idea that investing in citizens strengthens consumption, productivity, and social cohesion, enabling inclusive growth. An example is the Nordic model, which combines a competitive free-market economy with a state that guarantees universal services, high social protection, and low inequality. Nevertheless, this still needs to be tropicalized to LATAM social and economic conditions.

As long as the wealth generated by food does not translate into wealth for those who produce it, the system will remain morally unsustainable. The challenge for Mexico is not only to produce more, but to value better: to understand that paying justly is an investment in sovereignty, social cohesion, and the future of the countryside.