Colombo
The Crisis Within
Maladministration, graft and nepotism were the main contributors to the crisis in Sri Lanka.
Gone are the days when Sri Lanka was billed as an economic idyll. Assailed by an ever-burgeoning debt trap, the island nation has plunged neck-deep into a dire economic crisis -- the worst one witnessed since 1948 when the country gained independence. In the long months since strife and hardship have become the order of the day, political pundits have been quick to pinpoint causes and prescribe remedies. A vast majority of analysts have rightly pinned the blame on the family-run authoritarian regime that has drained the country’s exchequer. Others have relied heavily on economic jargon to illustrate the complexities of the turmoil that has laid siege to Sri Lanka. Sceptics have even expressed their reservations about the debt-driven colonialism steered by a now-crumbling neoliberal model of development backed by the West.
Be that as it may, there’s an overarching consensus that a diverse miscellany of factors have fomented the economic downturn in Sri Lanka.
From the outset, the island nation’s steady transition from an economic haven to a debt-ravaged polity is linked broadly with the cycle of misgovernance it has witnessed over time. For over two decades, the Rajapaksa family has treated statecraft as a family concern -- albeit one that has been sustained under the guise of parliamentary democracy. As a result, maladministration, graft and nepotism have gained currency. Successive mismanagement of economic policies under the Rajapaksa clan has led the country towards a twin deficit. National expenditure stands substantially in excess of national income -- an alarming sign that Sri Lanka lacks the capacity to produce tradable goods and services.
Government spending has remained, at best, injudicious for some time now and pulled the country deeper into a financial quagmire. When Mahinda Rajapaksa was at the helm, a large fraction of government expenditure was allocated towards infrastructural projects that didn’t reap any financial rewards.
The tenure of Gotabaya Rajapaksa, his brother, also didn’t bode well for the island nation. Soon after he seized the reins as president, Gotabaya announced massive tax cuts before the parliamentary polls -- a populist move promised as part of his electoral campaign. Though the policy wasn’t substantiated by experts and economic gurus, it was touted as a well-meaning step to galvanize the business sector and quell the rising trend of unemployment. The outcome of this imprudent policy was far from promising. Government revenue plummeted by almost 25% -- a substantial drop that further strained the state exchequer.
In March 2020, the lockdowns introduced after the global pandemic struck culminated in a significant decline in tourism revenue. The remittances sent to the country by foreign workers also began to diminish. Owing to the containment measures spurred by COVID-19, Sri Lanka’s foreign currency reserves took a hit and the first traces of an impending economic turmoil reared their ugly head. An inflexible rate of exchange became the source of further complications.
Analysts have argued that the country’s exports gathered momentum in 2021 and tourists returned to the country with. Even so, the decline in revenues due to sweeping tax reductions, untenable borrowing practices and excessive money printing had already caused irreversible damage.
In April 2021, Gotabaya devised another policy that would become the final nail in his political coffin. He urged farmers to eschew chemical fertilizers and entirely focus on organic farming. In hindsight, the notion of a complete break from tried-and-tested farming practices seems a tad bizarre as even developed countries have sustained themselves through hybrid agricultural techniques. Gotabaya’s policy drew the ire of farmers as agricultural output dwindled at an unprecedented rate. The situation spiralled out of control as rice -- a staple food and crop in Sri Lanka -- had to be imported. Food prices consequently soared to unimaginable heights.
Since 2020, credit rating agencies had already begun to downgrade the island nation. Two years later, the agencies’ confidence in the country began to plummet. Fitch, the New York-based ratings agency, reduced Sri Lanka’s sovereign rating to “restricted default” when the country failed to make international sovereign bond payments, even after being granted a 30-day extension. A similar assessment was made by S&P Global Ratings, another ratings agency, when it claimed a default was a “virtual certainty” in Sri Lanka’s case. Snubbed by these entities, the island nation was extricated from the global capital market. As a consequence, the country lost a key avenue through which it had sought to fulfil its debt obligations and had to rely instead on its foreign reserves. Once these reserves were geared towards debt repayment, it became all the more difficult to purchase imports. Shortages in fuel, food and medicine were witnessed across the country. These developments increased the inflationary pressure on the economy.
As the country plunged deeper towards a downward trajectory, the government’s response remained tepid. From the outset, the Rajapaksa administration struggled to respond effectively to the challenges. Despite pressure from the opposition and economic pundits, the government didn’t prioritize negotiations with the IMF and laboured under the illusion that tourism revenue and remittances would miraculously recover.
As the crisis escalated, the administration borrowed money from India and China
When Sri Lanka finally resolved to go to the IMF, the Rajapaksa regime vehemently opposed a bailout solution put forward by the IMF and gave preference to a home-grown strategy. The decision had an adverse effect on the country’s gold and foreign reserves. With time, the people lost confidence in the inefficient Rajapaksa regime.
Soon after severe fuel shortages were reported, the Ceylon Electricity Board initiated long power cuts. The announcement sparked mass protests. In late March, demonstrators thronged Rajapaksa’s private residence -- a move that laid the foundation for a chain of events that led to Gotabaya’s resignation a few months later.
Sri Lanka’s debt crisis has its genesis in the political arena. Ironically, the fallout was also of a political nature. However, it is the people who suffer the most under these circumstances. The IMF has tentatively agreed to give Sri Lanka a loan worth $2.9 billion. This isn’t a viable solution to the people’s immediate predicament as the loan will be disbursed in another six months and will come with its own conditions. The road to recovery is expected to be turbulent as no quick-fix strategy can easily reverse the perils associated with Sri Lanka’s economic downturn. ![]()
Dignity of Labour
In Bangladesh, some 32 lakh women work in garment factories. In Pakistan, 67 lakh women receive free cash grants from the government. Pakistani women need to be transferred from receiving charity to earning from labour. It adds to the prosperity of a country when the labour force is expanded. Charity is a non-productive activity. Nations rise not through charity but labour.

The writer is a journalist and author. He analyses international issues and can be reached at tahakehar2@gmail.com


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