The budget speech is not the budget yet; so let’s talk about what it gets right

Theko Tlebere

In Lesotho, every February, there is something predictable that happens. The Minister stands up, reads the Budget Speech, and before the ink is dry, the whole country becomes a panel of experts. Local Radio phone-ins heat up, WhatsApp groups explode, and the newspapers sharpen their knives with well-articulated articles. Of course, public criticism is healthy, as it forces leaders to explain themselves. But we also need to be honest about a basic fact that many people skip: a budget speech is not a final budget.

Today’s article is not written to praise the government. It is written to inform the public, using simple language that even my uncle in Ha Kholopo can follow and comprehend, about the positive signals in the budget estimates that many “analysts” will not mention because good news does not sell as fast as outrage. You can be critical and still be fair. You can oppose waste and still acknowledge a good direction. That balance is exactly what a mature democracy needs, hence my intention to look at the positives from the estimates presented to us last month.

The Westminster system that we follow dictates that the Minister’s speech is a proposal tabled before Parliament. It must still go through committee scrutiny, debate, possible revisions, and final approval. That process is not a small formality. It is where real accountability is supposed to happen, where MPs interrogate the numbers, committees call officials to explain priorities, and the country gets a chance to adjust course before the actual appropriation bill is passed. If we miss that point, we end up arguing about the speech as if Parliament is just a theatre, when in fact Parliament is the place where the budget should be improved.

The theme of the budget estimates speaks about accelerating economic transformation and building resilience. That sounds like big English until you translate it into normal life. Transformation means we cannot keep surviving on one or two sources of money and hoping they will last forever. Resilience means we must be able to stand when shocks come, like drought, job losses in textiles, uncertain SACU revenues, or sudden price increases in things we import. The positive signal here is not that a theme automatically changes reality, but that the budget is being framed as a tool to change the structure of the economy, not just to keep offices open and salaries paid. That framing matters because it tells Parliament and the public what to measure: not only whether money was spent, but whether spending actually reduces vulnerability and expands productive activity.

One of the most painful ways the government can take money from citizens is silently, through bracket creep. When prices rise, wages often rise a little just to keep up, and then the worker is pushed into a higher tax bracket even though their real buying power has not improved. The Estimates indicate an intention to adjust tax credits and thresholds to offset some inflation impact and protect lower- and middle-income earners. This is not a headline-grabbing policy, but it affects the monthly reality of teachers, nurses, police officers, all who are in the lower grades of A to D. Parliament should still demand the exact numbers and verify who benefits most, but the principle is important: it signals a willingness not to punish ordinary earners simply because inflation has moved.

If you want to understand Lesotho’s economy, don’t start with speeches; start with the pot at home. When food prices rise, it is not a theory. It is hunger. That is why it matters that the budget estimates allocate serious funding to agriculture and spell out practical interventions rather than vague promises. The agriculture package includes commitments that speak directly to production, stability, and value. Irrigation is one of them. In Lesotho, irrigation is not a luxury; it is survival. Rain-fed farming is too risky and outdated in an era of climate uncertainty, and the proposal to operationalise multiple irrigation schemes is the kind of shift that can help households produce beyond one season.

Storage and logistics are another. Producing food without proper storage means we lose value after harvest, and the plan to operationalise the Maseru Storage and Logistics Facility speaks to reducing post-harvest losses and improving national reserves. Livestock protection also features strongly. For many Basotho, livestock is savings, school fees, and status; it is wealth that walks. A national vaccination programme targeting major livestock diseases, alongside stronger border biosecurity and steps toward improved diagnostic capacity, is a pro-rural signal that deserves recognition. The wool and mohair value chain is also treated as something that can be improved through breeding and facility upgrades, which is important because value is not only about quantity; it is also about quality and market competitiveness.

The key point is this: such commitments are measurable. Parliamentarians should ask the right questions, like (rather than point of orders all the time): where exactly are the irrigation schemes, who will benefit, what is the timeline, and what safeguards prevent the same names from winning every contract? That is how scrutiny should work. A budget is not good because it says the right things; it is good when it sets clear actions that can be tracked and corrected.

When a country is under pressure, it is tempting to cut social spending and then later wonder why society is breaking down. One positive signal is that the budget estimates still place heavy emphasis on human capital, especially education and health. Education spending matters not only for classrooms, but for skills, productivity, and long-term national capability. The stated priorities around curriculum reform, strengthening TVET, early learning, and investment in facilities and training point to a recognition that education must produce competence, not just certificates. Health remains a major focus, too.

Anyone who has been to a public hospital knows that shortages are not abstract: staff shortages mean long queues, equipment gaps mean referrals, and medicine stock-outs mean suffering. The budget will not solve everything in one year, but maintaining health as a core priority rather than a side issue is a positive, because a weak health system drags the whole economy down through lost productivity, higher household costs, and preventable deaths.

Some people hear tourism and sports and immediately think “extras,” as if these are luxuries for good times. But that view misses how jobs are created in small economies. Tourism can absorb youth and rural communities faster than many formal sectors because it links directly to small business activity: transport, food, accommodation, guiding, crafts, events, and local services.

The Estimates include allocations tied to tourism infrastructure, destination marketing, heritage protection, and the legislative work needed to modernise the sector. Sports infrastructure is also given attention. The public is right to demand transparency, district fairness, and value for money.

But it is wrong to assume that sports spending is automatically waste. If facilities are built or upgraded properly, they can enable tournaments, community programmes, talent development, and local commerce around events. The scrutiny question is not “why sports?” The scrutiny question is “how will this spending widen access, grow participation, and stimulate local economic activity?”

One of the hardest truths in Lesotho is also one of the most necessary to say out loud: government cannot employ every graduate and every job seeker. A budget that talks about jobs must therefore do more than announce public hiring or wage adjustments. It must strengthen the foundations for enterprise growth, especially for MSMEs, because that is where employment can expand if barriers are reduced and support systems are credible. Even the broader public discussion around entrepreneurship support, incubation, and investment and mentorship, including contributions from Basotho in the diaspora, points toward an understanding that growth must be built with citizens producing, not only with government spending. The real test for Parliament is to ask whether these support systems are accessible beyond Maseru, whether selection is transparent, and whether funding and mentorship are structured to produce businesses that survive beyond one grant cycle.

As Basotho, if we are really serious, we need to do two things at the same time. The first is recognising positives in the budget estimates, such as protecting ordinary earners from bracket creep, treating agriculture as a practical programme with irrigation and livestock protection, and maintaining strong investment in education and health, and second, we need to also continue demanding hard accountability.

A budget is not a poem. It is a contract with numbers. Parliament must interrogate timelines, procurement rules, fairness across districts, and measurable outcomes. Citizens should demand reporting that is simple enough to follow, because public money must be explained in public language.

I want to conclude by saying, this is how we avoid childish politics where every fair comment is treated as praise, and every criticism is treated as sabotage. You can acknowledge what is constructive and still insist on accountability. In fact, that combination is the most patriotic position. Shouting is easy. Understanding is harder. But Lesotho needs more citizens who can do both: feel strongly and think clearly. The Future is NOW!

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