When news broke that salaries of Chinese mine workers in Eswatini were being secretly transferred to China, my jaw literally dropped in disbelief, shock and then, silence gripped me.
The Ministry of Labour’s investigation confirmed that the wages of about 20 Chinese nationals employed at a site in Mpaka, Lubombo, were never paid locally. Instead, they were allegedly exported abroad, bypassing the country’s financial system and tax laws.
This story is bigger than unpaid wages. It is a mirror held up to our country, reflecting uncomfortable truths about how far we have drifted from the principles of accountability, fairness and national dignity. This is not just a story about foreign exploitation. It is about what happens when a nation quietly sells pieces of its sovereignty, law by law, deal by deal, silence by silence.
If truth be told, the strength of a nation is not only in its laws, but in its will to enforce them equally. Our Employment Act clearly states that all workers in the country, regardless of nationality, must be paid locally through verifiable and lawful channels. Yet, in this case, wages were transferred abroad, taxes went unpaid and passports were allegedly withheld. The ministry’s investigation described the practice as a clear violation. The real question however is: “Why did it take anyone so long to notice the act?”
Had the workers not protested for non-payment of wages, no one would have noticed that their money was transferred out of the country. If inspectors, police or financial regulators had enforced existing rules, millions in wages would not have vanished across borders. Instead, the silence of institutions became the loudest sound.
This silence, repeated in other corners of our economy is what turns strong laws into fragile suggestions. It tells powerful investors that accountability in the kingdom can be negotiated and that, if you have the right connections, even the law will look away. Our government has for years courted foreign investors, particularly from Asia, promising an open and business-friendly climate.
There is nothing wrong with that. Foreign investment can bring jobs, skills and growth. The problem begins when our desperation for investment blinds us to exploitation. We have reached a point where foreign investors are not just welcomed; they are indulged. Companies that flout environmental regulations, ignore labour laws or hire foreign workers for jobs locals can do are rarely held to account. Some continue operating even after repeated warnings. Others are praised for ‘bringing development,’ while quietly undermining it. The Chinese salary scandal has exposed the cost of this dependence. It has shown that we have allowed economic need to override legal principle.
We have grown too comfortable letting outsiders bend our rules, hoping they will at least leave behind some scraps of progress, but progress built on silence is not development. It is dependency dressed in dignity’s clothing.
Let’s be honest: this is not the first case of foreign employers operating above the law. In factories, construction sites and mines across the country, stories of mistreatment and delayed payments are whispered daily. Workers speak of unpaid overtime, unsafe conditions and intimidation when they demand their rights. Most of these cases never make it to court. Those who try to report them are often told the company is ‘too important to offend.’ This culture of protectionism has created a two-tier justice system, one for the poor and another for the powerful, yet, when ordinary emaSwati break the law, even in minor ways, punishment is swift. How many small businesses have been fined for late tax returns? How many locals have lost their jobs over trivial misconduct? The imbalance is glaring. It says, in effect, that some laws are for citizens and others are for ‘foreign investors’ to ignore.
We hear it in political speeches and national events, but, sovereignty is not measured by speeches. It is measured by the ability to enforce your own laws within your own borders. When foreign companies can decide which laws to obey and which to ignore, sovereignty becomes a slogan, not a system. When the state tolerates it in the name of investment, it is not just selling its resources, it is selling its authority.
This scandal should have been a wake-up call for the nation’s institutions: the police, Labour Department and even Parliament. It should have provoked public outrage, parliamentary debates and swift reforms. Instead, it has been quietly absorbed into the usual rhythm of politics where serious violations are managed, not resolved.
At its core, this issue is not about China or any other country, it is about us. We cannot blame foreigners for exploiting weaknesses that we willingly display. If Eswatini enforces its laws inconsistently, why would anyone respect them? If we punish the powerless and protect the powerful, why would justice matter? The scandal should force us to ask painful but necessary questions. Why do foreign companies often get away with breaking rules that would destroy a local firm? Have we become too afraid to offend those who invest in us? What does that fear say about our confidence as a nation? Every nation faces moments that test its integrity. For the country, this is one of them. It is not just about workers’ wages, it is about whether our laws still mean what they say, or whether they are for sale to whoever can pay the price. The Ministry of Labour deserves credit for investigating, but investigations must lead to prosecutions and prosecutions must lead to reform. The Anti-Human Trafficking Secretariat, police and judiciary must treat this not as an administrative hiccup but as a potential human rights violation. The country cannot claim to be committed to the rule of law if it turns a blind eye on such clear exploitation. If we fail to act now, we set a dangerous precedent, because, if China can break our labour laws, so can the next investor and the next. Before long, there will be no difference between a sovereign nation and a marketplace where everything, including justice, has a price.
It is easy to think of corruption or negligence as the work of politicians and executives, but the truth is far subtler and more dangerous. It creeps into the daily rhythm of our governance through the slow erosion of vigilance. A missing inspection here, a signed waiver there or an unasked question during a committee meeting; these are not isolated oversights, they are patterns of permission.
The Chinese workers’ case has peeled back that thin layer of normalcy to expose how systemic lack of concern has become an unofficial policy. What was supposed to be an economy guided by the rule of law is slowly morphing into one ruled by selective convenience.
We often measure progress by how many foreign investors we attract, how many factories open or how many press releases declare new partnerships, but progress should also be measured by the quality of governance that protects citizens when those partnerships go wrong. A country that cannot monitor the flow of wages within its borders cannot claim to control its own economy. A government that discovers exploitation only when victims cry out has already failed the test of prevention. When foreign companies can move money, labour and even laws without accountability, the people’s dignity becomes collateral in the deal.
Should we pretend this scandal is a surprise? The warning signs have been flashing for years. Each time citizens complained about underpayment in textile factories or injuries on construction sites, the standard response was silence or delay. Each time whistle-blowers spoke out about illegal recruitment or expired work permits, the reaction was denial or quiet transfer. so, the message spread that foreign capital was untouchable. In a country that prides itself on peace and hospitality, we have confused generosity with weakness. When we welcome investors, shouldn’t we demand integrity in return? This is not xenophobia, it is a call for self-respect. Foreign partnerships are not inherently bad, they are vital to growth, but they must be built on equality, not subservience. Investment should never come at the cost of national laws, human rights or moral clarity. When we allow such compromises, we do not gain partners, we acquire overseers, and every overlooked violation chips away at the belief that an ordinary citizen’s voice matters. It tells a young worker that justice is not something you claim through the courts, but something negotiated behind closed doors by those with influence.
At the heart of this debate lies a fundamental contradiction: we want to be a modern economy, yet we continue to run our systems like an informal market. We talk about transparency while tolerating opaque transactions. We speak of accountability while rewarding silence.
The workers at Mpaka are not just victims of a legal loophole, they are witnesses to a national habit of looking away when the truth becomes inconvenient. If the same labour inspectors who enforce laws against small local firms had inspected that mine sooner, they would have found the irregularities long before the scandal reached the headlines.
That did not happen, not because of a lack of law, but because of a lack of will. If our institutions cannot defend the basic principle that all wages earned in Eswatini must circulate within its economy, then what other laws are being quietly ignored? How many other agreements are being signed in smoke-filled rooms, sealed with handshakes instead of accountability? The scandal forces us to ask whether our economic policies are designed to empower citizens or to please investors. For how long will government treat vigilance as a luxury rather than a duty? Remember, history has shown us that nations lose control not through invasion but through compromise. They sell their principles piece by piece until nothing remains but paperwork and regret. If the country is to avoid that fate, then every ministry, from Labour to Finance, must treat this case as a turning point. We need transparent audits of all foreign employment contracts, regular publication of compliance reports and stronger oversight from Parliament. We also need citizens who refuse to be silent when they see exploitation, because silence is the most important ingredient of corruption.
So here we are, a small but proud nation, faced with a simple question: are we still in charge of our own house? If the answer is yes, then this scandal must mark a turning point, where the country begins to protect not only its workers but its dignity. If the answer is no, then we have truly become what the headline suggests: ‘A country for sale’.
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