Mauritius was promised relief.

Not another national bedtime story. Not another glossy phrase. Not another bridge to the future, because frankly, before building another bridge to the future, perhaps someone could repair the road to the present.

The Alliance came before the people with the sweetness of a wedding invitation. Reduce the cost of living. Restore purchasing power. Lower fuel prices. Review VAT on essentials. Create a Rs 10 billion stabilisation fund. Remove income tax for households earning below Rs 1 million. Give young people a chance. Protect pensioners. Fight drugs. Restore democracy. Defend the ordinary Mauritian.

It sounded beautiful.

It sounded generous.

It sounded like the country was about to enter a new era of dignity, justice and affordable dholl puri.

Then the Budget arrived.

And suddenly the wedding invitation became an invoice.

Apparently, relief was available, but only in instalments, subject to conditions, eligibility, delayed receipts, future regulations, committee approval, fiscal discipline, and of course, the national motto of modern governance: “Nou pou gete la.”

The 2025 Budget arrived like a man entering a burning house with a microphone. Debt was high. The deficit was terrible. The public finances were apparently found lying unconscious in a corridor. The country was told that public sector debt had reached dangerous levels, the deficit was shocking, and debt servicing was swallowing money that could have gone to schools, hospitals and social protection.

Fair enough.

The numbers were serious.

But then came the familiar Mauritian miracle.

There is no money.

Except for schemes.

There is no money.

Except for projects.

There is no money.

Except for committees.

There is no money.

Except for consultants, strategies, platforms, hubs, authorities, councils, offices, frameworks, missions abroad, blueprints and one or two polite little privileges that somehow survived the national financial earthquake.

The people were told to tighten their belts.

The State, meanwhile, appears to have ordered a new belt, a ceremonial buckle and a committee to study whether the old belt was inclusive enough.

Now let us begin where every Mauritian household begins: the cost of living.

The manifesto promised a serious reduction in the burden on families. The Budget gives selected relief, while quietly shifting costs elsewhere. This is not economic transformation. This is fiscal hide and seek.

VAT was not increased.

Lovely.

The Government did not enter through the front door.

It came through the back door wearing an insurance tax, a sugar tax, a PET bottle levy, vehicle duties, road licence increases and enough indirect costs to make a supermarket trolley feel like it needs a mortgage.

The Insurance Premium Tax is especially creative. Insurance is not a luxury. It is not caviar. It is not champagne. It is not something bought by a bored millionaire while waiting for his third passport. Insurance is what people need to protect their cars, homes, businesses and livelihoods.

But apparently, even protection now needs to be taxed.

So the citizens pay insurance to protect themselves from accidents, then pays tax to protect the Treasury from its own habits.

This is not relief.

This is government finding new pockets.

And then there is the great Price Stabilisation Fund.

The manifesto spoke of Rs 10 billion. The Budget begins with much less. We are told it is an initial contribution. “Initial” is a wonderful word in politics. It allows a government to claim the promise, delay the delivery, and still smile as if the missing billions are merely shy.

A Rs 10 billion fund delivered in fragments is like inviting the public to a buffet and serving one spoon of chutney while telling them the biryani is in the medium term strategy.

And fuel?

Ah, fuel.

The manifesto spoke about reducing petrol and diesel prices. That mattered because fuel affects everything. Transport, vegetables, school vans, deliveries, fishermen, planters, SMEs and the price of almost everything that moves.

But after the election, fuel relief seems to have gone into witness protection.

Nobody knows where it is.

Perhaps it is hiding with the second counter at the Registrar General.

Perhaps it is stuck in traffic near the new M4 motorway, even before it has materialised.

Perhaps it is waiting for a blueprint.

Perhaps it has been sent to a committee.

The truth is simple: if fuel remains expensive, everything remains expensive. You cannot claim to fight the cost of living while leaving one of the main engines of inflation humming happily at the pump.

Then comes income tax.

The manifesto gave people hope that households earning below Rs 1 million would be protected from income tax. The Budget gave relief, yes, but not the full promise. There is a difference between “we will remove the burden” and “we will reduce it slightly and ask you to clap because technically something happened”.

This is not keeping a promise.

This is giving the promise a haircut and pretending it has become more modern.

Young people were also promised relief. The idea of exempting workers aged 18 to 28 from income tax sounded like a serious attempt to help young Mauritians stay, work, save and build a life here.

But again, the promise seems to have been diluted by the time it reached the Treasury.

Young people are told they are the future.

Then the future is taxed, priced out, underpaid, overqualified, and encouraged to be grateful for an AI certificate.

Which brings us beautifully to AI.

Ah, AI.

The new holy scripture of government.

Once upon a time, Mauritius was going to become a cyber island. Then a knowledge hub. Then a medical hub. Then an education hub. Then an ocean hub. Then a financial hub. Then a smart island. Now we are becoming an AI economy.

We have had so many hubs that the country is beginning to look like a wheel without a cart.

The Budget promises AI training for tens of thousands of Mauritians. Teachers, students, public officers, entrepreneurs, SMEs, workers, everybody will be touched by the sacred algorithm.

Wonderful.

But training people in AI is not enough. What matters is whether it creates jobs, productivity, exports, better services and better wages. Otherwise, we will simply produce thousands of citizens who can ask ChatGPT why their salary still cannot survive the supermarket.

The Government speaks of AI as though artificial intelligence will solve natural incompetence with their real yet limited intelligence.

It will not.

AI can help a serious country move faster.

But in a system where files disappear, permits sleep, counters close, projects delay, and committees reproduce like mosquitoes after rain, AI may simply allow bureaucracy to ignore you more efficiently.

Instead of waiting six months for a reply from a ministry, you may soon receive an instant automated message saying:

“Your application is important to us. It has been forwarded to the Department of Future Readiness and Strategic Pending.”

Progress.

Then we have data centres.

Suddenly, data centres are everywhere. AI infrastructure. Cloud services. Digital sovereignty. Subsea connectivity. Strategic corridors. Mauritius as a trusted digital base. India this. Africa that. Regional ambition here. Digital transformation there.

All very exciting.

But whenever a public official speaks with unusual warmth about a sector in which public questions arise about possible private or family linked interests, the country deserves more than a smile and a slogan.

The answer is not gossip.

The answer is disclosure.

If any minister, junior minister, adviser, spouse, close relative, business partner or convenient former shareholder has any link to data centres, cloud services, AI infrastructure, digital hosting, procurement, land, energy supply or related companies, publish it.

Declare it.

Recuse where necessary.

Show beneficial ownership.

Show who owns what.

Show who transferred what.

Show who benefits.

Show who advises whom.

Because in Mauritius, we have heard too often that something is “not in my name anymore”, as if removing your name from a document also removes your interest from reality.

Conflict of interest does not always arrive wearing handcuffs.

Sometimes it arrives wearing a tie, holding a presentation, and speaking passionately about national development.

Sometimes it quotes India.

Sometimes it quotes Africa.

Sometimes it travels with the Prime Minister to African countries, where certain data centres of a certain VIP already exists.

Sometimes it tells us the future is digital while making sure the server room has very good family ventilation.

If everything is clean, publish everything.

If the policy is for the country, prove it.

If the enthusiasm is patriotic, wonderful.

But do not ask the public to believe that every sudden love affair with data centres is purely romantic.

Mauritius has seen too much political love.

Usually, the dowry is paid by the taxpayer.

Now let us speak about pensions.

This is the most emotionally charged part of the Budget. Financially, pension reform was necessary. The system was expensive. The ageing population is real. The burden on the Treasury is real. Anyone pretending otherwise is either dishonest or campaigning.

But the problem is not only the reform.

The problem is the sales pitch.

Before elections, the elderly are the pillars of the nation.

After elections, they become a sustainability challenge.

Before elections, every pensioner is a national treasure.

After elections, Treasury officials discover actuarial science.

Before elections, the State has a heart.

After elections, the State has Excel.

Yes, pension reform may be justified. But if the manifesto gave people the impression that protection was coming, the Government cannot later act surprised when people feel betrayed.

You cannot campaign with empathy and govern only with arithmetic.

The same applies to public debt.

The Budget warns that a downgrade would be dangerous. The rupee could weaken. Imports could become more expensive. Borrowing costs could rise. Household budgets could suffer. The country cannot afford reckless spending.

Correct.

So why, in the same breath, do we continue announcing big projects, symbolic programmes, new schemes and visible spending that may not be urgent?

This is the central contradiction.

The Government says the house is on fire, but still wants to renovate the veranda, install mood lighting and commission a mural about resilience.

Some spending is necessary.

Water is necessary. No argument. A country that cannot deliver reliable water has no business giving lectures on digital transformation. Fix the pipes. Reduce losses. Build resilience. Stop forcing households to become amateur water engineers. And remove the useless minister who in all seriousness was only elected due to his ethnicity, as the brilliantly politically savvy Mauritians think that having someone representing a particular minority ethnic group will make the work move further and faster.

Health is necessary. Hospitals, equipment, geriatric care, mental health, disability support, regional services. These are not luxuries. These are the moral foundations of the State. Even the minister in charge has reached his sale by date.

Food security is necessary. We cannot keep importing everything and then act shocked every time the rupee catches a cold.

Law and order is necessary. Drugs are destroying families. But again, do not only give us vehicles, agencies, equipment and speeches. Give us results. Follow the money. Catch the networks. Seize assets. Prosecute properly. Rehabilitate addicts. Protect communities. Stop giving the public small arrests and big silence. Regardless which political parties takes the reigns of our country, drugs, murder, lack of discipline and other serious crimes are only rising. Why? Because somehow someone is close to someone hire up and can get away with it.

SMEs are necessary. But SMEs do not need another portal with a smiling logo. They need less bureaucracy, faster payment, cheaper finance, fair competition, less harassment, and a State that does not treat them like unpaid clerks for government paperwork.

Renewable energy is necessary. But let us ensure that solar schemes do not become another playground where those with land, connections and capital benefit first, while the ordinary household gets a brochure and a waiting list. It is outstandingly idiotic that the minister in charge does promote the same outside of the assembly. Is it because apparently his monthly electricity bills amounted to over Rs 3,000 monthly. After the introduction of solar panels to his property, he is now paying only, I repeat, only Rs 800 monthly. So, let’s recap, one pays over Rs 200,000 for solar panels to produce electricity and then pay Rs 800 monthly CWA bills. Logic?

Now, what is not urgent?

Sports spending in a debt repair period needs scrutiny. Sport is good. Youth development is good. But when public finances are strained, every rupee spent on stadium upgrades, swimming pools or international participation must be justified against water, hospitals, schools, drains, drug rehabilitation and public transport.

A swimming pool is nice.

A functioning hospital is nicer.

A stadium is nice.

A child not destroyed by drugs is nicer.

A sports complex is nice.

A home with reliable water is nicer.

Civic education is also good in theory. But before teaching people citizenship, perhaps deliver the basic services of citizenship. A citizen who cannot afford food, water storage, transport, medicine and insurance does not need another lecture on national values.

He needs a State that does not behave like an expensive motivational speaker.

Creative arts and cultural hubs? Yes, culture matters. Artists matter. But in a fiscal consolidation Budget, the State must be careful not to build another elegant administrative shrine. Help artists directly. Repair existing facilities. Support community arts. Do not create another structure where the biggest artwork is the organisational chart.

Tourism transformation? Necessary, but let us not confuse marketing with reality. You can spend millions promoting paradise, but if beaches are dirty, lagoons suffer, public toilets are missing, roads are congested, service is inconsistent and communities do not benefit, the tourist will discover the truth between the airport and the hotel.

Marketing Mauritius while neglecting Mauritius is like putting perfume on a blocked drain.

Then there are the large infrastructure dreams.

Port expansion. Airport modernisation. M4. Special Economic Zone. Côte d’Or. Cruise Terminal development. Harbour Bridge. Urban regeneration. Digital Finance Centre. Advanced manufacturing.

Some of these may be useful.

But the test should be brutal.

Does it reduce costs?

Does it increase exports?

Does it improve productivity?

Does it reduce congestion?

Does it create real jobs?

Does it protect the environment?

Does it generate revenue?

Does it avoid burdening taxpayers?

If not, it waits.

Mauritius does not need vanity infrastructure. Mauritius needs productive infrastructure. Water before wonders. Drains before dreams. Hospitals before hubs. Schools before slogans. Drug rehabilitation before digital ceremonies. Courts before commissions. Public transport before political architecture.

And now the FATF shadow.

Let us not pretend this is a small matter.

Mauritius is not currently on the FATF grey list. But the next mutual evaluation is coming, and the country knows very well what happens when international confidence weakens. Ask the IMG darling and I am sure she will tell you. We have been there before. Grey listing is not a theoretical embarrassment. It affects correspondent banking, compliance costs, investor confidence, financial services, transaction delays and national reputation.

The 2026 Budget speaks of readiness. National Crime Agency. Financial crime tools. Virtual asset investigation. Forensic accounting. Fraud reporting. Banking reform. Stablecoins. Tokenisation. Open banking. Cybersecurity. Well the recent dismissals of cases one after the other for a sitting PM is testament that none of the above is needed if he is truly innocent. Why the reform? I mean what is good for the goose is good for the gander.

Good.

But FATF does not applaud vocabulary.

It wants effectiveness.

Beneficial ownership must be real. Suspicious transaction reports must lead somewhere. Politically exposed persons must be properly monitored. Professionals involved in structures, property, finance and offshore work must be supervised. Money laundering must be investigated, prosecuted and punished. Assets must be recovered. Regulators must not simply hold seminars and issue guidance notes as if compliance is a form of theatre.

Mauritius cannot afford to build a shiny AI and digital finance economy on weak governance.

A data centre is not a moral washing machine.

A server rack does not make suspicious money less suspicious.

A cloud strategy does not hide a conflict of interest if the beneficial ownership is still raining on everyone.

If we are serious about avoiding FATF trouble, then the Government must publish measurable progress, not just announce institutions. How many investigations? How many prosecutions? How many confiscations? How many beneficial ownership breaches punished? How many politically exposed persons scrutinised? How many gatekeepers held accountable?

Because if the country returns anywhere near the FATF danger zone, the same ordinary people who never laundered a rupee will pay the price through higher costs, weaker confidence and a damaged financial sector.

That is the great unfairness of bad governance.

The powerful create the risk.

The public pays the premium.

Now let us return to perks.

The Budget reduces MPs’ duty free car privilege to one per mandate.

This is presented as discipline.

Let us not be ungrateful. In a nation of miracles, even a reduced privilege is apparently an act of statesmanship.

But the real question is: why keep it at all?

If the public must accept higher costs, indirect taxes, pension reform, tighter eligibility and delayed promises, why should politicians retain a special car privilege? And that too renewable during their third year in office, not even at the start of end.

Austerity for the people.

Moderation for the politicians.

Sacrifice for households.

Adjustment for honourable members.

This is not leadership. This is choreography.

The public is told to tighten their belts while the political class debates whether the belts should still be imported duty free, and then recoup the same through sales, of course at the expense of the public… who else?

And every perk has a cost. Some costs are financial. Others are moral. The moral cost may be worse, because once people believe the rules are different for those in power, every tax begins to feel like an insult.

A fairer Budget would have abolished political vehicle privileges for the entire mandate. It would have published ministerial and adviser interest declarations. It would have ring fenced the cost of living fund. It would have delayed non urgent projects. It would have redirected money to essentials. It would have shown the public that sacrifice begins at the top, not at the supermarket cashier.

Instead, the citizen receives a Budget that says:

We feel your pain.
Please pay this levy.
We understand your struggle.
Please accept this reform.
We are protecting your future.
Please finance this project.
We are fighting waste.
Please ignore the remaining perks.
We are preparing for AI.
Please do not ask who owns the cables.
We are protecting the financial centre.
Please wait for another agency.
We are reducing the cost of living.
Please note that insurance, vehicles, packaging and sugary products may cost more.

This is the genius of modern governance.

The people are not crushed by one large stone.

They are slowly covered by small official pebbles.

A tax here.
A fee there.
A levy somewhere.
A duty quietly.
A premium discreetly.
A contribution responsibly.
A reform compassionately.

By the time the citizen realises he is buried, the Government has already issued a press release saying the burial was inclusive, sustainable and aligned with the national vision.

The most dangerous thing in the Budget is not one single measure.

It is the accumulation.

Debt remains high. Borrowing continues. Expenditure exceeds revenue. Chagos receipts are being factored into projections. Pension reform creates anxiety. Indirect taxes increase costs. Political perks survive. AI ambition may outrun capacity. Large infrastructure risks crowding out essentials. FATF preparation must prove effectiveness. Cost of living relief is selective. Manifesto promises are diluted.

Individually, each measure can be defended.

Together, they form a national weight.

And the person carrying it is not the minister.

It is the teacher.
The nurse.
The pensioner.
The small shop owner.
The taxi driver.
The planter.
The parent.
The young graduate.
The family paying insurance.
The worker filling petrol.
The citizen standing in a supermarket aisle, wondering whether the Budget’s compassion has a barcode.

The Budget is not entirely bad.

That would be too simple.

It is worse than that.

It is clever.

It contains enough good measures to defend itself, and the political partisans will applaud even though they have not a clue, enough social language to sound humane, enough fiscal discipline to impress analysts, enough technology to impress consultants, enough projects to impress contractors, enough taxes to feed the Treasury, enough promises to calm the base, and enough ambiguity to keep everyone guessing.

It is not a Budget of open cruelty.

It is a Budget of polished contradiction.

It gives relief with one hand and invoices with the other.

It speaks of sacrifice while preserving privilege.

It promises transformation while depending on old political instincts.

It speaks of the people while quietly asking the people to pay for the performance.

The Labour led Alliance may argue that it had no choice. Perhaps, in some areas, that is true. Debt had to be addressed. Pensions had to be reviewed. Revenue had to be raised. Waste had to be tackled. The economy needed new direction. Silence from one of the Labour party alliance partner who happens to be an economist, speaks louder than words.

But if there was no choice, why was the manifesto written as if choice was abundant?

Why promise broad relief if the Treasury could not afford it?

Why speak like Santa Claus before the election and like an accountant after it?

Why campaign in poetry and govern in invoices?

That is where the anger begins.

Not because every reform is wrong.

But because the people feel the emotional contract changed after the vote.

They were promised change.
They received conditions.

They were promised relief.
They received restructuring.

They were promised protection.
They received eligibility.

They were promised a new Mauritius.
They received the old Mauritius, now with AI.

And somewhere, behind the language of innovation, cloud services and data infrastructure, certain people may be positioning themselves beautifully for the future. Again, if there is nothing to hide, disclose everything. Publish interests. Publish ownership. Publish safeguards. Publish recusals.

But do not sell us national vision if it happens to pass conveniently through private opportunity.

Mauritius has seen that film before.

The actors change.

The plot does not.

But let us read the invoice.

Let us check the small print.

Let us ask who pays, who benefits, who owns, who advises, who receives, who sacrifices, who is exempted, who is protected, and who is merely told to be patriotic while paying more.

Because in the end, the Budget is not judged in Parliament.

It is judged at the pump.
At the market.
At the pharmacy.
At the insurance office.
At the CWA tap.
At the hospital corridor.
At the school gate.
At the kitchen table.

And at that kitchen table, the ordinary Mauritian will not ask whether the Budget was future ready.

He will ask whether the month is survivable.

That is the real fiscal test.

Not the speech.
Not the slogan.
Not the hub.
Not the bridge.
Not the AI platform.
Not the committee.

The month.

And if the month does not survive, neither does the promise.

So yes, Viv Moris. Aller Navin, aller Navin, nappa kiler, aller Navin…