Sri Lanka, an island nation fringed by over 1,300 kilometres of coastline, should theoretically be self-sufficient in salt.
The country’s salterns—from Hambantota to Puttalam to Paranthan—produce around 200,000 metric tons annually, exceeding the national requirement of 180,000 metric tons.
Yet, in 2025, Sri Lanka is importing salt, for a second time, a move that has puzzled many and sparked public criticism, especially as prices hit as high as Rs. 400 per kilogram in some areas.
Why import?
The issue, as with many in Sri Lanka’s economy, lies in the gap between production potential and systemic efficiency. Salt production is largely dependent on solar evaporation, which is highly sensitive to climatic conditions.
Salterns—the large, shallow ponds—rely on uninterrupted sunshine. Seawater is left to evaporate under the sun, leaving salt crystals behind. These are then harvested, washed, dried, and some of it, iodized.
But if it rains before the salt fully matures—like it did this time—the harvest is lost.
The process requires a dry, uninterrupted period of about 45 days for seawater to crystallize into salt. However, the unexpected rains that arrived 30 days into the evaporation cycle this year disrupted output. Much of the expected yield was either delayed or lost entirely.
Minister of Trade Wasantha Samarasinghe explained in Parliament that the rains came earlier than anticipated, particularly affecting salterns in the Northern and Southern provinces. The salterns had anticipated a harvest during the Maha season, with planned outputs of 19,500 metric tons from Hambantota, 9,000 from Puttalam, and 3,500 from Elephant Pass. But the rain reduced this to a fraction of what was needed.
Adding to the weather woes is the issue of processing. Locally harvested salt is often not immediately suitable for consumption. It typically requires two rounds of cleaning and drying before it can be sold to consumers or used in industrial production. This process, already time-intensive, becomes slower when facilities are under-equipped or mismanaged.
A surplus on paper, a shortage in practice
Meanwhile, daily national consumption is estimated at around 400 metric tons. Any delay in production or processing quickly leads to shortages on the market. This year, the shortfall prompted the government to import 30,000 metric tons of salt in February. Yet, by May, supplies remained tight, leading to accusations of hoarding and logistical bottlenecks exacerbating the crisis.
Another less visible factor is the regulatory environment. Import bans on salt were briefly lifted to address the shortage, but producers’ associations lobbied to reinstate the ban to protect local industries. These shifts in policy further complicate supply chains, creating price instability and confusion among retailers and consumers.
In essence, Sri Lanka’s salt shortage is not about the absence of raw material—it is about the lack of infrastructure, weather resilience, and policy consistency. The island does not lack seawater or the know-how to make salt. What it lacks is a robust system to process, store, and distribute it reliably, even under adverse weather conditions.
Until these issues are addressed, Sri Lanka may continue to face the irony of importing what nature abundantly provides at its doorstep. (Newswire)