Committee for the Abolition of Illegitimate Debt

Disasters like Ditwah do not fall from the sky fully formed. They are shaped long before the clouds gather, and the damage they cause is written into the economic, ecological, and political choices societies made over decades.

What we witnessed was not merely a meteorological event but the intersection of a warming planet, weakened public systems, exhausted ecosystems, and deep inequalities. Increasingly, scholars call this era the “Capitalocene”: a time when capitalism, more than humans in general, drives the climate crisis.

And once the storm passes, another logic takes over – disaster capitalism; where the recovery process becomes a new opportunity for profit Profit The positive gain yielded from a company’s activity. Net profit is profit after tax. Distributable profit is the part of the net profit which can be distributed to the shareholders. , privatisation, and control.

Across the Indian Ocean region, signs of a climate catastrophe are all pervasive. The sea around us is warming faster than many other oceans, giving cyclones more fuel to grow fierce in shorter spans of time. Rainfall that once came in predictable rhythms now arrives in violent bursts. Wetlands that softened the blow of floods have been drained or built over. Mangroves that absorbed cyclone surges have been cut for shrimp farms. Hill slopes that held their soil for centuries now collapse after a few hours of rain.

These trends extend beyond Sri Lanka, reverberating throughout South Asia. Wetlands in India’s Chennai and Mumbai have transformed into commercial real estate. In Bangladesh and the Sundarbans, mangrove belts have shrunk. Floods of historic scale have followed years of drought in Pakistan. In Nepal, deforestation and unplanned construction amplify landslides.

In this wider landscape, Ditwah becomes part of a much larger story. A region living on the frontlines of climate change, shaped not by nature alone but by decisions rooted in profit, convenience, and obsession with GDP GDP
Gross Domestic Product Gross Domestic Product is an aggregate measure of total production within a given territory equal to the sum of the gross values added. The measure is notoriously incomplete; for example it does not take into account any activity that does not enter into a commercial exchange. The GDP takes into account both the production of goods and the production of services. Economic growth is defined as the variation of the GDP from one period to another. growth.

Disaster Capitalism

But the moment a disaster ends, another phase begins, less visible but often more decisive. Globally, the aftermath of crisis has become fertile ground for what Naomi Klein famously called “disaster capitalism”.

After Hurricane Katrina, entire Black neighbourhoods in New Orleans were razed and replaced with commercial developments. Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico paved the way for the privatisation of the electricity grid and tax incentives, which turned the island into a playground for wealthy investors. Communities displaced by Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines saw their coastal lands marked for tourist resorts.

Even the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami offers cautionary lessons from across the region. Fisherfolk were prevented from returning to their beaches, while luxury hotels quietly received approvals in the same “restricted” zones.

We offer these examples not to draw sweeping parallels with Sri Lanka, but as a reminder that the politics of reconstruction are never neutral. Around the world, there is a long pattern of crises opening doors to land grabs, emergency procurement that bypasses oversight, donor-driven redevelopment, and the creeping influence of private interests over public needs. And woven through all these developments is the quiet but powerful force of debt. In the name of recovery, countries are often offered loans instead of justice, financing instead of solidarity. A cyclone becomes a bill, and the cost of rebuilding falls on those who had no role in creating the climate crisis.

This tactic is disaster capitalism’s most subtle weapon, turning catastrophe into a financial instrument, where the storm passes but the debt remains.

Who Bears the Burden?

What makes this pattern so persistent is that disasters do not strike evenly. They follow the map of inequality. Those who live in fragile housing, on floodplains, riverbanks, hill slopes, or coastal margins—often the poor and working class—face the greatest harm.

Their “choices” are shaped by land markets and economic pressures, not preference. A daily wage earner in an urban settlement, a fishing family on the coast, an estate worker in the hill country, or a migrant worker carries vulnerabilities that an intense cyclone can brutally expose.

And women face disproportionate burdens, which include caring for children and elders in overcrowded shelters, managing water and sanitation during crises, losing income from home-based work, and experiencing heightened risks of violence or exploitation.

Across South Asia, this pattern repeats itself after every flood, storm, or landslide. Ditwah revealed these inequalities with painful clarity—not because they are unique to Sri Lanka, but because they are part of a regional story of how vulnerability is produced long before a disaster arrives.

This is why the decisions made after the cyclone matter so much. Reconstruction has the potential to either safeguard communities or further marginalise them. People often make the most consequential choices during post-disaster phases around the world. Will relocation be voluntary and rights-based or used to clear valuable land for commercial projects? Will reconstruction strengthen public systems or outsource them to private contractors and consultants? Will finance come in the form of grants and support or as new debt that increases long-term dependency? Will rebuilding work with nature, restoring wetlands, mangroves, and hill forests—or against nature by doubling down on concrete-heavy mega-projects?

These questions determine whether the next cyclone becomes a manageable crisis or another national tragedy. And they are questions every society must confront honestly, without rushing through decisions in the haze of emergency.

Where We Go From Here

Yet history also shows us that rather than being passive, communities have pushed back against disaster capitalism.

From the Philippines to Kerala and Nepal, fisher collectives resisted post-Haiyan evictions; women’s networks became the backbone of recovery after the 2018 floods; community forestry groups helped revive degraded ecosystems. Along South Asian coasts, fisher cooperatives have defended their access to land and livelihood against speculative development.

These examples remind us that a different kind of recovery is possible if it foregrounds human dignity, ecological justice and democratic participation. As Sri Lanka rebuilds after Ditwah, such experiences may offer inspiration, not as blueprints but as examples of what people-centred recovery can look like.

The current tragedy is also a warning and a reminder that the climate future we fear is already here. The question now is not whether storms will come; they will. The point is whether societies will respond in ways that deepen inequality or that promote justice and resilience.

A sincere, transparent, and community-driven recovery effort can help ensure that Ditwah does not become just another chapter in the expanding global narrative of disaster capitalism. Instead, it can serve as an opportunity to rebuild on foundations that protect communities, restore ecosystems, and resist the pressure that transforms crises into opportunities for a select few.

As memories of Ditwah begin to settle into history, the decisions made in the coming months will resonate far into the future.

A cyclone may be unavoidable but the politics of what follows is ours to shape. The Capitalocene creates the storm, and disaster capitalism feeds on the wreckage. Our task is to write a different ending, where people, not corporations, shape the future after the flood.