Handloom weavers shuttle into poverty
By Sudharshana Gomes
COLOMBO - Ratna Amarasinghe ran a handloom factory at Ibbagamuwa, 110
kilometers from the Sri Lankan capital. Fifty women worked under her in
1975, working day and night when large orders were given. Today, there is
only an old spinning wheel and bits and ends of a loom to remind
Amarasinghe of the good old days of the handloom industry.
''By the mid-1980s, it had become a struggle,'' she says. ''My market was
in small towns and rural areas. Suddenly, people were clamoring for
imported stuff, and I decided to close down the factory. Also, many of my
girls went abroad when the Middle East job market opened up.''
Once a pampered industry, Sri Lanka's handloom textiles sector is now in
the doldrums due to a drop in local demand and a chronic inability to
adjust itself to new trends.
In its heyday in the 1970s, the industry boasted of some 100,000 looms
islandwide. Today, the number in operation has dropped to 15,000. The
decline set in after 1978 when the country changed into a liberal economy,
and cheap, imported textiles flooded the market.
Today, there are very few medium scale handloom factories. One is run in
the suburbs of Colombo by 37-year-old R Samarakkody. He has no background
in the industry. Samarakkody bought the factory from its previous owner
eight years ago when the latter found that it was no longer viable. ''I
have eight machines,'' said Samarakkody. ''But the market is small and I'm
not thinking of expanding. On the contrary, I don't know if I can survive
in the long term.''
A big problem is lack of skilled weavers. All of Samarakkody's workers are
middle-aged women, and their daughters are not interested in learning
their mothers' craft.
The Textile Department has established 33 training schools islandwide to
train a new generation of textile weavers. The training is done free of
charge, but the reception has been lukewarm at best. Most village girls
now prefer to work in huge private-sector garment factories. It's
backbreaking work and pay is low, but factory girls enjoy tremendous
freedom, living far from home. Besides, the handloom sector now has low
social status whereas the export-geared apparel industry is more ''high
profile''.
During 1989-94, the handloom sector enjoyed a relative boom. A
presidential decree demanded that state-owned institutions buy handloom
materials for office usage. This law is now inoperative.
Demand for handwoven material - chiefly curtains, bedspreads, serviettes,
towels and sarongs - now comes from a niche market consisting of the upper
middle class and a small expatriate community based in Colombo, the Sri
Lankan capital. They are willing to pay relatively high prices for
hand-woven stuff. But this is a relatively small market, and the country's
current economic stagnation has slowed down the growth of an affluent
upper middle class and curtailed its buying power.
The result is that the mass of weavers who produce for the traditional
lower-middle class market are now reduced to perpetual poverty and, in
some cases, beggary. Handloom weavers plying the country by bus and on
foot, carrying their wares on their heads is a familiar sight.
Earlier, state-run textile outlets were expected to buy handlooms and thus
relieve the weavers of the burden of having to sell. But such state-run
ventures have proved to be unprofitable and can no longer be relied upon
to support the industry.
With the current emphasis on selling or dismantling unprofitable
enterprises, the government is no longer interested in the hapless
handloom sector. Authorities concentrate on safeguarding the vital
apparel-exports industry, and the handloom sector has been left to die a
slow death on its own.
Individual handloom weavers continue to struggle in small villages all
over Sri Lanka. Gunaratne Menike is one such weaver from the village of
Hasalaka in the hilly central province. She is one of a handful who still
continue working the old looms given to them by the state in the 1970s.
She has no daughters, only a son, and says that young girls in her village
are no longer interested in learning this exacting craft. Her average
monthly income hovers between $40 and $50 a month.
In the suburbs of Colombo, Samarakkody's weavers earn a little more, but
their lot isn't much better. The marketing remains a problem, as
Samarakkody must give his produce on credit to wholesalers and then wait
several months before cheques are realized.
Another problem is lack of innovative design. Samarakkody admits that his
designs date from the 1970s. Asked why he doesn't experiment, he argues
that it's a luxury he can't afford.
''The problem is not lack of designs or designers,'' stated one textile
technologist who has worked with the handloom industry for decades. ''It's
that this industry has always been too conservative. It was protected and
spoon-fed during the old days, and it still can't get out of the bad
habits.''
One enterprising handloom entrepreneur introduced a bold new sarong design
two years ago. It was such a phenomenal success that the average income of
his workers doubled. Last year, though, a flood of cheap Indonesian
sarongs of similar designs knocked the bottom out of his market.
''We produce much better quality than the imported stuff," said one
handloom producer. ''But imports are cheaper and people buy the cheaper
stuff.''
Sri Lankan handloom produce is expensive due to two factors. The cost of
production is high, and so are taxes. In a bid to meet the huge defense
budget, the government has obliged all enterprises to pay a defense levy
of 12.5 percent as well as the goods and services tax of 5.5 percent,
adding 18 percent to the product before income tax and sales commissions.
The Textile Department is planning a pension scheme for retired weavers
and is hoping to give looms a 20 percent concession for buying thread. In
the foreseeable future, though, the prospects of Sri Lanka's once-proud
handloom industry looks bleak.