Lesotho is in a tight corner. After the United States slapped a 50% tariff on its exports—easily the steepest in Africa—and though Washington has now delayed enforcement by 90 days, no one in Maseru is breathing easy.
What’s at stake? Roughly 12,000 factory jobs, most tied to textile exports under the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA). But instead of just scrambling for trade talks, Prime Minister Samuel Matekane is moving fast on a different front—welcoming Elon Musk’s Starlink into the country.
It was at the Third Public-Private Dialogue National Conference on April 9 in Maseru, where Matekane made his pitch. No veils, no detours. The message revealed that Starlink’s entry is part of a strategy to make Lesotho more open to American business. “We are actively removing obstacles to US investment, addressing issues like Starlink, energy, and hospitality investment approvals,” he said.
That statement alone raised eyebrows.
The Lesotho Communications Authority (LCA) had received Starlink’s application back in February. Since then, the process has stirred more heat than hope. Strong voices—some from telecom giants, others from rights advocates—have called on the government to hit pause. Their objection isn’t about the internet service itself; it’s about ownership.
Vodacom Lesotho’s Managing Director, Mohale Ralebitso, was blunt at a public consultation: “Local involvement may foster partnerships with domestic businesses, thereby creating investment opportunities and ensuring broader economic inclusion.”
The group Section Two, also known as Advocates for the Supremacy of the Constitution, went even further. “While Section Two recognises the potential benefits of expanded internet access, we respectfully oppose the issuance of this licence to Starlink due to the complete absence of local ownership in the company,” said Secretary-General Tjatjapa Sekabi.
They’ve done the digging. According to Section Two, Starlink Lesotho is entirely foreign-owned—1,000 shares, all held by Starlink Holdings Netherlands B.V., with American directors and no Basotho at the table. Compare that to Econet Telecom Lesotho, which is 30% locally owned, or Vodacom Lesotho, where 20% belongs to the Sekha-Metsi Consortium, a group of Basotho investors and public figures.
The backlash isn’t just about economic fairness—it’s about sovereignty. Critics argue Matekane is using Starlink as a bargaining chip to sway the U.S. on trade. “These tariffs are unrelated to Starlink’s application,” said Kananelo Boloetse from Section Two.
“Opposition to Starlink stems solely from its 100% foreign ownership and its implications for national interests. If the government intends to approve the licence despite this, it should say so clearly and directly, rather than obscuring the issue behind the tariff debate.”
There’s also the regional angle. South Africa, Lesotho’s biggest trading partner by far, has already rejected Starlink’s licence on similar grounds. And Vodacom South Africa—majority owner of Vodacom Lesotho—won’t be thrilled if Starlink gets a free pass in Maseru.
“Lesotho’s economic reality shows that over 70% of our exports flow to South Africa, compared to less than 20% to the US,” Boloetse noted. “Straining ties with South Africa to impress Trump or Musk could jeopardise the interests of Basotho.”
Worse still, he warned of potential loopholes. “Permitting Starlink here might enable South Africans to circumvent their own country’s regulations by accessing services through Lesotho, and this, we believe, could create tension with our neighbour.”
On the diplomatic side, it’s a risky game. Matekane’s government insists it’s trying to position Lesotho as investor-friendly. But critics say real reform means listening to citizens, not bypassing them to please foreign tech billionaires.
Minister of Trade, Mokhethi Shelile, doesn’t sound overly optimistic about the 90-day lifeline from Trump. “I do not know what is going to happen after 90 days,” he told SABC. “It is said that it is done so that we can sit down and negotiate. I do not have a good experience in terms of trying to get meetings with the Trump administration.”
With a GDP of just $2 billion and an economy heavily tied to exports, Lesotho doesn’t have much wiggle room. But choosing between Washington and Pretoria—between jobs and justice, between opportunity and ownership—is not as straightforward as approving a satellite licence.
The Starlink debate has pulled back the curtain on Lesotho’s deeper anxieties: Who really benefits when foreign capital arrives? And how much is a government willing to trade for short-term relief?
It’s not just about internet access anymore. It’s about who gets to decide what Lesotho becomes.
