Goa was not destroyed by time, tourism, or technology. It was destroyed by greed— greed of those who came from outside to make a quick buck and greed of those within who let them. What Goa once had was rare: a quiet, sustainable, self-sufficient economy built on dignity, not desperation. Until the late 1990s, Goans lived in balance. They didn’t have skyscrapers or malls, but they had something more precious — control over their own economic destiny.
A significant part of Goa’s strength came from its circular economy. Goans, mostly Catholics and some Hindus and Muslims, working on ships, in the Gulf and in other foreign countries, sent home money that stayed within the state. It didn’t vanish into corporate chains or offshore accounts. It was used to build homes, educate children, and support local livelihoods. Those working at home for the government, mining, hospitality and small-scale family-run trade and commerce contributed to the monetary savings.
Goan Hindu masons, mostly from Pernem, built the houses and other dwellings of bricks and mortar. Goan-owned shops supplied the essentials. Goan bakers fed Goan families. Every rupee circulated among Goans before returning in another form.
This was not nostalgia. It was a functional, community-rooted economy where Goans were producers, owners, and beneficiaries.
All this collapsed after the year 2000, when waves of non-Goan traders descended on the state with one goal —to capture markets. They arrived not as entrepreneurs but as economic invaders. Their tactics were brutally simple: undercut every Goan business by importing cheap labour, housing workers in box-sized rooms shared by eight to ten people, and functioning with negligible overheads. How could a Goan shopkeeper paying fair wages and raising a family compete with that?
They couldn’t. And they didn’t. Goan businesses fell like dominoes — one after another.
The corner stores run by Goan families were replaced by generic outlets. Traditional bakeries and retail shops lost out to price warriors with no roots in Goa. The genteel, humane rhythm of local commerce was replaced by a cut-throat, “sell cheap or die” economy.
But the real storm arrived with the land mafia and drug mafia. Once they took control of the coastal belt, Goa shifted from being a community to being a commodity. Everything — shacks, nightclubs, land conversions, licences —became purchasable. And to run these businesses, more migrant labour was pumped in. Entire labour colonies sprouted overnight, often unregulated and unchecked.
Suddenly, Goans found themselves pushed out — economically, socially, and demographically. The coastal belt today functions like a parallel state, run by syndicates with deeper pockets than the government itself.
But the biggest betrayal came not from those who arrived — but from those who welcomed them.
The mafias did not flourish alone. They were fertilised by official complicity. Illegal constructions were regularised with the stroke of a pen. Permissions were granted that violated every rule in the book. High-ranking officials who should have been Goa’s protectors instead became partners in Goa’s plunder. The lure of easy money proved stronger than the duty to protect a land and its people.
This is how a sustainable economy collapses — not through natural disaster, but through deliberate dismantling.
Today, what do we see?
Goans priced out of their own land.
Retail and trade monopolised by outsiders.
Tourism corridors controlled by cartels.
A demographic imbalance created by unregulated labour influx.
Money flowing out of Goa instead of circulating within it.
A state losing its cultural and economic identity at the same time.
Let us be honest: Goa is becoming a colony again — not of the Portuguese, but of economic invaders backed by political collaborators. The new colonisers don’t carry flags; they carry cash. They don’t come with armies; they come with cartels. And the occupation is far more dangerous because it is invisible yet total.
I have seen both the Goa that was and the Goa that is becoming. The transformation is stark and painful. The old economy — slow, local, circular, community-first — has been replaced by a predatory system that sees Goa as nothing more than a lucrative business opportunity.
The question now is not whether Goa has changed. It has. The question is whether Goans will reclaim their place in the land their ancestors built — or remain spectators to their own economic erasure.
If Goa is to survive as Goa, the fight must begin now. Not tomorrow. Not someday. Now.
Goa is becoming a colony again — but this time the colonisers don’t carry flags, they carry cash
