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Why Sri Lanka’s three-wheeler industry deserves credit for reducing poverty?

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Walk through any Sri Lankan town and you’ll hear it before you see it—the familiar hum of the three-wheeler, or “tuk-tuk,” weaving through traffic, carrying workers, schoolchildren and market goods. To some, it’s a noisy nuisance. But to millions of Sri Lankans, that sound is the rhythm of economic survival. The three-wheeler is not merely a transport option; it is one of the country’s most effective poverty-eradication tools—an informal social safety net on wheels that has done more for income generation, employment and mobility than many government programmes combined.

There are around 945,000 active three-wheelers on Sri Lanka’s roads today. Nearly half operate as taxis, while the rest serve personal or mixed income-generating purposes—delivering goods, providing school transport or supporting small tourism ventures. This single industry sustains 3.5 million people or roughly one in six Sri Lankans, when dependents and support sectors are included.

For countless low-income households, the three-wheeler is not just a vehicle—it’s an enterprise, a microbusiness and often a family’s sole productive asset. It allows individuals with minimal formal education or capital to earn independently, in an economy where secure jobs are scarce and underemployment widespread.

A driver can earn around Rs.6,000 per day after expenses, a figure that dwarfs the minimum government wage of Rs.2,750 and far exceeds the national poverty line of Rs.800 per day. For many, the tuk-tuk represents the difference between insecurity and stability. It’s a democratised form of entrepreneurship—low-barrier, flexible and income-generating from day one.

The Fiscal Paradox

Despite being the vehicle of the working poor, the three-wheeler is also a major taxpayer. Government revenue from this sector is disproportionately high: taxes amount to roughly 130–170% of the vehicle’s import value (CIF). Few other industries, particularly those serving low-income consumers, contribute so much relative to their cost.

This creates a fascinating paradox. A product purchased mainly by poorer citizens generates substantial fiscal returns for the state—returns that, in theory, should finance the very social infrastructure that supports those same citizens. Far from being a burden on the Treasury, the three-wheeler industry effectively funds it.

That balance, however, is delicate. When taxes rise too sharply or imports are restricted—as in recent years—the impact reverberates through the informal economy. Fewer new vehicles mean fewer jobs, less local spending and a weakened tax base over time. A fairer, progressive framework—one that taxes profitability rather than access—would protect both livelihoods and state revenue.

The economic logic is simple: taxing luxury imports heavily may curb inequality; taxing livelihood assets undermines poverty reduction. A policy that allows controlled importation or local assembly of petrol and hybrid three-wheelers, coupled with reasonable taxation, would serve both fiscal and social objectives.

The poverty-reduction effect of the three-wheeler industry radiates far beyond the drivers themselves. Every functioning vehicle supports a local ecosystem—mechanics, spare-parts dealers, finance clerks, assemblers and fuel distributors.

Employment data reveal the breadth of this network: over 800,000 operators, 18,000 service dealers and thousands more in manufacturing, distribution and finance. With an average household size of 4.2, that translates to nearly 3.5 million dependents whose livelihoods are directly tied to this sector.

These are local jobs—non-exportable, resilient and spread across rural and semi-urban economies. The mechanic in Badulla or the spares vendor in Jaffna thrives not because of global capital flows but because tuk-tuks circulate cash locally. It’s a grassroots multiplier effect: small money moving quickly through many hands.

Fuel Efficiency and Economic Rationality

At a national level, the three-wheeler is also a model of energy efficiency. With 24–30 km per litre of petrol, it is roughly three times as efficient as a typical car. Despite accounting for 37% of petrol used in transport, 72% of that fuel powers income-generating activities—a remarkable statistic that distinguishes it from private vehicles.

In essence, every litre burned by a tuk-tuk is an investment in output, not consumption. It’s energy converted directly into earnings. In a country still recovering from a foreign exchange crisis driven by fuel imports, that efficiency is an economic blessing. Encouraging such vehicles is not a subsidy to the poor—it’s an investment in productivity.

Public transportation in Sri Lanka remains patchy, overcrowded and unreliable, particularly outside major cities. Even if the system were modernised, first and last-mile connectivity would remain a challenge. Here, the three-wheeler is indispensable.

With 30% of the nation’s roads classified as single- or intermediate-lane, especially in rural and estate areas, the tuk-tuk often represents the only feasible mode of transport. It connects farmers to markets, students to schools and patients to clinics—services that directly influence human development outcomes. Its role in rural connectivity makes it as much a social good as an economic one.

Poverty’s Geography: Who Needs the Tuk-Tuk Most

Sri Lanka’s poverty has always been unevenly distributed. According to 2019 statistics, the urban headcount poverty ratio stood at 4.4%, compared to 16.6% in rural areas and an alarming 51.3% in estate areas—the plantations of the central highlands. The intensity of poverty was highest in estate regions at 46.1%, compared to 40.9% in rural and 40.6% in urban zones.

Although estate areas account for only 4.5% of the population, they represent 14.4% of all poor people, while rural regions host 81% of Sri Lanka’s poor. District data paint the same picture of inequality: poverty ranges from just 3.5% in Colombo to 44.2% in Nuwara Eliya.

The three-wheeler’s reach—both geographically and economically—matters precisely because of this divide. It is one of the few assets that can generate income in all three zones: urban, rural and estate. For estate workers, it provides an exit from plantation dependency. For rural families, it adds a second or third income stream. For urban households, it’s often a buffer against inflation and job loss. In every region, it converts mobility into livelihood.

Asset-Based Empowerment

Beyond cash flow, the three-wheeler serves as collateral, a tangible form of wealth for households that often lack formal assets. Owners can use it to access credit for housing, education, or small-scale investment. Yet current lending policy limits loans to 50% of a three-wheeler’s value, compared with 70% for cars—a clear inequity that undermines the vehicle’s potential as a poverty-eradication instrument.

Raising the loan-to-value ratio would allow low-income entrepreneurs to leverage their productive assets more effectively. The tuk-tuk’s social return on credit is high: one vehicle can sustain a household, employ a driver’s assistant, and stimulate downstream trade.

The three-wheeler industry proves a simple point: poverty reduction and fiscal prudence need not be opposites. When policy recognises the economic productivity of the poor, both the Treasury and society benefit. But when regulation and taxation treat livelihood vehicles like luxury goods, the outcome is regressive.

Allowing the import or local assembly of petrol and hybrid three-wheelers—under proper safety and emission standards—would boost employment, expand the tax base and preserve affordability. Including these vehicles in Sri Lanka’s Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) for local value addition could create a domestic assembly industry, supporting jobs and innovation.

The government’s challenge is not whether to tax the three-wheeler, but how to design a structure that rewards productivity rather than penalises entry.

The tuk-tuk is a symbol of resilience and aspiration. It empowers the working poor, drives local commerce, supports public revenue and sustains mobility in areas where state infrastructure still falters. It embodies the ingenuity of ordinary Sri Lankans—turning mobility into income, necessity into opportunity.

In an economy searching for equitable growth, the three-wheeler deserves recognition not as a relic of underdevelopment, but as an enduring instrument of social progress. It is time to see the humble tuk-tuk for what truly is a three-wheeled engine of equality, carrying not just passengers, but the promise of shared prosperity.

(The writer is an Attorney-at-Law with over a decade of experience specializing in civil law, a former Board Member of the Office of Missing Persons and a former Legal Director of the Central Cultural Fund. He holds an LLM in International Business Law)

by Sampath Perera ✍️



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Opinion

The shadow of a Truman moment in the Iran war

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Wars often produce moments when leaders feel compelled to seek a decisive stroke that will end the conflict once and for all. History shows that such moments can generate choices that would have seemed unthinkable only months earlier. When Harry S. Truman authorised the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, the decision emerged from precisely such wartime pressures. As the conflict involving the United States, Israel and Iran intensifies today, the world must ensure that a similar moment of desperate calculation does not arise again.

The lesson of that moment in history is not that such weapons can end wars, but that once the logic of escalation begins to dominate wartime decision-making, even the most unthinkable options can enter the realm of strategic calculation. The mere possibility that such debates could arise is reason enough for policymakers everywhere to approach the present conflict with extreme caution.

As the war drags on, both Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu will face mounting pressure to produce decisive results. Wars rarely remain confined to their original scope once expectations of rapid victory begin to fade. Political leaders must demonstrate progress, military planners search for breakthroughs, and public narratives increasingly revolve around the need for a conclusive outcome. In this environment, media speculation about “exit strategies” or “off-ramps” for Washington can unintentionally increase pressure on decision-makers. Even well-intentioned commentary can shape the climate in which leaders make decisions, potentially nudging them toward harder, more dramatic actions.

Neither the United States nor Israel lacks the technological capability associated with advanced nuclear arsenals. The nuclear arsenals of advanced powers today are far more sophisticated than the devices used in 1945. While their existence is intended primarily as deterrence, prolonged wars have historically forced strategic communities to examine every available option. Even the discussion of such possibilities is deeply unsettling, yet ignoring the pressures that produce such debates can be dangerous.

For that reason, policymakers and societies on all sides must recognise the full range of choices that prolonged wars can place before leaders. For Iran’s leadership and its wider strategic community, absorbing this reality may be essential if catastrophic escalation is to be avoided. From Tehran’s perspective, the conflict may well be seen as existential. Yet history also shows that wars framed as existential struggles can generate the most dangerous strategic decisions.

The intellectual climate in Washington has also evolved. A number of influential voices in Washington now argue that the United States has become excessively risk-averse and that restoring global credibility requires a more assertive posture. Such arguments reflect a broader shift toward the language of renewed deterrence and strategic competition. Yet this very logic can make it politically harder for leaders to conclude conflicts without visible demonstrations of strength.

The outcome of this conflict will also be watched closely by other major powers. In 1945, the atomic decision was shaped not only by the desire to end a brutal war but also by the strategic message it sent to rival states observing the emergence of a new geopolitical era. Today, other significant powers will similarly draw lessons from how the United States manages both the conduct and the conclusion of this conflict.

This is why cool judgment is essential at this stage of the war. Whether the original decision to go to war was wise or ill-advised is now largely beside the point. Once a conflict has begun, the overriding priority must be to prevent escalation into something far more dangerous.

In such moments, the international system can benefit from the quiet diplomacy of actors that retain a degree of strategic autonomy. Among emerging nations, India stands out as a major emerging power in this regard. Despite its energy dependence on the Gulf and deep economic engagement with the United States, India has consistently demonstrated a capacity to maintain independent channels of communication across geopolitical divides.

This unique positioning may allow New Delhi to explore, discreetly and without public fanfare, avenues for de-escalation with Washington, Tel Aviv and Tehran alike. At moments of heightened tension in international politics, the world sometimes requires what might be called an “adult in the room”: a state capable of engaging all sides while remaining aligned exclusively with none.

If the present conflict continues to intensify, the value of such diplomacy may soon become evident. The most important lesson from 1945 is not only the destructive power of nuclear weapons but the pressures that can drive leaders toward choices that later generations struggle to comprehend. History shows that when wars reach their most desperate phases, restraint remains the only safeguard against catastrophe.

(Milinda Moragoda is a former Cabinet Minister and diplomat from Sri Lanka and founder of the Pathfinder Foundation, a strategic affairs think tank, can be contacted via email@milinda. This was published ndtv.com on 2026.03.1

by Milinda Moragoda

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Opinion

Practicality of a trilingual reality in Sri Lanka

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Dr. B.J.C. Perera (Dr. BJCP) in his article ‘Language: The symbolic expression of thought’ (The island 10.03.2026) delves deeper into an area that he has been exploring recently – childhood learning. In this article he writes of ‘a trilingual Sri Lanka’, reminding me of an incident I witnessed some years ago.

Two teenagers, in their mid to late teens, of Muslim ethnicity were admitted to the hospital late at night, following a road traffic accident. They had sustained multiple injuries, a few needing surgical intervention. One boy had sustained an injury (among others) that needed relatively urgent attention, but in itself was not too serious. The other had also sustained a few injuries among which one particular injury was serious and needed sorting out, but not urgently.

After the preliminary stabilisation of their injuries, I had a detailed discussion with them as to what needed to be done. Neither of them spoke Sinhala to any extent, but their English was excellent. They were attending a well-known international school in Colombo since early childhood and had no difficulty in understanding my explanation – in English. The boys were living in Colombo, while their father would travel regularly to the East (of Sri Lanka) on business. The following morning, I met the father to explain the prevailing situation; what needs to be done, urgency vs. importance, a timeline, prioritisation of treatment, possible costs, etc.

Doctor’s dilemma

The father did not speak any English and in conversation informed me that he had put both his boys into an International School (from kindergarten onwards) in order to give them an English education. The issue was that the father’s grasp of Sinhala was somewhat rudimentary and therefore I found that I could not explain the differences in seriousness vs, urgency and prioritisation issues adequately within the possible budget restrictions. This being the case and as the children understood exactly what was needed, I then asked the sons to ‘educate’ the father on the issues that were at hand. The boys spoke to their father and it was then that I realised that their grasp of Tamil was the same as their father’s grasp of Sinhala!

In the end I had to get down a translator, which in this case was a junior doctor who spoke Tamil fluently; explained to him what was needed a few times as he was not that fluent in English, certainly less than the boys, and then getting him to explain the situation to the father.

What was disturbing was having related this episode at the time to be informed that this was not in fact not an isolated occurrence. That there is a growing number of children that converse well in English, but are not so fluent in their mother tongue. Is English ‘the mother tongue’ of this ‘new generation’ of children? The sad truth is no and tragically this generation is getting deprived of ‘learning’ in its most fundamental form. For unfortunately, correct grammar and syntax accompanied with fluency do not equal to learning (through a language). It is the natural process of learning two/three languages (0 to 5 years) that Dr. BJCP refers to as being bilingual/trilingual and is the underlying concept, which is the title of Dr. BJCP’s article ‘Language: The symbolic expression of thought’.

“Introduction into society”

It is critical to understand at a very deep level the extent and process of what learning in a mother tongue entails. The mother’s voice is arguably the first voice that a newborn hears. Generally speaking, from that point onwards till the child is ‘introduced into society’ that is the voice he /she hears most. In our culture this is the Dhorata wedime mangalyaya. Till then the infant gets exposed to only the voices of the immediate /close family.

Once the infant gets exposed to ‘society’ he /she is metaphorically swimming in an ocean of language. Take for example a market. Vendors selling their wares, shouting, customers bargaining, selecting goods, asking about the quality, freshness, other families talking among themselves etc. The infant is literally learning/conceptualizing something new all the time. This learning process happens continuously starting from home, at friends/relatives’ houses, get-to-gathers, festivals, temples etc. This societal exposure plays a dominant role as the child/infant gets older. Their language skills and vocabulary increase in leaps and bounds and by around three years of age they have reached the so-called ‘language explosion’ stage. This entire process of learning that the child undergoes, happens ‘naturally and effortlessly’. This degree of exposure/ learning can only happen in Sinhala or Tamil in this country.

Second language in chilhood

Learning a second language in childhood as pointed out by Dr BJCP is a cognitive gift. In fact, what it actually does is, deepens the understanding of the first language. So, this-learning of a second language- is in no way to be discouraged. However, it is critical to be cognisant of the fact that this learning of the second language also takes place within a natural environment. In other words, the child is picking up the language on his own. As readily illustrated in Dr. BJCP’s article, the home environment where the parents and grandparents speak different languages. He or she is not being ‘forcefully taught’ a language that has no relevance outside the ‘environment in which the second language is taught’. The time period we (myself and Dr. BJCP) are discussing is the 0 to 5-year-old.

It does not matter whether it is two or three languages during this period; provided that it happens naturally. For as Dr. BJCP states in his article ‘By age five, they typically catch up in all languages…’ To express this in a different way, if the child is naturally exposed to a second /third language during this 0 to 5-year-old period, he /she will naturally pick it up. It is unavoidable. He /she will not need any help in order for this to happen. Once the child starts attending school at the age of 5 or later, then being taught a second language formally is a very different concept to what happens before the age of 5.

The tragedy is parents, not understanding this undisputed significance of ‘learning in/a mother tongue’, during the critical years of childhood-0 to 5; with all good and noble intentions forcefully introduce their child to a foreign tongue (English) that is not spoken universally (around them) i. e., It is only spoken in the kindergarten; not at home and certainly nowhere, where the parents take their children.

Attending school

Once the child starts attending school in the English medium, there is no further (or minimal) exposure to his /her mother tongue -be it Sinhala or Tamil. This results in the child losing the ability to converse in his/her original mother tongue, as was seen earlier on. In the above incident that I described at the start of this article, when I finally asked the father did he comprehend what was happening; his eyes filled with tears and I did wonder was this because of his sons’ injuries or was it because his decisions had culminated in a father and a son/s who could no longer communicate with each other in a meaningful way.

Dr BJCP goes on to state that in his opinion ‘a trilingual Sri Lanka will go a long way towards the goals and display of racial harmony, respect for different ethnic groups…’ and ‘Then it would become a utopian heaven, where all people, as just Sri Lankans can live in admirable concordant synchrony, rather than as a splintered clusters divided by ethnicity, language and culture’. Firstly, it must be admitted from the aspect of the child’s learning perspective (0 to 5 years); an environment where all three languages are spoken freely and the child will naturally pick up all three languages (a trilingual reality) does not actually exist in Sri Lanka.

However, the pleasant practical reality is that, there is absolutely no need for a trilingual Sri Lanka for this utopian heaven to be achieved. What is needed is in fact not even a bilingual Sri Lanka, but a Sri Lanka, where all the Sinhalese are taught Tamil and vice versa. Simply stated it is complete lunacy– that two ethnic communities that speak their own language, need to learn another language that is not the mother tongue of either community in order to understand one another! It is the fact that having been ruled by the British for over a hundred years, English has been so close to us, that we are unable to see this for what it is. Imagine a country like Canada that has areas where French is spoken; what happens in order to foster better harmony between the English and French speaking communities? The ‘English’, learn to speak French and the ‘French’ learn to speak English. According to the ‘bridging language theory of Sri Lanka’, this will not work and what needs to happen is both communities need to learn a third language, for example German, in order to communicate with one another!

Learning best done in mother tongue

eiterating what I said in my previous article – ‘Educational reforms: A Perspective (The Island 27.02.2026) Learning is best done in one’s mother tongue. This is a fact, not an opinion. The critical thing parents should understand and appreciate is that the best thing they can do for their child is to allow/encourage learning in his/her mother tongue.

This period from 0 to 5 years is critically important. If your child is exposed naturally to another language during this period, he /she will automatically pick it up. There is no need to ‘forcefully teach’ him /her. Orchestrating your child to learn another language, -English in this instance- between the ages of 0 to 5 at the expense of learning in his /her mother tongue is a disservice to that child.

by Dr. Sumedha S. Amarasekara

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Opinion

Tribute to Vijitha Senevirathna

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APPRECIATION

On Friday, the 20th of March, Vijitha Senevirathna would have celebrated his 85th birthday if not for his sad passing away nearly a year ago.

The passing of Vijitha was a moment of great sorrow to all who knew him.

He was my classmate from Montessori to pre-university at Maris Stella College, Negombo. As a Maristonian, Vijitha excelled in his academic studies.

Eventually, he entered the Law College and practised as an Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public for over 50 years.

As an Attorney-at-Law, Vijitha earned the respect of the judiciary and a wide circle of clients. He upheld the highest and most cherished values of the legal profession and earned the trust of all who knew him. His 50th anniversary in the noble profession of law was celebrated with much pageantry, amidst a distinguished gathering of friends, relations, clerics, and the rich and famous of Sri Lanka.

Vijitha dearly loved his proud wife Nirmali and his six children, who are in the highest professions in Sri Lanka. He inculcated among his children professional efficiency, diligence, and honesty.

We who associated closely with Vijitha miss his warm friendship, sense of humor, and animated conversation. He was a raconteur, and people gathered around him and listened to his narrations and tales of yore, especially at the many celebrations at his residence in Dehiwala, where the waters of Scotland flowed generously.

I have personally admired Vijitha’s patience, grit, and lifetime achievements, despite a physical dysfunctionality he suffered over his lifetime.

For Vijitha, the song has ended, but the melody lingers on, in the words of the popular composer Irving Berlin.

Merrick Gooneratne

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