• Disaster disproportionately affects plantation communities
• Lack of attention, daily wage, poor documentation compound seeking relief

The idealised image of plantation life – smiling women plucking tea leaves against a backdrop of lush greenery – is a narrative peddled by popular songs and advertisements that reinforce a fictional façade that has long protected the tea industry in Sri Lanka. The reality, however, is far more sobering, with well-documented practices that have kept an entire community marginalised to serve industrial output.

The devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah has once again exposed the deep fragility of plantation communities. Already denied many of the basic rights enjoyed by other citizens, these workers have been pushed further into hardship, becoming the most marginalised of the marginalised.

Following a mudslide in the Pudhukkadu segment of the Uplands Estate in Peradeniya, Kandy, several families were forced to seek refuge at the Upland Tamil Vidyalaya, which now serves as a temporary shelter. The manner in which they secured this shelter is itself an illustration of how disaster relief mechanisms routinely fail the most vulnerable.

Left to fend for themselves

When the mudslide struck the line rooms amid torrential rain, its roar like a sudden thunderclap, residents were thrown into confusion and fear. 

One woman recalled the moment vividly: “It was just after my husband had used the public toilet after returning from work on the estate on 27 November. We heard a sound like thunder. When we went to check, the toilet had been completely buried by mud. We had nowhere to go, so we waited. The next day, we went to the Doluwa Divisional Secretariat to ask for shelter. That is how we were finally given the school,” the resident, who did not want to be named, said.

The Doluwa Divisional Secretariat is approximately 8.5 kilometres from the line rooms where they lived. Until residents themselves undertook the journey to plead for safety, they said that they received no guidance or assistance from either State authorities or estate management.

Confusion over compensation

Even two weeks after the disaster, many shelter residents remained unaware of how to access State compensation. For families from the estate in Peradeniya, the situation is further complicated: since their line rooms were not completely destroyed, many are unlikely to receive even basic relief funds meant for cleaning damaged houses. 

“This is not Government land; it belongs to a company. Whenever there is a meeting promising land, we run. When the officials and politicians call, we run to them with much hope. I have lived here for 11 years. During elections, our line rooms suddenly become visible. After that, no one comes to check on us. When disasters strike, we are invisible,” another resident lamented. 

For those currently staying at Upland Tamil Vidyalaya, compensation is not their most urgent concern. Their greater fear is that they have nowhere safe to return to. Given the instability of the terrain around their line rooms, many refuse to go back. 

“There are cracks on the road above us, and our rooms are right below a narrow slope. Going back is like walking towards death. We were lucky this time that no one died. But next time, who knows?” an elder said.

Trapped by estate systems

Unlike any other housing sector in Sri Lanka, estate line rooms operate within a system that discourages relocation. Many estate managers prefer workers to remain within the line rooms to ensure a steady labour force. The estate in Peradeniya seems to be no exception. 

“Management told us they will repair the damage and asked us to stay because the factory is nearby and there is no land to relocate us to. But how can we go back? If we do not report to work for two consecutive days, we lose our jobs. We are trapped,” the elder said, stressing that for the adults of the community, loss of work was their biggest fear, as this was all that made them visible and important. 

This is but one of the stories which shed light on the reality faced by estate workers, even after their presence in Sri Lanka for nearly 200 years. Behind the appealing image of tea leaves lies a story of suffering. Cyclone Ditwah is only one example of how disasters further expose the vulnerability of plantation communities and how the country lacks even the most basic mechanisms to protect their lives.

During our visit, the area’s Grama Niladhari was assisting residents with compensation applications. He confirmed that he had reported the line rooms as unsuitable for resettlement and requested that residents be allowed to remain in the school until a safer alternative was found. He also stated that Government assistance would be provided if families could secure rental housing. 

This raises another unresolved issue: how can workers earning bare-minimum wages afford rented houses, especially when there are no available rentals nearby? They must remain close to the estate to preserve their livelihoods. Costs such as key money remain completely unaddressed in such situations. 

The lack of practical options for the challenges faced by those affected by the cyclone is telling of how marginalised the community is, as well as the rigid nature of the State’s one-size-fits-all mechanisms. 

Compounding the problem is the lack of documentation. Several residents do not possess basic documents such as birth certificates. Some are not registered in the electoral register. When children marry and move into separate rooms, they are often not registered as independent households, remaining listed under their parents. This directly affects their eligibility for future compensation and relief.

Lives lost in minutes

G. Sivagami’s home was destroyed in a landslide. Recalling the incident, she said: “By around 6.30 or 7 p.m., everything was over. It didn’t even take five minutes. My husband, three children, and I escaped. I have four children; one is married.” 

Nearly 30 people were reported missing, including infants. Soundaraj, who managed to rescue an eight-month-old, lost his brother-in-law Shanmuganathan Kamalraj in the disaster. Kamalraj, the 36-year-old son of Karuppiah Shanmuganathan, was killed in the landslide while trying to rescue neighbours. 

Many of those who died were young people aged between 18 and 35, caught in a second landslide while assisting others. 

Another grieving father, Muttu Singham, pointed to the spot where his 27-year-old son Sivam was found buried. 

At the temporary shelter, displaced families are crammed into a single line room. K. Vardaraj said they lacked even kerosene oil for lamps. By early December, no grama niladhari official had visited to assess their situation. Even by mid-December, only minimum assistance had been provided to them without any information as to how they could obtain compensation, etc.

A lack of land

Meanwhile, speaking to The Sunday Morning on Saturday (27), Uplands Tea Factory Manager Nalinda Senarathne confirmed that those displaced in the Pudhukkadu segment were still residing at the Upland Tamil Vidyalaya.

When questioned whether the factory management was willing to relocate the displaced employees, Senarathne said that although they wished to do so, the issue was that they lacked the land for relocation.

“The company is ready for this. However, we don’t have suitable land for it. We were already planning to repair all the line rooms with better facilities and had allocated a budget of Rs. 10 million for this purpose when the disaster hit. However, the National Building Research Organisation (NBRO) has now declared the area unsafe for living. The Doluwa Divisional Secretariat has also said that there is no land at present to relocate these people. We don’t have an alternative,” he said.

Senarathne further said that no relevant State or political authority had thus far provided a solution to the issue. “Although the employees were advised to find rental properties, areas such as this don’t have many available. Another issue is that some people are reluctant to rent their houses to plantation employees. These employees also cannot afford the rental costs.”

Bureaucratic barriers

Although Government Circular No.8/2025 promises compensation regardless of land ownership, implementation remains deeply flawed. 

There are claims by residents living in so-called unauthorised housing that some of them are being denied assistance by local officials, despite official assurances to the contrary. Victims have also been directed to purchase supposedly ‘free’ compensation application forms from private shops for around Rs. 200. 

In some cases, families are forced to spend between Rs. 1,500 and Rs. 2,000 on transport merely to collect partial compensation cheques, only to be informed that the remaining balance will be released at a later date.

For those whose houses remain standing but lie in high-risk zones, there is no clear solution. One woman, who requested anonymity, said: “We have nowhere to go. We tried to find a place to rent, but were unable to.” 

The presence of electricity infrastructure in officially declared unsafe zones also highlights a troubling contradiction: development driven by political expediency has trapped residents in danger rather than relocating them to safety.

Laws on paper, lives at risk

Despite the Soil Conservation Act of 1951 and the Disaster Management Act of 2005, these protections appear largely theoretical. Billions have been borrowed for disaster management, yet residents still do not know basic landslide warning signs or evacuation routes. 

These residents face an impossible choice: remain in homes that could bury them alive or wander in search of unaffordable shelter. For families who have lost children and livelihoods, the State’s ‘fairytale’ of compensation arrives far too late. 

One thing is crystal clear. Sri Lanka’s disaster management system needs an overhaul. First, the State must recognise that there are communities that have inherent challenges in fitting in with the norms, that there are marginalised communities who are often the most vulnerable, and that there are language and intellectual challenges when responding to State messaging and mechanisms. 

Even though the disaster management system has many tools and technology, it offers little protection to those who are already marginalised by the bureaucracy. The State cannot afford to neglect such communities. 

When the lessons learnt from Ditwah are considered, the gaps that left those like the families in the estate in Peradeniya at risk and vulnerable must be closed. Both accountability and transparency need to be improved when serving such communities.

(This article is based on a field visit conducted on 13, 14, and 15 December in disaster-affected areas of the Doluwa Divisional Secretariat)