-By A LeN Investigative Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -04.May.2025, 8.45 PM) It began, as many such crises do, with an innocuous cough—though this time, not from a human, but from the engines of ships and cars suddenly sputtering to a halt across Sri Lanka. Thousands of irate motorists found themselves stranded, tow trucks began working overtime, and whispers about “bad fuel” turned into a national outcry. But what few knew was that at the centre of this mechanical mutiny lay a Singaporean Goliath: PetroChina International.
For a country that relies heavily on imported fuel, Sri Lanka has long played a delicate dance with its energy suppliers. Among the biggest players in this choreography is PetroChina, which has reportedly shipped over $3.8 billion worth of fuel into the island nation. But recent findings suggest that what came ashore may not have always been of the quality promised—or safe enough for engines or oceans.
Now, Sri Lanka’s National People’s Power (NPP) government finds itself at a crossroads: does it continue to flirt with a supplier tainted by scandal, or does it bite the bullet and finally ask the billion-dollar question—did PetroChina poison Sri Lanka’s fuel supply?
The Maritime and Port Authority (MPA) of Singapore recently released a rather explosive report that seems to finger both PetroChina and Glencore in one of the largest maritime fuel contamination scandals in recent memory. Over 200 ships were reportedly affected by contaminated high-sulphur fuel oil (HSFO), found to contain dangerously high levels of chlorinated organic compounds (COCs)—the sort of industrial poison that sounds like it belongs in a Cold War spy novel, not in cargo bound for tankers and Toyota engines.
What’s worse, forensic fingerprinting (yes, the CSI kind) linked the contaminated fuel onboard these ships to a single sinister source: a tanker loaded in Khorfakkan, UAE, that had passed through Malaysia before landing in Singaporean waters.
And what did this supertanker carry? Fuel sourced from Unicious Energy, blended in Malaysia, and then passed along to Glencore and, crucially, PetroChina. This fuel was later distributed to various end users—including, it is suspected, the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation (CPC), Sri Lanka’s state-owned fuel mammoth.
It’s a supply chain tangled enough to make a spaghetti bowl jealous.
While international headlines focused on affected cargo ships bobbing in Singaporean harbours, Sri Lanka was quietly grappling with its own ground-level disaster. Mechanics reported unusual damage to fuel injectors, engine filters clogged by mysterious residues, and vehicles grinding to a halt within days of refuelling.
But despite the clear spike in complaints, CPC and its suppliers have been as silent as a fuel gauge on empty. The former government, experts suggest, preferred inaction to accountability—perhaps unsurprising, given the longstanding murmurings about CPC officials enjoying suspiciously close ties with PetroChina executives.
And so, the Sri Lankan taxpayer—already subsidising CPC to the tune of billions of rupees—was made to shoulder the cost of this industrial mess.
The legal director of CPC at the time, described by insiders as “more PetroChina than Lankan patriot,” has yet to face any questioning. Nor has anyone in the previous administration explained why a company under fire for contaminated exports was allowed to remain a core supplier to Sri Lanka.
The new NPP government, swept to power on promises of transparency, anti-corruption, and accountability, is now holding a rather sticky chalice. Do they launch a full-scale inquiry into the alleged fuel fraud, potentially inviting retaliatory legal salvos from PetroChina? Or do they continue to feign ignorance and risk turning into the very system they pledged to reform?
Pressure is mounting.
Legal experts argue that Sri Lanka might have a case—a big one. The MPA report, they say, offers a smoking barrel: evidence that PetroChina’s supply chain was infected, its fuel was contaminated, and that neither the company nor its intermediaries carried out adequate tests to detect COCs.
Indeed, while PetroChina insists it complied with international fuel testing standards, those very standards are now being scrutinised. MPA officials admitted that COCs are not part of standard testing protocols, a regulatory blind spot that PetroChina and Glencore appear to have driven a supertanker through.
But ignorance, as every first-year law student will tell you, is no defence.
One wonders how Sri Lanka, a country with a fuel appetite far larger than its balance sheet, came to depend so heavily on Singaporean fuel barons. Apart from PetroChina, another key player in this saga is Gvitol Asia, also based in Singapore. Together, these firms control a significant share of Sri Lanka’s imported petroleum—hardly surprising in a region where private dealings often supplant public accountability.
Sources within the Ministry of Energy suggest CPC’s reliance on a narrow band of foreign suppliers is partly self-inflicted. Local procurement rules have long favoured long-term contracts with companies that “have a track record”—a euphemism, critics argue, for “those with deep pockets and deeper political connections.”
Indeed, documents seen by this newspaper suggest that in at least two instances, CPC officers raised red flags about the consistency of shipments received from PetroChina—but were swiftly overruled by higher-ups citing “existing relationships” and “diplomatic sensitivities.”
So what happens next? If the NPP government is serious, it would begin by launching a formal investigation into whether any of the contaminated fuel ended up in Sri Lankan ports—and whether consumers were knowingly sold defective product. That would involve calling in technical experts, auditors, and perhaps even forensic labs of the MPA variety.
More importantly, it would require legal backbone—something conspicuously missing from previous attempts to challenge big foreign suppliers. Filing a claim against PetroChina won’t be easy. As one Colombo-based lawyer put it: “You’re not just suing a company. You’re potentially tangling with Beijing.”
That may be true, but Sri Lanka could take comfort from the fact that the Singaporean government itself has not shied away from placing blame squarely on the shoulders of Glencore and PetroChina. A Singaporean investigation—transparent, well-documented, and hard to dismiss—gives Colombo a legal foothold.
What’s at stake isn’t just a possible financial windfall in damages, but public trust in the state's ability to defend its citizens from corporate negligence. After all, if thousands of Sri Lankan drivers were forced to shell out for repairs due to sub-standard fuel, is it not CPC's duty to hold its suppliers accountable?
The answer should be obvious—but in a country where state entities have long danced to corporate tunes, obvious isn’t always actionable.
This scandal also underscores the urgent need to revise international fuel testing standards. The fact that fuel laced with dangerous COCs could pass standard quality checks is, frankly, terrifying. The MPA has since encouraged enhanced testing protocols—but enforcement remains patchy.
Sri Lanka, if it wishes to avoid a repeat of this fiasco, must not only push for legal redress but also demand tougher import standards. That means updated testing, transparency in procurement, and tighter scrutiny over suppliers.
It may also mean saying goodbye to the PetroChinas and Glencores of the world—unless they clean up their act.
If there is any silver lining in this saga, it is this: the fuel fiasco has inadvertently peeled back the layers on Sri Lanka’s murky energy procurement practices. It has exposed the unholy alliances, the lack of oversight, and the alarming vulnerability of critical national infrastructure to foreign negligence.
Whether the NPP government takes this as a call to action—or merely adds it to a growing stack of scandals marked “too hard”—remains to be seen.
One thing is certain though: Sri Lankans deserve better than cars that cough and sputter thanks to a foreign company's failure to screen for poisons. The nation has long paid the price for bad fuel policies. It’s about time someone else footed the bill.
-By A LeN Investigative Correspondent
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by (2025-05-04 15:19:05)
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