-By LeN South Asia Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -17.May.2025, 10.15 PM) At first glance, the Sri Lankan shipping sector appears to be steaming ahead at full throttle. The Port of Colombo remains a preferred stop for major shipping lines in the Asia-Pacific corridor, transshipment volumes are healthy, container terminals buzz with activity, and shipping firms’ bottom lines gleam in their audited financial statements. One might think this sector is a rising tide lifting all boats.
Except, of course, if you're the poor soul standing in the engine room, holding the boiler together with duct tape, while the captain sips champagne on the bridge.
Welcome to the paradox of Sri Lanka’s shipping industry—where dollar-denominated profits dock in plush corporate offices, but rupee-pegged salaries barely float above subsistence for the thousands of employees who oil the machine. From documentation clerks to logistics executives, the ones ensuring your container of Italian tiles arrives safely in Moratuwa are being rewarded not with prosperity—but penury.
The shipping magnates of Colombo have not been shy about their success. Brand new German SUVs line their office car parks; Instagram reels abound with weekend breaks in Dubai and duty-free shopping at Changi. Executive lounges across Asia echo with the laughter of Sri Lankan shipping bosses jetting off on "business" trips with spouses and occasionally, if schedules allow, a few PowerPoint presentations.
Meanwhile, their employees—many of whom speak fluent Mandarin to cater to Chinese partners, juggle freight schedules across three time zones, and brave the chaos of the Colombo Harbour Road at 6 a.m.—are still haggling over bus fare and packet rice.
“They pay us less than what a forklift driver makes in Jebel Ali,” muttered one disgruntled operations executive at a leading Colombo-based shipping agency, who, understandably, asked not to be named. “Our company charges clients in U.S. dollars, but pays us in rupees—at last year’s conversion rate.”
The complaint is common: profits are sailing in one direction, but salaries are stuck at port. Most Sri Lankan shipping companies invoice foreign clients in dollars but dispense salaries in rupees, without any inflation adjustment or cost-of-living consideration.
The result? A veritable talent drain that makes the post-pandemic nurse exodus look like a minor scheduling issue. Experienced shipping coordinators, documentation specialists, and logistics planners are packing up and leaving for better shores. Dubai, Singapore, Rotterdam, and even lesser-known ports in Vietnam are snapping them up like tuna at an early morning fish auction.
“In Singapore, they treat Sri Lankan shipping executives like royalty,” said a senior recruitment consultant in the marine logistics sector based in Dubai. “Because our people know transshipment. They understand the complexities of cargo documentation, free-zone warehousing, customs protocols—everything. They’ve been trained under pressure and they speak English.”
It’s not just about the work ethic. Sri Lanka’s reputation for “due care” in documentation and cargo handling has made Colombo Port a darling of international shipping lines. The port is one of the busiest transshipment hubs in South Asia, strategically located on the main East-West shipping route. Giants like Maersk, MSC, CMA CGM, and COSCO continue to route through Colombo—not because the cranes are shinier, but because the paperwork is precise and the agents don’t muck about.
Despite all this, Sri Lankan shipping employees are the lowest-paid in the region. Even their Bangladeshi counterparts now earn more—both in nominal and purchasing power terms. According to industry surveys conducted by regional HR firms, the average monthly salary for a mid-level shipping executive in Sri Lanka ranges between LKR 75,000 to 120,000 (roughly $240–$375), while the same role in Bangladesh fetches closer to $500–$600.
In India, the figure is nearly double. In Singapore, it’s a different stratosphere.
“The problem isn’t just the money,” says Tharindu Fernando, a former shipping manager who recently migrated to the UAE. “It’s the culture of entitlement among owners. You work 12-hour days, take calls at midnight when containers are stuck at customs, and then they tell you they can’t offer a bonus because 'the market is tough’—right after buying their third Prado.”
This disconnect between corporate rhetoric and boardroom reality has begun to chafe, especially among the younger workforce. Social media platforms are awash with memes comparing shipping owners to pirates—only these ones wear cologne and run Instagram pages for their Shih Tzus.
Of course, the industry has tried to fight back—not with pay raises, but with glossy LinkedIn posts.
“We value our employees as our greatest asset,” reads one such PR missive from a shipping firm whose CEO famously bought a villa in the Maldives last year to “celebrate a strong fiscal quarter.”
Some companies have even taken to hosting “employee well-being weeks,” complete with yoga mats, motivational quotes, and the occasional Domino’s pizza. But ask any shipping employee what they actually want, and the answer isn’t kombucha in the break room. It’s fair pay.
“Give us 1% of your annual profit share, and you can keep your free t-shirts,” quipped one shipping agent.
You’d be forgiven for thinking this would be a prime issue for labour unions. But Sri Lanka’s shipping sector is notably devoid of any meaningful collective bargaining mechanisms. Most employees are on temporary or contract terms, wary of rocking the boat for fear of being unceremoniously thrown overboard.
Attempts to organise have been quietly sabotaged, insiders say, with implicit threats of blacklisting across the tightly-knit industry. “You speak up in one company, and suddenly no one in the sector wants to hire you,” said a former HR executive. “It’s not formal, but it’s understood.”
Government regulators, too, have kept curiously mum. The Sri Lanka Ports Authority (SLPA) has been more focused on port infrastructure and international partnerships than the labour rights of private-sector logistics employees.
An official at the Ministry of Labour, when asked for comment, offered a familiar refrain: “We are studying the issue and will take action if there are complaints.”
If complaints were container vessels, the ministry would be drowning.
Perhaps the most galling aspect of the shipping salary saga is the mismatch between how revenue is earned and how wages are paid. With nearly all revenue flowing in U.S. dollars—and many services invoiced at global market rates—there is a glaring absurdity in the continued payment of salaries in rupees, especially as the Sri Lankan currency continues its erratic dance.
Inflation-adjusted, real incomes have fallen by over 40% since 2021. The rupee has devalued, prices have soared, but shipping company owners appear to believe the laws of gravity—and basic decency—do not apply within their gleaming boardrooms.
“Even a 20% adjustment would make a huge difference,” says Ferni Liyanage, who has worked in cargo operations for 15 years. “Instead, we get lectures on loyalty and annual dinner dances at five-star hotels—where they serve prawns, but no raises.”
Unless there is a fundamental shift, the industry risks losing its most valuable asset—human capital. Automation and digital tracking systems may reduce some manual tasks, but nothing substitutes the experience of seasoned shipping professionals who know how to handle chaos with a clipboard and a WhatsApp group.
And make no mistake—foreign competitors are watching. China and India are already poaching Sri Lankan talent for their own expanding port networks. Gulf nations are setting up dedicated recruitment drives for South Asian shipping staff, lured by experience, discipline, and English fluency.
At some point, Colombo’s shipping elite will face a reckoning: either increase wages and retain staff, or watch your core operations collapse under the weight of attrition. Because no amount of imported HR consultants and "employee engagement webinars" can fix what a simple pay hike would solve.
The Sri Lankan shipping sector stands at a crossroads. It can continue sailing ahead with blinders on—fattening executive perks while starving operational staff—or it can acknowledge that the very reputation it trades on was built by the people it is now failing.
A modest salary correction won’t sink the ship. In fact, it may be the only thing that keeps it afloat.
After all, you can’t run a first-world logistics hub on third-world salaries. And you certainly can’t expect loyalty from workers who spend their weekends updating their CVs and Googling "shipping jobs in Dubai."
So here’s a modest proposal for the Colombo shipping mafia:
Trade in one Prado. Pay your staff.
It might just save your business.
-By LeN South Asia Correspondent
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by (2025-05-17 16:48:21)
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