A routine trip through the bustling streets of Colombo can teach you more about human nature than any classroom ever could. For journalist and writer Sampath Perera, an ordinary midday journey after attending a court matter became a moment of quiet but powerful reflection — one that challenges the way Sri Lankans think about three-wheelers, the people who drive them, and the unspoken class judgments embedded in everyday traffic interactions. It is a conversation that is long overdue, and one that touches on road discipline, passenger safety, and the deeply ingrained tendency to judge motorists not by their behavior, but by the vehicles they drive.
The Colombo Streets That Sparked a Question
It was just past noon when Perera wrapped up his court engagement and remembered a quick bank errand before heading back to work. Like millions of Sri Lankans every day, he found himself navigating Colombo's chaotic, sun-baked roads. What unfolded during that journey was not dramatic. There were no accidents, no confrontations, no extraordinary events. Yet something about the experience lodged itself in his mind and refused to let go — the quiet, almost invisible prejudice that colors how we perceive three-wheeler drivers the moment something goes wrong on the road.
Three-wheelers, commonly known as tuk-tuks, are the lifeblood of urban and rural mobility across Sri Lanka. They weave through traffic where buses cannot follow, carry passengers to doorsteps that taxis would charge a premium to reach, and serve as the primary income source for hundreds of thousands of families. And yet, they occupy a peculiar social position — simultaneously indispensable and looked down upon.
Road Discipline: A Problem Without a Vehicle Class
One of the most honest observations that emerges from Perera's reflection is this: poor road discipline is not a three-wheeler problem. It is a road user problem. Reckless lane changes, ignoring traffic signals, cutting off pedestrians, and aggressive overtaking are behaviors exhibited daily by private car owners, bus drivers, motorcyclists, and lorry operators alike. Yet when a three-wheeler driver commits the same offense, the reaction from other road users — and from broader public discourse — tends to be far more visceral and dismissive.
This double standard is worth examining honestly. When a luxury sedan jumps a red light in Colombo, it is rarely framed as evidence of a systemic problem with sedan drivers. When a three-wheeler does the same, it becomes confirmation of a stereotype that many people already hold. The vehicle becomes a proxy for class, education, and perceived social standing — and judgment follows accordingly.
Passenger Safety and the Responsibility We Ignore
Beyond road behavior, the question of passenger safety in three-wheelers deserves serious and constructive attention rather than casual dismissal. Three-wheelers are structurally more vulnerable than enclosed vehicles. Passengers sit exposed to the elements, with limited protection in the event of a collision. This is a legitimate infrastructure and regulatory concern — but it must be addressed through policy, enforcement, and industry standards, not through stigma directed at drivers.
Improving safety outcomes for three-wheeler passengers requires investment in vehicle standards, driver training programs, fare regulation, and route monitoring. Several countries across South and Southeast Asia have made meaningful progress on these fronts without abandoning the three-wheeler as a mode of transport. Sri Lanka has the opportunity to do the same, but only if the national conversation shifts from blame to solutions.
An Industry That Deserves Respect
The three-wheeler industry is not a fringe element of Sri Lanka's economy — it is a pillar of it. During the country's devastating economic crisis in recent years, three-wheeler operators were among the hardest hit, queuing for fuel for hours, watching their daily earnings collapse, and still showing up to ferry passengers who depended on them. Their resilience during that period deserved recognition. Too often, it received none.
Rethinking our attitude toward three-wheelers means acknowledging the economic dignity of the people who operate them. It means resisting the reflex to assign blame based on vehicle type rather than individual behavior. It means demanding better infrastructure, clearer traffic laws, and consistent enforcement that applies equally to all road users — whether they are driving a tuk-tuk or a luxury SUV.
A Small Journey, A Larger Lesson
Sampath Perera's midday journey through Colombo was unremarkable by most measures. But the questions it raised are anything but small. How we treat the most visible and vulnerable workers on our roads reflects something fundamental about our values as a society. Road discipline matters. Passenger safety matters. But so does fairness — and right now, the three-wheeler industry is not always getting its fair share of it.
Sri Lanka's roads will not become safer or more orderly by singling out one category of vehicle for scorn. They will improve when every road user, regardless of what they drive, is held to the same standard — and when the workers who keep this country moving are finally given the respect they have long deserved.