by Sampath Perera
An ordinary journey through Colombo raises uncomfortable questions about road discipline, passenger safety and our tendency to judge motorists by the vehicles they drive.
It was a little past noon when I finished attending a court matter and remembered that I had to visit a nearby bank before returning to my other work. The bank was hardly a kilometer away, a distance I would normally have walked without giving it much thought. However, anyone who has walked through Colombo in formal court attire under the scorching midday sun would appreciate why I was reluctant to do so. Taking my own vehicle was not particularly appealing either, as finding a parking space near a bank during business hours can sometimes take longer than the transaction itself.
After considering my options, I decided to take a three-wheeler, a perfectly ordinary decision that unexpectedly left me reflecting on the way we judge those who drive them. Within minutes, I was seated in the rear, travelling through the usual Colombo traffic. It was convenient, reasonably priced and saved me the trouble of searching for parking or arriving at the bank drenched in sweat. As we approached a busy junction, however, a car suddenly cut across our path without any indication. Its driver appeared determined to squeeze into a narrow gap, apparently unconcerned about the vehicles already occupying the road. Our three-wheeler driver immediately applied his brakes, throwing me slightly forward in my seat. Fortunately, he reacted quickly enough to avoid a collision, while the car continued on its way as though nothing unusual had happened.
The incident itself was hardly extraordinary by Colombo’s standards, but it made me consider how differently we might have reacted had the situation been reversed. If a three-wheeler had suddenly cut across a car in the same manner, the driver would probably have been subjected to angry horns, harsh words and the familiar accusation that three-wheeler drivers have no respect for road rules. Yet when someone driving a comfortable, air-conditioned car behaves just as irresponsibly, we tend to treat it as another unpleasant encounter in traffic. It seems that, in our public discussions about road discipline, the seriousness of an offence sometimes depends not so much on what a driver does, but on the vehicle he happens to be driving.
This is not an attempt to portray three-wheeler drivers as innocent victims of unfair criticism. Anyone who regularly travels on Sri Lankan roads knows that some drivers behave recklessly, stopping without warning, making dangerous U-turns, disregarding traffic signals and squeezing through gaps that sensible motorists would avoid. Such conduct deserves criticism and, where appropriate, legal action. Nevertheless, it would be equally dishonest to pretend that these practices are confined to three-wheelers. A few minutes spent observing traffic at a busy Colombo junction would reveal expensive cars changing lanes without indicating, SUVs obstructing pedestrian crossings, motorcycles weaving dangerously between vehicles and buses stopping wherever passengers signal them to do so.
What is troubling is our tendency to turn the misconduct of an individual three-wheeler driver into an indictment of an entire profession. A badly parked three-wheeler becomes another example of everything wrong with the industry, while a luxury car obstructing a pavement is generally treated as the irresponsible conduct of its particular driver. Perhaps this difference in perception has become so familiar that we rarely question it. Yet the law makes no distinction between an illegally parked vehicle costing several million rupees and one purchased through a modest leasing arrangement. Both can obstruct traffic, inconvenience pedestrians and create dangerous situations for other road users.
There is also considerable irony in our relationship with three-wheelers. We complain about their presence on the roads, accuse them of contributing to congestion and criticise the behaviour of their drivers, but the moment we need to reach somewhere quickly, avoid a parking problem or transport an elderly relative to a nearby hospital, we often turn to the very vehicles we complain about. In many rural communities, where public transport remains inadequate, three-wheelers provide an essential connection between homes, hospitals, markets and bus routes. Their contribution to everyday mobility is difficult to dismiss, particularly for people who cannot afford private vehicles or have limited transport alternatives.
The driver who took me to the bank that afternoon was simply earning his living. For him, the three-wheeler was not a symbol of traffic disorder or a subject for public debate, but a means of supporting himself and possibly a family. He had provided a useful service and, when confronted with another motorist’s carelessness, demonstrated the kind of defensive driving that we should expect from everyone using our roads. By the time I paid the fare and stepped out near the bank, I found myself wondering whether our criticism of three-wheelers sometimes says as much about our own prejudices as it does about genuine concerns over road safety.
That question becomes particularly relevant when we consider one of the strongest arguments made against three-wheelers: passenger safety. There is no denying that a conventional three-wheeler offers considerably less protection in a collision than a modern passenger car equipped with airbags, seat belts and a reinforced passenger compartment. Its lightweight construction and limited structural protection expose occupants to risks that should never be underestimated. But acknowledging those limitations is quite different from suggesting that such vehicles have no legitimate place on our roads. If the absence of a protective passenger compartment is sufficient reason to question a vehicle’s acceptability, we must also consider motorcycles and bicycles, whose riders are even more exposed to the consequences of a collision.
A motorcyclist has little protection beyond a helmet and appropriate riding equipment, while a cyclist has neither airbags nor a surrounding metal structure to absorb the impact of an accident. Pedestrians are more vulnerable still, particularly on roads where pavements are obstructed or entirely absent. Yet nobody would seriously argue that walking or cycling should be discouraged simply because these activities involve greater physical exposure. The sensible response is to improve road conditions, regulate speeds, strengthen vehicle standards and ensure that motorists respect vulnerable road users. The World Health Organization has consistently emphasised this broader approach to road safety, recognising that pedestrians, cyclists and motorcyclists account for a substantial proportion of road traffic deaths worldwide.
The comparison does not mean that all vehicles are equally safe, nor should it be used to minimise the genuine risks associated with three-wheelers. Different vehicles offer different levels of protection, and their safety depends on design, maintenance, speed, road conditions and the circumstances of a collision. However, there is something fundamentally flawed in assuming that a vehicle becomes unacceptable merely because it cannot provide the protection available in a modern car. If that were the standard, we would have to reconsider the place of several widely used forms of transport. More importantly, we would risk overlooking the responsibility of drivers whose behaviour can turn an otherwise ordinary journey into a dangerous encounter.
There is an equally questionable assumption that travelling in a larger or more expensive vehicle somehow reflects greater responsibility on the road. A modern car may provide better protection to its occupants, but its safety features cannot compensate for the arrogance or carelessness of the person behind the steering wheel. An SUV equipped with advanced braking systems and multiple airbags can still be driven recklessly, and its greater weight may increase the danger to pedestrians, cyclists and smaller vehicles in certain collisions. Road safety cannot therefore be measured solely by how effectively a vehicle protects its occupants. It must also consider the risks that vehicle presents to everyone else sharing the road.
Perhaps what we need is a more balanced understanding of road safety, one that recognises the limitations of three-wheelers without turning their drivers into convenient villains. There is every reason to demand better vehicle standards, responsible driving and stronger enforcement, but those expectations must apply equally to motorists operating cars, buses, motorcycles and commercial vehicles. A reckless driver does not become less dangerous because he is seated inside an expensive car, just as a responsible three-wheeler driver should not be treated with suspicion merely because his vehicle has one wheel fewer.
The experience of that afternoon reminded me that our roads are shared public spaces, not a hierarchy determined by the price, size or appearance of the vehicles using them. The three-wheeler that took me to the bank served a practical purpose, while the driver of a more expensive vehicle created the only dangerous moment of the journey. It would be unreasonable to draw conclusions about all car drivers from that single incident, just as it would be unfair to judge an entire profession by the misconduct of a few three-wheeler drivers. If we genuinely want safer roads, perhaps we should begin by judging people according to how they drive rather than what they drive.
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Sampath Perera, LL.M. (UK), is an Attorney-at-Law and former Commissioner of the Office on Missing Persons (OMP). He has served as Legal Adviser to the Ministry of Justice and the Ministry of Higher Education.
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