For decades, the Ceylon Electricity Board stood as a central pillar of Sri Lanka’s public sector, powering homes, industries, and livelihoods. Today, it is gone—dissolved and replaced by four newly formed companies under a sweeping restructuring plan. What was presented as a solution to inefficiency and mounting losses has instead left nearly two thousand former employees in a state of uncertainty, financial distress, and emotional exhaustion.
“I haven’t received a single penny for two months after losing my job,” says M. D. S. Sampath, who served the institution for 15 years. His voice reflects not just frustration but disbelief. Like many others, Sampath voluntarily retired, persuaded by promises of a compensation package worth five million rupees. That money, he believed, would allow him to start a new chapter—perhaps a business, a stable future for his family. Instead, he now finds himself unemployed, burdened by rising living costs, and grappling with a promise that has yet to materialize.
The restructuring of the electricity sector was formalized under new legislation, which came into effect in early March 2026. The long-standing Electricity Board was dismantled and replaced by four separate entities tasked with generation, transmission, distribution, and system operation. Authorities argued that breaking up the institution would improve efficiency, reduce losses, and ultimately ease the burden on consumers. Yet, for many, the reality has been starkly different.
Among those most affected are the 1,898 employees who opted for voluntary retirement. They were given a choice: transition into one of the new companies or accept a severance package and pursue other opportunities. Many chose the latter, encouraged by assurances from government officials that compensation would be paid promptly. Nearly two months later, those assurances remain unfulfilled.
Janaka, another former employee, describes the toll this uncertainty has taken. “I can’t sleep at night. We are physically and mentally exhausted,” he says. His words capture a broader sense of despair shared by many in similar circumstances. Without income, and with debts mounting, daily life has become a struggle.
For W. A. G. I. Wickramanayake, the decision to retire was driven by hope. After nearly two decades of service, he planned to invest his compensation in a textile business. He even went as far as renting a shop, paying monthly rent in anticipation of launching his venture. “We are paying rent for the shop we bought to set up a textile business by mortgaging my van,” he explains. The shop remains unopened, the shelves empty, while expenses continue to accumulate.
Stories like these reveal a pattern of trust placed in official assurances—and the consequences when that trust is broken. Before the restructuring, government representatives repeatedly emphasized that the voluntary retirement scheme would offer attractive compensation. Employees were told not to fear, that payments would be made on schedule. These statements played a crucial role in convincing many to leave secure, long-term employment.
Now, those same individuals find themselves without recourse. The institution they once served no longer exists, and responsibility appears diffused across multiple new entities and government bodies. Attempts to seek clarification have yielded little more than shifting timelines and unfulfilled promises. Officials initially indicated that 50 percent of the compensation would be paid before the Sinhala and Hindu New Year. That deadline passed. Subsequent dates were mentioned, then missed.
The financial strain is compounded by the broader economic context. Sri Lanka continues to grapple with high living costs, making unemployment particularly difficult to endure. Many former employees had already begun making financial commitments—taking loans, investing in businesses, or supporting extended families—based on the expectation of receiving their compensation.
One former worker from Ratnapura shares how his family’s plans unraveled. With three children and several dependents, he had intended to use the compensation to purchase land and begin farming. “Now all those hopes have disappeared,” he says. “We are living by borrowing from relatives. They trusted us because they believed we would receive the money soon. Now they are asking for it back.” The emotional toll is evident as he describes sleepless nights and a growing sense of hopelessness.
The restructuring itself was not without controversy. For years, debates surrounding the Electricity Board centered on its financial losses and operational inefficiencies. Some attributed these issues to high salaries or excess staffing, while others pointed to rising generation costs. International financial institutions advocated reforms, urging the government to address the sector’s fiscal burden. At the same time, critics warned that such measures could pave the way for privatization and undermine worker protections.
In response, the government framed the breakup as a necessary reorganization rather than outright privatization. By dividing the institution into specialized entities, it aimed to improve accountability and performance. However, the transition has exposed gaps in planning and execution, particularly in addressing the welfare of employees who chose to exit.
Public perception has also shifted. While there was initial support for reforms that promised lower electricity costs and improved service, many now question whether those goals have been achieved. Electricity bills have not decreased as expected, and reports suggest that financial challenges within the sector persist. For affected workers, these broader outcomes offer little consolation.
What remains is a growing sense of injustice. Former employees argue that they upheld their end of the agreement by retiring voluntarily, trusting in the government’s commitments. In return, they expected timely compensation that would allow them to rebuild their lives. Instead, they face uncertainty, debt, and the erosion of dignity.
Some are now considering collective action. Discussions have emerged about traveling to the Presidential Secretariat to demand answers. The tone is not one of confrontation but of desperation—a final attempt to be heard.
The restructuring of Sri Lanka’s electricity sector was intended as a turning point, a step toward efficiency and sustainability. Yet, for nearly two thousand families, it has become a story of broken promises and fragile futures. As time passes without resolution, the question grows louder: can a reform be considered successful if it leaves those who trusted it behind?
