When Mannar Government Agent and District Secretary K. Kanakeshwaran Became an Immigration Officer
ColomboWire Geopolitical Analysis
In the annals of Sri Lanka’s often theatrical geopolitics, Mannar has lately emerged as an unlikely stage—where renewable energy, regional paranoia, diaspora lobbying, and bureaucratic overreach collide. What should have been a routine story about foreign technical labour supporting a wind power project has instead metastasised into a curry-flavoured geopolitical masala, seasoned with rumours, embellished intelligence claims, and a troubling administrative precedent. At the centre of this controversy stands the Mannar Government Agent and District Secretary, K. Kanakeshwaran, who publicly stated that he personally checked the visas of 28 Pakistani nationals employed on the Windscape Mannar Project. That admission raises an unavoidable question: when did a district secretary become an immigration officer?
A Wind Project Caught in a Political Storm
The Windscape Mannar Project, commissioned in 2025, is designed to generate 20 megawatts of electricity through four wind turbines located along the Mannar coastline. The project is part of Sri Lanka’s broader push toward renewable energy diversification and is commercially operated by Windscape Mannar (Pvt) Ltd. Technical staff for the project included 28 Pakistani nationals employed by Orient Energy Systems (Pvt) Ltd of Pakistan, a firm with technical collaboration links to Ceylex Renewable Energy (Pvt) Ltd, a Sri Lankan entity reportedly owned by employees of LTL Holdings (Pvt) Ltd.
There is nothing extraordinary about this arrangement. Sri Lanka has, for decades, relied on foreign technical expertise—Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, European—for infrastructure, power generation, ports, and telecommunications. These Pakistani workers entered Sri Lanka on officially issued work visas, were registered with the relevant authorities, and resided openly in rented houses in Savarakkadu village, behind the Mannar District Hospital. No clandestine living, no restricted zones, no military compounds—just rented houses in a fishing district accustomed to outsiders.
Yet, from this entirely ordinary fact pattern, a spectacularly bizarre narrative was born.
The Birth of a Fabricated Security Scare
According to multiple local accounts, a defeated Tamil politician—formerly a parliamentarian, now reduced to diplomatic freelancing—began circulating a story that two Pakistani nationals had gone to sea and were apprehended by Sri Lankan security forces. Notably, none of Sri Lanka’s security agencies—Navy, Police, State Intelligence Service, or Military Intelligence—confirmed such an incident. In fact, they reportedly rejected the claim outright.
Undeterred by the absence of facts, the story was repackaged as a geopolitical threat briefing, allegedly whispered into the ears of foreign missions. The implied subtext was clear: Pakistani nationals in Mannar constituted a covert security risk to India. This was geopolitical theatre of the lowest quality—constructed not on intelligence, but on electoral bitterness and ethnic insecurity.
The irony, bordering on farce, is that Indian authorities today monitor Pakistani movements in South Asia with far greater sophistication than any provincial politician could imagine. If these workers posed even a hypothetical security concern, New Delhi would hardly rely on curry-scented gossip from Colombo’s political margins. The assumption that Indian officials would accept such tales as gospel truth betrays either staggering naivety or deliberate cynicism.
From Rumour to Administrative Overreach
This is where the story takes a more disturbing turn. Instead of allowing immigration authorities, security agencies, or the Ministry of Defence to handle the matter—if indeed there was a matter at all—the Mannar Government Agent and District Secretary, K. Kanakeshwaran, reportedly inserted himself directly into the issue. He admitted to personally checking the visas of the 28 Pakistani nationals.
This admission raises serious legal and constitutional questions.
Under Sri Lankan law, immigration control falls squarely within the mandate of the Department of Immigration and Emigration. Visa verification, enforcement, cancellation, or investigation must be conducted by authorised immigration officers, often in coordination with law enforcement or intelligence services where necessary. A district secretary has administrative authority over district-level governance—not border control, visa compliance inspections, or foreign national surveillance.
What mechanism did Mr. Kanakeshwaran use to verify these visas? Did he access immigration databases without authorisation? Was an immigration officer present during these checks? Were the workers summoned, questioned, or otherwise made to feel under suspicion? These are not academic queries; they go to the heart of administrative propriety and the rule of law.
Abuse of Power or Bureaucratic Zeal?
Even if one assumes good faith, the optics are alarming. When a senior civil servant acts outside his statutory remit, particularly in matters involving foreign nationals, it sets a dangerous precedent. Today it is Pakistani engineers. Tomorrow it could be African students, Chinese technicians, or European NGO workers—each subjected to arbitrary scrutiny based on political pressure rather than legal process.
The situation is compounded by allegations that two Chinese nationals were also present at the project site. Were they subjected to the same scrutiny? If not, why not? Selective enforcement—or selective curiosity—raises uncomfortable questions about bias.
It is here that concerns of Islamophobia enter the discussion. While intent must be proven, impact cannot be ignored. Targeting Pakistani Muslim workers based on fabricated security narratives—while no security agency corroborated those claims—creates an environment of fear and humiliation for legally employed foreign nationals. Sri Lanka cannot afford to project itself as a jurisdiction where work visas are conditional upon ethnic acceptability or political convenience.
The Cost to Sri Lanka’s Credibility
Sri Lanka is emerging from economic collapse and is actively courting foreign investment, particularly in renewable energy. Projects like Windscape Mannar are precisely the type of ventures the country needs: export-oriented technology, grid diversification, and foreign technical collaboration. When local politicians weaponise foreign labour for cheap geopolitical stunts—and when administrators appear to validate those stunts through unauthorised intervention—the message to investors is disastrous.
What foreign firm will deploy technical staff to Sri Lanka if district-level officials can arbitrarily summon, interrogate, or “verify” visas without legal mandate? What embassy will trust assurances of regulatory stability when rumours can override procedure?
This is not merely about 28 Pakistani nationals. It is about whether Sri Lanka operates as a rules-based state or as a rumour-responsive one.
The Indian Angle: Imagined Influence, Real Damage
The attempt to drag India into this narrative is particularly irresponsible. India’s security establishment does not rely on freelance briefings from disgruntled local politicians wearing religious symbols as political costume. Indian intelligence assessments are data-driven, multilayered, and institutionally insulated from provincial theatrics.
By pretending otherwise, these political actors insult not only Sri Lanka’s intelligence agencies but India’s as well. Worse, they risk inflaming unnecessary suspicion between Colombo and New Delhi—at a time when both countries are carefully recalibrating their strategic relationship.
The Need for Institutional Boundaries
Sri Lanka urgently needs to reassert institutional boundaries. Government agents and district secretaries must understand the limits of their authority. Immigration officers must do immigration work. Security agencies must assess security risks. Politicians—especially defeated ones—must not be allowed to launder personal vendettas through the language of geopolitics.
If Mr. Kanakeshwaran’s actions caused distress, fear, or reputational harm to legally employed foreign nationals, an independent inquiry is not optional—it is necessary. Suspension during such an inquiry would not imply guilt; it would demonstrate institutional seriousness.
Curry Is Not Intelligence
The Mannar episode is a cautionary tale. It shows how easily development projects can be derailed by paranoia, how quickly bureaucracy can drift into overreach, and how dangerously geopolitics can be trivialised. Sri Lanka cannot afford to govern by hearsay or to allow officials to cosplay as immigration officers.
Foreign nationals who enter this country on valid visas are entitled to dignity, legal certainty, and protection from political harassment. Anything less is not sovereignty—it is self-sabotage.
In geopolitics, as in administration, curry may add flavour—but it is no substitute for facts, law, and institutional discipline.