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Flood Relief or Flood of Questions?

Dubai Donation Drive for Sri Lanka’s Cyclone Victims Mired in Missing Cargo Claims

By Staff Correspondent

When floods ravaged parts of Sri Lanka in the wake of Cyclone Ditwah, images of submerged homes and displaced families quickly travelled across borders—particularly to the Sri Lankan diaspora in the Gulf. In Dubai, where thousands of young Sri Lankans live and work, a spontaneous relief effort emerged, driven largely through social media. At its public face was Ashen Senarathna, a Sri Lankan YouTuber and social media personality with a substantial following among expatriate youth.

Within days, donation appeals multiplied. Videos showed boxes stacked high, volunteers working late into the night, and emotional calls for solidarity with those “back home.” Cash, dry rations, clothing, and household essentials were reportedly collected in what organisers described as a community-led humanitarian effort.

Yet, weeks after the supposed dispatch of these goods to Sri Lanka, a different narrative began to circulate—one of missing consignments, absent documentation, and unanswered questions. What began as a feel-good story of diaspora generosity has now evolved into a public controversy raising uncomfortable issues about transparency, accountability, and the informal nature of disaster relief driven by online influence.

The Complaint That Sparked the Storm

The controversy came into sharper focus following public allegations made by an individual named Mahawaththa, who claimed to have been directly involved in or closely monitoring the Dubai-based relief collection. In a series of statements circulated online, Mahawaththa questioned whether the volume of aid collected ever reached Sri Lanka in full.

According to these claims, goods said to be worth “millions of dirhams” were collected from Sri Lankan youth across Dubai and neighbouring emirates. However, only a fraction of that volume allegedly arrived in Sri Lanka. The discrepancy, critics argue, is not marginal but substantial enough to warrant public explanation.

“These were not small donations dropped into a box,” one social media commenter wrote. “These were pallets of goods, collected with public visibility and public trust.”

Where Are the Shipping Documents?

At the heart of the allegations lies a seemingly simple request: documentation.

Critics, including Mahawaththa, have publicly challenged Ashen Senarathna to release the Bill of Lading—the standard shipping document that specifies the nature, quantity, and destination of goods transported by sea or air. In international logistics, the Bill of Lading is not optional; it is the primary evidentiary document that confirms what was shipped, by whom, and in what volume.

To date, according to those raising concerns, no such documents have been made public.

“In disaster relief, transparency is not a luxury,” said a logistics professional familiar with humanitarian supply chains, speaking on condition of anonymity. “If goods were shipped, the paperwork exists. Releasing it would end speculation instantly.”

The absence of publicly available shipping documents has fuelled suspicion, particularly given the scale of donations claimed in online appeals.

LCL vs FCL: A Technical Detail with Serious Implications

Another focal point of the controversy is the alleged use of Less than Container Load (LCL) shipping rather than Full Container Load (FCL).

In simple terms, FCL involves hiring an entire shipping container, suitable when large volumes of goods are transported. LCL, by contrast, consolidates shipments from multiple parties into a single container. While LCL is common for small commercial consignments, critics argue that a relief drive purportedly collecting millions of dirhams worth of goods would almost certainly require one or more full containers.

Why does this matter?

Firstly, LCL shipments make it harder to independently verify the exact volume of goods shipped, as consignments are broken up, consolidated, and handled by third-party freight forwarders. Secondly, questions have been raised—without proof—about whether LCL shipping could facilitate diversion of goods or irregular customs declarations.

No authority has alleged tax evasion or wrongdoing at this stage. However, the lack of clarity has allowed speculation to thrive.

The Power—and Risk—of Influencer-Led Aid

The Ashen Senarathna controversy highlights a broader structural issue: the rise of influencer-led humanitarianism.

In recent years, social media figures have increasingly mobilised aid faster than traditional NGOs, often filling critical gaps in emergencies. Their strengths—speed, reach, and emotional engagement—are also their vulnerabilities. Unlike registered charities, influencers are not always subject to formal auditing, governance rules, or statutory reporting requirements.

“People donate because they trust the face on the screen,” said a Colombo-based civil society activist. “But trust is not a substitute for accountability.”

In this case, critics allege that Senarathna portrayed the Dubai relief effort on social media as largely a solo initiative, downplaying or omitting the collective nature of the volunteer work. Videos and posts, they argue, emphasised personal branding over communal contribution.

Senarathna has not publicly conceded this point, but the accusation has resonated among volunteers who say the effort was collective, informal, and driven by many unnamed individuals.

Public Silence, Private Questions

As the debate intensified online, observers noted what they described as a lack of detailed public clarification from Senarathna regarding shipping volumes, timelines, or documentation. Short statements and emotionally framed responses, critics argue, have not addressed the technical questions being asked.

Silence, in the digital age, is rarely neutral.

“What people want is not drama,” said a Sri Lankan expatriate in Sharjah who claims to have donated goods. “They want a spreadsheet, a shipping document, and confirmation that victims received what was promised.”

No Official Investigation—Yet

It is important to state clearly: no law enforcement authority in Sri Lanka or the UAE has publicly announced an investigation into Ashen Senarathna or the Dubai flood relief effort at the time of writing. The allegations remain untested in any formal legal or regulatory forum.

However, legal experts note that cross-border charitable collections—particularly those involving goods, customs clearance, and public fundraising—can fall under multiple regulatory regimes if complaints are formally lodged.

“Innocent or not, documentation is your first line of defence,” said a lawyer specialising in nonprofit compliance. “Without it, reputational damage can be severe.”

The Victims at the Centre of the Story

Lost amid the controversy are the people Cyclone Ditwah displaced—the families who waited for dry rations, bedding, and basic supplies. For them, the debate over Bills of Lading and shipping categories is painfully abstract.

“If aid was delayed, reduced, or diverted, the real cost was paid by flood victims,” said a humanitarian worker in the Southern Province. “That is why transparency matters—not for online arguments, but for human dignity.”

A Call for Simple Transparency

The controversy could still be resolved with relative ease. Observers point out that releasing the following would significantly reduce speculation:

  1. Copies of shipping documents (with sensitive commercial data redacted if necessary).

  2. A clear inventory of goods collected versus goods delivered.

  3. Confirmation from recipient organisations or local officials in Sri Lanka.

  4. Acknowledgement of all volunteers and contributors involved.

Such steps would not only address current allegations but also set a precedent for future diaspora-led relief efforts.

Beyond One Individual

Whether or not the allegations against Ashen Senarathna are ultimately substantiated, the episode serves as a cautionary tale. Disaster relief driven by goodwill and smartphones operates in a grey zone—fast, emotional, and powerful, but vulnerable to mistrust if basic governance principles are ignored.

As climate disasters intensify and diaspora communities continue to mobilise across borders, the question is no longer whether social media can deliver aid. It is whether it can do so credibly, transparently, and accountably.

Until clear answers emerge, the Dubai flood relief saga will remain less a story of generosity—and more a reminder that in humanitarian work, good intentions must always be matched by clear evidence.

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