Living atop a mine of uncertainty

By Kumudini Hettiarachchi

The people, mainly farmers, in Eppawela are an agitated lot. They know not what lies ahead. Theirs is an uncertain future. All because they are virtually living atop a mine of phosphate.

Earlier, the phosphate brought some wealth and prosperity to the area. But the very chemical which sustained them has now become a bane. They may be forced to leave their traditional homeland and relocate elsewhere because the government has plans to exploit the phosphate on a large-scale, not by making use of foreign expertise but by handing over the area to an American company.

The US $ 425 million project, proposed by the US-based Freeport McMoran Resource Partners, IMC Agrico and Japan's Tomen Corporation, envisages a major new mine at Eppawala and a fertilizer plant in Trincomalee.

The scheme covers an area of 56 square km of land and means re-locating some 12,000 families from villages dotting the area.

Buddhist temples, schools and a large number of government buildings also face destruction, environmentalists say.

The government is determined to go ahead with the project but widespread opposition from residents and environmentalist groups have delayed its plans and the agreement is currently in limbo.

Jagath Gunawardene, an environmental activist and lawyer, says things are at a stalemate at present because Freeport McMoran appears to have got cold feet after the United National Party (UNP) held a protest rally at the site in March.

"The UNP, when in power from 1977 to mid-1994, objected to certain clauses in the McMoran deal (which had first come up at that time). The U.S.company may be worried that the UNP may tear up the agreement, if it comes back to power," he said.

According to some overseas reports, the U.S. firm has been accused of amassing waste matter which is toxic and radio active at its Florida phosphate site. It has denied these reports but in an interesting move last year, had amalgamated the company with IMC Agrico, a move seen by environmentalists here as an attempt to disguise the company.

A public interest action under fundamental rights laws has also been initiated, ironically, by Batty Weerakoon, whose LSSP is a member of the government.

Phosphate-collection on a large scale began in 1971 when a group of 25 youths mined the land on a cooperative basis and sold it to small local companies. In 1979, the then government brought the area under the purview of the Ministry of Industries and began mining on a slightly larger scale. The produce was sold as single phosphate for use as fertilizer.

"There are seven phosphate hills in the area. Even the land on which my house is built is rich in phosphate," said Sarath Dissanayake, media secretary of the Committee Set Up To Protect The Eppawala Phosphate Mine, scooping a handful of red soil with his hands.

The committee, led by Ven. Mahamankadawela Piyaratne, chief monk of the ancient Galkanda Viharaya in the area, is in the forefront of efforts to stall government plans.

Mr. Dissanayake said the phosphate can be exploited over a 200 to 300 year period but the government wants to hand over the land to a foreign company on a 30-year lease. "It will fleece the area within 12 years, causing mass destruction such as desertification," he warns.

He said the project would force men, women and children to uproot themselves, leave their fertile lands and begin a new life elsewhere.

"The irony is that the American company will resort to large-scale mining of the phosphate, use modern technology to produce double-phosphate (a richer high-tech product) and then export it or re-sell it to Sri Lanka," he said.

Mr. Dissanayake asks, "Why can't we get this technology and do it ourselves?"

For the area's humble farming community, the controversy over phosphate boils down to their daily meal of rice and curry. They grow paddy and vegetables on acres of green-carpeted land, keep some of it for their consumption and sell the rest. This is how their parents and grand parents eked out a living and how their children will do too.

Mud-splattered M. Gnanawathie was leaning against a scarecrow and resting awhile in her field when we spoke to her. She and her husband were collecting the harvest of paddy from their field.

Her two children, a girl and a boy, were at the near-by village school. The field had been gifted by her father when she married. They were satisfied with their small income.

Smiling shyly, Gnanawathie said with determination that she and her family would never leave the village and go elsewhere. This was their life. Phosphate or no phosphate they would live, work and die in Eppawela.

Twenty-eight-year-old Gamini Karunaratne was toiling in his field by a tank with "Olu" and "Nelum" in full bloom, when we spoke to him.

Dusting off the mud he said he was opposed to moving from the area.These were traditional paddy lands. He had got them from his father. How could he leave them and build up a new life elsewhere? He would not leave, he said.

K.M. Jinadasa (26) felt the same way. He was married for just seven months and he and his wife had built a tiny wattle-and-daub hut in a corner of his parents' land. They were thinking of starting a family.

How could they go to some strange place and start afresh?

Ven Piyaratne was not at the temple when we went there. He was visiting schools in the area explaining the "threat" to the people of Eppawela.When we spoke to him on the phone later, he said they were opposed to people being relocated. They were also protesting against foreign interference.

He suggested the government could get the technology from foreign companies and assist local industries to mine super phosphate.

Acknowledging that Sri Lanka did not have the technology to do so, he insisted however that local expertise was available.

More Plus * Internet superhighway and the Telecom road

Return to the Plus Contents