Photo courtesy of Anjani Athukorala
At 4.30 am on Wednesday I grabbed my backpack. It was filled with important documents, a chocolate bar large enough to share with a crowd, water, peanuts, a protein bar, a book to read and my sewing project. Does it sound like I was going on a nice trip?
In reality, I was on my way to queue for my fifth passport. Instead of a lovely adventure, I was preparing for a day of mindless waiting, frustration, crowds and chaos – the experience of getting a passport renewed in Sri Lanka.
Why does getting a passport feel more like an ordeal than a basic right?
I went prepared because the previous day I had tried to submit my renewal application. On Tuesday, I arrived at a small registered passport document office at 6 am. They took my photograph, prepared my application and submitted it online. Despite opting for the one day emergency service, the appointment I received was for April 2025. I was alarmed because I needed to travel by January 8 for a work assignment. I was told that if I waited in line at Gate 1 with proof from my employer, I could get my passport within a day. But the length of the emergency service line – stretching across four floors of the parking lot – convinced me to go home, rest and try again early the next morning.
At 4.45 am on Wednesday I arrived at the Passport Office and joined the emergency service queue, which already stretched onto the main road. In the dim light of neon shop signs still lit in the wee hours of the morning, people from all over the country of various ages and backgrounds stood waiting. The line for the one day service, which costs Rs 20,000, had formed three hours before the office opened.
Why must we sacrifice dignity and ease for essential services?
As we waited, I made friends and learned their stories. A mother from Matara stood with three children, including a child prone to seizures. She was getting a passport for her sister’s son so he could join his mother in Dubai. A young girl from Jaffna had travelled overnight to Colombo, arrived at 3 am and joined the queue at 4 am. People had come in from around the island.
I also noticed a grey economy thriving off people’s desperation; beggars offering blessings for an easy process and middlemen facilitating online submissions and likely some offering shortcuts for a price, which I was unwilling to entertain.
I observed a community forming among those standing in line, people commiserating with each other. It all felt too familiar. Sri Lankans are too good at accepting the status quo, especially when it is grossly mismanaged.
Why have we accepted hours of waiting without basic facilities as normal?
At 6 am we were led into the building and told to queue in the parking lot so cars could enter. The line stretched up four stories. Thankfully, arriving at 5 am put me on the second floor. By 8 am they closed the line to manage the crowd. Six hours later, at 11 am, I was moved to a seated area after six hours of standing in the parking lot with no toilets or seating.
Imagine people coming from distant areas enduring these conditions. It was heartbreaking to see people sitting on the ground and struggling with limited access to sanitary facilities. Sri Lanka may be a developing country but we have always upheld dignity and grace. It was sad to witness this decline in humanity.
Why is a system meant to serve people disrespecting their time?
Inside the seated area we played silent musical chairs, inching toward the front where officers checked documents. This part of the process was more bearable because we had chairs and the Forces to keep everyone organized. Some people were turned away for errors in their documentation after waiting six hours. Couldn’t this verification be done earlier while we were in line for six hours waiting to get to the seated area? Think about the people who were turned away after six hours of waiting; imagine their frustration.
Why waste hours on simple issues that could be fixed early in the process?
After the first round of checking was done, we were asked to collect a token. I stood in that line for 90 minutes. While I waited, I got my documents checked and then waited to be issued a token. Issuing a token using a machine should only take twenty minutes. Instead, there was only two people in that office, one to review the documents again and another to give us a token. Surely there could have been more people to do this to speed up this line?
After another 90 minute wait to receive a token, I submitted my documents at 12.30 pm. An officer told me my signature needed to be redone on a new application, only available on the first floor. I wondered why blank applications were not available on the same floor to save time.
I completed payment at 1.13 pm, the smoothest part of the process, although the clerk didn’t acknowledge my greeting. Rs 20,000 might not mean much to him but for many it’s a month’s rent or groceries for two weeks.
I was told that the passport would be ready in three hours and I decided to step out for lunch. I did not drink water the entire day because the toilet facilities in this brand new building were terrible. Wet and unclean, how were elderly people or children managing?
How much frustration should we endure before our time is valued?
Mid lunch, I was called back because my foreign birth certificate needed certification, something that could have been noted during any of the four previous document checks. At 3 pm I resubmitted the documents. I shared a lime juice with someone I met in line, chatting about life while waiting to collect our passports.
The collection area was chaotic: overflowing bins, mouldy ceilings, poor ventilation and the smell of hundreds of tired people. From 3 p.m. to 6.45 pm, I waited. A last minute verification issue delayed my passport until 6.45 pm, 14 hours since I first joined the line. Why was this requirement only mentioned at 6 pm after being told earlier it wasn’t necessary?
The passport issuance was grossly inefficient. One day and normal service passports are all issued from the same place. For a room full of waiting people, only three or four counters were open. Staff took leisurely breaks while we sat, uninformed. Our time was treated as worthless.
Why burden those whose hard earned money sustains our economy?
Most of the people rushing to get their passports are doing so for employment opportunities. This money comes into our country. Migrant worker wages are our largest source of foreign currency. It is this money that builds our infrastructure, keeps our schools running and replenishes our foreign reserves, all vital to rebuild our economy.
Isn’t it time for simple changes that show real care for citizens’ struggles?
The solutions doesn’t require systemic overhaul, just small, practical improvements:
- Open the passport office for 24 hours on a shift basis for three months to clear backlog
- Charge higher premiums for those who can afford it to reduce demand on the only two channels available (one day or normal service)
- Extend office hours and increase staff to speed up processing until backlog is closed
- Consider tea and lunch breaks in shifts to maintain work flow
- Verify documents early while people are waiting to prevent wasted time
- Provide seating and facilities for those in line to give ease
- Ensure hotlines are responsive, that calls are answered, to better guide people
- Consider allowing outstation passport offices to offer a shorter timeline for issuances (can it be a three weeks service) to reduce congestion in the main Colombo office
I urge the government to get advice from the private sector on how to best maximize resources to solve these challenges in the short term.
Have any elected officials renewed their passports recently or are they ignoring a problem they think isn’t theirs to solve?
A government promising efficiency must start with citizens’ daily struggles. Small, thoughtful changes can make a world of difference. Empathy should lead politics. When leaders care about people, processes become meaningful.
After all, big changes begin with small, purposeful steps.