Who Should Bring EVs to Sri Lanka?

A hotly debated question, with a side of courtroom drama and Colombo gossip

Sri Lanka’s love affair with electric vehicles has quickly turned into a soap opera—part tech dream, part courtroom thriller, part political whisper. The latest episode? John Keells CG Auto (JKCG), official distributor for Chinese EV giant BYD, is locked in a tug-of-war with Sri Lanka Customs over hundreds of gleaming new BYD cars stuck in limbo at the port.

On paper, it’s simple. The Court of Appeal already ordered the release of 991 BYDs on August 7, 2025—on a bank guarantee. Customers even started getting their cars at the promised prices, selfies included. But Customs wasn’t finished. More consignments were detained. Then, on September 3, the court again sided with JKCG, ordering the release of another 506 vehicles. Yet Customs continues to dig in, demanding “independent testing” and raising eyebrows with selective detentions.

In Colombo tea shops and WhatsApp groups, the chatter is blunt:

“Why only BYD cars from Keells?”

“Who’s protecting which rival importer?”

“Are certain ministries quietly favouring other brands while blocking the market leader?”

JKCG’s lawyers point out that no other customs authority in the world has refused BYD’s documentation—documentation already accepted everywhere from Europe to Australia. But in Sri Lanka, it’s a different theatre: some say it’s about egos, others mutter about lobbying, and a few shrug and say, “This is the usual—if you don’t pay, you don’t play.”

Meanwhile, the technical gossip took a twist. Critics claimed BYDs are “software-defined vehicles” (SDVs) whose performance could be tweaked through updates—implying Customs was right to worry. JKCG shot back: not true. Software can polish the infotainment or battery management, but the raw power of the motor can’t be magically “unlocked” by an update. BYD itself confirmed it.

At the heart of it lies the bigger question: Who should be allowed to lead Sri Lanka’s EV revolution?

Should it be established conglomerates like Keells, with the muscle to invest in charging stations, service centres, and nationwide showrooms?

Or should smaller importers—those who’ve been quietly bringing in EVs for years—get the same shot, even if their after-sales support is patchy?

And what about the state’s role? If Customs is accused of favouritism, is the EV market becoming another arena for patronage and power politics?

JKCG insists it’s playing clean: “We’ve given every document, followed every rule, and kept prices steady for customers. Our only mission is to give Sri Lankans world-class EVs and infrastructure.”

But in Colombo’s back rooms, cynics roll their eyes. One insider whispered: “EVs are the new duty-free perfume—everyone wants a cut. Until the pieces are divided, the cars will stay parked.”

So while the courts keep ordering releases and Customs keeps resisting, the real question simmers: Sri Lanka wants a greener, electric future—but who will be trusted to drive it?