The Gulf of Mannar Biosphere Reserve, a UNESCO-listed biodiversity hotspot, is now contaminated.
India lacks a specialized protocol for plastic and chemical spills.
The Greenpeace white paper calls this what it is: “a crisis of governance, not just ecology.”
A blistering white paper released by Greenpeace India has laid bare how Indian authorities failed to act despite early warnings about the hazardous cargo aboard the MSC ELSA 3, allowing toxic leakage to continue off the Kochi coast.
The Liberian-flagged container ship capsized 14.6 nautical miles off Kerala’s coast on the night of May 24, 2025. Initially dismissed as a routine maritime mishap, the incident has since spiraled into one of South Asia’s gravest environmental and humanitarian crises in recent memory—crippling fisheries, polluting coastlines in India and Sri Lanka, and exposing the alarming gaps in global shipping oversight and India’s maritime governance.
The MSC ELSA 3 was no ordinary vessel. On board were 643 containers, including 60 filled with plastic nurdles—tiny white pellets used in plastic manufacturing—alongside hazardous chemicals like hydrazine and calcium carbide, and more than 450 tonnes of diesel and furnace oil. Within days, nurdles began washing ashore along Kerala’s beaches south of Kochi, foreshadowing a far-reaching ecological disaster well beyond a routine oil spill.
Yet, in the critical hours and days following the sinking, the Mediterranean Shipping Company (MSC)—the world’s second-largest shipping line—remained evasive about the vessel’s cargo. It delayed releasing the full manifest despite court orders, and insisted there was “no significant ecological damage.” The company flatly refused the ₹9,531 crore compensation demand put forward by the Kerala government, triggering a drawn-out battle over transparency and accountability.
Now, more than two months since the wreck, Greenpeace India—alongside local environmental groups, legal experts, and fishworker unions—has compiled a 60-page white paper that could shape the future of corporate liability in India’s maritime sector.
Covering the period from May 25 to June 25, the white paper reads as both a meticulous logbook and a searing indictment. It documents nurdle contamination from Kerala’s Alappuzha to Tamil Nadu’s Dhanushkodi and Sri Lanka’s Jaffna to Matara. It lays bare the socio-economic fallout for more than 10 lakh fishworkers already battered by monsoon bans and a post-wreck 20-nautical-mile fishing restriction.
“This is not just an accident. This is corporate negligence,” the paper asserts. “MSC must fund immediate clean-up operations, support an independent impact assessment, and compensate coastal communities proportionate to the damage caused.”
Greenpeace campaigner Amruta S.N, who was on the ground during the white paper’s preparation, makes the stakes unambiguously clear:
“MSC's refusal to acknowledge the loss, damage, and pollution caused by the shipwreck is a blatant act of corporate negligence and environmental injustice. The impact on fishworkers’ livelihoods, including damaged gear, and potential long-term ecological harm is undeniable. MSC is answerable not just to the state, but also to the coastal communities who continue to bear the brunt of this disaster. This case must set a precedent that polluters cannot simply walk away unchecked. It’s time to put people over profit, and MSC must pay up and be held accountable.”
Public anger is growing. Last week, over 80 people—including fisherfolk from Muthalapozhi, members of the Coastal Students Cultural Forum (CSCF), and civil society activists—took to the sea in protest. Twenty boats carried a massive floating banner with a single question: “MSC Shipwreck: Who Pays?” The symbolism struck deep as the nurdles washed ashore and the fish stocks disappeared. The question no longer felt rhetorical—it felt like an indictment.
While a police case has been filed under the newly enacted Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita for rash navigation and mishandling of hazardous cargo, procedural delays have stalled its progress. Meanwhile, MSC continues to operate under a “flag of convenience,” with Liberia—its country of registry—notorious for lax maritime enforcement. The ELSA 3, in fact, had failed five safety parameters during an inspection in Mangaluru just weeks before the accident. Still, it was allowed to sail.
“This is calculated avoidance,” the white paper alleges. “They are using jurisdictional ambiguity as a shield. The world’s second-largest shipping company is acting like it has no liability at all.”
The human toll continues to mount. In Kerala alone, more than 10.4 lakh fishers depend on the sea for survival. The state’s interim relief—₹1,000 and 6 kg of rice per family per month—has been denounced by fishworker unions as “insulting.”
“Our people are being asked to survive on less than ₹35 a day,” said Jackson Pollayil of the Kerala Swathantra Matsya Thozhilali Federation. “Meanwhile, the polluter sails away,” he said in his statement, also included in the white paper.
Reports of health problems—skin rashes, respiratory distress, fatigue—are beginning to emerge among coastal residents and fishers. The National Fishworkers Forum has formally petitioned the Prime Minister and the National Disaster Management Authority to declare an occupational health emergency. So far, there has been no official response.
Marine scientists warn the damage may be long-lasting and irreversible. Nurdles, known to absorb other toxins, have entered sensitive ecosystems including coral reefs, mangroves, and seagrass beds. Mistaken for food by fish, turtles, and seabirds, they break down into microplastics and embed themselves into the marine food chain.
The Gulf of Mannar Biosphere Reserve, a UNESCO-listed biodiversity hotspot, is now contaminated. “This is slow violence,” said Aakiz Farooq of Greenpeace India, as quoted in the white paper. “Unlike oil, you can’t mop up nurdles. You live with them—for decades.”
India lacks a specialized protocol for plastic and chemical spills. Existing oil spill responses do not address persistent microplastics or chemical seepage into ecosystems. No central authority has taken the lead. There has been no multi-agency investigation. No international arbitration.
The Greenpeace white paper calls this what it is: “a crisis of governance, not just ecology.”
“There’s been no independent environmental and social impact assessment. Coastal communities are not even consulted,” said Rethin Antony, CSCF president and a local panchayat member. “This is not just an environmental issue. It’s a justice issue.”
As MSC continues to deny responsibility and the courts inch forward, one truth remains: in India’s coastal zones, justice is drifting further out to sea.
Unless immediate action is taken—mandatory cargo transparency, enforcement of ‘polluter pays’ principles, proper clean-up funding, and dignified compensation—MSC ELSA 3 won’t just go down in history as a disaster. It will become a dangerous precedent.
Because somewhere, another ship with another toxic payload is already headed toward another fragile coastline. And unless the system is reformed, the sea will remain both lifeline and graveyard.
