Who pays the price?
When the MSC ELSA-3 sank off the Kerala coast, identifying a clear line of liability or even a coherent chain of operational command proved almost impossible. The flag state, Liberia, refused to participate in the investigation.
The Classification Society that had certified the ship as seaworthy only months earlier bore no accountability for oversight lapses. The German owner company maintained distance through limited liability. The Cyprus-based manager handled operations but carried no ultimate legal responsibility. Meanwhile, MSC—one of the world's largest shipping conglomerates—claimed only a commercial interest through charter.
This tangled structure is no anomaly. It is the result of a deliberately opaque system designed to prioritize legal insulation over accountability. The MSC ELSA-3 had changed names and flags at least 10 times in under two decades—moving from CSAV Barcelona to TMM Hidalgo to Delmas Tourville to MSC ELSA-3—each change coinciding with opportunities to limit legal exposure, avoid scrutiny, or benefit from lenient regulation.
While not illegal, this practice of shifting ownership, registry, and management undermines transparency and accountability. It stands at odds with the spirit of the international maritime framework set by the International Maritime Organization (IMO), which promotes safety and environmental responsibility.
At the time of the incident, MSC ELSA-3 flew the Liberian flag—a classic example of a Flag of Convenience (FoC), often chosen for minimal regulatory scrutiny.
But the vessel's operational complexity ran far deeper. It was owned by a German company, managed from Cyprus, chartered by MSC—a Swiss-based conglomerate—and certified by French classification society Bureau Veritas. Its crew was multinational, comprising seafarers from countries including Russia, the Philippines, and Ukraine.
This spiderweb of ownership, management, registry, and operation illustrates how modern commercial shipping is designed to disperse responsibility across jurisdictions.
In such setups, legal obligations are diluted across national borders, making it extraordinarily difficult for coastal states like India to enforce accountability or secure timely cooperation.
The issue is compounded by the lack of mandatory public disclosure on beneficial ownership, the actual role of commercial operators in daily navigation decisions, and the operational influence of ship managers. Even in cases where insurers such as P&I Clubs are involved, jurisdictional complications and multi-layered contracting structures delay compensation, investigation, and resolution.
For India, the lesson is urgent and clear. It must challenge this structural opacity. Ships calling at Indian ports must be subject to stricter requirements on transparency in ownership, crew composition, and management accountability. India must also push at the IMO for reforms mandating full disclosure of beneficial ownership, enhanced flag state obligations, and clearer delineation of managerial vs. operational control responsibilities.
The MSC ELSA-3 wasn't merely lost to rough seas or human error. It was a victim of a system that fragments responsibility until it disappears. Unless this system is challenged, similar disasters will keep playing out in coastal waters, with little hope for justice or meaningful accountability.
At the same time, such tragedies test not only our systems of rescue and recovery but also our sense of fairness, proportion, and justice.
The contrast in societal, legal, and media response to such events reveals a disquieting inconsistency in how accountability is perceived—and demanded—depending on the domain of disaster.
In the MSC ELSA-3 case, India's directorate general of shipping (DGS) promptly invoked provisions under the Merchant Shipping Act, 1958, launching a statutory investigation aligned with IMO's Casualty Investigation Code.
Pollution control and salvage efforts began swiftly. Nonetheless, public anger surged. Kerala Police filed criminal cases under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS). The high court questioned why arrests hadn't been made.
Demands arose to apply international oil pollution laws—even though such conventions don't govern container vessels.
Now contrast this with the Air India Dreamliner crash. No FIRs were filed.
No pilot's family was harassed. The ministry of civil aviation launched an ICAO-compliant probe. Public debate remained within the bounds of regulatory procedure.
The US handling of the Baltimore bridge collapse offers a further contrast. Despite major loss and global media coverage, there was no rush to criminalise the incident. A factual investigation was led by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), consistent with IMO protocols.
Only after evidence emerged did the US department of justice weigh criminal action.
India, too, is a party to multiple international conventions. The law is clear. The Merchant Shipping Act outlines a well-established process for marine casualty investigations. Internationally, the IMO framework is built on objectivity, fairness, and due process. Short-circuiting that process to satisfy public sentiment erodes global confidence in India's maritime administration. Investigations must be about finding facts—not scapegoats.
The writer is a senior official with the shipping ministry. The views expressed are personal. Identity has been withheld on request
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