Some observations on the “Safety Investigation Report of the Grounding of MV Wakashio… on July 25, 2020”, published by the Maritime Affairs Investigation Department (MAID) of the Merchant Marine General Directorate, Panama Maritime Authority (PMA), on 18 July 2023.

Flooding in the engine room was spotted within 1 hour of grounding, confirming observations made within a day or two by local activist Bruneau Laurette* and contradicting assurances by the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO), apparently based on reports from salvors Smit, that the ship was stable and not damaged.

Yet on p22 (communications of 16 August) we’re told:

“The operators... [informed] us [ie MAID] that as far as they know there was never any entry of water anywhere on the ship”. This statement comes three weeks after the identification of water ingress! Well before 16/8, photos similar to those on pp35-36 of the report had been published by Mauritian media (maybe also on shipping websites) that clearly showed water in the engine room. (Incidentally, Figures 18 to 25 are missing from Section 4.5.)

On 26/7, MAID learnt of the grounding from a third party, HIS Markit, not from the ship or the Mauritian authorities. The Shipping Dept only officially informed Panama of the grounding on 28 July, more than 2 days after the event.

On 3/8, MAID learnt of the hull crack and pollution from international media, not from the Mauritian authorities, the operator or the salvor.

On 10/8, MAID learnt from a third party that the captain and crew had disembarked and were in a hotel, not from the Mauritian authorities or the operator.

Also on 10/8, MAID asked the operator for the VDR and was told that the Captain had been ordered to hand it over to Smit, the salvor. It emailed the Mauritian authorities for a variety of info, including the VDR, but the Mauritian Deputy Maritime Director only replied on 13 August, ie 3 days later, saying the VDR card had not yet been downloaded.

In other words, it took 17-19 days for the Mauritian authorities to get hold of the VDR themselves. The reason for this delay seems to have been that they believed they needed permission from the shipowner/operator to board the ship. This was nonsense, because the country’s Merchant Shipping Act makes it clear that not only does the Director of Shipping or their appointee not require permission from anyone to board a wrecked ship in Mauritian waters, but it is an absolute requirement to board the casualty and recover papers, equipment and other evidence at the earliest safe opportunity.

By 17/8, the VDR was in the custody of the Mauritius Police Force (MPF) and someone – presumably in the PMO – determined that the country’s criminal case against the captain and first officer should take precedence over the flag state’s investigation of the accident.

A crucial passage is on p15: “In regards on obtaining the VDR data, the PMA was unable to get the equipment’s data from the owners of the vessel or from the Mauritius Authorities, since the Master and Chief Officer crew was in a criminal complaint. Many times the PMA tried to request such information from the Mauritius Maritime Authority; however, they were not authorized to provide the VDR, since it was in the custody of the Mauritius Police.”

Captain Nandeshwar and Chief Officer Tilakaratna pleaded guilty to the charge of endangering safe navigation on 20 Dec 2021, after which there can have been no reason for the MPF and/or Director of Public Prosecutions to hold on to the VDR and its data. Yet 18 months later – and nearly 3 years after the accident – we don’t know where the VDR and extracted data are or even if they still exist.

For local people, the worst aspect of the Wakashio accident – the one that turned it from a curiosity into a disaster – was of course the oil pollution of the lagoon and the coastline and its effect not only on the environment but also on the livelihoods of the fishermen and those engaged in tourism-related activities. They are still badly affected today – Mahébourg has not yet fully recovered socially or economically.

Once the ship had embedded itself on the reef, break-up of the ship and spillage of bunkers may have been inevitable. What was avoidable was the extent of pollution damage. Materials held at the port were insufficient and it was alleged by a whistleblower that much of what was in store there was not used, or not used until too late. The country’s Pollution Response Plan only envisaged dealing with a small spill in port, not hundreds of tonnes of fuel oil in the lagoon and next to the open sea. A local media report claimed that requests for help to better-supplied Réunion (Mauritius’ nearest neighbour) were made not by the Ministry of Environment or any government body but by an unknown person who had hacked into the government’s email account and sent a plea to the President of Réunion (who responded straight away). Meanwhile, the government threatened to prosecute the person responsible!

Bruneau Laurette*, a Mauritian-born maritime security professional who prior to the Covid pandemic had worked in Kenya, became a key figure in the Wakashio aftermath. An experienced diver, he made his own unofficial underwater survey of the ship shortly after it grounded and identified that there was damage to the hull. He organised what turned out to be the country’s biggest demonstration since independence in 1968, amounting to 100,000 people (almost one-tenth of the entire population) peacefully expressing their anger at the government’s handling of the affair and lack of transparency. Laurette is currently on bail on a drugs-smuggling charge and is banned from receiving foreign calls on his phone. It is widely believed that Laurette was framed by the MPF’s notorious Special Striking Team, which is often accused of targeting critics of the government.

The lack of honesty by, and transparency within, government about the incident created profound and lasting distrust and gave rise to speculation and outlandish conspiracy theories. Many of these were spread by Nishan Degnarain (now described as “former contributor”) writing in Forbes Magazine. His articles showed a profound hostility towards, and lack of understanding of, the shipping industry and the IMO. Many of these themes were seized on by other media outlets, especially those covering environmental matters.  

In Mauritius, the popular theory – which I suspect many people still believe – is that Wakashio came close to shore to deliver drugs. Admittedly, Mauritius does have a massive illegal drug problem, but no smuggler in their right mind would choose to deliberately drive a vast bulk carrier on to the reef, quite possibly risking the lives of all on board, just to drop off a few bags of coke or heroin. The main routes into the country for drugs are via the port or in small, fast speedboats coming from Madagascar. The government did not challenge these fanciful scenarios, which served to distract attention from its own failings. Even vessels involved in salvage were accused of being part of the Wakashio drugs-smuggling conspiracy, as they made supposedly inexplicable visits to the west coast where, the Forbesians would have us believe, high-up government members had their distribution networks. The truth was more mundane: they anchored off the west coast because that’s the lee side of the island and a convenient spot for reaching onshore accommodation or for resupplying.

Particular popular anger and media animosity was directed at Panama as the flag state, which doubtless explains its lengthy detailing of the communications timeline in its report. The report does seem to show that for much of the time Panama, charterer MOL and owner Nagashiki did not really know what was going on and hence were unusually tight-lipped (even allowing for the shipping industry’s habitual reluctance to explain its activities to the outside world).

The actual cause of the accident is easy enough to ascertain, even without the VDR data. It was common knowledge well before any official reports were issued, as comments by crew members were widely reported in the Mauritian media. However, Tilakaratna’s reasoning for failing to alter a clearly disastrous course never seems to have been probed, nor was his working and personal relationships with the Master. It’s said that Nandeshwar trusted his chief officer, but it’s unclear whether the reverse was true. In the Court of Investigation, the testimony of the two men varied in some important respects, with Tilakaratna trying to put all the blame on the captain, even though he was actually off-duty at the time. In the Court of Investigation transcripts he came across as a rather sullen and resentful individual, in contrast to Nandeshwar, who was, according to one of my contacts (an Indian national), well liked for his considerate treatment of his crews.

How neither of them spotted, even on that inappropriately scaled chart, that they were too close to shore is a mystery to me – one glance out of the window would have shown them the lights of Mahébourg and the old lighthouse at Ile aux Fouquets. The line of the reef can be seen from shore, even at dusk unless it’s very misty (which it wasn’t), and the white breakers ought to have been clearly visible to anyone paying attention from high up on the ship.  

Nandeshwar certainly deserved censure for allowing unsafe practices, albeit for a humane reason during the extended tours of duty that Covid imposed on crew members and difficulty in calling home to loved ones. As a UK maritime lawyer pointed out, by diverting off the agreed route for no pressing commercial or safety reason, the ship was probably in breach of the terms of the charterparty – and MOL told me that it had no prior knowledge of any such diversion. The Master should at least have insisted on sensible precautions – another lookout and proper charts would have been a start. He did slow down, but only to extend time near the wifi signal, not for safety of navigation! And allowing the C/O as navigator to use his mobile and to permit others to be on the bridge and potentially distract his attention while the ship was passing so close to known dangers (the reef is clearly marked on tourist maps) was unacceptable.

Even if the ship had managed to scrape (perhaps literally) past the reef, it would have passed through the Blue Bay Marine Protected Area (forbidden to all ships) and then hit the reef at Le Bouchon immediately beyond – exactly where Benita came to grief. So once Tilakaratna took his eye, or at least his mind, off the job, the ship was doomed.

There was, though, a chance of averting an accident had the NCG spotted the ship was off-course and alerted it in time. That is its job, after all. Yet, no-one was disciplined for the disastrous neglect of onshore watchkeeping. The failure of ship-shore communications was first blamed on the Master being drunk and then was quietly brushed under the carpet. Yet exactly the same sort of difficulties were experienced by both Benita in 2016 and Tresta Star (which ironically was involved in the Wakashio cleanup) in 2022.

Post-incident response was lamentable and made a bad situation far worse. The behaviour of the NCG, MPF, Mauritius Ports Authority, the Environment Ministry, Fisheries Ministry, the Prime Minister’s Office (prime-ministerial mouthpiece Ken Arian) and the Prime Minister himself was deplorable. Calls to the NCG/MRCC and Shipping Department by Benita, Wakashio and Tresta Star were all ignored for hours. Urgent requests for information from the flag went unanswered for days. The concept of urgency seems entirely alien to the country’s emergency responders. The statements put out to the press were often misleading, partial or downright untrue. Government and police attempts to bully and threaten those who were working hard to mitigate the unfolding pollution catastrophe were obnoxious.

But why does this matter? The incident itself was really only an extreme outcome of all-too-common problems:

• poor planning and risk assessment (don’t go near shore if you haven’t got a decent chart)
• distraction on the bridge (mobile phone and people who shouldn’t have been there)
• lack of basic watchkeeping (didn’t look out of the window).

Sadly, we’ve seen each of these many times before, though rarely with such severe consequences. Whether this constitutes “overconfidence” in Panama’s words is debatable; it’s surely a matter of one or more of carelessness, unprofessionalism, poor seamanship.

Behind it was the failure of Nagashiki and/or MOL to provide a simple, affordable crew benefit: a crew calling plan. Lack of crew calling facilities were a contributory factor in Oiler Taton’s sense of isolation and resentment, which suddenly and violently manifested itself to such disastrous effect on Benita in 2016. Imagine: TWO groundings of bulkers within 2.5nm of each other, 4 years apart, which might have been avoided if only crew members had been able to call home! If that isn’t a lesson to be learned, I don’t know what is. However much it costs a shipowner/operator to subscribe to one of these plans, it’s going to be a lot cheaper than replacing a ship.

In concentrating on the onboard shortcomings (which is what the Mauritian authorities want us to do), there’s a risk we neglect the serious onshore failings. One way of addressing them would be to subject port/coastal states to the same sort of grading as flags. If Mauritius were a British school, I fear it would be in the Inadequate category; if considered like a flag state it would be Grey-listed at best.

We shouldn’t have to wait until a succession of accidents happen and aren’t handled properly to know that a coastal state’s equipment and procedures aren’t up to standard. We shouldn’t have to wait until lives are lost to know that there’s no proper management of territorial waters, a lack of maritime emergency response capability and inadequate communications. Ship operators’ risk assessment is necessarily limited to the reports of agents and ad hoc experiences and hearsay from ships that call into certain ports - not consistent, not reliable and not much use to ships merely transiting their waters.

Proper assessment of coastal states shouldn’t be seen as merely a stick to be beat those that only achieve “Inadequate” status. If failings are known, then action can be taken, help and expertise offered. For example, more could and should be done to protect Mauritius and other vulnerable island states within environmentally sensitive waters. The waters around Mauritius should be declared a Particularly Sensitive Sea Area, which would be closed to commercial ship transits. I believe one or two tentative moves have been made to look into that option. Given the amount of shipping passing close to the islands of the western Indian Ocean and the likelihood of another major accident within two or three years, a PSSA for Mauritius ought to be fast-tracked through IMO.

In many ways, Wakashio was a lucky escape for Mauritius. It could have been so much worse. Had a laden oil tanker or chemical carrier hit the reef – and many of them pass this way – the environmental effects and harm to human health could have been unimaginable. Had it been a cruise ship carrying its full complement of crew and passengers, it’s hard to know what might have happened, though Costa Concordia’s appointment with the rocks of Giglio gives us a fair idea. Mauritius does not have a functioning maritime rescue service worthy of the name. The country, and the ships that serve Port Louis port and those that transit the seas nearby, need something like the UK’s volunteer-crewed lifeboat service, complete with purpose-built all-weather fast rescue craft. The NCG’s fast boats aren’t robust enough to handle heavy seas, the helicopter can’t fly at night, the coastguard vessels take hours to start up. The professional capability of some NCG personnel is said to be poor. None of this is good enough for such a heavily trafficked, high-risk area.

Nor are communications good enough: too slow, too bureaucratic, insufficiently responsive. It’s essential that the NCG and the MPA understand the need for fast, accurate decision-making in an emergency. A hierarchical, deferential culture doesn’t work in an emergency. We were told that an NCG officer could not ask for assistance from the Commander directly but had to go through a time-consuming series of steps to escalate the request to a succession of senior officers. As some weren’t answering their telephones, that ‘ladder’ approach probably explains the exceedingly slow and unsatisfactory replies Panama received to its questions. In my experience, Mauritian organisations tend to ban decision-making by any but personnel at the highest level, eg MD, CEO. This stifles initiative, reduces commitment and slows responsiveness to glacial speed. It contrasts unfavourably with the much shorter, and therefore more efficient, lines of communication in Seychelles’ maritime sector.

These problems are surely not unique to Mauritius, however. The lessons to be learned extend far beyond the bridge of Wakashio. They need to penetrate into the offices of ship managers and owners, the onshore bodies charged with maritime safety and security, the control rooms of coastguards and the inner sanctums of port authorities and shipping directorates.

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<h3>Bio express</h3>

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<p>Stephen Spark&#39;s Bio express interest in <em>Wakashio</em> is that he has been visiting the country regularly for the past 23 years. Maritime journalist specialised in the Indian Ocean region and maritime safety &amp; security and magazine and book editor, shipping casualties in the region are of interest to him. He covered the stories of <em>Angel 1</em> off Poudre d&#39;Or, <em>Benita</em> off Le Bouchon and <em>Wakashio</em> &quot;even closer to home at Pointe d&#39;Esny&quot; &ndash; an area he knows very well. The pollution and damage inflicted on the local community felt very personal to him, even from 6,000 miles away, especially as most of the neighbours around his wife&#39;s home there are fishermen.</p>