The Seagull Software Scam - Final Article

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As many of you may know, I was keen on writing an article on the Seagull Software Scam. The piece was published on the Leisure Times magazine’s December issue. Here reproduced in full is the published article. I’ll include pictures later.

  The Seagull Scam
by: Theena Kumaragurunathan

    On the 25th of October, thousands of Sri Lankans found out that they had been victims of an elaborate internet scam. The victims were not, as initial media reports indicated, merely students looking for a fast buck; indeed entire businesses, professions and even livelihoods had, for a brief time, the Seagull Softwares Model at their core. How did such an obviously flawed system get so many people interested? Why weren’t the authorities keeping tabs on the activities of the firm? What, if anything, can we do to prevent such an occurrence from happening again? The LT set out to investigate…

Seagull Softwares first came into the consciousness of Sri Lankan society earlier this year. A series of advertisements ran in a Sunday newspaper claiming additional income in return for some simple data entry work. It had a catch though: in order to sign up for the programme, a person would have to sign up for a slot which cost Rs.6,500. Upon purchasing the slot and carrying out the data entry work, the person could then earn an income of Rs. 4000 per month thereafter. The more slots you purchased, the higher your monthly income.

The ads planted the seeds of curiosity in an unsuspecting public. Over the subsequent months, mildly interested inquiries, fuelled by word-of-mouth recommendations, turned into more and more signups. Slots were being purchased at a brisk rate. Students spent what little cash they had on buying two-three slots while the more daring businessmen bought slots in their hundreds and thousands. As one businessman I spoke to put it, “The greed for money replaced our naturally prudent decision-making.”

Kavinga and Asela have little in common. One is a recent graduate of the Moratuwa University, currently employed as a business analyst while the other is a self-employed musician and studio owner. They have never met yet they stand on extreme ends of the Seagull Effect Spectrum. They also epitomise the two groups of people – the student and the businessman – who stood to gain most from their investments.

Kavinga is unexpectedly open to my questioning, answering them with deep sincerity. “I invested Rs.13,000 (two slots) and I was paid Rs.8,000 so I basically lost around Rs.5,000 – not really a huge number when you consider that some people have lost their entire life savings”. Kavinga then proceeded to shed light into the modus operandi of Seagull Softwares: start a company with a name that is similar to an established company elsewhere in the world (There is a Seagull Software in Canada); plant the idea of easy income into the minds of cash-strapped students; create a website that looks slightly above your average run-of-the-mill website; and give them work where they don’t have to strain too much.

“As someone who has studied Information Technology, I shouldn’t have been easily convinced by this. But the data entry work that was given involved referring some reputable sites. At worst, I thought that they were a sub-contractor for a bigger company.” A month on, he is a man resigned to his fate. “As far as I am concerned the money is gone. I am thankful that I didn’t get too excited at this idea and invest more than I did. But that Rs 5,000/- stands as a lesson to me: easy money does not exist.”

Asela is just as willing to share information with me. He is, unlike Kavinga, a member of Seagull Softwares Members Community, an organization created by those who were affected by the scam. They are determined to catch the two masterminds of the scam. Therefore, as I expected, Asela had more information. His account of the events of the 23rd of October, especially, makes for disturbing reading.

“I initially got to know about Seagull Softwares after a neighbour of mine told me. I was naturally quite sceptical, but the more I investigated on the net, the more reputable this company seemed. I didn’t know then, but I was basically visiting the website of Seagull Software, a Canadian company. So I initially invested Rs.13,000 for which I got my first payment; I guess that helped quell my scepticism. Thereafter, I did my calculations, convinced that this was a good investment. I went about buying six computers, six tables and chairs and employed six girls, offering them a salary of Rs.10,000 a month. I purchased quite a number of slots too. Initially, things went quite well, but towards the end of the first month I began to realize that there was something deeply wrong, “said Asela.

Asela’s increasing misgivings were caused by a number of factors: the Seagull Softwares website crashing constantly and the trivial nature of the work being done (one had to copy details from prescribed sites and paste it into an Excel sheet) being chief amongst them.

“I would regularly visit or call their office to see what the matter was. Towards the end, I had almost daily discussions with a Mr. Rajkumar. I figured that he was just an employee, but only after the company closed did I come to know that Rajkumar was one of the directors”, recounted Asela. “Towards the end the site was interminably down. When I called them back, they would say that there was maintenance being done.” On the 23rd, Asela received a call from a friend asking him how much money he had invested. “This guy rarely calls so when he did and asked me such a question I knew things weren’t good”, adds Asela ruefully.

Asela’s friend told him that there was a group of people gathered around the Seagull Softwares building. Grabbing his video camera, Asela drove to the building himself. “There was a whole bunch of people standing out while the police had also come to cordon the area off. As the day wore on, tensions rose and, at one point, the police aimed their guns at us. I managed to photograph this.

“After that, we went into the Dehiwela Police Station to make a complaint during which time some of the employees of Seagull Softwares also walked in. They were naturally afraid of being harmed, but upon being questioned, we came to realize that they were not really aware of the scope of the operation. We asked them if the two men behind Seagull Softwares would return to the island, and one of the employees told us simply: ‘The money is still here’”.

Ashantha smiles at my immediate reaction to this revelation. “Yeah, the money is still here in the Dehiwela branch of that bank. We inquired from the bank several times, but it seems as the though the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) have now taken over the case and have specifically told the bank to not comment on such matters.”

The writer, Janwillem van de Wetering once said, “Greed is a fat demon with a small mouth and whatever you feed it is never enough.” Today, over a month after the events of that day, a billion rupees is mysteriously missing. Such words will strike a chord in Kavinga, Asela and among the thousands of others affected by this scam.

But there is a greater lesson in that quote: it is not those who hatch such devious schemes who are the demons – even if they appear so; the real demon is our collective greed for more. We, as a nation, would do well to keep these words at heart henceforth lest another Seagull lands on these shores.

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