In recent years, few novels have sparked as much global discussion on money, power, and influence as Trust by the Argentine-American writer Hernan Diaz. At the heart of the novel lies a disturbing question: does money merely shape reality, or does it eventually create its own version of the truth? In Sri Lanka today, one could be forgiven for asking the same question when discussions turn to the future of the Employees’ Provident Fund (EPF). There are many mirrors through which the public may judge the character of the Government. A transparent, accountable, and people-centred mechanism for the EPF is undoubtedly one of them. The reason is simple. The EPF is not merely another public institution; it is the country’s largest pool of workers’ savings, and perhaps, more importantly, a measure of how sincerely a Government safeguards the future of ordinary citizens.
In many ways, the EPF is a modern expression of that same wisdom. Established through Parliamentary Legislation in 1958, it is essentially a compulsory future-saving mechanism for workers. There is a difference. Here, the saver does not hold the savings. The Government does. Workers contribute. The State manages. Experts strategise. Returns are promised. Risks are often invisible.
Over time, this became a highly technical game played quietly under the logic of an open economy. Ordinary workers rarely entered the conversation. Perhaps that is why left-oriented political movements repeatedly raised concerns about the safety, accountability, and responsible use of the Fund. This naturally raises a timely question. Is the present Government, led by the National People’s Power (NPP), on the correct track? Recently, the writer had an opportunity to attend a consultation on the EPF reform process organised by Verité Research and the Law and Society Trust.
A brilliant firewall, built to be bypassed
The introduction of the EPF Act, No. 15 of 1958, is undoubtedly a revolutionary milestone in Sri Lanka’s labour history. Enacted under Prime Minister Solomon West Ridgeway Dias Bandaranaike’s administration, it came into operation on 1 June 1958. The pioneer of this progressive Legislation was none other than Navaratne Rajakaruna Wasala Mudiyanselage Tikiri Bandara Ilangaratne, who was then serving as the Labour, Housing, and Social Services Minister, the very same Minister who went on to establish the People’s Bank and several other foundational State entities that continue to serve all Sri Lankans to this day.
To keep this unprecedented mountain of citizens' wealth safe from political overreach or bureaucratic failure, the 1958 Legislature engineered a brilliant institutional firewall. Instead of placing the keys to the vault in a single hand, the law split the burden of trust down the middle. On the one side stands the Labour Department, acting as the administrative guardian. It handles the human element, registering millions of workers, tracking employer compliance, and ensuring that hard-earned claims are legally processed. On the other side sits the financial engine room: The Central Bank. Mandated with the strict custody and investment of a multi-trillion-Rupee asset base, it carries the fiduciary weight of making those savings grow securely against the tide of inflation. It was designed as a flawless system of checks and balances: one Department protects the worker, while the other protects the wealth.
To understand the size of the EPF, one simple comparison is enough. By last year (2025), the total asset value of the Fund had reached nearly Rs 4.94 trillion. That is roughly 15 per cent of the gross domestic product. In simple terms, this is not just another State fund. It is an economic giant sitting quietly in the corner. More importantly, this giant stands on the shoulders of nearly 2.9 million contributing members. Ordinary workers. Factory employees. Office staff. Hotel workers. Drivers. Security guards. People who wake up early, work hard, and silently contribute to a future that they hope will be safer than their present.
Because of its size, the EPF is not only an economic instrument. It is also a deeply political object. Almost every year, some controversy emerges over how the Fund has been managed, invested, or quietly manipulated. Political parties shout. Economists argue. Trade unions protest. Then somehow, silence returns. Interestingly, even the Ruling Party, the NPP, used the EPF issue as part of its campaign narrative. Their criticism was simple: successive Governments had treated the EPF less like workers’ savings and more like a convenient financial playground for politically connected interests.
The irony is hard to miss. According to the International Labour Organisation, the EPF falls under what is called “lifecycle social protection.” In theory, it is meant to protect citizens across life stages and offer financial security in the later years. In practice however, many Sri Lankans may reasonably ask whether the Fund itself has been adequately protected.
This is where the work of researchers becomes uncomfortable and important. A researcher at Verité Research, Shalomi Liyanage presents findings that should make any citizen pause. According to Verité's newest Spotlight episode, between 1998 and 2019, Government-linked investments of EPF Funds in the stock market resulted in estimated losses of nearly Rs 10 billion. Then came another chapter. Between January 2002 and February 2015, EPF-related bond transactions reportedly resulted in a further Rs. 10 billion in losses.
When the judge and the accused are the same person
Now comes the fascinating part.Sri Lankans still remember the famous Central Bank bond scam of 2015. It dominated headlines. Political stages caught fire. Television debates ran endlessly. Since it looked very much like what people called “daylight robbery”, the then President Maithripala Yapa Sirisena appointed a Presidential Commission. The Commission later recommended a forensic audit. And yes, a forensic audit was eventually conducted. But here comes the twist worthy of a village teledrama.
Despite all the noise, controversy, and public anger, the final forensic audit findings of the Central Bank reportedly contained not a single word on the bond scam. At that point, one cannot help but remember a famous Sri Lankan saying: "Naduth Hamuduruwange, Baduth Hamuduruwange (The judge and the accused are somehow the same person)”. The institution under question gets to assess itself. It would be funny if it were not so expensive. A considerable portion of EPF money was also caught in that bond deal. And, this is only one story. Similar concerns continue to emerge through research by Verité, Parliamentary committee discussions, and scattered public reports. Piece by piece, a larger question quietly appears:
Perhaps this is why many Sri Lankan voters increasingly speak about the need for an honest Government. Not for slogans. Not for political theatre. But simply to allow an independent forensic audit of the EPF, free from political favour and institutional self-protection. Another layer of protection is also possible. The EPF Act itself can be revisited. Laws, after all, are not sacred monuments. They are living tools. When times change, weaknesses appear. Smart countries adjust.
When silence returns, the money stays gone
Sri Lanka has already seen attempts in this direction. Former Parliamentarian, President’s Counsel Mathiaparanan Abraham Sumanthiran submitted a Private Member's Bill in the Ninth Parliament proposing reforms. The pathways exist. If the NPP lacks the appetite to draft afresh, the previous Bill is already there. They can use it. They can go beyond it. What is missing is not legislation. It is will.
Looking at the long and complicated story of the EPF, one uncomfortable thought lingers. Whether Diaz had Sri Lanka in mind when he wrote Trust, we cannot say. One wonders. Because here, in this island, money has long created its own truth, quietly, efficiently, and at the expense of nearly three million workers who asked for nothing more than a secure tomorrow. The EPF is not an abstraction. It is their future. And that future deserves better than silence.
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication