At 78 years of independence, Sri Lanka stands as a nation rich in potential yet chronically poor in direction. Sri Lanka’s is not a story of innate failure; it is, rather, a story of squandered opportunity. Few post-colonial societies inherited a population as educated, healthy, and administratively capable as Sri Lanka did in 1948, second only to Japan in the whole of Asia. Fewer still possessed such strategic geography, fertile land, and human capital.
And yet, nearly eight decades on, the country continues to oscillate between crisis and recovery, never quite breaking free from a cycle of economic fragility, political distrust, and social fragmentation. The tragedy is not that Sri Lanka has struggled, but that it has struggled unnecessarily.
The promise of independence was never merely political freedom. It was the promise of economic self-determination, social justice, and national reconciliation. Nearly eight decades later, that promise remains unfulfilled. While Sri Lanka succeeded early in delivering literacy, healthcare, and public administration, it failed to build a durable national vision capable of surviving electoral change. Instead, each incoming government has treated policy as a partisan possession rather than a national inheritance.
What one administration painstakingly constructs, the next dismantles, often not because it is flawed, but because it belongs to a political rival. The result has been a nation perpetually dragged back to square one, condemned to repeat its mistakes rather than learn from them. This absence of a coherent national policy framework has been devastating. It has stifled long-term investment, fuelled internal conflict, and opened the door for external interference. Sri Lanka’s civil war and two insurrections were not merely ideological clashes; they were symptoms of a deeper failure to manage diversity, distribute opportunity, and articulate a shared future.
In the vacuum created by inconsistent policy and weak institutions, vested interests – both domestic and foreign – found fertile ground. Intervention and manipulation that were done covertly through diplomatic pressure or political manipulation for the longest time is now done openly through economic leverage. Sovereignty is no longer compromised by tanks or troops, but by contracts, loans, and procurement deals. That is the depth of Sri Lanka’s descent, and it is the price of decades of indecision and lack of vision.
The irony today is that the current administration has largely adhered to the economic course of its predecessor not out of conviction, but out of compulsion. The International Monetary Fund now functions as Sri Lanka’s de facto policy anchor, imposing discipline where domestic politics failed. This may have stabilised the economy in the short term, but it has also exposed the humiliating truth that Sri Lanka lacks the autonomy to chart its own path. It becomes even more humiliating when a Marxist regime depends on the IMF for policy.
Nowhere is this crisis of direction more evident than in Sri Lanka’s foreign policy conduct. Consider the curious case of the General Secretary of the JVP, who is currently in India holding discussions with the Indian Minister of External Affairs. He holds no constitutional office, no Cabinet portfolio, no formal diplomatic mandate. And yet, he appears to be representing Sri Lanka at a high level.
This is not an isolated incident, but part of a troubling pattern since the NPP assumed office. The public is entitled to ask, in what capacity is a party official representing the State? What authority has empowered him to do so, and crucially, what State resources – if any – are being deployed in this exercise?
These questions strike at the heart of governance. A party that rose to power on the promise of transparency, accountability, and ethical use of public funds cannot afford ambiguity in matters of national importance. If State resources are being used, the public must know under what legal framework. If they are not, then the claim of ‘representing’ the country falls into the category of political theatre. Either scenario demands explanation.
The issue is rendered even more sensitive by history. The political lineage of the NPP traces back to a movement that, during the 1988-’89 insurrection, unleashed extraordinary violence against Sri Lankan youth, many of whom were targeted for the supposed crime of being sympathetic to India. That insurrection cost the country an estimated 60,000 young lives and inflicted billions of rupees in economic damage.
For decades thereafter, anti-Indian sentiment formed a central pillar of that movement’s ideological identity, with ‘Indian expansionism’ explicitly cited as a threat. If that position has now changed as current diplomatic engagements suggest, then honesty demands acknowledgment of the fact. A nation cannot be expected to forget such a traumatic chapter without at least an apology, an explanation, and a clear articulation of what has changed and why.
Transparency becomes even more imperative in light of the agreement signed with India last year, the contents of which remain hidden from public view. In a democracy, secrecy is sometimes necessary, but opacity as a habit is corrosive. Agreements with profound implications for energy, security, and economic sovereignty cannot be shielded indefinitely from scrutiny. The people have a right to know what commitments have been made in their name.
There is also an uncomfortable convergence of unresolved issues that demand attention. It was the current Cabinet Spokesman who publicly claimed that Sara Jasmine, a key suspect in the Easter Sunday terror attacks, was hiding in India. One year has passed since assurances were given that the truth would be revealed. If the General Secretary is indeed engaging Indian authorities at the highest levels, what better opportunity to seek clarity on a matter that continues to haunt the nation? Justice delayed in this case is not merely justice denied; it is a wound that is festering, eroding public trust.
Then there is the coal procurement scandal, arguably the most serious crisis faced by the NPP Government to date. It threatens to strip away the moral high ground on which the party ascended to power. The controversy centres on the supply of substandard coal to the Norochcholai power plant by an Indian company, Trident Chemphar.
Opposition parties, including the Samagi Jana Balawegaya and even ideological fellow travellers such as the Frontline Socialist Party, have raised credible allegations of procurement manipulation. Tender criteria have allegedly been altered in a manner that allowed a relatively inexperienced supplier to secure a massive national contract. Experience thresholds were lowered dramatically, raising unavoidable questions about intent.
The consequences have been severe. Electricity generation at Norochcholai has reportedly dropped by nearly 100 MW, exacerbating an already fragile power situation. Financial losses are estimated to range from Rs. 1.4 billion to as high as Rs. 10 billion when equipment damage, additional coal costs, and efficiency losses are accounted for. More troubling are allegations that laboratory reports confirming high ash content and low calorific value were withheld from the public. If true, this points to a deliberate effort to manage perception rather than confronting reality.
The environmental impact compounds the crisis. Ash levels have reportedly exceeded tender specifications by a wide margin, contributing to dangerous air quality conditions in the Puttalam District. Environmentalists have warned of long-term respiratory risks, soil contamination, and water pollution. Residents report visible fly ash settling on homes and vegetation. The silence of institutions that once spoke loudly against environmental degradation, including sections of the clergy that previously opposed the Norochcholai plant, only underscores how deeply politicised even matters of public health have become.
Faced with mounting evidence, the Government’s reluctance to launch a full-scale, independent inquiry is deeply disappointing. An administration that built its identity on anti-corruption cannot afford selective outrage. Moral authority is not claimed; it is sustained through action. Every delay, every half-measure, pushes the NPP closer to becoming indistinguishable from the political order it promised to replace.
Sri Lanka recently endured a natural disaster that inflicted immense suffering. But natural disasters, by definition, are episodic. The greater calamity facing the nation is man-made and continuous – the cumulative effect of poor decisions, ideological rigidity, policy inconsistency, and an aversion to accountability. Unlike floods or droughts, this disaster does not recede. It compounds year after year, stealing from future generations the opportunities denied to the present one.
Sri Lanka is where it is not because it lacked talent or resources but because it lacked honesty with itself. The time has come to confront that failure openly. A nation cannot move forward while pretending that yesterday’s errors were unavoidable or that today’s compromises are harmless. Economic freedom, national reconciliation, and genuine sovereignty will remain elusive until Sri Lanka commits to a clear, consistent, and transparent policy framework – one that transcends party lines and respects the intelligence of its people. Only then can the long-deferred promise of 1948 finally be redeemed.