Ever since the outbreak of armed ethnic conflict in the early 1980s, Sri Lanka has remained under intense scrutiny for its human rights record – both on and off the battlefield. It is an open secret that the ‘war’ was a convenient cover for all manner of abusive acts, from the imposition of draconian legislation with political motives to settling personal scores, including and not limited to media witch hunts that have led to the murder of journalists, almost all of which remain unresolved to date.

With the continuing intervention of the Sri Lankan diaspora in the West in particular and human rights watchdogs in general, the spotlight on alleged human rights violations, wartime atrocities, and the plight of the Tamil population in war-affected areas has never truly faded. For every government that has held office over the past few decades, this issue has remained a persistent thorn in the flesh – one that no administration has dared, or cared enough, to resolve once and for all.

For nearly five decades, successive governments have ridden waves of public sentiment – consequently both winning and losing elections – made grand declarations, and authored countless reports and commissions, all of which have counted for little, if at all. But the lived reality in the war-affected north and east remains largely unchanged. Most notably, there has been no meaningful resolution for the families of the thousands who are still classified as ‘missing’ or ‘disappeared’ – a scar that continues to fester in the national conscience.

At the last General Elections of November 2024, something remarkable happened. The Tamil electorate in the north and east, long loyal to its own ethnic parties, took an extraordinary leap of faith. Rejecting their traditional political representatives, they placed their trust in the National People’s Power (NPP), which as a result swept into Parliament with a commanding 159 seats. The message was loud and clear: people were exhausted by the empty rhetoric of the past. They sought a new political culture, one that promised sincerity, urgency, and, most importantly, action.

But just six months after that clean sweep in November, hope has noticeably diminished. The Local Government Elections in May 2025 saw a dramatic reversal: the same northern and eastern voters who had embraced the NPP returned to their former parties. Why? Because these people had been there, done that, and were all too familiar with the signs: the NPP was becoming yet another government long on promises and short on delivery. It seems that love has turned to hate all too soon, with even the NPP’s Fisheries Minister being chased away by angry mobs while on a field visit in the north just last week.

This political pendulum reflects the growing frustration of communities that have waited too long, suffered too deeply, and been betrayed too often. Their pain cannot be papered over with platitudes or policy proposals that never leave the drawing board. Healing demands more than hollow empathy; it demands action, accountability, and, above all, the political will to confront uncomfortable truths.

It is in this context that the recent four-day visit by United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk assumes significance. From 23 to 26 June, Türk met with a cross-section of Sri Lanka’s new political dispensation: President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya, several key ministers, members of the Judiciary, and civil society representatives from across the country. His presence in the country – the first visit by a UN Human Rights Commissioner in almost a decade – brought with it international attention and, perhaps, hope for the long-stalled reconciliation process.

But herein lies the irony: for all the high-level meetings, warm diplomatic language, and glowing acknowledgements of Government “intentions,” the issues on the table in 2025 remain eerily similar to those discussed nearly a decade ago. The recurring themes of accountability for wartime as well as post-war atrocities, reparations for victims, reforming draconian laws like the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), and establishing credible justice mechanisms have been doing the rounds in the corridors of power long before the guns fell silent in 2009. And yet, 16 years after the war, the country is still mired in debate, with few real outcomes to show. Sri Lanka has not merely failed to close the chapter on its ethnic conflict – something it should have done years ago – but has failed to even begin writing the conclusion.

The President has been praised by Türk for publicly acknowledging the pain and grief experienced by communities across ethnic lines. Such gestures, while symbolically significant, are only meaningful if they are the precursor to substantive change. The Tamil community in particular and others in general like the Wickrematunge and Eknaligoda families do not need more poetic speeches. They need answers, justice, and closure. The Government’s stated commitments of repealing oppressive laws like the PTA and Online Safety Act, advancing the rights of marginalised communities, launching anti-corruption drives, and building institutions for reconciliation are commendable goals. But where is the urgency to implement them?

The NPP came to power riding a wave of popular discontent over decades of corruption, impunity, institutional decay, and unfulfilled promises on human rights. It promised a break from the past. The loss of the north and east electorate at the last poll is an indication that the time is ripe to walk the talk. For instance, while reopening investigations into emblematic cases such as the Easter Sunday bombings is a positive step, it has lost the trust of the people by failing to reveal the masterminds by its own deadline of 21 April. While the nation continues to await that revelation, the Government must go further. It must prove that Sri Lanka can finally handle accountability at home, without prompting from Geneva or New York.

The experience of the Office on Missing Persons and the Office for Reparations shows just how difficult it is to walk the talk. These bodies have been hamstrung by lack of funding, political interference, and, in some cases, outright public distrust. Without independence and clout, they will remain what many fear they already are: window dressing for international audiences.

Türk, in his closing remarks to the media, expressed a “deep sense of hope”. But he also subtly underscored the long shadow of the past. He noted that domestic accountability mechanisms had repeatedly failed to inspire trust, forcing victims to turn to the international community for justice. His office continues to gather and preserve evidence of violations – an effort that speaks volumes about the credibility gap between the State and its citizens. 

If the NPP regime is serious about rebuilding trust, it must urgently introduce legislative reforms, starting with perhaps the repealing of the PTA and abolishing the Online Safety Act, which it promised to do pre-election, and which the High Commissioner too reminded in his remarks to the media. Additionally, it must ensure justice for emblematic cases like the Easter Sunday attacks and post-war extrajudicial killings – not just as symbolic victories but as foundations for public trust as well.

The real tragedy is that, since 2009, Sri Lanka has had countless opportunities to show the world what transitional justice looks like. It could have been a global example of how a post-conflict nation heals itself: through reconciliation and institutional reform. Instead, it has allowed political expediency to trump moral responsibility and the likes of Türk to take the moral high ground.

The international community cannot and should not interfere in what is essentially a domestic matter despite attempts to the contrary by the diaspora community. The burden in its entirety lies with the Sri Lankan State and its leaders. The people have been waiting long enough. Every year that passes without answers for the disappeared, without justice for the victims which includes dozens of journalists and the Easter Sunday terror attacks, and without reforms that guarantee non-recurrence leads to further loss of hope and, by extension, loss of trust in the regime.

The NPP must decide, urgently and unequivocally, what kind of government it wants to be. It cannot wear the mantle of reform while clinging to the strategies of its predecessors. Governance is not merely about surviving international scrutiny; it is about serving those who have placed their trust in it – many as a last resort.