For decades, Ranil Wickremesinghe was known by a simple moniker: Mr. Clean. It symbolised the image of a politician untouched by the scandals and excesses that engulfed many of his contemporaries. That image, however, began to crack in 2015 with the infamous Central Bank bond scam. Although the scandal unfolded under his watch as Prime Minister, no direct action has ever been instituted against him. Still, the taint lingered, and the nickname slowly faded into memory.
Yet Wickremesinghe’s career is not one defined by scandals alone. Six times Prime Minister, countless times Leader of the Opposition, and finally, in one of history’s strangest ironies, the ‘accidental President’ who inherited office after the ‘Aragalaya’ threw out Gotabaya Rajapaksa, his political journey is extraordinary by any measure. For half a century, Wickremesinghe has been both survivor and strategist, a man who turned political misfortune into renewed opportunity. But the latest challenge before him, his incarceration over allegations of misusing public funds to attend his wife’s convocation, may prove the defining test of his legacy.
For a man who has never in his career accepted the perks of office and famously refused vehicle permits and even bequeathed his personal residence to his alma mater, Royal College, to be branded a criminal for what is essentially the unavoidable overlap of personal and public life must be a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, beyond the personal humiliation lies a much larger story: the dangerous precedent being set – the perception of selective justice, and the political gamble the ruling National People’s Power (NPP) has embarked upon.
The Wickremesinghe arrest is not merely about one man. It represents the opening of a Pandora’s box with consequences that extend far beyond the individual. By prosecuting a former Head of State for an action arguably indistinguishable from the everyday realities of life, the Government has blurred the line between legitimate accountability and political vendetta.
But what is even more striking is that the very party that once demanded closure and justice for the sins of others, now risks unleashing scrutiny upon its own unexamined past. The President’s recent trip to Germany, widely whispered in political circles as a personal engagement allegedly conducted with full use of State resources, already mirrors the accusations levelled against Wickremesinghe. Helicopter rides for allegedly private purposes have added fuel to the fire. The law cannot be selectively applied without destroying its very foundation. What is unfolding before us, however, appears to be precisely that.
Sri Lanka is no stranger to selective justice. In 1971, when the first Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) insurgency erupted, thousands of insurgents were rounded up and imprisoned under Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s Government. It was J.R. Jayewardene, upon assuming the new executive presidency in 1978, who released them, promising a “dharmishta” society. But those released soon bit the hand that freed them, launching a far bloodier second insurrection in 1987. That uprising, lasting nearly three years, claimed tens of thousands of lives and caused the destruction of State property worth billions of rupees.
Yet, unlike in 1971, no government since has held the architects of the ’87-’89 insurgency accountable. The blood and destruction of that era were quietly swept under the carpet, while the actors behind the violence rebranded themselves and entered politics. Fast forward to today, and the irony could not be sharper. Wickremesinghe is dragged to court and prosecuted by a regime whose own history is stained with unaddressed accountability. The moral dissonance is staggering.
If the arrest was meant to demonstrate that no one is above the law, it has instead exposed how politicised the system has become. Days before Wickremesinghe was taken into custody, a well-known YouTuber – a close associate of the President – openly predicted the arrest in precise detail. The activist in question had already courted controversy when the regime had allegedly accorded him State security, citing unnamed threats. His advance knowledge of the arrest has cast a long shadow over the entire process. Far from appearing as an independent exercise of law, the arrest now looks like the enactment of a script predetermined in the corridors of political power.
Legal experts have argued that such unsolicited statements could amount to contempt of court, given the implication that judicial outcomes were decided even before proceedings began. Whether or not that is the case, the damage to public perception is undeniable. The very notion of equal justice has been undermined even though the Minister of Public Security declared in Parliament minutes after the arrest that the law is being applied equally to all.
Yet, reality tells a different story. There are at least five serving ministers currently facing serious allegations from corruption to abuse of office. Investigations into these cases appear to be moving at a snail’s pace, if at all. Intriguingly, not a word is being spoken about the visa scam, said to be many times the value of the bond scam, while the Easter Sunday attacks mystery remains unresolved and all manner of allegations against the previous Rajapaksa administrations languish in limbo.
Against this backdrop, the swiftness with which Wickremesinghe was pursued only deepens the suspicion that the objective seems political, not judicial. To make matters worse, the complaint originated barely three months ago from an official serving in the Presidential Secretariat, with the long arm of the law working at lightning speed. Justice cannot be selective, for, if it is not blind, it is not justice at all.
It appears that the Government may have miscalculated the political fallout of the arrest, with the potential for Wickremesinghe as a catalyst on the rise. Far from discrediting the man, the arrest has paradoxically revitalised his prospects. Sympathy is flowing his way, even from quarters that once criticised him. The fractured Opposition suddenly has a figure around whom to rally. The ‘accidental President’ may now transform into the ‘accidental unifier.’
For a regime struggling with eroding popularity – the President won office with just 42% support and the recent local polls showed the NPP’s popularity slipping – this is dangerous territory. Rather than neutralising an opponent, the Government may have handed Wickremesinghe his greatest political opportunity yet.
Perhaps the most dangerous outcome of this episode is the precedent it sets for the presidency itself. By its very nature, the office of the president cannot be separated into private and public halves. From the moment an individual assumes that role, their life ceases to be private. Security, travel, and even personal movements are governed by State machinery. The President’s Security Division (PSD) has no discretion to abandon the head of State at a ‘private’ event; its presence is mandatory and the cost unavoidable.
If Wickremesinghe is accused of misusing public property because his security detail accompanied him to a ‘private event,’ then every president – past, present, and future – must face the same music. By criminalising an unavoidable overlap, the Government has effectively weaponised the presidency. Each individual who holds that office now lives under the shadow that their personal actions, however innocuous, could one day be constituted as a crime. Needless to say, it strips the dignity of the highest office in the land and reduces it to a position perpetually vulnerable to political revenge.
The arrest of Ranil Wickremesinghe will be remembered not merely as a personal humiliation but as a turning point in Sri Lanka’s political trajectory. It has exposed the fragility of the rule of law, the dangers of selective justice, and the recklessness of political short-termism. By turning accountability into a political weapon, the Government has invited scrutiny of its own actions, past and present. It has unwittingly resurrected a politician whose days were over but now stands poised to unite the fractured Opposition. And most dangerously, it has undermined the sanctity of the presidency itself, leaving future leaders at the mercy of political vendettas disguised as justice.
No country can build a future on selective justice. Either the law applies equally to all, or it is reduced to the plaything of those in power. In choosing the latter, the Government appears to have gambled recklessly not just with Wickremesinghe’s fate, but with the very integrity of the republic.