In conclusion, the NPP’s betrayal of the oppressed is a despicable appropriation of a struggle that has spanned decades.
by Laxman Aravind
The political faction led by Anura Kumara Dissanayake has convinced itself that capturing power at this juncture is a national imperative. In doing so, many have been swept into a wave of ideological persuasion. However, it’s quite clear that the manifesto presented by the National People’s Power (NPP) is not significant in the grander scheme of things. A large portion of voters—close to ninety percent—do not engage with these documents, let alone vote based on their content. This reflects a broader societal malaise where political literacy is far from the mark.
 |
| Supporters rally behind Anura Kumara Dissanayake at a spirited NPP event in Colombo suburb. |
The JVP, traditionally known for its well-crafted ideological positions and rational discourse, appears to have deviated from its original intellectual rigor. Their recent manifesto is a far cry from the vibrant, thought-provoking texts they once produced. It is nothing more than a hollow document. This dilution in ideological clarity signifies not only the intellectual decline within the party but the broader disillusionment gripping the nation’s political landscape. Yet, this does not seem to impact the immediate electoral prospects. The real effects will become evident once power is attained, as the honeymoon fades and the populace faces the harsh realities of unmet promises. Whether or not the NPP attains power, they have successfully laid the groundwork for their eventual ascension, or at the very least, to destabilize any government that comes to power.
If one digs deeper, it is evident that the so-called revolution NPP promises is no more than a mirage. The social and economic crisis we face today will not be resolved by those who, ironically, have thrived in the current system. History is littered with examples of this delusion. The years 2015 and 2019 are recent reminders, when the people, desperate for change, merely altered the faces at the helm without altering the system itself. It’s the same scenario today: the jockeys and the horses may change, but the race remains the same.
From external pressures to internal flaws, Sri Lanka’s governance has long been shaped by forces beyond its control. The turning point came with J.R. Jayawardena’s neoliberal transformation in the late 20th century. Jayawardena, for all his faults, possessed a vision and a competent cabinet to execute it. Anura Kumara, on the other hand, lacks the same coherence. His contradictions are glaring. He promises to investigate the unresolved aspects of the Easter attacks, yet the trail leads to India, a relationship too delicate to probe deeply. His promises of foreign investments through renewable energy projects ring hollow, with Adani, a symbol of India’s corporate might, waiting in the wings. Moreover, his plans to revive the oil tanks in Trincomalee benefit no one but India. This is not a vision of economic sovereignty but an extension of India’s Akhand Bharat economic model. In this sense, Dissanayake’s grand vision for the economy is little more than a proxy for Indian ambitions, rather than a transformative shift in class power or economic restructuring.
The notion that the rise of the NPP represents a shift in power from the capitalist elite to the working class is an artful distortion of reality. Far from being a movement of the oppressed, it is a tragicomic spectacle, another chapter in the long history of post-independence political theatre in Sri Lanka.
Why do I call this a comedy (farce in Marxism)? The JVP once attempted to revolutionize society, ending in bloody failure. In the aftermath, internal conflicts festered, and betrayals flourished. Many who once rallied behind the JVP’s cause left disillusioned. The ideological hollowness at the top became evident as those in power indulged in the very luxuries they once decried. Anura, Vijitha Herath, and Sunil Handunetti are now masters of this paradox—preaching revolution while practicing deception. They have perfected the art of perpetuating the myth of the oppressed class, all the while enjoying the spoils of their betrayal.
One particularly illustrative figure is Harini Amarasuriya, who, though not originally part of the JVP, was brought into the NPP without any significant political experience. Elevated to a prominent position through the national list, her presence signifies the transformation of the party into a bourgeois apparatus. She fits neatly into the tradition of upper-class intellectuals who purport to champion the rights of the downtrodden while being firmly embedded in the structures of privilege and power. Figures like Harini are reminiscent of Kumari Jayawardena and Sunila Abeysekera, the ‘guardians’ of the oppressed, who skillfully maintained the façade of social justice while serving the interests of the elite.
The rural caste representation that once formed the backbone of the JVP’s base has eroded, replaced by a group of political opportunists. These opportunists, the ‘Gang of Five’ (Anura, Tilvin, Vijitha, Sunil, and Lal), alongside a new female cadre, have transformed the movement into a tool of the agrarian caste, ensuring that the political hierarchy remains undisturbed. It is this caste-based solidarity that has led some political elites to throw in their lot with Anura, rather than align with Dullas or Sajith. Blood, after all, has always run thicker in Sri Lankan politics, and it was only someone like R. Premadasa who momentarily disrupted this cycle. Yet, even his tragic end underscores the entrenched nature of this system.
Harini, however, serves another function for the NPP leadership. Her mastery of English bridges the gap between the five core comrades and the international networks they rely on. But this alignment is not born out of shared political ideology; it is a cold, calculated alliance with foreign embassies and non-state actors that seek to influence Sri Lanka’s political direction. This ‘win-win’ arrangement accentuates the cynicism with which the NPP approaches politics: maintaining power is paramount, even if it means sacrificing ideals.
In conclusion, the NPP’s betrayal of the oppressed is a despicable appropriation of a struggle that has spanned decades. Their opportunism, wrapped in the language of social justice, represents the decay of Sri Lanka’s intellectual and political elite. Figures like Jayadeva Uyangoda, who once championed progressive causes, now unwittingly lend legitimacy to this charade. The farce of NPP is a symptom of a larger intellectual and moral decay in the country.
Anura Dissanayake’s rise to power reveals a painful truth about Sri Lankan politics: policies have become secondary to carefully orchestrated political alliances. Even if these alliances succeed, their longevity will be short-lived. The internal contradictions of this force will soon surface, revealing the deep fissures within. Anura and his comrades will be forced to adopt increasingly authoritarian measures to maintain power, only to face collapse when repression no longer suffices.
Sri Lankans, however, seem eager to embrace this illusion, unaware that the revolution they seek is one built on sand. Democracy, when it serves the whims of a disillusioned populace, becomes its own worst enemy. As the dust settles after the next political upheaval, we must brace ourselves for the reality that awaits—a reality shaped by the illusions of a great, misguided people.
Post a Comment