As you cast your vote, ask yourself: what kind of Sri Lanka do you want? One mired in corruption, where power is wielded for personal gain?
Editorial
As Sri Lanka stands at the threshold of yet another crucial election, the symbols and slogans of the candidates bombard our senses, each promising salvation in one form or another. Ranil Wickremesinghe’s choice of a gas cylinder as his symbol, meant to represent his role in stabilising the economy, is a striking image. But beneath the surface of these symbols lies a deeper, more unsettling truth about the state of our nation.
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| A farmer takes a break from working in a rice paddy on the outskirts of Ambanpola, Sri Lanka [Photo: Indika Sriyan/ Unsplash] |
The gas cylinder campaign, with its clever WhatsApp messages and catchy phrases, is a microcosm of Ranil’s entire political journey—perpetually teetering on the edge of clarity, yet never fully grasping it. The confusing juxtaposition with Sajith Premadasa’s symbol only adds to the sense of a political landscape in disarray, where symbols obscure rather than illuminate the truth.
But let’s dig deeper into the concept of corruption that plagues our politics. It is not just the Rajapaksas with their alleged embezzlements or the JVP’s voluminous files of accusations. Corruption in Sri Lanka is a multifaceted beast that extends far beyond the obvious and into the very fabric of our governance.
Take, for example, the infamous Central Bank bond scandal of 2015. Even if Wickremesinghe did not directly profit from the irregularities, his complicity in shielding the perpetrators cannot be ignored. This is not the kind of leadership that embodies cleanliness or integrity. The case of Mahinda Rajapaksa and the misappropriation of Tsunami funds is another glaring example. Despite being exonerated by a legal system that later admitted its own failures, the stain of corruption lingers. How can a candidate who hides behind the veneer of war victories be trusted with the highest office in the land?
The misuse of official quarters by MPs is another insidious form of corruption that slips under the radar. These quarters, maintained at the expense of the public, have become de facto personal residences for politicians long after their tenures have ended. This blatant abuse of power underscores the endemic corruption that pervades every level of our political system.
Corruption is not merely about money exchanging hands; it’s about the erosion of trust, the betrayal of public confidence, and the manipulation of power for personal gain. Those who vote for corrupt candidates, knowing full well their history, are not just passive spectators; they are active participants in the corruption that ensues. The cycle continues because we, the voters, allow it.
Since J.R. Jayawardene’s government in 1977, every administration has been steeped in corruption. From the Mahaweli construction commissions to the garment industry’s quota systems, corruption has grown like a cancer, corrupting every corner of our economy and society. Successive governments have colluded with business gangs, smuggling rings, and corrupt officials to amass untold wealth, all while the average citizen struggles to make ends meet.
In this environment, political parties are little more than hollow shells, devoid of active membership or internal democracy. Their leaders, propped up by ill-gotten gains, maintain their grip on power through a combination of fear, bribery, and manipulation. The MPs of today enjoy lifestyles far removed from the humble origins they often tout—living in luxury, their children enrolled in elite schools and universities, all funded by the spoils of corruption.
And what of the voters? After 45 years of a corrupt society, we have become a backward, selfish electorate. Our votes are not cast for the good of the nation, but for personal gain. The election activists who should be advocating for the country’s future are instead peddling contradictions, sowing division rather than fostering unity. In such a degraded political landscape, is it any wonder that we have failed to produce voters who demand development plans and vote accordingly?
The tragedy is that this presidential election offers little hope for change. The frontrunners are the products of this corrupt system, and no matter who wins, we are likely to face the same unfortunate fate. But there is still a glimmer of hope—a chance to start a dialogue about the kind of Sri Lanka we should strive for in the future.
As you cast your vote, ask yourself: what kind of Sri Lanka do you want? One mired in corruption, where power is wielded for personal gain? Or a nation that aspires to greater heights, where integrity and justice prevail? The choice is yours, but remember—the future of Sri Lanka depends on it.
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