While Premadasa may have garnered 75% of the North and East vote in 2019, his path to victory in 2024 is complicated by the fragmented Tamil political landscape.
by Luxman Aravind
The recent move by the Ilankei Tamil Arasu Kachchi (ITAK) to back Sajith Premadasa in the forthcoming presidential election is more than just a strategic alignment—it’s a desperate gambit rooted in a failed power-sharing agenda. For decades, Tamil leaders have been dangling the carrot of autonomy and equitable governance, only to have it yanked away at the last moment. ITAK’s latest endorsement reeks of political opportunism and underscores the growing polarization within Tamil politics. The real story here isn’t merely about Sajith Premadasa or Tamil grievances; it’s about how deeply fractured leadership has become the bane of marginalised communities worldwide.
 |
| Opposition Leader and leading presidential candidate for the upcoming election, Sajith Premadasa, visits the historic Nallur Hindu Temple in Jaffna. |
At first glance, ITAK’s central committee decision appears like a typical election-season maneuver. But dig deeper, and it reveals the fatal flaw of Tamil political strategy: a fractured, weakened base that is more concerned with personal survival than collective progress. Mavei Senadhiraja, the so-called leader of ITAK, was reportedly blindsided by this decision. This public display of internal discord mirrors the toxic political infighting we see in other nations, such as Iraq, where once-powerful factions have splintered beyond recognition, destabilising the entire political system. Sri Lanka’s Tamil political landscape is increasingly resembling these failed models of governance, where leaders are incapable of unity or coherent strategy.
Sajith Premadasa’s success in the Tamil-dominated North and East in 2019 might be a high point in his career, but it’s not one that will be easily replicated in 2024. The fragmented leadership within Tamil ranks threatens to turn this once-powerful voting bloc into a shadow of its former self. Much like the disintegration of political unity in Bosnia and Herzegovina, where ethnic groups failed to consolidate their power post-war, the splintering of the Tamil National Alliance (TNA) has made it nearly impossible to present a unified front. The emergence of smaller, ego-driven factions like the All Ceylon Tamil Congress (AITC) and Tamil Eelam Liberation Organization (TELO) are symptomatic of a broader disease—political impotence brought about by self-interest.
Let’s not mince words: the Tamil leadership is in shambles. While the likes of Gajendra Kumar Ponnambalam call for boycotts, it becomes painfully obvious that Tamil leaders are willing to sacrifice their people’s future for fleeting political gains. The calls for disengagement from the electoral process reflect a cowardly retreat rather than an act of resistance. Voter apathy is not a tool of change; it’s a symptom of a failed leadership that lacks the courage to fight for meaningful reform. If one needs an international comparison, look no further than the United States, where political disillusionment within minority communities mirrors this cynical withdrawal. However, in the case of Sri Lanka, this withdrawal is far more insidious—it’s being orchestrated by leaders who have long abandoned their people.
The class and claste divisions within Tamil politics also provide a stark contrast to the unity once boasted by movements like the African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa. MA Sumanthiran’s alignment with capitalist factions within ITAK stands in opposition to the working-class base of leaders like Sivanesathurai Chandrakanthan. This split isn’t just a political strategy; it’s the inevitable result of years of failed promises and a leadership that no longer represents the common Tamil citizen. Similar socioeconomic fractures have been observed in other post-colonial nations, but the Tamil leadership’s current trajectory seems hell-bent on repeating the worst mistakes of these countries.
Premadasa’s path to victory in 2024 is treacherous, not because of external forces, but due to the internal implosion of the Tamil political apparatus. In 2019, he enjoyed overwhelming support from the North and East, but that was under the illusion of a unified Tamil political voice. Now, with leaders like Douglas Devananda and Angajan Ramanathan jockeying for personal gain, the vote will inevitably be diluted. Their support is transactional, devoid of any long-term vision for Tamil autonomy. It’s the same brand of cynical politics one sees in Lebanon, where local leaders broker power for personal benefit, leaving their communities to languish in neglect.
The irony of this whole saga is that Sajith Premadasa’s policy on power-sharing, although well-intentioned, is being undermined by the very community he seeks to empower. The Tamil leaders, with their relentless infighting, have reduced themselves to political brokers rather than champions of autonomy. In countries like South Sudan, we’ve seen how fragmented leadership can lead to outright civil war, as personal vendettas supersede any collective national interest. The Tamil leadership is not at the brink of war, but they are certainly on the verge of irrelevance—a fate that is perhaps worse in the long run.
The ITAK’s endorsement of Premadasa is not a sign of strength but a grim reminder of how divided Tamil politics has become. This fragmentation isn’t just a Sri Lankan phenomenon; it mirrors global trends of disillusionment with centralised leadership. Italy, for example, has seen the collapse of its traditional political parties, replaced by radical movements like the Five Star Movement, which thrive on the electorate’s disillusionment. But unlike Italy, where fragmentation has reinvigorated political discourse, the Tamil factions in Sri Lanka are leading their people into a political cul-de-sac.
The question that needs to be asked is not whether Premadasa can win the Tamil vote, but whether Tamil politics can survive its own self-inflicted wounds. The repeated failures to unify under a common cause have rendered their leadership impotent on the national stage. This is not just a failure of leadership, but a betrayal of the very people these leaders claim to represent. In post-colonial Sri Lanka, the Tamils have suffered not only at the hands of the state but now at the hands of their own leaders, who have traded collective aspirations for short-term political gain.
Sajith Premadasa, for all his faults, offers a semblance of hope. His commitment to power sharing is genuine, but it will be wasted if the Tamil political leadership continues down its current path of self-destruction. The splintered landscape of Tamil politics offers a cautionary tale for all marginalised communities: without unity, there is no power. Without power, there is no future. Whether Premadasa can rise above this chaos, much like Nelson Mandela did in South Africa, remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: unless the Tamil leadership pulls itself together, they will be the architects of their own irrelevance in Sri Lanka’s political future.
Post a Comment