By Vishwamithra –

“The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.”  ~ Dante Alighieri

What is it like to be a Sri Lankan, living in his own country today? How stable is his job, how affordable is his living and how is his family keeping up with dashed hopes and forgotten loyalties? The answers might not be palatable. Yet, looking back, a couple of years at least, he is certainly in a more hopeful place.

In the context of the current, real-world perspectives, his life involves a slow-paced, often scenic lifestyle, but one punctuated by high living costs and navigating a challenging, post-crisis economy. While basic expenses are lower than in Western countries, rapid inflation has made necessities expensive for locals earning local currency. Job stability and decent pay remain key challenges. This resonates with the widespread, ongoing disappointment regarding economic mismanagement and the desire for better opportunities. Compared to the severe shortages and crises of a few years ago, the situation is more stable, offering a sense of hope compared to the recent past.

Yet, the euphoria has vanished. Its spectacular dynamics and fleeting celebrations have lulled the average local into an age-old, seductive slumber. But he is awakening—and that awakening brings with it the cruelties and ironies of political power, exposing the voter to its nastiest effects. A melancholy setting is being designed, though by whom, we might never know. After all, politicians are human beings too; they too have their needs  and desires. But their survival is no more significant than any other’s.

Every human counts equally when looking at the ‘sum total of humanity’. Political figures are subject to the same human needs, flaws, and desires as everyone else. Arguments often arise that if a leader authorizes risky actions (such as war or a drastic economic policy), they should have an equal stake in the consequences, reinforcing that their survival is not more significant. Reminding that politicians are merely human helps combat the ‘arrogance of power’ and prevents them from becoming ‘oblivious to the needs and daily anxieties of the people’. A keen mind would understand the vitality of that societal reality.

Nevertheless, the complex balance of the developing totality—its systemic advancements and consequential impacts—remains beyond the social parameters of the general populace. Yet, I find the core truth in the very social imbalances I have described. The Sri Lankan Diaspora has adopted a uniquely arrogant attitude. That attitude would not cost those locals who live outside the shores of their motherland; but the unintended harm such an attitude could bring about amongst the in-shore men and women is immense. No person deserves to be perceived as inferior; such perceptions, when critically viewed by the in-shore intelligentsia, the Diaspora has no right to become angered or enraged. For they have invited this ‘new’ response from the inlanders.

Inlanders may feel that the diaspora has abandoned them or no longer shares their ‘real’ experiences, creating a sense of ‘us vs. them’. Inlanders may feel the diaspora acts with superiority, creating resentment. However, research into nationalism often shows that when populations feel their cultural identity is threatened—sometimes blamed on outside influences—they may react with hostility towards those perceived as ‘foreign’ or ‘not fully devoted’ to the home country. The ‘in-shore intelligentsia might perceive the Diaspora as having different priorities, leading to the ‘new response’ of critical or superior treatment.

Furthermore, in the context of foreign exchange rates, when members of the Diaspora visit Sri Lanka, they spend foreign currencies like Dollars or Sterling Pounds, which carry a significant exchange premium. Each unit earned abroad translates to over 300 rupees, providing them with an immense purchasing power advantage that locals do not experience. This imbalance alone could be a fundamental reason for resentment and even jealousy.

A deep-seated economic disparity has forced the society into a new, rigid cultural equilibrium. Viewed from the prism of this social paradigm, passing any judgment on the activity or inactivity of the local in-shore Sri Lankans, to say the least, is unkind. Yet, the wonder is that they responded in the most active and positive fashion when confronted by an unprecedented economic downfall—a true bankruptcy. Aragalaya-22 stands as a magnificent testament to this heightened social awareness among the people.

One cannot find fault with the populace; when their foremost concern is sustenance, the reaction to impending starvation for their children is predictably resolute and desperate. But those political winds are already a ‘thing of the past’. The people have had sufficient time and space to evaluate the soundness of their decision. The government is seeming to be in a stagnant pool of indecision. When urgency required, lethargy creeps in and when patience is the call, they seem to be erratic and energetic.

Times are not yet desperate, nor do they call for resolution within twenty-four hours. However, managing the optics of their endeavor at a faster and more noticeable pace is a must. Prior to Aragalaya-22, Sri Lankans who were perceived as a stuporous, sleepy took to the streets on behalf of their children. They have every right to question each and every sociopolitical decision taken by the government they elected. Bogged down in a quagmire of governance and corruption allegations, the administration shows no sense of urgency in pursuing its own stated goals.

We are once again at a self-imposed impasse, failing to address the issues that matter most. Those in power and the pundits surrounding them remain rooted in still waters that run deeper than it looks.  But one thing is sure and crystal clear: we cannot go back. End of story. Reversal or even the most remote reference to subjugating ourselves to the old system with old leaders is not an option.

Sri Lankan political saga has claimed many collateral victims; but the Rajapaksas, Premadasas and Wickremesinghes are not amongst them. The Rajapaksa family lost direct control of the Presidency and parliament in 2022, faced massive public anger that culminated in Aragalaya-22, and saw their homes attacked; despite the 2022 backlash, the Rajapaksa family, particularly via Namal Rajapaksa, has been actively plotting a comeback, aiming to rebuild their electoral base. By May 2026, despite being implicated by the Supreme Court as responsible for the financial crisis, they face inquiries but to the dismay of those who ousted them at the polling booth, have not faced severe personal consequences or incarceration.

Ranil Wickremesinghe is an institutional survivor. He became a target of Aragalaya-22 by association, but was also seen as a political stabilizer at the time. He used the 2022-2024 period to become President and solidified his position, despite the collapse of his former party. He has faced recent arrest inquiries for misuse of funds (August 2025), but this is often interpreted within the context of ongoing, cyclical political power struggles rather than him becoming a permanent casualty of the ‘political saga’.

Sajith Premadasa has been in the opposition, attempting to carve out space away from the Rajapaksa/Wickremesinghe nexus. The Premadasa name retains significant political standing, and the family has not suffered the same kind of public dismantling as the Rajapaksas.

The perception of pre-Aragalaya-22 Sri Lanka is radically different. Before March 2022, the Sri Lankan populace was often seen as passive, ‘sleeping’, or ‘stupefied’, largely accepting of, or cowed by, dominant authoritarian political structures, especially under the Rajapaksa regime. Despite the economic ruin, there was a sense of stagnation and resignation. The ‘Awakening’ was engineered by Aragalaya-22. Aragalaya-22 is described as a ‘revolutionary’ moment that overturned this perception. It was a spontaneous, youth-led grassroots movement that saw thousands of people from different communities unite, transcending ethnic and religious divides to demand accountability, breaking a long-standing cycle of silence. This change was fueled by the severe economic crisis, where shortages of fuel, food, and medicine, alongside 13-hour daily power cuts, drove people to the streets. The uprising proved that the people were not simply passive, but could be mobilized when faced with the direct collapse of their livelihood. The narrative of a ‘sleeping sovereign’ suddenly waking up is  not an exaggeration.

This is the type of Sri Lankan the modern-day Diaspora meets on the streets today. He is not shy; nor is he impatient, yet erect and proud and worthy. His movement towards perfection and excellence, his pursuit of dignity and worthiness, of equality and above all, justice, not for one ethnic group but for all, Sinhalese, Tamils, Moors and Burgers alike has not come to an end. But the real question is whether it has, in fact, begun.

*The writer can be reached at vishwamithra1984@gmail.com