By Vishwamithra –

“Crises and deadlocks when they occur have at least this advantage, that they force us to think.” ~ Jawaharlal Nehru

Has Sri Lanka missed the bus? Each and every opportunity the country got amidst crises—which demanded radical shifts—was squandered because its leaders failed to go the extra mile. This flawed approach to resolving long-festering issues made palatable solutions increasingly unattainable, ultimately producing an endless line of ‘unsolvable’ problems. It is a tragic circumstance that could have been easily avoided had the leadership possessed the spine to apply the right remedies at the right time.

President Anura Kumara Dissanayake | Photo PMD

It was not only the leadership that failed; the country as a whole, the nation taken as one single collective entity, failed to see beyond the immediate. Instead of reconciling with the inevitable crisis by applying long-term remedies, it decided to come to terms with each crisis in the most foolhardy fashion—procrastinating the problem so it becomes a burden for future generations. This micro-handling of macro issues became a national characteristic, paving the way for the perpetuation of the same socioeconomic ailments, ultimately leading to the ignominious abyss of bankruptcy.

Some argue that the British colonial apparatus set this socioeconomic rot in motion. In February 1942, the colonial government introduced emergency rice rationing to combat severe wartime supply disruptions. However, this temporary crisis measure quickly mutated into a permanent, universal free food subsidy that shackled Ceylonese fiscal policy for decades. The Left-wing opposition weaponized this welfare expectation, most notably during the catastrophic 1953 Hartal. Orchestrated by Marxist leaders like N.M. Perera and Philip Gunawardena, this mass strike mobilized the working class against state attempts to slash the rice subsidy. The resulting political paralysis cemented food politics as an untouchable third rail, draining the national treasury until the system was finally dismantled in the late 1970s.

The progressively spiraling economy could not sustain the welfare system, and every new administration that took power after the elections eventually met its own demise. Although the state military suppressed two violent, left-oriented uprisings, the rulers’ attempts to solve the burning issues of unemployment, rising costs of living, and degenerating conditions in both crowded urban areas and remote hinterlands remained unsuccessful.

Caught in the midst of a ‘cold war’ between the two superpowers, the USSR and the USA, Ceylon’s approach to resolving its own problems vacillated between UNP-backed capitalism and SLFP-backed socialism. Instead of making a serious attempt at finding lasting solutions to the country’s ills, ruling parties and coalitions were preoccupied with campaigns targeted to secure victory at the next elections. This shortsighted governance ultimately destroyed whatever degree of trust and confidence the public had in the ruling establishment.

Post-independence Ceylon found itself caught in the turbulent currents of the global Cold War. Straddled between the geopolitical spheres of the United States and the Soviet Union, the island nation’s domestic policy mirrored this international divide. Its approach to national development vacillated drastically depending on which faction held power: the capitalist model backed by the United National Party (UNP) or the socialist framework backed by the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP). Rather than formulating a cohesive, long-term strategy to address the country’s foundational socioeconomic ills, successive administrations operated on ideological extremes.

This ideological fracture first crystallized during the pivotal 1956 general election. The landslide victory of SWRD Bandaranaike’s SLFP dismantled the pro-Western, free-market alignment of the UNP. This ushered in a wave of Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism and a distinct pivot toward Soviet-aligned bloc politics and state-directed economics.

However, the devastating consequences of this ideological pendulum peaked during the 1970s economic crisis under Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s United Front coalition. Adhering to strict socialist doctrines, the state enforced radical closed-economy import-substitution policies and rigid foreign exchange controls. In a desperate bid to preserve foreign reserves, the government aggressively restricted trade, resulting in an unprecedented economic choke-hold. According to historical data from the Central Bank of Sri Lanka, real GDP growth slowed to a stagnant 3.7% average between 1950 and 1977, as the isolated market collapsed under fiscal pressures and global oil shocks. Basic welfare programs were slashed, and the legendary weekly free food doles were heavily restricted, forcing families to survive on a ration of just 1.5 pounds of rice per week. Sri Lankans found themselves trapped in agonizingly long breadlines, suffering under a heavily controlled and stagnant market.

Throughout both eras, vital structural reforms in the economy, education, and ethnic relations were continually sacrificed for immediate political survival. Ruling coalitions remained trapped in a cycle of perpetual campaigning, making decisions for the next election rather than the next generation. This shortsighted focus on winning votes completely shattered the public’s trust and confidence in the political establishment. By prioritizing short-term electoral gains over long-term stability, these successive regimes left a legacy of deep institutional rot and fractured governance that directly laid the groundwork for the nation’s later civil conflict and modern economic vulnerabilities.

It was into this smorgasbord of sociopolitical and economic conditions that Chandrika Bandaranaike and Mahinda Rajapaksa were elected to power. Having been deprived of real political power for quite a long time—in fact, for 17 years, from 1977 to 1994—the SLFP-led coalition assumed power with Chandrika Bandaranaike at the helm as Executive President. When the first Executive President exercised his powers with a fair degree of discipline, his successor, Premadasa, exploited them to suit his own ambitions and showed his successors how to use and abuse the draconian authority the Executive President was invested with under the ’78 Constitution.

Following a 17-year hiatus, the SLFP-led coalition under Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga assumed power in 1994, aiming to reform the 1978 Constitution’s executive presidency but ultimately failing to dismantle its autocratic structure. This established a template of centralized power that was subsequently consolidated by Mahinda Rajapaksa in 2005 to end the civil war and entrench family-centric rule.

The constitutional architecture of Sri Lanka’s Executive Presidency exemplifies the tension between democratic checks and state capacity. While heavily criticized for weakening legislative oversight, the concentration of executive authority arguably fulfilled its intended purpose of rapid state mobilization. This is evident in two major historical junctures: the successful management of macro-development infrastructure via the Mahaweli scheme, and the centralized command structure required to terminate the protracted war against the LTTE.

Yet, when looking back on the powers of the Executive Presidency, one always wonders whether we have chosen a system of governance that has eclipsed everything else—including the oversight exercised by the legislature—into virtual silence. This concentration of executive power means that if the wrong person is elected, the entire nation could be reduced to virtual insignificance and fear-driven slavish loyalty. Arguments for democratic freedom and civil liberties can never be foreclosed. The country has endured many an upheaval, emerging bruised but unbowed.

Nevertheless, all these embellishments and ostentatious norms of governance came to naught when the country was declared bankrupt. The immediate blame belonged to the Rajapaksas, for their private and public conduct was there for everyone to behold.

The Supreme Court of Sri Lanka legally validated this culpability, issuing a historic verdict that held the Rajapaksa brothers directly responsible for breaching public trust and mismanaging the national economy into total collapse. Unrestrained expenditure incurred by the family dynasty was obscene, characterized by billion-dollar white elephants in their home district of Hambantota—including an underutilized port infrastructure that ultimately had to be leased to foreign creditors to stave off debt defaults.

Public finance policies were systematically dismantled to satisfy personal whims. Executive overreach manifested in sweeping 2019 tax cuts that instantly eradicated a third of the state’s revenue, compounded by an overnight, unscientific ban on chemical fertilizers that decimated domestic agricultural yields. The country’s coffers were treated as the exclusive domain for the use and abuse of the ‘Family’. When bankruptcy hit, it was the ordinary men, women, and children who suffered the most. While the ruling elite insulated themselves from the fallout, regular citizens paid the price as headline inflation spiked to an unprecedented all-time high of 67%, forcing families into miles-long fuel queues, starving hospitals of life-saving medicines, and effectively doubling the national poverty rate to nearly 28%.

I have repeatedly written on this subject. Yet, I am more than tempted to write again because the signs are not all that encouraging. AKD and the NPP government are no longer new. They have been in power for more than a year and a half. Belt-tightening for the poor has increased, and the period during which the people could have been asked to sacrifice for a more promising tomorrow has passed.

It is becoming increasingly clear that the tolerance of the vast majority of the people is wearing thin. Crisis times demand sacrifice, but once the emergency passes, people’s attitudes change. Their priorities shift, and their ambitions become sharper and more attainable. That is not the time for a government to ask its people to tighten their proverbial belts.

Each passing day is a day lost to necessary reform. When it dawns on the people that a sense of decadence is consuming the ruling party—and when their capacity for further sacrifice is completely exhausted—the slightest spark will be enough to ignite a flame that destroys everything in its path. My hope is simply that that day never comes.

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