By Vishwamithra –

“But a big paradigm shift is staring us in the face. If I left things to someone else despite having my own thoughts on it, I wouldn’t be true to myself.” ~ Masayoshi Son

Mahinda Rajapaksa’s political leadership, together with the military command under General Sarath Fonseka, brought the long and bloody conflict with Velupillai Prabhakaran and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Elam (LTTE) to its decisive end in May 2009. That military victory altered the political landscape of Sri Lanka in ways that continue to reverberate across the country. Yet, nearly two decades later, another and perhaps less visible transformation appears to be taking place—this time not on the battlefield, but within the politics of the Tamil community itself.

The rise of Anura Kumara Dissanayake and the political movement he represents appears to have had consequences extending well beyond the traditional political divide between the South and the North. His electoral ascendancy, and the political realignment that accompanied it, seem to have exposed a deepening crisis within the established Tamil leadership. The traditional political representatives of the North and East have, for many years, claimed to speak on behalf of the Tamil people, drawing upon the historical grievances of the community, the legacy of the ethnic conflict, and the unresolved questions of devolution, land, accountability and political recognition. Yet the response of this established leadership to the continuing problems confronting ordinary Tamil citizens appears, to many observers, increasingly muted and disconnected from the expectations of a younger generation.

The electoral results of recent years provide an important indication of this changing political mood. The weakening of some of the traditional Tamil parties and the rejection, or diminished influence, of several of their established figures—including the once-prominent and widely regarded M. A. Sumanthiran—cannot simply be dismissed as an ordinary electoral fluctuation. It suggests something deeper: a growing impatience with a political establishment that has, in the eyes of many of its constituents, struggled to translate decades of political rhetoric into tangible improvements in everyday life.

The question, therefore, is unavoidable: has the center of gravity of Tamil politics begun to shift?

For decades, the political imagination of Tamil nationalism was largely anchored in the Northern Province, particularly in Jaffna. The North carried the historical and symbolic weight of Tamil political mobilization, while the East developed its own distinctive political traditions and social realities. But the political landscape is no longer as clearly defined as it once was. There are indications that the East, with its own complex demographic composition and political experience, may increasingly assert a more influential voice in determining the future direction of Tamil politics.

Figures such as Chanakya Rasamanickam and the younger political generation around him may therefore represent more than simply a new group of politicians. They could be early manifestations of a broader generational and geographical realignment. Whether that transformation will ultimately produce a new center of Tamil political leadership remains to be seen. But the possibility can no longer be ignored.

What is particularly striking is the apparent disconnect between the established leadership in the North and the political aspirations of younger Tamils. The younger generation has inherited the consequences of the war but not necessarily the political assumptions that shaped the generation before them. They have grown up in a Sri Lanka that is vastly different from the country of the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. For many of them, the immediate concerns are not confined to the constitutional questions that dominated Tamil politics for generations. Employment, education, economic opportunity, migration, infrastructure, security, land, dignity and the possibility of building a future at home have acquired an urgency of their own.

This does not mean that the historic grievances of the Tamil people have disappeared. Nor does it suggest that questions of equality, devolution, accountability or reconciliation have lost their importance. Rather, it may indicate that a new generation wishes to see these questions addressed through a political language that is more closely connected to the realities of their daily lives.

In this respect, the transformation occurring in Tamil politics may mirror what has already happened in the South.

For decades, Sri Lankan politics was dominated by established political parties, familiar personalities and deeply entrenched political traditions. The electorate repeatedly moved between the two principal political formations, often not because either commanded absolute enthusiasm, but because the alternatives appeared limited. The political establishment became accustomed to the idea that power would circulate within a relatively predictable framework.

The rise of Anura Kumara Dissanayake and the National People’s Power dramatically disrupted that assumption. The political upheaval of 2024 demonstrated that an electorate long regarded as bound to traditional loyalties could, when sufficiently dissatisfied, abandon the old political order with remarkable decisiveness. The rejection was not merely of individual politicians; it was, in many respects, a rejection of an entire political culture.

Could something similar now be happening within Tamil politics?

That is perhaps the more profound question.

If so, the change should not be interpreted merely as a rejection of one Tamil politician in favor of another. It may represent a deeper generational revolt against a political establishment that has remained too closely tied to the language, assumptions and political strategies of an earlier era. The younger electorate may be asking a very simple but consequential question: what has all this politics achieved for us?

That question has the potential to transform the political landscape.

The traditional Tamil leadership has carried a heavy historical burden. Its members have had to negotiate between the memory of a devastating conflict, the aspirations of their constituents, the expectations of the diaspora and the realities of the Sri Lankan state. Their political inheritance is therefore not without legitimacy. But legitimacy derived from history cannot indefinitely substitute for political effectiveness.

The danger for any established leadership is that, while it remains preoccupied with preserving its historical mandate, the electorate may quietly move on.

Perhaps that is what we are beginning to witness in the North and East.

The political future of the Tamil community may no longer be determined exclusively by the traditional centers of Tamil nationalism or by the familiar figures who have represented them for decades. A new generation, particularly in the East, may be preparing to assert itself. Whether this develops into a genuine transfer of political influence from the North to the East, or merely a temporary electoral realignment, remains uncertain. But the signs of change are sufficiently visible to warrant serious attention.

History rarely announces its turning points in advance. Political transformations often begin quietly—in a disappointing election result, in the declining influence of a once-respected politician, in the emergence of an unfamiliar face, or in the silence of a younger generation that no longer feels represented by the voices of its elders.

The military defeat of the LTTE in 2009 brought one chapter of Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict to an end. The political consequences of that victory, however, are still unfolding. The rise of Anura Kumara Dissanayake may now be contributing to another transformation—one in which the old political certainties, both in the South and among the Tamil community, are being tested by an electorate increasingly willing to look beyond established loyalties.

The South has already demonstrated how quickly a political order once considered immovable can collapse when the public mood changes.

The question now is whether the North and East are beginning to experience their own version of that political awakening.

If they are, the consequences could be profound. For the first time in generations, the future of Tamil politics may be shaped less by the political inheritance of the past and more by the aspirations of those who have to live with its consequences.

And that, perhaps, is the most significant political development of all: the old leadership may not have been defeated by another ideology. It may simply be losing its relevance to a generation that is beginning to demand something different.

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