By Raine Wickrematunge –

Raine Wickrematunge

The emergence of President Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) and his coalition government marked a historic turning point in Sri Lankan politics. However, the transformational promise of this administration has not been welcomed by all. A sustained, virulent and well-funded campaign, coordinated by remnants of the old guard, including elements of the United National Party, the SLPP (Pohottuwa) and their media affiliates appears intent on discrediting every initiative undertaken by the new government. These efforts, largely propagated through social media, are saturated with misinformation and outright falsehoods.

At the heart of this campaign lies a familiar strategy: ridicule, delegitimise, and destabilise. With media outlets largely controlled by politically vested interests, narratives are shaped not by evidence but by agenda. These media conglomerates, often helmed by politicians desperate to regain relevance, exploit the echo chambers of Facebook, TikTok and WhatsApp. Posts go viral not on the basis of veracity but via emotional manipulation, memes and manufactured outrage.

The mission of these ‘keyboard canines’ is clear: ridicule all government initiatives, undermine its leaders, sow confusion among the public and manipulate perception through exaggeration, fabrication and deception. This relentless mud-slinging campaign is just one front in a broader, multi-pronged assault against the government.

One tactic has been to manufacture dissent within the governing alliance, particularly targeting the relationship between the JVP and other coalition partners. Fabricated stories, such as those alleging secret meetings between JVP MPs, UNP’s Sagala Ratnayake and other UNP members, are strategically deployed to sow mistrust. Even clarifications, such as those made by Minister Wasantha Samarasinghe following a statement by Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya regarding Rohitha Rajapaksa’s satellite communication project, are twisted to imply internal instability.

Also troubling is the re-emergence of superstition as a political tool. Whispers of black magic, reminiscent of the dark electoral theatre surrounding previous Rajapaksa regimes, have resurfaced. From roasting effigies of opponents to the alleged use of elephant parts in occult rituals, the absurd has again been invoked as plausible, revealing a desperation among some actors who fear the erosion of their influence. That such narratives still find traction reveals the psychological residue of decades of fear-based politics.

Why is there such opposition to a government that for all intents and purposes is  moving in the right direction? After all, our past is a litany of grievances, a multitude of sins perpetrated upon a people in the name of governance.  Today we see no state sponsored crimes, corruption nor cronyism. No bond scams that contribute to bankruptcy, no sugar tax scandals resulting in a loss of 16 billion in state revenue, no irregular tender awards, no backroom deals, no eye-watering commissions solicited – nay demanded – from investors. There are no sinister white vans roaming the streets kidnapping voices of dissent, no journalists disappearing or being murdered on the high streets. There is no state-sponsored stoking of racial or religious tensions, no imprisonment of political “enemies,” no transferring of independent, honourable police officers. There is no interference in the police or judiciary – gone are the days when politicians sat in OIC chairs barking orders. Nor are there attempts to impeach distinguished Chief Justices or belittle Supreme Court rulings. We hear of no foreign junkets for friends and family squandering billions in taxpayer money, no redirecting of airplanes on personal whims or to transport pets.  And certainly no ego-driven, billion-dollar white elephant projects that continue to drain the treasury through endless repayments.

We are also hard put to spot errant sons riding roughshod in their ill-gotten racing cars paying scant regard to the sacred precincts or the safety of other road users. Presidential or ministerial brats are not turning nightclubs into their personal fiefdoms of gun-toting thuggery. There are no chain-snatchers, drug lords or murderers represented in the 159 government members of parliament. So, on the face of it all, things are indeed quite squeaky clean. Something we never dared hope would eventuate in our lifetimes.

Yet, opposition persists. Some grievances are understandable. The high cost of living and spikes in violent crime have caused concern. But one does not have to be rocket scientist Chichee to know these are not the sole motivators behind the attacks.

At the heart of the current backlash lies a powerful and predictable driver: fear. Those complicit in past crimes, ranging from former ministers to senior bureaucrats are now under increasing scrutiny. Many are reportedly in hiding, some frantically seeking safe passage abroad. For them, political survival hinges on destabilising a government that is, for the first time in decades, making good on its election promises and actively pursuing justice. The resurgence of law enforcement and anti-corruption investigations poses a direct threat to their freedom and fortunes.

For the first time in decades, the state machinery is not being leveraged for private gain. That, in itself, is revolutionary. When public office is no longer a path to personal enrichment, those who profited from the old system see no place for themselves in the new.

Another distinct faction fuelling the opposition consists of the political cronies, opportunists, and dealmakers who once thrived under corrupt administrations. Much like parasites fattened by their hosts, these individuals, now cut off from access to power and patronage, have found themselves politically orphaned. With no chance of reclaiming their former privileges, they too have joined the chorus of detractors.

A third group comprises the die-hard loyalists of traditional political parties; individuals whose devotion often borders on the fanatical. While some among them did support President AKD and his coalition in the last election, many remain impervious to evidence or reason. Conditioned over decades to “see no evil, hear no evil,” they persist in their blind allegiance, even in the face of overwhelming evidence of wrongdoing by their preferred leaders. Even as factions of Donald Trump’s MAGA movement are beginning to confront inconvenient truths, these Sri Lankan loyalists remain trapped in a collective cognitive inertia. They reject critical thinking in favour of tribal loyalty, unable or unwilling to evaluate leadership based on principle rather than personality.

Then there are those who have long harboured deep-seated animosity toward the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), the dominant force within the current coalition. Their scepticism is often rooted in personal or generational trauma stemming from the violent uprisings of 1971 and 1988–‘90. Many suffered grievous losses, either directly at the hands of insurgents or amid the broader chaos of the era. These memories, valid and painful, are often recalled without equal acknowledgement of the brutality perpetrated by state-backed paramilitary groups such as the Black Cats and Praa. What is forgotten or deliberately omitted in this narrative is the political context: the JVP was driven underground for political expedience, denied space for peaceful dissent, and forced into militancy. The crimes of that era were shared by both the state and its challengers.

For others, what truly offends is the inversion of a long-standing class and cultural hierarchy. For decades, Sri Lanka was governed by an English-speaking elite whose proximity to colonial legacy conferred a certain cultural capital. The emergence of a leader from rural Thambuththegama tucked away in the ancient capital of Anuradhapura, speaking in unvarnished Sinhala and articulating the aspirations of ordinary citizens, is perceived by some as a threat not merely to political power, but to a deeply entrenched social order. In their eyes, a bunch of Sinhala-prattling yakko rabble rousers shaping the direction of national life borders on sacrilege. There is outrage, and a stubborn refusal to accept the new status quo: that the AKDs of the world, once expected to meekly follow their fathers into the paddy fields, are now standing shoulder to shoulder with global leaders. Surely, there is something amiss with this picture? isn’t it only silver-spoon-weaned nobility that must buttonhole King Charles with contrived nonchalance or swap yarns and moda-joke with Elon Musk over a cup of Ceylon tea? Tut-tut, the sheer audacity of the village yokel to sit in high office, shake the hand of world leaders and oversee a perahera of crooks and criminals to Welikada.

This latent classism often reveals itself through trivial criticisms; be it the wrong tie, a casual jacket, a misused English phrase or even the President’s height. Such superficial jabs betray not only the absence of substantive critique, but also the underlying insecurities of the critics themselves. When genuine wrongdoing is lacking, detractors resort to petty mockery. These attacks serve as clear evidence that, in the absence of legitimate faults, traits and trivialities are targeted in place of substance.

One is reminded of a curious YouTube video that circulated many years ago. In it, an elderly and retired school teacher who bases his future predictions on mathematics, spoke of the rise of an unlikely president – someone from Anuradhapura, a lawyer, who had ruled in past lives as Kings Parakramabahu and Walagamba. He prophesied that this leader would gain power in 2024, preside over Sri Lanka for many years and command global admiration.

When AKD won the election in 2024, I couldn’t help but recall that prophecy. While not everything he predicted was accurate, I hope that President AKD will enjoy a long and impactful tenure. In my humble opinion, only a leader with a clear vision, free from personal ambition and self-interest, can truly heal Sri Lanka’s deep wounds and guide our motherland toward a future of prosperity, justice and decency.

And as the government continues its work, it is fair to ask: If not AKD, who? If not this administration, what alternative? Who among our political class remains untainted by scandal? Who has shown a consistent commitment to justice, equity and nation-building?

The answer, at least for now, appears clear.

And to those who continue to nitpick over jackets, diction, or stature – perhaps it is time to recognise that leadership is not measured in inches or wardrobe choices. It is measured in courage, integrity and results. In all those respects, President Anura Kumara Dissanayake stands taller than most.