There is renewed vigour within the country’s Opposition. Meetings are being held, alliances negotiated, and familiar calls for Opposition unity have once again become dominant in the political discourse. Yet, beneath the noise surrounding these coalition-building efforts lies an uncomfortable reality: that there is a striking absence of ideas. Beyond the singular objective of removing the current administration, the emerging Opposition has offered little vision of what it would do differently or how it intends to address the country’s long-standing structural challenges.
The principal force driving this newfound unity appears not to be ideological conviction, but political survival. The disparate parties and personalities, now attempting to come together, have little in common in terms of economic philosophy, governance, or social policy. Their common denominator is the existential fear of legal accountability.
One of the loudest advocates of Opposition unity is MP Dayasiri Jayasekara, who has repeatedly made this point, perhaps more candidly than he intended. On several occasions, he has argued that Opposition parties must unite, because many of their leaders face legal action, particularly over allegations of corruption. At a recent rally promoting Opposition unity, he went even further, suggesting that anyone who has held public office for over two decades is bound to have committed acts that could be construed as the misuse of public funds.
That statement goes to the heart of the political malaise. For decades, the country has tolerated the notion that a certain level of corruption, waste, and abuse of public resources is simply part of governance. Public office was too often viewed as carrying privileges that extended well beyond the responsibilities entrusted by the electorate. Misuse of State resources became normalised rather than condemned.
Examples abound. Former President Ranil Wickremesinghe’s detour to England to attend an event involving his wife, while returning from an official engagement in New York, was widely treated as routine rather than questioned as a matter of public accountability. Likewise, almost every President in recent memory, other than the incumbent, undertook highly publicised ‘pilgrimages’ to Tirupati in South India, accompanied by large State-funded entourages. Such expenditures were accepted as the ordinary perks of office rather than scrutinised as costs ultimately borne by taxpayers.
These incidents are not merely anecdotes. They reflect a broader political culture in which waste and misuse of public funds became so commonplace that many ceased to recognise them as problems.
It is precisely this culture that has contributed to Sri Lanka’s present circumstances. Years of fiscal indiscipline, patronage politics, and the casual treatment of public resources have eroded public trust and weakened State institutions. The electorate’s demand for change was never solely about replacing one Government with another, but replacing a political culture that regarded accountability as optional.
Whether one agrees with every policy of the current administration or not, it is difficult to deny that corruption and accountability have moved closer to the centre of public discourse. Legal action against powerful political figures, once almost unimaginable, has become a routine. That shift reflects a broader public expectation that those entrusted with public office should also be answerable for their conduct.
If the Opposition genuinely wishes to present itself as an alternative Government, it must offer more than solidarity among politicians facing legal jeopardy. It must articulate a coherent vision for economic recovery, institutional reform, public sector efficiency, education, healthcare, and constitutional governance. Most importantly, it must demonstrate that it has learned from the failures of the political culture that brought Sri Lanka to this point.