When former Nigerian Finance Minister Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala published Fighting Corruption Is Dangerous: The Story Behind the Headlines, she offered not a slogan but a record of political struggle. [1] At the launch of her book in 2018, Rwanda’s President Paul Kagame paused after hearing her account of reform and retaliation. He advised her:
‘You should write another book. Not fighting corruption is even more dangerous.’ [1]
Kagame was not offering a rhetorical flourish.
His warning emerged from a state torn apart and rebuilt: corruption destroys, but refusing to confront corruption is fatal. Institutions do not collapse because politicians make mistakes; they collapse when those charged with defending the public interest choose silence.
Kagame’s remark was more than an endorsement. It came from a Head of State who confronted impunity directly: corruption breeds a second-order danger – the metastasis of unchecked power – which corrodes the social contract on which state legitimacy rests.
This insight is neither obscure nor novel. Transparency International notes corruption ‘erodes trust, fuels inequality, and undermines democracy.’ The IMF warns it ‘corrodes the social contract and weakens state credibility.’ UNODC states corruption ‘undermines public institutions and threatens social stability.’ These are operational conclusions, not academic slogans.
Years later, Sri Lanka heard a similar sentiment at the 80th UN General Assembly. The President presented the failure to fight corruption as a uniquely Sri Lankan insight – celebrated domestically as if conceived in Colombo rather than articulated six years earlier in Kigali. The lack of acknowledgement matters not because of etiquette but because it signals a deeper problem: borrowing the moral vocabulary of reform while refusing to practise reform itself. Anti-corruption becomes performance when treated as branding rather than obligation.
One may assume the President used prepared remarks. But even that does not resolve the concern. When a Head of State addresses the UN on corruption – an issue tied to Sri Lanka’s economic crisis and institutional trauma – the ideas expressed must be sourced and intellectually owned. Otherwise, anti-corruption is not a commitment – it is theatre.
Sri Lankans have lived through commissions, presidential pledges, declarations, and legislative resets. Reform is genuine only when the same rules apply to those nearest to authority as to those furthest from it
The domestic test: The case of Deputy Minister
The credibility of anti-corruption rhetoric is not measured at the UN. It is measured at home. One of the clearest stress-points is the appointment of Eranga Weeraratne, who entered Parliament through the National List rather than electoral mandate. [4] His elevation was framed as technocratic renewal – a digital entrepreneur steering the country’s digital future.
Before entering politics, Weeraratne served as Chairman and CEO of Omobio Ltd., and Chairman of Eimsky Business Solutions Ltd., – firms involved in national-level digital infrastructure projects, including platforms tied to transport and tolling systems. These are precisely the areas linked to his ministerial portfolio.
In Parliament, SJB MP Prasad Siriwardana described the situation as a ‘textbook case of conflict of interest.’ [5] He alleged that:
Eimsky Business Solutions is the primary service provider for the Smart Highway Toll System; [5]
its Payment Connect platform manages revenue for the Southern Expressway and Outer Circular Highway; [5]
Omobio Ltd., has secured multiple state digital projects. [5] He asked:
‘Is it fair for the revenue collection mechanism of a vital national asset to be handed over to the private company of a sitting Minister?’ [5]
He also referenced earlier disputes within the industry: a software-theft complaint raised before Weeraratne entered politics. [5] Whether proven or dismissed was not clarified; it demonstrated why such a portfolio requires heightened scrutiny.
Weeraratne replied that:
(1) the contracts predate his political career;
(2) he no longer manages the companies;
(3) he instructed them not to pursue new tenders. [5]
These claims affect optics, not ethics.
Anti-corruption frameworks exist to eliminate potential conflicts, not only to punish wrongdoing after the fact. They aim to prevent proximity to public revenue streams that incentivise silence.
Sri Lanka’s Constitution anticipates this danger.
Article 91(1)(e) disqualifies any person from sitting in Parliament who:
‘directly or indirectly holds any right or benefit under a contract made with the State.’ [2]
The wording is surgical.
It does not require active management, does not depend on timing, and does not exempt passive ownership.
It focuses on benefits.
Sri Lankan jurisprudence has already resolved this question.
In Dilan Perera v. Rajitha Senaratne, the Court held that indirect commercial interests with the State were sufficient grounds for disqualification. [3]
Operational control was irrelevant.
Ownership – however passive – was enough.
If applied consistently, the same logic would demand scrutiny of Weeraratne’s shareholdings.
That scrutiny has not occurred.
When anti-corruption becomes institutional theatre: The ACA No. 9 of 2023
Following the sovereign default, Sri Lanka enacted the Anti-Corruption Act No. 9 of 2023. It was heralded as transformative: whistle-blower protections, illicit enrichment provisions, asset declarations, and international cooperation protocols. [6]
Its defenders claimed the Act finally supplied the tools the nation lacked.
But the real measure of anti-corruption is enforcement.
More than a year later, implementation remains sporadic.
Complaints – including those linked to politically sensitive procurement – have been acknowledged procedurally, yet none have produced indictments or sanctions.
Here, the Weeraratne case becomes illustrative.
If a Deputy Minister responsible for digital governance retains shareholdings in companies providing core infrastructure, and the ACA remains silent, citizens do not interpret silence as prudence. They interpret it as protection.
The ACA therefore functions in two layers:
Externally, it satisfies lender expectations, particularly within the IMF stabilisation framework.
Internally, it reassures the public that ‘something is being done.’
Both layers generate utility without impact.
They bind expectation while blinding enforcement.
Legal decorum replaces accountability
In global fora, Sri Lanka’s leaders speak of integrity as if they authored the concept. At home, institutional inertia and selective enforcement reveal a more uncomfortable truth: anti-corruption has become a banner of legitimacy, not a mechanism of accountability.
The danger is not that corruption exists. Every country grapples with it. The danger is that Sri Lanka has normalised the refusal to act
Anti-corruption as performance
Sri Lankans have lived through commissions, presidential pledges, declarations, and legislative resets. Reform is genuine only when the same rules apply to those nearest to authority as to those furthest from it.
The National List mechanism, portfolio-linked shareholding, and selective activation of the ACA form a consistent pattern: anti-corruption as presentation rather than practice.
The political class borrows the vocabulary of reform but refuses to bear the cost of enforcement.
Kagame’s warning therefore has teeth.
Corruption weakens institutions.
Not fighting corruption – especially when legal tools exist – destroys credibility.
Sri Lanka has reached a point where speeches no longer move sentiment.
Only enforcement will.
Conclusion
In global fora, Sri Lanka’s leaders speak of integrity as if they authored the concept. At home, institutional inertia and selective enforcement reveal a more uncomfortable truth: anti-corruption has become a banner of legitimacy, not a mechanism of accountability.
The danger is not that corruption exists. Every country grapples with it. The danger is that Sri Lanka has normalised the refusal to act.
Once citizens no longer believe that misconduct will be punished, they do not merely lose trust in governments – they lose faith in the State itself. When that happens, no speech at the United Nations – however eloquent – can repair the rupture. Enforcement will.