-By Political Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -04.March.2025, 10.45 PM) In most countries, a hostage situation involves criminals, police, and a dramatic rescue operation. In Sri Lanka, however, a different kind of hostage crisis unfolds—one where the captors wear white coats, the ransom is political leverage, and the victims are everyday citizens desperate for medical care.
Yes, we are talking about the Government Medical Officers’ Association (GMOA), Sri Lanka’s most militant trade union, whose frequent strikes have turned hospitals into battlegrounds and patients into bargaining chips. Their latest round of demands, threats, and walkouts once again raises the question: are Sri Lankan doctors healers, or are they taking patients hostage?
Doctors, by profession, take the Hippocratic Oath—a solemn promise to put patient care above all else. The GMOA, however, seems to have rewritten that oath into something more self-serving:
"We shall serve the people... unless we have a pay dispute, a policy disagreement, or a demand for duty-free vehicles, in which case, all bets are off."
While ordinary Sri Lankans struggle with soaring healthcare costs, long waiting lists, and shortages of essential medicines, GMOA members have perfected the art of wielding strikes as a weapon. Their logic is simple: if the government doesn’t bend to their demands, the sick and dying will suffer. No consultations, no surgeries, no treatment.
It’s a brilliant strategy—if you have no moral compass.
Trade unions exist to protect workers. The GMOA, however, operates more like a shadow political party, constantly meddling in government policy, backing political figures, and issuing ultimatums like a military junta. They have protested against everything—from private medical colleges to foreign trade agreements—none of which directly impact patient care but always seem to protect their interests.
SAITM controversy? Strike!
Pay raise dispute? Strike!
A policy they dislike? Strike!
Traffic fines going up? You guessed it—strike!
One might wonder if Sri Lanka’s doctors spend more time protesting than actually treating patients.
A recurring demand from the GMOA is duty-free vehicles for doctors, as if their ability to save lives somehow depends on driving a brand-new SUV. Never mind the fact that the average Sri Lankan can barely afford bus fare, let alone dream of importing luxury vehicles.
The logic is baffling. If duty-free cars were essential to medicine, shouldn’t we also give free motorcycles to teachers and tax-free tuk-tuks to nurses?
This obsession with perks, privileges, and entitlements has turned Sri Lanka’s medical elite into a class of untouchables—highly paid professionals who claim to be overworked and underappreciated while holding an entire nation hostage at will.
Each time doctors walk out, it’s not the politicians who suffer. Government ministers get treated in Singapore. The rich fly to private hospitals in Dubai. It is the poor, the elderly, the vulnerable—the people with no alternative—who pay the ultimate price.
The daily wage earner who skips work to take his sick child to the hospital, only to be told the doctor isn’t there.
The heart patient who has waited months for surgery, only to have it postponed indefinitely.
The pregnant mother turned away from a maternity clinic because the doctors are busy protesting.
In some cases, these aren’t just inconveniences—they are death sentences.
Doctors in Sri Lanka enjoy free education, funded entirely by taxpayers. They graduate from state universities, get assigned government jobs, and earn respectable salaries. In return, one might expect a certain level of commitment to public service.
Instead, we see a shocking lack of accountability.
Government doctors are required to work full-time in state hospitals, yet many conveniently disappear during duty hours to attend lucrative private practice.
Some use state resources—equipment, medicine, facilities—for their private patients while public hospitals face chronic shortages.
The culture of medical negligence is rampant, but how often do we see a doctor held accountable?
If a police officer abandons his post, he is punished. If a teacher skips classes, he is reprimanded. But if a doctor leaves his patients to suffer as part of a protest, there are no consequences.
One of the most dangerous aspects of the GMOA’s influence is its deep entanglement with politics. Over the years, they have aligned with different governments, dictating health policies, education reforms, and trade agreements—often in ways that serve their own interests rather than public welfare.
This is not just a doctors' union; it is a powerful political force, using public health as leverage to advance its agenda.
Sri Lanka’s economy is in crisis. Families are struggling to put food on the table. The healthcare system itself is under immense strain due to medicine shortages and funding cuts. Yet, in the middle of all this, the GMOA continues its reckless hostage-taking, proving once again that their loyalty lies not with the patients—but with their own privileges.
We must ask ourselves:
At what point does a strike become extortion?
At what point does a union become a cartel?
At what point do doctors cease to be healers and become hostage-takers?
Sri Lanka’s doctors have a choice: they can stand with the people, or they can continue to hold them hostage. But one thing is clear—if they choose the latter, the public will not forget.
And one day, the very patients they abandoned may refuse to forgive.
-By Political Correspondent
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by (2025-03-04 17:37:07)
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