-By LeN Political Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -28.April.2025, 11.00 PM) If Sri Lankan politics is the theatre of the absurd, then former President Ranil Wickremesinghe’s media appearance today must surely rank as one of its greatest performances. Standing before the nation's cameras after a three-hour interrogation by the Bribery Commission, Wickremesinghe delivered a defense of public fund mismanagement so surreal, so logically twisted, that even George Orwell might have winced.
For three long hours, the former President — a man once hailed as the "Last Liberal of South Asia" — sat before investigators to explain why the withdrawal of Uva Provincial Council funds from a bank account, and their expenditure without legal sanction, was, in his words, "not a crime."
And then, with the sort of bravado one can only admire in a man who has weathered decades of scandal, Ranil stepped before the press and announced:
“Keeping funds in a bank account is the real crime.”
Cue gasps, laughter, and dropped tea cups across the country.
In one breathtaking act of rhetorical gymnastics, Wickremesinghe managed to invert reality. According to his version of events, not spending public money — prudently holding it in a bank until properly authorized — would somehow constitute a greater offence than illicitly withdrawing it.
It was, even by the elastic standards of Sri Lankan politics, a statement so fantastical that one almost had to admire the man’s audacity.
Almost.
Sri Lankans, who have seen enough "missing funds," "technical errors," and "regrettable oversights" over the years to fill a library, could hardly be expected to swallow this one. Social media erupted within minutes. One wit suggested that Ranil might next argue that robbing a bank was a patriotic duty — after all, why let money sit around useless when it could be "put to good use"?
Another proposed that Wickremesinghe should be appointed "Minister of Creative Accounting" in a future government, should he ever fancy another return to power.
Behind the farce lies a serious matter. The Bribery Commission is investigating allegations that, during Wickremesinghe’s tenure as Prime Minister, the then Chief Minister of Uva Province, Chamara Sampath Dassanayake, withdrew large sums of money from the Provincial Council's accounts and spent it without appropriate legal authority.
This is not a petty squabble over administrative procedures. Provincial funds are taxpayer money — public wealth earmarked for development, education, healthcare, and infrastructure. When those funds are siphoned off without due process, it strikes at the very heart of public trust.
And for Wickremesinghe to appear today and imply that the crime lay in not raiding the bank account sooner is not merely laughable. It is deeply insulting to every Sri Lankan citizen who has ever stood in line at a crumbling hospital, or waited in vain for a promised school renovation.
The subtext of Ranil’s defence is clear: in the world of Sri Lankan elite politics, public money is there for the taking — rules are optional, procedures are for the little people, and accountability is a quaint relic.
Ranil Wickremesinghe has long been a paradox in Sri Lankan politics: erudite, fluent in English and economic jargon, yet often disastrously out of touch with public sentiment. It was that very detachment which saw his once-dominant United National Party (UNP) reduced to a single parliamentary seat in 2020 — a fall from grace so spectacular it would make Icarus blush.
And yet, true to form, Wickremesinghe resurfaced in 2022 as the compromise President after mass protests drove his predecessor into exile.
He promised reform. He promised clean governance.
He promised, in his own dry way, to be the adult in the room.
Today’s performance shows just how hollow those promises were.
For what Ranil demonstrated today — inadvertently but unmistakably — is that, even now, the political class sees corruption not as a shameful deviation, but as a management problem: to be explained away, smoothed over, or, failing that, simply redefined.
With a straight face, he attempted to reframe an alleged financial crime as an act of fiduciary heroism. It is the political equivalent of catching a pickpocket red-handed and having him argue that he was merely trying to "liberate" the wallet from underutilization.
Wickremesinghe’s absurd defence is not merely embarrassing. It is dangerous.
In a country already struggling under the weight of economic collapse, rising debt, and political disillusionment, to suggest that public officials are justified — even encouraged — to seize control of public funds without oversight is to pour acid on the fragile foundations of democracy.
Sri Lanka’s Provincial Councils, for all their flaws, are supposed to be laboratories of local governance — engines for grassroots development. They are entrusted with real money to meet real needs. If that trust is treated with such cavalier disregard by senior leaders, what hope is there for the integrity of governance elsewhere?
Moreover, Wickremesinghe’s argument perpetuates the corrosive culture of impunity. It tells every junior official, every ambitious bureaucrat, that what matters is not the law, but the cleverness of one's excuse.
It invites a political culture where the only real crime is getting caught — and even then, the real work is spinning the narrative into something absurd enough for the public to either laugh or shrug and move on.
Still, if there was a lighter side to today’s fiasco, it was watching Wickremesinghe, once the grand statesman, now reduced to a figure of satire.
Social media memes had a field day.
One popular image featured Wickremesinghe clutching a bag of cash, with the caption:
"It's not theft, it's proactive financial management!"
Another depicted him solemnly awarding himself a medal for "Outstanding Contributions to Bank Account Efficiency."
Perhaps the most cutting commentary came from a Colombo academic, who noted dryly:
"Ranil has finally achieved what decades of opposition rhetoric failed to do: he has convinced the public that his economic theories were nothing more than elaborate justifications for theft."
As for the Bribery Commission, much remains to be seen. Will today's events culminate in formal charges? Or will Wickremesinghe’s veteran instincts and legal manoeuvrings buy him yet another escape?
If history is any guide, betting on the latter may be wiser. Sri Lankan politics has a long and dishonourable tradition of scandals evaporating into thin air once the media spotlight moves on.
But if there is any justice — and if the Bribery Commission is serious about its mandate — then Wickremesinghe’s astonishing admissions today should not go unanswered.
At minimum, he has demonstrated that he no longer understands the ethical standards required of public servants. At worst, he has revealed a deep cynicism that threatens to corrode what little trust remains in Sri Lankan democracy.
Either way, it is clear that Ranil’s media event today was not merely a political miscalculation. It was a vivid, alarming, and darkly hilarious insight into the mind of a man who has led Sri Lanka at its most desperate hour — and who now seems determined to defend the indefensible.
There are times when political theatre can be amusing, even therapeutic. In a weary country, laughter can often be the first step toward hope.
But there are other times when laughter masks a deeper tragedy.
Today’s media circus was one such moment. Ranil Wickremesinghe's bizarre rationalizations were good for a chuckle — but if Sri Lanka fails to take them seriously, and if leaders are allowed to redefine corruption into virtue, then the country will not merely stumble again.
It will fall.
And this time, there may be no one left to laugh at all.
-By LeN Political Correspondent
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by (2025-04-28 18:23:00)
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