By Adolf
The decision to summon former President Ranil Wickremesinghe to the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) over his London stopover following the United Nations General Assembly has raised eyebrows, not least because it touches on the very core of how Sri Lanka views the presidency and its privileges. While accountability is a non-negotiable pillar of democracy, the move risks setting a precedent that undermines the dignity of the highest office in the land.
At issue is whether Wickremesinghe’s London visit was an “official” or “private” engagement. Critics suggest public resources were misused. Yet, the argument overlooks a fundamental reality: a President does not shed the office at will. Whether he is in Colombo, New York, or London, the President remains Head of State, with all the obligations, security requirements, and symbolic responsibilities that position entails. There is no such thing as a purely “private” presidential trip.
In practice, every Head of State—whether in the US, the UK, or India—blends official travel with personal moments. They may stop over to meet friends, attend events, or rest, but their status as President remains intact. The costs of security, logistics, and protocol follow naturally because they are inseparable from the role. To now attempt to criminalize or second-guess this principle in retrospect risks trivializing the very institution of the Presidency.
This is not to say that the use of public funds should escape scrutiny. Transparency and clear rules are essential. Citizens deserve to know what is official business and what portion of expenses, if any, should be personally borne. But the line between oversight and political point-scoring must not be crossed. Dragging a former President to the CID over a stopover does little to advance accountability and much to erode institutional respect.
There is also a troubling inconsistency. Successive Sri Lankan Presidents have made private detours, attended family events abroad, or extended official travel for personal reasons. Yet, few have faced this level of scrutiny. Why single out Wickremesinghe? If the principle is to be applied, it must be applied universally. To be fair to Wickremesinghe—and to avoid the impression of a political witch hunt—similar investigations should be conducted into the travel practices of all past Presidents, including the incumbent. Anything less will confirm selective justice and reinforce the perception that accountability is being used as a political tool.
Moreover, this sends a damaging message internationally. Heads of State must be able to travel with confidence that their actions, while in office, will not later be nitpicked in ways that expose them to public embarrassment. If the Presidency is treated as an ordinary office, stripped of its dignity after tenure, Sri Lanka risks diminishing the authority and credibility of the office itself.
The healthier path would be to establish a framework: codify rules on presidential travel, ensure transparent reporting of costs, and require partial reimbursement for clearly personal activities. That way, future Presidents operate within clear boundaries, and accountability is upheld without weaponizing the law.
In summoning a former President over a stopover, the state risks crossing from accountability into pettiness. Selective justice will not strengthen democracy—it will weaken it, fuel public cynicism, and further erode trust in Sri Lanka’s institutions. If accountability is the goal, it must be universal, fair, and free of politics. Otherwise, this exercise becomes less about justice and more about vengeance.
