Four years ago, on a day like today, Mangala Samaraweera’s life journey came to an end. He was a politician, humanitarian, aesthete, and above all, my dearest friend. Four years ago, on a day like today, I received news of his passing. It was a message that pained me to the point that I could not put words to the extent of my sorrow. I still cannot. Four years have passed, but even now the shock reverberates through my heart, echoing with quiet grief.

How did Mangala become such an inseparable part of my life? This is a question that I have pondered off and on.

In politics, Mangala and I shared closely aligned ideologies. At times, there were differences of opinion on various matters, and yes, there were debates, sometimes heated arguments too, but in the end, we always had the ability to bring those disagreements to a place of mutual understanding.

What we shared went far beyond politics — it was a deep friendship built on warmth, loyalty, and trust. When political camaraderie and genuine personal friendship intertwine, it creates something rare and beautiful.

Even when our political views diverged, there was never even an iota of bitterness. What sustained us was that deep-rooted friendship, and the mutual respect we had for one another. That was the true foundation of our bond.

Mangala once wrote a note on my birthday: ‘I am yet to meet a friend as close to me as Krishantha is. I am yet to meet anyone who has had as many fights with me as Krishantha has. Perhaps because we are very close friends, he would get angry over the most trivial matter. He would shout in his deep voice and storm off. I would think “that’s it!” But his anger was like a bottle of soda that had just been opened. By morning, it’s gone. The inevitable SMS the following morning would tell me that the anger has been replaced by renewed and deeper friendship. We have had hundreds or even thousands of such fights over the years.’

That note he wrote about me is just as valid when spoken about him.

Mangala dreamt of a beautiful, diverse country and world — free from racism, religious extremism, or discrimination.

As a Minister, he made immense sacrifices to uplift Sri Lanka’s image on the international stage. The dark, dated portrayal of our country was reimagined by Mangala in full color. He helped the world see Sri Lanka
as a land of peace and reconciliation.

It was because of his diplomatic efforts that we saw record-breaking numbers of foreign visitors come to this country.

And at a pivotal moment in our nation’s history, when he was given the finance portfolio, he rose to the occasion with grace, even though that had never been his subject. The progressive budget Mangala introduced became a landmark moment in Sri Lankan history.

How did Mangala succeed so remarkably?

He had a unique vision — and more importantly, he knew how to empower capable people to bring that vision to life. He mastered the art of selecting the right individuals, trusting them, and giving them the
freedom to deliver. He truly understood the value of human talent, listened attentively, and treated people with respect.

Many politicians are surrounded by gatekeepers who build walls between them and the people. Mangala never tolerated such hollow characters. He made sure there were no curtains, between himself and professionals, friends, officials, or the public. Distance and division were not things that he tolerated, and he never allowed anyone close to him to create such things.

Mangala was a progressive, freedom-loving human being. He had a zest for life that was magnetic. He drew me in with his vision of a society that transcended nationalism and religious dogma. When flames of ethnic
tension threatened to spread in this country, Mangala stood, unconditionally, with the oppressed. What mattered to him was humanity and not someone’s race or colour. The vibrant world he dreamed of and
strived to create, there was space for everyone to live with dignity.

Mangala changed tradition. He never bowed down to power or wealth. That’s why people called him “Mangala, who never bowed his head.”

He was a political figure — but unlike many politicians, Mangala had no secret life. He lived openly and authentically. That made him different. That made him stand out. He acted in accordance with his conscience at all times, without exception. That conscience was his compass and no matter what the cost, he never betrayed it.

Mangala was a rare politician, also, in that he never responded to criticism or even virulent attacks with personal attacks. His responses were logical. He privileged reason over emotion. There was not a shred of
hatred in him, either in word or deed. He even smiled at those who unfairly judged him. It was as though he was amused or convinced that one day such people would realise they were wrong. Indeed, the more he
was criticized, the more honest and courageous he became.

It’s easy to see people drift away from politicians once their power fades. But no one who came close to Mangala ever left him.

Such was the vastness of his heart. With each passing day, there was more to learn, more to understand from him.

I believe Mangala was too great for this country. Or perhaps, this country never truly understood Mangala.
Maybe he carried some quiet disappointment about having to leave a land where many failed to grasp his worth.

But from the moment he passed away, people began to realize just how immense Mangala really was.
Some of the very words he was once criticized for are now being quoted as profound truths.
Tragically, it’s only after his passing that many are beginning to understand the truths Mangala spoke.
Mangala Samaraweera — a rare kind of politician — departed this life leaving behind a void, that cannot be filled.

The kind-hearted, loyal friend we knew as Mangala left us with a haunting thought in every critical moment:
“If only Mangala were here…”

I still remember how he once wished me for my birthday in 2020, saying:

“Take a break until this period of madness is over. The best days of the struggle are still ahead.”
That was when our motherland felt like forbidden ground for people like us.

But the friend who told me to wait until the right moment came, chose the eternal rest of life even before that moment arrived. The space he left behind, though, remains empty. Sadly.

Krishantha Prasad Cooray

By Adolf

With much debate today over the reported 16 million spent on security for former President Ranil Wickremesinghe , and questions about the procedures followed leading to his imprisonment, it is useful to place such spending in a global context. The daily cost of maintaining top political leaders has long been a subject of discussion, particularly when comparing figures for U.S. President Donald Trump and Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

For Donald Trump, security and operational expenses for his presidency are exceptionally high. Securing Trump Tower—his private residence in New York—is estimated at around $300,000 per day, with costs rising further when his family stays there. Travel added substantially: operating Air Force One costs about $142,000 per flight hour, so a multi-country trip could exceed $5 million, averaging over $700,000 per day.

Narendra Modi’s security is overseen by the Special Protection Group (SPG), which in 2020–21 had an annual allocation of ₹592 crore (around $72 million). This translates to roughly $200,000 per day. On foreign visits, costs increase significantly, with Air India One operations and logistics pushing daily expenses to $600,000–$800,000.

These comparisons highlight the vast sums required to protect global leaders, reflecting both the burden on taxpayers and the premium placed on national leadership security to protect the dignity of the office of Head of State and the image of the country.

By Adolf

Given the controversy surrounding the manner in which the former President’s arrest was carried out on Friday, it is necessary to recall the long-established principles governing government financial practices.

Government financial regulations clearly set out the procedures relating to expenditure on official overseas travel. When an official returns from such a trip, a statement of accounts must be prepared, indicating the funds obtained, the expenses incurred, and any balance remaining. These accounts are then subject to verification, approval, and audit.

If any expense cannot be justified, the officer concerned must provide clarification. Where an expense is disallowed for valid reasons, the corresponding amount must be refunded. In this particular instance, it is important to note that these procedures were duly followed and that the Auditor General had already reviewed and approved the accounts.

Flawed process followed

It appears, however, that these established procedures were not properly examined before legal action was initiated. Proceeding directly to imprisonment, without reference to the systems and controls in place,
undermines due process and fairness, and cannot be equated with justice.

Verbal allegations alone cannot form the basis of accountability. Legal responsibility must rest on documentary evidence and the official records maintained under government financial regulations.

Accordingly, before pursuing legal action, it is essential that law enforcement and prosecuting authorities carefully review the government’s expenditure systems to ensure proper controls have been followed.

It would also be prudent for President Anura Kumara Dissanayake to reflect on this process, as he too could be subjected to similar treatment if due process is disregarded now for former Presidents.

My mother carries a diary of my grandmother, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of public service. It details how my grandmother, a reasonably wealthy woman, was left with so little after her husband, my grandfather, had devoted his life to his community and country.

Though he was a self-made man, a teacher, a Principal, a scholar, and a Member of Parliament with an immense reputation for virtue, my grandfather left nothing for his family, not even enough money to afford his own casket. His service was total, but its cost was borne by his family. My mother keeps that diary, I believe, as a reminder that there is no glory in blind service at the expense of one’s family.

This anecdotal history seems to be a template for the new Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP)/National People’s Power (NPP) Government’s attitude towards public service. It reinforces the dangerous myth that public service is the most noble cause and can only be fulfilled by one who sacrifices everything.

In this view, public servants should not be rewarded for their immense effort and power. It’s a belief deeply embedded in the psyche of people like Anura Kumara Dissanayake and the JVP, whose recent success has come after a long road of blood, sweat, and tears. This narrative, while powerful, is a pseudo-free public service that takes away all accountability for a leader’s actions.

Public service is not a part-time passion project; it is a full-time, serious job of nation-building. It is a dangerous myth that everyone works for free. Only a handful of individuals are financially independent enough to do so. What about the rest?

When public leaders are at the mercy of businessmen, their decisions become tilted towards business agendas, not the nation’s best interests. It’s a fundamental management principle: not paying people a reasonable remuneration is a bad policy. Expecting those who hold immense power to work for an altruistic purpose is simply a terrible policy.

I have learnt this lesson firsthand. Despite being a third-generation politician, I came from the corporate world. My career was built on the principles of financial integrity and professionalism. When I entered politics, I was determined to conduct my public life with the same standards, ensuring I earned an honest living to support my family.

The JVP’s narrative, however, painted everyone in the opposing camp as rogues, and even Balasuriya, a family name tied to public service, lost an election over this powerful narrative.

The emotional toll of that period was immense. As a loving husband and a father to two beautiful young daughters, I could never justify sacrificing their future on the altar of a political myth. My story isn’t one of glory, but a simple truth: one must be financially secure to serve without compromise.

I have heard Lee Kuan Yew’s argument about the need to pay public representatives well to attract the best talent. While this might not be politically palatable in Sri Lanka, the core principle holds true. Evidence suggests that inadequate salaries lead to more corruption, not less.

We cannot expect people to dedicate their lives to the betterment of the country if they are not provided the basic means to survive. Reasonable remuneration is required so that people who have a passion for public service can have an opportunity to dedicate their lives to the country.

However, salaries alone will not combat corruption. It is just as important to establish effective monitoring systems and eliminate the impunity that many politicians and people in high positions have enjoyed for so long in Sri Lanka.

Ultimately, politics reflects society at large. As I have heard from my father, who served as a politician himself, “You cannot expect an island of virtue in an ocean of corruption.”

Before we jump on the bandwagon and argue that MPs should not get pensions or salaries, we should ask ourselves honestly what sacrifices we are willing to make in our own careers and for how long, at the expense of our families.

*The writer is a former State Minister of Foreign Affairs. He is a third-generation politician and a former corporate executive.
*The article was published on The Sunday Morning.