By Roger Srivasan

“Like rabbits caught in the headlights of justice, the corrupt political class now scurry in panic as the people’s President advances relentlessly to extirpate the twin scourges of corruption and narcotics.”

I. The Eclipse of the Old Order
For more than seventy-five years, Sri Lanka’s political destiny was scripted by a select constellation of
men who orbited the nation like celestial bodies, controlling its fate while basking in borrowed light.
Politics became a two-horse race between dynasties rather than ideas. Nepotism, corruption, and
impunity formed the gravitational field that kept the old order intact. Their kingdoms were built not
upon principle but patronage — on the commerce of favours and the currency of deceit. The ordinary
citizen, caught in the crossfire of promises and betrayals, grew disenchanted yet voiceless, convinced
that change was a mirage shimmering on the horizon. Then came 2024 — the year the heavens shifted. A new force emerged, not from palatial corridors but from the pulse of the people. It spoke of accountability, of clean governance, of merit over lineage. And the electorate, weary of hypocrisy, responded with resounding faith. For the first time in decades, Sri Lanka witnessed the dawn of a people’s government — born not of inheritance, but of integrity.

II. The Orphans of Power
Those who once ruled now wander like political orphans — dispossessed, directionless, and discredited. Cast out from the orbit of influence, they cling to one another in a grotesque fraternity of the failed. As their political lives ebb away, the formerly powerful display a sudden, almost desperate unity. Old rivals, once locked in bitter enmity, now embrace in panic. The same figures who once vilified one another on the public stage now whisper in smoky backrooms, plotting a shared resurrection. Yet their unity is not born of vision; it is born of fear. Fear of justice catching up. Fear of accountability becoming real. Fear of a nation that has finally learned to see through the masquerade.

III. A Futile Revolt
And so they rally again — the rejected, the indicted, the morally bankrupt — calling for protest meetings and “people’s uprisings.” But these are not movements of conscience; they are spasms of desperation. Their slogans ring hollow, their indignation counterfeit. They speak of democracy only when their own privileges are threatened. They decry injustice only when justice begins to close in.

They summon the crowd, not to defend the people, but to defend themselves from the people’s verdict. Theirs is not a revolution but a revenge mission — a last-ditch attempt to wrest power from a government that still commands the overwhelming trust of the majority. The new administration, though young, has become a powerhouse of public will — focused, resolute, and untainted. Against such legitimacy, the revolt of the corrupt is doomed before it begins.

IV. The People’s Mandate
This government stands not on slogans but on substance. It is cleansing the Augean stables of corruption, dismantling cartels, exposing the narcotic underworld, and restoring discipline to a country long paralysed by patronage. Naturally, those who once prospered in chaos now cry foul. But the people are not fooled. They have endured too much, suffered too long, and learned too well. They recognise the new pretenders for what they are — scavengers circling a banquet that has ended.

Their rallies may attract cameras, but not conviction; noise, but not numbers. For Sri Lanka today stands aligned behind reform, not regression. The people’s mandate is no longer a temporary loan of trust — it is a moral contract. And breaking that contract for the sake of resurrecting the corrupt would be treason, not politics.

V. The Verdict of History
History, ever the sternest judge, offers little mercy to those who betray their nation’s faith. The orphans of power can howl in unison, but they cannot halt the march of renewal. Their cries are the echoes of a dying order — a requiem for a politics that thrived on deceit and died of exposure. Sri Lanka has turned a page. The age of hereditary politics has given way to the era of accountability. The light of reform, once kindled, cannot be extinguished by the shadows of yesterday. Let them protest, if they must — it will only confirm their irrelevance. For no mob can overturn a moral awakening; no alliance of decay can dethrone the people’s conscience. The tide of renewal has risen, and history does not flow backwards.

Author’s Note
This essay is penned in the wake of a proposed protest by the so-called “joint opposition” — a union not of ideals but of insecurities. The article is a reflection on how the corrupt, when cornered, momentarily discover fraternity, and how the nation, once betrayed, learns the wisdom of vigilance.

When the Dispossessed of Power Unite, the Nation Must Stand Guard!

By Panduka Keerthinanda, Attorney-at-Law

The government’s recent budget, with its well-intentioned promise to build a more equitable society, has brought a familiar refrain: higher taxes on businesses. The new mandate, which subjects every business with a monthly turnover of 3 million LKR to an 18% VAT, is presented as a progressive tool. The objective is noble to fund social programmes and provide a financial lifeline to our most vulnerable citizens. No one can argue with the goal of lifting people out of poverty.

However, we must pause and ask a critical question: At what cost does this revenue come? There is a growing fear that this policy, rather than building a stable and equitable society, will systematically dismantle the very engine of our economy: our high-end entrepreneurs and established small to medium enterprises (SMEs).

The unseen burden on the backbone of the economy

Labelling a business with a 3 million LKR monthly turnover as a “high-income earner” is a fundamental miscalculation. Turnover is not profit. A business generating 36 million LKR annually in revenue may have razor-thin profit margins after accounting for raw material costs, skyrocketing utility bills, employee salaries, loan repayments, and transportation. Imposing an 18% VAT on the total revenue, not profit, can easily push a viable, job-providing enterprise into the red.

Consider a local manufacturer or a tech start up. They are not the corporate giants with vast financial reserves to absorb such shocks. They are the ambitious, the innovative, and the true “antropinurs” (entrepreneurs) who have built something from nothing. This VAT policy does not just tax their income; it taxes their ambition and penalises their success.

The chilling effect on entrepreneurship

The message this policy sends is perilous: “Grow, but not too much.” The 3 million LKR threshold acts not as a gateway to contributing more to society, but as a barrier to growth. Business owners will be incentivised to artificially suppress their turnover to stay below the VAT threshold. This could mean:

Hesitating to hire new employees.
Avoiding investment in new equipment or technology.
Reducing production and scaling back expansion plans.

In essence, the policy actively discourages the growth and scalability we so desperately need to revive our economy. We are not fostering entrepreneurship; we are caging it.

The irony of “Equity”

The ultimate irony is that the quest for equity may create greater inequity. When businesses are stifled, the first to suffer are their employees. Job creation stalls, wages stagnate, and eventually, layoffs begin. The very low-income persons the government aims to support will find fewer employment opportunities. The social programmes funded by this VAT will then have to function as a permanent crutch, rather than a temporary hand-up, because the natural job-creating mechanism of the economy has been damaged.

Furthermore, the increased cost of doing business will inevitably be passed on to the consumer. The 18% VAT will be baked into the price of goods and services, fuelling inflation and eroding the purchasing power of every citizen, including the poor. This creates a vicious cycle where the government taxes to provide support, while its own policies make the cost of living more unaffordable.

We must move beyond simplistic taxation that views businesses as mere piggy banks to be broken for social spending. A truly progressive and equitable system would:

Tax Profit, Not Turnover: The core of the issue. Taxing net income is a fair measure of a company’s ability to pay.
Simplify the Tax Regime: Create a clear, predictable, and easy-to-comply system that encourages formalisation, not evasion.
Invest in the Ecosystem: Use tax revenue not just for consumption (social programmes) but for investment in infrastructure, education, and innovation grants that help businesses grow and create higher-quality jobs in the country.

The goal of a more equitable Sri Lanka is shared by all. But we cannot build a stable house by burning the foundations. Our entrepreneurs are not the enemy; they are our greatest asset. It is time for a policy that nurtures them, not one that cripples them with well-intentioned but ultimately destructive taxes.

The government need to reconsider this approach and collaborate on a framework that fosters both growth and justice, ensuring that our pursuit of equity does not come at the cost of our prosperity.