Wickremesinghe’s arrest: Cleansing the corridors of power
A new chapter for Sri Lanka:
August 24, 2025
Just over a year ago, I was arrested—not for crime, but for defiance. The hand that struck then belongs to the man arrested yesterday: former President Ranil Wickremesinghe. At that time, my mother was in her final days. I could not be with her.
My passport was seized, travel was banned, and my work was disrupted. Legal experts—Sri Lanka’s senior counsel and international human rights lawyer Jared Genser—confirmed plainly: my detention was political. Jared even warned me before I boarded that long flight. Evidence of interference from State Intelligence, a foreign embassy, and the Ministry of Law and Order left no doubt. Power had moved deliberately, and I had been caught in its machinery.
On Friday, Wickremesinghe himself became subject to the law, accused of misappropriating nearly Rs. 17 million—$56,000 for a personal trip. The irony is bitter. The man who once wielded the law to silence dissent is now its subject. Credit belongs to President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, who allowed the judiciary to act freely, restoring a simple truth: no one—not even a president—is above the law.
In the past six months, 63 people—including politicians, relatives, and government officials—were taken into custody for bribery or corruption, according to Prime Minister Dr. Harini Amarasuriya. A rare cleansing, momentary yet historic. Sri Lanka has long been a nation of betrayals, where law bends for the powerful, fear is currency, and accountability is a myth.
I recall a National Security Council meeting where a president boasted of freeing an infamous bhikkhu through a backdoor bail. Excusing himself to meet the bhikkhu waiting nearby, he revealed the law’s true nature: a tool of the powerful, not a shield for the weak. A distinguished military officer looked at me with lost hope in the presence of executive power.
Entrenched power
” Another day, law bowed to hierarchy. A cabinet paper approved my transfer, yet it was never executed. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs under Gotabaya Rajapaksa dismissed it: “Your Cabinet decision means nothing. I need a call from the president,” he said. I protested—my family had completed the formalities. “This is how things work,” he replied. “Thirteen names. Top is Milinda Moragoda. Yours is not here. Get the President to call.” I left that office, realising even formal authority could be nullified by entrenched power.
Wickremesinghe’s fall reminds us that power is not eternal. For decades, he navigated crises with impunity. Francis Harrison, in an Al Jazeera interview, repeatedly questioned his conduct near Batalanda, the notorious torture camp where many young Sri Lankans perished. Few found refuge in private homes after escaping Batalanda. I have spoken to Botheju, one of the few living witnesses—beaten and nearly hanged—who survived. Most did not. Wickremesinghe, a prime suspect, escaped arrest six times as prime minister.
Corruption trailed him too. The Central Bank bond scandal, under his supervision with close associate Arjun Mahendran, the former governor now domiciled in Singapore under a different name, remains Sri Lanka’s largest financial fraud. Operatives at the periphery went to jail; the top remained untouchable—until the President intervened. By holding Wickremesinghe accountable, he struck at the pinnacle, where others failed. No one is beyond the law.
The courtroom drew figures with tarnished reputations: a former president who pardoned a murderer days before leaving office, a law-and-order minister who facilitated the funding of the LTTE to control provinces’ voting and ran ‘Operation Justice’ as a money-making venture, silent millionaires posing as benevolent politicians, and media barons masquerading as leaders. Others surely await reckoning. Even the Opposition, distracted by a YouTuber’s minor voice, struggles to remain relevant with the old guard. The hybrid networks that once divided factions now face disruption.
Grim reminder
The president drew a line. No exceptions. No one is above the law—not even those who once dominated the state with impunity. The gruesome fate of his founding Marxist leader, burned alive after arrest at the Colombo cemetery, is a grim reminder of how deeply lawlessness had penetrated this country.
This reckoning is not symbolic alone. It validates a principle long advocated by citizens, lawyers, and civil servants alike: judicial independence is essential for democracy. When institutions function without fear or favouritism, people can reclaim faith in governance. Law can cease to be a weapon of the powerful and become a shield for all.
Yet, one arrest cannot erase decades of impunity. Courts, ministries, and bureaucracies remain fragile. Citizens have endured systems where loyalty to rulers outweighs loyalty to justice. Wickremesinghe’s detention is a warning: power can be held accountable, but only through persistent reform.
The Aragalaya of 2022 revealed the depth of public frustration. It was not merely an economic uprising but a demand for accountability. The IMF calls it a governance failure in its diagnostic. The streets displayed the cost of betrayal and neglect. Today, as the wheels of law turn freely, there is hope—but hope must be anchored in institutions, not personalities.
Wickremesinghe’s arrest reflects the past: abuse of power, manipulation of law, and the suffering of ordinary citizens. It signals the future: those once untouchable can be brought low. But this moment cannot be temporary. Judicial independence, transparent appointments, and accountable governance must be institutionalized. Only then can Sri Lanka break the cycle of impunity.
Justice is not granted; it is claimed and defended. Wickremesinghe’s fall is not closure—it is a call to preserve, strengthen, and protect the law for the next generation. Power will always tempt corruption. Ambition will always seek exemption. But if law stands, even the highest can be held accountable. This is democracy: equality before justice. The president shows that the arc of accountability can bend rightly—but bending is not enough. It must remain straight.
Wickremesinghe’s arrest is both a reflection and a possibility. Impunity can end. Law can assert itself. Citizens are not powerless. The challenge now is to turn this moment into enduring accountability. Sri Lanka has endured selective justice for too long. Today, the cycle has been disrupted. Tomorrow, it must be broken.
No office, no title, no history, no wealth, no influence—none can stand above the law. That is the victory worth claiming.
The writer is a senior fellow at the Millennium Project in Washington, D.C. He is the author of the forthcoming book ‘Winds of Change: Geopolitics at the Crossroads of South and Southeast Asia,’ published by World Scientific Singapore.
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