by Luxman Arvind
Let us speak candidly, without the veil of superficial praise. While we must extend our congratulations to President Dissanayake and his colleagues, recognising the undeniable achievement of their victory, we must also reflect on what this moment truly signifies. It is, without question, a remarkable outcome—one that marks a moment of triumph in the political framework. Yet, in this triumph, we are compelled to ask deeper questions about the forces that shape such victories and the true nature of success in the complex web of power, ambition, and history. For in acknowledging the victory, we must also recognise that true change is rarely as simple or as pure as the surface of electoral numbers might suggest.
The parliamentary election results, where the National People’s Power (NPP), led by the JVP, has seized an unexpected majority, might appear as an earth-shaking shift in the country’s politcs. A wave of headlines proclaims it a historic triumph, a revolutionary mandate for change. But beneath this veneer lies a far darker, more insidious truth. This “victory” isn’t the dawn of a new era for Sri Lanka, but rather an elaborate exercise in manufactured consent—an artful illusion meticulously crafted to consolidate power without truly altering the underlying structures that bind the nation to cycles of control, inequality, and foreign manipulation.
The writings of thinkers like Walter Lippmann and Noam Chomsky on the theory of “manufactured consent” expose the very mechanisms by which public opinion is engineered. By filtering information and strategically deploying propaganda, manipulators can dictate what people believe, even while allowing them to think they’ve arrived at these beliefs independently. Lippmann’s idea of the “bewildered herd,” a public kept docile through manipulative media and ideological conditioning, could not be more relevant to Sri Lanka’s current situation. The NPP’s victory, while presented as a democratic uprising, reveals itself to be an illusion of empowerment. It’s not a people’s revolution; it’s a rebranding of power, a repackaging of the same ruling ideology dressed up as liberation. To see it as a victory for the people is to be ensnared in precisely the trap that Lippmann and Chomsky warned us about—a political sleight of hand that cloaks oppression in the language of progress.
The parallels between this political transformation and Coralie Fargeat’s recent body-horror film, The Substance, are striking. In the film, the protagonist is reborn from her own body, experiencing the visceral thrill of newness, yet haunted by the knowledge that she is both her old self and this supposedly new creature, one half always needing the other to survive. This macabre rebirth is no real transformation; it’s a repackaging of trauma, with the new self constantly at war with the old, both trapped in a gruesome coexistence. Sri Lanka’s political “rebirth” mirrors this grotesque cycle—promising radical change but condemned to repeat the same oppressions. The NPP, while brandishing the rhetoric of revolution, is the product of the very system it claims to overthrow. Like the protagonist in Fargeat’s film, Sri Lanka’s political domain is shackled to its past. It’s a tragic loop where the promise of progress is nothing more than a ghostly echo, with every “new” movement perpetuating the same cycles of power.
For all the spectacle of numbers, election data alone obscures the deeper narrative at play. The NPP’s success in securing a majority with over 6.8 million votes might seem a resounding mandate. But what do these numbers signify in a society where truth itself is a malleable construct? As Edward Bernays, the “father of public relations,” demonstrated, public opinion can be so easily manipulated that people can be made to act against their own best interests without even realising it. Bernays wielded psychological techniques to condition people’s minds, coining the phrase “engineering consent”—a concept even more alarming in today’s context, as digital media further amplifies its power. Through propaganda, people come to support policies and leaders they believe they chose, not realising they were led to these choices by an invisible hand. Thus, the NPP’s “majority” is not the sound of democratic harmony; it’s the echo of calculated propaganda that has corralled people into complacency. This isn’t true political agency; it’s the mirage of freedom projected onto the walls of a cage.
Sri Lanka’s modern history is littered with the ruins of similar illusions. Take the example of former President J.R. Jayawardene, whose sweeping electoral victory once commanded five-sixths of the parliament—a mandate that transformed into one of the country’s most catastrophic eras. Jayawardene’s rule began amid promises of a new direction, but soon crumbled into three decades of civil war, economic collapse, and mass disillusionment. History warns us that massive mandates often breed arrogance, not transformation. And yet, Sri Lanka once again stands at the precipice, with a new government emboldened by the illusion of support. The tragedy here is that the NPP’s victory may signal the start of a similarly disastrous trajectory—one where the very mandate that promises change will be the weapon that deepens despair and division.
The NPP’s symbolic victories in minority-majority regions, like the North and East, have been hailed as unprecedented, signalling hope for inclusivity. But these achievements should give pause. Such “inclusive” support is as fragile as it is orchestrated, the result of calculated outreach rather than genuine solidarity. In a nation with a long history of ethnic and social divisions, unity cannot be manufactured. The trust of minority groups, particularly Tamils and Muslims, is hard-won and hard-kept. By aligning their votes with the NPP, they have placed cautious faith in a party that promises to represent them. But trust built on rhetoric is brittle. Unless the NPP addresses the deep-seated grievances and systemic inequalities that these communities face, this unity will fracture under the weight of broken promises. The unity we see today could just as easily become tomorrow’s resentment, further exacerbating the tensions that have kept Sri Lanka from true national harmony.
Geopolitics adds another layer of complexity—and danger. Sri Lanka’s place at the nexus of global power struggles between the US, India, and China renders it a pawn in larger strategic games. Reports that the United States had a hand in the NPP’s rise underline the stakes. Just as India has been penalised by Western powers for its ties with Russia and Iran, so too might Sri Lanka face the consequences of displeasing these global titans. With the US allegedly nudging the NPP toward neoliberal reform, the illusion of freedom becomes starker. What appears to be a revolution for the people might, in fact, be the first step in a geopolitical chess match, one that sacrifices Sri Lankan sovereignty at the altar of foreign interests. In this game, no country has friends, only interests—and Sri Lanka’s is a strategic location rather than a valued partner. If the NPP fails to align with these foreign agendas, the West’s support could turn cold, setting Sri Lanka adrift or, worse, embroiling it in economic and political conflicts it can scarcely afford.
The shadow of compromise looms over every aspect of this government, a compromise made all the more perilous by the sheer inexperience of the legislators now in power. Nearly 95% of these elected officials have no political experience, and in the hands of the savvy manipulators who truly run the show, they are lambs to the slaughter. The risk is that in a crisis—be it economic or political—these newcomers will turn to dangerous compromises or hasty solutions that could deepen the country’s woes. History shows us that such inexperience, when wielded by powerful interests, creates a recipe for disaster, especially in a nation that stands as vulnerable to foreign influence as Sri Lanka does now.
When the smoke clears, Sri Lanka will find itself right back where it started—divided, manipulated, and disillusioned. In this tragic repetition, the NPP’s victory is not a revolution; it is a requiem for real change.
This so-called transformation is ultimately a mirage. Behind the promises of a new dawn lies the same cycle of oppression, disillusionment, and betrayal that has plagued Sri Lanka for decades. The NPP’s victory may give the appearance of a fresh start, but history, both recent and ancient, tells us this is an illusion. Like the protagonist in Fargeat’s film, Sri Lanka’s political ecosystem finds itself born anew from the carcass of the old, each cycle birthing nothing more than a gruesome imitation of the last.
In The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind, Gustave Le Bon explores the psychology of crowds and their susceptibility to manipulation, particularly under conditions of political upheaval. He argues that individuals within a crowd lose their sense of personal responsibility, becoming driven by the collective impulse rather than rational thought. In Sri Lanka’s current political environment, the victory of the National People’s Power (NPP) can be seen as a direct consequence of this crowd psychology, where the electorate, swayed by the promises of change and reform, has willingly accepted an illusion of progress. Just as Le Bon describes, the masses in Sri Lanka, weary from years of economic turmoil and political disenfranchisement, are primed to follow the charismatic leaders of the NPP, believing their victory to be a manifestation of popular will.
However, in this collective fervour, they overlook the deeper mechanisms at play—the deliberate shaping of public opinion and the strategic use of media to foster a sense of unity and hope. The crowds, in their eagerness for change, may not recognise that they are being guided by the very forces that have perpetuated the cycle of control they seek to escape. The political triumph of the NPP is not just a reflection of popular desire for reform but rather a symptom of how easily the masses can be manipulated into believing that an illusion of change constitutes a real transformation.
Le Bon’s work also highlights how the leader of a crowd can exercise profound influence by tapping into emotions, fears, and desires. The NPP’s rhetoric of revolution and national unity resonates deeply with a populace that feels disenfranchised and betrayed by the status quo. However, as Le Bon warns, the emotional appeal of a leader often overrides the rational evaluation of policies and ideas, leaving the crowd vulnerable to manipulation. The NPP, by adopting the mantle of progressive change, has successfully capitalised on the widespread disillusionment with the existing political elite. Yet, much like the crowds described by Le Bon, the electorate may be placing their faith in a new set of leaders who promise change but are likely to repeat the same patterns of compromise and systemic failure.
The NPP’s victory, therefore, is not merely a result of a rational political choice but is symptomatic of the emotional manipulation of the masses. Their desires for a brighter future have been skilfully harnessed, but the political realities that will emerge in the aftermath are likely to fall short of the expectations set by the NPP’s leaders. In this sense, Sri Lanka’s political situation mirrors Le Bon’s observations about the dynamics of crowds: the people, in their collective fervour, may have chosen a leader not on the basis of reasoned judgment, but through an emotional and psychological alignment with the promises of change, however unrealistic or unsubstantiated they may prove to be.
Sri Lanka’s tragedy is that it has mistaken these shifts for real change. Its people, seduced by the rhetoric of hope, have once again placed their faith in a political project that, at best, is a rebranding of the same systemic forces, and at worst, a pawn in a game of global manipulation. The NPP’s win will be heralded as progress, but if one looks beneath the surface, it’s clear that this is not freedom—it is merely a new form of control, tailored to fit the aspirations and anxieties of a weary, long-suffering populace. This “victory” isn’t the dawn of an era; it’s the start of a new chapter in the same dismal story.
The NPP may bask in the glory of its mandate, but the price of this victory will soon become clear. Political purity is a myth, and power, once seized, demands compromise. In a climate as precarious as Sri Lanka’s, these compromises will prove bitter, alienating the very communities that once saw the NPP as their last hope. The euphoria of victory will fade, leaving the NPP exposed to the same forces that have undermined every movement before it. When the smoke clears, Sri Lanka will find itself right back where it started—divided, manipulated, and disillusioned. In this tragic repetition, the NPP’s victory is not a revolution; it is a requiem for real change.
