Editorial
Minister of Health and Media Nalinda Jayatissa, in parliament yesterday, asserted that “racism will not be allowed to rear its head” and the threat of new laws to combat it is both a convenient smokescreen for political repression and an affront to the complexity of racism itself. This is not an innocent fight against prejudice; it is a deeply political manoeuvre aimed at shaping the future of public discourse under the guise of moral authority. In this hasty pursuit of racial harmony, Jayatissa and his colleagues risk walking into the dangerous territory of thought control, failing to recognise that laws cannot suppress ideologies by mere legislative decree.
Racism, at its core, is not simply a matter of offending words or actions that can be neatly defined by legal parameters. It is an ideology rooted in centuries of social, economic, and political history, forged in the crucible of colonialism, power struggles, and cultural domination. To reduce it to something that can be “stopped” through a few new laws is to misunderstand its insidious nature. It is an idea that transcends the borders of any specific nation or legal system; it lives in social structures, in institutional practices, in the very fabric of collective consciousness. It is as much a historical and philosophical construct as it is a social ill. To suggest that one can “ban” racism is to treat it as a disease, something to be eradicated with a vaccine. But racism is not a disease; it is an ideology, and it can only be combated with robust ideological alternatives.
This is where Minister Jayatissa’s rhetoric falters. His remarks, particularly when coupled with the arrest of individuals for posting images of LTTE flags and symbols, reflect a deeply flawed approach to what constitutes racism and how it should be policed. The individuals arrested were not propagating hate or inciting violence in the traditional sense; they were, in essence, participating in a form of expression that has long been a feature of post-war Tamil identity. Jayatissa’s decision to frame this as “incitement of racism” is an overtly political move, meant not to protect social harmony, but to silence dissent. The irony is palpable: racism, as the Minister understands it, is entirely shaped by the political convenience of the state in power. If it is the Tamil minority expressing their ethnic pride, it is framed as a threat; but when the Sinhala-Buddhist majority, who have historically dominated the national narrative, engage in similar expressions of ethnic or religious solidarity, it is not seen as “racist”. This selective policing of racism is not only intellectually dishonest, it is morally bankrupt.
What is most troubling in this context is the assertion that the government will introduce new laws if the existing ones are insufficient. This is not a well-intentioned attempt to curb hate; it is the beginning of a descent into authoritarianism. What Jayatissa and his government fail to grasp is that laws are never neutral. Laws are tools wielded by those in power, and history has shown time and time again that laws are often used to protect the status quo, to silence the voiceless, and to suppress those whose views challenge the established order. When the law is invoked to criminalise certain forms of expression while simultaneously ignoring or endorsing others, it becomes clear that the state is less concerned with combating racism than with curbing political opposition. In a society already fractured by ethnic divisions, the legalisation of ideological suppression is a dangerous precedent.
Indeed, racism cannot be eliminated by arresting a few individuals or legislating against certain symbols. This is the great fallacy of the current government’s approach. The ideology of racism is not a superficial act that can be eradicated through punitive measures. It is a deeply entrenched social force that has been nurtured for decades, if not centuries. In Sri Lanka, as in many other post-colonial nations, racism is the by-product of centuries of ethnic tensions, economic exploitation, and political marginalisation. It cannot simply be wished away or criminalised. The state’s attempt to legislate away racism without addressing the root causes of inequality, historical trauma, and political exclusion is a gross oversimplification.
Moreover, the hypocrisy is glaring. When Sinhala-Buddhist extremist groups have incited violence, hatred, and division—often with tacit or overt support from powerful political actors—there is no call for the same fervent crackdown. The Bodu Bala Sena, Ravana Balaya, and other such groups have for years spread venomous ideologies that have led to violence and alienation, particularly against the Muslim and Tamil communities. Yet, they are allowed to thrive in the political and social sphere, even as their messages go unchecked. The selective enforcement of anti-racism laws suggests that the government’s true aim is not to foster inclusivity but to safeguard the dominance of the Sinhala-Buddhist majority.
The tragedy here is not just the ideological suppression of ethnic minorities but the erosion of genuine democratic principles. If racism can only be addressed through state intervention and repression, then we must question what kind of society we are building. Can a democracy truly exist where ideas are policed by the state, where dissent is treated as criminal, and where the pursuit of equality is limited to the enactment of laws that favour one group over another? Racism is an ideological monster, but it cannot be defeated by mere authoritarian decree. It requires a democratic response: a political and cultural movement that transcends legalism and offers an alternative vision for society.
If Minister Jayatissa’s government truly seeks to combat racism, it must recognise that laws, while necessary, are not sufficient. Racism cannot be arrested and locked away; it must be dismantled through a sustained, inclusive, and secular political programme that tackles the root causes of social and economic injustice. Anything less is not a fight against racism—it is a political manoeuvre that seeks to consolidate power under the guise of moral rectitude. And in that, it fails both the people and the ideals of democracy.
