Editorial
Justice in Sri Lanka is no longer a sacred ideal—it has been auctioned off to the highest bidder. The very profession sworn to uphold the law has become a grotesque marketplace where criminals buy immunity, and lawyers sell their souls. The legal fraternity, which should have been the last bastion of morality, has, in many instances, become indistinguishable from the underworld it claims to combat. How else can one explain the brazen extortion of wealth from drug traffickers and criminal syndicates under the pretext of legal defence?
This is no longer about the right to legal representation—an inviolable tenet of any just society. This is about something far more sinister: the institutionalisation of corruption within the legal system itself. When a lawyer demands over a million rupees for a single court appearance, what exactly is being sold? Justice? Or the guarantee that a criminal can continue their illicit empire unscathed? These lawyers are not defenders of the rule of law; they are facilitators of crime, profiteers of blood money, and architects of a system where the guilty walk free while the innocent are buried under the weight of an inaccessible, unjust legal machine.
There is a sickening irony in the way Sri Lanka’s economy functions. Government teachers—who mould the nation’s future—are underpaid and unappreciated, while tuition masters, who exploit children and peddle overpriced, ineffective education, make fortunes. Similarly, ethical lawyers who genuinely fight for justice are drowned out by a pack of opportunists who have turned legal defence into a high-stakes business venture funded by the very criminals they pretend to oppose.
These so-called “learned professionals” are nothing more than glorified extortionists in black robes. They do not merely represent criminals—they are sustained by them. Their lavish lifestyles, their luxury cars, their overseas vacations—who funds them? Is it honest citizens seeking redress? No. It is drug lords, corrupt politicians, and murderers who can afford their obscene fees. And yet, these same individuals have the audacity to masquerade as defenders of justice. They do not just defend criminals; they enable them, they empower them, and they profit off the suffering of victims.
Sri Lanka has become a land where shame has lost all meaning. It is no surprise, then, that those who plunder the legal system also dominate the national discourse. Look at the grotesque spectacle of tuition masters who have turned education into an industry of exploitation, now positioning themselves as intellectuals discussing Buddhism and geopolitics on television screens. What do they know of morality? What do they know of patriotism? Nothing. They know only how to sell knowledge to the highest bidder, just as their counterparts in the legal field sell justice.
Even worse is the moral depravity of those who use dead journalists to further their own ambitions. The corpses of those who once fought for truth are now commodities in a marketplace of influence. Who among these political actors has a conscience? Who among them hesitates before dragging the dead into their games of power? None. This is the true face of Sri Lanka’s ruling pretentious—an opportunistic cabal that will exploit anything, even death itself, to secure a position of power.
Against this backdrop of moral decay, the government now touts its latest promise: an Independent Prosecutor’s Office. But should we be fooled? This is the same government that pledged an apolitical diplomatic service, only to make political appointments without a shred of shame. Now, they expect us to believe they will cleanse the legal system? Do they take the people for fools?
The proposed Independent Prosecutor’s Office may sound noble, but it will amount to nothing if the same corrupt actors remain in control. Who will oversee it? The Attorney General’s Department, which has already been humiliated and undermined by political operatives? The Bar Association of Sri Lanka, which shelters lawyers who thrive on blood money? The judiciary, where retired Chief Justices shamelessly accept diplomatic postings like cheap political lackeys?
In any other civilised country, a former Chief Justice would never stoop so low as to accept a government appointment post-retirement. But in Sri Lanka, even the highest echelons of the judiciary are not above the political cesspool. We thought the degradation of the judiciary ended with Mohan Peiris, but no—this parade of hypocrisy marches on, unashamed, unchallenged, unstoppable.
Sri Lanka is not governed by a legitimate government. It is under the control of a ruthless cartel of criminals, corrupt lawyers, fraudulent educators, con artists masquerading as religious leaders, who desecrate the sacred teachings of each religion, and parasitic politicians. In recent years, the behaviour of the Archbishop of Colombo stands as a glaring example. He believes his warped imagination and hypocrisy should define justice, disregarding the facts entirely. It is a nation where the Attorney General is publicly ridiculed by those who understand nothing of legal procedure but are masters at manipulating public outrage. It is a country where justice is dictated not by the law but by those who can pay the highest price to pervert it.
And what of the people? They remain spectators, watching helplessly as their nation is bled dry by these predatory snobs. Where is the outrage? Where is the resistance? If Sri Lanka is to survive, if justice is to be salvaged from this sewer of corruption, then the people must demand accountability. Not through empty protests or meaningless slogans, but through direct action—through a ruthless, relentless dismantling of the systems that enable this rot.
The time for politeness is over. Every lawyer who has profited from criminals must be audited. Their incomes must be scrutinised, their taxes investigated, and their illicit earnings exposed. Those who sell their legal expertise to the highest bidder must be blacklisted, disbarred, and held criminally liable for perpetuating injustice. No more hiding behind legal technicalities—if they are complicit in protecting criminals, they are criminals themselves.
The Independent Prosecutor’s Office must be truly independent—free from political influence, untouchable by money and power. It must have the authority to investigate not only corrupt politicians but also corrupt lawyers, corrupt judges, and corrupt officials at every level. Anything less is a charade.
Plato once said, “Justice will only be achieved when those who are not injured feel as indignant as those who are.” It is time for Sri Lankans to feel that indignation. It is time for them to stop accepting this nation’s descent into a legal and moral abyss. Those who have betrayed justice must face justice themselves. Let them be exposed. Let them be punished. Let them be made to answer for their crimes.
The great betrayal of Sri Lanka’s justice system must end. The question is not whether it will, but whether the people have the courage to demand it.
