by Luxman Aravind
From the day this government assumed power, they painted a picture of an education system transformed, a nation elevated, a future secured. They promised the impossible: a world-class system funded at six per cent of GDP, teachers elevated to heroes, schools brimming with modern facilities, and children groomed to thrive in a global economy. The manifesto urged, and voters blindly believed, that “fully equipped schools within 3 km of every child’s home” would become a reality, only to see a minister from the North Central Province, who apparently thinks he is the king of his area, convert that promise into “fully equipped toilets every 5 km from Colombo to Anuradhapura.” Now, not a single one of these promised toilets has become a reality, yet they are asking our children to navigate dubious online spaces. Alas… behold the so-called ‘rainbow-coloured Renaissance’ they call progress. Now, not a single one of these promised toilets has become a reality, yet they are asking our children to find Buddy through a gay website. Alas… look at this so-called ‘rainbow-coloured Renaissance’ they are selling as progress.
From the top leadership down to lower-level stooges of this government, the message was clear: they lied at every scale, and the media that supports them would hail their words no matter what. This is nothing but the shameless display of a disgraceful nation. It was all smoke and mirrors, wrapped in fancy slogans and electoral propaganda. Ordinary citizens had no way to question it, and yet, almost immediately, that dream began to crumble, crushed under the weight of incompetence, vanity, and the reckless ambition of people who have never truly governed. What has unfolded is no mere administrative failure. It is the systematic vandalism of public education, a public humiliation, and a glaring lesson in what happens when political power is treated as a playground rather than a responsibility.
The real tragedy is that this collapse was entirely predictable. Reforms were conceived in secrecy, implemented in haste, and supervised by people more concerned with their own image than with children’s futures. Layers of bureaucrats, councils, and pseudo-experts existed only on paper. Decisions were made based on loyalty and political convenience rather than expertise. The Prime Minister, Harini Nireka Amarasuriya, promised to transform the sector, but the reality exposes the emptiness of that promise. Those who claimed to be visionaries now appear like amateurs, learning how to govern a nation of twenty-two million in real time, with the public paying the price for their trial and error.
But this disaster is not just about the current ministers. It is also the legacy of the JVP and its so-called revolutionaries, who once claimed to fight for the poor, for equality, for justice. They have done nothing of the sort. Instead, they have systematically destroyed the public education system, trampling over the futures of children from poor families while creating paths for the wealthy to consolidate and reform their own institutions. If these leaders had brains or genuine ambition to develop the country, by now we would have seen at least three major educational institutions function effectively under their oversight. Instead, they used their political power for propaganda, for personal enrichment, and to expand their influence. The poor and their children have been abandoned, their futures sacrificed on the altar of political theatre and self-interest.
Every step of the so-called reform process has revealed the incompetence and hypocrisy of those in power. Modules and textbooks were released without proper verification, consultation, or quality control. Teachers were trained on content that had not been checked, wasting public money and misguiding children. Institutions that should have acted as safeguards became rubber stamps, approving materials without scrutiny, creating the illusion of work while allowing failure to flourish. This is not oversight; this is betrayal. Children from humble families, whose only hope was the state school system, have been robbed of their right to proper education. And while the poor were abandoned, the rich continued to thrive, able to adapt their private institutions to absorb these failures, leaving public schools to deteriorate further.
Political opportunism has poisoned every aspect of governance in education. Appointments, approvals, and decisions are dictated by political loyalty rather than merit. Expertise is sidelined, dissent is silenced, and the institutions meant to protect children serve only as instruments of control. Anyone who questions this system is portrayed as an enemy, as if the act of raising a concern is a crime. Accountability is punished, while blind compliance is rewarded. Meanwhile, the government continues to parade its reforms as evidence of action, oblivious to the fact that these reforms are hollow, destructive, and leaving a generation behind.
The pace at which these reforms have been forced through demonstrates a profound ignorance of governance. Education cannot be transformed overnight. It cannot be reinvented by decree or political will alone. But the administration acts as if its mandate from the ballot box legitimizes every rushed decision, every unchecked policy, every failure disguised as progress. Mistakes are inevitable in any system, but here they are celebrated, weaponised, and used to justify further centralisation of power. The public is expected to accept incompetence as reform, and those who speak out are treated as threats rather than partners in building the future.
This is not just a failure in classrooms. It is a failure of trust. Education is where the state demonstrates its commitment to its people, and when that trust is violated, it shakes confidence in the government itself. Parents watch helplessly as their children are subjected to poorly designed curricula. Teachers struggle to deliver lessons built on negligence and incompetence. Communities see their hopes for upward mobility crushed under the weight of political ambition and corruption. And through it all, the leadership blames others, spins narratives of conspiracy, and doubles down on propaganda rather than confronting the rot it has caused.
The consequences are visible. A generation of children, particularly from poor families, has had its future stolen. The systems that should have lifted them have been sabotaged. The rich continue to flourish, the politically connected enrich themselves, and the public schools, which once offered a ladder of opportunity, are left in ruins. Sri Lanka now stands at a crossroads, and the question is stark: will the government take responsibility, restore competence, and rebuild trust, or will it continue to loot the nation’s future for political gain and personal enrichment?
What we see today is the cost of electing leaders who speak beautifully, promise endlessly, and act recklessly. The so-called revolutionaries who claimed to champion the people have proven themselves incapable of stewardship. They have taken power, yet they cannot protect, guide, or educate the next generation. Their promises have turned into destruction, their propaganda into betrayal, and their ambition into greed. Sri Lanka cannot afford another generation lost to this kind of political vanity. The country must demand competence over slogans, responsibility over image, and honesty over propaganda. The question is urgent, and it is simple: can these leaders leave office without leaving the country irreparably broken?
The curse of this generation of politicians is that they mistook power for knowledge, rhetoric for reform, and image for action. They have turned public education into a playground for their ambitions, leaving poor children to bear the consequences while their cronies and the wealthy adapt and thrive. If there is any hope left, it lies in forcing accountability, demanding competence, and ensuring that the public education system is reclaimed for the children who need it most. The lesson is brutal and clear: propaganda may win elections, but it cannot build schools, teach children, or secure a nation’s future. That is work that requires real expertise, real commitment, and a willingness to serve rather than perform. Sri Lanka deserves nothing less.
