by Durga
What unfolded in Parliament yesterday evening was not democracy in action but power laid bare—raw, unapologetic, and utterly indifferent to accountability. The crushing defeat of the no-confidence motion against Energy Minister Kumara Jayakody was not a triumph of truth or a vindication of integrity; it was a blunt reminder of what happens when a government armed with a supermajority decides that numbers alone are enough to silence dissent. When 153 members stand in unison to protect one of their own, despite serious allegations hanging over him, it becomes painfully clear that Parliament is no longer functioning as a chamber of scrutiny but as a fortress of political protection.
The allegations at the centre of this controversy are far from trivial. They concern the failure to ensure the procurement of sufficient and quality coal for the Lakvijaya Coal Power Plant in Norochcholai, a critical pillar of the country’s energy infrastructure. This is not merely an administrative lapse; it is a failure with direct consequences for the economy and the daily lives of citizens. Even more troubling is the fact that the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption has already filed charges against the minister under the Bribery Act for an alleged act of corruption during his tenure at the Lanka Fertiliser Company. In any system that takes accountability seriously, such a combination of negligence and legal jeopardy would demand at least a temporary stepping aside. Instead, what we witnessed was a full-throated defence backed by overwhelming parliamentary muscle.
The government’s argument, whether stated openly or implied through its actions, appears to be that a commanding majority in Parliament is equivalent to moral legitimacy. This is a dangerous and deeply flawed proposition. A majority may secure power, but it does not confer innocence, nor does it erase responsibility. When numbers are used to drown out legitimate concerns, democracy begins to lose its meaning. Parliament becomes less about representing the people and more about protecting those in power from consequences.
What makes this episode even more troubling is the financial burden being quietly shifted on to the public. The issue of substandard coal is not confined to technical discussions about energy generation; it has real and measurable economic consequences. When inferior coal reduces the efficiency of power generation, the shortfall must be compensated for by resorting to more expensive alternatives such as diesel or naphtha. This substitution significantly increases costs. According to the figures presented in Parliament, the gap created by the reduced output amounts to billions of rupees. Under the terms agreed with the International Monetary Fund, these losses are not absorbed by the state but are instead passed on to consumers through what is termed a “cost recovery tariff”.
This is where the situation moves from mismanagement to something far more insidious. The public is being asked to pay higher electricity bills not because of unavoidable global conditions, but because of decisions made within the system—decisions that may involve negligence or worse. The increase is presented as a technical necessity, a routine adjustment dictated by economic realities. Yet the underlying cause, the use of substandard coal, is rarely acknowledged with the clarity it deserves. This is not transparency; it is obfuscation. It is the quiet conversion of policy failure into a financial obligation imposed on citizens.
Equally revealing is the government’s response to mounting criticism: the announcement of a Presidential Commission of Inquiry. On the surface, this appears to be a step towards accountability. In reality, it risks becoming a textbook example of how to manage a political crisis without resolving it. Commissions have long been used as instruments of delay, allowing governments to project an image of action while buying time for public anger to dissipate. By expanding the scope of the inquiry to include all coal shipments since 2010, the government introduces a convenient distraction. The focus shifts from the immediate allegations to a sprawling historical review, making it easier for the present controversy to be lost in a sea of past transactions.
This strategy may be politically expedient, but it does little to restore public confidence. If anything, it reinforces the perception that the government is more interested in controlling the narrative than in uncovering the truth. The promise that anyone found guilty will face the full force of the law rings hollow when it is delivered in the same breath as a robust defence of those currently under suspicion. It creates the impression of a system that is simultaneously judge, jury, and defender of its own members.
President Dissanayake’s role in this episode cannot be ignored. His decision to stand firmly behind his minister, despite the seriousness of the allegations, sends a powerful signal about the priorities of the administration. Leadership is not merely about commanding loyalty; it is about setting standards and upholding them even when it is politically inconvenient. By choosing to defend rather than distance himself, the President risks being seen as complicit in the very culture of impunity that many had hoped his government would dismantle.
The broader implication of this episode is deeply unsettling. When a government with a strong mandate uses that mandate to shield itself from scrutiny rather than to strengthen institutions, it undermines the very foundations of democratic governance. The checks and balances that are meant to hold power accountable begin to erode. Parliament becomes a numbers game, oversight becomes performative, and accountability becomes optional.
What the country witnessed yesterday evening was not just the defeat of a no-confidence motion; it was the normalisation of a political culture in which power is exercised without restraint and defended without shame. It was a moment that laid bare the gap between the ideals of democracy and the realities of governance. And unless that gap is confronted with honesty and urgency, it will continue to widen, leaving the public to bear not only the financial costs of mismanagement but also the far greater cost of a system that no longer answers to them. Did you see the true colours of your comrades? Do not worry, more is yet to come.
