Editor’s Note: This article is adapted from remarks delivered by Mahinda Yapa Abeywardena, former Speaker of the Sri Lankan Parliament, during the launch of a new book. It presents his personal recollections of the Aragalaya period and the political, constitutional, and security challenges he says unfolded behind the scenes.
The former Speaker of the Sri Lankan Parliament Mahinda Yapa Abeywardena, recalling the most turbulent months of the Aragalaya, offers a rare and deeply personal account of the political paralysis, fear, and pressure that engulfed the country. According to him, the crisis reached a point at which President Gotabaya Rajapaksa pleaded with the country’s senior political figures to take charge of the collapsing state. One by one, he says, the former presidents and prime ministers refused. Even Ranil Wickremesinghe, who would later assume the presidency, initially declined. The Speaker remembers warning him that if he did not take responsibility, both of them would witness the destruction of the country. He recounts that on the following day, coinciding with MP Rishad Bathiudeen’s wedding at the Shangri-La Hotel—an event they reached via jungle roads due to the unrest—Wickremesinghe approached him, patted him on the back, and said he was ready to do what the Speaker had urged. The Speaker told him there was no other option, as the country was on the verge of total collapse. Wickremesinghe, he explains, took over in circumstances so dire that he did not even have a functional Cabinet to support him.
The Speaker then describes a moment that he calls one of the most unpleasant in the crisis. A gas tanker carrying desperately needed fuel had arrived in Sri Lankan waters, but unloading it required a payment of twenty million dollars. Even if the government managed to find the money, he explains, there was no mechanism left in place to authorize the payment. He was asked to find a way to obtain permission for the transaction, but convening Parliament in the middle of such chaos was nearly impossible. At a party leaders’ meeting held that evening, the majority acknowledged the urgency of the situation: without gas, ordinary people would die. Yet, he says, there was still no way to unload the ship, no way to authorize payment, and no way to sign the necessary documents. Had he taken an unauthorized step to permit the transaction, he believes he would have ended up in prison. Though most leaders agreed with the proposal, a few minority party representatives opposed it vehemently. He recalls, with lingering regret, the way Ranil Wickremesinghe spoke sharply to the Prime Minister during the meeting, insisting that they would manage somehow and that solutions would follow, even using language that the Speaker found rude. He accuses the minority leaders who opposed the move of having little interest in solving the crisis and instead trying to aggravate the chaos. At one point, he says, some suggested deploying the army to control Colombo, even recommending pulling troops from the North and East—regions where the same groups had for decades demanded the removal of military camps. He describes these contradictory suggestions as evidence of the irresponsibility and political manoeuvring that marked the leadership’s behaviour during the height of the Aragalaya.
The pressure on him grew further when some party leaders insisted that he form a government that included those involved in the protest movement. He rejected this, arguing that he could not step even a single letter outside the Constitution. Around that time, he recounts, nearly 100,000 protesters had surrounded the Speaker’s official residence, openly threatening to kill him. Yet he claims he stood firm, telling those around him that even if he died, he would not violate the law. He instructed his staff to open the gates if the protesters attempted to storm the premises, directing that they be arrested and then released to avoid escalation. He sent his sisters and brothers downstairs for safety. He insists that if he had stepped outside then, his house and others nearby would have been burned. Later, when urged to go to Parliament, he complied, and upon arrival instructed a sergeant-at-arms to immediately hide the parliamentary mace. The mace, he emphasized, symbolized the authority and sovereignty of Parliament, and its destruction would have been catastrophic. The sergeant assured him that it had been protected and that even if Parliament were set ablaze, the mace would not be harmed.
As the violence in the capital escalated, they moved to the army headquarters, where Ranil Wickremesinghe was already monitoring events on a large screen. The Speaker hints at an incident that transpired there but refuses to describe it. When he told Wickremesinghe he was heading to a five o’clock meeting, Wickremesinghe declined to join, saying he had other responsibilities. At the evening party leaders’ meeting, attended by senior military commanders and the Inspector General of Police, alarming news arrived: the first security barrier around Parliament had been breached. When the commanders said they had no orders to act, the Speaker reminded them that by taking their oaths and donning their uniforms, they had pledged to safeguard the nation and its institutions. He told them that in such a crisis they did not need instructions to fulfill that duty. The commanders left to take action, though he admits he does not know what they ultimately did. Through these tense moments, he believes they barely managed to protect Sri Lanka’s parliamentary democracy from destruction.
He describes how some urged him to seize power himself and form a government, but he rejected the idea as dangerous and destabilizing. When President Gotabaya Rajapaksa attempted to leave the country, even that became entangled in political obstruction. A trade union at Katunayake Airport refused to let him depart. The Speaker recalls calling a party leader to resolve the matter, explaining that the crisis had begun precisely because Gotabaya was unable to leave peacefully. Only after pressure did the union relent. Reflecting on the entire period, he calls the Aragalaya a great disgrace to Sri Lanka. Yet he also praises Ranil Wickremesinghe for his calm and determination, claiming that while other leaders were paralyzed by fear, Wickremesinghe arrived at his office each day at seven in the morning, contacted world leaders he knew personally, and worked urgently to restore gas and oil supplies. For this, the Speaker insists, Wickremesinghe deserves recognition. He says that despite everything, he is proud to have played a role in preventing national collapse. The alternative, he warns, could have been the fate that befell the MP who was killed during the unrest—someone he had personally warned not to travel that day, a warning that went unheeded and ended in tragedy.
