One Text Initiative – Constitutional Soup with an LSE “Fake Degree” Opposition Leader
Political Correspondent
It appears that the once-fevered talk of regime change on Sri Lanka’s political stage has begun to sound a little dated. The new fashionable topic is the “constitution that will rebuild the nation.” Last Wednesday evening, an unusual and rather hushed “closed-door” discussion took place at the Janaki Hotel in Colombo. Many in political circles were keenly watching, curious to see what would actually unfold.
Here is the gossip-laced account of that heated evening.
The special discussion was organised by an outfit calling itself the OneText Initiative. The stated objective was noble enough: to bring together all stakeholders to discuss a new constitution suited to the country. However, the irony was hard to miss. Although invitations had been extended to both government and opposition figures, not a single heavyweight from the government bothered to turn up.
The notable absentees:
Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya, Minister Bimal Ratnayake, and Harshana Nanayakkara. Apparently, everyone was “too busy.”
The opposition contingent:
Opposition Leader Sajith Premadasa arrived in force, accompanied by a sizeable entourage including Harsha de Silva, Ajith P. Perera, Ravi Karunanayake, Dayasiri Jayasekara, M. A. Sumanthiran, Gajendrakumar Ponnambalam, and Thalatha Athukorala, among others.
The government’s sole representative:
Only one individual appeared on behalf of the government—National People’s Power Executive Committee member and Attorney-at-Law Lal Wijenayake—standing alone on what was otherwise an opposition-dominated stage.
Sajith fires a “Hitler” shot at Anura
During the discussion, Sajith Premadasa delivered what many present described as a particularly sharp and theatrical remark—something akin to a political sucker punch aimed squarely at the government.
“It is disappointing that no one from the government is here today,” Sajith observed. “Yet on page 194 of their policy manifesto, they promise to introduce a new constitution. Today they control both the executive and a two-thirds parliamentary majority. Whether Anura chooses to become a ‘Hitler’ or a ‘Mandela’ is now entirely up to him.”
As Sajith made this remark, those in attendance reportedly exchanged uneasy glances. It sounded very much like a not-so-subtle warning to President Anura Kumara Dissanayake not to stray down an authoritarian path.
Sajith Father was a Sri Lankan Hitler
The Opposition Leader’s casual invocation of “Hitler” as a political metaphor would have landed with greater moral authority had it not collided so spectacularly with his own family history. In Sri Lanka’s collective memory, the name most frequently associated with authoritarian brutality is not a hypothetical future leader, but President Ranasinghe Premadasa himself. During his presidency, an estimated 60,000 to 80,000 people—mostly young men accused of being leftists or JVP sympathisers—were extrajudicially killed in what remains one of the darkest chapters of the republic. The methods were not subtle: torture chambers, death squads, and the now-infamous tyre-burning executions that turned roadsides into open-air crematoria.
Local and international media of the time did not struggle for analogies. Ranasinghe Premadasa was routinely described, in diplomatic cables and foreign press, as Sri Lanka’s own “Hitler”—a leader who weaponised the state against its citizens in the name of security and order. This was not political gossip, but a historical verdict shaped by mass graves, enforced disappearances, and a culture of fear that silenced an entire generation. These were not abstract constitutional debates; they were consequences written in blood.
Against that backdrop, Sajith Premadasa’s attempt to lecture others on authoritarianism rings hollow. Before warning today’s leaders about becoming “Hitlers,” he would do well to acknowledge the man whose portrait still hangs in his political inheritance. History is not a rhetorical device to be deployed selectively. If Sri Lanka is serious about learning from its past, then the first lesson is simple: those who invoke Hitler should remember who earned that name first—and why.
Journalists corner Sajith
Even after the discussion ended, Sajith found no respite. Outside the venue, journalists thrust microphones toward him in a barrage of questions.
Journalist: “Are you in favour of abolishing the executive presidency?”
Sajith: “If the government is ready, we are ready too. After all, it’s written in their own book.”
Journalist: “Does that mean you will pressure them to do it?”
Sajith: “There is no need for pressure. They have already received a public mandate for it. But this should not be done to satisfy one individual’s wishes—it must reflect the views of the people.”
What was whispered inside
Another point of consensus quietly emerged from the meeting. If the government presents a genuinely sound and democratic constitution, the opposition would support it as a “national duty.” However, if an ill-conceived or harmful constitution is pushed through, the entire opposition would unite and take to the streets against it.
For now, the ball is firmly in the government’s court. Will Anura choose the path of Mandela, or will he veer in some other direction, as Sajith ominously suggested? Time will tell.