The Question Sajith Premadasa Must Answer: Who Paid for Mill Hill?
An investigative inquiry into privilege, transparency, and the politics of education reform in Sri Lanka
In politics, credibility is not built merely on speeches delivered or motions tabled in Parliament. It rests, more fundamentally, on moral consistency. When a political leader positions himself as the champion of the “ordinary Sri Lankan child” while opposing a modernising education reform, it is legitimate—indeed necessary—for the public to ask whether his own educational privileges were obtained transparently and ethically.
This is the context in which questions surrounding Opposition Leader Sajith Premadasa’s secondary education in the United Kingdom have resurfaced with renewed urgency.
Sajith Premadasa, now leading a no-confidence motion against the Minister of Education and the Prime Minister, Dr. Harini Amarasuriya, has emerged as one of the most vocal critics of the government’s proposed education reforms, including a self-learning module for Year Six students. He has framed these reforms as harmful, experimental, and disconnected from Sri Lankan realities. Yet, paradoxically, his own educational trajectory was anything but “ordinary” or locally constrained.
At the age of 17, Sajith Premadasa entered Mill Hill School (often colloquially referred to as Mill Hill College), a prestigious fee-paying boarding school in England. This fact is not disputed. What remains unclear—and what has never been satisfactorily explained—is how those substantial expenses were met.
This article does not make allegations as findings of fact. It raises questions of public interest that any senior political leader in a democracy should be prepared to answer with documentary clarity.
The Cost of Privilege: What Did Mill Hill Really Cost?
In the late 1980s and early 1990s, Mill Hill School was among the more expensive British boarding schools. Fees for overseas students included:
Tuition fees denominated in pounds sterling
Boarding and accommodation charges
Ancillary costs such as uniforms, examination fees, healthcare, and living expenses
Converted into Sri Lankan rupees at the time, the total annual cost would have amounted to several million rupees—a sum far beyond the reach of an average Sri Lankan family, and even beyond many senior public servants.
The question is therefore straightforward:
Who paid for Sajith Premadasa’s school fees and boarding expenses at Mill Hill when he was 17 years old?
The Family Income Question
At the time Sajith Premadasa commenced his education in England, his father, Ranasinghe Premadasa, was Prime Minister of Sri Lanka. His official income as Prime Minister is a matter of public record. It was modest by international standards and tightly regulated under Sri Lankan law.
His mother, Hema Premadasa, has openly spoken about her early working life, including employment in a cinema canteen prior to entering public life as First Lady. No credible public record exists of independent family wealth, inherited assets, or foreign income streams capable of funding elite British boarding education without external assistance.
This leads to the second unavoidable question:
Can Sajith Premadasa provide evidence that his parents paid his UK education expenses entirely from their own declared and lawful income?
Bank transfers, remittance records, school invoices, and payment receipts would conclusively settle this matter.
The Role of the Sri Lankan State: Assistance or Coincidence?
Beyond family finances, a more sensitive issue arises: the possible involvement—formal or informal—of Sri Lankan state institutions in facilitating Sajith Premadasa’s education.
Several questions demand clarification:
Was any official attached to the Sri Lankan High Commission in London designated, formally or informally, to assist Sajith Premadasa during his schooling?
Were any logistical, financial, or administrative supports provided using state resources?
Did any public servant seconded to the Prime Minister’s Office or a related ministry play a role in supporting his education abroad?
There are also long-standing claims—never conclusively addressed—that Sajith Premadasa received English language instruction over the telephone from Colombo, allegedly from an individual connected to his father’s ministry. Whether true or not, such claims underline the broader concern: was state machinery, even indirectly, used to support the private education of a Prime Minister’s son?
If the answer is no, transparency will dispel suspicion. If the answer is yes, the public deserves to know.
Education Reform and Moral Authority
Why does this matter now?
Because Sajith Premadasa is not a private citizen. He is the Opposition Leader. He has invoked moral authority to challenge an education reform designed—according to the government—to democratise learning, encourage critical thinking, and modernise Sri Lanka’s outdated syllabus.
Parents of Year Six students are being told by the Opposition that self-learning modules are dangerous, untested, and elitist. Yet the same Opposition Leader benefited from one of the most elite education systems in the world, at a time when ordinary Sri Lankan children had no such opportunities.
The question therefore becomes political as much as financial:
On what moral basis does a beneficiary of elite foreign education oppose reforms aimed at empowering ordinary Sri Lankan students?
The LSE Question and the Culture of Disclosure
The scrutiny does not end with Mill Hill. Sajith Premadasa has frequently referenced his education at the London School of Economics. Publicly, he has displayed framed certificates. However, detailed academic transcripts have never been placed in the public domain.
In most democracies, senior politicians routinely disclose academic records when questions arise—not because the law demands it, but because public trust does.
This article does not assert impropriety. It asks:
Why not disclose the full academic record and funding sources, once and for all?
Transparency would end speculation instantly.
Taxpayers, Trust, and the Burden of Proof
It is important to stress: the burden of proof does not lie with parents protesting outside the Ministry of Education, nor with journalists asking uncomfortable questions. It lies with the public office holder who benefited from privilege during a period when his father wielded executive power.
If Sajith Premadasa can demonstrate that:
His Mill Hill education was paid entirely by his parents’ private, declared income
No state funds, services, or diplomatic resources were used
No public official was assigned to assist him in a personal capacity
then the matter should end there.
If not, the implications are grave—not merely ethically, but politically.
Glass Houses and Political Stones
There is an old political maxim: those who live in glass houses should not throw stones. When Sajith Premadasa attacks education reform that seeks to broaden opportunity, he does so from a platform built on extraordinary personal opportunity.
No one begrudges a child education. What the public resents is hypocrisy, secrecy, and moral double standards.
Parents struggling to educate their children in overcrowded classrooms have a right to ask:
“You studied in England at 17. We are asking only for a modern syllabus for our children. Show us how your education was paid for.”
A Final Opportunity to Come Clean
This article extends a clear and fair opportunity to Sajith Premadasa:
Provide documentary evidence. Clarify the record. Address the questions directly.
If he does so, he strengthens not only his own credibility, but democratic accountability itself. If he does not, public scrutiny will intensify, not because of malice, but because unanswered questions in a democracy do not simply disappear.
Leadership is not inherited. It is earned—through transparency, consistency, and respect for the taxpayers who ultimately fund the state.
The question remains open.
Who paid for Mill Hill?
Until that question is answered with evidence, it will not go away.