Policing Women’s Bodies Is Not Politics: The Problem with Uvindu Kurukulasuriya’s Remark
In recent days, a comment attributed to Uvindu Kurukulasuriya regarding Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya’s choice of attire has triggered widespread criticism. By suggesting that she was “not wearing anything under her saree,” the remark crossed a clear ethical and political boundary. It was not political analysis. It was not policy critique. It was a form of gender policing—deeply inappropriate in a democratic society.
At its core, the comment reflects a mindset that continues to haunt Sri Lankan public discourse: the belief that women in power must be judged first by their bodies, and only later—if at all—by their ideas, competence, and leadership.
This is precisely what feminism has long challenged.
Feminism is not about promoting any particular style of dress. It is about affirming a woman’s right to autonomy, dignity, and respect. It insists that a woman’s value in public life does not depend on how she looks, what she wears, or how she conforms to conservative expectations.
In this context, the remark directed at Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya was not merely tasteless. It was structurally sexist. It reduced a national leader to a subject of physical speculation. It invited the public to scrutinise her body rather than her policies.
No male Prime Minister in Sri Lanka has ever been subjected to similar treatment. No one asks what they wear under their national dress. No one speculates about their bodies. No one suggests that their clothing choices undermine their authority.
This double standard exposes the gender bias embedded in political commentary.
When a woman rises to the highest levels of political leadership, she challenges deeply rooted patriarchal assumptions. Some respond to this challenge with serious debate. Others respond with ridicule, insinuation, and personal attacks. The latter is easier than engaging with ideas.
Uvindu Kurukulasuriya’s comment belongs firmly in the second category.
It reflects a culture in which women’s bodies are treated as public property—open to inspection, judgment, and commentary. This culture does not disappear simply because people migrate, gain education, or claim liberal values. It persists unless consciously confronted.
Ironically, such remarks reveal more about the speaker than the subject.
They expose insecurity in the face of female authority. They reveal discomfort with women occupying spaces traditionally dominated by men. They demonstrate an inability to engage politically without resorting to personal degradation.
Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya represents a new generation of leadership—academically grounded, socially progressive, and committed to institutional reform. Her political record, her policy positions, and her public service deserve scrutiny. That is the essence of democracy.
Her clothing does not.
Moreover, focusing on such trivialities distracts from urgent national concerns: economic recovery, governance reform, social justice, and reconciliation. When public discourse is reduced to gossip about a leader’s appearance, democracy itself is weakened.
Sri Lanka cannot afford such intellectual poverty.
Around the world, women leaders—from Jacinda Ardern to Angela Merkel to Sanna Marin—have faced similar attempts to trivialise their authority through commentary on their looks, family lives, or personal choices. Yet history shows that such tactics fail. They merely expose the smallness of those who employ them.
A mature political culture demands better.
It demands that critics confront power with evidence, logic, and principle—not with innuendo. It demands that public commentators understand the difference between accountability and harassment. It demands respect for human dignity.
If Sri Lanka is serious about gender equality, it must reject this kind of discourse unequivocally.
Criticise policies. Challenge decisions. Debate ideology. Question governance.
But do not police women’s bodies.
That is not politics.
It is prejudice.
And it has no place in a modern democracy.