Queues Without Privilege: Marikkar’s Petrol Protest and the End of Political Exceptionalism
In a country long accustomed to the theatre of political privilege, a queue for petrol has become an unlikely stage for ideological confrontation. The latest act features S. M. Marikkar, a parliamentarian from the opposition Samagi Jana Balawegaya (SJB), who has publicly lamented the indignity of standing in line for fuel under Sri Lanka’s newly enforced distribution regime.
At the heart of this controversy lies the government’s Queue Regulation Permit (QRP) system, introduced by the ruling National People's Power (NPP) as part of a broader effort to rationalise fuel distribution amid ongoing economic constraints. The system, simple in concept but radical in implication, enforces a uniform rule: every citizen, regardless of office or status, must wait their turn.
For Marikkar, this represents not reform, but regression. For the government, it is precisely the opposite.
A Crisis of Expectation
Marikkar’s grievance is revealing—not merely as a personal complaint, but as a symptom of a deeper political culture. A former media personality turned politician, he has built a reputation as an articulate speaker, often relying on rhetorical flair rather than technical grounding in economics or governance. His critics argue that this latest episode exposes a disconnect between performance and policy literacy.
The MP’s assertion that his parliamentary status should exempt him from queuing has struck a nerve. In a nation where ordinary citizens have endured fuel shortages, inflation, and economic contraction, such expectations are increasingly seen as outdated.
The QRP system does not discriminate. It does not recognise titles, portfolios, or political affiliations. It recognises only vehicles, quotas, and time slots. In doing so, it dismantles a long-standing, informal hierarchy that placed politicians above the very people they were elected to serve.
The End of “VIP Culture”
To understand the significance of this shift, one must revisit the political norms that prevailed under previous administrations. During the tenure of leaders such as Mahinda Rajapaksa and Ranil Wickremesinghe, it was not uncommon for parliamentarians to bypass queues, access state resources preferentially, and engage in opaque dealings behind closed doors.
Indeed, Marikkar himself has not been immune to such allegations. Reports have surfaced in the past suggesting that he held discreet discussions with Wickremesinghe regarding vehicle permits—an issue that has long been a contentious perk within Sri Lankan politics. While no formal wrongdoing was established, the optics were damaging.
Such practices contributed to a perception—widely held among the public—that political office was less a platform for service and more a gateway to privilege.
NPP’s Structural Intervention
The NPP government, elected on a platform of systemic reform, has sought to dismantle this culture through a series of policy interventions. The QRP system is emblematic of this approach. It is not merely a logistical tool; it is a symbolic equaliser.
By enforcing uniform access to fuel, the government has effectively removed one of the many informal privileges that parliamentarians once enjoyed. There are no “fast lanes” for MPs, no reserved pumps, no discretionary overrides. The queue is the queue.
This has had a cascading effect. Opposition MPs, accustomed to leveraging influence, now find themselves constrained by rules that apply equally to all. The space for insider dealing has narrowed. The ability to extract concessions through political pressure has diminished.
In this context, Marikkar’s complaint appears less as a legitimate grievance and more as resistance to change.
Democracy in Practice
What is unfolding in Sri Lanka is a rare instance of democratic principles being operationalised in everyday life. Equality before the law is a constitutional ideal; equality in a petrol queue is its practical manifestation.
The question, then, is not whether a parliamentarian should have to queue. It is whether a parliamentarian should ever have expected not to.
Marikkar’s position implicitly affirms the latter. The NPP government’s policy unequivocally enforces the former.
This tension is not unique to Sri Lanka. Around the world, political systems grapple with the balance between functional privilege—necessary for governance—and symbolic equality—essential for legitimacy. What sets the Sri Lankan case apart is the clarity with which the current administration has chosen its side.
Public Sentiment and Political Capital
Public reaction to the episode has been telling. Social media platforms, often a barometer of public sentiment, have largely sided with the government. Citizens have pointed out that if they can endure hours-long queues, so too can their elected representatives.
This alignment between policy and public sentiment has strengthened the NPP’s political capital. In an environment where trust in institutions has been eroded, visible acts of fairness carry disproportionate weight.
Conversely, Marikkar’s stance risks political isolation. By positioning himself against a policy that embodies equality, he may inadvertently reinforce the very stereotypes that have plagued Sri Lankan politicians for decades.
The Broader Implication
Beyond the immediate controversy, the episode raises a fundamental question: what does it mean to be a public servant in a post-crisis Sri Lanka?
If the answer includes exemption from inconvenience, preferential access to resources, and informal channels of influence, then Marikkar’s complaint is consistent. If, however, the answer demands accountability, transparency, and shared sacrifice, then the QRP system is a step in the right direction.
The NPP government has made its position clear. The era of exceptionalism is over. Parliamentarians are not a class apart; they are participants in the same system as the people.
A Queue as a Litmus Test
In the end, the petrol queue has become more than a logistical necessity. It is a litmus test for political culture.
Will Sri Lanka’s leaders accept a model of governance that places them alongside the people, rather than above them? Or will they continue to resist reforms that challenge entrenched privilege?
For S. M. Marikkar, the answer—at least for now—appears to be the latter.
But the queue moves forward, regardless.