What was sold as a revolution in learning has unraveled into a national lesson in misrule, exposing how political vanity, rushed reforms, and hollow slogans have pushed Sri Lanka’s public education system to the brink.
From the moment this government assumed power, it painted a grand picture of transformation. An education system reborn, a nation uplifted, a future secured for every child. The promises were sweeping and seductive. A world class education system funded at six per cent of GDP. Teachers elevated to the status of heroes. Schools overflowing with modern facilities. Children prepared not just for local success, but to compete confidently in a global economy. The manifesto urged belief, and many voters accepted the vision without question. They were told that “fully equipped schools within 3km of every child’s home” would soon become a lived reality. Instead, the country watched as that promise was casually downgraded by a minister from the North Central Province, who appeared to rule his territory like a personal kingdom, into the bizarre assurance of “fully equipped toilets every 5km from Colombo to Anuradhapura.”
Today, not a single one of those promised toilets exists. Yet parents are being told that this is progress. Instead of safe classrooms and trusted learning environments, children are now being asked to navigate dubious online spaces. Alas, behold the so called rainbow coloured Renaissance that is being sold as reform.
The contradiction deepens further. Not a single one of the promised toilets has become reality, yet children are being directed to find Buddy through a gay website. Alas, look closely at this so called rainbow coloured Renaissance they are marketing as advancement. The distance between what was promised and what is delivered is no longer a gap. It is a chasm.
From the highest levels of leadership down to the lowest rungs of political machinery, the message has been painfully consistent. Words matter less than optics. Promises can be endlessly recycled. And the media ecosystem that aligns with power will applaud regardless of outcomes. This has become a shameless display of a nation embarrassed by its own governance. Everything was smoke and mirrors, wrapped in carefully crafted slogans and electoral propaganda. Ordinary citizens had no meaningful avenue to question these claims. Yet almost immediately after power was secured, the dream began to collapse. It crumbled under the weight of incompetence, vanity, and the reckless ambition of people who had never truly governed before.
What has unfolded is far more than an administrative failure. It is the systematic vandalism of public education. A humiliation played out in real time. A clear lesson in what happens when political power is treated as a playground rather than a responsibility entrusted by the people.
The tragedy is that none of this should have come as a surprise. The collapse was predictable from the beginning. Reforms were conceived behind closed doors, implemented in haste, and supervised by individuals more invested in personal image than in the future of children. Layers of bureaucratic structures, councils, and pseudo experts existed largely on paper. Decisions were driven by loyalty, political convenience, and optics rather than expertise and evidence. The Prime Minister, Harini Nireka Amarasuriya, promised transformation. But reality has stripped that promise bare. Those who styled themselves as visionaries now look like amateurs learning how to govern a nation of twenty two million people through trial and error, with the public paying the price for every misstep.
This crisis is not limited to the current set of ministers. It is inseparable from the longer legacy of the JVP and its self styled revolutionaries. For decades, they claimed to fight for the poor, for equality, for justice. Yet their record tells a very different story. Instead of strengthening public education, they have overseen its steady erosion. They have trampled over the futures of children from poor families while quietly creating pathways for the wealthy to consolidate and reform their own private institutions. If these leaders possessed genuine vision or intellectual capacity to develop the country, Sri Lanka would by now have at least three major educational institutions functioning effectively under their stewardship. Instead, political power was used as a megaphone for propaganda, a tool for personal advancement, and a mechanism to entrench influence.
The poor and their children have been left behind. Their futures have been sacrificed on the altar of political theatre and self interest.
Every stage of the so called reform process has exposed the same pattern of incompetence and hypocrisy. Modules and textbooks were released without proper verification, consultation, or quality control. Teachers were trained on material that had not been adequately reviewed, wasting public funds and misleading students. Institutions that were meant to act as safeguards and quality controllers instead became rubber stamps, approving content without scrutiny. This created the illusion of progress while allowing failure to flourish unchecked.
This is not a matter of oversight. It is betrayal.
Children from humble backgrounds, whose only realistic hope for upward mobility lay in the state school system, have been denied their right to a proper education. While these children struggle, the wealthy adapt. Private institutions adjust quickly, absorb the flaws, and continue to thrive. Public schools, once the great equaliser, are left to decay.
Political opportunism has infected every corner of educational governance. Appointments are made on loyalty rather than merit. Approvals are granted based on political convenience. Expertise is sidelined. Dissent is silenced. Institutions that should protect children have been repurposed as instruments of control. Anyone who raises a concern is branded an enemy, as though questioning policy is an act of sabotage. Accountability is punished. Blind obedience is rewarded.
Yet the government continues to parade its reforms as proof of action. It remains oblivious, or wilfully blind, to the fact that these reforms are hollow and destructive, leaving an entire generation behind.
The speed at which these changes have been forced through reveals a deep misunderstanding of governance itself. Education cannot be transformed overnight. It cannot be rebuilt by decree or political will alone. But the administration behaves as if electoral victory grants unlimited license. Every rushed decision, every unchecked policy, every failure is dressed up as progress. Mistakes, which are inevitable in any system, are here celebrated and weaponised to justify further centralisation of power.
The public is expected to accept incompetence as reform. Those who speak out are treated as threats rather than partners in building a better future.
This is not merely a failure inside classrooms. It is a failure of trust. Education is one of the most powerful expressions of a state’s commitment to its people. When that trust is broken, confidence in governance itself erodes. Parents watch helplessly as their children struggle with poorly designed curricula. Teachers attempt to deliver lessons built on negligence and confusion. Communities see their hopes for mobility and dignity crushed under the weight of political ambition and corruption.
Throughout it all, the leadership refuses introspection. Instead, it blames others, spins narratives of conspiracy, and doubles down on propaganda.
The consequences are already visible. A generation of children, particularly from poor families, has had its future stolen. The systems meant to uplift them have been sabotaged. The rich continue to flourish. The politically connected grow wealthier. Public schools, once ladders of opportunity, are left in ruins.
Sri Lanka stands at a crossroads. The question is no longer theoretical. Will the government accept responsibility, restore competence, and rebuild trust? Or will it continue to loot the nation’s future for political gain and personal enrichment?
What we are witnessing is the cost of electing leaders who speak beautifully, promise endlessly, and govern recklessly. The revolutionaries who claimed to represent the people have demonstrated an inability to steward the nation. They hold power, yet cannot protect, guide, or educate the next generation. Promises have become destruction. Propaganda has become betrayal. Ambition has hardened into greed.
Sri Lanka cannot afford to lose another generation to political vanity. The country must demand competence over slogans, responsibility over image, and honesty over performance. The question remains urgent and simple. Can these leaders leave office without leaving the country irreparably broken?
The curse of this generation of politicians is that they confused power with knowledge, rhetoric with reform, and image with action. Public education has been turned into a testing ground for ambition. Poor children bear the consequences, while cronies and the wealthy adjust and thrive. If hope still exists, it lies in forcing accountability, demanding real expertise, and reclaiming public education for the children who need it most.
The lesson is brutal but clear. Propaganda may win elections. It cannot build schools. It cannot teach children. It cannot secure a nation’s future. That work requires competence, commitment, and a willingness to serve rather than perform.
Sri Lanka deserves nothing less.
