(Text of Editorial Appearing in the “Sunday Morning”of February 1st 2026 under the heading “The supreme irony of a prosecution”)
Few political figures in Sri Lanka’s post-independence history have remained as persistently visible or as polarising as Ranil Wickremesinghe. For nearly half a century, he has occupied centre stage – alternately vilified, vindicated, discarded, and recalled. Today, he finds himself once again in the public eye, this time as the subject of criminal proceedings relating to the alleged misuse of State funds during a visit to the United Kingdom in 2023, while serving as Executive President.
Many assume that this case concerns only Wickremesinghe’s personal reputation. That assumption is deeply flawed. What is truly at stake is not the fate of one individual, but the credibility of Sri Lanka’s institutions: the seriousness of its prosecutions, the competence of its investigative machinery, and the integrity of its engagement with both domestic and international law. When a State fails to distinguish between investigation and spectacle, between jurisdiction and adventurism, and between accountability and vendetta, it is ultimately the State itself that stands trial. This case will likely be remembered not for its eventual verdict, but for what it reveals about the reach – and restraint – of the law under the National People’s Power (NPP) Government whose basis for election was ‘system change.’
At its core, the proceedings demonstrate how reputational destruction can be inflicted without proof of personal enrichment, procurement authority, or even a single misappropriated rupee. The fact that a former Secretary to the President can be subjected to remand custody, humiliation, and public vilification without signing a voucher or exercising discretionary spending power would already have sent a chill through the entire public service.
The broader implications are unmistakable; standard administrative instruments of Government finance have effectively been transformed into legal traps. A solitary signature, unaccompanied by intent, benefit, or authority, can potentially result in criminal prosecution and years of litigation. This creates a perverse incentive system with maximum exposure for civil servants and minimal institutional protection. The inevitable outcome therefore will not be cleaner governance, but deeper administrative paralysis, as officials retreat into inaction out of fear of retrospective criminalisation under future governments.
The damage in this instance, however, extends far beyond domestic administrative law. In open court, it was asserted by the chief prosecutor that the University of Wolverhampton is a “private university” with no State affiliation. While being demonstrably false, the University of Wolverhampton is a public institution, founded in 1827 and granted university status under UK law in 1992. Its degrees are conferred under Government-regulated standards, and its governance is subject to statutory oversight.
In 2023, the university conferred an Honorary Professorship on Professor Maithree Wickramasinghe – a rare academic accolade, bestowed upon a miniscule fraction of scholars worldwide. To maliciously undermine such an institution and by implication to demean such an honour in pursuit of a prosecutorial narrative is not only inaccurate but also disturbing, for it is the nation’s reputation that is at stake. While misleading a court, whether by commission or omission, is a grave matter, a State prosecutor misleading the public is worse.
Equally troubling is the apparent evidentiary foundation of the prosecution. The case seems to rest almost entirely on a statement purportedly obtained from the then Sri Lankan High Commissioner to the United Kingdom. If that is indeed the prosecution’s primary plank, fundamental questions of fairness and due process will inevitably arise. Elementary principles of justice require that the defence be afforded a full and unfettered opportunity to cross-examine the former High Commissioner. Relying exclusively on her statement while denying that right would strike at the heart of natural justice.
More critically, the presiding Magistrate had previously issued an unequivocal directive to the effect that the complainant was required to obtain confirmation from the University of Wolverhampton itself regarding the alleged invitation letter. That verification was explicitly identified as central to sustaining the charge. In light of that instruction being ignored, is it either reasonable or proper for the prosecution to pivot towards secondary claims such as who allegedly sat on which balcony while the primary evidentiary requirement remains unmet?
If the complainant is unable to secure confirmation from the university, the case is not only weakened but also rendered legally untenable. Courts cannot be asked to substitute conjecture, inference, or peripheral testimony for primary documentary proof. To permit such substitution would dilute evidentiary standards across the justice system – an outcome far more damaging than the acquittal or conviction of any single defendant.
Given this backdrop, there is little doubt that this investigation bears a political character. That does not, in itself, mean that the allegations are false. It does mean that the manner in which they are being pursued reflects political objectives rather than neutral legal standards. Such politicisation inevitably produces mixed consequences.
On the positive side, the public is being exposed, perhaps for the first time on this scale, to legal reasoning, financial procedure, and judicial scrutiny in real time. Citizens are openly questioning the transparency of investigations, the limits of Police power, and the accountability of prosecutors. In a democracy, such engagement is healthy.
But on the flip side, the damage far outweighs the benefits. Investigations that are perceived to be politically driven almost always erode public confidence in the long arm of the law. When the law appears to be applied selectively, faith in impartial justice inevitably declines.
The Judiciary, too, is drawn into unnecessary spectacle. Courts are compelled to adjudicate cases inflated beyond their legal substance, consuming precious judicial time that should be devoted to serious crime, entrenched corruption, and unresolved cases of national trauma. Most damaging of all is the exposure of Sri Lanka’s investigative limitations to the international community, which is not an abstract concern as it directly affects foreign relations, investor confidence, and the country’s standing in international legal and diplomatic forums.
Nothing illustrates this more starkly than the widely publicised claim that Criminal Investigation Department (CID) officers travelled to England to ‘conduct investigations.’ Repeated in media reports and left inadequately clarified by authorities, this claim betrays either a profound misunderstanding of international law or a deliberate attempt to mislead the public.
Under international law, territorial sovereignty is absolute in criminal jurisdiction. Foreign police officers possess no inherent authority to investigate crimes, collect evidence, interview witnesses, or access records within another sovereign state. Sri Lanka’s CID has no legal power to independently conduct investigations in the United Kingdom.
If evidence is required from the UK, the only lawful pathway is mutual legal assistance. This is a rigid, formal, and judicially supervised process which requires authorisation from Sri Lankan judicial or prosecutorial authorities, formal transmission through diplomatic channels, scrutiny by UK courts, investigation exclusively by UK authorities under UK law, and lawful transmission of findings back to Sri Lanka.
At no stage does this process permit Sri Lankan officers to visit British institutions, inspect universities, or interview individuals. The Magistrate’s remarks in open court make it abundantly clear that this framework was not followed. Any information obtained outside this specified process is therefore legally worthless. Worse, it constitutes a violation of UK law, international law, and Sri Lanka’s own criminal procedure.
Against this backdrop, the CID’s London trip undertaken at public expense, without demonstrable legal authority, and producing no tangible outcome, fits squarely within the definition of misuse of public funds. In a supreme irony, the investigators have replicated the very offence they are tasked with probing.
This case has already consumed enormous public resources: taxpayer funds have been expended on overseas travel and prolonged proceedings. Judicial time, arguably the scarcest institutional resource in Sri Lanka, has been drained by a case whose legal foundations appear to be shaky. Yet the prosecution has announced its intention to serve indictment by next month.
Given this demonstrable resoluteness of the State prosecutors, the contrast with other investigations is impossible to ignore. The Easter Sunday attacks, the Batalanda case, assassination of Lasantha Wickrematunge, the Central Bank bond scam, and dozens of other prominent killings and disappearances remain mired in delay, deflection, and inertia. In those cases, the State pleads complexity and evidentiary difficulty while here, it displays boundless zeal. The disparity is damning.
The irony deepens further. The very court that demanded confirmation of the original invitation letter has now been made to preside over a case where investigators undertook a foreign trip without fulfilling that directive. To make matters worse, requests for information regarding the costs and purpose of that trip have been rejected by the Right to Information Commission on the dubious grounds of officer privacy and investigative sensitivity.
Therefore, this case is no longer about a former President or an overseas visit, but a test of whether Sri Lanka’s long arm of the law can distinguish between lawful accountability and political theatre. And at its core lies the more unsettling question: when the State violates the legal process in the name of enforcing it, who then stands accused?