Hopes placed on Sri Lanka's new government under Anura Kumara Dissanayake mirror the promises of the 2015 "Good Governance" regime. For Tamils and the international community, only tangible actions can ensure this administration does not repeat the same cycle of impunity.

The current optimism surrounding the new Sri Lankan government under Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s National People’s Power (NPP) coalition bears striking parallels to the euphoria that greeted the administration of Maithripala Sirisena and Ranil Wickremesinghe in 2015. Back then, a coalition that claimed to represent a break from the past of the openly racist regimes before it arrived with a promise of reforms, reconciliation, and justice for all, including for Eelam Tamils. The then-functioning Tamil National Alliance (TNA), along with the international community, overwhelmingly lent its support to the new government, believing it could deliver on its pledges to end impunity, work towards accountability for atrocities committed during the war and finally bring about a solution to the ethnic conflict.

Those hopes were ultimately dashed.

A downwards spiral

Despite lofty promises, the Sirisena-Wickremesinghe ‘Good Governance’ regime failed to deliver tangible reforms. Pledges to repeal draconian laws like the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), demilitarise the North-East, return seized Tamil lands, and pursue accountability for war crimes were systematically ignored or quietly abandoned. Worse, the goodwill it enjoyed domestically and internationally was cynically exploited to shield itself from criticism, delaying action under the pretence of consultation and coalition-building with survivor communities.

Shortly after coming into power, the regime made what was initially seen as a landmark move by co-sponsoring a United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC) resolution on accountability for war crimes. This resolution, hailed internationally as a major step forward, was supposed to pave the way for justice for war crimes. However, it quickly became apparent that the government had no intention of fulfilling its commitments or taking on board then UN High Commissioner on Human Rights, Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussain’s call for the establishment of a hybrid special court. Instead of setting up such accountability mechanisms, the regime delayed meaningful action by setting up yet another failed domestic mechanism—the Office on Missing Persons (OMP). This office, which was framed as a response to years of Tamil protests over enforced disappearances, lacked independence and credibility, serving instead as a tool to placate international pressure and buy time, despite victim groups earnestly engaging. But rather than listening to Tamils, who had consistently called for international action, the government doubled down on domestic mechanisms that ultimately proved unwilling and unable to address the gravity of crimes that took place.

By the end of its term, the administration had failed to address Tamil grievances and squandered the trust of many on the island and around the world. Indeed, it did not take long for those who led that coalition of change to revert back to the ways of previous Sri Lankan leaders.

Sri Lankan president Sirisena had never fully renounced Sinhala-Buddhist nationalist politics and very quickly reverted back to outward displays of it. He openly denounced efforts to prosecute war criminals, and though his government seemingly cooperated with United Nations mechanisms, there were no concrete steps towards accountability for the genocide. Having ridden to power on a wave of Eelam Tamil support and pledges to reform, Sirisena gradually aligned himself with the same racist, chauvinist elements that Tamils and some in the international community had hoped he would challenge. His administration catered to the demands of Sinhala-Buddhist groups, stalled progress on critical issues of justice and accountability, and reinforced the state’s oppressive grip on the Tamil homeland as the occupying military presence remained entirely unchanged. 

This regression had consequences. It opened up the space for a more radical Sinhala nationalist kickback and ultimately paved the way for the triumphant return of the Rajapaksa regime in 2019.

Ranil Wickremesinghe, once touted to Tamils as a potential ally of reform, fared no better. Internal power struggles ripped his relationship with Sirisena apart, and he was unceremoniously replaced as prime minister in 2018 by Mahinda Rajapaksa, seen by many as the architect of the massacres of Tamils. But just four years later, following Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s resignation amid mass protests, Wickremesinghe went on to become a lapdog of the Rajapaksa dynasty. His alignment underscored a bitter truth: both Sirisena and Wickremesinghe had simply used the language of reform to secure power, before quietly reverting back to perpetuating Sri Lanka’s status quo.

Neither addressed the core issues at the heart of the island’s enduring ethnic conflict. Accountability for the genocide, demilitarisation, and Tamil self-determination were all side-lined in favour of political expediency and pandering to Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism. 

The goodwill and support lent to them by Tamils and the international community ultimately delayed any progressive reform and shielded Sri Lanka from meaningful consequences. Indeed, instead of pursuing justice, these leaders reinforced the systemic oppression that had given rise to the conflict in the first place.

The burden of proof is on Dissanayake

The parallels between 2015 and today are stark, but there is still time for Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s government to break from this cycle. With the largest parliamentary majority in Sri Lanka’s history, the NPP has the political power to deliver meaningful change. The burden of proof lies squarely on its shoulders. Concrete action—not speeches, commissions, or symbolic gestures—will determine whether this administration distinguishes itself from its predecessors or merely perpetuates the same patterns of betrayal.

With the largest parliamentary majority in Sri Lanka’s history, the NPP has the political power to deliver meaningful change. The early days of this regime, however, have not been promising. During his presidential campaign, Dissanayake vowed to protect war criminals from prosecution and to uphold Buddhism's "first and foremost" place on the island. Once in power the NPP seemingly backtracked on the pledge to repeal the PTA - legislation that has been used disproportionately against Tamils and Muslims. The regime has also refused to rebuke the host of Sri Lankan war criminals who have enjoyed senior military and government roles, including those facing travel sanctions such as Shavendra Silva. Instead, those accused of war crimes continue to be courted and even promoted. It is a worrying start.

Lesson for Tamils and the international community

For Tamils, the lessons of 2015 are clear: empty promises and political theatre cannot substitute for concrete actions. Scepticism is not cynicism. It has been forged through decades of broken promises and systemic betrayal. The failures of 2015 reinforced for many what had been evident through decades of oppression – no Sri Lankan leader will ever grant the Tamil people their full liberation. Tamils will remain cautious, demanding tangible progress on accountability, demilitarisation, and self-determination before openly lending their trust to yet another administration.

For the international community, the failure of 2015 underscores the need for a different approach. Sri Lanka’s domestic political promises cannot be taken at face value. International mechanisms for accountability must remain central, and tangible benchmarks for progress on other pressing issues must be set. No government in Colombo, no matter how progressive it claims to be, can be trusted to act without rigorous international oversight. Continued goodwill and uncritical support risk enabling further delays and entrenching further impunity—just as they did in 2015. It is time for actions, not words. The stakes are too high for mistakes to be repeated.