-By A Special Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -22.May.2025, 11.10 PM) In the shadowy corridors of Sri Lanka’s bureaucratic machinery, a parallel economy has flourished. It’s an economy not governed by budgets or fiscal policy, but by envelopes slipped under desks, whispered negotiations in dark corners, and an unofficial price list for every public service—land permits, police protection, school admissions, and beyond.
This week, the moral decay of the state apparatus was once again laid bare, when the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption (CIABOC) arrested two public officials in separate but disturbingly familiar incidents.
One was a middle-ranking officer at the Mahaweli Authority, the other a police chief in the north. Their alleged crime? Selling the power of the state for personal gain. Their real offence? Participating in what has now become, by all accounts, the standard operating procedure of governance in Sri Lanka.
The first arrest took place on Tuesday, May 21st. A unit manager employed by the Mahaweli Authority—a state institution entrusted with overseeing land and water resource development—was apprehended in Welikanda for allegedly demanding a Rs. 20,000 bribe from a local resident.
The bribe was purportedly sought to facilitate the reallocation of a housing plot in the Athugala area and to expedite a land permit for a 20-perch block—essentially, a bribe for doing one’s job.
“The land was already allocated. All I needed was the paperwork,” said the complainant, who spoke on condition of anonymity. “But they made it clear: nothing moves unless money moves.”
This is not an isolated experience. Across the country, obtaining a land permit has become a Sisyphean ordeal for the honest citizen—unless, of course, one chooses the express lane of corruption.
CIABOC officers carried out the arrest in a sting operation, after verifying that the official had indeed solicited the bribe. According to sources familiar with the case, the Mahaweli officer is just one of many—he was simply unlucky enough to be caught.
On the same day, in a different corner of the island, another arrest made headlines. This time, it was the Officer-in-Charge (OIC) of the Poovarasankulam Police Station in Vavuniya, taken into custody for allegedly soliciting a Rs. 500,000 bribe.
The specifics of the bribe have not been released publicly, but what is known is damning enough: the person tasked with upholding the law had allegedly commodified his authority.
It is worth noting the magnitude of the sum in question. Half a million rupees—enough to buy silence, make an inconvenient file disappear, or ensure an arrest never takes place. What is for sale, apparently, depends only on the client’s needs and ability to pay.
These two incidents, while distinct in detail, are identical in implication: Sri Lanka’s public service has normalised corruption to the point that it no longer shocks.
“Bribery is not an aberration in the Sri Lankan public sector—it’s a parallel system of service delivery,” said a retired senior civil servant who now advises international development agencies. “There’s the official process, which is painfully slow. And then there’s the real process, which works only if you pay.”
The bureaucratic apparatus is not merely inefficient—it is deliberately designed to frustrate, in order to extract payment from those desperate to move forward. Red tape becomes not just a feature, but a tool of coercion.
Even more alarmingly, junior officers are often expected to ‘earn their keep’ through bribes, a system informally sanctioned by their seniors. “If you don’t play the game, you’re either transferred, sidelined, or made to suffer,” said a whistleblower within the Land Registry.
CIABOC’s arrests are commendable, but they are pinpricks on a much larger canvas of impunity. For every officer arrested, dozens more operate freely, knowing full well that oversight is sporadic and punishment rare.
Conviction rates for bribery cases remain dismally low. Investigations are slow. Prosecutions are often politically influenced. And when cases do go to trial, witnesses are routinely intimidated or coerced into silence.
“The entire anti-corruption architecture in Sri Lanka is reactive, not preventative,” said Dr. Manik Jayasuriya, a governance expert and former advisor to the UNDP. “We don’t have systems that deter corruption. We have systems that accommodate it, and occasionally scapegoat individuals to keep up appearances.”
At the heart of the issue lies political patronage. Appointments to plum positions in the bureaucracy and police are often politically motivated, not merit-based. Those who secure these posts view them as investments—ones that must yield returns.
“The rot begins at the top,” said Jayasuriya. “When ministers themselves are implicated in massive corruption scandals and face no consequences, why would a village-level officer fear soliciting Rs. 20,000?”
And so, from the local Grama Sevaka to senior police officials, a supply chain of bribery has embedded itself into the daily functioning of the state.
While policymakers debate anti-corruption frameworks, ordinary Sri Lankans continue to suffer.
For citizens in rural areas, particularly those seeking land, identity documentation, or police intervention, the expectation of a bribe is not hypothetical—it is assumed. One must budget not just for fees, but for under-the-table “facilitation.”
A young woman from Anuradhapura recounted her ordeal trying to obtain a police report for a job abroad: “They kept delaying it. First, they said the OIC was on leave. Then they said the file was missing. Finally, someone pulled me aside and said, ‘Give Rs. 10,000 and it’ll be done tomorrow.’”
She paid. The report arrived the next day.
Established in 1994, CIABOC was envisioned as Sri Lanka’s institutional bulwark against bribery and corruption. Over the years, however, it has come under fire for being under-resourced, politically influenced, and toothless in the face of entrenched corruption.
While high-profile arrests occasionally make headlines, the commission lacks the prosecutorial independence and institutional clout necessary to tackle large-scale corruption networks.
According to a 2024 report by Transparency International Sri Lanka, over 60% of surveyed citizens believed that “most or all” public officials were corrupt. A staggering 45% admitted to paying a bribe in the past year to obtain a public service.
Beyond the domestic consequences, the entrenchment of petty and grand corruption has implications for Sri Lanka’s international standing. As the country seeks foreign direct investment and post-crisis economic stabilisation, systemic corruption remains a persistent red flag.
“Investors look at more than tax incentives,” said an official at the European Chamber of Commerce in Colombo. “They look at regulatory integrity, ease of doing business, and governance. Right now, Sri Lanka scores poorly across all three.”
Several international aid agencies have also revised their project management models in Sri Lanka, opting for direct disbursement rather than routing funds through state systems.
Addressing the corruption epidemic requires more than sting operations and symbolic arrests. It demands root-and-branch reform: a depoliticised public service, independent investigative bodies, digitised service delivery, and above all, political will.
“The President must lead from the front,” said Jayasuriya. “If top-level impunity ends, the ripple effects will be felt down the line.”
Some progress has been made. The digitalisation of land records in certain districts has reduced opportunities for manipulation. A pilot project in the Colombo Municipal Council now allows online applications for business licenses, reducing face-to-face interactions—and the opportunity for bribes.
But these are islands of reform in a sea of dysfunction.
The arrests of a Mahaweli officer and a police OIC this week are not aberrations; they are the tip of the iceberg. They are reminders that in Sri Lanka, state authority has become transactional.
Every bribe paid is not merely a loss of money—it is a theft of public trust, a delay in justice, a distortion of policy. It is a child kept out of school, a victim denied protection, a business unable to grow.
Corruption, once whispered about in private, now walks proudly through the halls of government, draped in impunity and fed by silence.
Unless Sri Lanka reclaims the moral spine of its institutions, the state will remain hostage—not to external enemies or economic shocks, but to those entrusted with serving it. And in that captivity, it is the people who suffer most.
-By A Special Correspondent
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by (2025-05-22 18:58:55)
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