Wednesday 11th could be the day history turns on its heels.
(Lanka-e-News -09.June.2025, 11.00 PM) In a country long sedated by scandal fatigue, the announcement that former President Ranil Wickremesinghe is to appear before the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) this Wednesday is as close as Sri Lanka gets to a political earthquake. The man who once styled himself as the custodian of democratic reform—defender of the republic, beacon of economic liberalism—is now being summoned to answer serious questions over one of the most disturbing healthcare failures in recent memory: the alleged importation of substandard human immunoglobulin vaccines during his tenure.
The complaint that sets the stage for this reckoning comes not from a political rival, but rather from a once-loyal minister: Keheliya Rambukwella, the former Health Minister who himself has spent more time in courtrooms and interrogation rooms than in the comfort of plush parliamentary benches since the change in government.
But irony is neither defence nor deterrent in this latest chapter. Wickremesinghe, the man many once regarded as a wily survivor of Sri Lankan politics—tenacious, calculating, and occasionally aloof—must now explain his own administration’s apparent silence, or worse, complicity, in what could amount to medical malpractice on a national scale.
Ranil Wickremesinghe, now in his mid-seventies, may still command a certain ceremonial deference—he was, after all, President until mere months ago. But this Wednesday, there will be no motorcades, no flag bearers, no military salutes. Just a walk up the CID steps, flanked by lawyers, possibly media cameras, and a growing shadow of public suspicion.
The allegations concern the procurement and importation of human immunoglobulin, a life-saving injectable therapy essential for patients suffering from immunodeficiencies, autoimmune disorders, and post-transplant complications. Sri Lanka’s health system, strained but respected for its universal ethos, is now reeling from claims that vials shipped into the country under Wickremesinghe’s watch were not up to World Health Organisation (WHO) standards—a polite euphemism for “potentially dangerous.”
Sources close to the CID suggest the complaint filed by Rambukwella alleges a “systemic breakdown” in procurement oversight, facilitated by political patronage and bureaucratic rubber-stamping. And though Rambukwella himself was Health Minister at the time—an irony that critics have not failed to highlight—his legal team insists his complaint centres on decisions taken above his pay grade, “at the highest executive level.”
Which, naturally, leads investigators to Ranil Wickremesinghe.
The gravity of the complaint lies not just in procedural missteps, but in human consequence. Immunoglobulin therapy is not paracetamol. It is administered to severely ill patients. Any compromise in quality or efficacy can result in organ failure, fatal infections, or even death.
According to internal Health Ministry documents obtained by Lanka e-News, a batch of immunoglobulin vials imported between late 2022 and early 2023 were flagged for anomalies in storage temperature, origin of manufacture, and missing certificates of analysis.
Worryingly, the documents suggest that procurement officers raised concerns—but those concerns were overridden, possibly at the political level. The question facing investigators is: Did the President know, and if so, when?
A mid-level procurement official, who spoke to us on condition of anonymity, claims, “There was pressure. The name of the supplier was fixed even before the tender went out.” He alleges the supplier had ties to a powerful Colombo-based pharmaceutical distributor with known links to political figures from Wickremesinghe’s party.
While the Health Ministry’s silence is telling, the CID has reportedly secured email trails, WhatsApp messages, and procurement memos that could implicate not only bureaucrats but also ministerial advisers and senior Cabinet members.
Wickremesinghe is not the first political figure to be summoned in relation to this scandal. Over the past six weeks, a parade of former ministers—including at least two from the Ministry of Finance and one from Health—have appeared before the CID to provide statements.
CID insiders suggest that some testimonies have already begun to contradict each other, raising the prospect of a full-blown legal battle among former Cabinet colleagues.
One former deputy minister, speaking off the record, quipped: “They used to sit on the same side of Parliament. Now they’re pointing fingers at each other across the CID conference table.”
Public reaction has been predictably sharp. In a country where medicine is sacrosanct and hospitals are viewed as the last vestiges of state compassion, the idea that political cronies may have played Russian roulette with the health of thousands is almost too grotesque to bear.
Those familiar with Wickremesinghe’s political and legal style predict a robust defence. His lawyers are expected to argue that procurement decisions fall outside the President’s constitutional mandate, particularly post-20th Amendment, which reallocated powers between the executive and line ministries.
Legal analyst and former Supreme Court advocate Shyamali de Silva explains:
“If the CID cannot prove a direct link between Wickremesinghe and the final procurement approvals, they’ll be hard-pressed to charge him with personal wrongdoing. The President doesn’t sign off on supplier contracts. That’s the bureaucracy’s job.”
But critics say this line of defence ignores the unofficial power dynamics of the Rajapaksas’ waning years and Wickremesinghe’s caretaker presidency. After assuming office amidst the economic collapse of 2022, Wickremesinghe was handed sweeping emergency powers, including the authority to appoint officials, approve emergency tenders, and bypass routine procedures in the name of “national recovery.”
The CID, it appears, will argue that with great power came great liability.
For Wickremesinghe, this is not merely a legal engagement—it is a political referendum on his legacy.
This is the man who negotiated bailout after bailout, who tried to stabilise the rupee while chaos unfolded in the streets. He was hailed by some as a reluctant saviour, the last adult in a room full of delinquents. Yet to others, he was always the emblem of elite impunity—a man who surfed crises rather than solved them, who rose to power not through elections but through vacancies created by collapse.
Being hauled before the CID on a corruption-linked scandal involving public health is precisely the kind of bookend that could annihilate whatever remains of his political credibility.
The timing is equally perilous. With the NPP government under Anura Kumara Dissanayake keen to showcase accountability and transparency, there is little chance of political mercy. “No one is above the law,” said a senior NPP spokesman. “Not even a former President.”
Sri Lanka has long been cynical about accountability. Commissions of Inquiry come and go. Scandals break, peak, and fade. Politicians resign only to return rebranded, often richer. But there is something different about this one.
Perhaps it is the rawness of the health crisis—families who lost loved ones now wondering if faulty medicine played a part. Perhaps it is the optics of a former President standing before the CID, stripped of ceremony. Or perhaps it is the NPP’s clear mandate to hold even the highborn accountable.
Whatever the reason, this case has captured the public imagination.
Street-side newspaper vendors report that “anything with Ranil and vaccines” sells out by mid-morning. Social media hashtags #ImmunoGate and #RanilCID are trending. Talk shows are ablaze with medical experts, legal commentators, and political theorists all trying to dissect the potential fallout.
Even the usually cautious medical unions have issued statements calling for a full investigation. The Government Medical Officers' Association (GMOA) said in a press conference: “Those responsible for importing unregistered, substandard immunoglobulin must face justice, whether minister, bureaucrat or President.”
Ranil Wickremesinghe is expected to appear at 10:00 AM, escorted by a small legal team. He is likely to be questioned for several hours, possibly across multiple sittings. The CID, according to insiders, is seeking clarification on at least seven key memos and procurement directives signed during his tenure.
No arrest is expected at this stage, but that could change depending on the level of cooperation and the evidence presented.
In political circles, Wednesday is being described as “Judgement Day” for Wickremesinghe—not in the biblical sense, but in the pragmatic calculus of Sri Lankan power: Will this be the final curtain, or the beginning of yet another political resurrection?
In a political culture where resignations are rare, humility rarer, and prosecution almost unthinkable for the elite, the image of Ranil Wickremesinghe entering CID headquarters as a subject of investigation is both symbolic and historic.
Whether he walks out with his legacy intact or irreparably damaged depends not only on legal nuance but on whether the Sri Lankan public still believes in the possibility of justice.
For now, one thing is clear: on Wednesday, the past will be on trial—even if only symbolically—and the man who once occupied the highest office in the land will have to answer some of the lowest questions a leader can face.
-By A Special Correspondent in Colombo
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by (2025-06-09 22:11:17)
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