-By LeN Legal Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News - 27.Sep.2025, 11.50 PM) When Ceylon ceased to be a colony of the British Crown in 1972 and became the Republic of Sri Lanka, the wigs and gowns of its legal profession survived the transition, but the title of Queen’s Counsel (QC) did not. It was replaced by an indigenous equivalent: President’s Counsel (PC). Styled as a recognition of distinction for lawyers “learned in the law,” the honour carried with it privileges in court and, crucially, prestige in society. But fifty years on, the PC system stands accused of being less about legal eminence than political favouritism, and a growing chorus of reformists are calling for its abolition.
The time has perhaps come to admit that this relic of colonial mimicry, distorted by decades of presidential discretion, is an institution past its shelf life. What began as a means of distinguishing professional excellence has morphed into a badge handed out by political leaders to their allies, patrons and personal counsel.
The roots of the President’s Counsel lie in the British system of Queen’s (or King’s) Counsel, appointments dating back to the sixteenth century that recognised senior barristers as the Crown’s leading advocates. In Ceylon, the first appointments were made in 1903, when Frederick Dornhorst, Ponnambalam Ramanathan and Thomas de Sampayo were sworn in as King’s Counsels. For seven decades, the QC title conferred both prestige and authority.
When the Republic of Sri Lanka was proclaimed in 1972, QC appointments lapsed, leaving the profession without a senior designation. For a decade, a substitute title of “Senior Attorney-at-Law” was used, but in 1984 President J. R. Jayewardene gave the honour constitutional footing through the Eighth Amendment. He introduced the title of “President’s Counsel,” with appointments made solely at the discretion of the Executive. Article 33 of the Constitution allows the President to name as PCs “attorneys-at-law who have reached eminence in the profession and have maintained high standards of conduct and professional rectitude.”
The idea was to continue the recognition of merit, while localising the honour. Yet unlike in the UK, where the appointment process has grown increasingly transparent and independent of political leaders, Sri Lanka’s PC system remains under the thumb of one individual: the President.
On paper, the appointment process incorporates checks. Recommendations are sought from the Chief Justice, the Attorney General, and the President of the Bar Association of Sri Lanka (BASL). Guidelines were issued in 2016, and revised in 2021, to provide some semblance of objectivity. Criteria include professional eminence, integrity, years of practice, and contributions to the law.
In practice, however, the constitutional language is clear: the President alone decides. The result is that the PC system has become, in the words of one senior jurist, “a presidential gift masquerading as professional honour.”
President Maithripala Sirisena appointed a staggering 75 President’s Counsels between 2017 and 2019, a wave of appointments many saw as diluting the prestige of the title. Among the recipients were lawyers closely associated with ruling politicians. The Bar Association’s guidelines, it turned out, were more suggestion than safeguard.
In December 2023, President Ranil Wickremesinghe appointed ten new PCs. A year later, President Anura Kumara Dissanayake conferred the rank on two Additional Solicitors General as an ex officio entitlement. Each of these appointments reignited debate: is this an earned recognition of merit or simply a ceremonial bestowal rooted in political expedience?
The most corrosive criticism of the PC system is that it elevates lawyers not for their legal brilliance but for their political loyalty.
One glaring example often cited is Ali Sabry, a lawyer whose rapid ascent in national politics—becoming Justice Minister and later Finance Minister—was preceded by his appointment as President’s Counsel. Critics point out that his legal career lacked the scholarship, advocacy and record of landmark cases usually associated with such recognition. “A third-class, uneducated lawyer who cannot draft a legal argument in English,” said one senior attorney, who asked not to be named, “yet given the PC title. It was a handout, not a recognition.”
Sabry is hardly alone. A string of appointments over the years reveal a pattern: lawyers who defended presidents, ministers or ruling party figures often found themselves rewarded with the coveted letters “PC” after their names. The perception—worse than any reality—is that political service is the surest route to professional eminence.
For younger lawyers, the message is corrosive. Why strive for excellence in courtrooms, why build a reputation for independence, when the title of senior counsel can be secured through political proximity?
The practical privileges of being a PC extend beyond prestige. They include the right to sit within the “inner bar” of the Supreme Court, a symbolic but powerful recognition of seniority. PCs are given precedence in being heard, often jumping the queue of other counsel waiting to argue.
In a profession already plagued by delays, inefficiencies and unequal access, this privilege distorts justice. Ordinary litigants whose lawyers are not PCs often find their cases sidelined in favour of those represented by “inner bar” counsel. The appearance of inequality is compounded by the reality of it: justice seems swifter for those who can afford a PC.
The movement to abolish the PC system rests on three arguments: merit, equality, and independence.
Merit: A true system of professional recognition should be based on transparent criteria, rigorous evaluation, and peer-reviewed distinction. PCs are appointed by presidential fiat, not by competitive examination, not by peer nomination, not by judicial performance. It is not earned, it is bestowed.
Equality: The privileges attached to the title undermine the principle of equal access to justice. Why should one litigant’s counsel leapfrog another’s, based solely on political patronage? The inner bar may have made sense in colonial times; today, it is a vestige of elitism.
Independence: At its core, the PC system ties the legal profession to political power. Senior lawyers who aspire to the title may feel pressure to moderate criticism of government or curry favour with the President. The profession’s independence—already fragile in a country where judges face political pressure—is further eroded.
As one reform-minded barrister put it, “The PC is a loyalty card, not a merit badge. It entrenches servility, not independence.”
Sri Lanka is not unique in grappling with this issue. Many Commonwealth republics have moved away from politically appointed senior counsel. In India, the designation of “Senior Advocate” is conferred by the Supreme Court or High Courts, based on applications, scrutiny and peer evaluation. In South Africa, “Senior Counsel” is appointed through an application process overseen by professional bodies.
Sri Lanka could adopt a similar system. Instead of presidential discretion, a transparent, independent panel could evaluate applications based on experience, advocacy, scholarship, and professional integrity. The BASL, the judiciary, and independent legal academics could be represented on such a panel. The title could be purely honorific, stripped of courtroom privileges that distort equality before the law.
Alternatively, Sri Lanka could abolish the system altogether, recognising that in a republic, all lawyers should be equal officers of court, judged solely by their ability and reputation in practice, not by political titles.
The debate over the PC system is more than professional navel-gazing. It reflects deeper tensions in Sri Lanka’s governance: the entanglement of law and politics, the erosion of meritocracy, and the persistence of colonial-era elitism.
In a country reeling from economic collapse, debt restructuring, and public mistrust of institutions, the spectacle of political leaders handing out legal honours is more than an irritant. It is a symbol of how far the republic has strayed from principles of equality and independence.
Every time a President pins the PC title on a loyal lawyer, it sends a message: the law is not an independent pillar of democracy, but a tool of patronage. That message, in a nation still struggling to rebuild public trust, is disastrous.
The Bar Association of Sri Lanka faces a choice. It can continue to rubber-stamp presidential discretion, issuing guidelines that are ignored, or it can take a principled stand against the PC system.
The BASL has historically been a powerful voice in defending judicial independence. Yet on the question of President’s Counsel, its position has been cautious, even complicit. Few want to antagonise presidents who might one day reward them.
But reform rarely comes from the powerful; it comes from pressure. Young lawyers, academics, and civil society activists are increasingly vocal. Social media brims with criticism of recent appointments. Petitioners have even challenged appointments in court, though with little success.
This may be the Bar’s moment of reckoning. If it does not demand the abolition or radical reform of the PC system, it risks being complicit in perpetuating a culture of patronage.
The President’s Counsel title was born of colonial mimicry, sustained by constitutional power, and devalued by political patronage. Whatever its original purpose, it now stands as an anachronism, out of step with a republic that professes to value equality, independence and merit.
Abolishing the PC system would not by itself cleanse the legal profession of politics. But it would send a powerful signal: that legal excellence must be earned, not bestowed; that justice must be equal, not privileged; and that the law must serve the people, not presidents.
The time has come to draw the curtain on this relic of presidential gift-giving. Let Sri Lanka’s lawyers stand on their arguments, their scholarship, their integrity—not on the patronage of political leaders.
In doing so, the country would not be discarding tradition, but reclaiming the core of what tradition is meant to protect: the independence of the law.
-By LeN Legal Correspondent
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by (2025-09-27 22:11:47)
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