Recent weeks in Sri Lanka have seen anger and protests alongside struggles to secure the basics of life – but also hope that change is coming. An economic meltdown has brought normal life to a halt. People are living with lengthy power cuts, almost no access to fuel and soaring prices that have made essential foods unaffordable, forcing many to cut down on their daily meals.

There’s no doubt that Sri Lanka’s economy has been hit hard by the COVID-19 pandemic, which largely put a halt to tourism and slashed remittances from Sri Lankans abroad, and most recently by Russia’s war on Ukraine, which has pushed up global fuel prices. But people are also pointing the finger at strong-arm president Gotabaya Rajapaksa and his centralised and unaccountable brand of decision making.

A disastrous decision on farming

High global prices are affecting every economy, but Sri Lanka is doing notably worse than most, indicating that problems have been building up for some time. Sri Lanka has the region’s highest inflation, the value of its currency has collapsed and it has almost completely depleted its foreign currency reserves. This is all making it even harder and more costly to import the food and fuel it needs. The country has defaulted on billions of dollars of foreign debt repayments and is now in what could be lengthy negotiations with the International Monetary Fund. It’s a long way from the ‘Vistas of Prosperity and Splendour’ Rajapaksa promised in his 2019 election manifesto.

On coming to power, Rajapaksa cut taxes, including corporate tax, and reversed the policy of the outgoing government that would have made the central bank independent and stop the government printing more money as a short-term economic fix. The government, including the administration headed by Rajapaksa’s brother Mahinda from 2005 to 2015, was accused of running up debt on grandiose infrastructure projects.

Meanwhile Sri Lanka’s home-grown food supplies have been depleted as a direct result of a presidential decision. In April 2021, President Rajapaksa introduced a ban on chemical fertilisers and pesticides. The move, which came into effect straight away rather than being phased in over time, gave farmers no time to change the practices they had used for decades. The result was a swift decline in yields of rice, the key crop that feeds the nation, and export crops that earn essential foreign currency, notably tea.

Following protests in response to falling harvests, the government reversed its policy for some key crops and agreed to pay compensation, but it was already too late: Sri Lanka’s economic woes have been compounded by the need to import rice, on which it was long self-sufficient. Earlier this month, Mahinda Yapa Abeywardana, speaker of parliament, voiced his fear that many face the threat of starvation. A medical workers’ union has similarly warned of a national health emergency as the country struggles to import essential medicines.

For many farmers, who make up 27 per cent of Sri Lanka’s workforce, the fertiliser ban and its fallout epitomised an unaccountable president able to make unchecked decisions. Farmers, many of whom had previously backed the ruling party, felt taken for granted; some wondered if the scheme was a ploy to force small farmers off their land to enable large-scale commercialisation of farms.

An out-of-control ruling family

At the heart of the crisis is one powerful political family. When former army leader Gotabaya Rajapaksa became president in 2019, he was just the tip of the iceberg. He appointed his brother Mahinda, former president and one of five members of the family to win seats in the 2020 parliamentary election, as prime minister. He also placed two other Rajapaksa brothers and a nephew in the cabinet, making governing a private family business.

Presidential power was extended by constitutional changes in October 2020: the president gained additional powers to dissolve parliament, appoint and dismiss ministers and choose judges and the heads of key commissions, including the election commission. Unaccountable presidential taskforces were created, removing key issues from parliamentary scrutiny, and a slew of current and former army officers were given government roles previously held by civilians.

Unsurprisingly this consolidation of Rajapaksa family power was accompanied by a crackdown on civic space, with protest bans, the detention of activists and the harassment and criminalisation of government critics and independent media.

It was no shock that the government’s response to protests was to fall back on its machinery of repression. When protesters camped outside the president’s residence on 31 March to demand his resignation, teargas and water cannon were used and at least 50 protesters and several journalists were injured. Dozens of protesters were arrested, with some ill-treated in detention.

The following day the government introduced a state of emergency, imposing a curfew and giving itself the power to arrest and detain people without warrants. The military was deployed onto the streets. Internet and social media access were restricted.

However, the pressure did not let up as people kept protesting despite the curfew. In response the government had to give some ground. On 2 April the cabinet resigned and President Rajapaksa offered to form a unity government, an invitation opposition parties rejected, since both the president and his brother showed no indication of stepping down. The next day 41 members of parliament quit the ruling coalition, leaving the Rajapaksas heading a minority government and potentially facing a future vote of confidence. The state of emergency, clearly untenable, was quickly withdrawn.

The protest movement continues, demanding that both President and Prime Minister Rajapaksa quit. More than that, protesters are insisting they don’t want another all-powerful president: they want a form of government where presidential power is subject to checks and balances and policies like the disastrous agricultural reforms can’t simply be pushed through. Protesters have also started to call for accountability over recent human rights violations, including those committed during Sri Lanka’s bloody civil war.

Diverse movement points the way forward

Pressure continues to mount. Some senior ruling-party politicians have said they back the protesters and called on the prime minister to quit. Influential Buddhist leaders have done likewise. It seems increasingly clear that if the president and prime minister had national unity and the best interests of the country at heart, they would stop clinging onto power.

Concern comes over the president’s close military links, which could help keep the Rajapaksas in power. Sri Lanka could be at a significant fork in the road: it could potentially become more democratic and pluralist, but alternatively it could transition into de facto military rule. Worryingly, the protests experienced their first fatality on 19 April when police opened fire on protesters blocking railway lines and roads in the town of Rambukkana, killing bystander Chaminda Lakshan and injuring several others. Violence towards protesters may increase if the Rajapaksas try to stay in power.

But hope comes in the unity across diversity of the protest movement. The political power of the Rajapaksas has rested on a stridently religious-nationalist appeal to a key segment of the country’s majority Sinhala Buddhist population, based on the exclusion of Tamil people and other minorities. But protesters are coming from all groups and mobilising outside party structures. Young people are denying their reputation for apathy by protesting in numbers. LGBTQI+ people, previously made invisible, are being embraced as part of the protest community.

People are no longer either intimidated or impressed by President Rajapaksa’s strongman posturing, and they no longer want such a leader. The protest movement is showing instead what Sri Lanka could look like, and making clear that the best way for the country to respond to its economic crisis is to listen to the voices of its people.