The Governor, The Board of Directors of NDB Bank and The Auditors are still in place
There is a pattern in Sri Lanka’s governance that is as predictable as it is corrosive: the instinct not to act. Not to decide. Not to confront. But to wait, deflect, and dilute. It is not incompetence in isolation. It is something more systemic. A culture of studied inaction masquerading as prudence.
Be that as it may, the cost of this inertia is no longer theoretical. It is measurable, visible, and increasingly indefensible.
Take the unfolding questions surrounding the NDB matter. A serious financial issue, one that goes to the heart of trust in Sri Lanka’s banking architecture, has been met not with decisive leadership, but with the familiar choreography of delay. Statements. Clarifications. Internal reviews. And above all, the preservation of positions.
In any system that values accountability, the first principle is simple: responsibility must be seen to be taken. The optics matter because they signal seriousness. When a Governor, entrusted with oversight and systemic stability, presides over a moment of such gravity, the response cannot be cosmetic. It must be consequential.
Yet what do we see?
Not urgency, but accommodation. Not accountability, but continuity. The very individual at the center of scrutiny remains in place, offering explanations that do little to inspire confidence. The system, rather than correcting itself, appears to be shielding itself.
And here lies the deeper problem.
Sri Lankan governments, across administrations and ideologies, have consistently demonstrated an aversion to decisive action when it matters most. The instinct is to manage the narrative rather than confront the issue. To contain fallout rather than enforce standards. To hope that time will dull public memory.
But time, in governance, is not neutral. It compounds failure.
The President, in such circumstances, is not merely a spectator to institutional processes. He is the ultimate custodian of public trust. Leadership, at its core, is about setting the tone. A summons, a demand for resignation, a clear signal that underperformance and lapses will not be tolerated. These are not acts of aggression. They are acts of governance.
Instead, what we witness is hesitation.
Perhaps it is political calculation. Perhaps it is institutional caution. Perhaps it is the perennial fear of destabilizing already fragile systems. But the irony is stark: by avoiding short-term disruption, the system invites long-term erosion.
Because every instance of inaction sends a message.
To the public: that accountability is optional. To institutions: that standards are negotiable. To officials: that consequences are unlikely.
And over time, that message becomes culture.
This is not merely about one bank, one Governor, or one episode. It is about a recurring failure to act when action is required. The bond scandal taught us this. The Easter aftermath reinforced it. Regulatory lapses across sectors echo it. The names change. The script does not.
Be that as it may, the country cannot afford this paralysis any longer.
Sri Lanka is attempting to rebuild credibility in the eyes of investors, multilaterals, and its own citizens. That credibility is not built on speeches or policy papers. It is built on decisions. Hard, sometimes uncomfortable decisions that demonstrate a willingness to uphold standards without fear or favour.
The question, then, is not whether action is difficult. It always is.
The question is whether inaction is any longer sustainable.
Because if governance becomes an exercise in avoidance, then accountability becomes a myth. And when accountability is a myth, trust is the first casualty.
And without trust, no system, however well designed on paper, can endure.
Image: AI Generated for illustration purpose only
