By Vox Civis
Three months before his election as President last year, Anura Kumara Dissanayake made a striking promise at a public rally. He declared that under his leadership, the era of “looking at the sky to predict the weather” would end. Sri Lanka, he vowed, would deploy advanced technology to anticipate natural disasters with precision, ensuring preparedness and protection. It was a pledge that resonated with a country repeatedly battered by floods, landslides, and storms.
One year and two months later, those promises lie buried under the mud and debris of the worst natural calamity Sri Lanka has faced in decades. The tragedy is not solely the force of nature but the scale of the state’s indifference. And as floodwaters rose, warnings accumulated, and international weather alerts turned into grim reality, the nation watched in disbelief as its government that was fully informed of the impending disaster weeks in advance, remained paralysed.
Warnings came early and loud
This disaster was not sudden by any measure: it certainly did not arrive without notice. In fact, the warnings began weeks before the first landslide or the first body was recovered.
On November 10 – two weeks before the storm, AccuWeather issued a stark alert: “Sri Lanka to face severe monsoon disturbances from next week.”
BBC Weather, on November 12, reported: “Potential flooding and landslides expected across Sri Lanka.”
Two days later, Al Jazeera warned of a “powerful, heavy rainfall system moving towards Sri Lanka.”
Even the Head of Sri Lanka’s Meteorological Department during a live television interview on November 12, spoke with unusual bluntness about the approaching danger. He explained that cyclonic systems do not materialise instantly like tornadoes; they build gradually over days and weeks. His message was unmistakable: a major disaster was approaching.
Yet, despite international advisories and local expert warnings, the political leadership did not activate the national disaster response framework, did not mobilise emergency operations, and did not instruct district-level state officials to prepare. No shelters were readied. No resources were pre-positioned. No instructions were disseminated.
Instead, on November 26, by which time much of the country was already on the brink of catastrophe, the President was engaged in meetings with film producers and entertainment industry stakeholders, discussing their issues as though Sri Lanka were enjoying a normal week of business and leisure. Outside the cozy interior of the Presidential Secretariat, the sky bore an ominous dark hue. Outside of the city, the torrents were building up in the mountains and rivers swelled beyond their banks, while the Head of State occupied himself by posing for selfies with film stars.
Waters rose, but not the state
It was only days after the disaster unfolded and the scale of it became clear with the death toll rising and entire communities stranded without food or clean water that the President issued instructions for “unrestricted relief” and promised that “no financial constraints” would be allowed to hinder rescue operations. A new circular, he announced, would soon eliminate administrative bottlenecks, and the military would be tasked with managing relief centres for faster coordination. It took another 24 hours after that for the government to declare a state of emergency and rally the emergency services in to a coordinated rescue effort. Unfortunately, by then, the damage was done.
Storms and cyclones are nothing new to this island nation. But for the first time in its history, even 48 hours after the first major deluge, displaced residents had not received any sort of food assistance – not even the usual rice and curry packet and water bottle freely distributed during similar calamities in the past. In many areas, not a single official had arrived. Villagers waded through deep water, clinging to rooftops while waiting for help that came much later than similar previous instances.
Despite the extent of the calamity, reports suggest that no state official including District Secretaries have released any funds for relief efforts unless approved from the top for fear of legal consequences later on. It is ironic that the regime’s targeting of officials who had acted proactively in the past in similar circumstances and are now being held accountable for these supposedly reckless actions, has now come to haunt it.
The disorganization and lack of preparedness was such that despite the clear warnings from weeks before, the thousands of students sitting for the Advanced Level exam across the country were informed of the postponement through the media only on the morning of the exam while they were already on the way to the centers amidst the storm.
Sri Lanka’s proud legacy of swift disaster response during past natural disasters including the deadly tsunami and a similar flood in 2017 was nowhere to be seen. This time, the state simply crawled in to action rather than springing in to action as in the past.
Diabolical Tourism Advisory
Compounding the tragedy was a bewildering move by Sri Lanka Tourism. On November 27, in the middle of mass flooding, widespread destruction, and mounting casualties, the Sri Lanka Tourism Development Authority (SLTDA) issued a statement proclaiming that “Sri Lanka remains safe and fully open for travel and tourism despite seasonal rainfall affecting certain parts of the country.”
The advisory assured tourists that “major destinations operate as normal,” that hotels and transport were functioning uninterrupted, and that authorities had “implemented comprehensive safety measures.”
Outside the walls of SLTDA’s plush air-conditioned office in Colpetty, the real Sri Lanka was drowning. International media were already broadcasting images of devastation. Casualties had crossed into three-digit territory. Entire districts were inaccessible with roads, railroads and bridges swept away, yet the SLTDA was telling the world that there was only some ‘seasonal rain in some places.’ Meanwhile at about the same time, the same government was appealing for international aid and assistance.
For an agency that relies heavily on credibility in global markets, the decision to mislead tourists at such a critical moment was not only irresponsible but also dangerous. The contradiction between the state’s pleas for emergency assistance and its tourism arm’s surreal assurances appear to reveal the deeper dysfunction within government with the administration seemingly more eager to manage optics than save lives.
A Treasury overflowing but no funds
The contradiction grew sharper still. During the ongoing budget debate, government leaders boasted repeatedly that the Treasury was “overflowing.” State revenue, they claimed, were the strongest in years. And yet, when disaster struck, the state could not provide even a meal to those who had lost everything until the private sector stepped in.
The irony is that here was a government that claimed unprecedented fiscal stability but could not organise the delivery of drinking water, tarpaulin sheets, or emergency medical supplies. Hospitals are reported to have run out of critical supplies and Divisional Secretaries have been unable to purchase rice or dhal for meals because no emergency circular had been issued authorising expenditure until days later.
To make matters worse, public servants were given a holiday on Friday (28) without a definition of “essential services.” No one knew who was meant to be working during the crisis, and who wasn’t. That clarification came later. For the first time in living memory, Sri Lanka operated as though the government itself had taken a holiday during a natural disaster.
Opposition restraint
Despite the opportunity to take the regime to the cleaners for its lackluster emergency response, in a rare show of unity, opposition parties refrained from attacking the government, recognising the urgency of the moment. Instead, they offered assistance.
Opposition Leader Sajith Premadasa playing the role of statesman, appealed to foreign governments, international financial institutions, and global organisations to support Sri Lanka in the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah. He also urged the IMF to temporarily ease loan conditions so the country could prioritise relief and recovery over rigid fiscal targets – an appeal that should have come from the government but never did.
Other parties, too, rallied. Namal Rajapaksa urged his base to assist villagers directly. Leftist groups – some of which have historically resisted emergency regulations, called for the government to issue the necessary gazette so officials could act without fear of disciplinary action. Even the National People’s Power, a party that built its political identity on confrontation, agreed that all political forces must unite to save lives. Yet the government remained inert.
Disaster Management law
Sri Lanka’s Disaster Management Act No. 13 of 2005 lays out explicit procedures for national emergencies. The President must convene the National Council for Disaster Management and issue an emergency gazette that authorises districts, hospitals, and administrative units to spend funds immediately on rescue and relief.
Even two days into the disaster, this had not been done. Without these legal authorisations District Secretaries could not purchase food, Hospital Directors could not buy medicine, Divisional Secretaries could not release funds, Grama Sevakas could not issue displacement letters and provincial health officials could not procure essential supplies.
The entire state machinery appeared to have frozen not due to lack of money, but due to fear of acting without legal cover, given recent events of officials having to face the music in court later on. Officials admitted they were afraid of future disciplinary or legal repercussions. The government’s failure to issue emergency directives in time paralysed the administration more effectively than even the floodwaters.
Fear, arrogance, and inexperience
The deeper tragedy is that Sri Lanka has seen this before. The Easter Sunday attacks offer the most painful precedent where multiple warnings were issued, but none heeded. In this instance, once again, early alerts were ignored and the price was paid by ordinary citizens – 130 dead and a similar number missing as of yesterday (29).
Of all political parties in the country, it is the NPP that is noted for having the best organised grassroot network. Yet, despite the administration commanding a two-thirds majority in Parliament and controlling most local authorities it failed to even distribute a loaf of bread or a bottle of clean water, for days. Meanwhile, civil society organisations that often stepped into the void during past crises remained unusually silent – adopting a wait and see attitude owing to mixed signals from the regime.
Obsession with optics, not lives
Critics say the regime appears more focused on meeting fiscal targets than feeding those affected by the natural disaster. Many appear to think that what mattered to the administration was the balance sheet and not the people struggling to survive. The country facing the biggest natural disaster in decades demanded empathy and action but instead, it received televised lectures, admonishments, and excuses. One victim told the BBC Sinhala Service: “Before, the boats arrived by morning. Now, for two days no one came. Only this morning did we get half a loaf of bread.”
Even as the death toll appears poised to climb up sharply, with entire neighbourhoods swallowed by landslides and hospitals overwhelmed, the political leadership appears detached and operating through remote control with people whispering that even though the disaster was natural, the scale of suffering has been man-made. For days, people had to manage without electricity and mobile phones with entire regions left in darkness while clarifications from ministries contradicted one another and relief operations were sporadic, uncoordinated, and painfully slow.
Even as families buried their dead, senior ministers insisted that criticism was “politicising a disaster.” The same voices that did not hesitate to exploit the COVID-19 pandemic for political gain are today telling others to remain quiet despite the lethargic response.
Sri Lanka has always suffered natural disasters. Floods are not new. Landslides are not new. Cyclonic storms are not new. But a state that barely operates during a crisis is unprecedented. Some are calling this the worst failure of governance in Sri Lankan history. Others describe it as a curse: a government so unprepared, so inexperienced, so obsessed with political narratives that it could not even feed the displaced. The thousands affected have just one plea: ‘do something at least now.’
Governance catastrophe
Ultimately, this is not merely a story of severe rainfall, a cyclonic system or multiple landslides and destruction of infrastructure, it is the story of a state that failed to respond when its people needed it most. A government that made bold promises of technological foresight and disaster prevention was caught unprepared by warnings issued weeks in advance. A leadership that claimed fiscal strength, failed to deliver even a rice packet. A bureaucracy paralysed by fear did not move to take decisive and pro-active action.
Natural disasters cannot be prevented. But the scale of devastation can be through effective mitigatory measures. Sri Lanka did not need to lose this many lives or leave those affected hungry, stranded, and terrified. It did not need to wait days to provide help. The bitter truth is that what happened was not an unavoidable tragedy but a catastrophic failure of governance and leadership.
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