By At Gossip Island Pub, Simon Alawathura and Wilson Unuwathura were embroiled in a heated debate, but this time, it wasn’t just about political theories—it was about cold, hard cash, and the government’s recent revelations. With their glasses of arrack in hand, the two men faced off over the growing scandal about the politicians who submitted inflated property damage claims after the 2022 protests.
Simon, leaning back with a smug grin, started, “You see, Wilson, the government’s doing the right thing now. They’re holding people accountable. They’ve announced that those who submitted false claims are going to be prosecuted under the Anti-Corruption Act No. 9 of 2023. They’re even investigating 43 MPs and Ministers who collectively took Rs. 122 million in compensation! It’s about time they got what was coming to them.”
Wilson wasn’t impressed. “Oh, come on, Simon. These are the same politicians who always find a way to make money from a crisis. You can’t honestly tell me that all those claims were legitimate. I mean, the maximum compensation for property damage, even in natural disasters, is Rs. 2.5 million! But we have politicians like Chamal Rajapaksa who claimed Rs. 6.5 million, Keheliya Rambukwella with Rs. 9.5 million, and Johnston Fernando who got Rs. 9.3 million! That’s more than any house should need to rebuild after a protest.”
Simon, raising an eyebrow, replied, “You don’t get it, Wilson. These people were under stress. They were victims of the chaos! It’s only right that they get what they need. It’s not just the ordinary people who deserve compensation. They’re public servants, and sometimes, the system’s got to give a little extra for their troubles.”
Wilson scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right, Simon. And let’s not forget about the Divisional and District Secretaries who were pressured to inflate the damages. The whole thing reeks of corruption. It’s a misuse of power! The Health and Media Minister, Dr. Nalinda Jayatissa, made it clear that these claims were grossly exaggerated. He said some officials were even coerced into overestimating the damages to help their political buddies. And let’s not ignore the fact that these politicians were using unrest as an opportunity to pocket some extra cash.”
Simon swirled his drink, unbothered by the accusations. “But Wilson, the law’s the law. Under the new Anti-Corruption Act, anyone caught submitting fraudulent claims faces severe penalties. Fines, imprisonment, and disqualification from public office. So, let the investigations proceed. The Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption (CIABOC) is already on the case, and the government’s committed to recovering misappropriated funds.”
Wilson paused, considering the implications. “True, Simon. But this is a pivotal moment. The people want accountability. This scandal is only fueling the outrage. Citizens are demanding transparency, and they want the government to show they’re serious about rooting out corruption. If they don’t act swiftly, this could make everything worse.”
As the conversation grew more heated, the pub owner approached, a quiet observer of their exchange. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension, “let me settle this. No one wins in politics. But if you keep arguing, I’ll have to close the pub early.”
With a round of drinks on the house, the two men reluctantly quieted down. Simon, ever the optimist, raised his glass. “At least we agree on one thing, Wilson. No matter how messy the situation gets, the pub’s always here to help us through it.”
Wilson shot back, “Well, if only the government were as reliable as the drinks around here.” With that, they clinked glasses, leaving the room with no resolution but plenty of laughter—and a lingering question of whether the government would truly live up to its promise of accountability.
