The English trap: Why Sri Lanka mocks its politicians either way

Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath’s performance at the Raisina Dialogue exposed a historical tension with the English language

• Too little English invites ridicule. Too much English invites suspicion. In Sri Lanka, the language has become a weapon used in both directions
• Until Sri Lanka moves beyond treating English as a symbol of status or embarrassment, public debate will continue to focus on how politicians speak rather than what they say
• The recent Indian Ocean panel incident deserves reflection. So does the reflexive mockery that followed it. Both reveal an underlying tension in Sri Lanka’s relationship with the English language, and acknowledging that tension may be the first step toward a more mature political conversation

Last week, a panel discussion on the future of the Indian Ocean drew attention in Sri Lanka for an unexpected reason. Sri Lanka’s Foreign Minister, Vijitha Herath, was among the participants in what should have been a routine opportunity for the country to articulate its position on a matter of regional significance. Instead, the moment quickly circulated on social media after the Minister appeared unprepared to respond to several questions posed during the discussion.

The incident soon became the subject of widespread online commentary and ridicule. Yet the reaction reveals something deeper about Sri Lanka’s public culture. In this country, politicians are mocked when they struggle to speak English. Paradoxically, they are also mocked when they appear to speak it too well.

This contradiction reflects a deeper national discomfort with the English language and the role it plays in political life.

The incident 

The Indian Ocean panel brought together experienced international participants and was moderated with pointed and informed questions. Observers noted that questions relating to the sensitive issue of Iranian vessels and Sri Lanka’s diplomatic positioning were foreseeable, particularly in a forum dedicated to regional security.

The Minister appeared inadequately prepared to address them. As clips of the exchange circulated online, criticism quickly followed. Some directed their frustration at the Minister personally. Others questioned whether the advisers and officials responsible for preparing political leaders for international engagements had done their job properly.

Both concerns are legitimate. When a country’s Foreign Minister speaks at a global forum, he represents not only the Government but the nation itself. Preparation is therefore essential. Personal likeability or political popularity cannot substitute for diplomatic readiness.

However, what often follows such incidents in Sri Lanka is less constructive. Rather than discussing institutional preparation or diplomatic capacity, public conversation quickly turns into personal mockery. The focus shifts from the substance of the discussion to the politician’s English.

Other side of the same coin

Yet the criticism directed at politicians in Sri Lanka is not limited to those who struggle with English.

When the opposition leader, Sajith Premadasa, used a series of unusually complex English words in public speeches and communications, the reaction was similarly dismissive. Critics suggested he was “showing off,” relying on a thesaurus, or attempting to sound more intellectual than he really was.

In other words, the same public culture that criticises one politician for speaking too little English criticises another for speaking too much of it.

In both situations, the language itself becomes the focus of attention rather than the ideas being communicated. The substance of political discussion is overshadowed by commentary on vocabulary and accent.

Too little English invites ridicule. Too much English invites suspicion. In Sri Lanka, the language has become a weapon used in both directions.

A historical tension 

This pattern did not emerge overnight. It is rooted in Sri Lanka’s long and complex relationship with English.

The introduction of the Sinhala Only Act dramatically altered the linguistic landscape of the country by removing English as the official administrative language. Over the decades that followed, the state education system increasingly deprioritised English proficiency, particularly outside urban centres.

At the same time, English continued to function as a language of international diplomacy, higher education, and global engagement. As a result, it gradually acquired a dual identity: it was both a practical tool and a powerful social marker.

For many Sri Lankans, English became associated with urban elites and colonial privilege. This historical experience shaped public attitudes toward the language and continues to influence how English is perceived in political life today.

Consequently, Sri Lanka developed a political culture with no stable standard for how politicians should relate to English. A politician who struggles with the language is portrayed as incapable of representing the country internationally. A politician who speaks it fluently risks being labelled elitist or disconnected from ordinary citizens.

The standard shifts depending on the political context and the individual being targeted.

Diplomacy requires preparation, not ridicule

Sri Lanka has previously produced diplomats who represented the country with distinction on the international stage. Figures such as Lakshman Kadirgamar were widely respected for their intellectual depth and their ability to articulate Sri Lanka’s interests clearly in complex diplomatic environments.

Preserving that tradition requires investment in institutional capacity. Ministers must receive thorough briefings before international engagements. Diplomatic advisers must anticipate difficult questions and prepare responses accordingly. The Foreign Ministry must maintain the expertise necessary to support political leadership in global forums.

These are institutional responsibilities.

Public mockery of individual politicians does little to address these structural issues. Viral video clips and comment threads may generate temporary entertainment, but they do not contribute to meaningful accountability.

What accountability should mean

It is entirely appropriate for citizens to ask whether Sri Lanka’s Foreign Minister is adequately prepared for international discussions. It is equally appropriate to ask whether the advisory structures surrounding political leaders are functioning effectively.

However, accountability should focus on institutional performance rather than personal humiliation. When criticism becomes entertainment, serious political conversation becomes more difficult.

A politician who struggles with English may be the product of an education system that failed to provide adequate language training. He may also be inadequately supported by advisers responsible for diplomatic preparation. These are structural problems that deserve examination.

Mockery, however, rarely produces reform.

Rethinking Sri Lanka’s attitude toward English

Sri Lanka deserves effective representation on the global stage. Achieving this requires more than individual competence. It requires systemic improvement: stronger English education within the public school system, greater investment in diplomatic training, and more professional preparation for international engagements.

But it also requires a shift in public attitudes.

Citizens must learn to distinguish between legitimate scrutiny and casual ridicule. A politician’s English should not be the primary lens through which political competence is judged. Language is a tool of communication, not a measure of personal worth.

Until Sri Lanka moves beyond treating English as a symbol of status or embarrassment, public debate will continue to focus on how politicians speak rather than what they say. The recent Indian Ocean panel incident deserves reflection. So does the reflexive mockery that followed it. Both reveal an underlying tension in Sri Lanka’s relationship with the English language, and acknowledging that tension may be the first step toward a more mature political conversation.

(The author is a Senior Lecturer in English, General Sir John Kotelawala Defence University)