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Last week’s parliamentary clash over the Supreme SAT satellite venture — involving Rohitha Rajapaksa, son of former President Mahinda Rajapaksa — has turned into far more than a dispute over facts. It has evolved into a revealing study in how parliamentary accountability, cabinet unity, and bureaucratic reliability intersect in Sri Lankan governance.

Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya, responding to a parliamentary question, stated that the Supreme SAT project had not used government funds and had in fact generated income. The following day, Minister Vasantha Samarasinghe publicly contradicted her, claiming the Prime Minister had been misled by Board of Investment (BOI) officials who had provided her with incorrect information.  

The episode raises fundamental questions: How far can ministers rely on their officials? Who bears ultimate responsibility for the accuracy of statements in Parliament? And what does Cabinet collective responsibility mean in practice?

The Chief Opposition Whip, Gayantha Karunatilleka, also publicly decried the conflicting statements delivered within Parliament stating that the government’s credibility on oral responses has been compromised, pointing to the contradictory assertions by the Prime Minister and the Minister.

The saga began when Hambantota District SLPP MP D. V. Chanaka — a staunch Rajapaksa loyalist — asked whether the Supreme SAT venture had involved public funds and whether it had been financially beneficial to the country. He raised the matter during “Prime Minister’s Question Time,” a segment introduced into the Parliamentary agenda by former President Ranil Wickremesinghe, modelled on the British system of allowing MPs to question the Prime Minister directly.

The Prime Minister initially requested two weeks to respond, then sought a further month before delivering her answer — a common delay when ministers seek to verify facts with officials.

When she eventually replied, she stated unequivocally:

1.  The venture had not used government funds.

2.  It had generated income.

For an SLPP MP’s question to yield such a favourable answer about a Rajapaksa family member was politically significant — and likely what Chanaka had anticipated. His decision to question the Prime Minister rather than the Finance Minister under whose purview the BOI falls, suggests he expected a response that would fit his political narrative and wanted it delivered from the highest possible platform.

If the question had been directed at the Finance Minister, the Deputy Finance Minister would have had to respond (since the President held the portfolio of Finance) thus getting less publicity than when the Prime Minister responded.

The twist came when Minister Vasantha Samarasinghe contradicted the Prime Minister’s statement, asserting she had been misled by BOI officers who supplied false or incomplete data. He however did not disclose the source of his own information.

If his claims are correct, this represents a serious administrative lapse. If unverified, his intervention risks undermining not just the PM’s credibility but the government’s image of unity.

Under Sri Lanka’s Constitution, ministers are accountable for everything they present to Parliament. Once words are spoken in the House, the responsibility — political and personal — lies with the minister, regardless of whether the data came from officials.

Sri Lanka’s Cabinet system, like other Westminster-derived systems, requires ministers to publicly support collective decisions and positions. A public contradiction of the Prime Minister by a Cabinet colleague constitutes a breach of this convention unless formally sanctioned — which appears unlikely in this case. Such open splits hand political ammunition to opponents and erode the perception of government cohesion.

Convention demands that ministers address factual disagreements internally before making them public. Had Samarasinghe conveyed his concerns privately, the PM could have investigated and, if necessary, corrected the record in Parliament with minimum embarrassment to the government.

MP Chanaka’s original question was not politically neutral. It appears designed to elicit a statement favourable to the Rajapaksas. The PM’s answer — based on BOI data — unintentionally reinforced that narrative. Samarasinghe’s rebuttal, in turn, aligned with anti-Rajapaksa sentiment. Thus, a simple straightforward question over a satellite project became another front in Sri Lanka’s factional politics.

The BOI’s role raises three possibilities: either the information it provided was accurate, or it made a serious factual error, or it knowingly provided politically slanted information. All three possibilities erode public trust. Ministers must therefore apply healthy scepticism to departmental briefings, especially when politically sensitive, and seek independent corroboration.

In Sri Lanka’s system, responsibility for a parliamentary statement lies with the minister who delivers it. Even if the BOI misled the PM, it remains her political responsibility to ensure the accuracy of her words. Likewise, Samarasinghe bears responsibility for contradicting the PM publicly before exhausting internal channels.

This episode also reveals much about the political styles of those involved.

Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya is now no political novice. This was evident during the election campaign when she responded to Ranil Wickremesinghe’s public offer to “give her lessons in politics” with the sharp retort that she needed no lessons in corruption (or words to that effect). She would undoubtedly have understood the political implications of her Supreme SAT answer but, trusting her officials’ brief, chose to stand by what she believed was factually correct — even knowing it would be used to the SLPP’s advantage.

Minister Samarasinghe’s reaction reflects his more impulsive nature. This is not the first time his remarks have stirred controversy. Recently, former JVP MP Nandana Goonetilleke lamented that the proposed abolition of parliamentary pensions would leave him in dire financial straits, as he depended heavily on the monthly pension of Rs. 68,000. Samarasinghe responded that in such a situation Goonetilleke could be assisted through the Aswesuma welfare scheme — prompting a sharp comeback from Goonetilleke, who asked whether Samarasinghe himself was on Aswesuma since his salary went into the JVP’s party fund. Samarasinghe has not replied to that barb.

What began as a seemingly straightforward question about a satellite venture has spiralled into a test of political management, bureaucratic reliability, and Cabinet solidarity. The fallout demonstrates how quickly government credibility can be damaged when ministers and their officials fall out of sync — and when internal disagreements spill into public view.

Handled wisely, this moment could prompt reforms to strengthen parliamentary accountability, require greater verification of official data, and reinforce the discipline of Cabinet solidarity. Mishandled, it risks becoming yet another case where political point-scoring and factional advantage overshadow the pursuit of truth.

(javidyusuf@gmail.com ).