At a five-star hotel in Colombo last Sunday, Sarath Fonseka, Sri Lanka’s former army chief, regulated the flow of questions from reporters in the same way that he had once commanded troop movements. White had replaced khaki as attire, but there was little change in the stiff countenance of the general. He formally announced his decision to fight the presidential elections in January 2010 as a ‘common candidate’ of a host of Opposition parties, with the swan as his election symbol. Amid the flashbulbs, he also delivered his Barack-Obama-style punchline, “I can do it.”

There can be little doubt about Fonseka’s determination to do what he sets his mind on. Despite being grievously injured in an assassination attempt by a pregnant bomber in 2006, he had refused to hand over the military baton. He had miraculously recovered, and then driven the Tigers out of Kilinochchi and Mullaitivu and then the Wanni jungles. It is on this flaming determination — this time to win the presidential election — that the disparate Opposition parties have placed their bets. The Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna, which has till now never fielded any candidate other than its own, has decided to back him, as also the United National Party, which has decided to forgo, for now, the ambitions of Ranil Wickremesinghe to the presidency. Their game plan is to give enough support together to Fonseka to bag the presidency, and then to go their separate ways to wrest the parliamentary seats from the jaws of the ruling United People’s Freedom Alliance.

It is quite obvious that it is the personal vengeance of Fonseka that the Opposition is seeking to capitalize on. Fonseka himself has made no bones about the fact that he is mightily cut up about the Rajapaksa brothers — the president himself and his brother, the defence secretary, Gotabhaya Rajapaksa — for duping him with the post of the commander of defence services that gave him nominal control over the armed forces within months of the victory. Fonseka had expected greater generosity from his partners in the war cabinet and imagined for himself a more responsible role for a longer term.

This was plainly evident in his advice to the president to hold back resettlement till the army, under his guidance, conducted the painstaking procedure of picking out the crouching Tigers from among the milling refugees in camps. Again, the north, as he saw it, would have to remain militarized to reduce security threats. In other words, he didn’t quite foresee the Rajapaksa administration walking two steps without his support. The Rajapaksas’ belittlement of Fonseka was, naturally, interpreted as an affront to military might. In his 17-point resignation letter to the president, Fonseka makes it plain that he completely fuses his interests with those of the military. Denial of a free hand to Fonseka to make changes in the army is seen as undermining the independence of the armed forces. The administration’s mistrust of him is seen as an insult to the loyalty of the men who had made supreme sacrifices for the nation.

Fonseka made apparent his desperation to do something about it in his address at the Washington Buddhist temple during his personal visit to the United States of America. He reminded the august assembly at the vihara that “some people in Colombo” had forgotten the importance of the army and he was ready to take any step necessary for the security of the nation. He also reminded himself then that it wasn’t possible to go on wearing the uniform forever. This was in late October. By that time, he must have already received strong feelers from some of the Opposition leaders to join the gang. While in the US, Fonseka’s relationship with the ruling dispensation in Colombo went into a further downslide over his possible deposition against the defence secretary. But the nation had to wait a little longer to view the unfolding of what is being described as the coup of the indubitable UNP leader, Ranil Wickremesinghe.

It is the Opposition’s sleight-of- hand that has transformed Fonseka’s petty grievance into a national cause. Of course, it is entirely to the credit of the brains at work that the capturing of the national mood of post-war sullenness and displeasure with the Rajapaksa administration should have been so timely and accurate. There is a lot of popular anger at Mahinda Rajapaksa’s mishandling of the economic situation, the evident corruption and nepotism, the continuing curb on essential freedoms, and the fear psychosis that was created to serve the government’s interests. Then there is the Sinhala triumphalism with which Fonseka, as the architect of Sri Lanka’s stupendous military victory, can claim greater affinity than Mahinda Rajapaksa. It is on this particular strength that Fonseka knows he has to work on. He has, undoubtedly, tried to broad-base his political initiative by voicing concerns for the welfare of Tamil refugees. But he knows that it is with the Sinhala Buddhist majority that his appeal lies. With his discipline, anger and public appeal, the divided Opposition in Sri Lanka has found in Fonseka an “efficient, effective” vehicle to carry forward its political agenda.

One might argue that this is how democratic change begins in most countries. But with Sarath Fonseka as replacement for Mahinda Rajapaksa, Sri Lanka can hope for no more representative democracy than it already has. Fonseka may have given grudging assent to the Opposition’s wish to make the scrapping of executive presidency a part of his electoral agenda. He may have even acknowledged the presence of minorities in Sri Lanka. But he is unlikely to allow either of the two to come in the way of his political objective — getting even with the Rajapaksas. The eagerness to deal with the problem of accommodating the minorities — which was prominent in his resignation letter — may even be dispensed with if it impinges on his vision of a Sinhala Buddhist militarist state. Given Fonseka’s predilections and his narrow interests, his candidacy may do a greater disservice to democracy than the Rajapaksas have done.

For one, the spectre of the Opposition coming together only to provide Fonseka with a passport to the highest office and then disbanding to seek the loaves and fishes of the parliamentary offices signals instant chaos. That chaos perhaps would have to be reined in by the dictatorial presidency of Fonseka. In other words, the Opposition, by upholding Fonseka’s candidacy, could be ensuring Sri Lanka’s eventual descent into military dictatorship. His political gambit, in fact, represents the first instance in Sri Lanka of a military commander challenging the authority of the commander-in-chief, the president. If that challenge has to be worked out on the political plane as a democratic contest (instead of by the easier way of staging a coup), it is not so much because of the strength of Sri Lankan democracy as the lack of cohesion in the army.

Two, there is no guarantee Fonseka would prove any more tolerant of the press and of personal freedoms than the Rajapaksas. The media, if Fonseka’s character assassination is any indication, are being used by the establishment to undermine him. Fonseka’s kin have already been exposed for alleged kickbacks in arms deals. Fonseka, as president, is unlikely to allow such misdemeanours on the part of the press. As the war has proved, he sincerely believes in news blackout when occasion demands.

There is no doubt that General Fonseka has filled a void in Sri Lanka’s democracy by acting as a sounding board for the government — a role the Opposition has miserably failed to live up to. The threat from him has remarkably speeded up resettlement and rehabilitation and thrown open opportunities for the expression of dissent. But it is unfortunate that Sri Lanka’s Opposition has surrendered its legitimate role to a rogue general.