The Real Hangover

Photo courtesy of JFW

Growing up in Sri Lanka we are often reminded of the country’s proud legacy of progress for women: setting a global precedent in 1960 as the first country in the world to elect a female prime minister. Today women in Sri Lanka enjoy one of the highest literacy rates in South Asia at over 90 percent. Women also make up the majority in universities and represent a significant portion of the workforce, especially in manufacturing and service sectors. Despite these political and economic milestones, Sri Lanka was one of the few countries in the world to restrict women from purchasing or selling alcohol legally until 2025. Similar discriminatory laws have existed in parts of India, Pakistan and some Gulf nations, regularly justified under cultural or religious norms.

In a long overdue landmark reform, the archaic and discriminatory regulation banning women from selling and purchasing alcohol was finally repealed in July 2025. This outcome is not just a social milestone but a deeply personal vindication of justice, equality and, most importantly, common sense.

Is this the biggest problem the country is currently facing? Perhaps not. Could it be a symptom of deeper social undercurrents, the type that carries hidden collateral damage? Absolutely yes.

The law that should never have existed

Sri Lankan women were subjected to an outdated provision of the Excise Notification No. 666 of 1979, which prohibited female citizens from being employed in places where liquor is manufactured, bottled or sold without prior written permission from the Excise Commissioner. The same law effectively banned women from purchasing alcohol in licensed establishments.

This provision, never properly enforced for decades, was an unaddressed colonial hangover, unjustified under any modern legal or ethical framework. More than just a legal technicality, it symbolised the broader structural discrimination against women in the legal system and society.

The 2018 pushback and the legal challenge

The beginning of the end started in January 2018 when Minister of Finance Mangala Samaraweera issued two gazettes. One gazette undid the archaic law that prohibited women from purchasing and selling liquor while the second extended the opening hours in liquor shops, pubs and restaurants. A few days later, President Maithripala Sirisena ordered both these new rules to be revoked and publicly claimed credit for reversing the progressive move, framing it as a protection of “Sri Lankan culture.”

This socio-cultural executive stroke, using policy as a tool, triggered civil society dissonance. It was no longer about alcohol; it became a stark reminder of how easily the government could arbitrarily deny any member of society their constitutional rights, all under the guise of politically charged, populist appeasement.

In response to this, several groups of independent citizens, activist groups, lawyers and professionals filed fundamental rights petitions before the Supreme Court of Sri Lanka. We argued that the reversal of the gazette violated our right to equality and non-discrimination under Articles 12(1) and 12(2) of the Constitution.

What many didn’t see was the quiet cost of speaking up. In our workplaces and even within our families, taking on this taboo came with judgment. Some of us were immediately labeled, branded as “women who drink” simply for demanding equal rights. Getting just 12 signatories for the petition was a challenge with several women who initially agreed and later withdrew, pressured by colleagues, partners or the fear of being socially excluded. Some of our mothers distanced themselves, not out of disagreement with our values, but because we had chosen to publicly challenge a deeply ingrained taboo.

Many South Asian societies, including Sri Lanka, have long entertained the private consumption of alcohol by women while simultaneously shaming any public acknowledgment of it. This double standard reveals a deeper cultural expectation that women must embody modesty and silence to preserve familial and societal honour. Speaking openly about such taboos threatens that illusion. It’s not the act of drinking that truly unsettles the status quo but it’s the assertion of autonomy, the refusal to conform and the courage to name what is usually hidden. When women break that silence, they challenge false social norms and expose the gap between performance and reality. In doing so, they act with integrity and that is what disturbs systems built on control.

The petitions filed by citizens, activists and organizations in 2018 remained pending in the courts until July 2025 when a new government gazette reversed the discriminatory restrictions entirely. Because the legal obstacle had been removed via administrative action, the Supreme Court was informed that the petitioners no longer wished to pursue their claim and the case was dismissed without a hearing.

Why this matters

This incident mirrors a culture that prioritises control, conformity and the preservation of outdated moral hierarchies over individual rights and freedoms. When policies are shaped not by evidence or equity but by fear of disrupting traditional power structures, the collateral damage is profound and yet invisible. It silences dissent, reinforces gender roles, alienates those who challenge the norm and erodes trust in democratic institutions. These undercurrents don’t just regulate behaviour; they shape identities, suppress progress and normalise inequality under the facade of cultural preservation.

This was never solely about gender discrimination; it’s about the deeper machinery of cultural gimmickry and control. Gender was just the chosen tool this time, pulled from a well-worn toolbox of tactics used by those in power to manipulate, distract and trigger public sentiment. The same playbook applies to race, religion and class where cultural taboos are weaponised to divide, suppress, deflect accountability or to simply fatten one’s voter base. The symptoms may differ but they all stem from the same root: a system that thrives on selective moral outrage and manufactured consent.

This milestone of legislative change is about far more than alcohol. It is about the affirmation that laws should serve justice, not prejudice. Our 2018 petition, among others, although it was not trialed in court, laid critical groundwork. It stirred public dialogue. It exposed the inconsistencies and hypocrisies in society and governance.

Turning one crack into a breakthrough

Socio-politically, this is a vital step toward shedding outdated taboos rooted in control and fear, barriers that no longer serve our collective growth. Letting them go opens the path to a more inclusive Sri Lanka where every individual can live with dignity, speak freely and contribute to a future grounded in trust and true equality.

For those committed to gender equity, this is a reminder that real progress goes beyond ticking boxes, beyond quotas on a list, pink-themed bank cards or panel discussions in March marking Women’s Day. It takes standing up for systemic suppression in not very pleasant places, persistently challenging the status quo even when your mother refuses to speak with you, deep collaboration with one another and untamed courage.