-By Staff Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -21.April.2025, 9.50 PM) There’s never a dull moment in Sri Lanka’s political circus — and if one ever dares approach the horizon of boredom, fear not: Gamman Pillai (also known as Udaya Gammanpila, but that’s far too serious a name for his theatrical career) will rise from the ashes of irrelevance and say something so fantastically absurd, it jolts even Vatican dignitaries out of their meditative slumber.
This week’s episode features none other than our homegrown philosopher-minister-monk-who-never-was, Gammanpila, launching an unsolicited sainthood campaign for a man once accused of murdering over 600 surrendered police officers and being complicit in abductions, assassinations, and — depending on your source — black magic and several servings of mutton curry.
Yes, dear readers, we're talking about Sivanesathurai Chandrakanthan, alias Pillayan — the TMVP militant-turned-minister-turned-man-of-mystery who currently finds himself in yet another legal soup: this time over the abduction and disappearance of Eastern University Chancellor, Professor Sivasubramaniam Raveendranath.
But according to Gammanpila, this is no time for law and order. No, no. It is time for garlands. “Pillayan should not be treated as a suspect,” Gammanpila thundered before the microphones, pausing for maximum moral effect. “He should be celebrated as a national hero for assisting the Sri Lankan military in eliminating the LTTE.”
And with that one sanctimonious sentence, he managed to offend the Catholic Church, the military top brass, victims of the Easter Sunday attacks, Tamil families of the disappeared, and — we suspect — even a few confused astrologers who had predicted a quiet week in politics.
The Catholic Church, usually known for issuing sober press statements, found itself unusually animated. A rare joint declaration by several senior clergy members expressed “deep consternation” that a man under active legal investigation for a politically motivated murder is being whitewashed as a war hero, and more bizarrely, canonised by a politician who once claimed to channel “ancient Sinhala wisdom” through his mobile phone.
“Pillayan may have switched sides,” one priest murmured in private, “but that doesn’t make him a saint. Judas also switched sides.”
The Church’s call wasn’t merely spiritual. It was surgical: they want Gammanpila questioned — preferably by the CID, maybe by an exorcist, and ideally under oath.
“Is this a reckless political opinion,” one priest asked at a fiery sermon in Kotahena, “or is this part of a deeper attempt to sanitise the actors behind the Easter Sunday bombings?”
Because here’s the inconvenient truth that keeps rattling the cathedral windows: Pillayan’s name has never been too far from the underbelly of Sri Lanka’s deep state operations. His TMVP outfit, born from a Karuna split, was rumoured to be intricately woven into the military-intelligence network in the East. Those same networks that mysteriously failed to act on Indian warnings about the Easter Sunday attacks.
And now, a former cabinet minister — Gammanpila — is publicly lionising a man once accused of trafficking in terror, all while subtly undermining the Church’s repeated calls for justice.
It’s hard not to notice the smell. And it’s not incense.
Let us take a moment to reflect on Gammanpila’s career of contradiction.
Here is a man who claimed to be a Buddhist nationalist and yet found nothing sacrilegious in publicly defending Pillayan — a man who, at last check, never attended a pirith chanting session and whose résumé reads like a Quentin Tarantino character sheet.
Gammanpila’s reasoning? “Pillayan helped eliminate the LTTE.”
By that logic, every former paramilitary thug, torture squad leader, and double agent is a hero in waiting. Perhaps we should rename Parliament as the “Pantheon of Patriotism,” where war crimes are rebranded as national service, and truth commissions are replaced with testimonial documentaries narrated by Gammanpila himself, with a theme song by Bathiya and Santhush.
But wait — it gets better.
Gammanpila, in his wisdom, also questioned why the Church is “so worried about Pillayan’s past,” asking, “Wasn’t he forgiven already?”
Ah yes — the gospel according to Gamman: Thou shalt forgive, forget, and forward the party line.
Except forgiveness, dear Mr. Pillai, requires repentance — not repeat offences.
And if memory serves, the disappearance of a university chancellor is not something one forgets in a confessional booth. Nor is the calculated whitewashing of individuals under criminal investigation for Easter Sunday a matter of free speech. It is a matter of national security and justice.
The timing of Gammanpila’s remarks is no coincidence.
With Pillayan under renewed scrutiny by the CID and mounting calls for accountability over the Easter Sunday massacre, the political establishment seems keen to repackage its foot soldiers as misunderstood patriots.
There are questions now — urgent ones — about who knew what, and when, in the run-up to April 21, 2019. About who ordered the withdrawal of military intelligence surveillance. About why certain suspects were inexplicably released. About the political usefulness of a terror attack in the run-up to a presidential election.
And in that web, Pillayan’s name crops up too often to be coincidence.
Was he part of a larger cover-up? Did he know about potential threats? Did he — as some whispers go — act as a liaison between political actors and ground-level operatives?
By declaring him a “national hero,” is Gammanpila attempting to preempt a public narrative? Or is he sending a signal to those who might otherwise testify?
For the Catholic Church, this is not just a petty political squabble. It is a matter of global reputation, spiritual credibility, and sheer moral anguish.
The Vatican has been watching. Pope Francis — who himself survived the horror of fascist regimes in Argentina — issued veiled calls for justice and transparency. And within Sri Lanka, Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith has not minced words, often acting more like a moral prosecutor than a mere preacher.
So when a politician like Gammanpila effectively trivialises the Church’s calls for accountability — and even paints suspected perpetrators as patriots — it is not just offensive. It’s dangerous.
The Church, not typically a body known for street protests or legal petitions, is now said to be considering a formal complaint to both the Sri Lankan Human Rights Commission and international diplomatic circles. There’s even talk of approaching the UN Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion and Belief — not because Gammanpila’s remarks were religiously bigoted, but because they manipulate religious reconciliation for political gain.
And that, ironically, is a form of sacrilege.
One must wonder — what drives a man like Gammanpila to jump into the flames of controversy with such evangelical gusto? Is it ego? A desperate bid for political relevance? Or worse, a coordinated effort to test the waters of public tolerance for future cover-ups?
His recent press appearances have been more sermon than statement — filled with dramatic pauses, patriotic poetry, and the occasional misquotation of Mahinda Rajapaksa’s 2009 “mission accomplished” speech.
And yet, he appears unbothered by facts. Unmoved by bodies. Unshaken by mass graves or grieving mothers.
If Pillayan is the martyr, then Gammanpila is his holy hype man.
But while he may believe he is writing the hagiography of a hero, many Sri Lankans see him as scripting the obituary of his own political career.
Because here’s the truth: Sri Lanka is tired. Tired of politicians who treat human lives like chess pieces. Tired of recycled warmongers repackaged as patriots. Tired of hearing that murderers are misunderstood, and victims are collateral.
Let us end where we began — in irony.
In a country where journalists are still being followed, where activists are still being watched, and where families of the disappeared are still holding faded photographs in plastic sleeves — a politician just declared a suspected war criminal a national hero, and expected applause.
Instead, he got a holy rebuke.
From the pulpit to the CID, the pressure is mounting.
And as Gammanpila tries to perform his next rhetorical miracle — perhaps turning bullets into ballots or fugitives into flag-bearers — one wonders whether even his formidable talent for dramatic irony can survive an actual interrogation.
Because this time, not even the gods may forgive him.
-By Staff Correspondent
---------------------------
by (2025-04-21 16:20:56)
Read 24324 Times
Leave a Reply
0 discussion on this news