-By LeN special correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -22.April.2025, 11.00 PM) It is with absolutely no solemnity whatsoever that we report the demise of one Dan Priyasad — the self-declared guardian of Sinhalese nationalism, unofficial Sri Lankan Facebook vigilante, and part-time moonlighting menace to society. He died as dramatically as he lived: in a shooting incident that feels less like a tragedy and more like the ironic punchline to a lifetime of bad ideas.
For those unfamiliar with the legend of Dan Priyasad, he was not so much a nationalist activist as he was a walking satire of one. Equal parts chauvinist and charlatan, he managed to turn the sacred cause of Sinhala-Buddhist identity into a side hustle, complete with donation boxes, Facebook lives, and “urgent fundraising for the motherland” appeals — all of which somehow ended up financing his trips to Dubai, designer sunglasses, and suspiciously expensive vehicles that “the nation” presumably never got to ride.
Dan’s rise to (in)fame was as curious as it was cringe-worthy. Starting off as a garden-variety street thug during the final stages of the war, he was reportedly involved in rackets extorting Tamil businessmen under the pretense of “national security contributions.” One minute he was shaking down shopkeepers in Colombo; the next, he was declaring himself the Sinhala-Buddhist version of Mahatma Gandhi — if Gandhi had anger issues, questionable grammar, and a fondness for gold chains.
His real moment, however, came in the post-war years when Facebook became a political playground. Dan discovered the algorithm loved nothing more than a loudmouth with a flag. He began posting fiery diatribes about “protecting the nation” — which, when translated from his unique dialect of Sinhalese-English-Gibberish, meant “protecting his ego and bank account.” Muslims were the usual targets, Tamils never far behind, and liberal-minded Sinhalese were dismissed as “traitors to the race.” It was like watching a racist WhatsApp uncle come to life.
Behind the nationalist facade, Dan’s life was a tragicomedy of debt, deceit, and delusion. He owed millions to private lenders, small businessmen, and at least three unfortunate women who mistook his patriotism for passion. His rallying cry was always the same: “I fight for Sinhala-Buddhist values!” — though it’s unclear how Buddhist it is to owe money to half the country while living off the mercy of the other half.
When Easter Sunday’s horror shook Sri Lanka, Dan didn’t hesitate to make it worse. He organized mobs, stirred riots, and helped orchestrate a digital pogrom against Muslims — all under the watchful eye of a suspiciously silent police force. His handiwork in Kurunegala and Digana became infamous, not for its effectiveness, but for its sheer absurdity. In one video, Dan was seen shouting slogans so unintelligible that his own followers looked confused. One bystander said: “We weren’t sure whether to burn a shop or call an ambulance for him.”
During the Aragalaya — the historic 2022 protest movement that brought down Gotabaya Rajapaksa — Dan Priyasad once again proved that if history repeats itself, it does so as farce. While brave citizens faced down water cannons, tear gas, and repression, Dan reemerged not as a protester, but as an alleged thug-for-hire, rumored to have links with Rajapaksa loyalists who were itching to silence the uprising. He was seen in several viral clips loitering menacingly around Galle Face, armed with his usual arsenal of inflammatory rhetoric, and maybe a poorly hidden crowbar.
But the public wasn’t buying it anymore. His nationalist shtick was starting to look like what it always was: a con. A loud, badly staged, low-budget con.
After the heat turned up, Dan pulled a classic Sri Lankan nationalist maneuver: he fled to Dubai. There, in a delicious twist of irony, he ended up mooching off — you guessed it — Muslims. The same group he vilified for years now became his unexpected benefactors, providing him shelter, food, and even Wi-Fi access for his next “National Emergency Broadcast” from a rented flat in Deira.
He posted a few teary videos from a dimly lit Dubai kitchen, begging the public for money, claiming he was on a top-secret mission to “defend the Sinhalese abroad.” Meanwhile, several lenders back in Sri Lanka had begun legal proceedings to recover their loans. At this point, Dan’s nationalistic mission seemed less about sovereignty and more about solvency.
Eventually, Dan returned to Sri Lanka — likely after he overstayed his visa and the free biryani ran out. He tried to reboot his career with a new twist: attacking the NPP government online, accusing them of being Marxist traitors and Tamil apologists. This, too, failed to gain traction. The people had moved on. The Facebook algorithm had changed. The real activists had taken the stage.
And then came the bullet. Details are still murky, but sources suggest the incident was the result of a personal dispute — possibly related to unpaid debts or failed political deals. In any case, it ended not with a national salute, but a headline that inspired more memes than mourning.
Dan Priyasad’s life reads like a bizarre parody of everything wrong with nationalist populism in Sri Lanka: the exploitation of ethnic tension, the commodification of patriotism, the glorification of violence, and the transformation of religion into a convenient business model. He was, in many ways, the influencer generation’s nationalist — more keyboard warrior than real one, with a fan base fueled by rage, insecurity, and Facebook shares.
In the end, Dan was never a true hero of Sinhala-Buddhism. He was its greatest imposter — a man who preached compassion but practiced harassment, who cried for the country while pickpocketing its people, who spoke of pride while hiding in fear. He turned the sacred struggle for identity into a circus, and like all bad circuses, it eventually packed up, shot the clown, and left town.
Let us be honest: Dan Priyasad won’t be remembered as a martyr. He will be remembered as a cautionary tale — a TikTok tragedy in a WhatsApp era. His funeral might be loud, his fans might be few, but his impact — however laughable — reminds us that unchecked nationalism breeds not pride, but parasites.
The next time someone waves a flag and screams about protecting culture while passing around a donation box, remember Dan. The man who made nationalism a Netflix drama, but forgot to write the ending.
R.I.P. Dan Priyasad. (Rest in Paranoia.)
-By LeN special correspondent
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by (2025-04-22 17:30:51)
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