-By LeN Special Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -24.April.2025, 11.20 PM) When Gotabaya Rajapaksa left Sri Lanka aboard a military jet in July 2022, escaping like a man late for a dentist appointment he never intended to pay for, a great myth was shattered: the myth of the Strongman President. The self-proclaimed Colonel, who once roared like a lion, left the island with the urgency of a kitten caught in a rainstorm.
This wasn’t just a fall from grace—it was a plunge from a helicopter without a parachute, wearing nothing but an "I Love America" hoodie.
Before he became the sledgehammer of the post-war Sri Lankan state, Gautam Bir Rajapaksa (known among his WhatsApp circle as “Gota the Gasoline Guy”) had a very different life.
Having joined the Sri Lankan Army during a time when camouflage uniforms were more about hiding incompetence than hiding in jungles, Gota rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel before abruptly exiting the military. The reason? According to old documents buried deeper than Sri Lanka's reserves at the Central Bank, he cited mental stress and instability as his reason for departure.
But fear not—like any good Lankan with a connection to a famous sibling, he wasn’t destined to fade quietly.
After abandoning his colonel stripes, he caught a flight to the United States and took up the noble cause of… pumping petrol in California. Reports claim he once overfilled a Prius and declared it “national sabotage.”
But wait! In the most surreal twist in this saga, it was none other than Madam Sirimavo Bandaranaike, then Leader of the Opposition, who reportedly intervened to ensure Gota was allowed to exit the military gracefully. Her reasoning? "Let the poor man go pump petrol. At least he won’t bomb Jaffna from a Chevron."
But fate had bigger plans—or should we say, Mahinda did.
When Mahinda Rajapaksa—Sri Lanka’s most iconic moustache—became President in 2005, he summoned his ex-petrol-pumper brother back to serve as Defense Secretary. This was like promoting your cousin from flipping kottu at the kadé to becoming Executive Chef at a Michelin-star restaurant.
Inexperienced? Yes. Awkward? Absolutely. Dangerous? You bet.
Soon after, Gota surrounded himself with a close-knit crew of yes-men, no-women, and maybe-murderers. Decisions were taken with the speed of a Megapolis Development project and the subtlety of a White Van.
Every dictator needs a hobby. Hitler had painting. Gaddafi had tent fashion. Gota? He had a massive fish tank in his living room—allegedly filled with killer sharks imported from an undisclosed maritime vendor.
The sharks weren’t the only thing imported under dubious circumstances.
The MiG deal scandal—Sri Lanka’s most flamboyant financial fiasco since the “National Thrift Week”—was orchestrated under his watch. Millions of dollars were paid for second-hand, possibly imaginary fighter jets. Not a single aircraft landed. Not even a drone.
In short, the only thing that took flight during Gota’s Defense Secretary days was public money.
While fish swam in his luxury tank, journalists disappeared on the streets of Colombo. The now-legendary White Van Culture—Sri Lanka’s version of Uber, except instead of arriving at parties, you disappeared from them—was born under his iron-fisted rule.
Lasantha Wickrematunge, one of the country’s bravest journalists, paid the ultimate price for speaking out. So did many others. Some were shot. Others vanished. Hundreds of Tamil businessmen were reportedly abducted, extorted, and, in tragic cases, executed. It was not governance—it was state-sponsored ghosting.
Gota, meanwhile, built his urban development empire, transforming Colombo’s skyline while flattening its soul. High-rises went up. Accountability went down.
Despite mounting international pressure, Gotabaya denied all allegations of war crimes. He dismissed UN reports as fiction, human rights as distractions, and international law as a Western conspiracy—presumably hatched over brunch.
But it wasn’t enough to be the shadowy Defense Secretary. He wanted the throne itself.
In 2019, clad in his signature safari suit and a smirk that said “I once served at Shell,” Gota ran for President. And he won, thanks to a powerful combination of post-war Sinhala nationalism, disinformation, and free lunch packets.
His first presidential promise? “I will give you security and stability.”
He gave the people neither.
In 2022, everything changed. Fuel ran out. Gas ran out. Dollars ran out. And the patience of the Lankan people finally expired like a forgotten yogurt cup in a power-cut fridge.
What started as mild irritation over gas queues escalated into the Aragalaya—a citizen uprising powered by rage, social media, and stale dhal.
Faced with tens of thousands of angry protesters storming his official residence—armed with slogans, smartphones, and in one case, a very determined aunty with a spatula—Gotabaya Rajapaksa did what any seasoned military man would do:
He ran.
To Maldives, then to Singapore, where he filed for asylum in the same way students file for extensions—hopelessly and too late.
The man who claimed he “ended the war” couldn’t face a peaceful crowd with placards. The self-declared Colonel fled like a dodgy lottery seller when the cops arrive.
Before leaving, Gota handed the country over to Ranil Wickremesinghe, a man who has now been sworn in as Prime Minister more times than the average Lankan files for a visa.
This appointment only further enraged the public, who proceeded to storm Ranil’s office, raising the philosophical question: Can you burn down something that’s already politically charred?
Today, Gotabaya lives in political exile. Rumor has it he’s in Bangkok teaching a night course in "How Not to Handle a Protest." His fish tank? Allegedly seized by wildlife authorities. His killer sharks? Rehomed at Dehiwala Zoo, now pacifist vegetarians.
But his legacy remains—a legacy of mismanagement, repression, and a final act so cowardly, it erased whatever image he had left of being a “man of steel.”
In the end, Gotabaya Rajapaksa wasn’t a Colonel. He was a Colonel's cosplay. A strongman who fled at the first sign of real strength—from the people.
-By LeN Special Correspondent
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by (2025-04-24 17:52:22)
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