-By LeN Special Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -08.June.2025, 11.00 PM) In what may go down as the most creative use of parliamentary privilege since someone compared a fellow MP to a "malfunctioning washing machine", Archuna Ramanathan, the outspoken Tamil Member of Parliament from Sri Lanka’s Northern Province, has stirred a diplomatic, legal, and security hornet’s nest over 332 shipping containers—none of which, as it turns out, contain what he so emphatically claimed.
Speaking under the protective umbrella of parliamentary immunity, Ramanathan stood in the well of Sri Lanka’s legislature last week and, with dramatic flair, accused the Sri Lankan Defence Secretary of being complicit in a nefarious plot to quietly release 332 containers allegedly linked to none other than the Kumaran Pathmanathan (KP)—the infamous weapons procurer for the LTTE.
Not only that, he insisted, 332 of those containers contained weapons. His source? Not a law enforcement dossier or intelligence brief. No. The information came, he claimed, from a “German Tamil citizen”, apparently moonlighting as Europol’s unofficial ambassador to the Northern diaspora WhatsApp groups.
What followed was a week of televised chaos, political theatre, and breathless conspiracy theorising that would make Netflix salivate.
Ramanathan’s claim: A shadowy arms shipment tied to a proscribed terrorist group was allowed through Sri Lankan Customs without inspection.
Reality: Customs responded within 72 hours. The containers? Ordinary cargo—cleared by protocol, owned by registered Sri Lankan companies, and not even remotely linked to the KP, whose connection to Sri Lanka has remained tenuous and ghostly since 2009.
Customs officials produced documentation, HS codes, consignee addresses, and the kind of mundane paperwork that could put even the most eager Parliament TV viewer into a light coma. Items ranged from plastic pipes to electrical equipment. Not a single AK-47, RPG, or tactical vest in sight.
Here’s the twist: none of this had anything to do with the Defence Secretary.
But that didn’t stop Ramanathan from lobbing accusations like cricket balls on a fast pitch. By his logic, the Defence Secretary was somehow culpable for Customs operations. For those unfamiliar with how government departments function, that’s roughly like blaming the Meteorological Department for potholes.
One senior bureaucrat quipped off-record:
"If Mr Ramanathan wishes to see the Defence Secretary inspecting container yards, perhaps he also expects the Navy Commander to oversee roadside garbage collection."
The National People’s Power (NPP) government, predictably, cried foul. Sajith Premadasa, the Leader of the Opposition, along with MP Dayasiri Jayasekara , gleefully joined in, amplifying the accusation without a shred of supporting evidence—turning Parliament into a poorly rehearsed detective drama, albeit without a detective.
Then came the geopolitical boomerang.
Two Western diplomats in Colombo—alerted by the mention of “weapons tied to a proscribed terrorist organisation”—reached out to Parliament officials to clarify matters. Why? Because if a German citizen knew of such containers, and did not report it to German authorities, that individual could face legal consequences under EU anti-terrorism legislation.
Now Europol is being asked to verify the existence of this mysterious Tamil informant—assuming they exist outside Ramanathan’s imagination or some Berlin community centre kitchen gossip.
Even more curiously, the U.S. Embassy has flagged the statement for potential follow-up by the State Department, citing possible violations of international sanctions regimes and counter-terrorism finance laws. After all, if an MP publicly states that weapons belonging to a designated terror group entered the international supply chain, that’s not something Foggy Bottom takes lightly.
Legal experts now point to a curious grey area. While Ramanathan made the statement under parliamentary privilege, shielding him from defamation or perjury charges within Sri Lanka, that privilege doesn’t extend to international law. If his comments instigated foreign investigations, or worse, turned out to be knowingly false, the protection ends at the edge of Sri Lankan territorial waters.
One Colombo lawyer quipped:
"Privilege is not a licence to hallucinate into Hansard."
The Parliament's Privileges Committee is now considering summoning Ramanathan for questioning. Even allies in his own political alliance are said to be privately fuming over the episode.
"We are here to legislate, not speculate," one MP muttered.
According to the Sri Lanka Customs public statement released Friday, the 332 containers in question were imported by seven different companies, all of which are registered in Sri Lanka, paying taxes, and appear to operate above board.
The cargo breakdown reads like a B2B warehouse catalogue:
94 containers of PVC construction piping
68 containers of household appliances
43 containers of industrial lighting equipment
17 containers of fishing nets and plastic floats
No containers of weapons, ammunition, or Prabhakaran’s ghost army
Each container was electronically logged, physically scanned, and cross-verified through the ASYCUDA World system, a UN-recommended customs system used globally.
If KP’s ghost wasn’t in those boxes, what was Ramanathan really up to?
Insiders point to an ongoing turf war within Tamil politics. With diaspora support seen as a political goldmine, sensationalism travels faster than sober facts. One aide close to the NPP government suggested the whole fiasco was designed to “fabricate an anti-government scandal just weeks before the budget vote.”
Then there's the curious question: why drag in the Defence Secretary—who has no operational control over Customs?
Some speculate that Ramanathan and his allies see the Defence Secretary as a convenient bogeyman—a symbol of the state’s post-war military establishment, unpopular in Tamil nationalist circles. Others believe it’s part of a larger plot to destabilise NPP leadership before local elections.
Either way, the damage is now international.
In a final twist, security analysts have asked telecommunications regulators to review Ramanathan’s incoming call logs over the past 96 hours—the alleged timeframe when he received the information from the German Tamil informant.
Early reports suggest no international call matching the claim has yet been identified. If proven, this would be a staggering case of fabrication inside Parliament—a rare breach of both ethics and national security decorum.
One NPP MP has already filed a motion to suspend Ramanathan pending committee inquiry. Others have called for his resignation.
The 332 containers will soon be forgotten. The plastic pipes will be sold, the lighting installed, the fishing nets cast. But Archuna Ramanathan’s credibility may not survive the next parliamentary session.
In a political system where wild accusations are not uncommon, this episode still stands out. Because it risks Sri Lanka’s international reputation, has activated multiple foreign missions, and may yet trigger an EU-level investigation—all based on a ghost story from a ghost informant about a ghost arms dealer.
As one diplomat in Colombo dryly noted,
"If this is how Sri Lankan MPs handle security intel, imagine what they’d do with nuclear codes."
The lesson here is as old as politics itself: when you cry wolf in Parliament, be prepared for the wolf to bite back—with a Europol subpoena.
-By LeN Special Correspondent
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by (2025-06-09 22:03:06)
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