-By LeN Legal Affairs Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -10.June.2025, 11.30 PM) When the US Department of Justice decided to collaborate with Sri Lanka's Attorney General’s Department in Colombo, the intention appeared noble, necessary, and timely. A group of young prosecutors received training in the art of courtroom craft: delivering compelling opening and closing arguments, cross-examining hostile witnesses, and, more importantly, building solid cases to combat transnational crimes such as drug trafficking, human smuggling, and financial fraud.
The American Embassy in Colombo beamed with diplomatic satisfaction. “Holding transnational criminals accountable strengthens justice, security, and the rule of law for both Sri Lanka and the United States,” a spokesperson declared.
But back home, behind the granite walls of the AG’s Department and in the echo chambers of the country’s legal community, a less flattering question echoed: Is courtroom theatre enough when the script is poisoned by prejudice?
Sri Lanka’s Attorney General’s Department, while constitutionally empowered as the country’s top prosecutorial office, has long suffered allegations of political interference, religious and caste bias, and a systemic culture of selective justice. The very institution now being polished by American legal finesse is seen by many as the rusting cog in the justice system’s most compromised machinery.
Take, for example, the infamous Bindunuwewa Massacre – where 26 Tamil youth, housed in a government-run rehabilitation centre, were butchered by a mob in 2000. Despite multiple eyewitness accounts and damning evidence, the prosecutions crumbled. The case was riddled with prosecutorial inaction, sloppy filings, and, as some alleged, a deliberate choice to protect the Sinhala-majority attackers.
“Justice was not delayed in Bindunuwewa,” noted one Tamil rights lawyer, “it was denied, dismembered, and buried – all by the State's own legal custodians.”
The arrival of the NPP-led government in 2024 was buoyed by a populist wave demanding one thing: catch the crooks. From embezzling ministers to land-grabbing tycoons, the people expected fireworks. Instead, they got damp legal firecrackers.
Why? Because the AG’s Department, critics argue, has often operated more like a political chessboard than a law office. Allegations swirl that prosecutors suppressed evidence, botched high-profile indictments, and conveniently lost files when certain political dynasties were involved.
“Case files vanish like socks in a washing machine,” joked one Colombo-based senior counsel. “Except, socks don’t come with Swiss bank account numbers.”
Even inside the hallowed chambers, prosecutors are known to protect their own – old schoolmates, caste cousins, and even family friends. The invisible hand of favouritism has guided decisions far more often than the visible scales of justice.
If one needs a visual metaphor for Sri Lanka’s prosecutorial rot, look no further than their car parks. Outside the AG’s Department, the latest Land Cruisers, BMWs, and Audis glitter like showroom models. Yet, the average monthly salary of a senior prosecutor hovers around LKR 250,000 (£600).
So how do they afford it?
A whistleblower within the legal service, who spoke on condition of anonymity, recounted disturbing tales: prosecutors receiving backdoor payments from drug cartels, cutting deals with defence lawyers in return for a slice of the profit, and even erasing forensic evidence to derail sensitive trials.
One case involving a notorious heroin trafficker saw crucial DNA evidence ‘accidentally’ discarded. The accused walked free. A week later, the prosecuting officer’s daughter was accepted into a prestigious Canadian university – with fees paid upfront.
Coincidence? Perhaps. Pattern? Almost certainly.
In any modern democracy, prosecutors are the bulwark against tyranny and criminal impunity. In Sri Lanka, however, some have become indistinguishable from the criminals they prosecute.
From shielding war-time commanders accused of extrajudicial killings to turning a blind eye to mass disappearances of Tamil civilians, the Attorney General’s Department has walked a dangerously partisan path.
“There’s always a Tamil man to prosecute,” said one former Human Rights Commission official, “but never a general, never a Buddhist monk, never a political heir. They know which communities can be sacrificed for the illusion of justice.”
And therein lies the problem with foreign-funded legal training: it often paints over systemic rot with imported gloss. A two-week trial skills workshop cannot fix an institutional culture marinated in decades of selective prosecution and political patronage.
The US State Department, which enthusiastically sponsors such training, may well be aware of Sri Lanka’s legal deficits. But real reform requires more than sending prosecutors to role-play courtroom scenes. It demands rigorous background checks, asset audits, and the political will to dismantle internal mafias operating in robes and silk ties.
Before hosting another workshop on how to ‘object with flair’ or ‘close with punch’, perhaps the Americans should sponsor a forensic audit into the assets of senior Sri Lankan prosecutors. How many own properties in London, condos in Dubai, or farmhouses in Australia? On whose dime?
For Sri Lanka’s justice system to function, it must first cleanse itself. The State must adopt a two-pronged approach:
Transparent Asset Declarations: Prosecutors should be required to submit annual declarations of assets, cross-referenced with tax records and lifestyle audits.
Independent Oversight Commission: An autonomous body – possibly with international support – should be tasked with reviewing prosecutorial misconduct, ensuring whistleblower protection, and investigating high-risk prosecutions.
Without these reforms, any training – however glossy, however American – is doomed to theatrical irrelevance.
The public must begin to ask not just who is being prosecuted, but also why, by whom, and who gets away. A nation’s justice system is only as good as its worst compromise. And if Sri Lanka’s Attorney General’s Department continues to function as a backroom clearing house for political favours, no amount of Western training will suffice.
As the saying goes: you can’t teach integrity in a seminar. Especially not to those who traded it long ago for a duty-free permit and a villa in Nugegoda.
Let the Americans teach technique – but let the Sri Lankans, for once, uphold truth.
-By LeN Legal Affairs Correspondent
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by (2025-06-11 01:17:00)
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