-By A Staff Writer
(Lanka-e-News -15.June.2025, 4.45 PM) A storm is brewing in Sri Lanka’s political teacup. But this isn’t your average parliamentary squabble or electioneering rhetoric. Civil society organisations and leading Buddhist clerical fronts are now calling for the immediate arrest of former Cabinet Minister and controversial nationalist figure, Udaya Gammanpila, under Sri Lanka’s ICCPR Act, accusing him of fuelling racial discord and endangering national security.
The once firebrand face of Sinhala-Buddhist politics, Gammanpila is now being accused of something far more sinister than just populist pandering. Critics allege that he has embarked on a dangerous campaign of communal incitement, pushing fabricated conspiracy theories aimed at delegitimising the elected government, demonising minority communities, and provoking racial unrest in a nation still healing from the scars of civil war.
This time, they say, he may have gone too far.
According to a series of complaints submitted to Police Headquarters over the last 48 hours, including from Sri Lanka’s powerful National Bhikkhu Front and a consortium of civil society activists, Gammanpila’s latest spate of public pronouncements are tantamount to incitement.
The allegations are chilling.
He is accused of falsely claiming that over 300 containers were removed from the Colombo Port without customs inspection—allegedly containing smuggled weapons. His statements, made on multiple media platforms, have been thoroughly discredited by the Ports Authority and intelligence sources. Yet, the damage was done.
Following his claim, Tamil MP Archuna Ramanathan, using parliamentary privilege, irresponsibly amplified the falsehood, alleging the weapons belonged to the defunct LTTE and were being stockpiled for future use. A classic case of disinformation finding traction across communal lines, weaponised by political actors on both sides of the ethnic divide.
But Gammanpila didn’t stop there.
In a series of media interviews, he branded President Anura Kumara Dissanayake a “former terrorist,” implying that the head of state supports terrorist activities and is affiliated with underground networks. He then publicly alleged that the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) — Dissanayake’s party — maintains ties with organised crime syndicates operating in the country.
According to legal observers, such baseless and incendiary claims are not merely libellous; they threaten to undermine confidence in national institutions and foment public unrest.
Gammanpila’s most recent attempt to stir controversy came during President Dissanayake’s official state visit to Germany last week, where the head of state met with Chancellor Olaf Scholz, President Frank-Walter Steinmeier, and leaders of German industry.
Gammanpila, speaking at a press conference, claimed that the visit was not a legitimate diplomatic engagement but a covert rendezvous with a senior LTTE figure named “Nediyavan,” currently living in exile in Norway. No evidence was provided to substantiate the claim, and neither the German nor Sri Lankan foreign ministries have acknowledged any such encounter.
“This is not politics,” said a civil society representative. “This is calculated psychological warfare against the Sri Lankan state, and it must be prosecuted as such.”
Adding to the political powder keg was a chilling, anonymous phone call received by the police station in Kankasanthurai. The caller, unidentified, warned of an impending armed attack on ten police officers in the region.
Investigators have not ruled out a hoax. But they also haven’t ruled out a link between the escalating inflammatory rhetoric and real-world consequences.
“We are not saying Gammanpila made the call,” said one security official on condition of anonymity, “but when you pour petrol across a village, it only takes one spark.”
At the heart of the current demands for legal action lies Sri Lanka’s International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) Act No. 56 of 2007. Specifically, Section 3 of the Act criminalises speech intended to incite violence or discrimination against racial or religious communities.
This is no ordinary hate speech law. It was enacted to prevent precisely the kind of ethno-religious incitement that ignited Sri Lanka’s civil war in the early 1980s. The statute has, in the past, been misapplied — often to arrest artists or social media users — but its original intent was to be a shield against racial violence.
Now, civil society says, it's time to use that shield correctly.
In a letter dated August 29, 2019, former Chairperson of the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka, Dr. Deepika Udagama, clarified that Section 3 should be interpreted as “an important legal framework for the prevention of hostile crimes,” and not as a gag on free speech.
Lawyers note that the standard of proof for prosecution under the ICCPR is high but achievable. And in Gammanpila’s case, they argue, the pattern of reckless, inflammatory falsehoods meets that threshold.
Gammanpila’s defenders, predictably, have rallied behind the banner of free expression.
“This is a democratic republic,” said one of his allies, “and he has every right to question government actions and foreign alliances. What’s next — will you arrest journalists for asking hard questions?”
But opponents point out that this is not about dissent. It is about deliberate, malicious fabrication aimed at stirring communal hatred and destabilising the country.
“Criticism is not a crime. Lies designed to create ethnic unrest are,” one Buddhist monk stated bluntly outside Police Headquarters, after submitting a formal petition calling for Gammanpila’s arrest.
To many observers, this saga is emblematic of a deeper struggle for the soul of Sri Lankan democracy.
Gammanpila, who once held ministerial office, now appears increasingly isolated, his politics reduced to shouting conspiracies into a social media echo chamber. But his influence endures, especially among sections of the Sinhala-Buddhist hardline voter base.
And his connections matter too. As an influential member of a media conglomerate, Gammanpila has access to airwaves and algorithms. His falsehoods, therefore, do not remain fringe. They spread — sometimes faster than the truth can keep up.
Some allege this is part of a broader destabilisation campaign — a last gasp of Sri Lanka’s defeated old guard, grasping for relevance by stoking communal tensions. If so, it’s a dangerous game.
“Lighting fires is easy,” said one retired police general. “Controlling the blaze is another matter altogether.”
For now, the ball is in the government’s court.
The ICCPR Act provides the legal instruments. The evidence, according to human rights activists, is ample. The threat to social cohesion is undeniable. What remains uncertain is whether the authorities will act — or whether political convenience will again trump national security.
For a nation that has bled through decades of war, the choice should be obvious.
But in Sri Lanka, the past has a stubborn way of rewriting the present. And unless false prophets of discord are held accountable, the future may be no less combustible than the history they so recklessly invoke.
-By A Staff Writer
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by (2025-06-15 11:17:36)
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