-By Anubavananda
(Lanka-e-News -27.Aug.2025, 11.30 PM) A dark reminder from 1983
It was International Women’s Day, 8 March 1983. At the head of a peaceful march to the US Embassy in Kollupitiya was Vivienne Goonewardene, the formidable leader of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party, accompanied by a group of women activists. They had come simply to deliver a message.
Instead, Colombo police broke up the procession with brute force. Vivienne, then 68, was grabbed by the neck and kicked by a policeman named Ganeshalingam before she and her fellow marchers were hauled off to the Kollupitiya police station.
Outraged, she filed a fundamental rights petition before the Supreme Court. The bench — Justices Colin-Thome, Barnes Ratwatte, and J.F. Soza — ruled in her favour on 10 June that year, fining the police officer Rs. 1,500.
The following morning, a gang of thugs descended on the official residences of the judges at Kurunduwatta. They shouted obscenities, hurled stones, and openly threatened the judiciary. Alarmed judges phoned police and the emergency unit, but no one came.
That mob was led by one P. Lakshman Chandrasekera Fernando — better known by his underworld name “Kalu Lucky.” A sworn UNP enforcer, he later admitted responsibility in a sworn affidavit. Tellingly, the fine imposed on Constable Ganeshalingam was quietly paid not by the officer, but by the Ministry of Defence — within 48 hours.
The message was unmistakable: when justice touched the ruling elite, muscle would be deployed to intimidate the courts.
Four decades later, the shadow of “Kalu Lucky” resurfaced. Last Tuesday, at Colombo Fort Magistrate’s Court, scenes bore an uncanny resemblance to that dark episode.
Deputy Solicitor General Dileepa Peiris, addressing court, warned bluntly:
“My Lady, on the last hearing I was obstructed and heckled. Court proceedings were videoed and released on social media. I could not even bring forward my junior counsel. When the case ended, we were trapped inside the court for over an hour by the commotion outside. If fear prevents us from coming here, that is a grave condition. The Temple of Justice cannot be allowed to become a theatre of intimidation. I urge that the sword of the goddess of justice be used.”
The case in question: the bail application of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe, remanded over the alleged misuse of Rs. 166 million in state funds.
Opposition leaders openly declared that Wickremesinghe’s bail was secured by pressure on the judiciary. They hailed it as a “victory for democracy.”
But what democracy is it, critics ask, where a suspect remanded for proven misuse of public money can walk free, while the very courts are browbeaten into compliance?
On Tuesday 26 August, Fort Magistrate Nilupuli Lankapura’s courtroom became the theatre for a systematic intimidation operation:
Opposition leaders declared publicly that the remand order against Wickremesinghe was “dictated from the JVP headquarters in Pelawatte” — effectively discrediting the judge’s ruling.
For days, media briefings and rallies heaped pressure on the magistrate, demanding reversal.
On social media, a campaign of ridicule and abuse targeted Magistrate Lankapura personally.
Finally, crowds organised by the Opposition laid siege to the Fort Court complex, with leaders physically present inside, creating an atmosphere of menace.
This was not advocacy. It was coercion.
The second lever was medicalisation.
Although remanded, Wickremesinghe never spent a night in a cell. He was immediately transferred to the prison hospital, then to the National Hospital ICU by morning. Deputy Director Dr R. Bellana convened a handpicked six-doctor panel to issue a report claiming Wickremesinghe suffered from diabetes, uncontrolled hypertension, kidney disease, and sleep apnoea.
The report stressed he required “continuous medical supervision” — grounds for extraordinary bail.
But the procedure was irregular. Normally, only the court can order an independent medical board. Here, a politically aligned hospital official took matters into his own hands.
And Bellana is no ordinary doctor: he is also the UNP’s organiser for Colombo North, a man who recently defected from Sajith Premadasa’s SJB back to the UNP. Months earlier, former Elections Commissioner Mahinda Deshapriya had complained to the Public Service Commission about this blatant conflict of interest. No action was taken.
Now, Bellana’s partisan report became the foundation for Wickremesinghe’s release.
Under the Offences Against Public Property Act, bail can be granted only in the High Court, and only on exceptional grounds. Wickremesinghe’s lawyers knew this. Yet they pressed the Fort Magistrate’s Court to grant bail — easier terrain to sway through public pressure and orchestrated intimidation.
Despite objections from Deputy Solicitor General Peiris, Magistrate Lankapura cited “exceptional medical grounds” and released the former President.
But precedent is clear. In Attorney General v Edirivira Premaratne, the Supreme Court held that ailments treatable in prison or state hospitals cannot be considered “exceptional grounds.” Wickremesinghe’s conditions — diabetes, hypertension, kidney issues — are exactly the sort routinely managed in prison hospitals.
The decision, therefore, stands not on law but on duress.
Perhaps the most troubling dimension is the role of Prof. G.L. Peiris, once a respected constitutional scholar and former law professor. Insiders say he actively encouraged the intimidation strategy, knowing that the High Court might refuse bail.
That the man who once lectured on rule of law now lends his authority to mob pressure against magistrates is, as one observer put it, “a national tragedy.”
On Tuesday, amidst the turmoil at Fort Court, one figure stood out: Tiran Alles, close confidant of President Anura Kumara Dissanayake and himself protected by heavy police security. To seasoned watchers of Colombo’s power games, his presence signalled advance knowledge that bail would be granted.
The playbook was eerily familiar. In 1983, “Kalu Lucky” led mobs to throw stones at judges’ homes. In 2025, political muscle crowded the very courtroom to ensure a favourable order. Different faces, same message: intimidate the judiciary, bend the law.
If this precedent is allowed to stand, tomorrow it will not be Wickremesinghe but a Rajapaksa — or any other elite figure — who deploys muscle inside courts to dictate terms.
The Opposition may celebrate, calling it democracy in action. But democracy dies not only in darkness — it also dies in broad daylight, when the courts of law are turned into theatres of fear.
Finally, a word to President Anura Kumara Dissanayake. Sir, your election was carried on a tide of hope — the belief of millions that a new era of justice and accountability had dawned.
Do not let that hope be crushed underfoot by old habits of intimidation. Protect officers like Shani Abeysekara and Rangajeewa Dissanayake, who have risked life and career fighting corruption and crime. Do not trade their safety for deals with the same elite networks they once challenged.
Sri Lanka cannot afford to replay the script of 1983.
The goddess of justice holds not only the scales but also the sword. It is time she used it.
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by (2025-08-27 21:26:22)
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