-By LeN Political Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -01.Sep.2025, 10.00 PM) Jaffna - On a humid Monday afternoon in Jaffna, Sri Lanka’s northern capital, President Anura Kumara mounted the stage before a sea of expectant faces. Fishermen in white sarongs, Catholic priests in cassocks, and university students waving the national flag gathered to hear what many anticipated would be a milestone speech. When it came, it did not disappoint.
“Katchatheevu belongs to Sri Lanka,” Kumara declared, voice rising above the loudspeakers and the distant crash of waves. “It shall remain under our flag. And we will defend it — whatever the cost.”
With those words, the Sri Lankan head of state elevated a decades-old maritime quarrel into a declaration of sovereignty, drawing a red line across the Palk Strait. For the first time in years, Colombo has put its northern maritime frontier at the centre of both domestic politics and regional diplomacy.
Katchatheevu is little more than a rocky speck in the sea — 285 acres of scrubland, surrounded by shallow reefs and frequented by cormorants. Yet in the imagination of both Sri Lankans and Indians, it has grown to assume a symbolism far out of proportion to its geography.
The 1974 Indo–Sri Lanka Maritime Boundary Agreement formally ceded Katchatheevu to Sri Lanka. Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranaike signed the accord with her Indian counterpart Indira Gandhi, settling what had been an ambiguous colonial-era inheritance. The island’s sovereignty was to be unambiguous: Sri Lanka’s flag would fly, its laws would prevail.
But the agreement contained a unique clause: Catholic pilgrims from both sides of the Palk Strait would retain access to the island’s modest but venerated St. Anthony’s Shrine. Each year, thousands of Tamil Catholics — from Rameswaram in Tamil Nadu as well as from Jaffna and Mannar — make the pilgrimage, reinforcing the island’s status as not only a strategic outcrop but also a sacred space.
It is this dual symbolism — holy ground and hard-won sovereignty — that makes Katchatheevu so politically charged.
In Jaffna, President Anura Kumar did not merely speak as a lawyer invoking treaty obligations. He invoked the nation’s past defenders. “ we must guard the unity of Sri Lanka,” he said, referencing the ancient monarch celebrated in Sinhala chronicles for defeating foreign incursions and unifying the island.
The historical comparison was deliberate. In a political culture steeped in symbolism, to cast oneself in history mould is to claim the mantle of protector of the realm. For President Anura — leader of the left-leaning National People’s Power (NPP) government — the statement resonates beyond the northern peninsula. It is aimed squarely at a national audience eager for reassurance of sovereignty at a time of economic fragility and geopolitical uncertainty.
The choice of venue was no accident. Jaffna, heartland of the Tamil population, has long carried grievances about Colombo’s neglect. But it was the northern vote that tipped Kumara into the presidency last year, in an election that upended Sri Lanka’s traditional duopoly of the Rajapaksas’ SLPP and Ranil Wickremesinghe’s UNP and Tamil Parties.
By opening a new immigration and emigration office in Jaffna and visiting the Mailadi fishing harbour, Kumar was not only delivering infrastructure but also political symbolism: the North, long treated as a frontier, was now to be integrated into the national fabric.
For Tamil fishermen, the President’s words carried particular weight. Their livelihoods have been battered by Indian trawlers crossing illegally into Sri Lankan waters, scooping up fish stocks with bottom-trawling nets and leaving little for local communities. “This is the first time a President has spoken so clearly for us,” said Arulnathan, a fisherman from Point Pedro. “If the Navy protects our waters, our children can fish again.”
Across the Palk Strait, the response has been more cautious. Indian politicians, particularly in Tamil Nadu, periodically revive the Katchatheevu issue during election seasons. The refrain is familiar: Indira Gandhi “gave away” Tamil land without consulting the people of Tamil Nadu.
In recent years, actors-turned-politicians in Chennai have also taken up the cause, promising to “reclaim” the island. These claims, though legally tenuous, resonate emotionally with Tamil Nadu’s electorate.
Kumara’s blunt retort — “mind your business, it is a Sri Lankan island” — was aimed as much at silencing that chorus as it was at reassuring his domestic audience. By invoking treaty law, religious traditions, and nationalist imagery, he sought to frame Katchatheevu as a settled issue, not an open question.
International law is, on the face of it, on Sri Lanka’s side. The 1974 agreement and its 1976 follow-up on the maritime boundary were deposited with the United Nations. India has never formally repudiated the treaties.
Yet legal clarity has not ended political ambiguity. Successive Indian governments have faced petitions in the Madras High Court and the Supreme Court of India, questioning the legality of the cession. None have succeeded. But the symbolism remains potent, especially in Tamil Nadu politics, where Katchatheevu serves as shorthand for perceived federal neglect of regional interests.
For Sri Lanka, reiterating sovereignty is not merely about treaties. It is about asserting that the small island will not become a bargaining chip in larger geopolitical games.
The most immediate test of sovereignty is not diplomatic but maritime. Each week, Sri Lankan naval patrols intercept dozens of Indian trawlers fishing illegally in its northern waters. In recent months, arrests have increased, with Colombo citing both environmental destruction and economic theft.
The Tamil fishermen of Jaffna and Mannar, once rivals of their Indian counterparts, now see the Navy as their protector. “We used to fight each other in the sea,” said Suresh, a fisherman in Kilinochchi. “Now, with the Navy stopping them, we can breathe.”
Kumar has framed the crackdown as part of defending Katchatheevu. In his speech, he drew a line between the symbolic sovereignty of the island and the practical sovereignty of Sri Lankan waters. The message: one cannot be defended without the other.
Diplomatic insiders in Colombo note that Kumara’s statement did not come in isolation. “There was quiet encouragement from several partners,” said one senior official. “They want Sri Lanka to show it is not a pawn between India and China.”
The United States and European Union, have quietly backed Sri Lanka’s maritime rights, particularly as they push for “rules-based order” in the Indo-Pacific. China, too, has expressed support for Sri Lanka’s sovereignty, though in terms that critics say are designed to needle India.
By making his stand in Jaffna, Kumar positioned Sri Lanka as a sovereign actor rather than a junior partner in the region’s great game.
For the President, the timing was impeccable. His NPP government is marking its first anniversary in office, and his northern tour is as much about consolidating Tamil support as about making nationalist gestures.
His invocation of Dutugemunu plays well in the Sinhala south, while his promises to protect Tamil fishermen resonate in the north. By linking both narratives to Katchatheevu, he has managed to straddle constituencies that have long been seen as irreconcilable.
It is a delicate balance. Too much nationalism risks alienating the Tamils, for whom Dutugemunu is a contested figure. Too much concession risks angering Sinhalese voters, still sensitive to sovereignty after decades of separatist conflict. But Kumar, with his lawyer’s precision and activist’s zeal, seems determined to walk that tightrope.
The President’s speech ended with a flourish that was both defiant and deliberate. “Sri Lanka is a sovereign country,” he told the crowd. “It cannot be bullied. We will fight for our sovereignty until the last man.”
The audience erupted, flags waving, drums beating. But beyond the applause lay a message crafted for international ears: Sri Lanka will not be pressured, whether by India’s electoral politics, by Chinese overtures, or by Western diplomatic manoeuvring.
In a world where small states often feel squeezed between giants, Kumara’s words sought to stake a claim not only to a rocky island but to an independent voice.
Katchatheevu may be a mere dot on the map, but in Sri Lankan politics it now looms large. It is a test case for sovereignty, for the rights of fishermen, for the balance between religion and nationalism, and for the country’s place in the Indo-Pacific.
President Anura Kumara has, for now, transformed it into a rallying cry. President Anura and NPP government captures the spirit of a leader intent on defending every inch of his country’s soil and sea.
Whether this stance will yield diplomatic stability or provoke new tensions remains to be seen. But in Jaffna, on that September day, there was little doubt. To the people cheering beneath the bright northern sun, Katchatheevu was no longer just an island. It was the line in the sea where Sri Lanka declared: this far, no further.
-By LeN Political Correspondent
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by (2025-09-01 16:40:51)
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