-Is the Script Already Written for Namal Rajapaksa’s 21 November Rally in Nugegoda..?
(Lanka-e-News -18.Nov.2025, 8.25 PM) A simmering land dispute in the eastern port city of Trincomalee has become the latest flashpoint in Sri Lanka’s long-fractured political landscape, prompting allegations that the controversy is being methodically shaped — even choreographed — to ignite Sinhala-Buddhist sentiment ahead of a highly publicised political rally by Namal Rajapaksa later this month.
The incident itself was small enough to escape national scrutiny on an ordinary day: the removal of a Buddha statue from a contested plot of land. But Sri Lanka is a country where symbols, history and land intersect with deep political consequences. With a major opposition-aligned demonstration scheduled for 21 November in Nugegoda, critics say the dispute has already been absorbed into a larger narrative — one that benefits those hungry for a return to centre stage.
The events unfolded at the Sri Sambuddhathwa Jayanthi Bodhiraja Viharaya on Kotuwa Road in Trincomalee, where a group of monks and lay supporters assembled to lay the foundation stone for a proposed Dhamma School building. Barely hours after the ceremony concluded, a newly installed Buddha statue gleamed on the site — a placement that would become the heart of the conflict.
Local police, acting on a formal complaint from the Coastal Conservation Department (CCD), arrived soon after, citing unauthorised construction activity within a regulated coastal zone. Officers requested documentation proving the temple’s legal ownership of the land. The response they received was firm but inconclusive: the monks insisted the property had belonged to the temple “for generations” and that the foundation stone merely marked the continuation of its historic domain.
Footage circulating online shows an animated exchange between the police and temple representatives, punctuated by the statue being lifted — carefully but visibly — and placed in a vehicle under police custody. It was later taken to the Trincomalee Harbour Police Station for “temporary safekeeping,” before being returned to the temple that same evening.
The sight of police officers carrying a Buddha statue in their arms was enough to provoke shock among some Buddhists, who saw it as a violation of religious respect. Others viewed it as a strictly procedural measure — a necessary act to ensure compliance with coastal regulations.
But in the Sri Lankan political imagination, where land, archaeology and identity often serve as the tinder of mobilisation, this was no simple regulatory disagreement.
The dispute quickly climbed the rungs of national attention. With Sri Lanka’s Parliament already locked in fractious debates over land rights, religious encroachment, and coexistence in mixed-ethnic regions, MPs seized on the incident as yet another theatre for political positioning.
Opposition MPs queried the legality of the palace’s intervention, the historical validity of the temple’s claims, and the timing of the construction. Government MPs, in contrast, framed the matter as an issue of religious rights being hindered by bureaucratic overreach — a narrative that tended, not coincidentally, to align with the more nationalist tone emerging ahead of the SLPP’s imminent political demonstrations.
One senior parliamentarian, speaking privately, said:
“When a Buddha statue moves, the political earth here shifts.
Everyone knows it.
Everyone uses it.”
National People’s Power (NPP) MP Roshan Akmeemana visited the site shortly after the removal, where he was met by a crowd whose reactions ranged from supportive nods to pointed heckling.
Trincomalee — a district layered with Sinhala, Tamil and Muslim populations — is sensitive to any action perceived as staking religious or ethnic claims through construction, archaeology or state involvement. For some locals, Akmeemana’s visit signalled a reassuring interest in de-politicising the issue; for others, it appeared opportunistic.
One resident, who declined to be named out of fear of reprisals, told The Times:
“We do not want Colombo politicians testing their election slogans on our land.
This place has suffered enough.”
At a press briefing in Colombo, the Frontline Socialist Party (FSP) offered a contrasting perspective, one rooted in the ideological suspicion with which the Left traditionally views state-religious entanglement.
The FSP argued that the land in question had remained largely inactive since the devastating 2004 tsunami and, prior to that, had been used for commercial purposes by local entrepreneurs — a claim that, if verified, would complicate assertions of long-standing religious ownership.
The party questioned the timing of the statue’s arrival, noting that religious symbols have often been employed, across successive governments, to stake informal claims to contested or undeveloped land in the North and East. Their spokesperson issued a pointed warning:
“Do not turn Buddha statues into survey markers.
And do not turn religious emotion into political fuel.”
For many observers, the controversy’s rise is not merely coincidental. The SLPP — the party built around the Rajapaksa political dynasty — is preparing for a high-profile rally on 21 November in Nugegoda, part of a broader effort to rebuild momentum after years of political decline.
Multiple political analysts contacted by The Times noted that Sinhala-Buddhist controversies have historically served as predictable mobilisation catalysts for the Rajapaksa camp, particularly when attempting to consolidate support in the South during periods of weakened national credibility.
One analyst remarked:
“If you trace back to 2006, 2012, 2016, even 2020, you see the pattern:
a temple, an archaeological site, a statue, a land dispute —
then a rally.
The cycle is as old as modern Sri Lankan populism.”
What has drawn sharper scrutiny is the suggestion, circulating quietly among diplomats and political watchdogs, that the Trincomalee dispute may not merely be politically convenient — it may have been anticipated.
Sources familiar with internal SLPP communications told The Times that the party has been searching for a rallying point capable of reigniting Sinhala-Buddhist support around Namal Rajapaksa, who is increasingly being positioned as the younger face of the party’s revival effort.
“Namal 2.0,” as some within the party call it privately, requires the mobilisation of voters who once revered his father’s wartime leadership but have since become disillusioned by the economic collapse and corruption scandals. A cultural or religious controversy in the North or East — especially in an area perceived as contested — could serve as a symbolic reminder of the nationalist themes that once fuelled the Rajapaksa political brand.
A senior political strategist — not aligned with the SLPP — described the timing of the Trincomalee dispute as:
“too neat to be accidental.”
He added:
“This is a party looking for a spark.
And someone has handed them a matchbox.”
With no immediate gains in economic performance and little public confidence in the party’s existing leadership, the SLPP has returned to familiar themes: heritage protection, territorial assertion, and the guardianship of Sinhala-Buddhist identity. These are themes that resonate strongly among the party’s core base, particularly in rural southern districts that once propelled the Rajapaksas to overwhelming electoral victories.
Political historian Dr. S. Gnanakanthan notes:
“Sinhala-Buddhist mobilisation is a template — reliable, emotive, and politically inexpensive.
When the economy fails, the flag rises.
When governance collapses, the statue appears.”
Trincomalee occupies a unique space in Sri Lanka’s political and cultural psychology. Its harbour is a naval asset; its temples and kovils are centuries old; its demographics are delicately balanced; and its land disputes are often proxies for national anxieties.
A Buddha statue removed by police in the middle of the town is not a minor event. It is a symbol, and symbols in Trincomalee tend to resonate far beyond district borders.
Within hours of the incident, social media channels sympathetic to the SLPP framed the removal as an affront to Buddhist heritage. The narrative was clear: “Buddhism under threat; the Rajapaksas as defenders.” It was a script that could have been lifted from any of their pre-election playbooks.
The government has adopted a noticeably neutral tone, emphasising procedure over politics. Officials from the CCD reiterated that the construction lacked necessary permits. Police spokesmen stressed that the removal was temporary and dignified. None of them addressed the broader political interpretations now attached to the incident.
Yet, by refusing to confront the political framing directly, the government has allowed the SLPP and other actors to shape the public narrative.
Not all Sri Lankans are buying into the theatrics. Interviews conducted in Colombo, Kandy and Trincomalee reveal a sense of fatigue.
One Trincomalee shop owner summed up the mood:
“We have no fuel, no steady income, no future.
And now politicians want us to fight about a statue.
Are these people serious?”
Another, a university student, was more scathing:
“Every time an election is near, Buddha statues start walking.
That’s all you need to know.”
The CCD is expected to submit a technical report on the legality of the construction. The police are preparing a detailed sequence-of-events file for the Attorney General’s Department. Buddhist organisations are planning to visit the site this week. Tamil civil groups in the district have urged restraint. Meanwhile, the SLPP’s machinery is revving smoothly ahead of the 21 November rally.
Whether or not the SLPP orchestrated the controversy, the party is certainly capitalising on it.
And if the rally achieves the numbers the organisers are hoping for, the Trincomalee temple land dispute may be remembered less as a local land matter and more as the opening act of Namal Rajapaksa’s carefully plotted political revival.
Sri Lanka’s history is littered with examples of minor disputes converted into national spectacles for political gain. The removal of a Buddha statue in Trincomalee sits squarely in that tradition: legally ambiguous, emotionally combustible, and perfectly timed for political exploitation.
In the end, the real tragedy may be that a country grappling with economic collapse, debt restructuring, and institutional decay is once again being pulled into a vortex of symbolic disputes — disputes that offer political mileage but little national benefit.
As the 21 November rally approaches, the question is not whether the Trincomalee incident will be politicised, but to what extent, and by whom.
Because in Sri Lanka, the line between religious symbolism and political choreography is not only blurred — it is often deliberately erased.
-By Political Correspondent
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by (2025-11-18 14:55:54)
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