-By A Staff Writer
(Lanka-e-News -24.Nov.2025, 10.00 PM) Alperton, London - Sunday 23rd - In a packed school hall in Alperton on a grey London afternoon, the chants of “Jayawewa!” briefly drowned out the drizzle outside as hundreds of Sri Lankans—Sinhalese, Tamil, and Muslim—gathered shoulder-to-shoulder to welcome Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) General Secretary Tilvin Silva. For many in the room, it was not just a community meeting; it was a moment of reckoning with memory, sacrifice, and the improbable political journey of a party once marked for extinction.
Silva’s visit to the United Kingdom formed part of a short political tour, following a Saturday event in Leicester. But Sunday’s event in Alperton Community School carried a weight that stretched far beyond diaspora politics. Organised by the NPP London Branch, the gathering commemorated the 36th anniversary of the November Heroes—the men and women of the JVP who were abducted, tortured, and killed in one of the most violent crackdowns in Sri Lanka’s post-independence history.
The hall—its walls lined with red banners and portraits of party martyrs—was filled long before Silva arrived. Families had travelled from Wembley, East Ham, Harrow, Croydon, Kent and Essex and other part of the Sout East, and further afield to witness a leader of a party that, against all political odds, had climbed from the ashes of repression to lead Sri Lanka’s government last year.
The event began with a solemn floral tribute. Red carnations and candles were laid at the base of a memorial banner bearing the faces of the JVP’s slain leadership: Rohana Wijeweera, the party’s founder; Upatissa Gamanayake, its former General Secretary; and dozens of others who were executed or disappeared during the deadly repression of 1987–1990.
Karuna Gamanayake—spouse of the late Upatissa—took the stage for what became one of the afternoon’s most emotionally charged moments. Her voice trembled as she recounted the stories of families shattered, of young activists dragged from their homes, and of a generation of Sri Lankan youth crushed between state repression and political betrayal.
“For years we had no graves to visit,” she said, gripping the lectern. “We only had stories whispered by survivors, and the fear that if we spoke their names too loudly we might disappear as well.”
Her remarks captured the raw emotional undercurrent of the gathering: remembrance not as nostalgia but as political duty.
For the diaspora audience, many of whom had fled the violence of the 1980s and early 1990s, the commemoration brought back decades-old memories. Many recalled how the JVP was banned in the aftermath of the 1983 Black July riots—accused, wrongly, of engineering the pogrom that left scores of Tamil homes and businesses in ruins.
While bans on two other leftist parties were later lifted, the JVP was singled out for brutal suppression by the then-UNP government. Between 1987 and 1990, as the second JVP insurrection unfolded, more than 60,000–65,000 young people were killed in extra-judicial operations widely documented but rarely acknowledged by the state.
Yet, as Darshana, the JVP’s UK organiser, declared in his opening speech, “A movement that should have died in those flames survived—not because of political funds or foreign patrons, but because its values outlived the bullets.”
One of the most striking features of the event was the visible presence of Sri Lankan minorities. A Tamil JVP member delivered a poem narrating the party’s evolution from armed resistance to parliamentary governance. The poem, read aloud in Tamil, earned a standing ovation—rarely seen at diaspora events traditionally dominated by ethnic silos.
Fayaz, representing the JVP Muslim community group, spoke emphatically of the party’s inclusive ethos. His remarks reflected the changing demographics of JVP support abroad: a younger, multi-ethnic diaspora disillusioned by decades of corruption, militarisation, and old-guard politics.
When General Secretary Tilvin Silva finally took the stage, there was no fiery radicalism—no political theatre. Instead, he adopted a steady, measured tone, blending solemn remembrance with a clear forward-looking agenda.
“We honour our past not to live in it,” he said, pausing as the hall grew quiet, “but to learn from it, so that we never again repeat the mistakes of those who ruled through violence or greed.”
Silva emphasised that the JVP’s strength had always come from its ability to modernise without abandoning core principles. The party that once mobilised militant youth now leads a government built on transparency, anti-corruption, and socioeconomic revival.
He outlined several key elements of the NPP government’s reform blueprint:
1. Stabilising an Economy in Ruins
He acknowledged the government had inherited a bankrupt state: depleted reserves, predatory loans, and public institutions hollowed out by political patronage.
“Our first duty is to stabilise the economy—not for the IMF, not for creditors, but for the working people who carried the burden of others’ corruption.”
2. Rural Development Through a New People’s Development Scheme
Silva described one of the government’s flagship programmes: a district-level development scheme allocating Rs. 100 billion per district to revive rural infrastructure, create jobs, and invest in community-led projects.
This, he said, was intended to reverse 76 years of urban-biased policy that enriched Colombo elites while leaving rural communities trapped in generational poverty.
3. Wage Reforms and Social Equity
He promised improved wages for plantation workers, long the most economically deprived segment of the Sri Lankan workforce, and adjustments to public servant salaries to reflect rising living costs.
“A nation cannot progress when those who build it earn less than the price of the shoes worn by those who govern it,” Silva said, a remark that drew a wave of applause.
4. End of Corruption as Political Culture
In strong but calm language, Silva reiterated the NPP government’s anti-corruption mandate.
“We invite every Sri Lankan—even those overseas—to hold us accountable,” he said. “The era of untouchable political families is over.”
His message was intended not only for supporters but also for sceptics who wondered whether the JVP could govern without repeating the authoritarian impulses of Sri Lanka’s past rulers.
Much of Silva’s speech took aim at the failures of Sri Lanka’s political establishment since 1948.
“For 76 years, governments came and went, but the working class remained exactly where it was—struggling, indebted, ignored,” he said. “The country became bankrupt not because our people were lazy, but because those in power were greedy.”
It was a concise summary of the JVP’s longstanding critique: that Sri Lanka’s crisis was not one of ethnicity or religion, as political elites often claimed, but one of class and systemic inequality.
Silva made a direct appeal to the Sri Lankan diaspora, urging them to contribute skills, knowledge, and investment—not as patrons but as partners.
“You left for survival,” he said, “but your heart never left Sri Lanka. This government welcomes you—not for your pounds or dollars, but for your ideas, your expertise, your willingness to rebuild.”
The statement resonated strongly with the audience, many of whom came to the UK as refugees or migrant workers and still feel alienated from mainstream Sri Lankan politics.
In concluding his speech, Silva announced that the NPP government plans to host a three-day national festival in Sri Lanka on December 14, 15, and 16, designed to bring together Sri Lankans of all ethnicities in a celebration of unity.
“We wish to remind our citizens that Sri Lankan-ness is not Sinhala, Tamil, or Muslim. It is the shared dignity of ordinary people who have survived everything our politics threw at them.”
Diaspora members were invited to return home and participate, signalling the first major cultural diplomacy effort of the new administration.
As the event drew to a close, Darshana returned to the microphone to offer thanks to the audience. He reiterated a key message echoed throughout the afternoon: that the JVP survived not because it was perfect, but because it never abandoned its ideological foundation, even when broken by state violence.
“When some people left the party, when doors were shut in our faces, the JVP did not stop,” he said. “We kept our faith. And the people saw it.”
The final applause lasted nearly two minutes.
For many who attended, the Alperton gathering offered more than commemoration; it delivered a sense of political renewal. A party once hunted, banned, and vilified now governs a country desperate for honesty and stability. And its General Secretary, standing under the lights of a London school hall, embodied the paradox of Sri Lankan politics: that hope often rises from the darkest chapters.
The JVP’s journey—from the jungles of 1971 to the ballot boxes of last year—is now one of the most extraordinary political narratives in South Asia. As the crowd slowly filtered out into the cold London evening, one remark could be overheard again and again:
“They tried to kill the JVP.
But the people brought it back.”
-By A Staff Writer
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by (2025-11-24 16:32:16)
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