-By LeN Diplomatic correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -27.Nov.2025, 11.00 PM) When Sri Lanka’s Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath stepped before the press in Colombo this week, his remarks were unusually blunt for a man known for his careful diplomatic diction. Herath, the most senior diplomat in President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s administration, issued a pointed appeal to the Canadian government: prevent activities that promote separatist ideologies, including the public recognition of LTTE insignia and organised campaigns aimed at sowing ethnic discord within Sri Lanka’s diaspora.
It was not merely another comment about diaspora politics. It was a statement intended to force open a long-avoided international debate—one that several Commonwealth governments would rather leave undisturbed. At its core lies a simple but increasingly uncomfortable question: Why do some Western nations take an uncompromising stance against extremist or separatist movements on their own soil, yet appear permissive—sometimes even indulgent—when those same ideologies target other sovereign states?
For Sri Lanka, this is not an abstract matter of political principle. It is an issue tied to the bloodiest chapter of its modern history, one in which more than three decades of separatist conflict cost over 70,000 lives and left the island’s political fabric permanently scarred.
And as Colombo sees it, when Western governments allow LTTE symbols, flags, fundraising networks, and intimidation campaigns to operate in their cities, they are not upholding democratic space—they are undermining the sovereignty of a fellow Commonwealth nation that fought for a united polity at the cost of an entire generation.
Sri Lanka’s argument rests on a hypothetical that diplomats in London, Ottawa, and Brussels are increasingly finding difficult to dismiss.
If supporters of the Irish Republican Army (IRA)—a group responsible for killing civilians and British police officers—were to gather in Colombo waving the Starry Plough, raising funds for revival movements, and openly calling for Northern Irish secession, would the British Government tolerate it?
The Sri Lankan position is fixed: No British government of any political shade would permit such a spectacle. British diplomats would file immediate protests, demand arrests, and push for political guarantees. Even the whiff of a foreign state allowing pro-IRA activism—complete with militaristic symbols and public rallies—would be met with righteous diplomatic fury.
But, Colombo argues, that is exactly what Sri Lankan diplomats face in the West. Pro-LTTE groups, many of which justify violence or glorify a separatist cause extinguished on the battlefield 15 years ago, continue to organise parades, disrupt diplomatic events, and even physically intimidate Sri Lankan officials. The Tiger emblem—still banned under counter-terrorism laws in the UK and many EU states—appears at rallies with little fear of sanction.
Western governments insist that these are isolated incidents of community expression. Sri Lanka insists they are anything but.
Among the Western nations Colombo is most frustrated with, Canada sits firmly at the top of the list.
Ottawa is home to one of the largest Tamil diaspora communities in the world. Many fled Sri Lanka during the civil war, but the political infrastructure built around those migrations remains deeply influenced by pro-LTTE narratives. Sri Lankan diplomats say Canadian authorities routinely turn a blind eye to events glorifying the LTTE—an organisation banned in Canada since 2006.
This tension is hardly new. Every time Sri Lankan leaders have visited Toronto, Montreal, or Vancouver over the past fifteen years, the scenes have been consistent: protests dominated by Tiger flags, effigies, and chants advocating Tamil Eelam. What Colombo objects to is not the expression of Tamil identity or legitimate political criticism. It is the open rehabilitation of a group that assassinated presidents, bombed airports, ethnic-cleansed Muslims from the north, and used suicide bombers long before ISIS existed.
Canada’s reticence to act, Sri Lanka believes, has created a permissive space in which extremist diaspora factions sustain a narrative of grievance and separatism at odds with political reconciliation efforts at home.
Foreign Minister Herath’s remarks this week were a direct challenge: If Canada sincerely values its long-standing relationship with Sri Lanka, it must treat LTTE revivalism with the same seriousness with which it treats extremist movements threatening its own territorial integrity.
Sri Lankan officials say the issue extends far beyond Canada. Several EU governments, most prominently the UK, Switzerland, Germany, and France, have faced repeated diplomatic complaints about LTTE-linked groups operating under the banner of “human rights advocacy”.
Colombo's frustration is sharpened by what it sees as glaring contradictions in Europe’s own policies. Across the continent, governments have imposed sweeping bans on the Palestinian Action Group, citing national security concerns and potential incitement. The organisation’s offices were raided in the UK earlier this year, and similar actions have been taken in Germany and the Netherlands.
Sri Lankan diplomats ask: If these organisations can be dissolved on the grounds of destabilising foreign policy interests, why are LTTE-aligned bodies—many of which have direct historic links to a banned terrorist organisation—allowed to flourish?
Western officials typically reply that LTTE-linked diaspora groups operate as civil society actors and are not directly involved in terrorism. To Sri Lankan ears, this distinction is hollow.
As one senior Sri Lankan security official privately remarked:
“If the insignia of Osama bin Laden’s network cannot be flown in European capitals, why should the insignia of Prabhakaran’s?”
Beneath Sri Lanka’s diplomatic messaging lies a deeper emotional and political argument—one rooted in what the island sees as Western disregard for its sacrifices.
For nearly four decades, Sri Lanka was locked in a civil conflict that no country in South Asia experienced at such duration or intensity. Tens of thousands of troops, police officers, and civilians died defending the idea of a unitary, pluralistic state. It was not a perfect war—no counter-insurgency is—but it was, in the minds of most Sri Lankans, a war for sovereignty itself.
Thus when Western capitals appear indifferent to LTTE commemorations or allow groups to campaign for the re-creation of Tamil Eelam, many Sri Lankans view it as a profound insult.
As Foreign Minister Herath noted, “Sri Lankans are not cheap commodities. This nation defended its sovereignty for four decades. Others must respect that sovereignty as much as they expect us to respect theirs.”
This sentiment is increasingly echoed not just by Sri Lankan officials but by ordinary citizens, veterans, and even opposition politicians who otherwise disagree sharply with the current government.
The most striking element of Sri Lanka’s recent warnings is its suggestion that Western inaction could trigger geopolitical consequences.
The Indo-Pacific has become the strategic theatre of the 21st century. Western navies rely heavily on Indian Ocean routes for trade, telecommunications, and submarine cable pathways. The waters around Sri Lanka—particularly the undersea cable junctions and the approaches to the Port of Colombo—are considered essential infrastructure for Europe and North America.
Colombo is now hinting, albeit subtly, that friendly cooperation cannot be taken for granted if Western capitals continue to ignore Sri Lanka’s concerns.
Sri Lankan strategists have floated possibilities such as:
reviewing access arrangements for Western maritime research vessels;
scrutinising undersea cable projects, particularly those linked to NATO-aligned companies;
tightening port calls and surveillance access for Western naval vessels;
rebalancing security cooperation toward Asian partners less critical of Colombo.
None of these measures has been adopted, but the mere fact that they are being discussed reflects a shift in tone. Sri Lanka has traditionally positioned itself as a neutral, open Indian Ocean hub. But as one diplomat put it, “Neutrality is a two-way street. Respect is the other lane.”
In recent years, Sri Lankan politicians, ambassadors, and high-level envoys visiting the UK, Canada, the EU, and Australia have faced increasingly aggressive protests.
Most demonstrations are peaceful, but some have crossed a line:
attempts to storm the entrances of Sri Lankan diplomatic missions;
intimidation of embassy staff;
verbal harassment and mob-style confrontations outside official events;
deliberate disruption of state visits and commemoration ceremonies.
The Sri Lankan government argues that these incidents are not free speech—they are orchestrated harassment campaigns designed to isolate and delegitimise Sri Lanka's diplomatic presence abroad.
Foreign Minister Herath’s latest appeal was accompanied by a blunt message:
“It is the responsibility of every host nation to protect accredited diplomatic missions. Sri Lanka has been patient. That patience cannot be infinite.”
Sri Lanka’s officials are increasingly invoking the Commonwealth Charter—in particular its emphasis on the equality and sovereignty of member states.
Colombo argues that if the Commonwealth is to remain meaningful, its members must demonstrate mutual respect. Allowing separatist groups to operate freely against fellow member states, Sri Lanka contends, undermines the entire spirit of the organisation.
As one retired Sri Lankan High Commissioner noted:
“If the Commonwealth cannot guarantee respect for sovereign unity, then what exactly is it guaranteeing?”
Western governments face a genuine dilemma. On the one hand, they must uphold liberal democratic freedoms, including peaceful protest and political expression. On the other, they must recognise that allowing the revival of separatist iconography linked to an internationally banned terrorist organisation risks fuelling extremism and undermining relations with a democratic partner state.
Sri Lanka is not asking the West to silence its diaspora communities.
It is asking for consistency.
If the UK would not tolerate pro-IRA revival marches in Colombo,
if Canada would not accept pro-Pakistan Khalistani activism on its soil,
if the EU would not permit ISIS symbols to appear on their streets,
then Sri Lanka wants them to explain why LTTE emblems are treated differently.
The question for Western policymakers is no longer whether Sri Lanka is exaggerating.
It is whether inconsistency in counter-extremism laws is threatening long-standing bilateral ties.
Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath’s comments this week mark an inflection point. They are not a routine complaint, and they are not merely a call for courtesy.
They are a warning.
Sri Lanka believes its sovereignty has been undermined in Western capitals for far too long. And while it has, until now, remained diplomatically restrained, the geopolitical landscape is shifting. The island’s strategic importance to the Indo-Pacific, its expanding defence partnerships, and its renewed confidence on the world stage have emboldened Colombo to demand what it considers overdue respect.
The choice now lies with Canada, the UK, and the EU.
They can continue to apply double standards that inadvertently embolden separatist extremism—or they can work with Sri Lanka to prevent a new front of diplomatic tension.
One thing is clear:
Sri Lanka will no longer tolerate the glorification of the LTTE on Western soil.
And unlike in previous years, Colombo now has both the diplomatic clarity and the strategic leverage to make that position matter.
-By LeN Diplomatic correspondent
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by (2025-11-27 17:53:56)
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