Midweek Review

The Gift of Music: Sons and Fathers a film by Sumathy

Published

3 years ago

2023/05/3

“Ecstasy and hypnosis. Colours do not move a people. Flags can do nothing without trumpets… The potential fascism of music” Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari (A Thousand Plateaux)

“Schuman’s theatre [Bread & Puppet] bypasses individual characterization & motivation. This might be a way for theatre to retrieve its liberty of fabulation, freeing story from the restrictions of plot constructions (as ridiculous nowadays as wilful rhyme).”

Stefan Brecht (son of Weigel and Bertolt)

by Laleen Jayamanne

Sumathy Sivamohan in her three feature films (Ingirunthu, 2013, Sons and Fathers, 2017 and A Single Tumbler, 2021), seeks freedom to tell stories (several in the one film), without tightly plotting a sequence of actions. She appears to have a cinematic project to explore the hidden aspects of Lankan history from the perspectives of its minority communities. But she is indifferent to ‘the arch of a three-act structure’ mandated by script writing manuals, a commonplace now. Not only are her films structured in a manner unusual for Lankan cinema, the stories themselves are as unusual in that they focus on inter-ethnic relationships among Lankans in very specific social environments, marked by the history of racialised violence. In Sons and Fathers, she creates a flexible loose narrative structure, drawing on a hybrid historical ‘archive,’ as well as living memory gathered from oral histories by interviewing relatives of musicians still alive who remember those early days of the film industry, and also from the next generation of musicians, their sons. She is interested in intergenerational transmission of musical skills, traditions and values as much as in the emergence of something new, even unforeseen. Sumathy’s 2021 documentary Amid the Villus; Palaikuli deals with the repatriation of the Muslim population to their homelands in Puttalam and the consequent difficulties, after their near overnight mass expulsion, in 1990, by the LTTE seeking a pure Tamil homeland. Just as the traumatic partition of Bengal at Indian independence became the burning heart of Ritwik Ghatak’s cinema, an exploration of interethnic relations and the violence of Sinhala and Tamil nationalisms, from the point of view of the ethnic minorities and the dispossessed, are part of what drives Sumathy’s film praxis. I use the old-fashioned Marxist term ‘praxis’ to signal the self-reflexive aspect of her political understanding of film history and film theory, especially within India, and this aspect rather unusually combines with a wild (uncensored) imagination. These are some of the reasons why I think of her work as belonging to a tradition of ‘experimental cinema,’ known for its fearless exploration of new ideas and techniques.

Here I wish to explore Sons and Fathers (Puththu saha Piyavaru), which is perhaps the only Lankan film to base itself within a certain ethos of the Sinhala film industry itself in its production of music by a multi-ethnic group of musicians. While from its very inception in 1947, many highly popular Sinhala genre films were produced and directed by Tamils, Sumathy is the first Tamil female director to do so. But her films are not generic, nor are they ‘Art-House films.’ They have modest budgets with access to independent distribution in alternative international circuits, but drawing on a team of professional technicians who work for her at reduced pay and, often, non-actors.

Sons and Fathers

is the story of an ethnically mixed family (consisting of Rex Periyasami, his Sinhala wife Kanthilatha, step-son Luckshman and their biological daughter, Mala) and their relationship to music production in the film industry and elsewhere. It is set within the central events of the July ’83 race riots, both the lead up to it and also its aftermath. We also see how this lower-middle-class family becomes comfortably middle class in the ’70s, through Rex’s talent as a successful music director for profitable films, while the children were still young. He is loosely based on the very highly regarded composer Rocksamy who suffered grave property loss in repeated race riots, including the one in July ‘83. Rocksamy’s real wife, Indrani, is seen reminiscing about her husband with Sivamohan, at the very end of the film, seated below a large framed photograph of the garlanded, bespectacled musician. Rex’s wife Kanthi is a Sinhala widow with a young son (Lucky), from a previous marriage to a Sinhala man and has a natural talent for singing. This love story (within one of the most tender marriages I have seen in the Sinhala cinema), spans the ’70s and the’80s, capturing the direct, devastating impact of the race riots of 1983 on the film industry and ends in the period of the JVP and State terror of the late ’80s. The latter is casually indicated in passing, when we overhear in an eatery that K. Gunaratnam, the owner of Vijay Studio, had just been shot dead by a gunman. His name reverberates to those who know Lankan film history, which I researched for my doctorate. Certainly, the man serving at the eatery and his female customer knew who he was. Lucky, who is also having breakfast there, overhears this exchange. Gunaratnam was a pioneer film producer, (astutely making Lester James Peries’s popular film Sandeshaya, after Gamperaliya flopped at the box office), and the nearest we had to a movie mogul (along with Sir Chittampalam Gardiner of Ceylon Theatres Ltd and Jabir Cader), owning the exhibition circuit Cinemas Ltd and Vijaya Studio which we saw being burned down in the July ’83 riots, shown at the beginning of the film and also repeated later. He controlled all three tiers of the film industry and was also an industrialist who astutely diversified his assets into tourism and plastics (employing hundreds of people), and had escaped the anti-Tamil mobs who hounded him in the July ’83 riots, but was gunned down by Sinhala nationalist JVP terrorists in 1989.

Songs and Sinhala film fans

Sumathy

Songs are central to Sons and Fathers, just as they were to the South Indian-derived Sinhala genre films’ appeal, where 10 songs were not uncommon. The difference here is that just four songs, (two written by Sivamohan herself and one written and sung by the director of music, Anthony Surendra, and one popular Sinhala song, ‘Pita Deepa Desa’ from the 40s), are repeated as leitmotifs. This principle of orchestrated repetition of the few songs, in counterpoint to films mounting political violence, deepens their expressive powers. Though simple and lyrical in melody, one in particular (sung by Kanthi, referred to by Lucky as his ’mother’s song’), through its complex repetition by different voices, feels like Indian ragas created for particular moods, sensitive to time of day and the seasons and the exact present moment. All the songs carry a historical memory of Sinhala cinema’s link to Indian cinema and the contributions of Muslim, Malay and Tamil musicians and singers to the success and immense popularity of Sinhala genre cinema in the first two or three decades of the industry. Also, the popular songs became ways of expressing feelings, pathos, which are not easy to express more directly through plotted, enacted narrative scenes of the melodramatic genre films, without often falling into bathos (trivial, ridiculous). However sentimental or simple, the genre cinema’s popular movie music had the power to engage audiences and became very popular in those early days through Radio Ceylon broadcasts across the island, availability on gramophone records and the attractively produced song sheets, with images, sometimes in colour, sold cheaply at the cinemas. This large fan base sustained a film industry in the first two or three decades of Sinhala cinema (no mean feat), in a country where Indian films and Hollywood had controlling interests in distribution and exhibition.

It’s this period of the popular cinema, with its connections to South Indian films, which is the musical milieu of Sons and Fathers, where Rex Periyasami is a successful composer, addressed as Master. At the same time, the film presents a not entirely smooth intergenerational transmission of musical knowledge from a Tamil stepfather to Lucky his talented Sinhala stepson who at first resists it, refusing to practice the keyboard saying, ‘why should I learn music, you are not my father!’ His unexpected, quietly delivered, measured response is exemplary of this musician; ‘Whatever you think, you have to live with us son. Life is a beautiful song, but there will be discords, too.’ The second part of the film is more focused on the direct effects of the ’83 anti-Tamil pogrom on the family and on both Rex and Lucky in relation to their music itself. Kanthi, who sings Rex’s love song (Tharuka Hanga), tries to mediate and calm them while Mala is mostly folded into a book, perhaps in defence, as Rex’s employment is threatened and he says the music has dried up in his soul, directly changing his personality, becoming more inward and brooding. When Mala comes over to show him that she can now play a chord on his guitar, he snatches the instrument and yells at her never to play it, violently pushing aside Kanthi who tries to intervene. Lucky has become a musician playing the guitar and singing in a band in both English and Sinhala but is repeatedly taunted as a ‘Tiger cub,’ excluded from it by his musical friends, despite his protestations; ‘I am not Tamil, I am Sinhala, my father has a coconut estate.’ ‘Then why do you play that guitar!’ is his friend’s retort. Though Sinhala, at home both he and his mother do speak Tamil with Rex at tense moments and we learn that Lucky has a Malay and a Burgher friend, both living in their rather seedy lower-middle-class, multi-ethnic neighbourhood.

Experiments in story-telling

The song, in the dance sequence which opens Sons and Fathers, is a pastiche of a song from the hugely popular Indian Tamil film, Chinthamani (but with original satirical lyrics in Sinhala on the national addiction to all things foreign). A short clip from the original film is shown sung in a classical style, with a very chastely dressed star walking through landscapes. The Sinhala version was a hit song sung by Laskshmi Bai (of Malay ethnicity), at the Tower Hall Theatre of the’40s, with a large fan base. It was also popular on radio and is still heard, I gather. Not being the usual love song, it sets an unusual tone to the opening dance sequence of Sons and Fathers, modelled on routines familiar from the ’50s and ’60s Tamil cinema which the Sinhala films copied. The dance by Sumathy’s niece Maitreyei (a trained dancer from Britain) takes the cue from the satirical lyrics and adds a parodic edge to its seductive gestures when she smoothly adds an original clawed ‘lion mudra’ (with a mischievous smile) at the mention of the ‘Sinhala people.’ This song and dance sequence, chiding Sinhala folk for their lack of jathi ale (love of race), is repeated at the very end of the film in a most startling and baffling sequence, to which I will return later.

Filmic overture

Rex, Lucky, Kanthi

The opening 10 or so minutes of the film works really as an overture (realised only on a second viewing), introducing fragments of scenes as motifs, which are later elaborated on in the body of the film. It is thereby creating a remembrance of things past. I list the segments to clearly understand how Sivamohan structures her several stories focusing on the racism and violence of July ’83, through Rex’s family. Rex and Kanthi’s family story connected to the film industry can’t be told without the intersecting history of political violence based on ethnicity bleeding into each other.

1. The opening song and dance sequence (in b and w), discussed above.

2. A recording studio (in b and w). A singer (in a sari with her head covered like Lakshmi Bai), sings, in accented Sinhala, the opening song, Pita Deepa Desa with an orchestra, establishing an audio-visual montage between the dubbed song and the dance.

3. A mob of men in sarongs, carrying fire torches, run around shouting.

4. Rex Periyasami and family (who we have not yet been introduced to), are hiding submerged in water, in a lake, in the dark, while shouting anti-Tamil mobs run wild.

5. Repeat of opening song and dance sequence.

6.Vijaya film studio sign and building are set on fire by a Sinhala mob.

7. K.Venkat, a Tamil film director of genre films (including a film about the Buddha’s Sacred Footprint called Sri Pathula), is dragged out of a building by a mob.

8. A white car is set on fire

9. Repetition of the mob with firebrands.

10. Repetition of Rex and family submerged in water, hiding from the mob.

11. Repetition of burning car, with someone inside it screaming, who is later identified as Venkat.

12. A room seen through a broken glass pane, darkly, as Rex and family return to their trashed home.

13. Inside the room the four family members stand around traumatised by the violence, but find strength to speak. The following exchange marks the end of the overture and the beginning of the main story Rex was determined to tell, which desire sivamohan actualises in her film, Sons and Fathers.

Kanthi (wife/mother): We must begin again (amidst the debris of their possessions).

Rex (husband/father/step-father): Are we not human? Are we refugees?

There is no more music, it’s all a dirge. Yes, I must tell my story to the world.

(The stepson Lucky then speaks to his stepfather in Tamil).

Lucky: Appa, what will you say? To whom? In what language?

Where is your music now? Did it save you? Or did it save us?

Kanthi: No, the music saved us!

‘Appa … in what language?’

Sivamohan takes up the challenge of Lucky’s anguished question, spoken softly but felt like a wounding rebuke to his Tamil stepfather, because the only language he knows is the now proscribed music. Focusing on an ethnically mixed family, Sivamohan creates her own language, a cinematic language replete with songs, honouring the memory of our much-maligned popular cinema, woefully derivative though it was of Indian genres, but what the people did embrace as our own. In attempting to do this, the film opens up our ethnically polarised minds to new possibilities through the power of music and song, integral to the popular Lankan cinema and the livelihood of its multi-ethnic technicians, entrepreneurs, actors and musicians and the lowly working-class men who ran and cleaned the cinemas. This is a very ambitious film in that Sivmohan has dared to go out of her linguistic comfort zone (she says her mother tongues are Tamil and English between which she translates), and worked with a multi-ethnic cast and crew to create a film in Sinhala (encoding a historical memory), about the virtual potential for a rich multi-ethnic hybridised Lankan culture (‘Thuppahi’ Baila like Bombay meri hai also included). The multi-sensory powers of film ‘language’ (freed from constraints of plot) is Sivamohan’s answer to Lucky’s question, ‘Appa, in what language?’

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Midweek Review

22A: Competing Opposition parties in dilemma

Published

5 hours ago

2026/09/2

Sahan Weerasooriya

Ranil Wickremesinghe arrives at the Opposition Leader Sajith Premadasa's Office on 23 July, 2026. Talks centred on ways and means to oppose the 22nd Amendment

Silent petty backbiting among Opposition may result in it grabbing defeat from victory over NPP

There is no likelihood of the SJB and the UNP reaching consensus on a tangible arrangement in the near future though some asserted that they may agree on a united front against the ruling National People’s Power (NPP). Referring to

former President and UNP leader Ranil Wickremesinghe’s visit to Opposition Leader Sajith Premadasa’s Office on 23 July, a source familiar with the developments said that in spite of such gestures, underlying problems remain. Another source explained that a combined front may be useful in a campaign against a particular issue but the two parties needed a genuine arrangement ahead of the next countrywide election.

By Shamindra Ferdinando

United Republican Front (URF) leader Patali Champika Ranawaka recently thanked Health and Media Minister Dr. Nalinda Jayathissa for recognising the Janathawadi Joint Opposition as a real challenge to the National People’s Power (NPP) government. The NPP enjoys an unassailable 159 parliamentary seats.

The former Minister noted that Dr. Jayathissa, who is also the Cabinet spokesman, realised the political threat posed by them, though the main parliamentary Opposition party Samagi Jana Balawegaya consisted of 40 lawmakers.

Ranawaka refrained from naming the SJB as the main Opposition party he was referring to.

Addressing the media at the Flower Road Office of UNP leader Ranil Wickremesinghe, Ranawaka pointed out that the ruling party felt their challenge, though there were a plethora of Opposition parties in the Parliament.

Referring to Dr. Jayathissa’s recent accusation that they conspired at the Kirula Place, Colombo 5, residence of former External Affairs Minister Prof. G. L Peiris, Ranawaka appreciated the Minister’s declaration made at the expense of the SJB.

While the 40-member SJB group is the second largest group in Parliament, the Illankai Thamil Arasu Kadchi (ITAK) holds third position with eight seats whereas New Democratic Front (NDF) consists of five MPs. The NDF, that received the backing of Wickremesinghe at the 2024 parliamentary polls, is in fourth position, whereas the Sri Lanka Podujana Peramuna (SLPP) parliamentary group consists of just three members. The SLPP suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the NPP at the last parliamentary polls, held in November 2024. An angry electorate at the first parliamentary polls after the 2022 regime change project reduced the SLPP, from a commanding 145-seat group, to just three MPs. Defeated 2024 presidential election candidate Namal Rajapaksa was so fearful of the impending rout at the November 2024 polls, he took refuge in the SLPP National List.

The political grouping, based at the Flower Road office of Wickremesinghe, has gradually broadened its operation. The stepping up of the Flower Road operation must be examined taking into consideration the NPP targeting Wickremesinghe over his 2023 September visit to the UK. The NPP has alleged that Wickremesinghe squandered public funds at a time the country was undergoing extreme economic difficulties. The crux of the matter is whether Wickremesinghe, in his capacity as the President, spent Rs 16.2 man on a private visit.

In spite of the Flower Road project receiving the NPP’s attention, Wickremesinghe does not really command the NDF that contested under the ‘Gas Cylinder’ symbol. The NDF group in Parliament consists of former Badulla District SLPP lawmaker Chamara Sampath Dassanayake, former Kalutara District SLPP MP Rohitha Abeygunawardena, ex-SLPP Kandy District MP Andrada Jayaratne, ex-UNP Minister Ravi Karunanayake (National List) and former SLFP Minister Fizer Mustapha (National List).

It would be pertinent to mention that a major problem erupted within the NDF at the time of filling the two National List slots. Wickremesinghe is the undisputed leader of the NDF, though he lacked any formal recognition as such, fielded candidates for selected electoral districts outside the Northern and Eastern regions at the 2024 November polls. The NDL comprised the UNP, the SLFP and the SLPP breakaway faction ‘Podujana Eksath Nidahas Peramuna (PENP).’ All three elected members Dissanayake, Abeygunawardena and Jayaratne represented the PENP.

The SLFP received one National List slot whereas the General Secretary of the NDF, Sharmila Perera, regardless of strong objections by Wickremesinghe, accommodated Karunanayake as the other NDF National List nominee. Perera informed the Election Commission, in writing, while the coalition debated Karunanayake’s appointment. An influential section of the coalition favoured the appointment of Kanchana Wijesekera, of the PENP, as the other National List member.

Perera, in her capacity as the NDF’s General Secretary, chose Karunanayake whose involvement with the NDF is in the public domain. The Election Commission gazetted a notification on 18 November, 2024, naming Karunanayake to Parliament. Will discuss the NDF’s emergence as a significant political factor in the wake of the 2010 presidential election, the first national poll after the eradication of the separatist Tamil terrorist movement.

SJB strategy

Whether the SJB likes it or not, former Yahapalana Minister Ranawaka’s reaction to Dr. Jayathissa’s conspiracy claim highlighted the ongoing controversy surrounding the main Opposition party’s overall response to the NPP’s pet project, the enactment of the 22nd Amendment.

Some political commentators have harshly criticised SJB Chief, who is also the Opposition Leader, Sajith Premadasa, for failing to mount a large-scale counter offensive. Some of them have taken offence that Premadasa sort of played it safe in spite of the NPP seeking to bulldoze the Opposition, both in and outside Parliament. Various interested parties have asserted that Premadasa’s inaction has been influenced by his fear of the government hounding him with corruption investigations, targeting him and his wife Jalani.

In spite of much publicised gathering of recognised Opposition parties/groups at the Opposition Leader’s Office at No 30, Sir Marcus Fernando Mawatha, Colombo 07, on 23 July, 2026, also attended by Wickremesinghe, the SJB appeared to have failed to take the lead in the overall campaign against the 22nd Amendment. Had the government managed to neutralise the determined efforts of the Sri Lanka Bar Association (BASL) and the unexpected United Nations intervention, the Opposition campaign may have collapsed already.

The undeniable truth is the SJB never succeeded in taking command of the overall political strategy. Dr. Jayathissa’s claim and Ranawaka’s reaction clearly suggested the deterioration of the SJB’s status. But those who approve of the SJB’s handling of political developments seem confident the party is on the right track. They feel criticism directed at the SJB and Sajith Premadasa, in particular, unfair and utterly politically motivated. Social media criticism appeared to have troubled the SJB. Recently, the SJB contradicted and challenged the opinion expressed by Priyanjith Vitharana who posted political commentaries under the pseudonym ‘Rate Rala.’ The former General Secretary of the breakaway JVP group, the National Freedom Front (NFF), has emerged as one of the strongest critics of Premadasa’s style of Opposition politics. ‘Rate Rala’ relentlessly attacked the SJB leader and vigorously questioned what he called the Opposition Leader’s lukewarm reaction to the NPP’s challenge.

The SJB and the Wickremesinghe-led political grouping cannot turn a blind eye to President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s impending high profile political campaign, countrywide. The NPP has declared that the campaign would be launched on 5 September. The NPP enjoys absolute political power to move large groups of people for their intended meetings as previous ruling parties did. But, in the absence of a cohesive political strategy, those in the Opposition are still unable to work out a strategy to counter the NPP campaign. The Cabinet spokesman has dared Wickremesinghe’s group to bring in people onto the streets instead of having clandestine meetings at the residence of Prof. Peiris, the convenor of the Janathawadi Joint Opposition.

Wickremesinghe’s five-member NDF group in Parliament is obviously divided over political strategy. It seems the members of the group are pulling in different directions. The SLFP’s Faizer Mustapha is somewhat silent on the 22nd Amendment and the remaining members haven’t been seen playing a role against the 22nd Amendment worth mentioning. Cobbling up alliances to overcome short-term political challenges is the bane of the Sri Lankan political setup. The NDF is no exception. Having suffered an expected defeat at the 2024 September presidential poll, Wickremesinghe utilised the NDF to bring together those at the mercy of the NPP. Wickremesinghe’s move dealt a devastating blow to the SLPP, struggling to cope up with the developing situation. The consequences of Wickremesinghe post-presidential actions caused irreparable damage. The fielding of SLPP candidates on the NDF ticket and also accommodating them on its National List, at the expense of the SLPP, undermined that party. Among those who betrayed the SLPP were former Prime Minister Dinesh Gunawardena and ex-Speaker Mahinda Yapa Abeywardena. But, Wickremesinghe didn’t care. By then, the SLPP had forgotten how in its capacity as the ruling party it elected Wickremesinghe as Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s successor at the expense of their own Dullas Alahapperuma who teamed up with the SJB to fight it out in Parliament.

The SLPP fell out with Wickremesinghe when the latter sought the ruling party’s backing at the 2024 presidential polls, the first post-Aragalaya (read regime change project) national election. At the end, Sajith Premadasa, Ranil Wickremesinghe and Namal Rajapaksa contested at the expense of a unified front. That enabled Anura Kumara Dissanayake to secure victory at the 2024 presidential race.

Unrealistic SJB-UNP partnership

In the run-up to the 2024 parliamentary polls, the writer, at a Flower Road Office briefing by UNP Deputy Leader Ruwan Wijewardena, raised the failure on the part of the UNP and the SJB to reach a consensus after Dissanayake won the presidency due to their dithering.

The former Deputy Defence Minister, struggled to explain the status on the SJB-UNP talks when the writer pointed out that Dissanayake polled 5,634,915 votes whereas Sajith Premadasa (4,363,035 votes) and Ranil Wickremesinghe (2,299,767) together polled 6,662,802- a staggering 1,027,887 votes more than the winner. Unfortunately, both camps remained adamant regarding the modalities of consensus/unification. Had the two parties realised the gravity of the situation and the extraordinary challenge the NPP posed, they could have shed whatever their differences to contest under one symbol. But the petty-minded SJB and UNP leaders squandered an opportunity that resulted in the NPP securing an unbeatable 159 seats at the presidential election.

The SJB and the UNP continue to move in different directions. Those who remain with the UNP appeared to be more comfortable having Dissanayake as the President than Premadasa. Wickremesinghe’s visit to the Opposition Leader’s Office seemed to have failed to achieve a genuine reconciliation between the two leaders. Soon after the 2019 presidential election that brought newcomer Gotabaya Rajapaksa to power, the internal crisis, within the UNP, intensified.

Defeated UNP contestant Deputy Leader Sajith Premadasa quit the party in early February 2020, to form the SJB. The SJB-led alliance was officially launched in March 2020 ahead of the parliamentary polls in August 2020. The UNP split in the aftermath of the 2019 presidential poll created an extremely unfavourable environment for Wickremesinghe who suffered a crushing defeat at the August parliamentary polls. The UNP was reduced to one National List slot whereas the SJB secured 54 seats, including seven National List slots. Wickremesinghe failed to retain his Colombo District parliamentary seat.

Wickremesinghe refrained from filling that solitary National List slot till June 2021. By then, the economic crisis had set in. Wickremesinghe entered Parliament on 23 June, 2021. Rapid economic deterioration led to sovereign default the following year. Political stability created an environment for Wickremnesinghe to exploit. Wickremesinghe didn’t hesitate to accept the premiership on 12 May, 2022, soon after SJB leader Sajith Premadasa turned down President Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s invitation. The beleaguered UNPer couldn’t have asked for more. The SLPP ended up electing Wickremesinghe as Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s successor 10 weeks later, a decision that the party now rued. In hindsight, the consensus between the Rajapaksas and Wickremesinghe, in the short term, benefited both parties but undermined efforts to iron out differences between the SJB and the UNP.

The UNP felt that it should have the final say in the issue at hand. However, the SJB quite rightly asserted that securing 54 seats at the 2020 parliamentary election should be taken into consideration. The UNP was down to one National List slot and in the wake of the SLPP accommodating Wickremesinghe in the Executive Office, Wajira Abeywardena filled that vacancy.

In fact, the UNP never relished consensus with the SJB. Instead, Wickremesinghe felt that it could extend his partnership with the SLPP, to his advantage, by securing its approval as the party’s 2024 presidential poll. Had that happened, the SLPP would have further deteriorated though Wickremesinghe could have polled a far larger share of votes at the presidential poll. Contesting as an independent, Wickremesinghe polled over 2.2 million votes at the presidential election. That defeat compelled Wickremesinghe, who turned 75 in the run-up to the presidential poll, not to join the parliamentary polls fray.

Wickremesinghe knew the signs. He knew the game was over and the UNP no longer appealed, even to die-hard supporters. The UNP leader quietly brought together the remnants of the UNP with the SLFP and SLPP and fielded them under the NDF’s symbol. As mentioned at the onset of this piece, the NDF, under Wickremesinghe’s leadership, obtained five seats. But, he never managed to retain control of the parliamentary group. Against the backdrop of an unprecedented deterioration of the UNP, the 22nd Amendment, in a way, has helped Wickremesinghe to work out a strategy to somewhat consolidate his position. The Flower Road operation has given Wickremesinghe some leverage as the NPP battled the high profile Bar Association of Sri Lanka (BASL)-led campaign against the 22nd Amendment.

NPP strategy

The NPP seems confident that the SJB and the UNP, under any circumstances, will not amalgamate or contest under one symbol. The NPP’s political strategy is based on the presumption that the two parties lacked the will to do so, though they realised their costly failure to reach consensus at the last presidential and parliamentary polls in 2024. Both parties suffered at the 2025 May Local Government polls as well. In a last-ditch attempt UNP leader Wickremesinghe proposed that the UNP and SJB contest the Colombo Municipal Council under one symbol. That proposal never materialised.

As a result, the UNP lost the CMC after more than 50 years. The UNP won the CMC in 2011 when the rival UPFA, led by the then President Mahinda Rajapaksa, won all other local government bodies outside the Northern and Eastern Provinces, two years after the eradication of the LTTE.

Opposition sources acknowledged that nothing short of an arrangement to contest the next election, under one symbol, wouldn’t help them. “We are unable to fully exploit the deterioration of public confidence in the NPP due to the appalling failure to bring talks between the two parties to a successful conclusion,” a source familiar with the developments said.

The 22nd Amendment gave an opportunity for the SJB, with 40 MPs in Parliament, and the UNP, sans any parliamentary representation, to finalise an arrangement. Unfortunately, they failed to do so, thereby allowed the government to proceed with the strategy. A major campaign, led by President Dissanayake himself, scheduled to be launched on 5 September, underscored their strategy, whereas the Opposition remained still unsure of its own counter-strategy. Had they at least managed to organise a few mega rallies with the participation of the entire Opposition, the NPP may have come under real pressure. Unfortunately, even after the Illankai Thamil Arasu Kadchi (ITAK) and Tamil Progressive Front (TPA) representing upcountry political parties declared strong opposition to 22nd Amendment, the SJB couldn’t take the lead in organising a large-scale counter campaign. Instead, the Janathawadi Joint Opposition, operating out of the Flower Road Office, has exploited the situation to its advantage.

Despite both the SJB and the UNP (Janathawadi Joint Opposition) moving the Supreme Court against the 22nd Amendment, they conveniently failed to appear together at regular media briefings, held at Wickremesinghe’s Flower Road Office, where Prof. Peiris, in his capacity as the convenor of the grouping, meticulously dealt with the developing story.

Regardless of the failure on the part of the SJB and the UNP to finalise an arrangement with eyes on the next election, the BASL-led campaign against the 22nd Amendment caused significant damage to the NPP’s reputation. The BASL’s shocking revelation that two deserving justices, namely senior justice of the Court of Appeal, Dhammika Ganepola, and senior-most justice of the Court of Appeal, justice R. Gurusinghe, were deprived of promotion to the Supreme Court by the incumbent administration, was received by the public with disappointment. The BASL released 17 August, 2026, dated, hitherto unpublished letter, addressed to President Dissanayake, that dealt with unfilled vacancies in the superior courts, while the government preached the public of its determination to deal with a mountain of case backlog.

Unfortunately, the Opposition campaign lacked direction though some former and present lawmakers targeted the 22nd Amendment. With almost all who moved the Supreme Court against the 22nd Amendment seeking all remaining judges of the Supreme Court to hear the petitions with the BASL suggesting that Chief Justice recuse himself of hearing the cases over conflict of interests and all agreeing on a referendum to approve of the controversial constitutional amendment, the apex court constitutionally is authorised to take three weeks to decide on the issue at hand.

The decision is expected to be communicated to Speaker Dr. Jagath Wickremaratne around the time President Dissanayake completed his second turbulent year in Office on 21 September.

Midweek Review

The local and global dynamics of Sri Lanka’s 22nd Amendment

Published

5 hours ago

2026/09/2

Sahan Weerasooriya

Beyond noise and acrimony:

by Sasanka Perera
(The writer is on X as @sasmester)
Background

The Sri Lankan government has proposed to introduce the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution focused on increasing the retirement age for Supreme Court and Court of Appeal judges. Coupled with parallel legislative adjustments to the Judicature Act of 1978 governing the functioning of lower-tier courts, the initiative has drawn sharp criticism from domestic legal bodies, opposition political parties, human rights activists and scrutiny from international organisations, most notably the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Independence of Judges and Lawyers.

Locally however, much of the debate is lost in the noise of acrimony, name-calling and what can only be called ‘social media violence’ rather than becoming a sensible discourse of rational and courteous debate. A week ago, a simple tweet from me on my wariness over getting the UN involved in this matter and the UN’s general bias towards countries like ours literally went viral, castigating me as a supporter of the government. My public writing in support and often in opposition to government positions — as demanded by different cases and situations — had no impact whatsoever. This virulent noise has no place in democratic practice, which all these noisemakers nevertheless claim to protect. This essay, however, finds its genesis in that noise as a means of making sense of the politics of the 22nd Amendment for myself and for any sensible people who might want to ponder over its implications.

As far as my understanding goes as a citizen without a legal background, the present controversy touches on the core tension amongst practical administrative necessity as seen by the government, constitutional integrity as argued by many in the legal profession, human rights advocates and opposition politicians and the geopolitics of international human rights oversight exercised by entities such as the UN.

Under Article 107 of Sri Lanka’s 1978 Constitution, the mandatory retirement age for Supreme Court judges is 65 years, while Court of Appeal judges must retire at 63 years. The proposed 22nd constitutional amendment seeks to raise these limits by two years. That is, extending Supreme Court tenure to 67 years and Court of Appeal tenure to 65 years. It also proposes that the number of judges in the Court of Appeal be increased from 19 to 24. Further, in the case of the Chief Justice, it is specified that the retirement date would be 67 years or after completing six years in office, subject to whichever comes first. In parallel, the government has also proposed to amend the Judicature Act of 1978 with the aim of raising the retirement age of High Court judges to 63 years and for District Court judges and Magistrates to 62 years. In other words, the overall proposal is to increase the retirement age of judges throughout the judicial hierarchy by two years.

Government’s Rationale

The government’s justifications for the proposed amendment rests on two general parameters. One is efficiency in judicial administration. The other is the retention of experienced judges for an additional period of two years. In this context, the government and its supporters in civil society do not perceive the proposal as a political maneouvre, but rather as an urgent administrative intervention that is essential to clear the backlog of cases throughout the judicial system. There is no doubt that the system is clearly overworked, understaffed and inefficient, and as a result, burdened with a serious backlog of cases.

Sri Lankan courts face an acute backlog exceeding 1.1 million pending cases according to some estimates. In this context, the government’s argument is that retaining seasoned judges is vital to maintain case disposal rates and prevent systemic paralysis. Extending judicial service is presented as a pragmatic mechanism to preserve institutional memory and combat capacity shortages.

Objections and Opposition

Despite official justifications, most of which seem legitimate based on actual experience and existing data, some legal analysts, opposition figures, and civil society groups suspect unstated political objectives behind the timing and structure of the reform. For them, a primary concern is that the amendment is structured to apply retroactively or immediately to sitting judges rather than prospective future appointees. Critics suggest this directly benefits specific high-ranking figures ranging from the incumbent Chief Justice to senior appellate judges, who are nearing the mandatory retirement age while overseeing politically sensitive cases. On the other hand, one can argue it is precisely because some of them are presiding over politically sensitive cases, that they need to complete the relevant cases for which experience, familiarity as well as institutional memory are essential.

However, there is no doubt that extending the tenure during an active term creates the impression of a government benefit granted to sitting judges. Whether this is the intention or whether it becomes reality, appearances do matter. The main point opponents bring out is, this specific intervention risks compromising the perception of judicial neutrality in a situation where sitting judges might be perceived as indebted to political authority for extending their service. While this is indeed a possibility, it is nevertheless not a necessary outcome.

Formal and vocal opposition at the moment is led by the Bar Association of Sri Lanka, local political parties, and some constitutional experts. But this has not become a bread-and-butter issue yet in the country. That is, there is no way this issue will capture the public imagination in the manner more pressing bread and butter issues did in the aragalaya of 2022. Also, Sri Lanka’s fractured and delegitimised opposition sharing the same argumentative plain with an entity like the Bar Association of Sri Lanka does not help the latter when it comes to generating public sympathy for its cause however legitimate it might be.

To my understanding and reading between the lines amidst the deafening noise in the vocal opposition, the above concerns are based on several core arguments.

One has to do with the perceived erosion of the separation of powers. That is, changing the retirement age of sitting judges mid-tenure can compromise constitutional predictability and impartiality. Theoretically, fixed retirement ages exist in judicial systems globally to specifically protect judges from executive interference or influence. The second concern I can see but not clearly articulated by sceptics has to do with the possibilities of career stagnation. In other words, delaying emergent vacancies at the Supreme Court and Court of Appeal will create a bottleneck across the entire judicial hierarchy for some time, potentially demoralising junior judges in the High Courts and District Courts awaiting elevation. Finally, there is a concern over the long-term government failure to effectively utilise cadre expansion that has already been made possible which precedes the present government’s access to office. Prior constitutional changes (such as the 20th Amendment) already had expanded the numerical capacity of the superior courts. In this context, the argument is that the government should focus on filling existing vacancies with new appointees rather than altering the tenure of current judges. Purely as matters of principle, theory and potential impact on democratic governance, none of these concerns are spurious.

The UN Special Rapporteur’s Intervention

The 22nd Amendment is no longer merely a local political issue. On 7 August 2026, Margaret Satterthwaite, the UN Special Rapporteur on the Independence of Judges and Lawyers, addressed a five-page official communication to the Sri Lankan government based on ‘information’ her office had received and issued 7 requests for further information. Internationalisation of the politics surrounding the 22nd Amendment is also an integral part of Sri Lanka’s oppositional politics. While acknowledging that raising retirement ages can preserve expertise, her mandate emphasised that alterations to judicial tenure must adhere strictly to international standards. The Special Rapporteur highlights a number of primary concerns, which include the following: 1) She is concerned with the application of the proposed changes to sitting judges. That is, extending terms for sitting judges without clear, objective, and transparent transitional safeguards creates the risk or perception of political favor. 2) Second, she has raised concerns over the lack of broad consultations in introducing the proposal. In other words, the rapid introduction of the amendment without inclusive public and professional stakeholder consultation can threaten public trust in the rule of law. 3) Finally, she has also referred to a potential conflict of interest. That is sitting judges benefiting from the extension could face a structural conflict of interest if called upon to adjudicate constitutional challenges against the very amendment that extended their careers.

In a sense, these concerns are very similar to the concerns raised by the local opposition. But in real terms, is the 22nd Amendment unusual or inherently anti-democratic that it warrants a UN body to be this concerned when in general it is often not concerned beyond rhetoric in far worse situations? Increasing judicial retirement ages is a common trend globally, driven by demographic shifts and longer life expectancy. However, the mechanisms and contexts of various cases differ considerably. Through the Public Service Pensions and Judicial Offices Act 2022, the United Kingdom raised the mandatory retirement age for judicial office holders from 70 to 75. This included judges, magistrates, and coroners. The rationale for this provided by the UK government at the time cited improvements in life expectancy, the need to address post-pandemic court backlogs, and recruitment gaps across courts. Crucially, the change followed a comprehensive public consultation involving over 1,000 responses from legal professionals, the magistracy, and civic bodies.

An Australian state and a self-governing territory, namely, New South Wales and Northern Territory offer other recent examples. Australia does not have a single uniform retirement age for all state and federal judges. Under Section 72 of the Australian Constitution, federal judges have a fixed retirement age of 70. However, individual states have raised state-level judicial retirement ages at different times. In 2018, New South Wales enacted the Justice Legislation Amendment Act (No. 2) 2018, raising the mandatory retirement age for state judges and magistrates from 72 to 75. Similarly, in 2019, the Northern Territory also raised the retirement age for Supreme Court judges from 70 to 72 years under the Justice Legislation Amendment Act 2019.

But the UN Special Rapporteur did not issue formal communications or allegations to either the United Kingdom or the Australian state and territory regarding these specific tenure increases — with reason. For one thing, both the UK and Australian state and territorial governments conducted long-term, transparent public consultations with legal professional bodies prior to enacting legislation. That is, there was an appearance of reasonability. On the other hand, in these cases, the reforms were introduced as broad, systemic statutory updates rather than ad-hoc constitutional amendments enacted amid heightened domestic political tension or ongoing sensitive litigation involving sitting judges as is the case in Sri Lanka. Finally, in these cases, the policy changes were implemented via general legislative consensus rather than executive-driven constitutional maneuvers that directly benefited individual judges in real-time in the short term.

Further, in these cases, as far as I can see, there were no formal complaints to the UN from any entity in these countries given that there were adequate consultations. On the other hand, unlike the UK or Australia, bodies like the UN generally assume countries like Sri Lanka are inherently anti-democratic and therefore need oversight. It is in such a context that the UN Special Rapporteurs have routinely issued communications to other countries that have altered judicial terms. For example, Poland, Hungary, and Bolivia have received such communications when changes to judicial retirement ages or tenure were perceived as attempts by the governments concerned to alter the composition of courts or erode judicial independence. The Sri Lankan case too must be understood in such a situation. The government, on its part, has submitted a six-page response accompanied by two annexures to the Special Rapporteur’s communication on 21 August 2026. It responds fully to the queries raised by the Special Rapporteur rationally. However, if it closes the matter remains to be seen.

The problem in this context is that Sri Lanka has the added complication of having a resolution on its human rights situation in the United Nations Human Rights Council since 2012. The next formal update on this resolution is scheduled for the 63rd session of the UN Human Rights Council taking place from 7 September to 9 October 2026. My concern in internationalising a domestic issue such as the opposition to the 22nd Amendment is that it could feed into the longstanding resolution giving further ammunition to Sri Lanka sceptics and detractors both in and outside the country. This is an unnecessary burden for a country like Sri Lanka lacking the power wielded by mass human rights violators such as Israel and its sponsor the United States. It is also a needless distraction for a country that is trying to reinvent itself. In such a situation, dealing with the sins of the predecessors does not help, more so, when UN impartiality is known to be selective.

The Future of the 22nd

Amendment

The controversy surrounding Sri Lanka’s proposed 22nd Amendment illustrates the delicate equilibrium required in constitutional governance and democratic practice. On a practical level, the government’s argument addresses an undeniable operational crisis. That is, as a means to deal with an overburdened legal system requiring the retention of experienced judicial personnel to deliver timely justice. Yet, on a principled level, constitutional safeguards exist precisely to ensure that procedural mechanisms are insulated from perceived political manipulation. In my mind, the government’s cardinal mistake was not to have wide-ranging consultations and information sharing programmes before the proposal became a contentious issue. This is simply good PR and common sense. Consultations and information sharing do not mean wholesale adherence to opposition positions. It simply means transparency, accepting what is reasonable, not accepting what makes no sense and offering at least a semblance of fair play. This would have also ensured that the government did not need to be overly defensive as it is now. In any case, given its overwhelming majority in parliament, the government does not need any support from the opposition to pass legislation. But it can certainly afford to be politically intelligent, sophisticated and mature in its public demeanor.

When a government alters the terms of service for sitting judges, the primary challenge is rarely the increased age limit. Rather, it is the need to preserve public trust in judicial neutrality. As comparative examples demonstrate, nations can adjust judicial tenure legally and successfully when changes are accompanied by broad professional consensus, prospective application, and transparent legislative processes.

Sri Lanka’s challenge lies in balancing the immediate demands of judicial efficiency against the enduring requirement that constitutional reforms must satisfy both domestic legitimacy and established international standards of judicial independence, particularly in a situation the latter is inherently oppositional to nations who do not have a veto or global political wherewithal to withstand pressure.