Getting Gota

Former Defence Secretary and former President Gotabaya Rajapaksa remains one of the most controversial and polarising figures in contemporary Sri Lankan politics. For the nationalists and chauvinist elements within the majority community, he

remains a war hero who significantly contributed to the defeat 

of  terrorism, still retaining his projected image of discipline and a decisive leader. To the rest, he represents something darker, with the consolidation of impunity, the erosion of democratic accountability, and a political culture in which proximity to executive power appears to shield individuals from scrutiny.

The country’s inability to meaningfully confront allegations surrounding those who occupy positions of power has become one of the defining failures of the post-independence State, especially since the insurrection of 1971. Allegations linked to enforced disappearances, attacks on journalists, intimidation of activists, political violence, and wartime abuses are common knowledge, with a majority of the population identifying the culprits with great accuracy, yet only rarely have these cases translated into judicial outcomes and accountability for those crimes. In that context, public frustration is not simply about one man in the case of Gotabaya Rajapaksa but the whole system of failed justice.

The principle of presumption of innocence until proven guilty remains one of the most important foundations of any functioning judicial order. Without it, justice becomes arbitrary and political persecution becomes easy. Yet this principle assumes the existence of institutions capable of conducting independent investigations, prosecuting wrongdoing, and applying the law equally. When those institutions repeatedly fail to act against politically powerful actors, public confidence inevitably begins to collapse.

This tension sits at the centre of the issue of Gotabaya Rajapaksa. Among the most enduring controversies is the killing of journalist Lasantha Wickrematunge in 2009. For years, allegations and suspicions circulated in public discourse regarding the involvement of a military intelligence unit loyal to Rajapaksa, including claims made by journalists, investigators, and members of Wickrematunge’s family. However, despite investigations, political promises, and renewed attention across successive administrations, accountability has remained elusive and no court has established Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s responsibility.

That failure along with similar high-profile cases, which have progressed somewhat in the judicial system have consequences. During the Yahapalana administration, expectations emerged that long-stalled cases involving political violence and abuse would move forward. Instead, many Sri Lankans came away with the impression that justice itself had become politicised, activated when useful, slowed when inconvenient, and ultimately abandoned when political calculations changed. Investigators, prosecutors, and journalists associated with sensitive cases later found themselves facing pressure and criticism, while the leaders of the Yahapalana regime, who

 cut numerous deals with the Rajapaksa’s walked away free souls after their defeat in 2019.  

Today, renewed scrutiny surrounding questions of accountability, including over responsibility connected to the Easter Sunday attacks, has again placed Gotabaya under the magnifying glass.  Whether these developments ultimately produce legal consequences remains uncertain.

But one lesson should already be clear. We cannot continue relying on cycles of outrage followed by selective amnesia. Accountability cannot depend on which coalition is in office or whether a case remains politically useful. If there is evidence, it must be investigated independently. If wrongdoing is established, there must be consequences. If allegations cannot be substantiated, that too must be made clear.

Gotabaya Rajapaksa must face his crimes and, his victims, either dead or alive, must be delivered justice.