politics

The Socialist Lead of Sri Lanka and South Asia condemns the detention of Theepachelvan Piratheepan’s books and demands their immediate and unconditional release

By Sanjaya Jayasekera.

The Socialist Lead of Sri Lanka and South Asia (SLLA) and thesocialist.lk  unconditionally condemn the detention by Sri Lanka Customs of two books by Kilinochchi-based Tamil author Theepachelvan Piratheepan — Elluttal Nan Yuttam Ceykiren (“I Wage War Through Writing”), a collection of interviews, and Ippothum Inge Irandu Thesangalil (“Now Too Here Are Two Nations”), a collection of essays on the war — and demands their immediate and unconditional release. This act of state censorship, carried out with the direct institutional involvement of the Ministry of Defence and under the rubber-stamp of cultural bureaucracies subordinated to the security apparatus, is not an administrative irregularity. It is a political act, rooted in the class interests of the Sri Lankan bourgeoisie and its state, and it must be understood and combated as such.

The Facts of the Case Expose the Repressive Machinery under the NPP/JVP government

On 18 March 2026, Sri Lanka Customs seized a consignment of books imported from Chennai, India, by Onereach Lanka (Pvt) Ltd, under CusDec No. 47995. The consignment included four books by Theepachelvan Piratheepan. Customs officers, purportedly suspecting a threat to national security, initiated a review process — with the Director General of Customs, Seevali Arukgoda, subsequently stating that the suspicion arose from one book’s cover, which depicted a map of Tamil Eelam separated from the rest of Sri Lanka, and what he described as a “limited inspection of the contents.”

What followed was a cascade of bureaucratic evasion and institutional complicity that lays bare the functioning of the capitalist state. The Defence Ministry recommended that Customs detain all four books, while the Culture Ministry recommended the release of the two novels. Customs then returned to the Defence Ministry seeking a “no objection” for the novels’ release, which was granted. Based on the recommendations of the Arts Council of Sri Lanka, the State Panel of Literature of the Ministry of Buddhasasana, Religious and Cultural Affairs, and the Ministry of Defence, two books — Elluttal Nan Yuttam Ceykiren and Ippothum Inge Irandu Thesangalil — were formally withheld, with Customs citing provisions under section 120 of the Penal Code, a colonial law, read with Schedule B of the Customs Ordinance.

The Defence Ministry did not respond to questions as to how it determined that the books incited “disaffection” or posed a threat to national security. Crucially, the two books that were eventually released were not first editions and had already been distributed and made available at Tamil bookshops across Sri Lanka. The logical absurdity of this position — that books freely circulating in Tamil bookshops nonetheless require Defence Ministry clearance to re-enter the country through customs — exposes the purely political, punitive character of the censorship directed against Theepachelvan’s work on the war and its aftermath.

When The Examiner inquired whether Customs had reached out to the Attorney General for his opinion, Director General Arukgoda replied: “Why should we consult the AG’s department?” — asserting that Defence Ministry observations are sufficient and that “this has been the practice for as long as he can remember.” Here, in the unguarded candour of a senior bureaucrat, is the operating logic of the Sri Lankan security state: the military-intelligence apparatus has, through decades of communal war and “anti-terrorism” legislation, assumed permanent, unaccountable authority over political expression.

The detention of Theepachelvan’s books is not an isolated incident but part of a systematic and sustained campaign by the NPP/JVP government to suppress Tamil literary and political expression through the Defence Ministry’s permanent stranglehold over the circulation of ideas in the north and east. Writer and actor Antonythasan Jesuthasan — known by his pseudonym Shobasakthi — has revealed that copies of his book 1990: Leidenthivu – Mandaithivu Massacres and Mass Graves, documenting the massacres and mass graves of the war, sent from Chennai to poet Karunakaran’s address in Kilinochchi in late 2025, were seized by Customs at the Jaffna Post Office in November 2025 and forwarded to the Defence Ministry where they remain suppressed to this day — a complaint to Jaffna District NPP MP Rajeevan having yielded nothing, confirming that the censorship of Tamil historical memory is not a bureaucratic malfunction tolerated by the NPP government but its deliberate and continuing political policy.

The Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka has warned that detaining publications without clear evidence of inciting communal disharmony could violate constitutional protections, including freedom of expression and equality before the law, and that such actions may amount to a misuse of power and a potential human rights violation. These expressions of institutional “concern,” however, will remain toothless so long as the fundamental class character of the state — and the NPP government that now administers it — goes unexamined and unchallenged.

The Class Character of the NPP’s Censorship

The detention of Theepachelvan’s books is not an aberration of the National People’s Power government; it is a manifestation of its essential political character. The NPP, led by the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) of Anura Kumara Dissanayake, rose to power on the wave of mass popular revulsion demonstrated in the 2022 aragalaya uprising — a spontaneous movement of workers, youth and the oppressed masses against decades of IMF-dictated austerity, official corruption and elite plunder. Having exploited that mass anti-establishment sentiment to win the presidency and parliamentary majority, the NPP has proceeded to do precisely what every bourgeois government before it has done: implement IMF austerity with renewed vigour, maintain and expand the security-state apparatus inherited from the Rajapaksa and Wickremesinghe eras, and deploy the machinery of repression against those who challenge its authority.

The JVP’s historical trajectory makes this entirely predictable. The JVP, which twice launched armed insurrections in the south — in 1971 and from 1987 to 1989 — and which conducted savage political violence, including the assassination of trade union leaders and left-wing opponents, subsequently transformed itself into a parliamentary party deeply integrated into the structures of the Sri Lankan capitalist state. Its “left” and “progressive” credentials — always petty-bourgeois in their class content, reformist in their political program and nationalist in their ideological framework — have served as a political cover for its absorption into bourgeois politics. Its “anti-corruption” and “good governance” rhetoric during the aragalaya period and the 2024 election campaign was not the language of class struggle but the language of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia appealing to middle-class frustrations within the framework of capitalist rule.

Now in government, the NPP/JVP administers the very security apparatus whose colonial-era legal instruments — including Section 120 of the Penal Code, the draconian Public Security Ordinance and the Prevention of Terrorism Act — were wielded by Sinhala-chauvinist governments against the Tamil people for decades. Tamil writers in Sri Lanka live under constant surveillance of the security state. In 2024, Theepachelvan himself was summoned and interrogated by the Terrorist Investigation Division (CTID), and was subjected to nearly three hours of questioning over a book launch event. This persecution has not ceased under the National People’s Power government. The NPP’s “change” amounts to the continuation of the communal-security state with a new parliamentary facade and a refreshed managerial personnel.

Theepachelvan Piratheepan — born on 24 October 1983 in Kilinochchi — is one of the most significant Tamil literary voices to emerge from the lived experience of the war and its devastating human consequences. His poetry, essays and interviews document the suffering of the Tamil people through the armed conflict, the mass atrocities of the final military offensive, and the grinding social desolation of the post-war north and east. It is precisely because his work constitutes an act of bearing witness — of preserving the collective historical memory of a people subjected to systematic violence and dispossession — that the state seeks to suppress it. The detained books represent documentary historical testimony from below: the kind of testimony that the bourgeois state, regardless of which party administers it, has an enduring material interest in silencing.

The Intelligentsia’s Capitulation: Performing Criticism, Defending the Capitalist State

I. Nirmal Ranjith Dewasiri: The Government Supporter as Critic

No examination of this crisis would be complete without addressing the role played by the layers of academic and intellectual figures who occupy the space of “civil society” dissent in Sri Lanka — and who perform, with cultivated theatrical effect, the function of absorbing and neutralising working-class and democratic opposition to the capitalist state. The case of Professor Nirmal Ranjith Dewasiri demands particular attention, because in the Theepachelvan affair his political intervention reveals, with unusual transparency, the precise mechanism by which the pseudo-left intelligentsia serves the class interests of the bourgeoisie.

On 19 April 2026, Dewasiri published a video statement on his YouTube channel — History with Nirmal — titled in Sinhala: “The greatest political defeat the Malima [NPP] government received in the case of Theepachelvan!” The framing is significant before a single word of analysis is delivered: the detention of a Tamil author’s books about the war is characterised not as a state assault on democratic rights and on the historical memory of the Tamil people — but as a political defeat for the government. The suffering of the Tamil author, the democratic principle of freedom of expression, the class content of the censorship — all of this is pushed to the background. What remains is a problem of government optics, of public relations management, of the NPP’s political credibility.

In the body of that statement, Dewasiri makes three things clear, each of which must be examined with precision.

First, having campaigned for the NPP/JVP electoral win, he asserts himself a supporter of the NPP/JVP government. This is an admission of class alignment. Dewasiri — the former secretary of the X-Group, the one-time FUTA president, the 2010 Cultural and National Heritage Ministry advisor, the key civil-society architect of the 2015 Sirisena “good governance” election victory — has now completed the arc of petty-bourgeois left politics in Sri Lanka: from student politics, through post-JVP academic radicalism, through “civil society” coalition-building for bourgeois electoral formations, to open and declared support for the NPP government that is today implementing IMF austerity and maintaining the security-state apparatus of the Rajapaksa era. This trajectory is not an individual aberration; it is the class trajectory of the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia in the epoch of imperialism.

Second, Dewasiri invokes the argument that in the digital age, banning physical books is an act of political absurdity — that in an era of internet access, detaining a printed consignment at customs only amplifies the work’s reach and drives readers to seek out the censored material. On the surface, one may see it as a critique of the government. In reality, it is something far more insidious: it is the argument of a government supporter advising his preferred government on how to conduct its affairs more effectively. The “digital age” argument does not challenge the ‘right’ of the state to suppress political literature; it argues that this particular act of suppression is tactically counterproductive. It is the counsel of a sympathetic advisor, not the principled opposition of a democrat.

Third, and most revealing, Dewasiri’s video statement conveys that he is worried about the NPP government losing credibility in public perception, and urges it to act quickly to resolve the problem. Here the contradiction at the heart of his entire political trajectory is exposed with unusual clarity — and it is a contradiction that deserves to be taken seriously rather than dismissed.

It would be a political error to characterise Dewasiri as someone indifferent to Tamil democratic rights. The record is otherwise. He has written at length on the ideological mechanisms by which Sinhala-Buddhist nationalist hegemony suppresses Tamil historical claims, on the illegitimacy of post-war “reconciliation” frameworks that deny devolution and Tamil political agency, and on the dangers of allowing dominant historical narratives to erase the lived experience of the Tamil people. These are not trivial positions — they represent a formal intellectual recognition of the very injustice that the detention of Theepachelvan’s books embodies. However, this critique is made entirely within the service of “post-war reconciliation” — a framework that accepts the Sri Lankan unitary capitalist state as the boundary within which Tamil political claims must be accommodated. Dewasiri argues for a more pluralist, less chauvinist bourgeois order — not for the right of the Tamil nation to self-determination, and certainly not for a class analysis of the national question that would expose the bourgeois state itself as the structural source of national oppression. His formal intellectual defence of Tamil historical memory therefore operates within the very political framework that generates the suppression he critiques.

This contradiction is precisely what makes his intervention in the Theepachelvan case so revealing — and so politically instructive. A man who has written extensively on how Sinhala-Buddhist historical consciousness suppresses Tamil historical memory, who has argued that post-war reconciliation is impossible without confronting that suppression, and who has documented in analytical detail the JVP’s own degeneration into Sinhala-Buddhist nationalist politics, now urges swift action by the NPP/JVP government that is suppressing Tamil historical testimony — not in order to vindicate the principle he has spent years articulating, but in order to protect the government’s political standing with the electorate. The defence of Theepachelvan Piratheepan’s books — of the Tamil people’s right to possess, circulate and build upon their own historical testimony of the war — is subordinated entirely to the political management needs of a bourgeois government Dewasiri has openly declared he supports. What his academic framework identifies as an ideological injustice demanding structural confrontation becomes, in the moment of concrete political decision, a governmental embarrassment requiring swift damage control. The principle survives in the academic publications; it dissolves entirely when the government he supports is the one doing the suppressing.

This is not hypocrisy in the ordinary personal sense. It is the structural logic of petty-bourgeois left politics in the epoch of imperialism. What must be stated with precision is the distinction between historical acknowledgement and political principle: Dewasiri’s academic credentials as a critic of Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism make his political function as a government defender more effective rather than less — allowing him to perform the role of principled critic while the substance of his intervention is the protection of a capitalist government that continues the security-state suppression of the very historical memory he has written about. The writings establish his credentials; his political conduct reveals his class allegiance.

The SLLA does not question the sincerity of Dewasiri’s academic work on Tamil historical oppression. We question its political value in the absence of the class independence that alone could give it practical force. Academic recognition of Tamil historical suffering, combined with political support for the bourgeois government that perpetuates it, does not advance the democratic rights of the Tamil people by a single degree. It provides intellectual legitimacy to the political management of their oppression.

This is not the first time Dewasiri has played this role. His trajectory — from X-Group intellectual and cultural radicalism, through ministerial advisor in 2010, to key civil-society architect of the 2015 Sirisena “good governance” coalition, to declared NPP supporter in 2026 — is the biography of the Sri Lankan pseudo-left intelligentsia’s absorption into the structures of bourgeois political management. At every stage, the rhetorical register changes — radical academic, trade union activist, “civil society” democrat, progressive government supporter — while the underlying political function remains constant: to channel mass discontent into safe institutional waters, to dress bourgeois politics in the language of popular aspiration, and to prevent the emergence of an independent, class-conscious political movement of the working class.

The SLLA’s critique of Dewasiri is not personal. It is the application of historical materialism to the concrete political role of a social layer. The pseudo-left intelligentsia does not invent the positions it holds; those positions are determined by its class position, its institutional dependencies, and its material and ideological integration into the structures of bourgeois society. Understanding this is essential to building the independent working-class political alternative that the Theepachelvan case — like every case of state repression before it — demands.

II. Jayathilaka Kammellaweera: The Literary Establishment as Cultural Gendarme

The response of figures like Dewasiri represents one mode of capitulation to the bourgeois state among those aligned with the NPP/JVP. The intervention of renowned Sinhala author and literary critic Jayathilaka Kammellaweera represents something qualitatively different and more openly reactionary: not the management of political embarrassment dressed in progressive credentials, but the direct rationalisation of censorship in the language of Sinhala cultural nationalism itself — a position that does not merely fail to defend Tamil democratic rights but actively argues for their suppression.

Kammellaweera’s position is unambiguous. He argued that books containing ideas damaging to “national reconciliation” could legitimately be detained on the grounds that they harm “social cohesion.” He knows — from what he “heard” about the books — precisely what they contain: the historical memory of the Tamil oppressed nation, the testimonies of the war, the mass atrocities, the dispossession of a people subjected to decades of Sinhala-chauvinist state violence. It is on this basis that he endorses their suppression. His acknowledgement that he has not read the exact text is therefore entirely marginal to his political position — reading the books would not alter his stance by a single degree, because his position is not formed from the specific arrangement of words on specific pages but from what those pages represent: Tamil historical testimony that the Sinhala cultural establishment, aligned with the NPP government, requires to be silenced.

The terms Kammellaweera deploys — “national reconciliation,” “social cohesion” — require class analysis, not liberal restatement. In the political vocabulary of the Colombo establishment since the military defeat of the LTTE in 2009, “national reconciliation” has functioned consistently as a euphemism for Tamil acquiescence to the terms of the Sinhala-Buddhist state’s military victory. “Social cohesion” refers not to the freely expressed unity of equal peoples but to the managed coexistence of unequal communities within the framework of the unitary Sinhala-Buddhist state — a framework in which Tamil historical memory is treated as a threat to stability precisely because it is true. Kammellaweera’s argument is therefore not a liberal position on the limits of free expression made in good faith. It is a Sinhala chauvinist argument made in the language of social harmony: it subordinates the right of the Tamil people to preserve and circulate their own historical memory of national oppression to the political requirements of a Sinhala-dominated state’s management of post-war ethnic relations.

The SLLA states this directly and without qualification: Kammellaweera’s position is objectively racist in its political content and consequences. It assumes the right of the Sinhala cultural establishment — aligned with a Sinhala-chauvinist government of the South — to determine what Tamil writers may say about the Tamil people’s experience of the war, and legitimises the suppression of Tamil historical testimony as a public service. When the NPP state detains Tamil books through the Defence Ministry and aligned literary intellectuals rationalise that act in the language of social cohesion, we witness the complete operation of bourgeois ideological control: the state provides the coercive instrument and the cultural intelligentsia provides the legitimising discourse. These two functions are inseparable. Kammellaweera’s statement is a cultural expression of the JVP/NPP’s deep roots in Sinhala chauvinism — the WSWS has warned that true to its vile record and the reactionary traditions of the Sri Lankan bourgeoisie, the JVP/NPP government will whip up anti-Tamil Sinhala-Buddhist chauvinism in an attempt to divide and weaken the working class — and it confirms that this tendency finds its reflection not only in the state apparatus but in the literary establishment that serves it.

The SLLA condemns Kammellaweera’s statement in the strongest possible terms. The defence of Theepachelvan Piratheepan’s right to write, publish and circulate his testimony of the war is not merely a Tamil democratic demand. It is a demand of the entire working class — Sinhala, Tamil and Muslim — for the right to know its own history, free from the censorship of any state and any literary establishment that has traded its critical independence for proximity to bourgeois political power.

Equally revealing is the conduct of the Arts Council of Sri Lanka, whose chairperson, Keerthi Welisarage declared — with breathtaking cynicism — that “there are no restrictions on freedom of expression in Sri Lanka” even as his institution’s recommendations formed part of the bureaucratic chain that kept Theepachelvan’s books in Customs detention. Cultural institutions subordinated to the state and its security apparatus do not defend artists; they police them — and the liberal intelligentsia that staffs and defends such institutions performs the same function in the domain of “civil society.”

The Continuity of State Repression and the Lessons of the SEP’s Record

The detention of Theepachelvan’s books must be situated within the pattern of sustained state repression against artists, writers and political dissenters in Sri Lanka that has intensified under every successive government. The Socialist Equality Party (SEP) and its affiliated Action Committee for the Defence of Freedom of Art and Expression (ACDAE) (now defunct) have fought consistently against this repression — defending writer Shakthika Sathkumara when he was imprisoned on trumped-up blasphemy charges; campaigning for the release of Tamil poet Ahnaf Jazeem, held for months by the Terrorism Investigations Division under the Prevention of Terrorism Act for the content of a poetry collection; and standing with film director and playwright Malaka Devapriya when he was subjected to intimidatory investigation by the Criminal Investigation Department. These were not isolated or tokenistic acts of solidarity. They expressed a principled, politically grounded understanding that the defence of democratic rights — including freedom of expression and artistic freedom — is inseparable from the struggle of the working class against the capitalist state.

The SLLA, as the Revolutionary Left Faction of the SEP, grounds its response to the current attack on Theepachelvan in the same political foundation. The defence of his books is not a matter of abstract liberal principle. It is a class question. The suppression of Tamil literary testimony about the war is an attack on the democratic rights of the Tamil masses and on the ability of the entire working class — Sinhala, Tamil and Muslim alike — to form independent political consciousness, to know its own history, and to build the movement necessary to defend its interests against austerity, communalism and authoritarianism.

What Must Be Done

The SLLA and thesocialist.lk demand:

1. Immediate and unconditional release of both detained books —  Elluttal Nan Yuttam Ceykiren and Ippothum Inge Irandu Thesangalil — by Theepachelvan Piratheepan, with no conditions, no ongoing surveillance and no further harassment of the author. We also demand immediate release of all books of other authors including those of writer and actor Antonythasan Jesuthasan.

2. Abolition of the practice whereby the Ministry of Defence — an institution of military-intelligence power — exercises authority over the import and circulation of literary works. The subordination of cultural institutions and customs procedures to the security apparatus must be ended. The repeal of all colonial-era and post-independence legal provisions — including parts of the Schedule B of the Customs Ordinance and its invocation of Section 120 of the Penal Code — used to suppress political literature and artistic expression is an urgent democratic necessity.

3. Full public accountability: the Defence Ministry must be compelled to explain publicly, on the record, on what specific grounds it determined that these literary works constituted a threat to national security. Secret, unaccountable determinations by the military-intelligence apparatus over the domain of political and artistic expression are fundamentally incompatible with democratic rights.

4. Mobilisation of workers, artists, students and youth: the SLLA calls for the broadest possible mobilisation in defence of Theepachelvan and of freedom of expression. Writers, publishers, academics, teachers, trade unionists and students must come together in independent democratic committees — in workplaces, universities and communities — to coordinate this defence outside and against the institutions of bourgeois civil society, which have proved incapable of providing principled opposition to state censorship.

5. Link the defence of democratic rights to socialist politics: the struggle against censorship, against the suppression of Tamil historical memory, and against the NPP government’s continuation of the security state cannot be separated from the struggle against IMF austerity, against the exploitation of the working class, and against the capitalist system that generates communalism and repression as instruments of class rule. The SLLA calls on workers and youth to break with the NPP, the JVP and all parties of the bourgeoisie, and to build an independent socialist political movement grounded in the program and perspectives of the International Committee of the Fourth International.

The SLLA and theSocialist.lk stand in unconditional solidarity with Theepachelvan Piratheepan. His work — bearing witness to the anguish, the loss, the resistance and the aspirations of the Tamil people — belongs to the historical memory not only of the Tamil nation but of the international working class. No security ministry, no colonial-era customs ordinance, and no NPP government that has betrayed the masses who trusted it can legitimately suppress that testimony.

The defence of art and free expression is the defence of the working class. The struggle for democratic rights is the struggle for socialism.