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ADDRESSING the parliament, president Anura Kumara Dissanayake affirmed the government’s commitment to confronting human rights violations from the past, stating: ‘We will face these grievous legacies openly, firmly, and with sensitivity to all communities.’ He specifically highlighted the Prevention of Terrorism Act, describing it as the ‘most potent and most misused national-security law in our history.’ Introduced 37 years ago during the early stages of the Tamil militant movement, the law was explicitly intended as a temporary safeguard. Yet now 16 years after the end of Sri Lanka’s armed conflict its continued necessity is rightly in serious question, a view shared by numerous local and international human-rights organizations.

This question was brought sharply into focus by the high-profile case of a young man detained under the law for more than nine months without formal charges. Ultimately released due to a complete absence of evidence of wrongdoing, his only offence appears to have been publicly expressing anger at the war crimes in Gaza by pasting an anti-Israel sticker near the Israeli consulate and posting an Instagram post of the Israeli flag being trampled. As a Muslim, he was presumed a security threat by the detaining authorities. This case is far from isolated. There have been multiple documented instances in which the law has been invoked to detain individuals especially from minority communities without trial or charge for extended periods.

Indeed, the law has been used disproportionately against ethnic and religious minorities, a symptom of deep-rooted mistrust that continues to impede national progress. Many successive administrations have cast these communities as potential fifth columns aligned with external, hostile interests. In the words of ancient wisdom, ‘A house divided against itself cannot prosper,’ a sentiment sadly borne out by Sri Lanka’s failure to fulfill its post-Independence promise. Recognizing this, the current government has pledged to abandon such a self-destructive mindset. President Dissanayake has explicitly assured citizens of all faiths and ethnicities that they will be treated equally under the law.

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Complex considerations

PRESIDENT Dissanayake’s declaration of human rights protection was well timed. It comes ahead of the upcoming UNHRC session in Geneva where Sri Lanka will once again confront Resolution 51/2 (2022). Since 2011, the UN Human Rights Council has adopted successive resolutions, criticising Sri Lanka’s human rights record, each introducing new conditions for compliance. In 2022, the council went a step further to establish a special monitoring unit in Geneva tasked with collecting data on alleged violations and making it available to any entity seeking to hold individuals accountable. This arrangement highlights the international community’s concern over accountability. There are indications, however, that the next resolution, with leading roles taken by the United Kingdom and Canada, may be more accommodating to Sri Lanka’s position.

One plausible explanation for a less severe resolution is discomfort at the international community’s comparatively muted response to Israel’s ongoing conduct in Gaza which is inconsistent with vigorously pressing Sri Lanka on human rights while avoiding dealing with other international crises. There will be less appetite in non-Western countries to go along with a human rights agenda that is not consistently applied and vote for a strong resolution on Sri Lanka. On the other hand, Tamil political parties and human-rights activists both locally and internationally have demanded independent international inquiries, citing a lack of confidence in the impartiality and efficacy of domestic investigations.

Meanwhile, the government’s commitment to national reconciliation is being tested by fresh discoveries at known mass-burial sites. Chemmani has yielded additional bodies including those of children as excavations continue. Awareness of the grave stretches back to 1998, when army officers convicted for the rape and murder of a schoolgirl and the murder of relatives searching for her confessed during trial to the existence of other buried corpses, ordered by their superiors. Subsequent governments repeatedly blocked or stalled investigations into those revelations, avoiding confrontation with these horrific truths. In his speech, president Dissanayake acknowledged the concerns. He reaffirmed the government’s non-interference in the Chemmani investigation, stating that police, the attorney general’s department and the judiciary will carry the process forward independently and transparently.

However, the difficulty is that investigating a mass grave in a former war zone cannot be reduced to routine criminal-investigation. The enormity of the wartime offenses and the charged social and political context inherently exceed the scope of ordinary criminal justice. When state institutions are implicated either directly or through military structures, they risk being overwhelmed by the scale of crime. This is precisely the domain of transitional justice, not criminal justice. Transitional justice encompasses the array of responses societies adopt to confront mass human-rights abuses often involving institutional actors when traditional jurisprudence is insufficient. These strategies include but are not limited to criminal prosecutions, reparations, institutional reform, memorialiszation, and, critically, truth-seeking mechanisms such as truth and reconciliation commissions.

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Broader plan

SRI Lanka’s recent history shows why transitional justice is essential. The crimes at Chemmani, and the wider wartime abuses, occurred in a climate of militarised governance, deep mistrust between communities, and targeting of vulnerable groups. The scale and nature of these crimes cannot be addressed by a court system designed to focus narrowly on individual offences. Ordinary prosecutions may succeed in punishing some perpetrators, but they rarely capture the full truth or the broader chain of responsibility. If the government chooses a path limited to conventional prosecutions, it risks delivering incomplete justice. Some offenders may be convicted, but the deeper wounds will remain, the institutional flaws will go uncorrected, and the possibility of renewed mistrust will persist.

The government’s commitment to equality before the law and to non-interference in investigations is commendable. But these pledges need to be part of a wider, deliberate plan for transitional justice. When state institutions themselves are implicated, whether through direct orders or through a climate of impunity, the regular courts often struggle to inspire public trust. In fact, the president himself has said as much. In such a situation, the institutions may be perceived by those who are from victim communities to lack the independence or capacity to confront entrenched patterns of abuse. In such situations, transitional justice mechanisms with international participation can help break the deadlock.

There is also the question of healing. A truth-seeking process offers something that trials alone cannot, which is a public acknowledgment of suffering and a shared understanding of the past. This allows victims to be heard and communities to begin rebuilding trust. This would mean creating a truth and reconciliation commission with genuine independence, a clear mandate, and broad representation. Victims and civil society, especially from minority communities, must be able to participate meaningfully. Legal accountability for the gravest crimes should be matched with reparations for victims and reforms that reduce the risk of abuse.

The mass graves that dot Sri Lanka are a stark reminder of the atrocities that took place during Sri Lanka’s multiple conflicts and the enduring pain of families who continue to search for truth and justice. They include those dumped in mass graves during the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna insurrections in the south of the country. Past investigations into mass graves in Sri Lanka have gone nowhere and been criticised for delays, lack of transparency and limited credibility. In particular, there is a need for a time frame. President Dissanayake’s pledges of equality and non-interference will need to be embedded in a broader plan.

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Jehan Perera is executive director of the National Peace Council of Sri Lanka.