In a chilling reminder of Sri Lanka’s authoritarianthe past, journalists at President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s May Day rally faced intimidation and censorship that has sent shockwaves through the nation’s fragile democratic institutions.
What began as a sea of red at Galle Face—the traditional colour of Dissanayake’s Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP)—quickly descended into something far more sinister, revealing the true colours of a regime that once promised transparency and freedom.
As President Dissanayake concluded his fiery speech to thunderous applause from party loyalists, journalists began quietly packing up their equipment and heading for the exits. Their departure coincided with JVP General Secretary Tilvin Silva taking the stage – a calculated move to file stories about the President’s remarks while meeting their publication deadlines.
This standard journalistic practice visibly agitated the event organisers, who quickly moved to block all exit points.
“You cannot leave until the event is over,” barked rally organisers to stunned reporters attempting to exit. When challenged about this unprecedented restriction on press movement, the organisers coldly responded that it was now “protocol” to remain imprisoned until the JVP leadership permitted release.
“I’ve covered political events for fifteen years across three administrations,” said one veteran journalist who requested anonymity, fearing reprisal. “Never have I been held against my will. This isn’t protocol – it’s intimidation straight from the authoritarian playbook.”
The most disturbing episode was yet to unfold. Lankadeepa photojournalist Lahiru Harshana captured what colleagues described as “a revelatory moment” – an authentic, unfiltered image of President Dissanayake that quickly went viral across social media platforms.
Within hours, the Presidential Media Division activated its censorship machinery. Editor of Daily Lankadeepa, Ajantha Kumara Agalakadawatta received a direct order: force Harshana to delete the photograph from his personal Facebook page.
“They weren’t asking – they were commanding,” revealed a source familiar with the situation. “This is how it begins. First, they control what images we can share. Tomorrow, they’ll dictate what truths we can report.”
The cruel irony? The President’s Director of International Media, Anuruddha Lokuhapuarachchi, had previously published doctored, derogatory images of former President Ranasinghe Premadasa. Yet Harshana’s image – a genuine, undoctored photograph – was deemed too dangerous for public consumption.
For Sri Lankans who remember the JVP’s bloody insurrections of the 1970s and 1980s, these developments trigger profound trauma. During those dark periods, journalists who dared challenge the party line faced intimidation, violence, and worse.
“What we witnessed at the May Day rally wasn’t just heavy-handed media management,” explained a prominent civil society leader. “These are the warning tremors of a seismic shift away from democratic norms. When a government fears an authentic photograph, imagine what other truths they’re determined to suppress.”
Perhaps most disturbing was watching the aftermath: Harshana deleted his post, later confirming he “had to” remove the image. His brief statement speaks volumes about the pressure applied behind closed doors.
“When journalists begin self-censoring out of fear, democracy’s immune system is failing,” warned a media freedom advocate. “Today, it’s a photograph. Tomorrow, there will be corruption investigations, policy criticisms, and eventually, electoral reporting.”
Sri Lanka stands at a pivotal moment. Having emerged from economic collapse and the corruption of previous regimes, citizens placed their faith in Dissanayake’s promises of transparency and democratic renewal. That faith now appears tragically misplaced.
“The photographs not shown, the stories not written – these will be the true measure of this administration,” reflected a former diplomat. “A government confident in its legitimacy welcomes scrutiny. Only those with something to hide fear the camera’s honest eye.”
The message for political operatives across party lines is clear: Sri Lanka’s democratic guardrails are being dismantled with alarming speed. The tactics used against journalists today will be deployed against opposition voices tomorrow.
As darkness falls across Colombo’s media landscape, one question haunts those committed to democratic principles: If the JVP is willing to reveal such naked authoritarianism just months into power, what repression awaits when they feel truly secure?
The world is watching. History is watching. Most importantly, Sri Lankan citizens are watching—even as the images that would inform them are systematically erased.
