Emergency Laws, Selective Memory, and Political Amnesia: What Does Faizer Musthapa Really Know About Sri Lanka’s Past?
Colombo, January 6 — As Parliament debated the emergency regulations proposed by the government under the guise of managing a “current disaster situation,” one voice from the Opposition stood out for its forceful criticism. Opposition Parliamentarian and lawyer Faizer Musthapa warned the House that the emergency regulations now being contemplated bear striking similarities to the repressive regulations imposed during the ‘Aragalaya’ period and those enacted in the aftermath of the Easter Sunday terror attacks.
Speaking during the parliamentary debate on the emergency proclamation issued by the President, Musthapa asserted that while the Opposition was prepared to extend full cooperation to the government to manage any genuine disaster situation, the content and scope of the proposed regulations posed a serious threat to civil liberties, particularly freedom of expression and property rights.
Yet Musthapa’s intervention has raised a more uncomfortable and politically sensitive question: does the MP—and senior lawyer—fully acknowledge or understand Sri Lanka’s own dark history of emergency laws, especially those enacted and abused under UNP governments in the 1980s and 1990s?
Emergency Laws and the Politics of Convenience
Musthapa told Parliament that the regulations currently being proposed had “no real connection to disaster management,” arguing instead that they appeared designed to control public dissent, restrict expression, and expand coercive state power.
He was particularly critical of Article 19 of the regulations, which empowers authorities to control the distribution of printed material, suppress alleged rumours, and penalise what the state deems “false statements.”
“These provisions constitute a direct and severe violation of freedom of expression,” Musthapa warned, arguing that they go far beyond what is necessary to manage an emergency situation.
He also opposed Article 02, which permits the requisitioning of vehicles and private property, stating that such powers open the door to abuse and arbitrary state action.
On the surface, Musthapa’s objections align with democratic norms and constitutional safeguards. But critics argue that his outrage appears selective and historically amnesic, particularly given the UNP’s own record.
A Letter That Undermines the Emergency Narrative
In what he described as a decisive revelation, Musthapa informed Parliament that the Secretary to the Ministry of Defence had already declared the disaster situation to be over.
According to the MP, a letter dated 5 December 2025, issued by the Defence Secretary, explicitly stated that the prevailing disaster condition had ended. Musthapa said he would table the letter in Parliament, questioning the legal and factual basis for continuing emergency regulations thereafter.
He further cited a Supreme Court determination dated 23 July 2025, which ruled that similar emergency regulations imposed during the Aragalaya period were unlawful. On that basis, Musthapa argued that the present regulations could once again face serious constitutional challenges.
The Missing Historical Context: UNP’s Emergency Rule Legacy
However, Musthapa’s speech conspicuously avoided a deeper historical reckoning—one that many legal scholars and victims’ families believe cannot be ignored.
During the 1980s and early 1990s, successive UNP governments ruled Sri Lanka almost continuously under Emergency Regulations. These laws were not merely administrative tools; they became instruments of systematic political repression.
Under emergency rule:
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Political parties such as the JVP were banned, and leftist movements including the NSSP and LSSP were harassed, suppressed, or rendered ineffective.
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Thousands of individuals suspected of supporting the JVP or the SLFP were abducted, detained without charge, tortured, or forcibly disappeared.
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Emergency laws were used to suspend due process, normalise secret detention centres, and shield perpetrators from accountability.
Does Faizer Musthapa, as a lawyer and UNP parliamentarian, acknowledge this history?
Welikada Prison Massacre and State-Sanctioned Violence
Perhaps the most chilling episode associated with UNP-era emergency governance was the Welikada Prison massacre, where Tamil detainees were brutally killed inside a high-security prison.
The widely documented attacks occurred while the state exercised extraordinary emergency powers. UNP-aligned prison guards and organised mobs were allowed to enter prison premises, resulting in the killing of Tamil political detainees who were already in state custody.
No meaningful accountability followed.
The emergency regulations that Musthapa now critiques were once the very legal shields that enabled such atrocities. The question remains: has the UNP ever offered full political or moral accountability for those crimes?
Tamils Detained Under Emergency Laws
Throughout the conflict years, thousands of Tamil civilians were detained under emergency regulations and the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), often without evidence, charge, or trial.
Men, women, and even minors were incarcerated for years in Boossa, Welikada, Kalutara, and other detention centres, simply on suspicion. Emergency law became a collective punishment mechanism, not a security necessity.
Musthapa’s parliamentary intervention makes no reference to this reality.
Easter Sunday and the Detention of Muslims
More recently, following the Easter Sunday terror attacks, emergency laws were once again weaponised—this time disproportionately against the Muslim community.
Thousands of Muslim men were arrested, detained, interrogated, and in many cases held without credible evidence. Businesses were shut down, reputations destroyed, and entire communities placed under suspicion.
How many of those detainees were later released without charge?
How many lives were irreversibly damaged?
And crucially: where was Faizer Musthapa’s parliamentary outrage then?
Emergency Laws and Political Hypocrisy
The core issue raised by Musthapa’s speech is not whether emergency regulations should be scrutinised—they absolutely should. The real issue is credibility.
Emergency laws in Sri Lanka have never been neutral tools. They have historically been used:
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To silence political opposition
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To suppress minority communities
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To bypass judicial oversight
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To protect ruling-party violence
For decades, the SLFP perfected this model of governance. For a SLFP parliamentarian to now position himself as a guardian of civil liberties—without acknowledging this legacy—raises legitimate questions about political sincerity versus political convenience.
A Call for Transparency—Beginning with Oneself
Musthapa concluded his speech by urging the government not to extend the repressive regulations, and instead to develop a transparent, lawful, and inclusive disaster-management mechanism with the cooperation of all parties.
He also noted that for genuine cooperation from opposition parties and public officials, the government must pursue a clearly lawful approach.
That argument, many observers agree, is sound.
But before lecturing the current NPP-led government on the dangers of emergency laws, Faizer Musthapa is being called upon to come clean about his own party’s historical record, and to publicly acknowledge:
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The banning of political parties under UNP emergency rule
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The Welikada prison killings
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The mass abductions and enforced disappearances of the 1980s–90s
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The prolonged detention of Tamils under emergency laws
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The post–Easter Sunday detention of Muslims
Without such honesty, critics argue, Musthapa’s parliamentary warnings risk being interpreted not as principled constitutionalism, but as selective outrage rooted in political opportunism.
In Sri Lanka, emergency laws have never existed in a vacuum. They carry blood-soaked memories, unresolved trauma, and unanswered questions. Any politician invoking civil liberties today must be prepared to confront that past—fully, openly, and without evasion.