J.R.'s Pardon of Gonawala Sunil: A Forgotten Chapter That Still Haunts Sri Lankan Politics
By Staff Writer
For a country that never tires of debating justice, accountability, and human rights, Sri Lanka possesses a remarkable ability to forget some of the most controversial episodes of its own political history.
Among them is the story of Gonawala Sunil, one of the most notorious underworld figures of the late twentieth century, whose name once inspired fear across parts of the island. Yet for younger generations, the name has largely faded from public memory.
The question remains: should it?
In 1981, Gonawala Sunil was serving a prison sentence following his conviction in a rape case involving a 17-year-old girl. The case attracted considerable public attention and generated outrage at the time. Many Sri Lankans believed the conviction represented an example of the courts functioning as they should, delivering justice in a serious criminal matter.
What followed, however, became one of the most controversial decisions of the era.
On 7 July 1981, during celebrations marking the golden jubilee of universal adult franchise in Sri Lanka, President J.R. Jayewardene granted a presidential pardon to Gonawala Sunil. The decision shocked many observers and immediately generated questions regarding the circumstances that led to the pardon.
Decades later, controversy continues regarding who influenced the decision and what political considerations may have been involved. Critics have repeatedly pointed to the pardon as an example of political power overriding judicial outcomes.
The episode remains particularly relevant because many contemporary political figures continue to present themselves as champions of democracy, liberal values, and the rule of law. As Sri Lanka debates governance, corruption, and accountability in the present day, some commentators argue that difficult questions from the past should not be conveniently forgotten.
Historical accounts suggest that following his release, Gonawala Sunil's influence expanded significantly. Rather than disappearing from public life, he emerged as a powerful political enforcer with extensive connections.
His rise became a symbol of a broader phenomenon that characterised parts of Sri Lankan politics during the period: the intertwining of political authority and criminal networks.
Critics argue that the real scandal was not merely the pardon itself, but what came afterwards.
Despite his criminal background, Gonawala Sunil reportedly enjoyed considerable political protection and influence. His name would later become associated by various commentators and researchers with some of the darkest chapters of Sri Lanka's political violence during the 1980s.
These historical controversies continue to attract attention whenever discussions arise regarding state-sponsored violence, political intimidation, and the erosion of public trust in institutions.
Today, public outrage frequently erupts over allegations of sexual violence and failures within the criminal justice system. Politicians across the political spectrum compete to express solidarity with victims and condemn perpetrators.
Yet the Gonawala Sunil affair raises an uncomfortable question.
How many of those now speaking passionately about justice were equally vocal when a convicted offender received one of the most extraordinary acts of executive clemency in Sri Lankan history?
The issue is not merely about one individual or one pardon.
It is about the principle that judicial decisions should carry meaning. When courts deliver a sentence in a serious criminal case, citizens expect that sentence to be respected. When political power intervenes, confidence in the justice system inevitably suffers.
More than four decades have passed since the events of July 1981. Many of the principal actors are gone. Others remain active participants in public debate.
But history has a habit of resurfacing.
As Sri Lanka continues to examine questions of accountability, from political violence to allegations of abuse of power, the Gonawala Sunil controversy remains a reminder that public memory can be selective.
The debate is not simply about the past.
It is about whether political leaders, regardless of party affiliation, should be held accountable for controversial decisions made under their watch.
For those who remember the events of 1981, the question remains unanswered.
How did a convicted criminal receive such extraordinary political favour?
And why, after all these years, are so many people reluctant to discuss it?
History may not provide easy answers. But it continues to ask difficult questions.