When Democracy Dies in Darkness: The Search for Truth in Sri Lanka’s Easter Bombings
“Malli, are you okay?”
The call came around 9 AM on Easter Sunday, April 21, 2019. Even six years later, senior journalist Upendra Herath’s worried voice still echoes in my memory. When I assured him I was safe, he sighed in relief before delivering the news: St. Anthony’s Church in Kochikade had just been bombed. His fear was personal—he knew how deeply I was connected to that community, how often I attended Sunday mass there.
That morning, providence had led me to an earlier service elsewhere. But as I rushed to Athavan TV, my workplace, the growing horror became clear. Not just St. Anthony’s, but two more churches and three luxury hotels had been struck in coordinated suicide attacks. By day’s end, more than 270 souls would be gone, over 500 more wounded, and Sri Lanka would be forever changed.
For me, Kochikade wasn’t merely another Colombo neighborhood. It was where my family first settled after fleeing Jaffna, where St. Anthony’s Youth Front had embraced us as their own. On Tuesday evenings, we’d gather for prayer in that same church that would be shattered on that fateful morning, then fan out to collect food parcels for the poor. In an age where technology increasingly isolates us, that community taught me what belonging truly means.
When I finally reached St. Anthony’s, the sealed perimeter kept me out. But my decade-long bonds with local families paid off—one allowed us onto their balcony overlooking the church compound. From there, I watched the aftermath unfold while learning that several parishioners I personally knew hadn’t survived the explosion. The pain was visceral, immediate, overwhelming.
In the days and months that followed, I covered the story for local and international media. I guided ABC’s Siobhan Heanue through victims’ homes in Kochikade and Katuwapitiya, traveled with Al Jazeera’s 101 East crew-one of the first international crews to document the tragedy comprehensively. Our journey took us to Mawanella and other affected areas, including the blast site in Batticaloa, to understand the deeper context.
Their documentary explored not just what happened, but why. In Batticaloa, a mother who lost both children at Zion Church described her son’s talent for playing guitar and her daughter’s graceful dancing. She showed us a video of children, including her son and daughter, happily attending Sunday school session mere moments before the bombing. “My children were my universe,” she told us, her hands trembling. Such moments of raw grief became the backdrop to a much larger, more sinister narrative.
What emerged was a pattern of ignored warnings, inexplicable security lapses, and an investigation that seemed designed to obscure rather than reveal. As Father Joy Mariaratnam, who conducted that fateful Easter mass, told me: “It seems that we were sacrificed for someone’s political gain.”
Multiple intelligence warnings had been issued about the attacks, including specific alerts about targeted churches and the radical preacher Zahran Hashim. Yet these were systematically ignored. The Supreme Court later confirmed these failures, ordering former president Maithripala Sirisena to pay reparations. But questions lingered: Why were warnings deliberately disregarded? Who benefited from this tragedy?
A Pattern of Orchestrated Violence
This wasn’t the first time such whispers had circulated in Sri Lankan journalism circles. When Minister Jeyaraj Fernandopulle was killed in 2008, when the Kebithigollewa attack took place in 2006, I heard the same hushed conversations among colleagues: these attacks were choreographed by those in power. But with the LTTE—the common enemy of the Sinhala majority—still active, all blame was conveniently redirected to them. No serious investigations followed.
The Easter attacks were different. They occurred nearly a decade after the brutal civil war ended, when the LTTE was no longer operational. This time, the perpetrators couldn’t easily deflect blame onto an extinct enemy, though some have certainly tried. The current NPP government must not allow history to repeat itself.
After all, if those responsible have already demonstrated the experience and expertise to engineer such devastating attacks, what guarantee do we have they won’t orchestrate another crisis when it suits their political ambitions? Finding the ultimate truth and imposing severe punishment isn’t just about justice for past victims—it’s about preventing future tragedies.
The Darker Truth Emerges
As revealed in Sri Lanka’s Parliament, then MP Nalin Bandara publicly alleged that the Easter Sunday attacks were orchestrated as a calculated move to return to power.
“The 52-day coup was unsuccessful before court. That is when plan B came into play expediently with the vandalising of Buddha statues in Mawanella. When you consider the removal of Shani Abeysekara & the officers who executed that directive, it becomes clearly evident that Gotabaya Rajapaksa wanted to stop the revelation of this conspiracy coming to light.”
The 2023 Channel 4 documentary “Truth Behind the Easter Bombings” dropped a bombshell: evidence suggesting the attacks were not merely acts of terrorism but a choreographed tragedy designed to propel the Rajapaksa family back to power.
Despite the NPP government’s promises of transparency and justice, progress remains glacial. As the Daily FT editorial warned in 2023 during Ranil Wickremesinghe’s presidency: “In the absence of any movement or progress in the investigations and prosecution of perpetrators there is no choice but to assume that the current Wickremesinghe regime is also very much part of this cover-up.” If President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s government fails to take concrete action, this same criticism may apply to them too.
One thing this NPP government must understand—and understand quickly—is that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Remember, Gotabaya Rajapaksa came to power with a massive mandate, backed by the military and the Buddhist clergy. Yet, despite all that, he was forced to flee the country, and his presidency ended in just 970 days.
In a world fraught with economic and geopolitical uncertainty, no government can take its full term for granted. This is not a moment for complacency. Act swiftly on your promises—because there may not be a second chance.
The people gave you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, believing you were different—that you weren’t driven by hunger for power, and that you would take bold, principled action, free from the grip of traditional political games. Prove them right. Not someday. Now.
Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith, who has become the moral compass for the truth movement, expressed cautious optimism about President Dissanayake’s renewed investigation. But actions speak louder than words, and with each passing Easter, hope dims.
Uncovering the truth and holding the perpetrators accountable is crucial—because their sinister motive wasn’t just destruction, but to ignite widespread communal violence. Had the Catholic Church not responded with wisdom and restraint during those tense days, Sri Lanka could have descended into riots even worse than those of 1983.
Beyond Statistics: The Human Cost
For right-thinking Sri Lankans—and especially the Catholic community—Easter no longer symbolizes renewal but serves as an annual reminder of impunity and institutional betrayal. Every attempt to return to normalcy is undermined by the festering wound of unanswered questions. The perpetrators walk free, while victims’ families are left with nothing but painful memories and hollow promises.
The attacks shattered more than just bodies; they broke the social fabric of a nation that had only recently emerged from a three-decade civil war. In Kochikade, where Hindus, Buddhists, and Muslims once visited St. Anthony’s Church alongside Catholics, trust has eroded. The community that once exemplified Sri Lanka’s multicultural spirit now bears the scars of targeted violence.
A Call to Global Conscience
This is not merely a Sri Lankan tragedy—it’s a test of humanity’s commitment to justice. When democratic institutions fail, when truth becomes negotiable, and when political expediency trumps human lives, we all lose. The Easter Sunday attacks represent not just a crime against Sri Lanka’s Catholics but against the fundamental principles of human dignity and accountability.
To the international community: Your silence enables impunity. To journalists worldwide: Your attention is crucial when local voices are silenced. To citizens everywhere: Your solidarity matters when a nation’s conscience is under assault.
As I write this, I think of that mother in Batticaloa, forever watching a video of her children’s last moments. I hear Niranjan Luxman, who was featured in Al Jazeera’s documentary, describing the horror of watching parishioners die while the choir sang. I see Father Joy continuing to serve a traumatized community while demanding truth.
For them, for all of us, Easter must again mean hope—not through forgetting, but through fearless pursuit of justice. Six years have passed, but the smoke from those bombs still chokes Sri Lanka’s soul. Only truth can clear the air. Only justice can heal these wounds. And only together can we ensure that more than 270 lives weren’t lost in vain.
The silence has gone on too long. It’s time for the world to listen, and for Sri Lanka to finally know the truth.
Arun Arokianathan is an Asia Journalism Fellow and a Chevening South Asia Journalism Programme (SAJP) Fellow. Follow his work and insights on Twitter @aroarun and connect with him on LinkedIn at
