Mirage … ready to rock Australia

They may not be seen and heard, on a regular basis, on social media, but the group Mirage, with Donald Pieris at the helm, is very much alive, active, and absolutely rocking in the entertainment scene here in Colombo!

Every Thursday, they move into action at Jazzebel. Every Friday, they light up the Irish Pub. And when the weekend comes, the city knows — Mirage is in town!

What’s more, they are also in great demand overseas, and have performed abroad on several occasions. Their music has no passport it travels!

And now, Mirage is ready to zoom their way to Australia – this month.

They leave Colombo on the 12th of November and their first engagement is on the 14th, in Melbourne, followed by a sizzling gig in Adelaide on the 21st.

But the jewel in the crown — the big event that awaits them — is the farewell concert for the Australia-based group Replay-6, to be held in Melbourne, on 28th November.

Leader Donald:Pieris: “We are aLIVE band and wehave alwaysplayed live

This event has been described as a powerhouse of timeless tunes, closing the curtain on a legendary 50-year musical journey, and will also feature several other top artistes.

Mirage will be back in Colombo after their final performance on 29th November — which is a Christmas event, organised by the ever-popular Noeline Honter. Noeline will also be seen in action with Mirage when they perform in Melbourne and Adelaide — adding her own magic to the Mirage magic!

Their next overseas assignment is in the Seychelles – from 7th of December till the 10th of January, 2027.

Founded in 1989 by veteran drummer and vocalist Donald Peiris, Mirage is extremely popular in the Seychelles as well, and this would be their fourth trip to the beautiful islands!

Yes, this is a band that has done it all! Mirage has done the scene in Europe, performing in the club circuits of Germany, Switzerland, and Austria.

What’s more, they became an overnight success in Dubai, being featured at the Novotel (later Marco Polo) scene for over a decade — something of a record in the Middle East! They played all the leading club circuits, and even participated in the Battle of the Bands in Dubai 2000, and Bahrain 2005 — placed second.

On their return to Colombo, they went into action at the Galadari Hotel, and became the talk of the town!

The current dynamic lineup that is ready to rock Australia:

Donald Pieris – drums/vocals; Toosha – keyboards/vocals; Danu – vocals; Gayan – guitar/vocals; Suraj – bass/vocals.

What makes Mirage so special, so timeless, so loved?

It’s simple. They are a LIVE band — no programming, no tricks, no backing tracks.

As Donald says emphatically, with that signature smile — “We have always played live.”

And that is why Mirage has survived, thrived, and continues to rock — from Colombo to Dubai, from Europe to Seychelles, and now — Australia!

SAARC: The regional dream that South Asia never quite built – II

Panamure changed a nation: Will Kawantissa?

The potential gains are substantial. Nepal and Bhutan possess enormous hydropower resources; India has enormous demand; Bangladesh’s energy needs are growing; Sri Lanka has considerable renewable-energy and shipping potential; and Pakistan faces serious energy challenges. A regional electricity market involving Bangladesh, Bhutan, India and Nepal has been estimated to offer capital-cost savings of about $17bn.

(Excerpts from the inaugural SAU-RCSS lecture delivered at the Regional Centre for Strategic Studies, Colombo, on 26 October, 2026)

The consequences extend far beyond diplomatic summits and trade statistics. Roads stop at borders. Railways remain disconnected. Customs systems fail to communicate effectively with each other, trucks encounter delays, energy grids remain insufficiently connected and restrictive visa arrangements impede business and professional travel. Tariffs, non-tariff barriers, investment restrictions and inadequate transport infrastructure compound the problem.

Signing a free trade agreement is not the same as creating free trade. A tariff reduction means little if a truck cannot cross a border efficiently. A market-access commitment means little if businesses face unpredictable regulations or investors cannot move capital with confidence.

Climate change makes cooperation still less optional. Rivers connect countries; the Himalayas feed major river systems, and the monsoon crosses borders. Floods, glacial melt, water scarcity, cyclones, air pollution, food insecurity and pandemics do not stop at customs posts. Regional cooperation is not merely an economic convenience; it is increasingly a developmental and security necessity. The recent disasters in Nepal were a reminder, if one is needed.

And then there is the all-important generational question. South Asia is home to one of the world’s largest concentrations of young people. Millions enter the labour market every year, in need of jobs, education, mobility, technology, investment and access to markets.

This is a double-edged sword. Get it right, and the region’s youth potential could vindicate the theory that a country must get rich before it gets old. Get it wrong, and a frustrated and radicalised youth population in a region of such extraordinary population density could spell very serious trouble. The first embers of that trouble are already visible in many, if not most, South Asian countries.

A regional economy could generate opportunities beyond the reach of individual national markets.

Yet the people with the most to gain from integration – the youth – have the least influence over the diplomatic decisions that prevent it.

Every cancelled summit reinforces the idea that regional cooperation is optional. Every border closure encourages businesses to look elsewhere. Every delayed agreement weakens confidence.

Gradually but, inevitably, the region thus normalises non-cooperation

. That may be SAARC’s most dangerous legacy: not simply failure, but normalised failure. People begin to assume that South Asian countries cannot cooperate, when the real problem is that their governments have repeatedly failed to give cooperation the political breathing space it needs.

The search for alternatives is understandable. BIMSTEC, bringing together Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Myanmar, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Thailand, offers opportunities for cooperation. The South Asia Subregional Economic Cooperation (SASEC) programme has also supported regional connectivity and development. Where SAARC is blocked, India and its neighbours may be compelled to pursue progress elsewhere. Smaller groups can move ahead on transport, energy, trade and infrastructure rather than waiting indefinitely for consensus among all eight members. Of course, this is without Pakistan’s participation

But there are limits to this approach. A South Asia integrated around everything except its two principal rivals would remain a partial solution. By passing Pakistan does not eliminate infrastructure bottlenecks, protectionism, weak institutions or political mistrust.

Nor can India integrate the region alone.

There is also the danger that a proliferation of regional arrangements could dissipate scarce administrative capacity while leaving the fundamental problem unresolved.

The more sensible approach is variable geometry: where all eight countries can cooperate. They should; where consensus is impossible, smaller groups should be allowed to move forward without abandoning the wider regional framework. Subregional initiatives should reinforce South Asian regionalism, not become permanent substitutes for it.

Nor should smaller countries be treated as spectators in a contest between New Delhi and Islamabad. Bangladesh has major stakes in regional connectivity; Nepal and Bhutan need market access and energy networks; Sri Lanka is an Indian Ocean trading and logistics centre; the Maldives depends heavily on connectivity, tourism and maritime links; Afghanistan, despite its Taliban trouble, plays excellent international cricket in truly border-less fashion, and has an interest in access to South Asian and Central Asian markets.

Genuine regionalism must give these countries a stronger institutional voice. Political equality must translate into meaningful economic participation and autonomy. ASEAN have done this judiciously and pragmatically. And they have prospered while SAARC has faltered. Pakistan and India, therefore, need to recalculate. In particular:

* Pakistan and India cannot continue to advocate regional cooperation while keeping economic relations with each other hostage to every political crisis,

* Pakistan’s security concerns and disputes, vis-a vis India, and Pakistan’s claim for sovereign equality, are real even if some of it may be debatable.

* But so are the costs of isolation which Pakistan needs to calculate. So, Pakistan can’t afford to overlook the need to address the cross-border terrorism issue squarely.

* Pakistan could potentially become a major transit economy connecting South Asia with Afghanistan and Central Asia.

* Economic cooperation and political disagreement need not always be mutually exclusive. There are many lessons from ASEAN, Africa, Latin America and even Europe.

SAARC cannot and does not need to become another ASEAN or European Union overnight. That is neither realistic nor necessary. It only needs to make cooperation routine and ‘normal’!

Tariffs must be reduced, but non-tariff barriers deserve even greater attention. Trucks, trains, ships and digital services must be able to cross borders more efficiently. Energy grids, without ‘killer switches,’ need to become genuinely interconnected. Predictable rules must encourage cross-border investment, while business and professional travel should become easier.

Institutional mechanisms must also allow projects that grow trade and value add, to continue even when bilateral relations deteriorate. Above all, economic cooperation should be protected from political disputes at least, wherever possible.

None of this will be easy. They need to be negotiated. Trustworthy pragmatism is the missing ingredient, and trust cannot be created through declarations and Summit final documents alone. Countries will hesitate to invest in regional infrastructure if political tensions can suddenly destroy the economic calculation. Businesses cannot build reliable supply chains if customs procedures can be disrupted politically. Smaller states will remain cautious if dependence on a dominant neighbour could become political leverage and the bigger neighbour demands ‘strategic loyalty’ and sovereign assets as kick-backs in return for economic partnership.

They must learn the ASEAN ‘art of the deal’ to depolticise economics and economise politics. Trust, in other words, is not sentimental. It is an economic variable.

Of course, only an incurable optimist would expect that India and Pakistan will not continue to disagree. But their governments must decide whether every disagreement should be allowed to obstruct the longer-term strategic interests of the wider region led by them. India must recognise that leadership in an asymmetric region involves costs and that these costs cannot be handled only through coercive bilateral means but be smartly defrayed through collective regionalism.

Pakistan must recognise that isolation carries costs of its own and their new-found outreach Westwards, including the ‘nuclear umbrella,’ is a tactical function of the current volatility in the Middle East and may not be a lasting starategic phenomenon. Both must accept that cooperation can be pursued without requiring political agreement on everything.

South Asia should welcome and support India’s rise as the world’s most populous country and largest democracy, with a young population, substantial purchasing power and a middle class comparable in size to, or even larger than, the entire US population. If a democratic India’s ascent is peaceful and rules-based, it is not a threat to be feared, but an opportunity to be seized.

India must reciprocate by offering to work with all in SAARC to convert asymmetries into mutually beneficial complementarities through negotiations based on sovereignty and strategic autonomy.

Yet India’s aspirations for global leadership in an emerging multipolar order, the clear contours of which are still suffering from birthing pangs, cannot be realised without the confidence and cooperation of its neighbours.

As Indian External Affairs Minister (EAM) Dr Jaishankar himself has cogently put, ‘India’s global standing is inseparable from its role in its neighbourhood’. If India is to be recognised as a ‘leading power and not a balancing power’, again EAM’s words, India must earn that recognition through, constructive rather than power-based, leadership credentials in the subregion.

It cannot expect regional acceptance while seeing South Asia solely through the prism of its geopolitical playbook. That is probably why some Indian analysts themselves describe, may be in partisan fashion, India’s ‘neighbourhood first policy as an euphemism for a neighbourhood lost.

New Delhi must, in particular, rethink the implicit assumption that India can do without SAARC, while SAARC cannot do without India. Such thinking is strategically flawed, even in terms of India’s own interests in assuming subregional leadership and playing a ‘Sherpa’ role. A regional platform for economic cooperation, representing nearly $67 billion in trade, cannot remain hostage indefinitely to the India–Pakistan impasse or to India’s unilateral calculations of its place in the emerging multipolar order.

Pakistan, too, must address the security and terrorism concerns obstructing progress through appropriate bilateral or plurilateral mechanisms. India, as the region’s pre-eminent power and potential economic ‘prime mover’, bears the greater responsibility for breaking the deadlock.

Within such a ‘neighbourly ecosystem’, all sides must—and can—move beyond mutual suspicion and strategic inertia to secure a fair deal for their respective taxpayers, without imposing unacceptable costs on their broader strategic and geopolitical aspirations.

Leadership is measured not by size or ambition alone but by the ability to build trust, common ground, regional institutions and turn national ascendancy into shared prosperity. After all, the raison d’être of smart diplomacy is to build common ground where none seems to exist. (Concluded)

(H.M.G.S. Palihakkara is a former Secretary to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Sri Lank

Seventy-six years after the death of Panamure Eth Raja helped bring Sri Lanka’s elephant kraal era to an end, the death of another magnificent elephant raises an uncomfortable question: Has our capacity to protect wildlife advanced as far as our scientific knowledge and conservation institutions?

In August 1950, an elephant was shot dead inside a wooden stockade at Panamure because he resisted repeated attempts to capture and restrain him.

Seventy-six years later, on 16 October 2026, another magnificent elephant died in the Siyambalangamuwa area of Galgamuwa after weeks of treatment for a reported gunshot injury.

The first became immortalised in Sri Lankan history as Panamure Eth Raja. The second was Kawantissa, one of the country’s most imposing and recognisable wild tuskers.

Their circumstances were different. Their deaths occurred in different eras, under different conditions, and cannot reasonably be regarded as identical tragedies.

Yet, together, they raise a question of extraordinary significance.

Between Panamure and Kawantissa lie 76 years of scientific advancement, wildlife legislation, protected areas, conservation institutions, veterinary knowledge and technological innovation.

Sri Lanka has undergone profound changes in how it understands, values and manages its wildlife.

But have those changes translated into an equivalent improvement in our ability to protect wild elephants?

In 1950, the death of one elephant compelled society to question an established practice. In 2026, the death of another challenges us to examine how far we have actually progressed.

Panamure: When an accepted practice became unacceptable

To appreciate the historical significance of Panamure, we must look beyond the romanticised story of an elephant who became a national hero.

Elephant kraals were organised operations in which wild elephants were driven into enormous wooden stockades, restrained, captured and eventually removed for domestication, labour, ceremonial purposes or sale.

These were not necessarily clandestine activities conducted by criminals.

They were established practices associated with influential individuals and accepted within the social, economic and political circumstances of their time.

The final elephant kraal at Panamure, in 1950, was organised on land belonging to Sir Francis Molamure, then Speaker of Parliament.

Considerable resources were devoted to constructing the stockade, organising hundreds of workers, assembling trained elephants and making arrangements for visitors. The operation reflected the social acceptance and institutional legitimacy that elephant capture enjoyed at the time.

But one powerful male elephant resisted the attempts to restrain him.

According to H. I. E. Katugaha’s historical account, published in the scientific journal Gajah in 2008, the animal repeatedly broke free from restraints and confronted trained elephants brought into the enclosure.

The event provoked public outrage and entered the country’s collective memory as a defining moment in the changing relationship between humans and wild elephants.

Over the decades, the elephant became a legendary figure, widely portrayed as a magnificent tusker who sacrificed his life defending his herd.

Interestingly, Katugaha’s account disputes important elements of that popular narrative. Drawing on recollections of those associated with the kraal, he describes the animal as a powerful male with short tusk-like teeth rather than the impressive long-tusked herd leader of folklore.

The historical evidence does not settle every aspect of the story. But the distinction is important.

An elephant does not need magnificent tusks, exceptional physical attributes or a heroic reputation to deserve protection from unnecessary suffering.

Indeed, one of the more revealing details in Katugaha’s account concerns the animals captured during that final kraal. He records that the captured adult elephants had sustained gunshot injuries.

What was regarded as an established method of obtaining elephants involved consequences that later generations would increasingly regard as unacceptable.

The public reaction to Panamure contributed to the end of elephant kraaling in Sri Lanka. Although the legal history is more complicated than the popular account of an immediate and absolute statutory prohibition, the 1950 event became the country’s last elephant kraal.

That is its enduring historical significance.

The greatest legacy of Panamure Eth Raja was not that an elephant became famous after his death. It was that his death helped change what society was prepared to accept.

Seventy-six years of progress, and an uncomfortable paradox

When Panamure Eth Raja was killed, Sri Lanka was a newly independent nation.

Wildlife science was comparatively undeveloped, conservation institutions were limited, and public attitudes towards animals reflected a very different era.

Today, the contrast could hardly be greater.

Sri Lanka possesses an extensive framework of wildlife legislation, national parks and protected areas, a dedicated Department of Wildlife Conservation, veterinary professionals, scientific institutions and university researchers.

We have acquired substantial knowledge of elephant behaviour, ecology, social organisation, reproduction, habitat use and movement patterns.

Modern technology has transformed wildlife research and created opportunities for observation and monitoring that would have been unimaginable in 1950.

Our understanding of animal welfare has also evolved.

Wild elephants are no longer regarded principally as animals to be captured and put to human use. They are recognised as an integral part of Sri Lanka’s biodiversity and natural heritage.

These developments represent genuine progress.

Yet hundreds of elephants continue to die in Sri Lanka annually.

Human lives are also lost in encounters with elephants, while rural communities endure crop damage, property destruction and threats to their livelihoods.

The ecological and social conditions of 2026 are vastly different from those of 1950. Population growth, changing land use, agricultural expansion and habitat pressures have created challenges that earlier generations did not confront on the same scale.

Not every elephant death is preventable, and the occurrence of deaths alone cannot establish that conservation institutions have failed.

Nevertheless, the persistent scale of the losses invites an uncomfortable examination of the relationship between scientific advancement, institutional development and actual conservation outcomes.

Have we mistaken the development of conservation institutions for the achievement of conservation itself?

It is a question worth asking precisely because Sri Lanka has achieved so much in developing its scientific and administrative capabilities.

The existence of institutions demonstrates recognition of responsibility.

Their effectiveness is a separate question.

Likewise, the availability of scientific knowledge does not automatically ensure that knowledge is translated into successful practice.

Progress cannot be assessed solely by what a country knows, what it has established or what it intends to accomplish.

It must also be considered in relation to what happens to the wildlife and people whose interests those institutions exist to protect.

This is the historical paradox that Kawantissa’s death brings into particularly sharp focus.

Kawantissa: A national symbol and an unresolved tragedy

Kawantissa was not an unknown elephant whose existence became apparent only after his death.

For years, he had been a familiar presence in the Galgamuwa landscape.

His magnificent tusks, exceptional stature and recognisable appearance made him one of Sri Lanka’s most admired wild elephants.

Wildlife photographers travelled to observe him. Local communities knew him. Conservationists followed his movements and expressed concern for his safety.

He represented something increasingly precious: a magnificent wild tusker living freely in his natural environment.

For Sri Lankans who encountered him, Kawantissa was a reminder of the extraordinary natural heritage that still survives in our increasingly human-dominated landscapes.

Yet his prominence did not spare him from serious injury.

He reportedly suffered a gunshot wound to his right foreleg and received veterinary treatment over several weeks before dying on 16 October.

His death generated considerable public grief and controversy.

Questions emerged about the shooting, the circumstances surrounding his injury, the veterinary care provided and whether any aspect of his treatment or management contributed to the eventual outcome.

However, questions must not be confused with conclusions.

The precise cause of death and the circumstances surrounding his treatment remain matters for scientific investigation and independent assessment.

Criminal investigations, official inquiries and a presidentially appointed expert committee have been initiated.

The findings of these processes will be essential to establishing what happened.

Wildlife veterinarians and field officers often perform exceptionally difficult duties under challenging and sometimes dangerous circumstances. Treating a seriously injured, free-ranging elephant is inherently complex, and an unsuccessful outcome does not, by itself, establish negligence.

Equally, professional dedication and institutional accountability are not mutually exclusive.

Respect for those working in wildlife conservation should coexist with legitimate scrutiny of the decisions and circumstances surrounding an animal’s death.

There is no contradiction between recognising the difficulties faced by wildlife professionals and expecting the institutions responsible for conservation to be open to examination.

The ultimate significance of the investigations will depend upon the credibility of their findings and what they reveal.

For now, neither allegations nor official assurances should be treated as substitutes for evidence. (To be continued)

(Author: Dilum Alagiyawanna is a telecommunications engineer turned environmental and wildlife conservationist, citizen scientist and wildlife documentary filmmaker. His work bridges science, public policy and sustainable development, with particular emphasis on the long-term conservation of Sri Lanka’s elephants and other threatened species)

By Mahil Dole Senior Superintendent of Police (Retd.)

Precision, Professionalism and the Limits of Power

As a former senior police officer who spent nearly four decades in law enforcement, including several years heading counter-terrorism and intelligence operations both in the field and at the headquarters level, I have seen at first-hand how organised criminal networks and terrorist groups operate. In the field, we faced the daily difficulties of gathering reliable intelligence, protecting sources, coordinating with different agencies, and acting before a planned attack or a major crime could take place. Off the field, at the desk and in the planning rooms, the challenges were different but equally real: incomplete information, legal limits that sometimes slowed urgent action, the constant risk that a single mistake could damage public trust or endanger lives, and the pressure to deliver results while remaining within the law.

Those years taught me that security work is never simple. It requires both effective powers and disciplined, professional officers who know how to use them properly. That experience shapes the way I look at the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the other new measures now under discussion. Societies change, and the threats they face change with them. Organised crime today is more networked, more mobile and more sophisticated than it was in earlier decades. Ordinary laws written mainly for individual offenders often struggle to deal with groups that plan over time, move money across borders, intimidate witnesses and replace arrested members. A dedicated law that gives effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006, is therefore a reasonable response.

New laws are introduced for the betterment of the people and for national security. They are not meant to take away the freedom of ordinary citizens. At the same time, the way a law is written matters as much as the intention behind it. If the language is too wide, powers that are meant for genuine criminal networks can be used in situations for which they were never intended. That is the main concern being raised about the present Bill, and it is a concern that deserves careful attention rather than dismissal.

Every society faces new problems as it grows. That is why the government has introduced the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill, gazetted in early October 2026. The Bill is meant to give effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006. Related measures are also being discussed to deal with terrorism and other serious threats. The basic idea is sound: the law should keep up with the challenges of the time.

Why a special law is considered necessary

Organised crime is not the same as ordinary crime. International experience shows that countries need clear definitions, the ability to investigate financial trails, powers for controlled deliveries and undercover work, and the capacity to cooperate with other countries. The Bill tries to provide some of these tools. Its stated objects include preventing and disrupting organised criminal groups, facilitating investigation and prosecution of serious crimes, promoting national and international cooperation, and protecting the public from the harm such groups cause. When these aims are achieved lawfully, ordinary people benefit. Streets become safer, markets are less distorted by extortion or illegal trade, and public confidence in the justice system can improve.

The government has said the law will contain precise definitions aimed only at organised criminal activity, unlike the broad and sometimes ambiguous provisions of the old Prevention of Terrorism Act. That promise is important. The test is whether the text that has been gazetted actually delivers on it.

The definition that raises the widest questions

The Bill defines an “organised criminal group” as a structured group of three or more persons that exists for a period of time and acts together to commit one or more serious crimes in order to obtain a financial or other material benefit. A “structured group” is explained as a group that is not formed randomly for the immediate commission of a crime and that does not need formal roles, continuous membership or a developed structure. “Serious crime” covers any offence punishable by four years’ imprisonment or more, plus a long list of offences drawn from many existing laws in the First Schedule.

This definition is deliberately wide. The Justice Minister has explained that factors such as style of dress, hand signs, language or tattoos are only to be considered when they are used by known members of organised criminal groups, and that the provision is drawn from models used in other countries. The intention, he has said, is not to criminalise ordinary people’s clothing or tattoos. Critics, including the Bar Association of Sri Lanka and the Human Rights Commission, point out that the threshold is low: three people, no formal structure required, and a very broad list of what counts as a “serious crime.” They worry that groups engaged in ordinary business, social activity, or even certain forms of collective action could fall inside the definition if investigators form a particular view of their purpose.

Related debates have arisen about strikes, protests and struggles. Questions are also being asked about whether acts that damage the economy could be treated as organised crime or even as terrorism under one or another of the new or proposed laws. These are not idle fears. When special powers — longer detention, restricted bail, different rules of evidence, attach to a wide definition, the practical reach of the law expands. The proper response is not to assume that every new law is hostile to the public, but to insist that the definitions are tightened so that they clearly target genuine organised criminal networks and do not sweep in lawful protest, industrial action or ordinary economic disputes. What is poorly drafted can and should be amended. The introduction of new laws cannot be allowed to become a hindrance to fundamental human rights.

Other provisions that have attracted concern

Several other clauses have drawn attention. The Bill allows the Secretary to the Ministry to issue detention orders of up to two months at a time, for a total of one year, in respect of a person connected with or concerned in a serious crime. Production before a magistrate can be delayed, and bail is more restricted than under ordinary procedure. Confessions made to a police officer of the rank of Assistant Superintendent or above are made admissible, and certain protections in the Evidence Ordinance are set aside. Section 14 restricts publication: it is an offence to publish the name or identity of a victim of a serious crime under the Act (with limited exceptions), and it is an offence to publish any matter relating to court proceedings under the Act without the previous permission of the court. The maximum penalty in both cases is two years’ imprisonment, a fine, or both.

Victim protection is a legitimate goal. So is the need to protect the integrity of investigations. But requiring prior court permission before reporting open-court proceedings reverses the normal position and creates a risk for journalists who wish to inform the public about matters of public interest, including allegations of ill-treatment raised in court. Human-rights organisations and media groups have said these restrictions can chill reporting. The same organisations have noted that the combination of prolonged police custody and admissible police confessions has, in the past, been associated with custodial abuse. Recent events, including the death of a young man in police custody in Homagama and the subsequent inquiries by the police, the courts and the Human Rights Commission, show that the risk of misconduct is not merely historical. At the same time, it is neither fair nor useful to treat every such incident as proof that the police as an institution cannot be trusted with any additional authority. The constructive question is how to ensure that expanded powers, if they are granted, are exercised only by officers who have the skill, the supervision and the accountability systems to use them properly.

A risk-management way of looking at the problem

The debate is best understood as a risk-management issue involving three elements that must be held in balance: the policy need to confront organised crime and related threats, the human-rights standards that limit how far the state may go, and the actual capacity of law-enforcement agencies to apply the law with precision and restraint. Neglect any one of the three and the result is either insecurity or injustice.

New laws are for the people. They are a response to evolving challenges. Societies that refuse to update their laws leave themselves exposed. But societies that expand powers without matching investment in professional standards also expose themselves to abuse and to the loss of public trust. The two tasks must proceed together.

First, the legal text itself needs amendment where it is over-broad or insufficiently safeguarded. Definitions of organised criminal groups and of serious crime should be narrowed so that they capture structured criminal networks engaged in serious, profit-driven offending, not ordinary associations or lawful collective action. Detention orders should be subject to prompt and effective judicial review. The long-standing rule against police confessions should not be relaxed without exceptional justification and strong protections against coercion. Media restrictions should be limited to what is strictly necessary to protect victims or sensitive evidence, and open-court reporting should remain the norm unless a specific, reasoned order is made. These changes do not weaken the fight against organised crime; they make the law more precise and therefore more legitimate.

Second , the proficiency and efficiency of the police and other investigative agencies must be raised in parallel with any new powers. This means systematic training in evidence-based investigation, financial-crime analysis, digital forensics, human-source handling and international legal assistance. It means clear standard operating procedures, competent day-to-day supervision, and the routine recording of interrogations. It means performance measures that reward lawful, professional outcomes rather than the number of detentions or confessions obtained. It also means improving the physical and technological conditions of custody so that the dignity and safety of persons in police care are not left to individual discretion. Officers who are properly trained and properly equipped are less likely to resort to short-cuts. When they also know that misuse of power will be detected and sanctioned, the incentive structure supports compliance.

Third , accountability systems must work. The Human Rights Commission’s guidelines on the treatment of suspects, the role of magistrates, internal disciplinary processes, and the possibility of criminal liability for custodial misconduct all need to function more predictably than they sometimes have in the past. Independent oversight is not an obstacle to effective policing; it is one of the conditions that allow the public to accept stronger powers.

Sri Lanka needs laws that can meet the evolving challenge of organised crime. Those laws should protect the public and strengthen national security. They should not hinder fundamental rights, and they should not be written so widely that they can be turned against ordinary citizens, protesters, workers or journalists. What is defective in the present drafts should be amended through open discussion. At the same time, lawmakers and policy makers must introduce parallel programmes to raise the efficiency, proficiency and ethical standards of the officers who will enforce the new laws. Only then can the legislation serve the purpose for which it is intended. This is not a choice between security and rights. It is a practical exercise in risk management: clear policy, firm human-rights boundaries, and enforcement agencies that are trained, supervised and held accountable. Societies develop. The laws that govern them must develop too, but always in a way that keeps the people, rather than the powers of the state, at the centre.

(This analysis is offered in the interest of national security, institutional reform, and public safety)

The writer is a retired Senior Superintendent of Police, former head of the counter terrorism desk at the state intelligence service, a former member of the Sri Lanka Wakfs Board, and the author of Security Beyond Enforcement: Practical Approaches for a Safer Nation (2026). [email protected]

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