Admiral (Retired) Nishantha Ulugetenne once stood as a pillar of Sri Lanka’s maritime defense during the war on terror. Now behind bars, his dramatic fall exposes the bitter truth of political expediency and a nation’s fading memory of its defenders. This is the untold story of service, betrayal, and national conscience.
Who defends the defenders after the battlefield grows silent? Who remembers the warriors when the war drums stop and the flags are lowered? More importantly, what happens to those who, once hailed as the nation’s protectors, are pushed aside the moment peace returns? These aren’t rhetorical flourishes, they question the soul of our society.
Admiral Nishantha Ulugetenne is a man forged in duty, loyalty, and strategic excellence. His role in safeguarding Sri Lanka during the final stages of the war against the LTTE was not just military; it was existential. This wasn’t merely a conflict of firepower, it was a war to preserve the identity and sovereignty of Sri Lanka. Leaders like Ulugetenne stepped far beyond rank and protocol. They stood as unyielding pillars in a crumbling state, guardians of its very existence.
His naval legacy includes ushering in advanced missile systems and leading high-speed attack squadrons. These weren’t symbolic moves. They represented strategic foresight. As naval theorist Alfred Thayer Mahan famously put it, control of the seas equates to control of the world’s riches. Ulugetenne’s efforts bolstered Sri Lanka’s control of its surrounding waters, fortifying the country’s future against maritime threats and enhancing national security.
But history has a tragic way of forgetting its defenders. Tacitus once said, “The more corrupt the state, the more numerous the laws.” Peace often dulls gratitude. Political winds shift. Merit is displaced by favoritism. Those who won wars are replaced by those who won favor. It is a betrayal not born of rebellion but of neglect. Ulugetenne’s story echoes that of Karna from the Mahābhārata, the loyal warrior abandoned for political convenience.
Post-war, Ulugetenne was appointed ambassador to Cuba, a respectable role befitting his achievements. But he was soon replaced, not for failure, but because the tides of political loyalty turned. This is more than administrative reshuffling. It reflects a growing sickness in the system, one where dedication is replaced by connections and loyalty by partisanship. The message is clear: in Sri Lanka, political winds decide who is honoured and who is forgotten.
Today, Admiral Ulugetenne finds himself behind bars, facing legal proceedings. The optics are damning, but the process is far from over. Being under investigation is not a conviction. And yet, society treats its heroes as criminals before justice runs its full course. This is not just a commentary on law, it is a reflection of Sri Lanka’s values. When a nation cannot honour those who defended it, it risks corroding the foundations of national pride, discipline, and unity.
Theorist Carl von Clausewitz famously wrote that war is the continuation of politics by other means. But when politics continue after war, punishing its heroes, it becomes something far more dangerous, it becomes injustice.
Sun Tzu reminded us, “The generals who win are those who understand the heart of their men.” When seasoned commanders are sidelined for political gain, it signals that dedication and loyalty are expendable. The military, the youth, the public, all take note. And they learn a bitter truth: service is temporary, but political favoritism is permanent.
Sri Lanka’s long-term peace depends on a cultural shift. This country must value those who carried its burdens during conflict. Real peace is not just the absence of war, it is the presence of justice. Justice administered with impartiality, not prejudice. Respect for service and sacrifice must not be discarded with a change in regime.
When a country forgets those who fought for it, it does more than dishonour the past. It compromises the future.
