The assassination of Premakeerthi de Alwis in 1989 remains one of Sri Lanka’s most chilling reminders of how fear, insurgency, and political violence intertwined during the JVP’s bloody uprising. This story reveals how the JVP’s terror campaign, the failures of state security, and the manipulation of youth left deep scars on Sri Lanka’s political landscape.
PLOTE Ties and the JVP’s Radio of Rebellion
The story begins with an unsettling web of alliances. Premakeerthi Ghathanaye Sulamula, authored by journalist Dharman Wickremaratne, opens by detailing the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna’s (JVP) ties with PLOTE, the People’s Liberation Organisation of Tamil Eelam. PLOTE was an Indian-backed Tamil militant group accused of a failed assassination attempt in 1988. Far from being isolated, the JVP sought help wherever it could find it. PLOTE’s assistance came in the form of technical support to run the underground “Ranahanda” radio station, while other Tamil groups supplied landmines to disrupt state security.
Yet, the JVP never mastered landmine warfare. Unlike the LTTE, which turned landmines into a devastating hallmark of its insurgency, the JVP’s efforts faltered. This limited their ability to wage a sustained armed campaign. Despite sporadic success in disrupting transport and assassinating opponents, their insurgency lacked the sophistication of the Tamil Tigers.
The Sri Lankan state, meanwhile, faced enemies on multiple fronts. Security forces were stretched thin, battling both the northern separatist threat and the southern Marxist insurrection. Yet despite controversies, brutality, and allegations of human rights abuses, the armed forces ultimately defeated the JVP twice, while also containing the LTTE during crucial phases.
The Voice That Couldn’t Be Silenced
Into this chaos stepped Premakeerthi de Alwis, a household name, a familiar voice, and a man whose words carried far beyond the radio waves. As an announcer, producer, and lyricist at the Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation (SLBC), he represented cultural continuity at a time when violence and fear defined daily life.
Dharman Wickremaratne’s Premakeerthi Ghathanaye Sulamula meticulously examines his murder in July 1989, placing it against the backdrop of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna’s bloody second insurrection.
Through court records and testimony, Wickremaratne concludes that Premakeerthi’s assassination was carried out by JVP cadres. While the insurgents justified killings as necessary strikes against “enemies of the people,” the targeting of cultural figures like Premakeerthi highlighted the movement’s ruthless intent to silence dissent, intimidate the population, and dismantle the state’s control over media.
The Abduction and Killing
The facts are stark. One evening, a JVP hit squad arrived at Premakeerthi’s residence on the Homagama-Katuwana road. He was forcibly removed from his home, marched into the darkness, and executed. For a nation already in shock from daily assassinations, this killing was personal. It touched ordinary citizens who had grown up listening to his voice.
The tragedy also intertwined with his personal life. Premakeerthi had been ten years younger than his wife Daya when they married. Daya, herself an SLBC announcer and lyricist, was a widow when she met him — her first husband, journalist Somapala Ranatunga, had passed away. Their marriage was stormy and ended in legal separation in 1975 after just five years.
Yet decades later, Daya’s name would resurface in connection with her ex-husband’s death, bringing controversy to an already murky story.
Daya’s Explosive Accusations
In July 2014, at a solemn SLBC event chaired by President Mahinda Rajapaksa to mark the 25th anniversary of Premakeerthi’s death, Daya stunned the nation. She declared publicly that her former husband was assassinated at the behest of Hudson Samarasinghe, a prominent media personality and political ally of the ruling establishment.
The claim was explosive. It contradicted years of findings that blamed the JVP. Yet Daya offered no concrete evidence. Her words, however, caused ripples in political circles, sparking renewed debate over whether the JVP had truly been responsible or whether shadowy forces within the state bore some accountability.
Hudson Samarasinghe immediately sued for defamation, seeking Rs. 500 million. The case dragged on until Daya’s death in July 2023, after which Samarasinghe withdrew the lawsuit.
But the controversy did not end there. In late 2019, at a propaganda event held at the Colombo Public Library, Daya appeared alongside Anura Kumara Dissanayake, leader of both the JVP and the National People’s Power (NPP). There, she publicly absolved the JVP of any responsibility for her ex-husband’s murder. The move was political dynamite, but it failed to gain traction. By then, the JVP’s reputation had already been etched in blood, and the public was unmoved by attempts at revisionism.
Wickremaratne: Chronicler of Terror
Dharman Wickremaratne, the author of Premakeerthi Ghathanaye Sulamula, was no stranger to controversy himself. Once a staffer at Divaina, he was accused of harboring JVP sympathies and forced to leave. He later joined The Island in 1987 and went on to edit Silumina during the administrations of Gotabaya Rajapaksa and Ranil Wickremesinghe (2020–2024).
Despite detractors, Wickremaratne has become one of the foremost chroniclers of Sri Lanka’s 1980s terror years. His books, now numbering four, offer detailed accounts of violence, insurgency, and counter-terror. He intends to publish five more, ensuring that the history of this dark period is neither forgotten nor sanitized.
Media in the Crossfire
Wickremaratne places particular emphasis on the role of media during the uprising. Both the UNP government and the JVP targeted journalists. State-run media outlets were under siege. The JVP sought to silence voices of authority and legitimacy, while the government cracked down on opposition newspapers.
It was a war not only for political control but also for narrative supremacy. The assassinations of SLBC staff, Rupavahini employees, and independent journalists underscored the dangers of working in media during the late 1980s.
The wider political context also shaped this landscape. In July 1987, the Indo-Lanka Accord brought Indian troops, the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) into Sri Lanka to battle the LTTE. While the IPKF fought in the North and East, the South bled under JVP terror. The insurgents capitalized on nationalist anger over Indian troop presence, portraying themselves as defenders of sovereignty against both Indian “occupiers” and a treacherous government.
The Teenage Assassin: Saman Priyankara
One of Wickremaratne’s most striking accounts is that of Saman Priyankara, a teenager sentenced to life imprisonment in 1994 for his role in the JVP’s killing machine.
At just 17, Priyankara joined a JVP unit tasked with assassinating Premakeerthi after he refused to resign from SLBC under JVP threats. Though he was not one of the shooters, his involvement was enough to secure a life sentence. He served 18 years before release.
Priyankara’s story highlights the JVP’s ruthless exploitation of youth. Of 11,658 JVP cadres rehabilitated after the insurgency, 5,508 were aged between 15 and 25. The movement disproportionately preyed on the young, pulling them into a cycle of violence before they could fully grasp ideology or consequence.
The Children of Insurgency
The JVP’s use of children remains one of its darkest legacies. While the LTTE became infamous for deploying child soldiers in the North, the JVP also relied on minors for targeted killings and intimidation.
Examples are chilling:
- A 13-year-old boy allegedly trained off Kantale who went on to kill a UNP supporter.
- Two 15-year-olds who murdered SLTB driver Dingiri Banda for defying a JVP directive.
- A child activist who delivered the severed head of a Janatha Estate Development Board employee to his family on a plate.
In total, 137 SLTB employees were killed by the JVP for refusing to abandon work during strikes. Wickremaratne’s accounts force readers to confront the extent to which children were weaponized in service of ideology.
The Spiral of Violence
By mid-1989, the violence had reached a crescendo. Defence Minister Ranjan Wijeratne vowed retaliation after the JVP killed multiple state media figures, including Thevis Guruge, Premakeerthi de Alwis, Kulasiri Amaratunga, and Sagarika Gomes.
President Ranasinghe Premadasa, elected in December 1988, attempted reconciliation at first, releasing detained JVP suspects in a gesture of goodwill. The gamble backfired. Violence escalated, assassinations multiplied, and the government responded with overwhelming counter-insurgency measures.
Within months, the JVP was collapsing. By early 1990, its leadership had been executed. Rohana Wijeweera, the party’s iconic founder, was killed. Thousands of activists perished in counter-terror operations. Only Somawanasa Amerasinghe escaped, fleeing to India with New Delhi’s tacit assistance.
The Shadow of State Terror
But Wickremaratne warns against romanticizing the state’s victory. While the JVP’s brutality was undeniable, the UNP regime also crossed moral lines. The assassination of journalist Richard de Zoysa in 1990 stands as a grim reminder of how the state silenced dissent under the guise of counter-terror.
Absolute power corrupted absolutely. Premadasa and Wijeratne consolidated authority by unleashing death squads and terrorizing not just insurgents but also opposition voices. In this climate, justice was secondary to survival.
Lessons of a Dark Chapter
The murder of Premakeerthi de Alwis symbolizes Sri Lanka’s darkest hour. It represents not just the loss of a cultural figure but the destruction of trust in media, the betrayal of youth drawn into violence, and the willingness of both state and insurgents to kill for power.
For Wickremaratne, documenting this history is not about reopening old wounds but ensuring they are not forgotten. In an era where the JVP’s successor, the National People’s Power, now commands parliamentary strength and political momentum, remembering the blood-soaked roots of the movement is essential.
Sri Lanka’s politics have always been turbulent, but the 1987–89 uprising remains unique in its scale of domestic brutality. It was not a foreign war imposed from outside, but a civil conflict born of ideology, poverty, and political mismanagement.
A Cycle Unbroken?
History warns that cycles of violence often repeat when lessons are ignored. The story of Premakeerthi de Alwis, from beloved broadcaster to slain victim of insurgency serves as a reminder of how fragile peace can be.
The JVP’s insurgency showed how desperation, nationalism, and ideology can weaponize youth. The state’s response revealed how counter-terror can slide into authoritarianism and repression. Together, they painted a portrait of a nation consumed by fear.
Premakeerthi’s voice was silenced, but his story remains an echo, a warning against both insurgency and unchecked state power.
SOURCE :- SRI LANKA GUARDIAN
