by Durga Velayudham
There are moments when an institution claiming moral authority must choose between principle and convenience. Detention of Major General Suresh Sallay (Retired) has placed the Catholic Church in Sri Lanka under a harsh spotlight, revealing a profound inconsistency that threatens to erode both its credibility and the public’s faith in moral guidance.
For decades, the Church stood as a vocal critic of the Prevention of Terrorism Act, condemning it as draconian, arbitrary, and incompatible with the rule of law. Clergy and lay leaders alike organised marches, public forums, and campaigns warning that a law which permits prolonged detention, restricts access to counsel, and grants near-total discretion to the executive invites abuse, regardless of who is targeted. This opposition was never a matter of political convenience; it was a moral imperative. An unjust law does not become just simply because it is applied to a different individual.
Yet now, when that same law has been used to detain a former intelligence chief—whose mother is reported to be a Roman Catholic—the Church’s moral certainty has inexplicably shifted. Cyril Gamini Fernando has publicly urged citizens not to question the detention, not to comment on social media, and not to “interfere” with investigators. A call for accountability has become a demand for silence. This is not prudence; it is the abdication of ethical responsibility.
The manner of the arrest exacerbates public unease. Reports suggest that Major General Sallay was taken into custody while en route to work, and for hours no explanation was offered. A later press briefing by the police provided only an ill-prepared, opaque statement. Into this vacuum poured another disturbing element: an alleged telephone recording surfaced, reportedly from the Yahapalanaya government period, in which the investigative officer can be heard indicating his readiness to present allegations against Sallay to the President. It remains unclear whether either the politician or the officer involved had any actual role in the detention or the ongoing investigation. If they did, how can anyone expect the inquiry to remain truly independent?
Adding to the disquiet, some time back, a colleague of Fr. Cyril Gamini Fernando publicly declared that former SIS Director Nilantah Jayawardena “must be hanged to death.” There was no legal process, no court conviction, no intervention by the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights — only societal indifference. Adding to the irony, a pending defamatory case filed by Sallay against Fr. Cyril Gamini Fernando still exists, and on more than one occasion, Fernando reportedly avoided appearing in court, seemingly fearing arrest. In this context, Fr. Cyril Gamini Fernando went further, ordering the public not to speak about these events, not to question, and not to discuss the matter — a chilling demonstration of the rot and moral bankruptcy now tolerated under the guise of ecclesiastical authority.
This is not a question of guilt or innocence. Courts, evidence, and procedure must decide that. The real question is whether moral authority can credibly condemn arbitrary power one day and condone it the next. Principles cannot be contingent on convenience; when they are, morality becomes tactical.
Law is not a tool to secure preferred outcomes; it is a framework designed to restrain power. A statute that enables arbitrary detention does not become benign because it is applied to a former intelligence officer. To accept such selective application is to set a dangerous precedent: today’s exceptional measure becomes tomorrow’s routine exercise of authority. This is precisely the opposite of the governance Sri Lanka was promised, the very opposite of what citizens were led to expect.
Moreover, directing the public not to question legal actions in such circumstances is an unhealthy inversion of civic responsibility. Citizens are not passive subjects awaiting clerical permission to think. Public scrutiny, even if uncomfortable, is a constitutional safeguard against the concentration of power. To frame questioning as sabotage is to undermine the essence of democracy itself.
The theological contradiction is equally clear. Christian teaching insists on consistency between word and deed. Ethical witness is hollow when selective outrage replaces principle. The same institution that once denounced the PTA now condones its application silently. The same voices that once demanded justice now counsel restraint in the face of a law they once rejected. Add to this the public call for extrajudicial execution of a former intelligence chief, and the result is moral chaos. The faithful, and society at large, are left to reconcile a Church that alternates between indignation and acquiescence, between calls for vengeance and calls for silence.
None of this is to suggest that investigations into national tragedies should be impeded. They must proceed with rigour, independence, and impartiality. But independence is not strengthened by shielding institutions from critique. It is strengthened by transparent procedures, adherence to fair process, and equal application of the law. Extraordinary powers demand extraordinary scrutiny. To tolerate their use silently is to abandon the very ethical framework that once gave the Church moral authority.
A nation cannot endure a morality that shifts according to convenience. When principles are suspended for expediency, law ceases to restrain power and becomes a tool of it. What is happening today is not merely selective morality; it is the public display of shamelessness, cloaked in ecclesiastical language. This discontent within the Catholic Church is no longer theoretical; it is tangible, corrosive, and unprecedented in its implications.
