by Durga Velayudham
There is something profoundly disturbing when retired President Bishop of the Methodist Church Sri Lanka, Rev. Asiri P. Perera, abandons the moral restraint expected of his office and instead chooses to lecture the wife of a detainee as though he were delivering the closing address for the prosecution. Even more astonishing is that he could not perform the simplest act of accuracy by getting her name right. The letter is addressed to “Manohary Sallay.” Her name is not Manohary. It is difficult to take seriously a sermon on justice from someone who cannot extend the elementary courtesy of correctly identifying the person he seeks to publicly admonish.
But the error in her name is the least offensive part of the letter.
The real offence lies in its breathtaking hypocrisy.
The retired bishop repeatedly invokes the language of due process, insisting that guilt or innocence should be determined only by the courts. Yet every paragraph that follows is built upon the unmistakable assumption that the detainee is concealing the truth, weighed down by guilt, spiritually conflicted, and awaiting repentance. One cannot preach the presumption of innocence while simultaneously writing a public narrative of presumed guilt. That is not due process. It is prejudice dressed up as pastoral wisdom.
The wife of a man who has spent months in detention is told that she should refrain from declaring her husband’s innocence because it somehow undermines justice. Since when did loyalty become a crime? Since when did standing beside one’s spouse become an attack on the judiciary? Every wife, every husband, every parent and every child instinctively hopes that their loved one will ultimately be vindicated. That is called humanity. It is not obstruction of justice.
What is truly dangerous is the opposite proposition advanced by this retired bishop—that families should remain silent while extraordinary powers of the State are exercised against those they love. History is littered with examples of governments that preferred obedient silence over uncomfortable questions. Justice has never flourished because people were intimidated into keeping quiet. It flourishes when power itself is subjected to relentless scrutiny.
The bishop goes even further by speculating about the detainee’s state of mind. Without examining him, counselling him or possessing any recognised expertise, he casually suggests that refusing food may reflect hidden guilt rather than protest. Such speculation is neither theology nor psychology. It is conjecture masquerading as moral authority. A bishop who publicly diagnoses the conscience of someone he has never spiritually guided crosses the line from ministry into propaganda.
Perhaps the most revealing sentence in the entire letter is his suggestion that a clergy member should visit the detainee so that his conscience might awaken and he may confront his guilt. There, the mask slips completely. The conclusion has already been reached. Guilt is assumed. Confession is anticipated. The trial, apparently, is merely a procedural inconvenience.
One is compelled to ask a far more uncomfortable question. Is this what Christian witness has been reduced to? Is this the Gospel that Jesus preached?
The Jesus of the Gospels stood with those whom society had already condemned. He confronted abusive authority. He challenged those who rushed to judgment. He exposed hypocrisy wherever he found it, especially among those who wrapped themselves in religious respectability while passing judgment on others. He did not instruct His followers to become cheerleaders for the coercive power of the State. He certainly did not encourage them to publicly shame the families of people who had not been convicted of any offence.
A retired bishop ought to know this better than anyone.
Instead, we witness a deeply disappointing spectacle: a man who once occupied one of the Church’s highest offices lending his moral authority to public suspicion rather than public justice. That is not courage. It is conformity. It demands nothing from those in power while demanding silence from those who suffer.
Sri Lanka has endured enough of self-appointed guardians of truth who transform national tragedies into platforms for influence, publicity and self-importance. The Easter Sunday attacks deserve a fearless search for truth, supported by credible evidence and independent judicial scrutiny—not endless moral performances in which suspicion is mistaken for proof and accusation is elevated above evidence.
Religious leaders occupy a privileged place in society because they are expected to speak uncomfortable truths to those who wield power. When they instead appear to legitimise power while admonishing those caught beneath it, they surrender that moral privilege. The Church was never meant to become an extension of the machinery of public condemnation.
This retired bishop should reflect very carefully on the message he has sent—not merely to one woman, but to the entire country. His letter tells every family of every detainee that loyalty is suspect, that public silence is preferable to public scrutiny, and that society should quietly accept moral judgments long before any court has spoken.
That is not justice.
That is not Christianity.
And for someone who once carried the title of Bishop, he ought to be deeply ashamed that he chose to use his voice not to restrain prejudice, but to give it the appearance of moral legitimacy.
