by Satchi Sithanandan
Why Tilvin Silva? Because in this precise historical moment, he is the man of the hour. The criticisms flung against him are not simply unfounded — they are envenomed diversions, manufactured by the same opportunists who, decade after decade, have crept into every government in power, twisted its spine, and corrupted its purpose. These are not critics in good faith; they are the parasites of our political order, the notorious infiltrators whose track records are etched with duplicity, opportunism, and the shameless pursuit of personal gain. That they now target Tilvin is not surprising. It is, in fact, confirmation that he stands exactly where he must — in the path of their return to dominance.
For the first time in living memory, Sri Lanka is governed not by a dynasty but by a political party. This is no small rupture in our political DNA. From the Bandaranaikes to the Rajapaksas, this island was trapped in the grip of families veiled as statesmen, clans enthroning their bloodlines as though the republic were their fiefdom. Their stooges and beneficiaries colonised the institutions of government, not as servants of the people but as custodians of privilege. The Rajapaksa empire, ridiculous in its scale, became the most brazen expression of this pathology. Against this suffocating history, the emergence of a genuinely party-centred government under the JVP and the National People’s Power alliance is nothing short of revolutionary.
And yet, instead of recognising this seismic shift, the old guard and their apologists have launched a new narrative of fear. They mutter about “Chinese-style communism”, conjuring spectres of repressive monoliths to smear the current administration. Let us be blunt: this is nonsense. It is bullshit of the highest order. Sri Lanka, with its fractious pluralism and ingrained democratic instincts, could never incubate the sterile uniformity of Beijing. To pretend otherwise is not only a lie but a calculated insult to the intelligence of our people. What these critics truly lament is not the phantom of authoritarianism but the reality that their days of easy manipulation are numbered.
Here is where Tilvin Silva becomes indispensable. As General Secretary of the JVP, his role is not ornamental. He is the guardian of the party’s ideological integrity and the enforcer of its organisational discipline. He is attempting, with clarity and precision, to remap a political culture long marinated in corruption, patronage, and duplicity. Those who caricature him as an interfering ideologue deliberately miss the point. His vigilance is not meddling; it is stewardship. Without it, the gates of power would already be wide open for the very infiltrators who have derailed every administration since independence.
The truth is painfully simple: the real danger to the present government lies not in Tilvin Silva but within the government itself. The bugs are already in the system, whispering into the President’s ear, carving out their niches, and laying the groundwork for another cycle of capture. One among them is notorious for an internationally exposed scandal in auditing reform. Another clings to permanent residency in Malaysia, treating Sri Lanka as a convenient stage rather than a home to be defended. A third is a careerist recycled from Ranil Wickremesinghe’s discredited cabinets, a man who has navigated regimes not through principle but through expedience. These are the saboteurs. They are the opportunists who slide into the bloodstream of every government, promising loyalty while engineering their own fiefdoms.
And this is precisely why Tilvin Silva cannot be trivialised. He knows, perhaps better than anyone, that power in Sri Lanka is never lost through frontal assault but through infiltration. Movements collapse not because of the enemies outside but because of the termites within. One only needs to recall the fate of revolutions elsewhere. The Bolsheviks, triumphant in 1917, saw their ideals calcify into suffocating bureaucracy because they tolerated mediocrities whose only skill was survival. Postcolonial Africa, bursting with emancipatory promise, was consumed by kleptocracy because principled leaders surrendered ground to opportunists. History is merciless to those who mistake vigilance for authoritarianism.
In this crucible, Tilvin Silva carries immense responsibility. But he does not carry it alone. Bimal Rathnayake, a potential key architect of the movement’s intellectual renewal, also shoulders this burden. If Tilvin embodies discipline and vigilance, Rathnayake represents the promise of critical reflection and fresh strategy. Together they form a necessary dyad: the guardrail against infiltration and the engine of renewal. Should they falter, the project of genuine party-centred governance will wither, and Sri Lanka will be dragged back into the swamp of patronage and dynasty.
The criticisms aimed at Tilvin are not merely misguided; they are manifestations of the very disease that has crippled this nation. When a man who has dedicated his life to building a political movement is accused of “interfering” in governance, one must ask: who benefits from this narrative? The answer is obvious. It is those who thrive in ambiguity, who sneak into the inner circle of the President with their dubious pasts and conflicts of interest. These voices are not concerned with democracy or freedom. They are concerned with ensuring that their parasitic way of life continues uninterrupted.
What Sri Lanka faces today is not just a political challenge but a civilisational test. Do we permit the same opportunistic cliques to hijack yet another government, or do we forge a genuinely new path where governance is anchored in parties, policies, and accountability? Tilvin Silva, with his decades of experience and vigilance, is uniquely placed to ensure the latter. His task is to guard the gates, to hold the line against infiltration, and to guarantee that the experiment of the NPP is not derailed by those who see power only as a conduit for private enrichment.
In truth, this is not an enviable responsibility. It is heavy, thankless, and fraught with peril. Tilvin Silva’s name will be dragged through mud; his intentions will be distorted; his loyalty will be questioned. But history is rarely kind to those who hold the line. Winston Churchill, derided as a warmonger before 1939, later became the indispensable leader of Britain’s survival. Thomas Sankara of Burkina Faso, vilified by entrenched elites, remains a symbol of integrity decades after his assassination. The lesson is unmistakable: those who threaten entrenched corruption are always targeted, always maligned, always slandered — until history redeems them.
Sri Lanka now stands at such a juncture. The old parasites have already begun their manoeuvres. They sit in ministerial offices, they whisper in advisory roles, they plot their appointments. The question is whether Tilvin Silva and Bimal Rathnayake can hold the movement steady, shield it from corrosion, and transform the promise of party-centred governance into a durable reality. This is why Tilvin holds immense responsibility. Because without his vigilance, without his refusal to capitulate, Sri Lanka risks tumbling back into the abyss it has struggled so hard to escape.
And so, when next you hear the criticisms — that he is meddling, that he is authoritarian, that he is “too ideological” — remember what those words conceal. They are not the anxieties of democrats. They are the shrieks of opportunists, terrified that for once in their lives, their games may not succeed. Tilvin Silva is not their problem; he is their obstacle. And for the first time in decades, that obstacle is precisely what Sri Lanka needs.
