By: Roger Srivasan
The tragedy that struck our nation — a deluge of almost biblical proportion — left millions shattered.
Homes vanished beneath rising waters, livelihoods were swept away, and entire communities were
plunged into despair. As Sri Lanka grappled with the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah, the President
rose above politics with an act of statesmanship and compassion: a proposal embedded within the
Third Reading of the 2026 Budget to deliver urgent relief to every family devastated by the floods.
In a special statement to Parliament, the President outlined the gravity of the catastrophe and
submitted a supplementary estimate of Rs. 50 billion — a lifeline intended to stabilise and rebuild
shattered communities. It was a moment that demanded unity, humanity, and moral clarity.
Parliament answered that call.
Every single Member of Parliament — across party lines, ethnic identities, and political loyalties —
voted in favour of the relief package.
Every member except one.
Gajendrakumar Ponnambalam, with chilling sangfroid and betraying not the faintest flicker of
empathy, cast the lone dissenting vote against providing relief to suffering citizens. Even seasoned
observers of parliamentary drama were stunned. This was not a mere political miscalculation. It
was a moment of profound moral collapse — where indifference triumphed over compassion, and
ego eclipsed humanity.
For a man who claims to champion Tamil rights, it was an unforgivable betrayal.
What makes this moment even more disturbing is that it follows, in rapid succession, another act of
political treachery. Barely a week earlier, Shanakiyan Rasamanickam had provoked the fierce wrath
of the Tamil community for conduct equally tone-deaf, self-serving, and disastrously misaligned with
the people’s suffering. Instead of learning from Shanakiyan’s humiliation, Ponnambalam chose to
walk the same path — as though competing for the honour of who could fall the furthest from the
people’s trust.
Two betrayals. Two reprobates. One week.
Through their arrogance and political blindness, these two Tamil politicians have created a
leadership vacuum. And vacuums never remain empty. New Tamil representatives — emerging
from the President’s movement and demonstrating compassion, unity, and genuine public service
— are poised to rise in their place.
If this trajectory continues, both Ponnambalam and Shanakiyan stand on the brink of losing their
parliamentary seats at the next election. Not because rivals defeated them — but because their
own people abandoned them.
Leadership is sacred. In moments of national tragedy, it becomes a moral obligation.
To vote against relief for a nation in anguish is indefensible. To do so with chilling detachment,
unmoved by human suffering, is monstrous. It reveals a heart untouched by compassion, a mind
clouded by ego, and a soul unmoored from humanity.
History will honour the President for his benevolence. It will remember Parliament for its unity. But it
will not forget the lone dissenter — the man who stood against compassion, against relief, and against humanity itself.
Nor will it forget the one who fell before him.
These two politicians have sealed their fate. When the next parliamentary election dawns, the Tamil
people will deliver their verdict — calm, resolute, and unmistakably clear:
Those who betray us in our darkest hour do not deserve to represent us in the light.
