When a father dies, the shadow of his absence falls heavily upon the child, as if the world itself has tilted. Thirty years have passed since that moment, and yet the weight of it remains. I was only sixteen when he was assassinated, a boy thrust into a world where absence loomed larger than presence. Over the years, I have heard many stories of him—some laced with admiration, others tainted with bitterness. This is the nature of life: the tension between affection and judgment, both of which shape the legacy of a man.
Ossie Abeyagoonasekera, my father, was a local politician who sought, in his brief forty-five years, to carve a national role in a country torn by political strife. His life, strangely, reached beyond the borders of Sri Lanka. Photographs from visits to Chinese and Indian leaders, stories shared by U.S. Ambassador Teressita Schaffer, and encounters with figures like Muammar Gaddafi in Libya—who presented him with his Green Book—mark the curious intersection of his life with the world stage. I recall the years I spent in Germany, sheltered with my mother in 1988-89, when the fall of the Berlin Wall transformed the world, and I attended school in Bonn. A German intelligence officer, once familiar with my father, told me of the lessons he had learned from him: lessons of courage, of integrity—lessons he had put into practice during the Cold War and the early years of the post-Cold War era, when he navigated the troubled waters of politics with a clear sense of what was just. He was a miniature, a leader of a small party, who took on the challenge after the brutal assassination of his close friend Vijaya Kumaranatunga. They were small players in a power vortex centered around strong executive presidents.
Camus wrote, “Rebellion cannot exist without a strange form of love.” My father embodied that love—a love so fierce for his people that it became an act of defiance. In a time when silence could have protected him, he chose the perilous path of speaking out. While imprisoned, Nelson Mandela wrote to him: “Struggle continues, and victory is certain.” These words, shared between two men bound by oppression, became the echo of my father’s resolve: he would remain steadfast, no matter the cost.
In 1982, at a time when discontent brewed like a storm, my father played a key role in creating the rice ration book—a bold gesture against President Jayawardena’s autocratic grip on power. The book, a simple tool of protest, was more than a symbol—it was a promise to the people that resistance was still possible. An investigator later observed, “Had he printed enough, he might have toppled Jayawardena’s rule.” He dared to confront absolute power, even when the odds were insurmountable. This defiance remains relevant today, as Sri Lanka faces the challenge of preventing the consolidation of unchecked power—because even in the name of stability, such power can quickly become tyranny.
During his time in Welikada Prison, my father wrote to Mandela, recognizing a kindred spirit in the man who also dared to speak uncomfortable truths. In 1986, he ventured once more to negotiate with the LTTE, risking his life in pursuit of peace. Many called him a traitor; others mocked him. But my father understood something that others could not: that principles must transcend public opinion. His stance on Tamil rights earned him the respect of the Tamil people. Raheem, a former LTTE member who had welcomed my father in Jaffna, once said to me, “Your father was a genuine politician, and we trusted him.” When I asked, “Then why did the LTTE kill him?” Raheem replied, “He was never the target; Gamini Dissanayake was the primary target.” On November 9, 1994, over forty people died in the bombing that claimed my father’s life, a loss that continues to reverberate in Sri Lanka’s long struggle for reconciliation.
Ossie was born on August 7, 1950, and entered politics at a young age, alongside his schoolmate Vijaya Kumaratunga. In the blood-soaked climate of the 1988 presidential and 1989 provincial elections, supporters of the 13th Amendment were branded traitors and killed. Yet my father pressed on, becoming the leader of the Sri Lanka Mahajana Party (SLMP) after Vijaya’s assassination. The party lost 117 members to violence, and my father narrowly escaped death multiple times. Yet fear never wavered his resolve. In 1994, he ran as the presidential candidate of the United Socialist Alliance, earning 4.63% of the vote—a testament to his unwavering advocacy for devolution in the face of danger.
Today, as Sri Lanka continues to grapple with the very challenges my father faced, his legacy remains a beacon of integrity in politics. He was a man who stood against corruption and worked tirelessly for the public good. As the first opposition leader of the Western Province, he advocated for the decentralization of the Bribery Commission, pushing for an anti-corruption framework that would hold power accountable at every level. His work serves as a model for governance, showing us that public service is not a means to personal gain but an act of responsibility to the people.
Sri Lanka now stands at a crossroads. To honor my father’s legacy, the country must do more than implement reforms—it must commit to enforcing them with unwavering resolve. The corruption that has crippled the nation’s progress must be confronted head-on. The path forward requires not only institutional resolve but the courage to challenge the entrenched power structures that sustain the status quo.
Ossie Abeyagoonasekera was not only a politician of integrity but a man who spoke not just for his party but for the nation. He supported President R Premadasa’s textile factories, recognizing their potential to uplift rural communities. Through Premadasa’s influence, he secured compensation for the strikers of July 1983, earning their lifelong gratitude. In 1994, he won a seat in Parliament from Colombo North, second only to Ranil Wickremesinghe. But his time was tragically short. After just three months in office, the LTTE’s violence cut his life short.
Ossie Abeyagoonasekera’s legacy endures as a symbol of moral courage in Sri Lankan politics. His life reminds us that, at its best, politics is not merely a profession—it is an act of love. A strange, fierce love that challenges the very power it confronts, while preserving the dignity of the people.
Asanga Abeyagoonasekera
Asanga Abeyagoonasekera is the Foreign Affairs Editor at Global Strat View. Hewas a technical advisor to Sri Lanka’s Governance Diagnostic Report by IMF, a Senior Fellow at the Millennium Project in Washington DC, member of the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) and the National Press Club in Washington DC. and the author of ‘Teardrop Diplomacy: China’s Sri Lanka Foray’published by Bloomsbury (2023).
