The Bar Association of Sri Lanka: Defenders of Dignity… Except Theirs

MOUNT LAVINIA, SRI LANKA – It was 9:40 PM on October 12th, 2025, when the gates of Mount Lavinia Magistrate’s Court briefly turned into Sri Lanka’s version of the Oscars,  complete with drama, finger-pointing, and a surprise guest appearance by Common Sense (who was quickly escorted off the premises by a lawyer).

In a shocking plot twist no one saw coming (except everyone), a lawyer, excuse me, Attorney-at-Law Gunarathna Wanninayaka, Defender of Inconvenient Parking,  discovered that traffic laws actually apply to him. Or at least, that’s what the lowly policeman at the gate foolishly thought before being ceremoniously stripped of his uniform, dignity, and apparently, legal rights.

Let’s rewind this cinematic masterpiece of egomania.

The Gate of Destiny

A humble constable, a true underdog protagonist in this courtroom noir, stood at the gates of justice,  quite literally, directing traffic like any public servant not yet indoctrinated into the Cult of the Black Coat.

Enter stage left: a prison transport vehicle. You know, the one carrying actual detainees. Per every known procedure, policy, protocol, and possibly planetary alignment, the vehicle gets priority.

But then, oh, the horror!  a lawyer’s car is stopped.

This was not just a car. This was a chariot of legal supremacy. Inside sat Wanninayaka Esq., basking in the divine glow of his own importance, offended that his vehicular passage was delayed by a mere servant of the state.

Cue meltdown. Cue legal lava. Cue courtroom couture in full fury.

“Do You Know Who I Am?”

What happened next has been described as “Sri Lankan Law meets WWE Raw.”

The lawyer, draped in righteousness and possibly leftover arrogance from law school, sprang from his car like a caped crusader,  if Batman screamed in Sinhala and wagged his finger at traffic cops.

“I am a LAWYER,” he thundered, “you are but a mortal.”

Eyewitnesses claim fishmongers nearby took notes to improve their own cussing. It was less a legal argument, more a verbal mugging.

As police officers stood awkwardly like guests at a bad wedding speech, the lone constable was rewarded for his obedience to procedure by being promptly:

• Berated
• Arrested
• Undressed (not voluntarily)
• Remanded

Meanwhile, the lawyer? He drove off into the sunset, presumably to yell at a waiter or park on a fire hydrant.

The BASL to the Rescue (Sort Of)

And then, like a knight on a papier mâché horse, rode in the Bar Association of Sri Lanka.

One might expect a statement along the lines of:
“We are deeply concerned by the behaviour of our members, which reflects poorly on our profession.”

But instead, BASL gave us:
“We demand justice… for the lawyer.”
(Yes, the one who went Full Legal Karen.)

Not one syllable about the constable’s treatment. Not one emoji of remorse. Just a vague condemnation of “police force” and a silent nod to the unwritten rule: Thou shalt never critique a fellow black coat, no matter how embarrassingly he behaves.

For an association allegedly founded on justice, BASL is showing the loyalty of a mafia family and the ethics of a soggy tea towel.

The Myth of the Lawyer-God

Let’s be clear: Not all lawyers are bad. Many are hardworking, ethical, and barely shout at anyone. But Sri Lanka’s legal community has allowed a dangerous fiction to take hold:

That a black coat makes you royalty. That legal training comes with diplomatic immunity from basic decency. That being called “Counsel” makes you more holy than accountable.

Some lawyers in court act like they’re auditioning for Game of Thrones:

“Your Honour, I demand the head of this constable who dared… follow protocol!”

Others strut through court corridors like over-caffeinated peacocks, while court staff, junior lawyers, and even clients try not to be trampled by the weight of their egos.

The Disciplinary Black Hole

Now you may be wondering: surely such behaviour invites discipline, right?

Ah, sweet innocent reader.

In Sri Lanka, legal discipline is like a unicorn wearing a lawyer’s wig, theoretically majestic, but practically nonexistent.

The BASL prefers to respond to misconduct with:

• A strongly-worded letter (never sent)
• A review committee (never met)
• A promise of action (never taken)

In short, they specialize in inaction to the highest degree.

The People Speak (But No One Listens)

Meanwhile, public trust in the legal profession now ranks somewhere between used car salesmen and Colombo traffic lights.

People ask:

• “If this is how lawyers behave in public, what happens behind closed doors?”
• “If a constable can be jailed for doing his job, what hope do ordinary citizens have?”
• “Is BASL a professional body or just a Facebook group with better fonts?”

These are uncomfortable questions. The kind that makes robes wrinkle and gavels tremble. But they must be asked.

Cleaning the Temple

Let’s spell it out, since the BASL apparently can’t:

• Suspend the lawyer. Immediately.
• Apologise to the police officer. Publicly.
• Reinforce ethics training, preferably before lawyers begin treating judges like Uber drivers.
• Introduce visible ID tags for lawyers. If police wear them, so should they.
• And please, for the love of Lady Justice, remind members that legal education is not a licence to harass public servants.

Mirror, Mirror

Sri Lanka’s lawyers love to quote Latin. So here’s one for the BASL:

Fiat justitia ruat caelum – Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.

Well, the heavens are shaking. Not because of justice,  but because of the thunderous silence from those sworn to uphold it.

Until real accountability returns to the black coat brigade, the profession will remain a tragic parody of itself, respected only in its own echo chamber, feared by the weak, and laughed at by the rest of the world.

 Epilogue: The Verdict Is In

To the BASL: Stop playing public relations for entitled barristers.
To the lawyers: Remember that power without humility is tyranny in a tie.
To the constable: You deserved better.
To the people of Sri Lanka: The law isn’t broken,  but its guardians need a serious reboot.

And to Attorney Wanninayaka?

Congratulations. You may have passed the bar, but you failed the basic test of human decency.

The court adjourned. Indefinitely.