Riyaz Aluher
For many Sri Lankans, the tragic events of May 1, 1993, remain a searing memory. The assassination of President Ranasinghe Premadasa, a leader known for his deep connection with the grassroots, marked one of the darkest days in our nation’s post-independence history. For me, however, it was more than just a historical tragedy—it was a deeply personal experience, witnessed from just across the road.
As an Advanced Level student at the time, I was living with my family in the school quarters of Mihindu Mawatha Muslim Maha Vidyalaya—now known as Al Hikma College—located directly opposite “Sucharitha,” the private residence of President Premadasa. We had been living in the quarters for nearly 13 years, as my father served as the Assistant Principal of the school. That long period of residence offered us not only proximity to power but also a unique window into the daily routines of one of the country’s most prominent leaders.
The morning of May Day in 1993 was unusually tense. Security forces had taken over the school premises to accommodate personnel participating in the May Day rally. I remember standing at the main entrance of the school, watching the parade begin its procession from St. Sebastian Road. President Premadasa, dressed in his customary white, was travelling in one of the vehicles, waving to the crowd as always.
Then came an unusual moment—a black cat suddenly crossed in front of the President’s vehicle. Known to be highly superstitious and deeply influenced by astrology, he turned the vehicle around and returned briefly to Sucharitha. Moments later, he reappeared in a different vehicle and rejoined the procession.
By midday, around 12:00 to 12:30 p.m., we were shaken by devastating news: a bomb had exploded near the Armour Street junction opposite Vani Vilas, killing the President and several others. It was later revealed that the suicide bomber was a man named “Babu,” an LTTE operative who had infiltrated the President’s inner circle. Employed at a small retail shop in Gunasinghapura, Babu had earned the President’s trust and was even known to have accompanied him on private air travel.
That day changed the country—and it changed me. Having seen the President hours before his assassination, just outside the place I called home, left a deep imprint on my memory. President Premadasa was a powerful orator, and over the years, I had often listened to his eloquent Sinhala speeches delivered from Sucharitha. Although my first language is Tamil, I believe those speeches helped me improve my command of Sinhala, exposing me to powerful public speaking and the rhythm of political discourse in Sri Lanka.
President Premadasa’s vision for development, especially his focus on housing schemes and poverty alleviation, remains a significant part of his legacy. Yet, the circumstances of his death are a grim reminder of the violent chapters in our island’s history.
May Day will forever hold dual meanings for Sri Lankans—a celebration of workers’ rights, and the day we lost a sitting President to terror. For me, it will always remain the day history unfolded before my very eyes, just across the street from home.
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ALSO SEE
Rajan Hoole: “Political Murders, the Commissions and the Unfinished Task” ….
https://www.reddit.com/r/srilanka/comments/ugoll6/remembering_ranasinghe_premadasa_behind_the_mask/