Everyone knows the name Ponnambalam Ramanathan. But knowing the name and knowing the person are two different things. He’s often projected as a "Tamil leader" especially by those who think anyone with a Tamil name and a Jaffna address automatically qualifies as a representative of the Tamils. But to say the truth, when you closely examine his politics and political action, you will eventually realise that Ramanathan’s politics had nothing to do with Tamil nationalism, Eelam, or even Jaffna for that matter. His political identity is made up of colonial loyalty, Saiva orthodoxy, and Vellala supremacy.
Tamilness? Cannot be found anywhere in this equation.
I am not making this point, or stressing on this statement of fact to disrespect him or undermine him. I am just putting forward a critical distinction to understand the true nature of Tamil political history under colonial rule. Ramanathan’s public life, speeches, and alliances reflect a worldview firmly rooted in serving British colonial interests and preserving the hierarchical structures of caste and religion in both the Sinhala and Tamil Nation. He was not driven by the interest or cause of advancing or advocating for Tamil unity or self-determination.
In fact, his actions often ran counter to Tamil nationalist aspirations. Ramanathan aligned himself with Sinhala elites when convenient, supported policies that maintained colonial control, and prioritized caste and religious conservatism over ethnic solidarity.
Oftentimes Colombo liberals, and even some Tamils critical of the national struggle invoke Ponnambalam Ramanathan as a so-called representative of the Tamil people, or of Jaffna in particular. This reference is not accidental. It serves a strategic purpose: to frame the entire Tamil political struggle as inherently casteist. By holding up Ramanathan, a figure deeply embedded in Saiva orthodoxy and Vellala elitism as an identity of Tamil politics, they attempt to discredit broader Tamil demands for equal rights and self-determination as nothing more than a Vellala project. In doing so, they erase the diversity of voices within the Tamil nation and reduce a long-standing political struggle to a caricature built on caste.
This is why it is important to truly understand the political character of Ramanathan and the many other political figures hailing from Jaffna since colonial times.
The British took full control of the island of Ceylon in 1815 after invading and overthrowing the last Kandyan Kingdom, bringing the entire island under colonial rule.
The Legislative Council of Ceylon was established in 1833 through the Colebrooke-Cameron Reforms as an advisory body to assist the occupying British Governor in governing the colony. Initially, it was entirely made up of British officials and a small number of unofficial members nominated by the Governor to represent Europeans, Sinhalese, Tamils, and Burghers. These representatives were not elected by the people but were handpicked to give the appearance of local involvement, while real power remained firmly in colonial hands. For decades, the Council functioned as a tool to enforce colonial interests, with no democratic input from the general population.
The Ponnambalam family came from a privileged background, closely tied to the colonial administration. Their grandfather, Gate Mudaliyar Arumuganathapillai Coomaraswamy, was the first to occupy the Tamil seat in this Legislative Council set up by the British in 1833. Coomaraswamy’s grandsons, Ponnambalam Ramanathan and Ponnambalam Arunachalam, inherited this position of influence. Ramanathan, born in 1851, studied law and was nominated to the Legislative Council by Governor Sir James Longden. He later resigned to become Solicitor General and eventually retired from public office in 1905, shifting his attention to religious and educational interests.
At this juncture, it is worth posing a fundamental question:
Who can truly be considered a people's representative? Surely, it would be someone elected by the people, someone who carries a clear democratic mandate. But in a colony under occupation, where democracy is absent and all power is concentrated in the hands of the occupier, can such representation genuinely exist? When the colonial ruler establishes councils and appoints select locals to serve on them, whom do these appointees really serve? Are they accountable to the people, or to the colonial governor who chose them? Do they advance the interests of the community, or merely legitimise the rule of the occupier under the guise of local involvement?
Ponnambalam Ramanathan was one such nominee.
He was handpicked by the British to sit in the Legislative Council, not to represent or empower the Tamil people, but to serve the needs and stability of colonial governance. His nomination was not an endorsement by the people, but an instrument of imperial control. He served at the pleasure of the Governor, not the electorate. To portray him as the legitimate voice of the Tamil people, or worse, as a representative of Jaffna, is not only historically inaccurate, it is politically dishonest.
Until his retirement in 1905, Ramanathan served in public office merely as a political nominee of the white man. Not the Tamil commoner.
However it is what Ramanathan did after 1905 that actually cemented his legacy in the history of Ceylon, I would argue that it was infamous.
In 1905, the British brought the ‘Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance of 1905’, which was a piece of colonial legislation intended to regulate the administration of Buddhist temples and their properties in Ceylon.
The 1905 Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance allowed the colonial government to appoint and oversee temple administrators (Basnayake Nilames) and gave civil courts the authority to remove monks from temple leadership if deemed "unfit." While this can be seen as a violation of religious freedom and an intrusion into the cultural and spiritual life of the island, it's crucial to understand who it truly affected. It didn’t target the everyday Sinhala Buddhist, but rather the powerful Sangha monastic orders that held enormous control over temple resources and Sinhala society.
These Buddhist Sanghas were deeply divided along caste lines and often functioned more like exclusive casteist factions than true religious communities. The ordinance, therefore, was less an attack on Buddhism itself and more a move to rein in an elite, unaccountable priesthood that operated beyond the reach of public accountability.
And yet, Ramanathan, a Hindu Tamil and former Solicitor General stepped forward not to defend Tamil rights or minority freedoms, but to oppose the 1905 Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance alongside the Sinhala Buddhist Sangha. His alliance with Venerable Hikkaduwe Sri Sumangala Thero, a leading Govigama monk, played a key role in this stance. While Sumangala was celebrated for his religious scholarship, he also fiercely protected the interests of the Govigama-dominated Sangha and harboured racist views toward non-Sinhalese and non-Buddhists. Ramanathan, perhaps blinded by a romantic ideal of cross-ethnic unity between the Vellala and Govigama elites, failed to recognise the deeply casteist and nationalist agendas at play. He likely believed he was defending religious freedom, but in reality, his support helped reinforce the Sangha’s grip on Buddhist institutions and legitimised a caste-based order. In the process, he became a tool in a broader project of Sinhala-Buddhist consolidation, a project that would, in later decades, marginalise the very communities Ramanathan himself came from. His misreading of the moment and misplaced alliances had consequences far beyond his intent, allowing others to use his credibility to advance an exclusionary, racist, ethnocentric, majoritarian vision for the island.
pic: Hikkaduwe Sri Sumangala TheroAfter retiring from public life, Ramanathan spent his time on religious and educational work, dividing his days between Ceylon and his home in Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu. But in 1910, the McCallum Reforms changed the political scene by introducing a basic form of government where some people could vote and elect representatives, though it was far from true democracy,as voting rights were severely limited to a privileged few: wealthy, English-educated males who met specific income and property qualifications. As a result, the electorate was tiny and overwhelmingly dominated by members of the Vellala caste among Tamils and the Govigama caste among Sinhalese. These reforms were not aimed at empowering the broader population but rather at co-opting elite sections of local society into the colonial structure.
As soon as the reforms were announced, Ramanathan began receiving letters urging him to contest the seat. One of his strongest supporters was Hector A. Jayawardene, a respected lawyer who personally traveled to Kodaikanal to convince him. (Hector’s grandson, J.R. Jayawardene, would go on to become the first executive President of Sri Lanka.) Ramanathan agreed to run, with his nomination backed by powerful Tamils and Sinhalese elites. His opponent, Dr. Marcus Fernando, a prominent Sinhalese doctor from the Karawa caste, threatened the dominance of this elite alliance. To protect their hold on power, the Vellala and Govigama castes united behind Ramanathan, handing him a decisive victory.
pic:Dr.Marcus FernandoRamanathan’s entanglement with Sinhala-Buddhist politics didn’t end there. He went on to become one of the most vocal champions of Buddhist revivalism and Sinhala nationalism paradoxically, as a Hindu Tamil. He actively campaigned for the promotion of Buddhism and the Sinhala language, even travelling to England to plead the Sinhala case before colonial authorities. Upon his return, Sinhalese leaders celebrated him as a hero, pulling his chariot from Colombo Harbour to his home on Ward Place, a symbolic gesture of how fully he had been embraced by the Sinhala elite. What began as a caste-based alliance between the Vellala and Govigama elites matured into a political bloc united by shared ambitions: greater “Ceylonisation” of the colonial public service, expanded powers for the executive and legislative councils, and frustration with the unchecked authority of the British governor.
It is important to clarify Ramanathan’s position within the colonial political system. Before the 1910 reforms, he was never elected to any representative body but was instead appointed to the Legislative Council by the colonial Governor. This nomination was a privilege granted by colonial authorities rather than a reflection of popular support. Infact Ramanathan contested the newly created “Educated Ceylonese” seat in 1911 and won with about 1,704 votes. The broader Tamil population, especially the working classes and oppressed castes, were excluded from voting, meaning Ramanathan was never chosen by a true democratic majority.
In reality, the Tamil community at large did not view Ramanathan as their leader, nor did they support him as a representative of Tamil interests. His politics were more aligned with Sri Lankan nationalism centered on maintaining the dominance of the Govigama and Vellala castes across the island, a unity based on caste privilege rather than genuine ethnic solidarity. This caste dominance has endured in Sri Lankan politics, with almost all Sinhala Presidents and Prime Ministers coming from the Govigama caste, except for Premadasa. In contrast, Tamil leadership has historically been more diverse and less dominated by a single caste, reflecting the varied makeup of Tamil society.
When universal suffrage arrived with the Donoughmore Constitution in 1931, Tamil voters decisively rejected figures like Ramanathan, who represented colonial and elite interests. Instead, they elected G. G. Ponnambalam, widely regarded as the first Tamil leader chosen by the majority of Tamil voters and a committed advocate for Tamil nationalism and minority rights. Given this history, it is difficult to honestly consider Ramanathan a true representative of the Tamil people, especially those from Jaffna, as his politics primarily served colonial and caste interests rather than Tamil nationalism.
Ramanathan’s political legacy is often clouded in lies and propaganda. For some, his legal acumen, his oratory, and his visible presence in colonial governance have been mistaken for leadership in the service of Tamil people. But we must make a clear distinction between being visible and being representative. Ramanathan’s political life consistently aligned with elite interests, colonial, religious, and caste-based, while remaining distant from the genuine aspirations of Tamil society. He never advocated for Tamil political autonomy, cultural recognition, or equal rights within a Sinhala-majority framework. His career was marked by loyalty to the empire and solidarity with Sinhala elites, not by any commitment to Tamil self-determination.
Even more glaring is the fact that when the Tamil masses finally gained the right to vote, they turned away from figures like Ramanathan. The rise of G. G. Ponnambalam in the 1930s was not a mere political shift; it was a popular rejection of colonial-era elites who had long spoken over the heads of ordinary Tamils. Ramanathan’s version of politics, rooted in caste and colonial compliance, had no place in a society awakening to the need for real representation and resistance. The Tamil people chose their own voice, one that echoed their lived reality, not one shaped by colonial clubs, and elite backroom alliances.
To portray Ponnambalam Ramanathan as a Tamil nationalist is a fundamental distortion of history. He was not a Tamil leader, but a Sri Lankan nationalist in the most problematic sense, one who submitted to the ideological dominance of Sinhala nationalism and helped consolidate its cultural and political supremacy.
He may have spoken Tamil and come from Jaffna, but his politics served the interests of the Sinhalese elite far more than the needs of the Tamil people. In fact, his role in legitimizing Sinhala-Buddhist dominance and preserving caste power structures only deepened Tamil marginalization in the long run. He never stood for the political emancipation of the Tamil nation. If anything, he stood in its way.
He may have been Tamil by birth, but his politics served power, not his people.
-mrpaluvets
22/07/2025
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