States of Emergency (30 10 2008)

A State of Permanent Crisis
Constitutional Government, Fundamental

Rights and States of Emergency in Sri
Lanka
Asanga Welikala
1
All rights reserved.
Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) and the author.
First published Colombo, 2008.
Material from this publication may be used with due acknowledgement to the author and
CPA.
ISBN 978‐955‐1655‐50‐1
The Friedrich Naumann Stiftung für die Freiheit (FNF) is the only German political
foundation, committed to liberal principles. The Foundation is a non proLit organization
working in 60 countries of the world, promoting liberal concepts, with the objective of
contributing towards political, economic and social development. The Foundation
celebrated its golden anniversary in May 2008 and introduced “Freedom” as the new
motto of FNF’s future work. The foundation worldwide has developed and canvassed
liberal ideas and liberal approaches through its numerous activities and events. The
Foundation’s main task is to continually underline the relevance of freedom for
developing an open, free and tolerant society.
The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) is an independent, non‐partisan organization

that focuses primarily on issues of governance and conLlict resolution. Formed in 1996 in
the Lirm belief that the vital contribution of civil society to the public policy debate is in
need of strengthening, CPA is committed to programmes of research and advocacy
through which public policy is critiqued, alternatives identiLied and disseminated.
Address : 24/2, 28th Lane, off Flower Road, Colombo 7, Sri Lanka
Telephone : +94 (11) 2565304/5/6
Fax : +94 (11) 4714460
Web : http://www.cpalanka.org
2
This book is dedicated to J.S. Tissainayagam
3
Table of Contents
Foreword – Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu ........................................ 08
Preface .................................................................................................................... 10
1. Introduction .................................................................................................. 16
PART I The Theory and Practice of Emergency

Powers
2. Theory and Practice: An Introduction to Three Models ..... 30
2.1. Models of Accommodation ............................................................ 32
2.1.1. Classical Models of Accommodation ............................. 33

The Roman Dictatorship ....................................... 33
The French State of Siege ...................................... 40
The British Concept of Martial Law .................. 42
2.1.2. The Modern Comparative Context:
Three Categories of Accommodation ............................ 45
Constitutional Accommodation ......................... 46
Legislative Accommodation ................................ 47
Interpretive Accommodation ............................. 48
2.2. Business as Usual Model ................................................................ 49
2.3. Extra‐Legal Measures Models ...................................................... 51

Carl Schmitt: Sovereign Dictatorship, the Concept
of the Political and the State of Permanent Exception ... 55
4
3. The Neo‐Roman Constitutional Model of
Accommodation: Comparative Experience ....................................... 64
3.1. Comparative Experience: Constitutional Issues and

Responses ....................................................................................................... 66
3.1.1. What is an Emergency? The Problem of DeLinition ......... 66

3.1.2. Declaration, Extension and Termination .............................. 74
3.1.3. Legal Effects of a Declaration of Emergency ....................... 79
3.1.4. Checks and Balances ...................................................................... 87
3.2. Comparative Experience: Areas of Concern .................................... 92
3.2.1. Constitutional Accommodation: Misuse and Abuse ........ 93

3.2.2. Communal Alienation: Us vs. Them ........................................ 97
3.2.3. The Concept of Militant Democracy and
the Sixth Amendment ................................................................. 101
3.2.4. Normalisation of the Exception ............................................. 105
4. Standards governing States of Emergency at International

Law and Practice ............................................................................................. 110
4.1. General Observations: International Human Rights

Law as a Legislative and Interpretive Framework
of Accommodation ................................................................................. 116
4.1.1. DeLinition of Emergency ........................................................... 117

4.1.2. Derogations .................................................................................... 121
4.1.3. Common Themes of Treaty Body Jurisprudence ........... 124
4.1.4. Overview of the Derogation Jurisprudence and
Commentary of the Human Rights Committee .................. 125
4.2. International Protection vs. National Implementation:

The Enforcement Framework of the ICCPR ................................ 127
4.2.1. The Human Rights Committee ............................................. 130

4.2.2. The Reporting Procedure ....................................................... 131
4.2.3. Inter‐State Communications ................................................. 134
4.2.4. Individual Communications .................................................. 135
4.2.5. Conclusions .................................................................................. 137
5
4.3. International Human Rights Standards in States of
Emergency under the ICCPR:
The Legal Regime of Derogations ....................................................... 138
4.3.1. The Principle of Exceptional Threat ..................................... 142

4.3.2. The Principle of Proclamation ................................................ 145
4.3.3. The Principle of NotiLication ................................................... 148
4.3.4. The Principle of Non‐Derogability ........................................ 152
4.3.5. The Principle of Proportionality ............................................ 160
4.3.6. The Principle of Non‐Discrimination ................................... 166
4.3.7. The Principle of Consistency ................................................... 169
PART II The Sri Lankan Experience of Emergency

Powers
5. Sri Lanka’s Constitutional and Legal Framework

regarding States of Emergency ................................................................ 174
5.1. The Constitutional and Statutory Framework:

Chapter XVIII and the PSO .................................................................. 177
5.1.1. Emergency Regulations .............................................................. 181
5.2. Special Anti‐Terrorism Powers: The PTA ........................................ 187
5.3. Judicial Review of States of Emergency ........................................... 191
5.4. General Observations on Constitutional Framework on

Emergencies .............................................................................................. 198
5.4.1. The DeLinition of ‘State of Public Emergency’ .................. 199

5.4.2. Declaration, Extension and Termination ............................ 201
5.4.3. Legal Effects .................................................................................... 204
5.4.4. Checks and Balances ................................................................... 207
6
6. Fundamental Rights ...................................................................................... 208
6.1. Chapter II: Sri Lanka’s Constitutional Bill of Rights .................. 209
6.2. General Observations on the Fundamental Rights

Framework .................................................................................................. 211
6.2.1. Structure and Content ................................................................ 212

6.2.2. Judicial Protection of Fundamental Rights ....................... 213
6.2.3. Restrictions on Fundamental Rights:
Limitations and Derogations .................................................. 218
6.3. Restrictions on Fundamental Rights:

International Standards ...................................................................... 220
6.4. Sri Lanka’s International Obligations: ICCPR ............................. 222
6.4.1. The Singarasa Case (2006) and Sri Lanka’s

International Obligations ...................................................... 225
6.4.2. The Supreme Court Advisory Opinion on the
ICCPR (2008) ............................................................................... 232
7. Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 236
Annexures
Table of Cases .......................................................................................................... 240

Proclamations and Emergency Regulations .............................................. 244
Bibliography ............................................................................................................. 250
7
Foreword
The mandate of the Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) is the

strengthening of the civil society contribution to democratic
governance, peace, and human rights in Sri Lanka through
research and advocacy. CPA was founded in 1996 in the belief that
democratic governance, peace, and human rights could only be
strengthened and protected through the proactive involvement of
the citizens of this country in inLluencing and shaping opinion and
policy making on the decisions that affect their daily lives.
This volume by Asanga Welikala, Senior Researcher in the Legal

and Constitutional Unit of CPA, is published in this spirit and in the
hope that it will contribute towards a better public understanding
of the challenges to democratic governance in Sri Lanka as well as
inform and inspire efforts that need to be taken to strengthen and
protect it.
An entire generation of Sri Lankans have known only emergency

rule, except for the few years in which it was relaxed. For others,
emergency rule has become the norm and the accepted
framework for government. Few however will disagree, when they
look back over the decades since independence, that the crisis of
the legitimacy of the state, the deterioration in respect for the rule
of law and the institutionalisation of a culture of impunity with
regard to human rights violations, have deepened over the years
and over the last three decades in particular.
The recourse to emergency rule has taken its toll on the political
culture, institutions and processes of governance without securing
the objectives of security and law and order for which they were,
ostensibly, resorted to. Under the guise of national security, regime
8
security has been prioritised and the state has traversed the full
spectrum from protector and provider to predator. Consequently,
Sri Lanka’s claim to be a functioning democracy has been called
into question to the extent that the question of ‘state failure’ has
also been posed in relation to our government and governance.
Labelling of the crisis aside, there is no denying the existence of

one. This volume seeks to understand it through an exploration of
the tension between the requirements of security and democratic
freedoms, the theoretical underpinnings of that tension, and the
arguments integral to it as well as their application to the Sri
Lankan context. In this respect, it deals with an issue that is
squarely on the agenda of policy‐making, and political and
intellectual debate in a number of democracies, especially since
the events of 9/11 and the heightened challenge of terrorism. Our
commitment to liberal democracy in Sri Lanka obliges us to
engage with this issue, particularly since we have to be especially
vigilant that our response to terrorism does not destroy that
which we ought to protect, and that which terrorism by deLinition
is committed to destroying.
CPA appreciates the partnership of the Friedrich Naumann

Stiftung in this endeavour and to our continuing collaboration in
the Lield of democratic governance.
Special thanks are due to Asanga. His passion for and commitment
to liberal democratic ideas and values, as well as his considerable
intellectual curiosity are amply reLlected in this work. I hope and
trust that this volume will be received as a singular contribution to
debate and advocacy for democratic governance in Sri Lanka, I
believe it is.
Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu

Executive Director
Centre for Policy Alternatives
9
Preface
In May and June 1958, in Ceylon, occurred what were up till then
the most serious communal riots in Sri Lanka’s troubled history of
ethnic relations. In retrospect, the events of 1958 were mere
portents of the horrors that were to come. A contemporaneous
journalistic account of what happened was written by Tarzie
Vittachi, editor of Asia’s oldest newspaper, the Ceylon Observer,
satirical columnist, and intrepid political commentator. In the
context of the blanket censorship imposed under Sri Lanka’s Lirst
post‐independence experience of emergency rule, the manuscript
was published in London under the title Emergency ’58 by Andre
Deutsch, in what has now become a classic of Sri Lankan political
literature. The book was banned in Ceylon, and Tarzie Vittachi
subsequently left the country, under the cloud of death threats.
From a strictly dispassionate academic viewpoint, Vittachi’s

account is no doubt coloured by his sense of outrage and despair
at the communal bestiality that was unleashed, the initially
dilatory and subsequently disproportionate response of the State,
and the comprehensive failure of democratic political leadership
in 1958. However, both the circumstances of the emergency in
1958 and Vittachi’s response to it are of enduring signiLicance.
Amidst a conLlagration of ethnic hatred, banal violence and mass
nationalist hysteria, Vittachi’s was a lone voice of reason, of moral
decency and the courage of deeply held liberal democratic
convictions. It is half a century since the watershed of 1958, and a
tribute to Vittachi’s prescience then is also a parable of the tragedy
of ethnic fratricide in Sri Lanka, where his admonitions continue
to go unheeded.
10
The year 2008 also marks the twenty‐Lifth anniversary of the
infamy of Black July 1983, which without doubt epitomises the
darkest moment in the contemporary history of Sri Lanka. The
unspeakable tragedy of this pogrom, a kind of social delirium
tremens that afLlicted our society for a few days, and in which we
took leave of both our senses and our morality, requires no
retelling. It transmogriLied our society, and changed the trajectory
of its historical evolution onto a path that ensured, and promises,
suppurating conLlict for years.
Coincidentally, 2008 is the thirtieth year of the Second Republican

Constitution of 1978. The legislature, then named the National
State Assembly, formally adopted the constitution on 17th August
1978, which was certiLied on 31st August. In terms of Article 172,
the constitution was brought into force on 7th September 1978 by
Proclamation of the President.
Virtually for the entirety of the period since then, constitutionally

unresolved ethno‐political tensions have engulfed Sri Lanka in a
violent civil war. One of the deLining characteristics of this war has
been its lawless nature. Both the State, and over time its principal
protagonist, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) have
been less than solicitous about internationally established basic
norms of armed conLlict, especially those concerning international
human rights and humanitarian standards in respect of civilians.
Any attention that has in fact been paid to these by the armed
adversaries, has been due to international exposure and fear of
censure. The consequences have been borne by civilians, primarily
those living in the North and East. ConLlict in Sri Lanka has also
emanated from within the South. Both of the Janatha Vimukthi
Peramuna (JVP)’s failed insurrections resulted in massive human
rights violations, again perpetrated by both insurgents and the
11
State, especially during the second rebellion in the period between
1987 and 1991.
Our focus in this book is on the State, and its recourse to

emergency powers under constitutional authority in responding
to armed challenges. While the responsibility of non‐State actors
in human rights violations is fully acknowledged, the nature of the
political association known as the State is fundamentally different
from them. The State, even in a battle for its survival, is not
entitled to act outside of the powers we the people, in the exercise
of our sovereignty, have given it in the form of a contract by the
constitution. Perhaps even more signiLicantly, the State cannot
claim the political legitimacy fundamental to its existence without
demonstrating commitment to the normative values of the free
and democratic way of life. Some of these are written in the
constitution, but many others underpin it as the spirit of a
democratic society. Straightforward and as universally accepted as
this assumption may be in the democratic world, the subscription
of governments of Sri Lanka to this principle has not always been
scrupulous or particularly manifest. Continuing conLlict has
created a backdrop in which Sri Lankans have become inured to –
and those under the age of about thirty have largely never known
anything other than – crisis government under the full gamut of
emergency powers. This book is a review of that experience from
the perspective of fundamental human rights and the rule of law
in the light of comparative experiences.
2007 and 2008 have seen an escalation of military conLlict, in

which both the State and the LTTE have committed grave human
rights violations. For the people of the North and East, it has been
a prolongation of the agony of death and displacement they have
experienced since the 1980s. The State has pursued its military
programme under the dictates of a particularly virulent ethno‐
12
nationalist political ideology (mirroring the monolithic political
and militaristic standpoint of the LTTE) that has, outside the
theatres of battle, institutionalised a worldview that has little
patience for the assumptions regarding human rights, the rule of
law and constitutional government during states of emergency at
the heart of this book. A corresponding and massive arrogation of
an extraordinary array of emergency powers by the State has been
the formal and legal result. The more informal, in the sense of
‘political’, consequence has been the entrenchment of an
epistemological discourse of ‘patriot or traitor’ that has
legitimised a culture of impunity and immunity against even the
most egregious human rights violations and violators. Civil society
in general, and journalists in particular, have borne the full brunt
of this dreadful political ideology.
This book is dedicated to one of them, J. S. Tissainayagam, in the

fervent hope that he will regain his freedom from incarceration
sooner rather than later. Tissa is a friend with whom the author
enjoyed many and unapologetically didactic disagreements on
questions of politics, but it is plain that Voltaire’s dictum on the
freedom of expression is a value that is nowadays wholly
subordinate to the paranoid nostrums of the ‘National Security
State.’
The basic framework of analysis and many of the ideas expressed

in this book were Lirst presented, inchoately and informally, at a
seminar organised by the Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) at
the Sri Lanka Foundation Institute in Colombo on 5th April 2007. A
panel chaired by Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu (Executive
Director, CPA), and comprising Mr. Desmond Fernando, President’s
Counsel; Mr. K. S. Ratnavale, Attorney at Law; Mr. M. A.
Sumanthiran, Attorney at Law; and Mr. Rohan Edrisinha (Senior
Lecturer, Faculty of Law, University of Colombo, and Director &
13
Head of the Legal & Constitutional Unit, CPA) responded to the
presentation. Thanks are due to the panel for their comments, the
quality and rigour of which truly reLlected the panellists’
distinction, length and diversity of experience in the defence of
civil liberties and the rule of law at the Bar, in academe and as
members of Sri Lanka’s civil society. Thanks are also due to the
interventions and lively debate generated by participants at the
seminar.
The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) and the author would like
to acknowledge with appreciation the Linancial support for this
project given by the Friedrich Naumann Stiftung für die Freiheit
(FNF). The author wishes in particular to thank the FNF Resident
Representative in Sri Lanka, Mrs. Sagarica Delgoda, and her
colleagues at the FNF Colombo ofLice for the great Llexibility,
understanding and patience they have shown in bringing this
book to publication, delays and extensions notwithstanding.
We also thank Dr. Deepika Udagama, Senior Lecturer at the Faculty

of Law of the University of Colombo, for reviewing the book, and
Dr. Rene Klaff of the FNF for his participation and comments, at
the book launch at the 80 Club, on 27th August 2008, which was
chaired by Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu. At CPA, the author
would like to thank Anukshi Jayasinha for organising the launch
with her customary equanimity; Anja Rupesinghe, Sankhitha
Gunaratne and Shamalie Jayatunge for their assistance with
proofreading and the preparation of annexures, Joseph Thavarajah
for designing the cover, and Sanjana Hattotuwa for help with the
technical aspects of production – all rendered with patience and
good humour in spite of unreasonable demands on their time; and
Kosala Tillekeratne and Globe Printers for their usual rising to the
occasion in the rescue of a habitually deadline challenged author.
14
Needless to say, responsibility for errors that doubtless remain
lies with the author.
Almost the entirety of the author’s career in Sri Lanka working on

what is known in the United States as ‘public service law’ at the
Legal & Constitutional Unit of the CPA has been against the
backdrop of emergency rule, its frequent and Llagrant abuses, and
our responses; apart from a brief interregnum between 2001 and
2004 when the state of emergency lapsed and under the terms of
the CeaseLire Agreement of February 2002, the operation of the
PTA was suspended. So an in limine word of caution is that this
personal experience colours the discussion in this book, and for
which I offer no excuse.
Asanga Welikala
Colombo
th
27 August 2008
15
Chapter 1
INTRODUCTION
Sri Lanka has been governed under emergency powers for the
best part of the last three decades. The crisis conditions
necessitating recourse by the State to emergency powers are the
result of deep‐rooted political anomalies of the Sri Lankan State
and its constitutional order. These have given rise to two instances
of attempted overthrow of the State driven by socio‐economic and
ideological considerations in the South, as well as the continuing
ethno‐political conLlict and armed secessionism in the North and
East of the country.
This book does not seek to examine the political and

constitutional dimensions of conLlict in Sri Lanka and the
anomalies that have created prolonged conLlict. Its aim is the more
modest one of describing through a coherent analytical
framework, the endemic and seemingly permanent state of
emergency that Sri Lanka has been and continues to be governed
under, with a view to assessing the implications this has had for
notions of constitutional government and for the protection of
fundamental rights within the current constitutional dispensation.
The legal provision for states of emergency – for government

during times of acute crisis – presents a fundamental challenge for
16
those who believe in the democratic form of government, human
rights, and constitutionalism. Balancing the recognition that the
State must be empowered to take extraordinary measures to deal
with violent challenges and crises threatening the life of the
community, is the need to ensure safeguards for the core of the
democratic order. Quite simply, it is only the assurance of an
appropriate balance between these competing objectives that
ultimately justiLies the conferral of extraordinary powers on the
State. If the State, in response even to armed and violent challenge,
is allowed to habitually override the core democratic values of the
constitutional order such as fundamental human rights, the rule of
law, and the separation of powers, then the moral and political
justiLication for constitutionally providing for emergency powers
is fatally undermined. In other words, if the State becomes
authoritarian in the exercise of emergency powers, there is
nothing left worth defending in the constitutional order.
This central tension between order and democracy pervades the

constitutional and legal treatment of states of emergency. The
tension provokes questions as to which kinds of limitations and
derogations on our rights, to what extent, and how, we are willing
to countenance in allowing for measures to deal with a crisis.
Implicit too is the notion that crises and emergencies are the
‘exception’ to the norm of constitutional government, and
accordingly, that legal provision for emergency measures be
presumptively based on a return to ‘normality’ as quickly and with
as little damage as possible to the democratic order. This
recognises that some of the ordinary checks and balances as well
as certain liberties may be restricted or even altogether
suspended during a crisis, but it does not mean granting a
constitutional carte blanche to the executive.
17
The choices imposed by this tension are of course a dilemma faced
by democracies and democrats, because authoritarian regimes do
not face a choice between liberty and order. To the latter, the only
considerations are those such as efLiciency, the allocation of
resources, and the political and physical survival of the regime. In
democracies, the recognition of the need for emergency powers
requires an acceptance of an expansion of the role of the executive,
by deLinition at the expense of some facets of democracy.
Primarily, this involves the derogation or limitation of some
fundamental rights and the suspension of some institutional
checks and balances. For the reason that emergency powers are
seen as exceptional measures to deal with a crisis, democratic
practice and international law seeks to impose temporal,
procedural, and substantive limits to emergency powers. Thus the
theory and practice relating to states of emergency in
constitutional democracies concern certain overarching themes
such as the fundamental distinction between emergency and
normalcy already mentioned (and accordingly the separation of
treatment between exceptional measures and ordinary law and
processes). Flowing directly from this is the concern to limit the
operation of emergency powers in time; to establish requirements
of justiLication prior to invocation of these powers; the
mechanisms for approval, oversight and accountability; and to
regulate the substantive reach of emergency powers, especially
where fundamental rights are implicated.
The assumption of separation between emergency and normalcy,

which embodies the concern to address the tension between these
two conditions in a way that equips the State with the adequate
capacity to deal with emergencies without sacriLicing the essential
core of the democratic way of life, constitutes the fundamental
analytical perspective of this book. This is subject to the
qualiLications regarding political culture and the permanence of
18
the exception discussed below. Nonetheless, a theoretically and
normatively coherent, critical understanding of the Sri Lankan
situation in the light of comparative experience cannot be
undertaken without making this assumption.
At the level of the constitutional and legal framework, the

regulation of states of emergency in Sri Lanka appears broadly to
comply with at least some of the requirements mentioned above,
even if that framework is outmoded in the light of contemporary
international human rights jurisprudence and constitutional
design trends. This is especially the case with regard to the
permissibility and constitutional regulation of restrictions on
fundamental rights during emergencies.
However, in the Sri Lankan experience, what is immediately clear

is that the presumption of exceptionalism with regard to
emergencies cannot form the exclusive basis of an account of
states of emergency, because the exception has quite clearly
become the norm. Thus the constitutional and legal regulatory
framework must be assessed as more or less permanent power‐
conferring provisions for general governance, notwithstanding
their intended purpose as occasionally invoked, special and
temporary measures. Actually, this is not a uniquely Sri Lankan
problem, in that even in constitutional democracies with relatively
strong rule of law and civil liberties traditions, the assumption of
separation between an emergency and normalcy are a constant
source of theoretical and practical problems. Attention to this
issue has increased in the West in the context of governmental
responses to terrorism in the aftermath of September 11.
However, these problems assume an aggravated form and quality
in countries such as Sri Lanka which are characterised by weak
rule of law cultures, fundamental anomalies of the State
constitutional order that generate internal political conLlict, and
19
indeed, ambiguous social subscription to liberal democratic
values.
In Sri Lanka, moreover, while the constitutional and legal

framework relating to emergency powers superLicially resemble
that of a constitutional and democratic order, the culture and
practice of these powers relate a different story in respect of the
legality of ofLicial conduct and of the protection of fundamental
rights. Therefore, a proper understanding of Sri Lankan states of
emergency must look beyond textual provisions and their judicial
interpretation to the more politically sentient cultures and
attitudes that inform the exercise of governmental authority.
It has also been the case that even the institutional safeguards
envisaged by the constitution have been rendered nugatory by the
failure of parliamentary review over executive action, both
procedurally and in terms of substantive rule‐making. Likewise,
both the independence and the capacity of the law enforcement
apparatus of the State, including the police, the Attorney General’s
Department and the judiciary, are once again becoming a matter of
international concern. The Supreme Court as the constitutional
guarantor of fundamental rights has had a mixed record. It has
been a relatively robust defender of fundamental rights in the
past, although the tenor of its jurisprudence has not always
corresponded with international trends and standards. More
recently, however, the Supreme Court has been responsible, inter
alia, for a shocking retreat from Sri Lanka’s international
obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political
Rights and its enforcement framework under the First Optional
Protocol. Other mechanisms such as the national Human Rights
Commission have become wholly ineffectual in dealing with
challenges on the ground. There is very little conLidence that the
institutions of the State are possessed of the necessary will,
20
independence or capacity to ensure the protection of the human
rights of its citizens against abuse of emergency powers in the
context of escalating conLlict.
All of these factors coalesce into what is now an executive praxis

and culture that is deeply problematic from the perspective of
conLining executive authority within constitutional and statutory
limits as well as fundamental rights protection. The prevailing
ethos is one in which violations of fundamental rights are
widespread, and which is compounded by the re‐emergence of a
pervasive culture of impunity. The political backdrop of these
developments is the current government’s policy and perspective
regarding the resolution of the ethnic conLlict, which is in essence
a counter‐insurgency approach, and the manner of its execution
since 2005. The reason for disquiet about recent events is that in
the pursuit of this strategy, the commitment of the government to
protecting fundamental rights and the rule of law appear neither
clear nor unequivocal. This is evinced by consistent ofLicial
rhetoric that places national security considerations over and
above democratic values, and policy decisions and executive
action that directly violate human rights. There is a perception
that the effectiveness and utility of ofLicial responses by the
government to civil society and international pressure on these
counts (for example the appointment of the Presidential
Commission of Inquiry into human rights violations (CoI) and the
International Independent Group of Eminent Persons (IIGEP), and
the acrimonious exit of the latter) are compromised by cynicism,
indifference and insincerity. This is exacerbated by the lawless
perception created by the operation of security and intelligence
apparatuses as well as their paramilitary associates in an
unregulated and secretive extra‐legal sphere. The consequential
atmosphere, in the context of high proLile violations such as
abductions, beatings and torture, extra‐judicial executions,
21
ethnic discrimination, detentions without charge, internal
displacement, and the arbitrary expulsion of civilians from the
metropolis, is one in which there is no public conLidence in human
rights protection and the rule of law, which in turns erodes
conLidence in and legitimacy of the constitutional order itself.
The issue of the arrogation of extra‐legal ‘powers’ has assumed

renewed signiLicance in the context of the escalation of conLlict in
2007 and 2008, and evinced in the publicly represented ofLicial
attitudes to legality, constitutionality, and the equal protection of
human rights of all citizens in the avowed Light against terrorism.
While of course the policy of the President Rajapakse’s
administration in respect of resolving the conLlict is a radical
departure from that of its short‐lived United National Front (UNF)
predecessor, it must be remembered that impatience with strict
legal constraints in the prosecution of counter‐insurgency
programmes is not something that is unique to the present
government. To be sure, the Sri Lankan State has an unenviable
record of abuse of emergency powers; in the suppression of the
JVP insurrection in the late 1980s and the instances of military
abuses in operational areas in the North and East since at least the
1970s. The Jayewardene and Premadasa presidencies, under the
current constitutional dispensation, represented an unusually
audacious rejection of both legality and liberal values. Thus while
the source of its powers remains the constitution – which though
imperfect and inadequate is nonetheless a broadly democratic
constitutional framework – Sri Lankan governments’
interpretation of the political power available to them for the
prosecution of war and anti‐terrorism programmes seems to
exceed the constitution per se. It is in this context that a more
complete appreciation of the ramiLications of Sri Lankan states of
emergency must both understand the executive’s legal
22
reinterpretation of its constitutional sphere as well as go beyond
to the politics of self‐legitimation.
From these preliminary observations it is clear that an analytical

framework capable of fully explaining states of emergency in Sri
Lanka needs to address a number of factors. Firstly, it must
provide a sound theoretical and comparative basis for analysis and
critique. Secondly, it must deal with the textual provisions of the
Sri Lankan constitutional and legal dispensation and their judicial
interpretation. But, thirdly, it must also go beyond legal text and
judicial interpretation to an examination of the attendant political
culture and ofLicial attitudes to the exercise of these powers. The
issues relating to the third consideration, however, are so complex
and wide as to justify treatment in another book, and are therefore
only dealt with in a cursory fashion here.
Accordingly, the analytical framework of this paper draws on the

theory, practice and legal scholarship on states of emergency to
articulate three models of emergency powers: (a) the models of
legal accommodation, with particular focus on the Roman model
of constitutional accommodation; (b) the libertarian model of
constitutional perfection; and (c) the models of extra‐legality, with
a particular reference to the work of Carl Schmitt. While the
institutional variations of these models as applied in international
experience and constitutions are diverse and not necessarily as
conceptually neat as the theoretical articulation of the models
would suggest, the political challenges and legal problems they
seek to address are, perhaps unsurprisingly, remarkably similar.
That is, the question of how to rationalise the provision of public
authority for dealing with extreme and violent crises; and in
constitutional democracies the dilemmatic choices this problem
poses for the preservation of the core values of the democratic
order, in particular, fundamental human rights and the rule of law.
23
Having set out the theoretical framework of analysis in this way,
the discussion explores the Roman model of constitutional
accommodation further, as the model that is the prototype for
emergency institutions in the large majority of modern
democracies as well as for the standards set by international law
and practice, and which also ostensibly informs the text and
constitutional assumptions of the Sri Lankan legal framework on
emergency rule. The second model, also known as the ‘business as
usual’ model, is of limited application to the Sri Lankan
experience, and is only included here for the sake of completeness.
It would seem, given the avowedly democratic, if Llawed, character

of the Sri Lankan constitutional order, that the third set of models
which seek to rationalise an extra‐legal basis of emergency powers
have no place in a critical discussion of such powers from a liberal
constitutionalist perspective. However, the extra‐legal model
propounded by Carl Schmitt, despite its odious antecedents in
Nazi Germany, poses valid and fundamental theoretical challenges
to liberals about the nature of politics and law. More pertinent to
the Sri Lankan experience, Schmitt is also useful in understanding
political attitudes to the use of emergency powers that do not
subscribe to, or are less concerned with, liberal democratic
anxieties in this regard. Schmitt’s work lends philosophical clarity
to the ‘concept of the political’ and the nature of the ‘permanent
state of exception’ in relation to ideological approaches to political
power that are based on an emphasis on the executive branch and
a strong association of nationalism with the State and its security
at all costs. Therefore, the relevance of Schmitt to the analytical
understanding of the exercise of emergency powers under the
Constitution of 1978 should be self‐evident.
In terms of structure, the book sets out the analytical framework

as introduced above and identiLies the theoretical and practical
24
issues from comparative experience that must inform a discussion
of Sri Lankan states of emergency. Likewise, there is a regulatory
framework for states of emergency and derogations from
international obligations as set out in the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), to which Sri Lanka is a
signatory; and the First Optional Protocol to the ICCPR which
mandates individual communications to the Human Rights
Committee, in relation to which the status of Sri Lanka is in doubt
following the Supreme Court decision in the Singarasa Case in
2006. In addition to these are the norms of general international
human rights law. The ICCPR and other provisions of human rights
and humanitarian law are peremptory norms of international law
by which the Sri Lankan State is bound as a member of the
international community of States.
The book then reviews the Sri Lankan constitutional and

legislative framework (i.e., Chapter XVIII of the constitution, the
Public Security Ordinance, and the Prevention of Terrorism Act)
relating to states of emergency (including an overview of
Emergency Regulations currently in force), as well as the
constitutional bill of rights and its provisions for the restriction of
fundamental rights during emergencies. The frame of reference
for critique and assessment will be the models set out at the
outset and the applicable international standards and comparative
experiences.
There is a body of Sri Lankan literature comprising scholarly

articles, journalistic commentary, policy briefs, analytical studies,
and chapters in legal textbooks concerning states of emergency,
many of which have been useful. In particular, J. A. L. Cooray’s
Constitutional and Administrative Law of Sri Lanka (1995) and
Jayampathy Wickremaratne’s recently updated and expanded
25
second edition of Fundamental Rights in Sri Lanka (2006) have
been useful.
Needless to say, the revival of interest in emergency powers and

concomitant implications for democratic values and liberties has
generated a massive body of literature in the West since the events
of 11th September 2001. In the scholarly debate in the common
law world, two outstanding contributions are the recent book‐
length treatises by Oren Gross and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin on Law in
Times of Crisis: Emergency Powers in Theory and Practice
(2006), and David Dyzenhaus on The Constitution of Law:
Legality in a Time of Emergency (2006).
The present discussion draws on both books extensively, but

especially the former in which Gross and Ní Aoláin develop the
three models of theory and practice on emergency rule used here.
Their comprehensive work on the theoretical, practical, and
comparative dimensions of emergency powers is beyond doubt
the best academic text on this subject currently available.
Dyzenhaus’s book critically illuminates the legal philosophical
issues at play, and provides the indispensable jurisprudential
resources for those who believe in emergency powers exercised
with Lidelity to liberal democratic values rather than with mere
lip‐service to procedural propriety. Also useful has been Jaime
Oraá’s systematic and comprehensive study of Human Rights in
States of Emergency in International Law (1992), which
elucidates the principles of international law governing
derogations from human rights obligations during states of
emergency.
26
27
PART I
The Theory and Practice

of Emergency Powers
28
29
CHAPTER II
THEORY AND PRACTICE OF STATES OF

EMERGENCY: AN INTRODUCTION TO THREE
MODELS
2. Theory and Practice: An Introduction to Three Models
2.1. Models of Accommodation
2.1.1. Classical Models of Accommodation

The Roman Dictatorship
The French State of Siege
The British Concept of Martial Law
2.1.2. The Modern Comparative Context: Three

Categories of Accommodation
Constitutional Accommodation
Legislative Accommodation
Interpretive Accommodation
2.2 Business as Usual Model
2.3 Extra‐Legal Measures Models

Carl Schmitt: Sovereign Dictatorship, the
Concept of the Political, and the State of
Permanent Exception
30
In their recent comprehensive study of the theory and practice of
states of emergency, Gross and Ní Aoláin1 have advanced three
broad conceptual models that facilitate a more systematic
understanding of states of emergency and the competing issues
they involve. The typology used by Gross and Ní Aoláin is the
analytical framework adopted in this chapter. These are (a) the
models of accommodation; (b) the ‘business as usual’ model; and
(c) the extra‐legal measures model.
In Gross and Ní Aoláin’s exposition of the models of

accommodation, they introduce three classical concepts, viz., the
Roman dictatorship, the French état de siege, and the British
concept of martial law. In modern comparative context, they also
discuss three categories of accommodation, viz., constitutional,
legislative, and interpretive accommodation. Many of these models
provide useful theoretical and comparative insights for analysis of
the Sri Lankan experience, but we focus more speciLically on the
neo‐Roman models of constitutional accommodation for two
reasons: Lirst, because the Sri Lankan constitutional and legal
framework (i.e., its textual provisions) belongs within this
conceptual category; second, because this analysis and critique of
the Sri Lankan framework is premised upon the liberal
constitutionalist assumption of separation between emergency
and normalcy as discussed in the previous chapter.
The ‘business as usual’ model, which is based on ‘notions of

constitutional absolutism and perfection,’ entertains no deviation
from ordinary rules and norms of legal conduct even in times of
emergency. This commitment to the constitutional order is
absolute in the sense that there is no substantive difference of
1Oren Gross and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin (2006) Law in Times of Crisis:

Emergency Powers in Theory and Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge UP);
hereinafter Gross and Ní Aoláin
31
outcome in concrete cases between times of crisis and normality.
It is perfectionist in the sense that it presumes that the
constitution anticipates every conceivable challenge, including
those presented by an emergency.
Finally, the ‘extra‐legal measures’ models are those that are

prepared to contemplate extra‐legal or even extra‐constitutional
action during times of crisis. Gross and Ní Aoláin discuss several
sources of the extra‐legal model, some of which have respectable
ethical, moral and political foundations. Indeed, in one view of the
British concept of martial law, actions during times of emergency
could be entirely outside the ordinary legal system but yet be
justiLied by the necessity and nature of the power used. However,
for reasons already canvassed in the previous chapter, we focus on
the theoretical challenge to liberal constitutionalism posed by Carl
Schmitt in his theory of emergency powers.
2.1 Models of Accommodation
The groups of models represented by the models of

accommodation are those that have dominated the discourse
regarding the treatment of emergency powers in democratic
regimes. These are concerned with addressing the tension
between emergency powers and democratic values. More
speciLically, these models, with varying institutional mechanisms
and degrees of equilibrium, seek to strike a balance between the
recognition of the need for extraordinary powers during times of
crisis and the need to preserve the democratic core of the
constitutional order. They are therefore essentially about an
appropriate trade‐off between the competing values of order and
liberty. The overarching objective of emergency powers is the
preservation of the constitutional order in a manner that does not,
32
in the process, destroy democracy. As Gross and Ní Aoláin suggest,
“This compromise…enables continued adherence to the principle
of the rule of law and faithfulness to fundamental democratic
values, while providing the state with adequate measures to
withstand the storm wrought by the crisis.” 2
2.1.1 Classical Models of Accommodation
The classical prototype of this approach to the accommodation of

a regime of emergency powers within the constitutional order is
the institution of the dictatorship in the Roman Republic. Other
classical models inspired by the Roman prototype are the French
état de siege, and the British concept of martial law, which have
informed legal arrangements for emergency powers in the civilian
and common law traditions respectively.
The Constitutional Institution of the Roman Emergency

Dictatorship
Even the most cursory review of the constitutional arrangements

of the post‐monarchical Roman republic in respect of states of
emergency reveals why it has been a source of such attraction to
political theorists and constitution‐makers. Its theoretical
assumptions and institutional features continue to inform modern
best practice in the constitutional and legal treatment of
emergency powers. The Roman constitutional institution of the
emergency dictatorship was upheld by Machiavelli as one that “…
deserves to be considered and numbered among those that were
2 Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.9

33
the cause of the greatness of so great an empire.” 3 In dealing with
the question of the need for a strong executive during the drafting
of the constitution of the United States, Hamilton invoked the
Roman model as worthy of emulation.4 In his seminal study of
American government during times of crisis, Rossiter claimed that
“The splendid political genius of the Roman people grasped and
solved the difLicult problem of emergency powers in a manner
quite unparalleled in all history, indeed so uniquely and boldly
that a study of modern crisis government could Lind no more
propitious a starting point than a brief survey of the celebrated
Roman dictatorship.” 5 More recently, even less sanguine observers
like Ackerman, who is sceptical about the practicality of the
Roman arrangements as a model for the modern world, have
conceded that it “…represents the Lirst great experiment with
states of emergency” and acknowledges its inLluence as a ‘political
system of checks and balances’ in his own propositions in this
regard.6
Gross and Ní Aoláin summarise the Roman model and its

contemporary relevance in the following manner: “The salient
features of the ‘celebrated Roman dictatorship’7 – its temporary
character, recognition of the exceptional nature of emergencies,
3Niccolò Machiavelli (1996) Discourses on Livy (Trans. H. C. MansLield &

N. Tarcov) (Chicago: Chicago UP): p.74
4Federalist No. 70 (Alexander Hamilton) in Clinton Rossiter (Ed.) (1961)

The Federalist Papers (New York: The New American Library): p.423
5Clinton Rossiter (1948) Constitutional Dictatorship: Crisis

Government in Modern Democracies (Princeton: Princeton UP): p.15
6Bruce Ackerman (2004) ‘The Emergency Constitution’ 113 Yale Law

Journal 1029 at p.1046
7See Fredrick M. Watkins (1940) ‘The Problem of Constitutional

Dictatorship’ 1 Public Policy 324 at p. 332
34
appointment of a dictator according to speciLic constitutional
forms that separated, among other things, those who declared an
emergency and those who exercised dictatorial powers on such
occasions, the appointment of dictators for well‐deLined and
limited purposes, and the ultimate goal of upholding the
constitutional order rather than changing or replacing it – are
often regarded as setting the basic guidelines for modern‐day
constitutional emergency regimes.”8
With the fall of the monarchy in 509 BC, the new Roman republic
established a form of executive government that was designed to
avoid the perils of centralisation of power. The result was an
executive branch that was headed by two consuls, who were
vested with a vast array of power including that of command over
the army.9 However, the logic of the system was sustained by two
key underlying principles: (a) the principle of collegiality and
equal power, and (b) the principle of limited and non‐renewable
tenure. The Lirst principle meant that each consul enjoyed equal
authority and had the same range of powers and responsibilities.
It also meant that each had an unlimited veto over the decisions
and actions of the other. The second principle established that
each consul was elected for a period of one year only without the
possibility of consecutive re‐election. 10
However, the Romans recognised that this system may not work
well in times of grave peril, when the need for swift and decisive
9William E. Heitland (1969) The Roman Republic, Vol.1 (Florida: Gaunt):

para.70
10See Max Cary & Howard H. Scullard (1975) A History of Rome down to
the Reign of Constantine (3rd Ed.) (New York: St. Martin’s Press): p.56,
62‐63
35
action may not be served by a collegial executive which ran the
real risk of deadlock. For these occasions, therefore, the Romans
devised the institution of the dictatorship, which would
concentrate the powers of the State necessary to tide over the
threat in a single appointed ofLicial.11 It was an innovative attempt
to constitutionally revive the essence of the monarchy, albeit for
strictly limited purposes and duration. Given what Hamilton
described as its ‘formidable title’ and the connotations of the term
in common parlance, it is important to bear in mind that the Latin
origin of the term dictator is dictus, meaning named, or
appointed.12 In the Roman republic, this title was given to the
person exercising powers under the emergency regime for the
reason that he was the only magistrate that was appointed. All
others including the consuls were elected ofLicials. The
dictatorship we are concerned with is that exempliLied by
Cincinnatus,13 not the constitutionally destructive tyrannies of
Sulla or Caesar. As Gross and Ní Aoláin observe, “The main thrust
of this emergency institution was its constitutional nature.
Operating within the republican constitutional framework the
dictator was vested with extraordinary yet constitutional powers.
Emergency was met with special powers of an authoritarian
character, but the employment of such powers and the authority
to use them were regulated by law.” 14
The dictator was appointed by either one of the consuls, but the
consuls were neither replaced nor their powers taken away by the
11Herbert F. Jolowicz & Barry Nicholas (1972) A Historical Introduction

to Roman Law (3rd Ed.) (New York: Greenwood Press): p.11
12 Heitland (1969), op cit., Vol.1, para.148
13 Ibid, para. 106

36
dictator.15 The dictator enjoyed all the plenary powers of the
consuls, and had complete command of the army and strategic and
tactical decisions. He was free from intercession by the tribunes,
senatorial intervention and direction, and unlike all other
magistrates including the consuls was not subject to the appellate
authority of the centuriate assembly. He also enjoyed immunity
from punishment even after the termination of the emergency. 16
The key strength and enduring appeal of the Roman dictatorship

lie in the limitations imposed upon it by the constitution as well as
conventions. SigniLicant among these was that the appointment of
a dictator was allowed only in the face an exceptional and speciLic
threat to the republic, and then only for a short period. The term
of ofLice of a dictator was a non‐renewable six months, or the
expiration of the term of the consul who appointed him,
whichever came Lirst.17 Both Machiavelli and Rousseau were of the
view that the features of short duration, set in advance and not
liable to extension, were key strengths of the model.18
Another important restriction was that a dictator was appointed

to counter a speciLic military threat, of usually external origin.
However, he could not initiate armed aggression of his own
volition; the role of the dictator was a purely defensive one.19
15Andrew Lintott (1999) The Constitution of the Roman Republic

(Oxford: Clarendon Press): p.111
16 Rossiter (1948), op cit., pp.19, 25
17 Gross and Ní Aoláin: pp.21‐22
18Machiavelli (1996) op cit., pp.76‐77; Jean‐Jacques Rousseau (1993) The

Social Contract and Discourses (Trans. G.D.H. Cole) (New York:
Everyman): p.296
19 Rossiter (1948), op cit., p.24

37
Moreover, the function of the dictator was to ‘maintain and protect
the existing constitutional order.’ As Gross and Ní Aoláin state,
“The dictator could not use his powers in order to change the
basic character of the state or its institutional framework.
SigniLicantly, his authority did not extend to the promulgation of
new legislation, an authority that was reserved to the Senate.” 20 Again,
both Machiavelli and Rousseau consider these to be particularly
commendable features.21
An especially signiLicant set of limitations on the dictatorship were

those in relation to the procedures of appointment and of the
institutional framework within which emergency powers had to
be exercised. The consuls’ discretion in choosing a person for
appointment as dictator was circumscribed by the rule that no
consul could appoint himself to that ofLice. Moreover, the
convention was developed that a consul’s appointment of a
dictator would be done on the recommendation of the Senate, and
that the imperium of the dictator had to be ratiLied by a law
passed by the centuriate assembly.22 These arrangements reLlect
the important principle of separation between those who invoke
the dictatorship, appoint the dictator, provide his terms of
reference and confer his powers in the form of ‘public orders’ on
the one hand, and the person who in fact exercises the
extraordinary emergency powers, on the other.23
A Linal check as Machiavelli saw it, and one which has particular
resonance for any discussion on states of emergency in Sri Lanka,
21 Machiavelli (1996), op cit., pp.74, 76; Rousseau (1993), op cit., p.294
22 Jolowicz & Nicholas (1972), op cit., pp.35, 55

38
was the cultural and political ethos of the Roman citizenry which
would not tolerate tyranny. Machiavelli fully contemplated the
constitutional regulation of emergency powers, but he
emphasised the signiLicance of the disposition of the public to
reject unconstitutional behaviour as the ultimate guarantee of
constitutional government, and especially of the emergency
institutions.24
Thus as Gross and Ní Aoláin conclude, “The institution of the

dictatorship was alien to the basic constitutional structure of the
republic. The system of ofLicers coequal in their powers and able
to fully veto each other’s decisions and actions could not
comfortably exist with the vesting of absolute power in a single
person. The notion of sharing the burdens of governance was
clearly at odds with the dictatorship. Hence, although giving the
dictator all the powers needed to defend the republic against its
enemies, well‐deLined constitutional restrictions were laid out in
order to prevent unwarranted aggrandizement and abuse of the
powers of the dictator…”25
The emergency institutional framework of the Roman republic

was the Lirst known attempt at constitutionally accommodating
and regulating the exercise of powers during a time of crisis. It
recognised that crises required extraordinary measures, and that
the State must be empowered to preserve and protect the
constitutional order. However, this was not to be allowed at the
expense of the constitutional order itself, resulting in the
establishment of devices that balanced the competing policy
objectives within an institutional framework of checks and
balances.
24 Machiavelli (1996), op cit., pp.74, 77

39
The French Concept of the State of Siege
The French state of siege is the model of emergency powers used

in the civil law tradition and Linds elaborate expression in various
forms especially in the Latin and South American constitutions,
where it is known as the estado de sitio.26 It is a model that is
closely based on the classical Roman emergency institution of the
dictatorship. As Rossiter observes, “No instrument of crisis
government conformed so closely to the theory of constitutional
dictatorship as the famed and widely‐imitated state of siege.” 27 It
was originally conceived of as an instrument for the transfer of
powers to the military commander of a besieged fortress to take
all measures as are necessary to combat the threat and was also
primarily a mechanism of external defence.
After the French Revolution, the character of the institution

became more political from what was originally a military
mechanism (état de siege réel), and was extended to the measures
necessary for dealing with internal insurrection as well (i.e., what
became known as the ‘constructive state of siege, or état de siege
Kictif). As Gross and Ní Aoláin explain, “The basic idea underlying
this institution is that emergencies can be anticipated and
counter‐measures can be put in place by promulgating
comprehensive legal rules ex ante. An elaborate legal framework
sets forth and prescribes the measures to be taken in order to
control or bring to an end any given emergency.”28 The state of
26See Brian Loveman (1993) The Constitution of Tyranny: Regimes of

Exception in Spanish America (Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh UP)
27Rossiter (1948), op cit., p.16; see also Joseph B. Kelly & George A.
Pelletier, Jr. (1966) ‘Theories of Emergency Government’ 11 South Dakota
Law Review 42 at p.46

40
siege is therefore a legal institution of crisis government. As Radin
points out, “The vital point is that the state of siege is not a
condition in which law is temporarily abrogated, and the arbitrary
Liat of a ‘commander’ takes its place. It is emphatically a legal
institution, expressly authorised by the constitutions and the
various bills of rights that succeeded each other in France, and
organised under this authority by a speciLic statute.” 29
While the transfer of powers (in relation to the maintenance of

order and the security of the Republic) from political to military
authorities during an emergency is the basic premise of the
French model, it is subject to critical safeguards that make it
neither an automatic nor an unfettered transfer. The procedural
requirements and substantive effects of the state of siege are all
statutorily regulated and are always subject to (suitably abridged)
constitutional rights. Thus, the model contemplates strong
requirements of demonstrable constitutional necessity before a
state of siege is brought into operation; legislative control over its
declaration; limitations in time of its operation; the continuation
of constitutional rights except to the extent legitimately restricted
under the state of siege; and the preservation of the separation of
powers between the executive and legislature and of functions
between the civilian and military authorities, including political
oversight over and co‐operation with the military.30
29Max Radin (1942) ‘Martial Law and the State of Siege’ 30 California Law
Review 634 at p.637
30 See Gross and Ní Aoláin: pp.26‐30; Rossiter (1948), op cit., pp.79‐129

41
The British Concept of Martial Law
The classical concept of martial law in the English common law

was originally the same as military law, embodying a system of
discipline, governance and criminal justice within the military. It is
a typical product of the common law: of precedent, tradition and
evolution. Its Lirst political use was by the Stuart kings, who
employed it as a system of criminal justice even against civilians,
the result of which was the adoption by Parliament in 1628, of the
Petition of Right which restricted its application to the military,
and over time, to the military in wartime. 31
While the source, scope and content of martial law has been the
subject of much debate, Gross and Ní Aoláin broadly discern two
strands of opinion as to the source of martial law, on which the
determination of its scope depends. In the Lirst strand, martial law
is seen as a matter of the English common law right to repel force
by force, which is the same principle as the criminal law doctrine
of self‐defence. The second school of thought sees martial law as
an aspect of the panoply of powers available to the Crown under
the royal prerogative.32
31 See Charles Fairman (1943) The Law of Martial Rule (2nd Ed.)
(Chicago: Callaghan): pp.9‐19; F.K.M.A. Munim (1989) Legal Aspects of
Martial Law (Dhaka: Bangladesh Institute of Law and International
Affairs): p.12; George M. Dennison (1974) ‘Martial Law: The Development
of a Theory of Emergency Powers, 1776 – 1861’ 18 American Journal of
Legal History 52; Matthew Hale (1987) The History of the Common Law
of England (1713) (Colorado: F.B.Rothman): p.34; Robert Blackstone
(1979) Commentaries on the Laws of England (1765) (Chicago: Chicago
UP): p.400
32Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.31; W.S. Holdsworth (1902) ‘Martial Law

Historically Considered’ 70 Law Quarterly Review 117
42
In Dicey’s view, the idea of martial law recognised by the English
common law and constitution corresponded to the right and
power of the government as well as ordinary citizens to maintain
public order with whatever measures are necessary in the
circumstances.33 Gross and Ní Aoláin usefully summarise the
Diceyan position which bears full reproduction:
“This ‘English’ martial law has the following

characteristics. First, its legal source is the common law
right to meet force with force. This right is shared by the
government and the citizens. Second, the necessity of the
circumstances is the only criterion by which to determine
the need for the use of the common law right in any given
instance and the extent to which emergency measures
may be employed. Any excesses and abuses of power, not
necessitated by the exigency, are unlawful and give rise to
individual liability of the actors. Since the application of
the right to meet force by force is based on the necessities
of the particular case, its operation is not dependent on
the prior proclamation or declaration of martial law by
the government. Third, martial law permits the use of all
means necessary for the suppression of an internal
rebellion or riot as well as the repelling of an invasion.
Yet, it does not allow any punitive measures against the
invaders or rioters outside the ordinary legal process.
Military tribunals and commanders are not authorised to
try such persons or otherwise punish them for their
participation in the riot or the invasion. Martial law is of a
preventive, rather than a punitive, nature. Finally, the
ultimate determination of whether the force employed in
33See Edward S. Corwin (1932) ‘Martial Law, Yesterday and Today’ 47

Political Science Quarterly 95 at p.97
43
a particular case was necessary in the circumstances is in
the hands of the courts with the burden of proof on the
person who invokes the defence of necessity.”34
Dicey’s view is shared by other prominent jurists such as

Stephen 35 and Pollock, but Dicey and Pollock disagreed upon on
the scope of the limits on the exercise of martial law. Whereas
Dicey sought to keep the exercise of martial law powers, including
the necessity of its invocation, within the common law and the
jurisdiction of ordinary judges, Pollock’s more expansive
conception would have necessity, as determined by the
government, render all actions under martial law legal and
immune from subsequent challenge.36
The other view of martial law is that it Llows from the royal
prerogative.37 According to Gross and Ní Aoláin, the origin of this
theory goes back to the Court of the Constable and Marshal which
operated under the prerogative. They see evidence of this
approach in certain legislative measures against riots and
disturbances in Ireland which stipulated explicitly that “nothing in
this act contained shall be construed to take away, abridge or
34Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.32; Albert Venn Dicey (1982) Introduction to

the Study of the Law of the Constitution (8th Ed.) (Indianapolis: Liberty
Classics): pp.182‐187, 398‐409
35James F‐J. Stephen (1883) History of the Criminal Law of England

(London: Macmillan): pp.207‐208; see also Lord MacDermott (1972) ‘Law
and Order in Times of Emergency’ 17 Judicial Review 1 at p.21
36Frederick Pollock (1902) ‘What is Martial Law?’ 70 Law Quarterly

Review 152 at p.156; see also H. Erle Richards (1902) ‘Martial Law’ 70
Law Quarterly Review 133 at p.139
37Fairman (1943), op cit., pp.1‐6; Munim (1989) op cit., pp.7‐9; J.V. Capua
(1977) ‘Early History of Martial Law in England from the 14th Century to
the Petition of Right’ 36 Cambridge Law Journal 152
44
diminish, the acknowledged prerogative of his Majesty, for the
public safety, to resort to the exercise of martial law against open
enemies or traitors.”38 The philosophical basis of this approach, as
we see below, is principally Locke’s theory of the royal prerogative
used according to his conception of the ‘public good’ in times of
emergency and when measures available under the ordinary law
are inadequate or the procedures of the ordinary legal system are
too slow.
While some commentators have played down the theoretical

debate between these two approaches on the argument that they
have similar effects in practice, Gross and Ní Aoláin point out that
there is in fact a salience in the distinction. That is, while the
Diceyan common law approach considers martial law to be
sourced from general principles of the ordinary common law and
thereby rejects any notion of extraordinary powers, the royal
prerogative argument assumes that emergency powers are
exceptional measures that operate outside the sphere of the
ordinary legal system. Thus, both approaches raise difLiculties
when viewed from the analytical viewpoint of the assumption of
separation between emergency and normalcy. 39
2.1.2 The Modern Comparative Context: Three Categories of

Accommodation
In considering modern comparative practice, theory, and legal

treatment of emergency powers, Gross and Ní Aoláin use a
38Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.34 and statutory references; Colm Campbell (1994)
Emergency Law in Ireland, 1918 – 1925 (Oxford: Clarendon Press): pp.
125‐148

45
classiLicatory framework that enables categorisation according to
whether accommodation is constitutional, legislative or
interpretive. Needless to say, it is not intended that any
jurisdiction falls exclusively into any one of these categories, but
adopting this approach breaks down the Lield of enquiry into three
perspectives in a way that facilitates a more systematic
understanding of how emergencies are accommodated under the
law.
Constitutional Accommodation
Constitutional accommodation of states of emergency is the

approach adopted by the large majority of democracies and is
certainly the preferred option among contemporary constitution‐
makers. As mentioned before, the inspiration for modern regimes
of constitutional accommodation is the Roman republic’s
emergency institutional arrangements, in its basic contours if not
its distinctive mechanisms. Thus, modern models of constitutional
accommodation are based on the presumption of temporal
separation between emergency and normalcy, and seek to provide
an ex ante, constitutional framework, of general application, to be
put into operation in times of crisis.40 We shall return to a more
detailed consideration of the shared features of comparative
regimes that embody the model of constitutional accommodation
as the template for analysis of Sri Lanka’s arrangements in the
next chapter.
40 See Ackerman (2004), op cit., p.1037

46
Legislative Accommodation
One of the problems of constitutional accommodation is that it is

difLicult, ex ante, to anticipate every exigency and thereby to
provide for them comprehensively. Therefore constitutional
instruments may establish only the general framework required to
address the imperatives of a particular crisis and the measures
needed to deal with it. In the case of some jurisdictions, there may
be no constitutional guidance on states of emergency at all. In
both cases, legislation is the most common means by which crises
are dealt with under the law.
Legislative accommodation in turn can be of two separate types.

Legislation in response to a crisis may modify the existing law to
deal with speciLic challenges presented by the crisis, or
alternatively, they can fall under the category of special emergency
legislation. As Gross and Ní Aoláin explain, “This model [of special
emergency legislation] also adheres to the notion that emergency
must be met under the umbrella of the law. Yet, at the same time, it
regards ordinary legal norms to be inadequate for dealing with the
pressing needs emanating from speciLic emergencies. Rather than
attempting to modify existing legal norms…the effort is directed at
creating replacement or supplementary emergency norms that
pertain to the particular exigency (or to potential future
exigencies).”41 The Uniting and Strengthening America by
Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct
Terrorism (USA PATRIOT) Act of 2001, the Lirst British Prevention
of Terrorism (Temporary Provisions) Act of 1974 and the Sri
Lankan Prevention of Terrorism (Temporary Provisions) Act No.
48 of 1979 are all examples of legislative responses in an
emergency context to speciLic events and threats.

47
Despite the theoretical rationale for legislative accommodation of
crises and emergency powers, comparative experience conLirms
that of Sri Lanka in relation to these special emergency statutes.
They are ad hoc, particularistic measures which are often hastily
passed without adequate reLlection or parliamentary oversight,
and once enacted, tend to become permanent.
Interpretive Accommodation
Interpretive accommodation is the response judiciaries may adopt

in interpreting exiting constitutional and legal provisions in a way
that addresses challenges of a crisis and facilitates the
government’s reaction. As Gross and Ní Aoláin state, “Existing
constitutional provisions, as well as laws and regulations, are
given new understanding and clothing by way of context‐based
interpretation without any explicit modiLication or replacement.
The need for additional powers to fend off a dangerous threat is
accommodated by judges exercising ‘the elastic power of
interpretation’42 to give an expansive, emergency‐minded
interpretive spin to existing norms, transforming various
components of the ordinary legal system into counter‐insurgency
facilitating norms.” 43
This is a familiar function of judges in the common law systems

such as in Sri Lanka. However, the interpretive approach has been
particularly signiLicant in jurisdictions with older constitutions
such as the United States, which do not contain express and
detailed rules regarding emergency powers, thereby requiring
42Richard A. Posner (2003) Law, Pragmatism, and Democracy (Cambridge:

Harvard UP): p.295

48
judges to resolve competing claims of values and institutional
responses to emergencies without much textual guidance. On the
other hand, a common problem across jurisdictions that resonates
in the Sri Lankan experience has been the tendency of judges to
defer to the executive in times of emergency, resulting sometimes
in the vitiation of the model as one of legal accommodation and
appropriate balance between emergency powers and the
protection of democratic values, especially fundamental rights.
2.2 The ‘Business as Usual’ Model
This model, which has its provenance in a particular juridical

debate framed by a peculiarity of the constitution of the United
States, disallows a departure from the normal legal system under
any circumstances. It embodies theories of constitutional
absolutism and constitutional perfection. Constitutional
absolutism involves unconditional commitment to the
constitutional instrument as a fortress of rights which is
exempliLied by the notions that whatever measures a government
may take, they cannot under any circumstances diminish or
suspend constitutionally protected rights, and further, that
government may not lawfully purport to exercise any special
powers in an emergency that are not explicitly conferred on it by
the constitution. Constitutional perfection denotes the idea that
the constitution reLlects a Lixed and unchanging balance between
liberty and governmental powers, which equilibrium cannot be
altered.
Therefore, the constitution, perfect and complete, anticipates

every exigency and provides within its framework all the powers
as are necessary for government to face any contingency. This
model is different from the interpretive accommodation model
49
discussed above, in that in the latter, emergency‐sensitive judicial
interpretation of ordinary laws are contemplated, whereas in this
model, there is no difference in interpretive outcomes of ordinary
law between times of emergency and normalcy.
The famous exposition of this doctrinal position is by Justice Davis

(speaking for the majority) of the US Supreme Court in ex parte
Milligan (1866). He held:
“The Constitution of the United States is a law for rulers

and people, equally in war and peace, and covers with the
shield of its protection all classes of men, at all times, and
under all circumstances. No doctrine, involving more
pernicious consequences, was ever invented by the wit of
man that any of its provisions can be suspended during
any of the great exigencies of government. Such a doctrine
leads directly to anarchy or despotism, but the theory of
necessity on which it is based is false; for the government,
within the Constitution, has all the powers granted to it,
which are necessary to preserve its existence…” 44
The majority in ex parte Milligan has both its adherents and its
harsh critics for a variety of reasons, including for the latter, the
naivety and even hypocrisy of holding an idealistic line against the
odds of reality. Part of the reasoning of the majority was the
product of the peculiarity of the US constitution which, unlike
modern constitutions, does not provide explicitly for emergency
powers, except to make reference to the congressional power to
call out the militia, and the permissibility of the suspension of the
privilege of habeas corpus under certain conditions. For this and
44Ex parte Milligan (1866) 71 US (4 Wall.) 2 at 120‐21; for fuller

discussion of the debate over Milligan and this model, see Gross and Ní
Aoláin: Ch.2, esp. p.89 et seq.
50
other vastly disparate contextual reasons, the Business as Usual
model, for all its libertarian attractiveness, is of limited concern to
our discussion on states of emergency in Sri Lanka.
2.3 Extra‐Legal Measures Models
In international relations, but in some domestic jurisdictions as

well, the school of political realism holds that on the fundamental
questions of survival and interests of the State, legal niceties must
give way to realism, in the sense that there should be no
inhibitions on the political action required to ensure the survival,
or secure the interests of the State.45 This is reLlected in such
maxims as ‘necessity knows no law’, ‘salus populi suprema lex est’
and ‘inter arma silent leges.’ Needless to say, both at the level of
international relations and law as well as in the domestic sphere,
these notions that sanction arbitrary action and unlimited
discretion are repugnant to the liberal belief in legal order and
political morality.
However, in the Extra‐Legal Measures models of emergency

powers, it is not necessarily the case that they always sanction a
lawless recourse to arbitrary power in times of crisis. Indeed, in
the model of extra‐legal measures that Gross and Ní Aoláin
construct as a case for ‘rule departures’ based on principles drawn
45See for e.g. Jack Donnelly (2000) Realism and International Relations
(Cambridge: Cambridge UP); Carl J. Friedrich (1957) Constitutional
Reason of State: The Survival of the Constitutional Order (Providence:
Brown UP): p.14
51
from Jewish law,46 Locke’s theory of the executive prerogative,47
Dicey’s ‘spirit of law,’48 and the Weberian ideal‐type,49 inherent
conceptual requirements of institutional morality and legitimation
bring the argument for extra‐legal emergency measures rather
closer to liberal democratic imperatives than some models of
accommodation, in particular the theory of constitutional
necessity. The doctrine of constitutional necessity for validating
emergency measures is borne out of vague, inadequate or absent
constitutional provision for emergency powers, with the result
that necessity has to be recast as an independent source of
constitutional law in general and emergency powers in
particular.50
In the extra‐legal measures model as conceptualised by Gross and

Ní Aoláin, it is contemplated that “…public ofLicials may act extra‐
legally when they believe that such action is necessary for
protecting the nation and the public in the face of calamity,
provided that they openly and publicly acknowledge the nature of
their actions.” 51 The aim is to “…preserve the long‐term relevance
of, and obedience to, legal principles, rules and norms. Arguably,
going outside the law in appropriate cases may preserve, rather
47Ibid, pp.119‐130; see also Mark Goldie (Ed.) (1994) John Locke, Two
Treatises of Government (London: Tuttle Publishing): ‘Introduction to
Two Treatises of Government’ by Mark Goldie
48 Gross and Ní Aoláin: pp.130‐132; see also Dicey (1982), op cit., p.273
49Gross and Ní Aoláin: pp.132‐134; see also Max Weber (1946) ‘Politics as
Vocation’ in H.H. Gerth & C. Wright Mills (Eds. & Trans.) (1946) From Max
Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford UP): p.77
50 Gross and Ní Aoláin: Ch.3

52
than undermine, the rule of law in a way that constantly bending
the law to accommodate emergencies will not.”52 Thus, this model
“…seeks to promote, and is promoted by, ethical concepts of
political and popular responsibility, political morality, and
candour. To be implemented properly, the model calls for candour
on the part of government agents, who must disclose the nature of
their counter‐insurgency measures. The model then focuses on
the need for a direct or indirect popular ex post ratiLication of such
activities. The process leading up to such ratiLication (or rejection)
of those actions promotes deliberation after the fact, as well as
establishing the individual moral and political responsibility of
each member of the relevant community for the actions taken on
behalf of the public during the emergency.”53
This argument for extra‐legal measures is thus clearly based on a

particular view of political morality and ethical conduct. In
particular, Gross and Ní Aoláin draw on the quasi‐religious Jewish
law of Halakhah which permits derogation from the fundamental
norms of the Torah and Talmud in exceptional circumstances; the
Lockean conception of the ‘public good’ that validates the extra‐
legal sphere of the executive prerogative, and the Weberian ideal‐
type of ethical conduct and responsibility that lends legitimacy to
political conduct. Likewise, Gross and Ní Aoláin’s argument for
extra‐legal measures during emergencies is rooted in a particular
understanding of institutional politics under normality (or what it
ought to be), as their conceptual requirements of candour, ex post
ratiLication, deliberation and responsibility reveal.
In societies such as Sri Lanka, where adherence to the rule of law

and constitutionality is weak even under conditions of relative
52 Ibid
53 Ibid, pp.112‐113, emphasis added

53
normality and in the exercise of ordinary governmental powers let
alone emergency measures, it would seem that the assumptions
made in respect of political culture and commitment to
constitutional behaviour made by Gross and Ní Aoláin do not exist.
For example, in Sri Lanka, large parts of the constitution including
the procedures for ensuring good governance under the
Seventeenth Amendment, or devolution under the Thirteenth
Amendment, remain unimplemented, ignored or deliberately
violated for reasons other than those pertaining to an emergency
threatening the life of the community. Therefore, it is perhaps too
much to ask of political culture that it will ensure liberal
democratic expectations once normality is restored (if ever), so as
to justify the rationalisation of an extra‐legal source of power
during emergencies.
This particular conception of the extra‐legal model lead Gross and

Ní Aoláin to argue that the theory of emergency power advanced
by Carl Schmitt is not an extra‐legal theory of emergency power
properly so called, or that it is even a real legal theory. It is a
powerful critique of Schmitt, which illustrates the appalling
consequences of theories that seek to rationalise absolute power.
There is no need for us to pursue this theoretical debate as to
whether Schmitt’s theories are an extra‐legal model properly so
called or not. We discuss Carl Schmitt’s theory of the state of
exception, sovereignty and the concept of the political, as an extra‐
legal model, for the reasons that Schmitt’s critique of liberalism
raises profound questions regarding the assumption that law and
legality are the source of legitimate political power, and in the Sri
Lankan context, the theoretical insights his work gives about
notions of extra‐legal authority and the permanence of the
exception, i.e., the state of emergency.
54
Carl Schmitt: Sovereign Dictatorship, the Concept of the
Political and the State of Permanent Exception
As is well‐known, Carl Schmitt was the most prominent legal and

political philosopher to have lent intellectual support to the Nazi
regime. As will become clear presently, Schmitt’s ideas gave a
theoretical basis for Nazism’s notions of absolute power, its
rejection of the forms and values of liberal democracy, and for the
re‐interpretation of an older concept of German political
p h i l o s o p hy o n t h e p r i n c i p l e o f n a t i o n a l l e a d e r s h i p
(Fuehrerprinzip) to Lit with the Nazi worldview. Stripped of his
Nazi baggage, however, it has become clear to liberal and positivist
scholarship in legal and political theory that Schmitt poses some
profound questions that require answers rather than dismissals.
His concept of the political holds that liberal democratic
assumptions about what is the normal condition of human life,
including critically the assumption that political power is or can at
all times be legally or normatively regulated, are false.
Furthermore, his theory of the exception and emergency powers
envisages a state of permanent crisis, which is a refutation of the
liberal assumption of separation between emergency and
normalcy. Finally, his idea of sovereignty, closely related to his
theory of the exception, contemplates an absolutist dictatorship as
the only realistic institution within a polity during a time of
(permanent) crisis.
The relevance of Schmitt to understanding the Sri Lankan

experience with states of emergency also needs open justiLication.
It would be a gross overstatement and certainly risk a failure of
analytical objectivity to draw too close a parallel between the Nazi
regime and the Sri Lankan State. Nevertheless, it can be
demonstrated that the Schmittian logic can be applied to the
behaviour of the Sri Lankan State in various meaningful ways that
55
yield real analytical insights about extra‐legality and the exercise
of power. These insights are most evident in respect of the more
salient aspects of his thesis such as the (lack of) traction of liberal
democratic values in the political culture of ofLicial and popular
subscription, the falsity of the assumption of separation between
normalcy and emergency, and his argument about the
permanency of crisis as the natural condition of politics. In this
way, chillingly it must be admitted, the differences between the
Nazi regime and the Sri Lankan State become a matter of moral
and political degree, i.e., a more‐or‐less question of egregiousness.
Thus while it would be factually wrong and analytically misleading
to equate the human rights abuses of the Sri Lankan State to the
fundamentally genocidal character of Nazi Germany, for the
purposes of an unromantic, sceptical and searching analytical
understanding of the behaviour of the Sri Lankan State in times of
emergency, it can be treated as a permutation within the
Schmittian ontology of political power and statehood. In short,
therefore, Schmitt’s contribution to political and legal theory
should read in abstract and applied to the Sri Lankan conditions
and experience, without succumbing to the distraction of his
personal association with the Nazi regime.
Schmitt’s ideas pertaining to states of emergency are found in two

works, Political Theology 54 and The Concept of the Political,55
which attack liberalism for discounting the importance of (his
conception of) the exception by pretending that ‘the entire legal
universe is governed by a complete, comprehensive and
exception‐less normative order.’ As Dyzenhaus has pointed out,
54Carl Schmitt (1985) Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept

of Sovereignty (Trans. George Schwab) (Cambridge: MIT Press)
55Carl Schmitt (1976) The Concept of the Political (Trans. George

Schwab) (New Brunswick: Rutgers UP)
56
Schmitt thought that, “…liberals found unbearable the idea that the
rule of law cannot constrain the political, so that they prefer to
pretend it constrains while recognising that in substance it does
not.” 56 Before discussing Schmitt’s model of emergency power,
however, it is useful to brieLly rehearse his broader ideas about
law, politics, and sovereignty upon which it is grounded.
For Schmitt, the concepts of sovereignty and the exception

(Ausnahmezustand) are closely related, for the “Sovereign is he
who decides on the exception.”57 The concept of the exception
determines “…the whole question of sovereignty.”58 The argument
about the nexus between the sovereign and the state of exception,
according to Dyzenhaus, “…is meant to make the point that the
sovereign is he who decides both when there is a state of
emergency / exception and how best to respond to that state. And
that decision for Schmitt is one based on the considerations to do
with who is a friend and who is an enemy of the state.” 59
Schmitt argues that the existence of exceptional situations negates

the forms and basis of liberal legal order, which assumes that pre‐
existing general norms anticipate all political exigencies, including
emergencies. As Dyzenhaus observes, Schmitt’s claim is that, “The
space beyond law is not so much produced by law as revealed
when the mask of liberal legality is stripped away by the political.
Once that mask is gone, the political sovereign is shown not to be
constituted by law but rather as the actor who has the legitimacy
56David Dyzenhaus (2006) The Constitution of Law: Legality in a Time

of Emergency (Cambridge: Cambridge UP): p.35
57 Schmitt (1985), op cit., p.5
58 Ibid, p.6
59 Dyzenhaus (2006), op cit., p.39

57
to make law because it is he who decides the fundamental or
existential issues of politics. So Schmitt’s understanding of the
state of exception is not quite a legal black hole, a juridically
produced void. Rather, it is a space beyond law, a space which is
revealed when law recedes leaving the legally unconstrained state,
represented by the sovereign, to act.”60
Therefore, in exceptional situations, political decision‐makers

cannot be and are not constrained by a priori rules. Politics and
not law, and political actors unconstrained by legality, constitute
the essence and only real actors in the sphere of the political. In
his view, “The speciLic political distinction to which political
actions and motives can be reduced is that between friend and
enemy.”61 Dichotomising between friends and foes as the basic
reducible political relationship means that conLlict is inevitable.
But the manifestation of this dichotomy in conLlict – its most
extreme form (i.e., the exception) – gives political life real
meaning: “The exceptional case has an especially decisive meaning
which exposes the core of the matter. For only in real combat is
revealed the most extreme consequence of the political grouping
of friend and enemy. From this most extreme possibility human
life derives its speciLically political tension.” 62 Moreover, since the
exception deLined in this way “…is sufLiciently strong to group
human beings effectively according to friend and enemy,” 63 every
aspect of human existence becomes political. Thus the extreme
case of the exception actually becomes the norm of human
existence.
60 Ibid
63 Ibid, pp.37, 38
58
The centrepiece of Schmitt’s model of emergency powers is the
sovereign dictatorship, the principal characteristic of which is the
suspension of the entire existing legal order.64 SigniLicantly, the
sovereign dictator acting under emergency powers can “…actively…
change the existing legal order and transform it, in whole or in
part, into something else.” 65 As Gross and Ní Aoláin observe, “The
norm becomes subservient to the exception, thereby reversing the
relationship between the two. In fact, Schmitt eliminates
altogether the notion of the normal and replaces it with the
exception.” 66 By replacing the existing legal order with the
exception, Schmitt renders the exception the only valid general
rule. The exception as general rule thus is not only norm‐less
(having replaced the ordinary legal system), it also becomes
exception‐less: that is, because Schmitt’s exception as general rule
admits of no separation between normality and emergency (i.e.,
the state of exception), there can be no exception from the
exception.67 The consequence is a permanent state of exception
(i.e., emergency under the sovereign dictatorship).
In Schmitt’s view, legal norms presuppose the existence of a

condition of normality. A normal, ordinary state of affairs is not
merely a ‘superLicial presupposition’ that jurists choose to ignore
or not; it is goes to the ‘immanent validity’ of legal norms. Thus,
64Carlo Galli (2000) ‘Carl Schmitt’s Antiliberalism: Its Theoretical and

Historical Sources and its Philosophical and Political Meaning’ 21 Cardozo
Law Review 1597
66 Ibid
67Oren Gross (2000) ‘The Normless Exception and Exceptionless Exception:

Carl Schmitt’s Theory of the Emergency Powers and the ‘Norm‐Exception’
Dichotomy’ 21 Cardozo Law Review 1825
59
“For a legal norm to exist, a normal situation must exist.”68 Crisis
situations are by deLinition where the normal state of affairs does
not exist; in turn, this invalidates any existing legal norms. This is
how, according to Schmitt, the a priori rules of the existing legal
order ceases operation in, and cannot regulate, the state of
exception. Therefore, the state of exception is norm‐less.
In the state of exception so deLined, the sovereign dictator enjoys

unlimited powers; the logical result of an absence of any
constraining legal norms. As Gross and Ní Aoláin state, “Such
unlimited powers pertain both to his unfettered discretion as to
whether an exception does, in fact, exist, and to what measures
ought to be taken in order to counter the concrete threat. In taking
such counter‐measures, the sovereign dictator is not limited by
the existing legal order. He may disregard existing norms, but he
may also put in place substitute norms. The powers of the
sovereign dictator are not conLined to the power to suspend, but
also encompass the power to amend, revoke, and replace.”69
The conLlation of the discretion to determine the existence of a

state of exception, and the extent of measures needed to deal with
it in the hands of the sovereign dictator, has signiLicant outcomes.
In the Schmittian political worldview outlined above, the
sovereign dictator must always be vigilant against the enemy, who
can strike at any time. This requirement of near‐paranoia on the
part of the sovereign dictator means that the inevitability of an
exceptional situation can lead the dictator to declare an
emergency at any time. Indeed, since he is the exclusively
competent authority on the existence of a state of exception, he
can even make it into the general norm. Once the state of

60
exception has been declared by the sovereign dictator, he both
decides which powers he should have and how they should be
exercised. There are no norms of any kind, based on a liberal
abstract rationality or otherwise, that restrict his exercise of
power in any way, apart from the personal attitude to restraint of
the sovereign dictator. Thus as Gross and Ní Aoláin conclude, “…
while Schmitt’s rhetoric speaks of the normal case and of the
exception as two separate and distinct phenomena, his theory
virtually advocates the complete destruction of the normal and
substitution by the exception.”70
In Kelsen’s contemporary critique, he argued that Schmitt’s theory

of the exception on the basis that its effect was to render the
constitution and legal norms, except those relating to emergency
powers, is completely redundant. In the context of the Weimar
constitution, Kelsen pointed out how Schmitt’s theory reduced the
constitution to nothing more than Article 48 (which, as we discuss
in the next chapter, set out a notorious and much abused regime of
emergency powers).71 Kelsen was perhaps too sanguine about the
extent and logical conclusion of Schmitt’s argument. The sovereign
dictator in the (permanent) state of exception was unbounded by
constitutional or legal norms. In the light of this arbitrary norm‐
setting institution, there is not much use for any constitution.72
From Dyzenhaus’s critical look at how liberal legal systems (in this
case Commonwealth jurisdictions and the United States) with
avowed commitment to the rule of law have responded to Carl
Schmitt’s challenge – that in times of emergency it is in the nature
70 Ibid, p.166
71John P. McCormick (1997) Carl Schmitt’s Critique of Liberalism:

Against Politics as Technology (New York: Cambridge UP): p.144

61
of things that what liberals, pretensions notwithstanding, assume
to be the rule of law in normal times is suspended wholly or in
part – it becomes apparent the challenge remains largely
unanswered. On the contrary, Dyzenhaus in fact shows how, “…
Schmitt’s challenge is supported by much of the history of the way
in which judges in the Commonwealth have failed to impose the
rule of law during times of emergency…[and how]…in the United
States, academic debate about how best to respond to
emergencies stand to support that challenge.”73
From this critical viewpoint, Dyzenhaus goes on to present a

powerful argument about a substantive notion of the rule of law
that utilises ‘the moral resources of the law’ and which exists
within the liberal legal order independently of written
constitutional instruments, that can meet Schmitt’s challenge.
What is important to note here is that Dyzenhaus’s critique of the
inability of the rule of law to meet Schmitt’s challenge even in
jurisdictions with comparatively entrenched liberal democratic
cultures, should give Sri Lankans pause in thinking about this
problem. It is theoretically questionable to criticise the behaviour
of the State by reference to ideals such as human rights and the
rule of law, without Lirst understanding the full meaning and reach
of the analytical ideal. Dyzenhaus indicates how this might be
done, in a way that answers Schmitt’s challenge. On the other
hand, Schmitt’s conception of the exception gives us the
conceptual tools, adapted and appropriately extrapolated to local
experience, to understand the behaviour of the Sri Lankan State
from an analytical perspective that is different from the familiar
liberal critique.
73 Dyzenhaus (2006), op cit., p.16

62
63
CHAPTER III
THE NEO‐ROMAN CONSTITUTIONAL MODEL

OF ACCOMMODATION: COMPARATIVE
EXPERIENCE AND INTERNATIONAL
STANDARDS
3. The Neo‐Roman Constitutional Model of Accommodation:

Comparative Experience
3.1. Comparative Experience: Constitutional Issues and

Responses
3.1.1. What is an Emergency? The Problem of
DeLinition
3.1.2. Declaration, Extension and Termination
3.1.3. Legal Effects of a Declaration of Emergency
3.1.4. Checks and Balances
3.2. Comparative Experience: Areas of Concern

3.2.1. Constitutional Accommodation: Misuse and
Abuse
3.2.2. Communal Alienation: Us vs. Them
3.2.3. The Concept of Militant Democracy and the
Sixth Amendment
3.2.4. Normalisation of the Exception
64
As we noted before, the institution of the dictatorship in the
Roman republic has served as the model for modern democracies
in devising their constitutional and legal arrangements with
respect to emergency powers. The features of the Roman model
germane to modern constitution‐makers are, in Gross and Ní
Aoláin’s summary: “temporary character, recognition of the
exceptional nature of emergencies, appointment of a dictator
according to speciLic constitutional forms that separated, among
other things, those who declared an emergency and those who
exercised dictatorial power on such occasions, the appointment of
dictators for well‐deLined and limited purposes, and the ultimate
goal of upholding the constitutional order rather than changing or
replacing it.” 74
In this chapter, we review a selection of comparative experiences

on how to constitutionally accommodate the tension between
providing for emergency powers and the preservation of core
democratic values. In this regard, it will be seen that in addition to
procedural safeguards and institutional checks, many democracies
also envisage substantive limitations on the scope of emergency
powers, most prominently through the device of a bill of rights.
This allows us, in the following chapter, to explore the
international legal and directory standards that have been
developed in regulating states of emergency.
74Oren Gross and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin (2006) Law in Times of Crisis:

Emergency Powers in Theory and Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge UP);
65
3.1 Comparative Experience: Constitutional Issues and
Responses
In the design and implementation of a constitutional framework

for regulating states of emergency within the rule of law,
constitution‐makers are confronted with several problems, not
least of all the political conditions that frame the historical
moment of constitution‐making that are unique to each society.
However, from a technical point of view, the common themes
arising out of balancing emergency powers with democratic
values shared across jurisdictions have related to: (a) deLining a
state of emergency; (b) providing for declaration, extension and
termination; (c) the legal consequences of a state of emergency;
and (d) establishing appropriate checks and balances for the
exercise of emergency powers within the broader constitutional
framework of the separation of powers. It is to these issues that
we now turn.
3.1.1 What is an Emergency? The Problem of Debinition
While the vast majority of democratic constitutional instruments

nowadays contemplate and provide, often in some detail, for
states of emergency,75 it is to be noted that some prominent
examples do not. For example, the constitutions of Japan and
Belgium contain almost no reference to states of emergency and
powers, and the constitution of the United States contains only
75See European Commission for Democracy through Law (1995)

Emergency Powers (Strasbourg: Council of Europe): pp.4‐5; John
Ferejohn & Pasquale Pasquino (2004) ‘The Law of the Exception: A
Typology of Emergency Powers’ 2 International Journal of Constitutional
Law 210 at p.213
66
indirect and then rudimentary references to this matter.76 At the
level of the federal constitution, reference is restricted to the
congressional power to call out the militia to execute the laws of
the union, to suppress insurrection and repel invasions, and the
permissible suspension of habeas corpus where public safety
requires it during times of rebellion or invasion, although some
other provisions mention terms such as ‘war’ and ‘time of war.’
There is no special and explicit provision for the functions and
powers of any or all branches of government during a public
emergency.77 The broad consequence has been the need to employ
doctrines such as constitutional necessity to rationalise
emergency powers.78 US state constitutions are different, in that
many provide expressly for states of emergency.79 The United
Kingdom, on the other hand, has no written constitution, which
makes ‘constitutional’ accommodation impossible, but its
elaborate statutory framework of legislative accommodation
makes it a system of quasi‐constitutional accommodation.
Having said that, the norm is that the large majority of

constitutional democracies do, in fact, expressly provide for states
76Samuel Issacharoff & Richard H. Pildes, (2004) ‘Emergency Contexts

without Emergency Powers: The United States’ Constitutional Approach to
Rights during Wartime’, ICON, Vol. 2, No.2, 296
77Henry P. Monaghan (1993) ‘The Protective Power of the Presidency’ 93

Colombia Law Review 1 at pp.32‐38; George Winterton (1979) ‘The
Concept of Extra‐Constitutional Executive Power in Domestic Affairs’ 7
Hastings Constitutional Law Quarterly 1 at pp.24‐35; Daniel Farber
(2003) Lincoln’s Constitution: The Nation, the President, and the
Courts in a Time of Crisis (Chicago: Chicago UP)
78 See esp. Gross and Ní Aoláin: pp.46‐54
79Oren Gross (2003) ‘Providing for the Unexpected: Constitutional

Emergency Provisions’ 33 Israel Yearbook on Human Rights 13 at pp.
20‐21
67
of emergency. It is true that the deLining ‘emergency’ is difLicult if
not impossible. Thus constitution‐makers proceed on a hypothesis
on what might be involved and what powers may be reasonably
needed by the State, balanced by procedural and substantive
limitations. These strike different equilibria between legal
regulation and political discretion depending on local context and
constitutional culture. For the same reasons, they also
demonstrate a wide variety of institutional arrangements.
One way of doing this is to provide for a general state of

emergency, but restrict its invocation through the explicit
speciLication of aims and purposes. This is the approach of the
South African constitution,80 which requires a declaration of
emergency, in terms of a law passed by Parliament,81 when ‘the life
of the nation is threatened by war, invasion, general insurrection,
disorder, natural disaster or other public emergency’, 82 and then
only to the extent emergency powers are necessary to restore law
and order.83 Likewise, the Israeli Basic Law provides for one type
of state of emergency, but unlike the South African example,
80See Nicholas Haysom, ‘States of Emergency’ in Halton Cheadle, Dennis

Davis & Nicholas Haysom (2002) South African Constitutional Law: The
Bill of Rights (Durban: Butterworths): Ch.31
81Now the State of Emergency Act 86 of 1995, which repealed and

replaced the Public Safety Act 3 of 1953
82Section 37 (1) (a) of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act
108 of 1996 (the ‘Final Constitution’). Cf. Articles 180‐182 of the
Constitution of Ecuador and Article 29 of the Constitution of Mexico
83 Section 37 (1) (b)

68
neither deLines a state of emergency, nor enumerates the
conditions under which a declaration becomes legally available.84
This is the approach of the Sri Lankan constitution as well.
Chapter XVIII of the constitution is entirely a procedural
framework, which imposes no objective conditionalities on the
presidential discretion in respect of a declaration of a state of
emergency. However, these constitutional provisions are premised
on the statutory elaboration of, inter alia, the presidential
discretion with regard to a declaration. Accordingly, the Public
Security Ordinance No. 25 of 1947 as amended (PSO) provides
that such a declaration may be made where, in the opinion of the
President, there exists or imminently exists a state of public
emergency which requires emergency powers to be used ‘in the
interests of public security and the preservation of public order, or
for the maintenance of supplies and services essential to the life of
the community.’85
Other constitutions resolve the deLinitional problem by providing

for a several types of emergency regime. Broadly, these fall into
two categories: those that provide for a dual structure of
emergency regime, and those that envisage a multiple structure.
Many of the post‐communist Eastern European constitutions

provide a dual structure of emergency regime,86 as do the
constitutions of the Netherlands and Portugal. The Dutch
constitution differentiates between a ‘state of war’ and a ‘state of
84Articles 38, 39, Basic Law: The Government, 1780 SH (2001); see also
Baruch Bracha (2003) ‘Checks and Balances in a Protracted State of
Emergency – The Case of Israel’ 33 Israel Yearbook on Human Rights 123
85 Section 2 (1) of the PSO
86See Venelin I. Ganev (1997) ‘Emergency Powers and the New East
European Constitutions’ 45 American Journal of Comparative Law 585
69
emergency’.87 The former remains undeLined, whereas the latter
must be deLined by statute. The constitution of Portugal
distinguishes between a ‘state of emergency’ and a ‘state of siege.’
Thus, a state of siege or a state of emergency may be declared ‘in
cases of actual or imminent aggression by foreign forces, serious
threat to or disturbance of the democratic constitutional order or
public calamity’, whereas a ‘state of emergency is declared where
the circumstances mentioned in the preceding paragraph are less
serious’.88
Multiple structure states of emergency are a feature of the Latin

and South American constitutions, which determine the extent of
emergency powers granted to the government depending on the
nature of the emergency. At least nine different states of exception
(estado de excepción) can be found in these constitutions. These
include the state of siege (estado de sitio), state of emergency
(estado de emergencia), state of alarm (estado de alarma), state of
prevention (estado de prevención), state of defence (estado de
defensa) and state of war (estado de guerra). Thus for example the
constitution of Guatemala recognises Live distinct categories of
exception: state of prevention, state of alarm, state of public
calamity (estado de calamidad publica), state of siege and state of
war. 89 As Gross and Ní Aoláin note, “The mechanism used to
distinguish between the various situations is based on general
descriptions of factual circumstances that may lead to invoking
each particular state of exception. Such factual circumstances
include, inter alia, external war, breach of the peace and the public
order, economic exigencies, and natural disasters, and threats of
87 Articles 96 and 103 respectively of the Dutch Constitution
88 Articles 19 (2) and 19 (3) of the Portuguese Constitution
89 Article 139 of the Guatemalan Constitution

70
disturbances. In addition, each constitution explicitly details the
legal results that arise out of the declaration of each state of
exception by way of suspension of individual rights (suspención de
garantias) and the vesting of extraordinary powers in the
executive branch of government.” 90
Multiple structure arrangements also feature in Germany, Canada

and Spain. The German Basic Law distinguishes between an
‘internal emergency ’ (Innerer Notstand), a ‘state of
tension’ (Spannungsfall), and a ‘state of defence’ (Verteidigungsfall).91
An internal emergency is where there is ‘an imminent danger to
the existence or free democratic basic order of the Federation or
of a Land.’ A state of defence may be declared when the ‘federal
territory is under attack by armed force or imminently threatened
by such an attack.’ The state of tension is not deLined in the Basic
Law. The Basic Law also allows police co‐ordination between
Länder forces and the federal military in situations of ‘natural
disaster or particularly serious accident’.92
In Canada, the power of the federal government in respect of

emergencies form part of the plenary powers allocated under
section 91 of the Constitution Act of 1867, which provides for
90Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.42; see also Brian Loveman (1993) The
Constitution of Tyranny: Regimes of Exception in Spanish America
(Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh UP)
91Articles 91, 87a(4), 12a(5)‐(6), 80a, 115a‐l of the German Basic Law
(Grundgesetz); John E. Finn (1991) Constitutions in Crisis: Political
Violence and the Rule of Law (New York: Oxford UP): pp.196‐200; Note
(1969) ‘Recent Emergency Legislation in West Germany’ 82 Harvard Law
Review 1704
92 Articles 35 (2), (3) of the German Basic Law

71
legislation for the peace, order and good government of Canada.93
Accordingly, the Emergencies Act of 1988 authorises the federal
government to declare four types of emergencies: ‘public welfare
emergency’ (natural disasters), ‘public order emergency’ (serious
threats to the security of Canada), ‘international
emergency’ (involving acts of intimidation towards Canada or
other countries), and ‘war emergency’ (real or imminent armed
conLlict involving Canada or its allies).94 The initial and speciLically
permitted durations as well as the nature and scope of emergency
powers so brought into operation, depend on which kind of
emergency is invoked.
In Spain, the constitution establishes three distinct states of

emergency: the state of alarm (estado de alarma), the state of
emergency (estado de excepción) and the state of siege (estado de
sitio). 95 The constitution does not deLine these, but sets out the
authority and procedures for the declaration of each state of
exception as well as their initial durations. Elsewhere, the
constitution also grants a decree‐making power, in cases of
‘extraordinary and urgent necessity’ for the central government to
issue ‘provisional legislative decisions’.96 Organic Law 4/1981
deLines the three states of emergency and describes the
circumstances under which each may be declared. Thus, a state of
93See Peter W. Hogg (1997) Constitutional Law of Canada (4th Ed.)

(Ontario: Carswell): Vol.1, Ch.17
94Emergencies Act 1988, S.C. 1988, Ch.29, S.80. See also Peter Rosenthal
(1991) ‘The New Emergencies Act: Four Times the War Measures Act’ 20
Manitoba Law Journal 563 at p.565‐573; Eliot Tenofsky (1989) ‘The War
Measures and Emergencies Acts’ 19 American Review of Canadian
Studies 293
95 Article 116 of the Spanish Constitution
96 Article 86
72
alarm concerns natural disasters, scarcity of basic commodities or
essential services; a state of emergency is declared where ‘the free
exercise of the citizen’s rights and liberties or the normal
functions of democratic institutions, public services essential for
the community or any other aspect of public order are altered to
the extent that the ordinary powers prove insufLicient to re‐
establish or maintain them’; and a state of siege is proclaimed ‘in
the event of an insurrection or threat of insurrection or an act of
force against the sovereignty or independence, territorial integrity
and constitutional order of Spain which cannot otherwise be
resolved.’97
As with any constitutional design options, the choice of

arrangements depend upon an assessment of the strengths and
weakness of each option in the light of political context. The dual
and multilevel classiLications of emergencies are aimed at limiting
the range of extraordinary powers available to government
through a system of calibration. Thus varying degrees of threat are
tied to a corresponding cascade of legal powers available. These
models therefore are acutely concerned about the equation
between power and liberty, legally regulating the increment of the
former and corresponding decrement of the latter (especially in
regard to constitutionally enshrined fundamental rights) strictly
according to the gravity of the threat.
On the other hand, the classiLicatory approach to the structuring

of emergency powers has its disadvantages. Gross and Ní Aoláin
point out two broad problems, even assuming, as they say, “that
such classiLication and categorisation are viable projects.”98 Firstly,
97European Commission for Democracy through Law (1995), op cit., pp.

7‐8

73
the problem of deLinition plagues this approach with the result
that the purported advantage of legally regulating the availability
and extent of emergency power is nulliLied. The substantial
ambiguity and overlap between categories result in the use of
terms “…that makes the choice…mostly a political issue.”99 This is
clearly visible in the Portuguese scheme mentioned above.
Furthermore, creating a ‘sliding scale of emergency regimes’ may
encourage governments to resort more readily to some states of
emergency, because the perception that they are ‘not so serious’
make them “…more readily accepted by legislatures, courts and
the general public.”100 The danger of this is that, “This can also act
to condition people to live with some type of emergency. Once
some kind of emergency regime becomes accepted as the normal
way of life, it will be easier for government to ‘upgrade’ to a
higher‐level emergency regime.”101
3.1.2 Declaration, Extension and Termination
One of the most important lessons of the Roman model is its

framework for the declaration, operation and termination of a
state of emergency, in particular the functional separation
between institutional actors who declare the state of emergency,
and those who exercise power under it.102
99 Ibid
100 Ibid, pp.45‐46
101 Ibid, p.46
102
Clinton Rossiter (1948) Constitutional Dictatorship: Crisis
Government in Modern Democracies (Princeton: Princeton UP): pp.
297‐306
74
In comparative experience, this principle Linds near universal
recognition, although the particular institutional architecture to
give effect to it varies widely depending on contextual political
factors, the general system and speciLic structures of government,
and constitutional traditions of each jurisdiction. It is important to
bear in mind that the distribution of power under the
constitutional dispensation as a whole inLluences the design of
arrangements regarding states of emergency. This applies both to
the ‘horizontal’ arrangements at the centre in terms of the
separation of power between the executive and the legislature,
and in federal‐type systems, where more complex ‘vertical’
arrangements may be in place for mediating between multiple
orders of government. Broadly, however, the constitutional
provisions for declaration of states on emergency fall into three
groups: viz., those that vest the power of declaration in the
legislature (usually parliamentary systems), those empowering
executive initiative (generally presidential systems), and others
that are hybrid.
Prominent among countries that vest the power of declaration in

the legislature (although initiation of the process rests with the
executive)103 are South Africa,104 Germany105 and Israel,106 which
are all essentially parliamentary systems.107 However, in the
interests of a rapid response, which the executive is better placed
103 For e.g. Article 38 (c) of the Israeli Basic Law: The Government
104 Section 34 (1) of the South African Constitution
105 Article 115a of the German Basic Law
106 Article 38 (a) of the Israeli Basic Law: The Government
107 See also Article 48 (1) of the Greek Constitution; Articles 78, 87 of the
Italian Constitution; Ganev (1997), op cit., pp.587‐589 for Eastern
European constitutions
75
to undertake, these jurisdictions may allow a limited power of
declaration and even rule‐making to the executive, subject to
ratiLication by the legislature.
ReLlecting strong political traditions of executive leadership, in

Latin and South American constitutions, as well as those of former
communist States in Eastern Europe, 108 the power of declaration
is vested in the President. Generally, Presidents under these
systems are under no formal obligation of prior consultation or
approval. Some however, do impose obligations in respect of
formal consultation with Cabinet, and notiLication and approval of
the legislature. In France, the President is not required to obtain
prior approval of either his Cabinet or of Parliament before a
declaration of emergency, but he is expected to consult the Prime
Minister and the Conseil Constitutionnel.109 The French President,
moreover, merely notiLies Parliament of a proclamation; there is
no further role for the legislature, although Parliament meets
automatically and cannot be dissolved while the emergency
powers are in force.110 Likewise, the Sri Lankan President has an
absolute discretion not only to proclaim a state of emergency, but
also to legislate in the form of emergency regulations, subject to
parliamentary approval of the proclamation.111
108 Ganev (1997) op cit., pp.589‐592
109Articles 16 (1), 19 of the French Constitution; see John Bell (1992)

French Constitutional Law (Oxford: Oxford UP): p.16
110 Ibid
111Article 155 of the Constitution, discussed at length in Chapter 5, infra;

See also J.A.L. Cooray (1995) Constitutional and Administrative Law of
Sri Lanka (Colombo: Sumathi Publishers): Ch.31; Radhika
Coomaraswamy & Charmaine de los Reyes (2004) ‘Rule by Emergency: Sri
Lanka’s Postcolonial Constitutional Experience’ I.CON, Vol.2, No.2, 272
76
In the federal parliamentary system of India, the unusual
constitutional distribution of power in respect of emergencies112
that gives pre‐eminence to the Union over states, places the
President of India in a unique position. Under India’s
parliamentary system, the President is a titular Ligure, but one of
his emergency powers is under certain circumstances to dissolve
state governments and impose direct rule. The Indian President,
however, can only act on the advice of the Prime Minister.113
The multilevel emergency regime in the Spanish constitution

carries over into the function of declaration, whereby some types
of emergency are declared by the executive and others by the
legislature. Thus for example, the least serious state of alarm can
be declared by the government with notice to the legislature, the
next level state of emergency can be declared by the executive but
with prior approval of the legislature, whereas the most serious
state of siege can only be declared by the legislature on a motion
by the government.114
Safeguards are also found in the form of constitutionally stipulated

legislative majorities to approve declarations as well as extensions
of emergencies. These extend from simple majorities to special
majorities that are required for certain types of emergencies and
for their extension.115 In his model of emergency powers,
Ackerman proposes the device of ‘supra‐majority escalation’
112See esp. H.M. Seervai (1996) Constitutional Law of India (4th Ed.)
(Bombay: Tripathi): Ch. XXIX; S.R. Bommai v. Union (1994) 3 SCC 1
113 Article 352 of the Indian Constitution
114 Articles 116 (2), (3), (4) of the Spanish Constitution
115Articles 80a and 115a of the German Basic Law; Article 352 (6) of the
Indian Constitution
77
whereby each successive extension of a state of emergency
requires ever increasing legislative majorities until a small
minority becomes capable of halting further extension.116 A like
approach is adopted in the South African constitution where the
initial declaration requires only a simple majority, but extensions
require the support of a special majority of 60% of legislators.117
An important principle of the Roman model is the duration of the

state of emergency, which is required to be short‐lived. Thus
comparative systems follow one or both of the techniques
whereby time limits are set on the operation of a declaration
(which is a universal feature), and through extension procedures
which require higher standards of justiLication and approval.118
Some constitutions also set limits to the number of extensions that
can be made to the initial declaration as well as limit the number
of declarations that can be made within a particular period. The
Sri Lankan constitution also contains some of these features such
as temporal limits on the proclamation and regular legislative
approval. Several other safeguards such as the special majority
required for extension and the limitation on the number of
declarations during a speciLied period have been repealed by the
Tenth Amendment to the constitution. We shall consider these
aspects in greater detail later.119
116Bruce Ackerman (2004) ‘The Emergency Constitution’ 113 Yale Law

Journal 1029 at p.1047‐1049: “an escalating cascade of supermajorities”
117 Section 37 (2) (b) of the South African Constitution; see for the position in
Sri Lanka prior to the Tenth Amendment to the Constitution, Chapter 5, infra
118For e.g. Article 38b of the Israeli Basic Law: The Government; Section 37 of
the South African Constitution; Article 352 (5) of the Indian Constitution
119 Chapter 5, infra

78
Termination of a state of emergency is of obvious importance, and
the procedures for declaration usually determine how this occurs.
Many constitutions additionally impose a positive duty on the
institutional actor having the power of declaration to terminate a
state of emergency ahead of its temporal expiry if the threat has
abated or there is no legitimate reason why the state of emergency
should continue.
3.1.3 Legal Effects of a Declaration of Emergency
The legal effect and consequences of a declaration of a state of

emergency for the ordinary constitutional order, comprises the
substantive crux of the matter in addressing the tension between
emergency powers and democratic values. For constitution‐
makers, the relevant questions are as follows: (a) Which elements
of the normal constitutional order are affected, in whole or in part,
or suspended (if at all) by the operation of the emergency regime?
(b) What fundamental rights constitutionally protected under
normal circumstances can be limited or derogated from during an
emergency, and to what extent? (c) How does the institutional
framework and balance of the constitutional order change? (d)
Are amendments to the constitution under emergency powers
permitted, and if so to what extent?120
In addressing these questions, the general pattern among liberal

democratic constitutions shows that while derogations, within
limits, of some fundamental rights as well as greater institutional
space for the executive are permitted, a suspension of the
constitution or empowering emergency‐related constitutional
amendments are disapproved of, although emergency measures
120 See also Cheadle, Davis & Haysom (2002) op cit., Ch.31
79
may override ordinary statutes. As Gross and Ní Aoláin note, “…in
order to prevent repetition of the mistakes that led to the
destruction of the Weimar constitutional experiment…modern
constitutional provisions often proscribe any change or
modiLication of the constitution itself during an emergency, or at
least any change to, or modiLication of, the nature of the regime
and its core constitutional norms.”121
Nonetheless, two prominent examples of liberal democratic

constitutions permitting fairly broad suspension of constitutional
provisions during times of emergency are those of the Swiss
confederation and the Irish Republic. Under the doctrine of régime
des pleins pouvoirs (regime of plenary powers), the Swiss federal
government can act to safeguard the confederation’s security,
independence, neutrality or economic interests in emergencies,
when the legislature cannot meet or the legislative process can no
longer function. While such an extreme assumption of power by
the federal government would be deemed unconstitutional
normally, in the circumstances it becomes operational, the
doctrine offers practically no limits, apart from Switzerland’s
obligations under the European Convention of Human Rights, on
the power of the federal executive.
Likewise, the constitution of the Irish Republic contains a bizarre

provision, Article 28.3.3°, which suspends the constitution
including fundamental rights in times of emergency through the
121For e.g. Article 89 (4) of the French Constitution; Articles 187, 196 of
the Belgian Constitution; see Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.60‐61. Under Article
155 of the Sri Lankan constitution, the President is empowered to make
emergency regulations which can override the provisions of any ordinary
law, but not the provisions of the constitution. This is salutary. But in
practice, rule by emergency powers have become so endemic, and
executive accountability so weak, that emergency rule‐making often
strays into the sphere of the unconstitutional: see Chapter 5, infra
80
provision of a blanket legal overriding power, to both legislative
and executive action during a time of emergency. The only legal
limitation on its invocation is its purposes (i.e., grave
emergencies), which if bridged allows the government to virtually
re‐write the constitution through emergency measures. It would
seem that the most salient counter against abuse of such
provisions is the extra‐legal one of deeply rooted liberal
democratic cultures in these countries (for example, the Swiss
provisions have only been invoked twice: during the two world
wars), preventing the unhappy political experiences under such
provisions as Article 96 (1) of the Algerian constitution which
provides that ‘during a period of state of war, the Constitution is
suspended [and] the President of the Republic assumes all the
powers.’
The principal device of fundamental rights protection in

democratic constitutional orders is the bill of rights, which
provides a fortiLied bulwark of citizens’ liberty, especially
individual rights, against ordinary politics and beyond the reach of
democratic majorities. During times of emergency this protection
assumes critical signiLicance. Yet at the same time, emergencies
are also the times during which the enjoyment of some rights may
need to be curtailed. Democratic constitutions adopt one of two
techniques in resolving this problem: (a) a positive list approach,
whereby the constitution identiLies which rights and freedoms
may be restricted under emergency powers; (b) the negative list
approach, whereby the constitution sets out explicitly which rights
and freedoms may not be so restricted even in the midst of acute
crisis. Article 15 (7) of the Sri Lankan constitution reLlects the
former approach, whereas Section 37 of the South African
constitution is the international exemplar of the latter. Some
constitutions take a mixed approach adopting a positive list for
81
natural disasters, and a negative list in respect of security‐related
or man‐made crises.122
Indeed, the South African bill of rights (both in terms of breadth

and depth of scope, and the general limitations clause) in general,
and Section 37 in particular, represents perhaps the best
international practice in the protection of fundamental human
rights during a time of emergency.123 Among the human rights
safeguards built into the South African emergency regime is the
procedural framework which gives a central role to the legislature
over declaration, and comprehensive judicial review over all
aspects of emergencies. On the other hand are the substantive
protections including the list of non‐derogable rights, the explicit
establishment of limits on permissible derogations, and the
domestic justiciability of international human rights within the
emergency regime. Together, these are what Klug calls the ‘own
internal rules of interpretation’ of the South African bill of
rights.124 Against such a sophisticated treatment of human rights
in states of emergency, the Sri Lankan framework seems
rudimentary and primitive.
As in the South African case, some constitutions make reference to

the State’s international obligations in respect of international
human rights instruments and their derogation standards.125
These are highly constructive sources of both positive rights as
122 For examples of all three approaches, see Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.8
123 Cheadle, Davis & Haysom (2002), op cit., Ch.31
124Heinz Klug, ‘South Africa: From Constitutional Promise to Social

Transformation’ in Jeffrey Goldsworthy (2006) Interpreting
Constitutions: A Comparative Study (Oxford: Oxford UP): Ch.6 at p.281
125 Another example is Article 23 of the Finnish Constitution

82
well as permissible limitations, and in some countries where
domestic institutions are weak in the protection of human rights,
provide a very useful means of accountability and sometimes
enforcement. This issue has come to the forefront in Sri Lanka
following the judgment of the Supreme Court in the Singarasa
Case, which we will discuss in greater detail below.126
Another, wider but intimately related, legal consequence of a state

of emergency is the expansion of the executive role within the
institutional framework of the State, intensiLied by the
operationalisation of extraordinary powers. As Rossiter notes,
“Crisis government is primarily and often exclusively the business
of presidents and prime ministers.”127 One important dimension of
this expansion is the conferment of law‐making powers on the
executive, which would otherwise be unavailable. Most democratic
constitutions offset this conferral through procedural mechanisms
such as legislative approval or consultation requirements and time
limits of validity. Thus, some constitutions provide that Parliament
must immediately be summoned upon the declaration of a state of
emergency,128 or that the legislature may not be dissolved,129 or
that its term of ofLice be extended during the currency of a state of
emergency.130
126 See Chapter 6, infra
127Rossiter (1948), op cit., pp.288‐290; see also Edward S. Corwin (1947)

Total War and the Constitution (New York: Knopf): pp.172‐179; Arthur
S. Miller (1978) ‘Constitutional Law: Crisis Government becomes the Norm’
39 Ohio State Law Journal 736 at pp.738‐741
128 Article155 (4) of the Sri Lankan Constitution
129Articles 16, 89 of the French Constitution; Article 289 of the

Portuguese Constitution; Articles 169, 116 (5) of the Spanish Constitution
130 Article115h of the German Basic Law

83
However, the signiLicance of this power from the perspective of
constitutional accommodation is the permissibility of its
substantive reach. That is, executive‐made emergency regulations
may amend or override ordinary statutes, but they cannot be
allowed to remain in force if inconsistent with the constitution, or
worse, if they purport to amend the constitution. The Sri Lankan
constitution makes this clear: once an emergency is proclaimed
and the President assumes law‐making powers under the
constitution and the Public Security Ordinance (PSO), such
emergency regulations have the force of law and can override all
ordinary law except the constitution.131
A more pernicious problem is the executive rule‐making power

under special anti‐terrorism legislation, which operates outside
the constitutional framework governing states of emergency. A
good example is Sri Lanka’s Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA).132
Thus in 2001, when President Kumaratunga’s government lost its
parliamentary majority, the state of emergency lapsed due to the
lack of support from a hostile Parliament.133 Accordingly,
emergency regulations made pursuant to the emergency also
ceased operation, including the regulations which had proscribed
the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). In this matter at
least, the executive was not thwarted, because a proscription
order could be made under the PTA. The point here is not about
the merits of a policy decision to proscribe the LTTE, but the fact
that the panoply of powers available to the executive are usually
131 Article 155 (2)
132
See N. Manoharan (2006) Counterterrorism Legislation in Sri Lanka:
Evaluating EfZicacy, Policy Studies 28 (Washington DC: East‐West
Center)
133 See Coomaraswamy & de los Reyes (2004), op cit.

84
so wide, that other institutional actors (such as Parliament)
recede in importance. In a context of nearly non‐existent
parliamentary scrutiny of statutory instruments, and a generally
deferential judiciary especially in respect of emergency
regulations, the possibility of executive subversion of fundamental
rights and the rule of law is never far away.134
Finally, it should be noted that one of the Lirst casualties of a state

of emergency in federal countries and devolved polities is the
principle of regional autonomy. Emergencies open the Lloodgates
of centralisation, as for example the constitutional experience of
the United States has shown. The administrations of President
Lincoln in a state of war,135 and President Roosevelt in a time a
severe economic crisis followed by global war,136 left behind
precedents of centralisation and pre‐eminence of the executive
branch that have had an enduring impact on the constitutional
evolution of that country. Even the very different federal
constitutional culture and practice in Canada and Australia
134 Ibid
135Daniel Farber (2003) Lincoln’s Constitution: The Nation, the

President, and the Courts in a Time of Crisis (Chicago: Chicago UP)
136
Edward S. Corwin (1947) Total War and the Constitution (New York:
Knopf): pp.35‐37
85
demonstrate this.137 Other federations such as Germany, India and
Russia provide explicitly for the suspension of fundamental
federal constitutional principles during times of emergency.138
While it would seem that the unitary State of Sri Lanka would not
encounter these considerations, it is important to remember that
one of the central debates about the schema of devolution under
the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution (1987), has been in
respect of the emergency powers framework. Proponents of
meaningful devolution have argued that the retention by the
centre of wide emergency related powers are a signiLicant fetter
137 Herbert Marx (1970) ‘The Emergency Power and Civil Liberties in
Canada’ 16 MacGill Law Journal 39 at pp.57‐61; Christopher D. Gilbert
(1980) “There will be Wars and Rumours of Wars’: A Comparison of the
Treatment of Defence and Emergency Powers in the Federal Constitutions of
Australia and Canada’ 18 Osgoode Hall Law Journal 307; Donald G.
Creighton (1944) Dominion of the North: A History of Canada (Boston:
Houghton MifLlin): p.439; Patricia Peppin (1993) ‘Emergency Legislation
and Rights in Canada: The War Measures Act and Civil Liberties’ 18
Queen’s Law Journal 129 at p.131; Rosenthal (1991), op cit., p.576‐580;
Peter W. Hogg, ‘Canada: From Privy Council to Supreme Court’ and Jeffrey
Goldsworthy ‘Australia: Devotion to Legalism’ in Goldsworthy (2006), op
cit., pp.64‐66, 85, 102 and p.138
138 Article 53 (a) (2) of the German Basic Law; David P. Currie (1994) The
Constitution of the Federal Republic of Germany (Chicago: Chicago UP):
pp. 134, 138‐139; Donald P. Kommers, ‘Germany: Balancing Rights and
Duties’ in Goldsworthy (2006) op cit., pp.163, 167, 169, 185; Articles 353,
356, 360 of the Indian Constitution; Durga Das Basu (1982) Introduction
to the Constitution of India (9th Ed.) (New Delhi: Prentice‐Hall): pp.
302‐316; S.P. Sathe, ‘India: From Positivism to Structuralism’ in
Goldsworthy (2006), op cit., pp.222, 245, 246, 247‐251, 259, 264, 339,
344; Article 88 of the Russian Constitution
86
on devolution,139 whereas opponents of extensive devolution have
strenuously held that such retention is essential to safeguard the
territorial integrity of the country against attempts at secession by
the North and East region. 140 By provisions introduced by the
Thirteenth Amendment, presidential emergency powers extend to
the issuing of orders and instructions to provincial Governors in
respect of actual or imminent public security threats141 and
emergency regulations made by the President override provincial
statutes.142 We shall revisit this issue later.143
3.1.4 Checks and Balances
It is the challenge of democratic constitution‐makers to provide

for the exercise of power, particularly executive power that
facilitates strong and efLicient government, whilst ensuring at the
same time safeguards against abuse. This problem applies a
fortiori to the design of arrangements for states of emergency. The
139Neelan Tiruchelvam, ‘The Politics of Federalism and Diversity in Sri

Lanka’ in Yash Ghai (Ed.) (2000) Autonomy and Ethnicity: Negotiating
Competing Claims in Multi‐ethnic States (Cambridge: Cambridge UP):
Ch.9; Rohan Edrisinha & Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu, ‘The Case for a
Federal Sri Lanka’ in Rohan Edrisinha & Jayadeva Uyangoda (Eds.) Essays
on Constitutional Reform (Colombo: CEPRA)
140 H.L. de Silva P.C., Professor G.H. Peiris, Gomin Dayasiri & Manohara de
Silva P.C. (2006) Interim Report of Sub‐Committee B of the Experts Panel
of the All Party Representative Committee, 11th December 2006
141 Article 154J (1) of the constitution. See also Articles 154K (failure of
provincial Governors to comply with presidential directions) and 154L
(failure of the administrative machinery of a Province)
142 Article 155 (3A)
143 Chapter 5, infra

87
two classic constitutional devices that are deployed for this
purpose are judicial review and the separation of powers.
The South African constitution is fairly unusual in subjecting both

the declaration as well as law‐making and executive action under
emergency to full judicial review.144 Many constitutions seek to
implicitly limit or explicitly prevent judicial review,145 while many
are silent on the matter.146 The Sri Lankan constitution and the
PSO oust the jurisdiction of courts to review a proclamation of
emergency.147 However, the Supreme Court in the exercise of its
fundamental rights jurisdiction may review emergency
regulations for consistency with the bill of rights. The mixed
record of the Sri Lankan Supreme Court in this respect is
discussed in greater detail below, but generally, there has been a
willingness to defer to executive discretion in respect of dealing
with emergencies, except perhaps in relation to the most
egregious violations.148
144
Section 37 (3) of the South African Constitution; Cheadle, Davis &
Haysom (2002), op cit., Ch.31
145 Article 150 (8) of the Malaysian Constitution; Article 28.3.3° of the
Irish Constitution
146Article 155 of the Sri Lankan Constitution, prior to the Tenth

Amendment; see also Stephen Ellman (1989) ‘A Constitution for all
Seasons’, Columbia Human Rights Law Review 163
147Article 15J (2) of the Constitution and section 3 of the PSO. Section 8 of
the PSO also provides that no emergency regulation, order, rule or
direction shall be called in question in any court, although this does not
oust the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court to review such acts for
constitutionality and consistency with fundamental rights.
148 Chapters 5 and 6, infra

88
This is again, a common pattern elsewhere as well. As Gross and
Ní Aoláin state, “…practice shows that domestic courts tend to
support the government’s position either by invoking such judicial
mechanisms as the political question doctrine and standing to
prevent themselves from having to decide the matter brought
before them on the merits, or, when deciding a case on its merits,
accepting the government’s position. That tendency of the courts
becomes even more pronounced when they deal with cases
durante bello as opposed to deciding them when the crisis is
over.”149
Paradoxically, as Gross and Ní Aoláin point out, this could at least

notionally lead to greater openness to judicial review on the part
of governments: “This constitutional experience, which is shared
by nations worldwide, may suggest that the judicial review of
emergency powers ought to be welcomed by governments as it
confers a certain degree of legitimacy on the government’s actions
without exposing the executive to substantial risk that its actions
149 Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.63; In Korematsu v. United States (1944) 323
US 214 at p.224, Frankfurter J. stated: “…therefore the validity of
action under the war power must be judged wholly in the context of
war. That action is not to be stigmatized as lawless because like action
in times of peace would be lawless.” However, Jackson J., dissenting,
compared such legal modiLications to a “…loaded weapon ready for
the hand of any authority that can bring forward a plausible claim of
an urgent need.” (at p.246). See also Hirabayashi v. United States
(1943) 320 US 81. In the United Kingdom, much the same judicial
thinking applied in the majority decision in Liversidge v. Anderson
(1942) AC 206, where the issuing of an administrative detention order
by a Minister was held to be a matter solely for executive discretion,
barring positive evidence of mala Kides or mistaken identity: per Lord
Wright at p.261. The dicta of Goddard L.J., in Greene v. Secretary of
State (1942) AC 284 in the Court of Appeal was cited with approval:
“…where on the return an order or warrant which is valid on its face is
produced, it is for the prisoner to prove the facts necessary to
controvert it.”
89
may be curbed by the judiciary.” 150 It has not been the Sri Lankan
experience, however, that governments, even from a perception of
self‐interest, have quite adopted this attitude to judicial review.
The situation is hardly better at the level of legislative oversight

over executive exercise of emergency powers. In addition to the
immanent constitutional role of legislatures in holding
government to account under the separation of powers through
ordinary mechanisms such as question time, the committee
system and so on, most modern democratic constitutions
elaborate arrangements for legislative oversight of states of
emergency as well.151 Indeed, one of the stronger regulatory
features of the Sri Lankan emergency framework is that it places
Parliament in a central accountability role.152 This promise,
however, has not been fulLilled in the Sri Lankan experience in
practice.153
In comparative experience, there are several factors that have

affected the failure of legislative oversight. Primary among these
are the inherent weaknesses of the constitutional instruments
151Samuel Issacharoff & Richard H. Pildes, ‘Between Civil Libertarianism

and Executive Unilateralism: An Institutional Process Approach to Rights
during Wartime’ in Mark Tushnet (Ed.) (2005) The Constitution in
Wartime: Beyond Alarmism and Complacency (Durham: Duke UP): p.
161
152Articles 155 (4), (5), (6), (7), (8) of the constitution; section 5 (3) of
the PSO
153Coomaraswamy & de los Reyes (2004), op cit, pp.273, 277; see also
Charles L. Black, Jr., (1960) The People and the Court: Judicial Review in
a Democracy (New York: Macmillan): pp.56‐86; Ronen Shamir (1990)
“Landmark Cases’ and the Reproduction of Legitimacy: The Case of Israel’s
High Court of Justice’ 24 Law and Society Review 781
90
themselves, which do not provide a sufLiciently robust legal
framework for legislative oversight. Other factors relate to
political and democratic cultures, including undue deference to
leadership and tolerance of authoritarianism. There is also what
Gross and Ní Aoláin call the ‘consensus generating effect of
emergencies’ and Russett the ‘rally round the Llag effect’154
whereby in times of grave peril, the dynamics of electoral politics
impel even parliamentary oppositions to support the government:
“…it is likely that the emotional effects of emergencies (such as
fear or rage) and the desire to appear patriotic to voters will lead
legislators to support vesting in the government broad and
expansive authorisations and powers and to do so without
delay.”155 The resonance of this observation in the Sri Lankan
context needs no emphasis. The dangers of this psychological and
political effect undermining the expectations of the separation of
powers was seen by Madison early on when he observed that “…an
enthusiastic conLidence of the people in their patriotic leaders,
which stiLled the ordinary diversity of opinions”,156 and argued
that the logic of the US constitution’s system of checks and
balances must be so devised as to give “…those who administer
154
Bruce Russett (1990) Controlling the Sword: The Democratic
Governance of National Security (Cambridge: Harvard UP): pp.34‐38
156Federalist No. 49 (James Madison) in Clinton Rossiter (Ed.) (1961) The

Federalist Papers (New York: The New American Library): p.315; see
also Karl Popper (1971) The Open Society and its Enemies (5th Ed.)
(Princeton: Princeton UP): Vol.1, pp.43, 198; Eugene V. Rostow (1945)
‘The Japanese American Cases – A Disaster’ 54 Yale Law Journal 489 at pp.
490‐491
91
each department the necessary constitutional means and personal
motives to resist encroachments of the others.”157
The rationale for entrusting the executive branch with the

function and powers to deal with emergencies are well‐known.
Hamilton and Jay, for example, adduced the advantages of secrecy,
dispatch, and access to broad resources of information.158 It is the
most visible organ of government in the frontline in times of
emergencies. This structural advantage has been reinforced by
other aspects of modern democratic practice such as party
political systems. The executive dominance of the legislature in
parliamentary systems is buttressed by the modern party political
system, and even in presidential systems such as the United States,
this has undercut the competitive separation advocated by
Madison. 159
3.2 Comparative Experience: Areas of Concern
In the previous section, we considered the constitutional design

aspects of addressing emergency powers within the rule of law
under the model of constitutional accommodation. Within the
broad category of liberal constitutionalism, various constitutional
choices are possible depending on political objectives and
157
Federalist No. 51 (James Madison) in Rossiter (Ed.) (1961), op cit., p.
319; Tushnet (2005), op cit., p.2674
158Federalist No. 64 (John Jay) and Federalist No. 75 (Alexander Hamilton)

in Rossiter (Ed.) (1961), op cit., pp.392‐393, 451‐452
159 In Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer (1952) 343 US 579 at 653,
Jackson J. observed, “Party loyalties and interests, sometimes more
binding than law, extend [the president’s] effective control into branches
of government other than his own, and he may win, as a political leader,
what he cannot command under the Constitution.”
92
historical considerations, and they in turn shape governance and
political cultures in the exercise of emergency powers. In this
section, we turn to some of the political consequences of
emergencies which in spite of, and in some cases, because of
constitutional frameworks continue to pose serious challenges to
liberal constitutionalist assumptions about the separation
between emergency and normalcy, and commitment to the
protection of human rights and the rule of law during times of
crisis.160
3.2.1 Constitutional Accommodation: Misuse and Abuse
As we saw, the objectives of providing for emergency powers that

are Llexible in the face of adversity, yet sufLiciently robust to
protect human rights and the rule of law, constitute the rationale
for the models of accommodation, in particular constitutional
accommodation. As Gross and Ní Aoláin state, “…the argument is
made that the beneLits of accommodation exceed the potential
costs of invoking such models of emergency rule. The models
avoid constitutional and legal rigidity in the face of crisis, allowing
governments to act responsibly, within a legal framework, against
threats and dangers. Operating within the conLines of a legal
system also means that mechanisms of control and supervision
against abuse and misuse of powers – such as judicial review and
parliamentary oversight over the actions of the executive
government – are available and functioning.”161 Against these
160
Jackson J. also observed that, “…emergency powers tend to kindle
emergencies.”, ibid, at p.650

93
normative expectations of the accommodative approach, practical
experience suggests that confronted with the exigencies of a crisis,
the models have not always been able to withstand the
depredations of assertive executives, rendering them meaningless,
apologetic and unprincipled. 162
Constitution‐making involves anticipation of future exigencies, but

it cannot ensure ofLicial and political compliance with the letter,
and more importantly, the spirit of the constitutional instrument,
however great the perspicacity of its drafters and howsoever
perfect and elegant its text. Thus, the experience that judges and
legislators have been unable to assert their institutional role, so as
to meaningfully give effect to constitutional safeguards during
times of emergency, is as much or more a matter of politics as of
constitutional law. As Friedrich observed, “There are no ultimate
institutional safeguards available for insuring that emergency
powers be used for the purpose of preserving the constitution…All
in all the quasi‐dictatorial provisions of modern constitutional
systems, be they martial rule, state of siege or constitutional
emergency powers, fail to conform to any exacting standard of
effective limitations upon a temporary concentration of powers.
Consequently, all these systems are liable to be transformed into
dictatorial schemes if conditions become at all favourable to it.” 163
Indeed, the subversion of constitutional arrangements by

usurpers and autocrats is as old as the idea of constitutional
government itself. The institution of the emergency dictatorship of
162
See Eric A. Posner & Adrian Vermeule (2003) ‘Accommodating
Emergencies’ 56 Stanford Law Review 605, at p.607
163Carl J. Friedrich (1968) Constitutional Government and Democracy:

Theory and Practice in Europe and America (4th Ed.) (Massachusetts:
Blaisdell): p.570
94
the Roman republic itself was sabotaged to serve unconstitutional
and illegal ends, Lirst by Cornelius Sulla during his reign of terror
between 83 and 79 BC, and then by Julius Caesar commencing 48
BC. Both used the forms and powers of the constitutional
dictatorship while doing away with its limitations and
purposes. 164
In the modern era, the best‐known example of how a democratic

constitution was instrumentally used to destroy democracy and
the constitutional order is that of the Weimar constitution in inter‐
war Germany, through its notorious Article 48.165 The Weimar
constitution was a liberal democratic constitution that essentially
followed the Roman model of constitutional dictatorship,
interpolated with the German empire’s doctrine of the state of
war, in respect of its emergency provisions set out in Article 48.
This provision included some excessive powers for the President
of the Republic, including the use of the military to enforce public
order, exercisable at his sole discretion. Article 48 also allowed the
suspension of critical fundamental rights. Theoretically, there
were some explicit limitations on the exercise of these powers
such as the subjection of the President to impeachment
proceedings, as well as other constraints implicit from the
constitutional scheme. Neither the legislature nor the courts
164William E. Heitland (1969) The Roman Republic, Vol.2 (Florida:

Gaunt): para.905‐907; Max Cary & Howard H. Scullard (1975) A History
of Rome down to the Reign of Constantine (3rd Ed.) (New York: St.
Martin’s Press): p.274‐280; Herbert F. Jolowicz & Barry Nicholas (1972) A
Historical Introduction to Roman Law (3rd Ed.) (New York: Greenwood
Press): p.56
165Rossiter (1948), op cit., pp.33‐73; Hans Mommsen (1996) The Rise

and Fall of Weimar Democracy (Chapel Hill: North Carolina UP); Peter L.
Lindseth (2004) ‘The Paradox of Parliamentary Supremacy: Delegation,
Democracy, and Dictatorship in Germany and France, 1920s – 1950s’ 113
Yale Law Journal 1341 at p.1361‐1371
95
proved able, or indeed willing, to check the executive under the
extensive use of Article 48, originally used to address Germany’s
severe economic crises following World War I.166 This set the
precedent for the Nazis once they had taken a foothold within the
democratic institutions, to use the constitution itself to demolish
democracy and (what remained of) the constitutional order,
through measures such as the Ermaechtigungsgesetz, by which the
Reichstag abdicated all its powers under the constitution to the
executive. Thus, towards the end of the Weimar republic, Article
48 had become virtually the sole source of governmental power,
its other parts and the ordinary legal system completely nulliLied.
There is a further issue of salience in the Weimar experience as

Gross and Ní Aoláin point out, endorsing an observation of
Rossiter’s: “Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the German
people lacked any real sense of constitutionalism and deep
appreciation of democracy, being accustomed to, and supportive
of, an authoritarian regime.” 167 This resonates with the apposite
observation Machiavelli made, in an implied indictment of his
fellow Florentines, in respect of the Roman dictatorship. The
lesson seems to be therefore that the ultimate guarantee of
constitutional government is the disposition of society to reject
the abuse of power, rather than the perfection of the paper
constitution.
The Sri Lankan experience with states of emergency has not

fortunately degenerated into extra‐constitutional dictatorship or
the suspension of the constitution, but it has been an experience
of authoritarianism and human rights violations nonetheless.
166
Between 1919 and 1932, Article 48 was invoked more than 250 times:
Rossiter (1948), op cit., pp.37‐60
167 Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.85; Rossiter (1948), op cit., p.71

96
Parliament has generally been ineffectual in holding the executive
to account for the exercise of emergency powers. The Supreme
Court also has been generally deferential to the executive,
although in the use of its fundamental rights and constitutional
jurisdiction it has a marginally better record largely due to the
efforts of some judges.
Democracy in Sri Lanka we know to be deeply Llawed. A relatively

long history of procedural democracy has been bedevilled by its
substantive practice, its promise distorted by patronage politics
and, more pertinently for this discussion, the ethnicisation of the
majoritarian principle. However, because the conception of
democracy of popular subscription is not based on the liberal
notion of a contractarian relationship between citizen and State,
but rather through the prisms of proximate relationships such as
ethnicity,168 standards of democratic accountability are as a
matter of politics not exclusively those prescribed by liberal
democracy; i.e., governmental behaviour is not always judged by
reference to standards such as commitment to human rights and
Lidelity to the rule of law. Consequentially, public tolerance of
authoritarianism is high. Of course, this has had an adverse impact
on fundamental rights and the rule of law.
3.2.2 Communal Alienation: Us vs. Them
Reference was made earlier to the consensus‐generating character

of emergencies, that leads to greater acceptance of sweeping
168The ethnicisation of political languages of negotiation, the deLinition of

group interests, and the articulation of political claims is aggravated by
the infusion of distinctly ethnic‐nationalist and antagonistic forms of
political mobilisation. Political consensus on the value of liberty in the
context of crisis and emergency rule is therefore difLicult.
97
executive powers, and indeed tolerance of excess. This political or
psychosocial phenomenon comes as a result of the perception that
the government is Lighting on behalf of ‘us’ against a common
enemy. This dichotomisation constructs a sense of ‘them’ that is
concerned with groups rather than individuals and thereby the
creation of suspect communities, against whom can be vented the
collective anger in a time of fear. The clearer the line of
demarcation between ‘us’ and ‘them’, the easier it becomes for
governments to expand their emergency powers without public
resistance. This has been a common experience elsewhere; for
example, during World War II, the internment of persons of
Japanese origin in the US, and ‘aliens’ in the UK; and the British
government’s internment campaigns in Northern Ireland.
Following September 11th, this has become a major problem in the
West.
In the context of internal conLlicts, the ‘us vs. them’ discourse is

even more problematic in that there is no foreign element against
which the dynamic works, and thereby its effects have been
arguably even more pernicious. Quite apart from the tragic social
costs and human suffering intra‐State conLlicts involve, it is also
clearly demonstrable that this dichotomy is entirely counter‐
productive to stated aims of anti‐terrorism or counter‐insurgency
measures, and impede the political dynamics of conLlict resolution
through negotiated means.
Ethnic and religious minorities have often been subject to

repressive measures taken by governments in the name of
combating terrorism or insurgency, usually with popular majority
support, where such minorities share communal connections with
the terrorists or the insurgents. This support is often accompanied
by the de‐humanising of the ‘them’, which creates the political
space for human rights violations with impunity. In these
98
situations, it is not merely the legal transgressions of
constitutional rights that result: it also debases the moral
judgement of society, and devalues notions of justice and fair play
that would otherwise prevail.
This in turn leads to minority alienation and with it support for

anti‐government forces. This entrenches the dynamics of conLlict
in a way that eventually de‐legitimises the State. Thus, for
example, as Gross and Ní Aoláin observe, “…it is widely accepted
that the internment campaign initiated by the British in Northern
Ireland on August 9, 1970, led to the revival of the IRA and the
creation of the Provisional IRA. Similarly, there is little doubt that
the repressive measures taken by the French army during the
Battle of Algiers ‘proved to be the most effective recruiting
sergeant for the FLN which managed…to transform Algerian
political life into a military situation thereby alienating the
previously quiescent Muslim population against the French
state.’”169
All of this is all too familiar in the Sri Lankan experience, where in
the context of ethno‐political conLlict going to the heart of the
State’s legitimacy, the use of emergency powers by the
government has become almost completely ethnicised. Generally,
even if the Sri Lankan State has failed to address the substantive
anomalies at the root of the conLlict and minority grievances, it has
claimed to represent all Sri Lankans regardless of ethnicity in its
counter‐insurgency measures against the LTTE. The broader
political and constitutional dimensions of the matter are beyond
this discussion, but even as the military prosecution of the war has
led to widespread patterns of routine violations, there has also
been the occasional executive act of ethnic discrimination that has

99
so clearly and blatantly transgressed democratic sensibilities that
they stand as milestones in the history of the conLlict. A recent
example was the order given by the Defence Secretary, under
emergency powers, to evict Tamil citizens of North‐eastern origin
from the capital, temporarily residing in Colombo (this was
subsequently stopped by an interim order of the Supreme Court
on a public interest fundamental rights application of the Centre
for Policy Alternatives (CPA)).170
This incident exempliLies several issues raised in this paper: (a)

the alienation of minorities through associating them with the
terror group in conLlict with the State; (b) the abuse of power
through exceeding even the extraordinary and expanded limits set
by a state of emergency; (c) the illegitimate violation of
constitutionally guaranteed fundamental rights; (d) the
subversion of rule of law principles through arbitrary,
unreasonable, and disproportionate action; and (e) the ofLicial
culture of convenience and contempt for constitutional and
international standards in respect of human rights and the rule of
law, reinforced by impunity and immunity, that is bred by the
institutionalisation of emergency rule over long periods of time.
This is therefore an instructive example of how the ‘us vs. them’
phenomenon produces a whole variety of misuses and abuses of
emergency power.
170See
h t t p : / / c p a l a n k a . o r g / r e s e a r c h _ p a p e r s /
Press_Release_on_the_interim_order.pdf; http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/
south_asia/6729555.stm; http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/
IRIN/7f915ea1a45ece47a1199f9a7f30884d.htm; http://www.hrw.org/
reports/2007/srilanka0807/6.htm; http://www.un.org/apps/news/
story.asp?NewsID=22851&Cr=sri&Cr1=lanka; http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/
south_asia/6732961.stm
100
3.2.3 The Concept of Militant Democracy and the Sixth
Amendment
In the wake of the events of ‘Black July’ 1983, in addition to the

orthodox emergency‐related measures the government took, was
the enactment of the Sixth Amendment to the Constitution. The
aim of the amendment was to prohibit and punish the activities of
persons, political parties and organisations whose activities
threatened the independence, sovereignty, unity and the
territorial integrity of Sri Lanka.171 Accordingly, the amendment
provided, inter alia, that ‘No person shall, directly or indirectly, on
or outside Sri Lanka, support, espouse, promote, Linance,
encourage or advocate the establishment of a separate State
within the territory of Sri Lanka’.172 The amendment goes on to
provide for penalties in detail, including that where the Supreme
Court on an application declares that a person has contravened
the said prohibition, or that a body corporate has as one of its
objectives the establishment of a separate state, civic disabilities
are imposed or the organisation proscribed ipso jure (in addition
to a host of other penalties such as the forfeiture of property and
elected ofLice). Apart from what was perceived to be an act of
gross insensitivity and arrogance with respect to its timing, upon
the heels of the severe trauma of ethnic violence against Tamils,
this ban on even the peaceful advocacy of secession has been
intensely criticised by liberal commentators in Sri Lanka, both on
principled grounds such as free speech and on more strategic
considerations of conLlict resolution.
We are not concerned here with the broader constitutional and

political implications of this amendment in respect of the ethnic
171 Preamble
172 Article 157A (1)

101
conLlict, but the character of the Sixth Amendment as an
emergency measure, designed ostensibly to combat an armed
challenge to the constitutional order and the integrity of the State.
Despite the opprobrium it has attracted among liberal opinion in
Sri Lanka,173 the rationale underpinning the Sixth Amendment has
a remarkably liberal democratic pedigree.
Theoretically developed as a liberal response to the instrumental

use of the majoritarian principle and democratic institutions by
Nazis and Fascists in pre‐World War II Europe by Loewenstein, the
concept of militant democracy174 has found expression in the post‐
World War II Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany as a
fundamental constitutional principle. Loewenstein’s concern was
that a fundamentalist adherence to the ‘exaggerated formalism of
the rule of law’ would be self‐defeating for the democratic
constitutional order in the face of the fascist challenge. Instead he
advocated the concept of militant democracy, which would
abandon the formalistic application of the rule of law, including
constitutionally recognised fundamental rights, in the defence of
the core values of liberal democracy. Loewenstein believed in the
173 Council for Liberal Democracy (1986) ‘Statement calling for the Repeal
of the Sixth Amendment to the Constitution’ in Chanaka Amaratunga (Ed.)
(1990) Liberalism in Sri Lanka 1981 – 1991: A Documentary Record
(Colombo: Council for Liberal Democracy and Friedrich Naumann
Stiftung): p.132
174On ‘militant democracy’ as a legal and political concept, see Gregory H.

Fox & Georg Nolte (1995) ‘Intolerant Democracies’ 36 Harvard
International Law Journal 1; Martti Koskenniemi (1996) “Intolerant
Democracies’: A Reaction’ 37 Harvard International Law Journal 231;
Brad R. Roth (1996) ‘Democratic Intolerance: Observations on Fox and
Nolte’ 37 Harvard International Law Journal 235; Gregory H. Fox &
Georg Nolte (1996) ‘Fox & Nolte Response’ 37 Harvard International Law
Journal 238; Dan Gordon (1987) ‘Limits on Extremist Political Parties: A
Comparison of Israeli Jurisprudence with that of the United States and West
Germany’ 10 Hastings International and Comparative Law Review 347
102
absolute superiority of the values of democracy, the protection of
which involved, “…the application of disciplined authority, by
liberal‐minded men, for the ultimate ends of liberal government:
Human dignity and freedom.”175 He further argued, “Where
fundamental rights are institutionalized, their temporary
suspension is justiLied. When the ordinary channels of legislation
are blocked by obstruction and sabotage, the democratic state
uses the emergency powers of enabling legislation which if
implicitly, if not explicitly, are involved in the very notion of
government. Government is intended for governing…If democracy
believes in the superiority of it superior values over the
opportunistic platitudes of fascism…every possible effort must be
made to rescue it, even at the risk and cost of violating
fundamental principles.”176
After the war, the principle of militant democracy (Streitbare

Demokratie) became one of the cornerstones of the new German
Basic Law and stands for the defence of the core values of the
German polity and its ‘free democratic basic order.’ As Kommers
observes, “…the Basic Law joins the protection of the Rechtsstaat
to the principle that the democracy is not helpless in defending
itself against parties or political movements bent on using the
Constitution to undermine or destroy it.” 177 Thus Article 18 of the
German Basic Law allows the forfeiture of rights from persons
175Karl Loewenstein (1937) ‘Militant Democracy and Fundamental Rights’

31 American Political Science Review 417 and 638 at p.658; see also
Karl Loewenstein (1938) ‘Legislative Control of Political Extremism in
European Democracies’ 38 Columbia Law Review 591 and 725
176 Loewenstein (1937), op cit., at p.432
177Donald P. Kommers (1997) The Constitutional Jurisprudence of the

Federal Republic of Germany (Durham: Duke UP): pp.37‐38; see also
Currie (1994), op cit., p.213
103
who use them to attack or undermine the free democratic basic
order, and Article 21 (2) allows the declaration as unconstitutional
any political party that has similar goals. In two of its earliest
cases, the German Constitutional Court used these provisions to
declare unconstitutional the Socialist Reich Party and the
Communist Party.178 The constitution of Turkey has strong
prohibitions on advocacy against its unitary and secular character,
which have been the subject of litigation in the European Court of
Human Rights under Article 17 of the European Convention of
Human Rights, itself considered an explication of militant
democracy.179
Thus, was the Sri Lankan government’s emergency response of the

Sixth Amendment a case of entrenchment of militant democracy?
It is doubtful if it can be described as such. Germany, unlike
Turkey, is a highly liberal constitutional order that protects
minorities through a variety of mechanisms, including the federal
principle. If minority protection of that nature had been a feature
of the Sri Lankan State, perhaps ethnic pluralism may not have
spilled over into violent conLlict. In any event, neither the sponsors
of the amendment nor its subsequent defenders have attempted to
justify it on these grounds, but rather as an element of the
necessary legal and constitutional framework with which to,
militarily, meet the threat of armed secessionism. But for the
purposes of this discussion, the Sixth Amendment is an illustration
of the range of measures that becomes politically available to the
executive to implement, in this case, a constitutional amendment
178The Socialist Reich Party Case (1952) 2 BVerGE 1; The Communist Party
Case (1956) 5 BVerGE 85
179
Refah Partisi v. Turkey (2003) 37 EHHR 1; Paul Harvey (2004) ‘Militant
Democracy and the European Convention on Human Rights’ 29 European
Law Review 407
104
with wide and deep ramiLications in a deeply divided and conLlict‐
affected society. Admittedly, the then government enjoyed an
unusual 5/6th majority in Parliament which allowed it to impose
its will, at will, but in the context of a crisis, this merely eased the
way for an ill thought out and reactionary measure.
3.2.4 Normalisation of the Exception
As we established at the very outset, the fundamental analytical

perspective of this discussion is the liberal democratic assumption
of the separation between emergency and normalcy. Without this
assumption, or indeed normative principle, no critique of the
‘permanence’ of the Sri Lankan state of emergency makes any
sense. Yet, international experience reLlects the Sri Lankan
experience more‐or‐less, in that the exception has a tendency of
becoming normalised fairly easily. Extraordinary powers given to
a government to meet an exceptional threat come over time to be
treated as normal and part of the government’s ordinary corpus of
powers. If one of the purposes of the assumption of
exceptionalism in respect of emergency powers is to ensure a
return to ‘normality’ in the sense of a retraction of those powers
as soon as is possible, then this phenomenon clearly counteracts
that aim.
As we shall see, it is not only governments that grow accustomed

to these powers and their convenience; other institutions
including the judiciary also become attuned to expansive executive
powers. Through a false sense of security, the public’s tolerance of
expansive government and incursions into individual liberty
increases. Mill saw the dangers of this: “Evil for evil, a good
despotism, in a country at all advanced in civilisation, is more
noxious than a bad one; for it is far more relaxing and enervating
105
to the thoughts, feelings, and energies of the people. The
despotism of Augustus prepared the Romans for Tiberius. If the
whole tone of their character had not been prostrated by nearly
two generations of that mild slavery, they would probably have
had spirit enough left to rebel against the more odious one.” 180
More recently, we considered the experience of the Weimar
republic in which the constitutional authority for emergency
powers in Article 48 was used so frequently and extensively that
both ofLicials and public came to regard it as normal, before of
course, that very provision was used by the Nazis to destroy the
constitutional order.
In contemporary experience, normalisation of the exception has

several characteristics. The Lirst is that each precedent sets a
higher bar for the next, which inLlates the scope and nature of
powers with each successive emergency. As Gross and Ní Aoláin
observe, “Emergency powers and authorities that are granted to,
and exercised by, government and its agents during a crisis create
precedents for future exigencies as well as for ‘normalcy.’ Whereas
in the ‘original’ crisis, the situation and powers of reference were
those of normalcy and regularity, in any future crisis government
will take as its starting point the experience of extraordinary
powers and authority granted and exercised during previous
emergencies. What might have been seen as sufLicient ‘emergency’
measures in the past (judged against the ordinary situation) may
not be deemed enough to deal with further crises as they arise.
Much like the need gradually to increase the dosage of a heavily
180
John Stuart Mill (1971) Three Essays – On Liberty, Representative
Government, the Subjection of Women (1861) (Oxford: Oxford UP): p.
185
106
used medication in order to experience the same level of relief, so
too with respect to emergency powers…” 181
As the acceptable boundaries of emergency powers become

redeLined in this way, the public becomes accustomed to the
expansion of government as well as measures they would
ordinarily have rejected. Thus for example, in the aftermath of
September 11th in the US, there was a massive upsurge in public
support for ethnic or racial proLiling, hitherto regarded by most as
a repugnant practice.
This ‘getting used to’ effect, for obvious reasons, starts with
government and ofLicialdom. Gross and Ní Aoláin note the
following characteristics of this dynamic: Lirst, “…it [is] easier to
pass new legislation than to examine why it is that the existing
legislation, and the powers granted under it to government and its
agencies, was not sufLicient. The result is a piling up of legislative
measures into a complex state of emergency…”; second,
government and its agents grow accustomed to the convenience of
emergency powers. Once they have experienced the ability to
operate with fewer restraints and limitations they are unlikely to
be willing to give up such freedom.”; third, is “…the use of
emergency and counter‐terrorism legislation for purposes other
than those for which it was originally promulgated.”182
A good example of this is the British Defence of the Realm Act

(DORA) of 1914, which was promulgated as a temporary war
measure in the context of World War I. The DORA signiLied the
departure from Dicey’s conception of the rule of the common law,
altered the institutional balance between Parliament and the

107
executive in favour of the latter, and in the process, set the
precedent for the institutionalisation of emergency powers in the
UK. During its currency, this piece of legislation (aimed at the
defence of the realm in a time of grave conLlict), was used to
regulate such matters as dog shows, supply of cocaine to actresses
and the opening hours of pubs. The DORA lapsed in 1921 along
with the declaration of termination of the war. Before that,
however, its essence was enacted into law by the Emergency
Powers Act of 1920, which in scheme, form, content and textual
formulations, was the archetype for many similar statutes in the
British Empire and Commonwealth, including the Sri Lankan
Public Security Ordinance (PSO). The PSO as amended, validated
by the republican constitutions, continues to be the statutory
source of emergency power in Sri Lanka. A comprehensive study
of emergency regulations in force in 1992 by the University of
Colombo, found that they were used for regulating such matters as
the adoption of children, edible salt and driving licenses. 183
Another feature of how the exception becomes normalised is the

role of the judiciary. We have seen how judges are generally
reluctant to second‐guess the executive during an emergency, the
time ironically that their role as guarantor of fundamental rights
assumes the greatest signiLicance. Apart from this, is the often
imperceptible occurrence of transubstantiation, whereby due to
the constant state of emergency, provisions of ordinary law and
even the constitution come to be continuously interpreted in the
light of emergency rule. A very good example of this is that a large
segment of the fundamental rights jurisprudence of the Sri Lankan
Supreme Court concerns violations of fundamental rights through
the exercise of emergency powers. Especially in the case of
183 Centre
for the Study of Human Rights & the Nadesan Centre (1993)
Review of Emergency Regulations 3 (Colombo: University of Colombo)
108
infringements of critical civil liberties such as the freedom of
expression, many of the Supreme Court’s most important
pronouncements have been concerned with resolving emergency
regulations, or executive action thereunder, inconsistent with
fundamental rights. Without belittling the Supreme Court or its
many important determinations, the point remains that an
important source of law in a common law system, in this respect
the case law of the highest court in the land deciding the reach of
the constitutional bill of rights, has not evolved under normalcy,
but rather, under a normalisation of the exception.
109
CHAPTER IV
STANDARDS GOVERNING STATES OF
EMERGENCY AT INTERNATIONAL LAW AND
PRACTICE
4. Standards governing States of Emergency at International

Law and Practice
4.1. General Observations: International Human Rights

Law as a Legislative and Interpretive Framework of
Accommodation
4.1.1. DeLinition of Emergency

4.1.2. Derogations
4.1.3. Common Themes of Treaty Body
Jurisprudence
4.1.4. Overview of the Derogation Jurisprudence and
Commentary of the Human Rights Committee
4.2. International Protection vs. National

Implementation: The Enforcement Framework of the
ICCPR
4.2.1. The Human Rights Committee

4.2.2. The Reporting Procedure
4.2.3. Inter‐State Communications
4.2.4. Individual Communications
110
4.3. International Human Rights Standards in States of
Emergency under the ICCPR: The Legal Regime of
Derogations
4.3.1. The Principle of Exceptional Threat

4.3.2. The Principle of Proclamation
4.3.3. The Principle of NotiLication
4.3.4. The Principle of Non‐Derogability
4.3.5. The Principle of Proportionality
4.3.6. The Principle of Non‐Discrimination
4.3.7. The Principle of Consistency
111
The past Live decades – the post World War II, United Nations era –
has seen the development of international human rights law and
practice, both in terms of wide codiLication in binding multilateral
treaties and in the promotion of behavioural standards. These set
out the nature and scope of positive rights and their permitted
restrictions. In this chapter, we examine how international human
rights norms apply within the domestic jurisdiction, especially in
terms of their enforcement mechanisms, and how they seek to
regulate derogations from international obligations to protect
those rights during states of emergency. We do not intend to give
an account of the range of rights available under international
human rights law. Our concern is to see how international human
rights law accommodates states of emergency by allowing, within
set limits, derogations from human rights during crises.
This chapter is a general overview of the international regime of

human rights with regard to its scope of application and
regulation of derogations during states of emergency. The
speciLicities of the interface between international human rights
and the experience of states of emergency within the Sri Lankan
domestic jurisdiction will be addressed in Part II of the book.
While our primary focus is on the International Covenant on Civil
and Political Rights (ICCPR), its First Optional Protocol, and its
treaty body, the Human Rights Committee, as the multilateral
regime that applies to Sri Lanka, for the purposes of a comparative
understanding, we also refer where appropriate to the European
and Inter‐American regional systems. The African Charter is not
discussed here, because although it does not contain a formal
derogations regime, suggesting at Lirst glance that no derogations
are permitted, it is a peculiarly relativist document with many
discrete limitations on the exercise of rights which are not
compatible with a universalist understanding of human rights.
112
Moreover, human rights norms during states of emergency have
also been the subject of several standard setting exercises, notably
the Paris Minimum Standards of Human Rights Norms in a State of
Emergency (Paris Minimum Standards)184 and the Siracusa
Principles on the Limitation and Derogation Provisions in the
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (Siracusa
Principles). 185 While these are informal and strictly speaking
legally non‐binding, they enjoy wide acceptance as setting the
international standards on human rights during emergencies and
as interpretive guides to States.
We see that international human rights law comports with the

models of accommodation in Gross and Ní Aoláin’s analytical
typology we introduced at the outset.186 That is, by the
extrapolation of the rule of law ideal into international law,
international human rights law seeks to legally regulate the reach
and limits of substantive rights as well as derogations, the latter
primarily (but not exclusively) through procedural requirements.
Derogation clauses in international human rights law can thus be
described as the analogue of states of emergency frameworks in
constitutional models of accommodation in municipal law.
Needless to say, other views exist about the theoretical basis of
derogation provisions, including the view that they are an
184
Richard B. Lillich (1985) ‘Paris Minimum Standards of Human Rights
Norms in a State of Emergency’, Vol.79, No.4 (October, 1985): pp.
1072‐1081
185 United Nations, Economic and Social Council, U.N. Sub‐Commission on

Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities (1984)
‘Siracusa Principles on the Limitation and Derogation of Provisions in the
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights’, Annex, UN Doc E/CN.
4/1984/4 (1984)
186 See Chapter 2, supra

113
adaptation in human rights law of the doctrine of necessity in
international law.187
A related and particularly signiLicant issue is the question of

enforcement of international human rights law within the
domestic jurisdiction, in both the substantive and procedural
dimensions. International human rights law is characterised by
the assumption of separation between normalcy and emergency,
as well as the attempt to legally regulate states of emergency by
balancing the tension between the protection of human rights
under the ordinary rule of law, and the legal provision of
emergency powers (i.e., through allowing for derogations in
exceptional circumstances). Accordingly, international human
rights law is broadly a model of legislative accommodation. Some
regional human rights instruments, speciLically the European
Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR),
have assumed a character akin to a constitutional bill of rights,
either through domestic legislative incorporation or through
habitual ofLicial interpretive compliance, especially by domestic
courts. This development has also been inLluenced by the distinct
but closely related dynamics of the European Union legal order.188
The ECHR is thus more properly a model of constitutional
accommodation. In the context of international human rights
instruments establishing treaty bodies for their authoritative
interpretation, international human rights law is also a model of
interpretive accommodation. Therefore, an important source of
developing standards is the jurisprudence of these treaty bodies,
187See Jaime Oraá (1992) Human Rights in States of Emergency in

International Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press): pp.7‐10, Ch.10; hereinafter
Oraá
188
Patrick Birkinshaw (2003) European Public Law (London:
Butterworths): Ch.9
114
such as the Human Rights Committee, the European Court of
Human Rights, and the Inter‐American Commission and Court.
Juxtaposed with the Sri Lankan legal framework and political

experience of states of emergency, the international legal
regulation of human rights and emergency powers (understood as
a model of accommodation) opens up several avenues of
investigation, which can be summarised as follows: (a) the
applicability of international human rights law within the
domestic jurisdiction in the context of the dualist tradition; (b) the
dependence of international human rights law for enforcement, in
spite of treaty mandated legal mechanisms, on moral suasion and
political pressure, and indeed, the responsiveness of national
courts in the context of competing fundamental principles such as
State sovereignty; (c) the gap between law and practice in the Sri
Lankan experience raises concerns about its categorisation as a
model of accommodation; and as result (d) raises the possibility
that the rule of law does not extend to the state of exception,
which quite apart from the chilling implications for liberty and
democracy, at least indicates that the Schmittian challenge to
liberal constitutionalist frames of analysis has purchase in the Sri
Lankan context. Many of the issues in relation to (a) and (b) above
have been raised by the Supreme Court decision in the Singarasa
Case and will be discussed in some detail later. We have made
reference to the more political issues raised by (c) and (d) in the
previous chapters and they will again be addressed in the
discussion on the Sri Lankan experience in Part II.
With these preliminary observations, we may now proceed to

provide a general overview of the issues relating to states of
emergency, fundamental rights and derogations in the ‘legislative’
framework of international human rights law, and the general
themes that emerge from the jurisprudence of treaty bodies
115
interpreting these provisions. Subsequently, we will take up the
body of general principles that govern states of emergency under
international human rights law with the main focus on the ICCPR
and the jurisprudence of the Human Rights Committee, as well as
a description of the ICCPR’s enforcement mechanisms. It should,
however, be remembered that it is not only international human
rights instruments (such as the ICCPR), to which this discussion is
restricted, that establish governing principles in relation to human
rights in crisis contexts. In what is a growing area of human rights
protection, general international and humanitarian law and the
laws of war also establish such principles, extending the
regulatory reach of human rights protection within the laws of
external and internal armed conLlict, and binding States as well as
non‐State actors.
4.1 General Observations: International Human Rights Law as

a Legislative and Interpretive Framework of Accommodation
Despite differences of emphasis and nuance, there is wide

consensus at the international level about the basic procedural
issues in the treatment of human rights during states of
emergency, the objective circumstances allowing a declaration, as
well as the substantive limits of permissible derogations. Similarly,
the treaty bodies policing both the ICCPR and the regional regimes
in Europe and the Inter‐American system display certain common
themes in their jurisprudence that shed light on the dynamics of
international protection of human rights which are violated within
States’ internal jurisdiction. In relation to Sri Lanka’s obligations
under the ICCPR, its First Optional Protocol, and the role of the
Human Rights Committee, moreover, the issue of enforcement has
become a matter of critical signiLicance following the Supreme
Court’s decision in the Singarasa Case. As a prelude to the review
116
of that case in Part II, we discuss the ICCPR framework of
enforcement in some detail later in this chapter.
4.1.1 Debinition of Emergency
As we saw in relation to the experience of national jurisdictions,

one of the Lirst problems that require to be dealt with in a legal or
constitutional framework for the accommodation of emergencies
is that of deLining generally when a crisis has reached a stage that
merits the engagement of emergency powers.189 Article 4 of the
ICCPR, which deals with states of emergency, deLines a ‘public
emergency’ as one that ‘threatens the life of the nation.’ The
Human Rights Committee has set a high bar for what qualiLies as a
threat to the life of the nation through the development of the
other limitation principles of Article 4, including the duty of
justiLication for derogations placed on States (particularly in cases
of individual complaints to the Committee under the First
Optional Protocol; see below). The applicable principles for the
invocation of Article 4 are now set out in the Committee’s General
Comment No. 29, which emphasise the temporary and exceptional
nature of states of emergency.
Article 15 of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR)

deLines a state of emergency as ‘war or other public emergency
threatening the life of the nation.’ In Lawless v. Ireland,190 the
majority in the European Commission of Human Rights
189 See Chapter 3, section 3.1.1
190Lawless v. Ireland (1960‐1961) 1 Eur.Ct.HR (ser. B) 56 (Commission

Report) Lawless v. Ireland (1960‐1961) 3 Eur.Ct.HR (ser. A); see also Oren
Gross and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin (2006) Law in Times of Crisis: Emergency
Powers in Theory and Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge UP): p.249;
117
interpreted this to mean “…a situation of exceptional and
imminent danger or crisis affecting the general public, as distinct
from particular groups, and constituting a threat to the organised
life of the community which composes the State in question.”191
Likewise in the Greek Case,192 the Commission again by a majority

reiterated these same principles, adding that the exceptional
danger must be one in which the ordinary limitations or
restrictions permitted by the Convention on the exercise of
fundamental rights are plainly inadequate to deal with the
situation. In Haysom’s summary of the principles enunciated in
the Greek Case, there are four elements to what is meant by ‘public
emergency threatening the life of the nation’: (a) the public
emergency must be actual and imminent; (b) its effects must
involve the whole nation; (c) continuance of the organised life of
the community must be threatened; and (d) the crisis or danger
must be exceptional in that the normal measures for the
maintenance of public safety are plainly inadequate.193
Both the Inter‐American Commission and Court of Human Rights

have restated the requirements of temporary duration and
exceptional threat in relation to Article 27 of the American
Convention of Human Rights (ACHR). The Commission has stated
that emergency powers may be invoked only in ‘extremely serious
circumstances’ and in its advisory opinion on Habeas Corpus in
191 Lawless v. Ireland, Commission Report, para.90 at p.82
192Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Netherlands v. Greece (1969) 1

European Court of Human Rights, The Greek Case: Report of the
Commission (1969): para.153
193See Nicholas Haysom, ‘States of Emergency’ in Halton Cheadle, Dennis

Bill of Rights (Durban: Butterworths): Ch.31 at p.723
118
Emergency Situations, the Court held that Article 27 may be
availed of in ‘exceptional situations only.’194
In one of the earliest standard setting exercises in this area, the

Questiaux Report (1982) submitted to the UN Sub‐commission on
Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities,
observed that emergency powers may only be invoked in
‘exceptional circumstances’, which in turn was described in the
following terms:
“…temporary factors of a generally political character

which in varying degrees involve extreme and imminent
danger, threatening the organised existence of the nation,
that is to say, the political and social system as a State, and
which may be deLined as follows: ‘a crisis situation
affecting the population of the whole and constituting a
threat to the organised existence of the community which
forms the basis of the State’…When such circumstances
arise, then both municipal law, whatever its theoretical
basis, and international law on human rights allow the
suspension of the exercise of certain rights with the aim
of rectifying the situation, and indeed protecting the most
fundamental rights.” 195
As noted earlier, the most widely quoted sets of principles

reLlecting international best practice are the Paris Minimum
Standards and Siracusa Principles. The Paris Minimum Standards
194Habeas Corpus in Emergency Situations, Advisory Opinion, (1987) 8

Inter‐Am.Ct.HR (ser. A) 33, OEA/ser.L/V/111.17.doc.13 (1987)
195Nicole Questiaux (1982) Study of the Implications for Human Rights

of Recent Developments Concerning Situations Known as States of
Siege or Emergency, UN ESCOR, 35th Sess., UN Doc.E/CN.4/Sub.
2/1982/15 (1982), para.23 at p.8
119
were the result of an initiative by the International Law
Association (ILA) to set standards on the protection of human
rights during emergencies in the light of the general international
law of human rights. The seventy‐six Siracusa Principles on
limitations and derogations were developed with speciLic
reference to the derogations regime of the ICCPR.
Section (A), paragraph 1 (b) of the Paris Minimum Standards

states that “The expression ‘public emergency’ means an
exceptional situation of crisis or public danger, actual or
imminent, which affects the whole population or the whole
population of the area to which the declaration applies and
constitutes a threat to the organised life of the community of
which the state is composed.”
Principle 39 of the Siracusa Principles states that a State may

derogate from its obligations under the ICCPR by recourse to
Article 4, “…only when faced with a situation of exceptional and
actual or imminent danger which threatens the life of the nation. A
threat to the life of the nation is one that: affects the whole of the
population and either the whole of part of the territory of the
State, and threatens the physical integrity of the population, the
political independence or the territorial integrity of the State or
the existence or basic functioning of institutions indispensable to
ensure and protect the rights recognised in the Covenant.”
Principle 40 states that, “Internal conLlict and unrest that do not
constitute a grave and imminent threat to the life of the nation
cannot justify derogations under Article 4.” Principle 41 states
that, “Economic difLiculties per se cannot justify derogation
measures.”196
196See also Daniel O’Donnell (1985) ‘Commentary by the Rapporteur on

Derogation’ 7 Human Rights Quarterly 23 at pp.23‐25 (restating
principles).
120
A broad conLluence of opinion about the nature and applicable
principles with regard to human rights in states of emergency are
evident from these sources. As Gross and Ní Aoláin note with
regard to the deLinitions outlined above, “These deLinitions point
to a broad international consensus on the general contours of the
term emergency, particularly with respect to its contingent and
exceptional nature. Notwithstanding differences in nuance and
emphasis, they accentuate the capacity for deLinitional agreement
and the possibility for meaningful and robust oversight and
accountability by law over claims of ‘public emergency’”.197
4.1.2 Derogations
As we discussed above, the provision for derogating from certain

treaty obligations during a state of emergency (i.e., to restrict
certain rights protected by treaty) is the characteristic that makes
the international regime of human rights applicable to Sri Lanka,
the ICCPR (as well as of course the regional instruments
elsewhere), a model of accommodation. Under the model of
accommodation, furthermore, we know that legally recognising
and providing for states of emergency is subject to several
conceptual requirements. The three common features in this
regard of the ICCPR and the regional instruments are (a) the
distinction made between derogable and non‐derogable rights, so
that the latter set of rights cannot be restricted or suspended even
in a state of emergency; (b) similar procedural requirements,
namely those of declaration and notiLication; and (c) the principles
of proportionality and consistency with the State’s other
international obligations.

121
All three instruments contain a list of non‐derogable rights.198
However, the Human Rights Committee has clearly stated that a
State may not derogate from the obligation to protect a derogable
right except without a high standard of justiLication, which will be
subject to the Committee’s anxious scrutiny. It has also stated that
even where a right may be derogable under the ICCPR, it may not
in effect be derogable if it is part of the peremptory norms of
international law.199
Like in the national constitutional systems we considered before,

the ICCPR and the regional regimes require an explicit declaration
or proclamation of a state of emergency. While some national
systems also extend this procedural safeguard by requiring public
notice, notiLication has a prominent role in the international
regimes. The ICCPR, the ECHR and the ACHR require notiLication
of derogations to the relevant treaty bodies as well as to other
state parties to the treaty (except the ECHR). They also require
States to provide reasons for the derogation and to notify
termination. In General Comment No. 29, the Human Rights
Committee has stressed the importance of these procedural
safeguards to ensure that States are not permitted excessive
recourse to Article 4 ICCPR, so that emergencies must be ‘ofLicially
proclaimed’, and that notiLication of derogation should “…include
full information about the measures taken and a clear explanation
of the reasons for them, with full documentation attached
regarding their law.”200
198 Article 4 (2) ICCPR; Article15 (2) ECHR; Article 27 (2) ACHR
199UN Human Rights Committee (2001) General Comment No. 29: States
of Emergency (Article 4), CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.11 (31st August 2001):
para.11; hereinafter General Comment No.29
200 Ibid, para.17

122
But as Gross and Ní Aoláin observe, “In theory, these [procedural]
mechanisms are reasonably well equipped to cope with the
inception of an emergency. Their fundamental weakness revolves,
however, around the willingness of states to be constrained by
such procedures, and the willingness of international (and
domestic) judicial and quasi‐judicial bodies to enforce them
robustly at the preliminary juncture.” 201 The validity of these
observations are borne out by the Sri Lankan experience. The
domestic judicial attitude as represented by the Supreme Court to
co‐operating with the treaty regime and enforcing the ICCPR,
especially in relation to the First Optional Protocol has been one of
outright hostility. In this context, the issue of enforcement of the
ICCPR within the jurisdiction of Sri Lanka becomes an issue, which
we discuss below.202
All three systems impose the principle of proportionality in

respect of any derogating measure, as well as consistency with
other international obligations. The purpose of proportionality is
to ensure that a clear necessity for extraordinary measures
restricting fundamental rights is established. In General Comment
No. 29, the Human Rights Committee goes even further to state
202The issue has come to a head in the debate about the renewal of the
‘GSP Plus’ tariff beneLits scheme of the European Union for Sri Lanka,
which requires ‘ratiLication and full implementation’ by the beneLiciary
country of 27 international treaties including the ICCPR: see Centre for
Policy Alternatives (2007) ‘Press Release on the Draft Bill Purporting to
enact the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)’, 3rd
October 2007; Rohan Edrisinha & Asanga Welikala (2008) ‘GSP Plus’
BeneKits: The Need for Constitutional Amendment’ available at http://
www.cpalanka.org/Newspaper_Articles/Article_on_ICCPR.pdf; Rohan
Edrisinha & Asanga Welikala (2008) ‘GSP Plus and Constitutional Reform:
What We Did and Did Not Say’, The Sunday Island, 26th June 2008;
discussion in Chapter 6, infra
123
that it would “…take a State party’s other international obligations
into account when it considers whether the Covenant allows the
State party to derogate from speciLic provisions of the
Covenant.”203
4.1.3 Common Themes of Treaty Body Jurisprudence
In their survey of the jurisprudence of the judicial and quasi‐

judicial treaty bodies of the ICCPR, the ECHR and the ACHR, Gross
and Ní Aoláin identify several ‘strategic concentrations in juridical
thinking’, which are essentially commonalities of approach among
these bodies to similar emergency related problems across the
systems they monitor and enforce. In brief, these are as follows:
(a) international courts and quasi‐judicial bodies give greater
leeway in derogation cases to democratic States than to non‐
democratic or illiberal ones; (b) they are also unable to
satisfactorily deal with ‘problem’ emergencies, particularly
permanent or enduring emergencies. This is because of a
‘profound conceptual lacuna’ in international human rights law
which regulates an ‘ideal type emergency’ which in practice hardly
ever exists. In reality, emergencies are ‘permanent, complex and
de facto’, which the international regulatory regime cannot come
to terms with jurisprudentially; (c) judicial examination of
emergency powers have focussed on the substantive measures
impacting on treaty guaranteed rights, but have generally not
questioned the initial act of a declaration of emergency, and
thereby the entire legal validity of the state of emergency and
resultant derogations; (d) that regional systems are more robust
than the Human Rights Committee in reviewing both the
procedural and substantive aspects of a state of emergency within
203 General Comment No. 29, para.10; see for section 4.3, infra
124
a member State; (e) that derogation case law of all systems are
substantially concerned with due process rights; and (f) that all
systems are limited in their range of effective and genuinely
responsive remedies.204
4.1.4 Overview of the Derogation Jurisprudence and

Commentary of the Human Rights Committee
Further below, we will deal with the derogations regime under the
ICCPR in some detail.205 However, some preliminary observations
may be made here by way of explication of the general functional
framework of the Committee under the ICCPR and what it can and
cannot do in respect of derogations and states of emergency
within the scope of Article 4 of the ICCPR. It is to be noted that the
Committee’s position under the ICCPR as a supervisory and
enforcement mechanism is relatively weak in comparison to the
European Court of Human Rights and the Inter‐American Court.
We discuss the strengths and weaknesses of the enforcement
framework of the ICCPR in the next section.206 In relation to the
Human Rights Committee, its role is encumbered with several
problems.
The Committee does not function as an international court under

the ICCPR which has the power to hand down binding decisions to
States Parties. Provided a State has acceded to the First Optional
Protocol, the Committee acts in an adjudicative capacity no doubt
with regard to individual complaints, but the enforcement of its
205 Section 4.3, infra
206 Section 4.2, infra

125
‘views’ are dependent on the attitude to compliance of the State
concerned. While many States have acceded to the ICCPR,
signatories to the First Optional Protocol, arguably the most
robust enforcement mechanisms contemplated by the ICCPR, are
markedly less.
In respect of derogations and states of emergency, the Committee

is also constrained by the framework set out in Article 4, although
it has demonstrated it would hold States to high standards of
compliance within that framework.
Perhaps the chief drawback of the Committee’s enforcement

capacity is the legal status of the Committee’s ‘views’: in effect its
judgments on the merits of individual complaints under the First
Optional Protocol. Article 5 (4) of the First Optional Protocol only
states that, “The Committee shall forward its views to the State
Party concerned and to the individual.” On the face of the text as
well as in practice, this is an extremely weak provision. In Sri
Lanka, various authors of communications who had obtained
Lindings in their favour have had to institute further legal action in
domestic courts in order to obtain the recommended remedies.
Indeed, it was just such an attempt to have the Committee’s views
implemented by the State that gave rise to the Singarasa Case,
which had the unintended and unpredictable consequences of Sri
Lanka’s accession to the First Optional Protocol, declared
unconstitutional by the Supreme Court, in addition to a ruling that
the ICCPR, without legislative enactment, created no rights at
domestic law. 207
207See further discussion on this case and the Supreme Court’s Advisory
Opinion (2008) on the compliance of Sri Lankan law with rights
recognised by the ICCPR in Chapter 6.
126
Within these institutional constraints, therefore, the Committee
has been (a) generally reluctant to gainsay the initial political act
of declaration of an emergency, although it has been far more
robust in reviewing the proportionality of substantive
measures.208 This goes to the heart of the question whether the
right of derogation is the exclusive right of States guaranteed
under international law (b) the Committee has also generally been
unable to address the question of perpetuated emergencies, again
arising out of the weaknesses of the State reporting procedure;
and (c) notwithstanding (a) and (b), the Committee has
demonstrated a willingness to challenge States and review
excessive substantive emergency measures against the ICCPR
standards as interpreted by it.209
Given the weakness of the supervision and enforcement

framework of the ICCPR, seemingly dependent on the muniLicence,
as it were, of domestic authorities as demonstrated in the Sri
Lankan case, it is necessary to be clear about what this framework
is. This is the subject of the next section.
4.2 International Protection vs. National Implementation:

The Enforcement Framework of the ICCPR
A key feature of the ICCPR as one of the three instruments

constituting the International Bill of Rights, is not only that it sets
out a list of substantive rights in universal and mostly concrete
208See Jorge Landinelli Silva et al v. Columbia, Communication No. R/15/64;

Consuelo Salgar de Montejo v. Colombia, Communication no. 34/1978 in
Selected Decisions of the Human Rights Committee under the Optional
Protocol (1985)
209 See Gross and Ní Aoláin: p.298‐299

127
terms, but also that it provides for supervision and monitoring of
the observance of these rights in the form of procedural
obligations for States Parties, and by the role envisaged for the
treaty‐body, the Human Rights Committee. This feature of the
ICCPR is signiLicant in that it brought the rule of law ideal as close
to reality as seemed possible within the international legal system
in the age before the special international tribunals and the
International Criminal Court. 210
There are three principal mechanisms by which the Human Rights

Committee is given competence to supervise States in respect of
their treaty obligations: (a) the reporting procedure (Article 40);
(b) Inter‐State communications (Article 41 and 42); and (c) the
provision in the First Optional Protocol for individual
communications.
It is also to be noted that the general obligations imposed upon

States Parties in Part II (Articles 2 – 5) are a signiLicant
accountability mechanism in that it requires explicit commitments
to respect, protect and promote civil and political rights, including
through the provision of effective remedies, and extending the
protection of the ICCPR to all individuals within the territorial
jurisdiction of a State Party irrespective of his or her citizenship
status or rights. Moreover, the Committee is more generous than
most national or supranational human rights regimes in respect of
its admissibility criteria.
Finally, it is arguable that the requirement, used imaginatively by

the Committee since 1981, to issue General Comments can also be
210Henry J. Steiner, ‘Individual Claims in a World of Massive Violations:

What Role for the Human Rights Committee?’ in Philip Alston & James
Crawford (Eds.) (2000) The Future of UN Human Rights Treaty
Monitoring (Cambridge: Cambridge UP): p.15; p.27 et seq.
128
regarded as a positive mechanism of ensuring greater compliance.
General Comments, at least notionally, are useful as interpretative
guides to States Parties, promote certainty regarding the scope of
substantive rights and limitations, and give guidance as to
procedure.
Revolutionary as these provisions for the enforcement and

supervision of the Covenant may have seemed at the time, there
are signiLicant obstacles and problems in their operation. The
Human Rights Committee is not a judicial body that is empowered
to execute judgments and punish defaulters, and as such, its modus
operandi is very much in the realm of ‘soft law’ and the moral force
of its mandate. Moreover, the broader Statist paradigm of
international relations and law in which the ICCPR is obviously
located, has also foreclosed certain options that could buttress a
more robust human rights regime. Most notably, this relates to the
role of national and international civil society and NGOs, which
have a critical role in human rights monitoring, reporting and
independent veriLication; but which under the present framework
have no formal recognition.211 Likewise, it does not appear that
the UN specialised agencies have any notable role within the
framework of the ICCPR and its First Optional Protocol.
Correspondingly, States in which human rights protection is

weakest have the most disappointing record of compliance with
the Committee’s views. The reporting obligations also have a
disappointing record, with many States providing late and
211A Publication and a Printing Company v. Trinidad and Tobago,

Communication No. 361.1989; UR v. Uruguay, Communication No.
128/1982; see also Scott Davidson, ‘Procedure under the Optional
Protocol’ in Alex Conte, Scott Davidson & Richard Burchill (2004)
DeZining Civil and Political Rights: The Jurisprudence of the United
Nations Human Rights Committee (Aldershot: Ashgate): Ch.1
129
incomplete reports. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the inter‐state
communication provision has never been used. In the case of
individual communications, although more and more States are
acceding to the Optional Protocol, it has been the case that the
Committee’s views have a habit of being ignored or generating
hostility in States in which human rights concerns are most acute.
The effect of the Committee’s reports, General Comments, and
Rules of Procedure also do not seem to have had a demonstrable
impact on States meeting their treaty obligations. In the view of
many commentators, the Committee has also been hampered by
insufLicient institutional support and resources.
On the other hand, the Human Rights Committee has built a solid
reputation for independence, expertise, fairness and impartiality
as a rules‐based and adjudicative decision‐making body, in
contradistinction to most other international bodies which
operate under the dictates and dynamics of international politics
and diplomacy. Ironically, it appears that it is this very positive
feature that makes it unable to exert the kind of political pressure
or harness the media spotlight in the furtherance of human rights
protection within States.
4.2.1 The Human Rights Committee
The rules relating to the establishment, membership

requirements, composition, ensuring regional representation,
quorum and enactment of internal rules of procedure,
remuneration, and a detailed framework for elections to the
Human Rights Committee, as well as the roles within this schema
130
of the Secretary General of the United Nations and of States
Parties, are set out in Part IV (Articles 28 – 30) of the ICCPR.212
The several competences of the Committee are to be found in
Articles 40 (State Parties’ reporting obligations and basic
procedure), Articles 41 and 42 (Inter‐State communications and
the role of the Committee including conciliation) and in the First
Optional Protocol (individual communications).213
4.2.2 The Reporting Procedure
The reporting obligation is the main instrument of supervision in

the ICCPR, and is compulsory for all States Parties. There are three
kinds of reports: (a) Initial Reports; (b) Periodic Reports; and (c)
Supplemental Reports.
Under Article 40 (1) and (2), a State Party’s initial report must be
submitted within one year of accession to the Covenant,
describing the measures it has adopted to give effect to the rights
established in the Covenant, and must also include reference to
any constraints in giving effect to same. The Committee has
decided in terms of Article 40 (1) (b) that periodic reports are to
be submitted every Live years by States. In exceptional cases, it
may also call for special reports, and in others, supplemental
reports in order clarify or seek fuller information. The Committee
212
See Javaid Rehman (2002) International Human Rights Law: A
Practical Approach (London: Longman): Ch.4, pp. 83‐84.
213 See Steiner in Alston & Crawford (2000), op cit; Dominic McGoldrick
(1991) The Human Rights Committee (Clarendon; Oxford): Chs.2‐3;
Rosalyn Higgins (1991) ‘United Nations Human Rights Committee’ in
Robert Blackburn & John Taylor (1991) Human Rights for the 1990s
(London: Mansell) p.67; Ineke BoereLijn (1995) ‘Towards a Strong System
of Supervision’ 17 Human Rights Quarterly 766
131
has also issued guidelines regarding the form, content, and
procedure for the submission of these reports.214 In terms of
Article 40 (4), the Committee is required to study the State report
and transmit its reports along with general comments to the State
Party and to ECOSOC. The Committee provides the State Party an
opportunity to introduce its report and answer questions
(including questions relating to follow up measures from previous
reporting cycles) prior to drafting and adopting its views on the
State report.215
It has been pointed out that this approach of the Committee to the
reporting procedure has engendered a more constructive
relationship with State Parties. It seems to have encouraged States
to not only meet their obligations in respect of timely submission,
but has also enhanced the quality and completeness of their
reports, as well as the importance they place in responding to the
Committee’s invitations to present and clarify such reports.
However, there are several criticisms of the reporting procedure

that have emerged over the years.216 Some of the more trenchant
of these relate to the neutral and general nature of the
Committee’s annual reports (Article 45), precluding the
opportunity to make State‐speciLic recommendations and
comments; the formal exclusion of NGOs and the limited role
played by the specialised agencies; and, in the light of the
Committee’s inability to independently enforce its views where
214 Rehman (2002), op cit., p.84 et seq.
215 McGoldrick (1991), op cit, p.100
216 Ibid, p.98 et seq.

132
necessary, the absence of any higher (political) body that can
ensure compliance.217
Most of these criticisms are valid ones. They occasion an appraisal

of the reporting mechanism in the light of present circumstances.
While the framework set out for reporting may have been ground‐
breaking at the time of drafting of the ICCPR, the subsequent
consolidation of the ICCPR as evidenced by the growing body of
the Committee’s jurisprudence, the increasing acceptance by
States of the universality of the rights set out in the Covenant, and
the ever‐increasing number of States wishing to accede to not only
the Covenant, but also to the relatively more intrusive Optional
Protocols suggest that a more robust reporting capacity for the
Committee is now not only desirable, but also possible.
Likewise, there appears to be no continued justiLication that civil

society is not given a more formal role to play in the reporting
process. The international system is less State‐centric now than in
the 1960s, and civil society (the ‘third sector’) and empowered
citizens play an increasingly prominent role in the participatory
democratic governance paradigms on the ascendancy across the
globe. In the context of the developing world, where international
protection of human rights is perhaps most needed, the increasing
recognition given to human rights benchmarks and civil society
participation in development assistance models, would also
suggest that access of NGOs to the Committee is in consonance
with emerging trends.
It is also obvious that the Committee is best placed to perform an

adjudicatory function within the international human rights
system. However, this also means that it cannot engage in an
217 Ibid, pp.100‐102; BoereLijn (1995), op cit

133
advocacy role for its own views, without damaging its impartiality.
In this context, it is undeniable that the political and diplomatic
follow‐through of the Committee’s reports be undertaken by a
different body (e.g., OHCHR; Human Rights Council).
4.2.3 Inter‐State Communications
Articles 41 and 42 set out the rules in regard to inter‐state

communications in considerable detail, whereby States
recognising this speciLic competence of the Human Rights
Committee are able to communicate to each other regarding
concerns they have about a State’s compliance with obligations
under the Covenant.218 If the States Parties themselves cannot
arrive, within set timelines, to a settlement on a communication at
Lirst instance, then the Committee provides its good ofLices in
order to resolve the dispute. If this too fails, then there is provision
for an ad hoc conciliation commission to attempt to resolve the
matter amicably.
There are several structural as well as political limitations to this

schema. Of the former, the activation of the procedure requires a
declaratory acceptance of the Committee’s competence in this
respect (not automatic upon accession to the ICCPR), and neither
the Committee nor the conciliation commission is entitled to
decide the dispute. They may only suggest non‐binding
recommendations and good ofLices.
It is very hard to imagine within the political dynamics of the

international legal system how such a framework could be useful,
218
Rehman (2002), op cit, pp.88‐89; see also P.R. Ghandhi (1998) The
Human Rights Committee and the Right of Individual Access: Law and
Practice (Aldershot: Ashgate)
134
particularly one that is as convoluted and non‐imperative as this.
It is nonetheless remarkable for being contemplated in the bi‐
polar international context of the 1960s.219 It is hardly surprising
that the mechanism has never been used. Perhaps with the
growing importance of human rights as a principle of
international law and practice, there may be a future role for this
mechanism, but admittedly, even now this is a remote possibility.
4.2.4 Individual Communications
This is by far the most innovative mechanism in the ICCPR

framework for human rights protection, enabling individuals to
directly petition the Human Rights Committee upon exhaustion of
domestic avenues of redress. This mechanism has been widely
availed of by individuals, and is a signiLicant element of the future
development of the regime of international human rights
protection. However, this right is only available to individuals in
States that have acceded to the First Optional Protocol. The
Protocol, which is in the form of a separate treaty, sets out the
rules regarding who may author a communication to the
Committee and under what circumstances. In brief, any individual
claiming to be a victim of a violation of any right set forth in the
Covenant may communicate a written complaint to the
Committee, subject to having exhausted all domestic remedies. In
addition to the latter, there are several other admissibility
constraints including those relating to standing, although in many
respects, the regime is liberal and inclusive.220
219 Rehman (2002), op cit., p.89
220
See esp. Davidson in Conte, Davidson & Burchill (2004), op cit, Ch.1;
Rehman (2002), op cit, pp.92‐101
135
The relevant State Party has an opportunity to respond to the
allegations on both admissibility and merits. It may also inform
the Committee regarding any remedial measures that have been
taken subsequent to the communication. The Committee takes
into account the information given by both the complainant and
the State Party in arriving at its views.
Several concerns expressed by commentators221 regarding the

Committee’s procedure in respect to expeditiousness and
efLiciency have now been addressed, with the result that all
communications are now vetted by the Committee member
serving as the Special Rapporteur on New Communications
(having been screened by the Secretariat of the OfLice of the
United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights before). It
then goes to the Working Group on New Communications where
admissibility is decided by consensus. If there is no consensus at
this stage, the matter is decided by the full Committee.
An increasing number of States have in the last one and half

decades acceded to the Optional Protocol, indicating on surface a
positive trend in human rights protection worldwide.
Unfortunately, the reality is somewhat different with many States
failing to take active measures to give effect to the Committee’s
views, routinely ignoring adverse Lindings, and in some cases
displaying outright hostility.
The fundamental weakness, as any number of commentators point

out, is that the Committee’s views are legally non‐binding,
carrying only the force of moral suasion and some political
221McGoldrick (1991), op cit, Ch.4, esp. 202‐246; J. Crawford, ‘The UN

Human Rights Treaty System: A System in Crisis?’ in Alston & Crawford
(2000), op cit., Ch.1
136
inLluence.222 The Committee has attempted to secure some follow
up through the designation of a Special Rapporteur for this
purpose, mandated, among other things, to conduct ongoing
dialogues with States Parties on compliance as well as making on‐
site visits. These initiatives have, however, not produced any
dramatic results, and have also been hampered by a lack of
resources.
4.2.5 Conclusions
The ICCPR and the First Optional Protocol are salutary

instruments of an important segment of human rights, and indeed
for the establishment of some institutional arrangement for their
protection and enforcement. They are important, both for their
substance as well as their symbolism in terms of universal
commitment to certain basic values relating to human dignity.
While substantial impediments to their implementation, and the

realisation in tangible terms of the rights they espouse remain,
including major structural obstacles inherent to the international
legal system which continues to be dominated by the nation‐state
paradigm, it is to be observed that the global human rights
movement is on an upward trend. The receptivity of States to
these realities is reLlected in the increasing number of States
acceding to the Covenant and the Protocols.
222Rehman (2002), op cit., p.92; S. Lewis‐Anthony, ‘Treaty‐Based

Procedures for Making Human Rights Complaints within the UN System’ in
Hurst Hannum (Ed.) (1999) Guide to International Human Rights
Practice (3rd Ed.) (New York: Transnational Publishers): p.44 ; Steiner in
Alston & Crawford (2000), op cit.
137
Nothing turns on the question whether such behaviour is
motivated by strategic considerations or principled commitments
– formal accession provides an appropriate complementarity for
the adjudicative, norms‐based and politically‐neutral approach of
the Human Rights Committee, provided that an institutional
support structure for political and diplomatic follow through is
developed.
4.3 International Human Rights Standards in States of

Emergency: The Legal Regime of Derogations
As stated at the outset, the foregoing serves as a background to the

discussion in this section on the legal regime of derogations as set
out in international human rights law. Before embarking on this
discussion, however, several preliminary clariLications are in
order, the Lirst of which must be the caveat that what follows is a
descriptive and analytical account, and not a theoretically critical
discussion. Thus, for example, the well known critiques of the
theoretical assumptions of the international derogation regimes as
being based on abstract ideal‐types of what constitutes an
emergency, and which do not accord with the reality of States’
internal practices and other critical perspectives, are not
discussed here. The purpose of the previous sections was to give
an indication of some of these problems.
The derogation clause is a fundamental lynchpin of the three

international human rights instruments (viz., the ICCPR, the ECHR
and the ACHR) that embody the model of legal accommodation of
states of emergency. We noted that the African Charter does not
contain a derogation clause and that for this and other reasons, it
is not a model of accommodation. The main purpose of this
section is to give an introduction to the principles underpinning
and governing Article 4 of the ICCPR, the derogation clause of the
138
treaty‐based international human rights regime applicable to Sri
Lanka. Where necessary, reference will be made to the other
instruments.
In this context, of fundamental signiLicance is the proper

appreciation of the difference between the concepts of ‘limitation’
and ‘derogation’ of fundamental rights. This is a pivotal
consideration in the current state of the art in the design of
modern constitutional bills of rights. Indeed, the particular
schema of the ICCPR (and of the ECHR and ACHR) which
establishes speciLic limitation clauses attaching to discrete rights,
and a general derogation clause enumerating non‐derogable
rights, is now regarded as outmoded. The preferred approach is to
provide for a scheme of derogation during states of emergency
listing non‐derogable rights, but in respect of ordinary limitations,
to set out a single general limitations clause that limits
permissible limits.223 In any event, the ICCPR uses both limitation
clauses and a derogation clause, which in the ICCPR schema is
differentiated by three factors:
1. Circumstances of operation: Limitations of rights are those

that are allowed in normal times by ordinary legal measures.
Derogations are only possible during a state of emergency
that constitutes an exceptional threat to the life of the nation.
2. Legal effects on rights: Limitation clauses attach to speciLic

rights and serve as permissible restrictions on the exercise of
223 See for the South African approach: Halton Cheadle & Dennis Davis,
‘Structure of the Bill of Rights’, Dennis Davis, ‘Rights’, Halton Cheadle,
‘Limitation of Rights’ and Nicholas Haysom, ‘States of Emergency’ in Halton
Cheadle, Dennis Davis & Nicholas Haysom (2002) South African
Constitutional Law: The Bill of Rights (Durban: Butterworths): Chs.
1,30,31
139
these rights. Derogation involves possible suspension of all
the rights recognised by the treaty, except obviously the non‐
derogable rights, during a state of emergency, subject to the
restraints set out in the derogation clause.
3. International accountability: Limitations on rights are

undertaken by ordinary processes of law and are generally the
domestic concern of States. Engaging the right of derogation
requires notiLication of the proclamation of a state of
emergency to the UN and other States Parties, including the
speciLic rights being derogated from, reasons for derogation,
and other circumstantial information.
Two further critical points must be mentioned. First, it has already

been mentioned parenthetically in relation to General Comment
No. 29 of the Human Rights Committee, that even rights that are
susceptible to derogation under the ICCPR may in effect be non‐
derogable if they have become peremptory norms of international
law. This presupposes a further and extra‐textual limit on the right
of derogation of States that have acceded to the ICCPR.224 Second,
is the contention that some principles of the ICCPR derogation
clause may have become, or are in the process of becoming,
general principles of customary international law.225 The
consequence of this is that even States that have not acceded to
the ICCPR will have their right of derogation limited and regulated
by customary international law. As Sri Lanka is a signatory to the
ICCPR, (which incidentally does not allow withdrawals or
denunciations once acceded to) our position is made clearer, and
therefore the focus will be directly on Article 4 ICCPR, which states
as follows:
224 See Section 4.3.4, infra
225 Ibid
140
“Article 4
1. In time of public emergency which threatens the life
of the nation and the existence of which is ofLicially
proclaimed, the States Parties to the present
Covenant may take measures derogating from their
obligations under the present Covenant to the extent
strictly required by the exigencies of the situation,
provided that such measures are not inconsistent
with their other obligations under international law
and do not discrimination solely on the ground of
race, colour, sex, language, religion or social origin.
2. No derogation from articles 6, 7, 8 (paragraphs 1 and
2), 11, 15, 16 and 18 may be made under this
provision.
3. Any State Party to the present Covenant availing itself
of the right of derogation shall immediately inform
the other States Parties to the present Covenant,
through the intermediary of the Secretary‐General of
the United Nations, of the provisions from which it
has derogated and of the reasons by which it was
actuated. A further communication shall be made,
through the same intermediary, on the date on which
it terminates such derogation.”
The formulation of Article 4 contains seven fundamental

principles, which are of both procedural and substantive character.
The key procedural principles are those relating to proclamation
and notiLication, governing the determination of the actual
existence of a state of emergency and invoking the exception of
derogation. Of the principles regulating the substantive nature and
limiting the scope of emergency measures, the central principle is
that establishing the non‐derogability of certain fundamental
141
rights under any circumstances, and include those of
proportionality, non‐discrimination, and consistency with other
international obligations. The principle of exceptional threat is a
mixture of procedural and substantive requirements. We may now
discuss each of these in turn.
4.3.1 The Principle of Exceptional Threat
As we have seen, legally articulating what constitutes an

emergency is a deLinitional problem in the theory relating to
states of emergency, and different countries have various ways of
dealing with it within their domestic legal regimes. At
international law, the ICCPR deLines this as a ‘public emergency
which threatens the life of the nation’.226 The drafters’ intention
was to formulate a deLinition that encapsulates the idea of an
exceptional threat affecting the whole nation, and thereby to
reduce, if not avoid the possibility of abuse of emergency powers
by State Parties through availing themselves of the right of
derogation too easily. What must be clearly understood is that
what is permitted under domestic legal regimes does not
necessarily allow State Parties to exercise the right of derogation
under the framework of Article 4, in which the requirement of
‘exceptional threat’ must be established with evidence.
With regard to the apposite provision to Article 4 in the ECHR

(Article 15), the European organs in the Lawless Case have deLined
the concept of exceptional threat as ‘a situation of exceptional and
imminent danger or crisis affecting the general public, as distinct
226 Article 4 (1)

142
from particular groups and constituting a threat to the organised
life of the community which composes the State in question.’227 In
the Greek Case, it was held that Article 15 applies to imminent
threats, but the right to derogate can be exercised only when the
State in question provides sufLicient evidence to prove the
existence of such a threat.228
In addition to the exceptional nature of the threat, the Human

Rights Committee has held that derogations may only last as long
as the emergency actually exists. Therefore it is clear that
exceptional threats requiring derogations can only, within the
meaning of Article 4, be of a temporary nature.
In the light of the textual formulation of Article 4 of ‘exceptional

threat’ and its interpretation by the Human Rights Committee,
Oraá provides the following useful summary of characteristics of
the type emergency envisaged in the ICCPR:
1. The emergency must be actual or at least imminent; therefore

an emergency of a ‘preventive’ nature is not lawful.
2. The emergency should be of such magnitude as to affect the

whole of the nation, and not just part of it.
3. The threat must be to the very existence of the nation, this

being understood as a threat to the physical integrity of the
227
Lawless v. Ireland (1960‐1961) 1 Eur.Ct.HR (ser. B) 56 (Commission
Report)
228Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Netherlands v. Greece (1969) 1

Commission (1969): para.153
143
population, to the territorial integrity, or to the functioning of
the organs of the State.
4. The declaration of emergency must be used as a last resort

once the normal measures used to deal with public order
disturbances have been exhausted.
5. The declaration of emergency is a temporary measure which

cannot last longer than the emergency itself; therefore, the so‐
called ‘permanent states of emergency’ are not lawful.229
In the Human Rights Committee’s General Comment No. 29 of

2001 on States of Emergency (Article 4), replacing General
Comment No. 5 of 1981, the Committee observed that, “Measures
derogating from the provisions of the Covenant must be of an
exceptional and temporary nature.”230 It further stated that:
“Not every disturbance or catastrophe qualiLies as a public

emergency which threatens the life of the nation, as required
by article 4, paragraph 1. During armed conLlict, whether
international or non‐international, rules of international
humanitarian law become applicable and help, in addition to
the provisions in article 4 and article 5, paragraph 1, of the
Covenant, to prevent the abuse of a State’s emergency powers.
The Covenant requires that even during an armed conLlict
measures derogating from the Covenant are allowed only if and
to the extent that the situation constitutes a threat to the life of
the nation. If States parties consider invoking article 4 in other
situations than an armed conLlict, they should carefully
consider the justiLication and why such a measure is necessary
229 Oraá: p.33
230 para.2
144
and legitimate in the circumstances. On a number of occasions
the Committee has expressed its concern over States parties
that appear to have derogated from rights protected by the
Covenant, or whose domestic law appears to allow such
derogation in situations not covered by article 4.” 231
4.3.2 The Principle of Proclamation
In addition to the proper determination of the existence or

imminence of an exceptional threat, a further requirement of
Article 4 in the invocation of the right to derogation by States is
that of ‘ofLicial proclamation’.232
As we have seen, the requirement of ofLicial proclamation is a key

feature of domestic regimes of constitutional and legislative
accommodation of emergencies. One of the main rationales for
requiring an ofLicial proclamation in Article 4 during its drafting
was precisely the fact that most domestic regimes established this
as a formal requirement. Inclusion of this requirement in Article 4
was thus a way of ensuring that States Parties complied with their
own domestic procedures for the declaration of emergencies, and
correspondingly to ensure against the incidence of extra‐legal, de
facto states of emergency without proper legal authority. As Oraá
argues, “With this requirement, the [ICCPR] tries to prevent States
which have not ofLicially proclaimed the emergency from relying
on the right of derogation.”233 However, it should be noted that
231 para.3
232 Article 4 (1)
233 Oraá: p.35

145
neither the ECHR nor the ACHR system requires an ofLicial
proclamation.
As discussed at length before, most domestic regimes require a

formal proclamation of a state of emergency due to the fact that
emergencies and emergency powers usually entail restrictive
consequences for the full enjoyment of fundamental rights, and
also have the effect of altering the institutional balance and
powers and functions between the different organs of
government. Therefore, as Oraá observes, “…a formal declaration
of emergency containing a clear account of all the exceptional
measures taken provides an important element of publicity for
those under the State’s jurisdiction who would require to know
the exact extent of the limitations of their rights and the alteration
in the distribution of powers among the organs of the State…”234
If these factors constitute the rationale for the inclusion of the

requirement of ofLicial proclamation, Article 4 does not specify
which of the organs of the state as between the executive and
legislature should be made competent to make such a declaration.
This is perhaps as it should be, because each State has its own
constitutional traditions within which, provided that the
normative requirement of formal declaration is present and
effective, each State may choose its own options. Countries such as
South Africa, as we saw before, have devised sophisticated rules in
this respect. By deliberately establishing procedures that require
collaborative inter‐relationships and checks and balances between
the executive and the legislature on the matter of declaration of an
emergency, the scope for unilateralist action by one or the other
organ of government is reduced.
234 Ibid, emphasis added

146
The judicial or quasi‐judicial control over the declaration of an
emergency is a distinct if related matter. There are two aspects to
this: (a) judicial control by domestic courts; and (b) control by
international treaty bodies such as the Human Rights Committee.
With regard to oversight by domestic courts there is divergence
between different countries, wherein countries such as South
Africa have unequivocally provided that all aspects of a state of
emergency, including its declaration, are comprehensively
susceptible to judicial review,235 whereas others such as Sri Lanka
have expressly ousted judicial review in respect of the
declaration.236
With regard to Article 4, the Human Rights Committee’s oversight

role over declarations, facilitated by the reporting mechanisms
established by the ICCPR (discussed in general terms in the
previous section), represents the international control mechanism
of that treaty. For many years, the Committee was restrained from
taking a more robust approach in this respect due to the
dominance of principles such as State sovereignty, which were
keenly defended particularly by countries belonging to the
socialist bloc.237 However, the Committee seems now to be
adopting a more vigorous role. In General Comment No. 29, it
stated:
“Before a State moves to invoke article 4, two

fundamental conditions must be met: the situation must
amount to a public emergency which threatens the life of
the nation, and the State party must have ofLicially
235 Section 37 (3) of the South African Constitution
236 Article 154J (2) of the Sri Lankan Constitution
237 Oraá: p.49, fn.51

147
proclaimed a state of emergency. The latter requirement is
essential for the maintenance of the principles of legality
and rule of law at times when they are most needed. When
proclaiming a state of emergency with consequences that
could entail derogation from any provision of the
Covenant, States must act within their constitutional and
other provisions of law that govern such proclamation
and the exercise of emergency powers; it is the task of the
Committee to monitor the laws in question with respect to
whether they enable and secure compliance with article 4.
In order that the Committee can perform its task, States
parties to the Covenant should include in their reports
submitted under article 40 sufKicient and precise
information about their law and practice in the Kield of
emergency powers.” 238
4.3.3 The Principle of Notibication
Article 4 (3) of the ICCPR (as well as the ECHR and the ACHR),
requires States Parties availing themselves of the right of
derogation to inform other States Parties ‘immediately’ through
the UN Secretary General, of (a) rights from which they have
derogated, (b) reasons therefor, and (c) communicate the date on
which the act of derogation is terminated. This gives an indication
of both the timeframe in which the requirement of notiLication
must be met, and also the content of such notiLication.
With respect to the obligations of providing information that

States Parties to the ICCPR undertake, an important distinction
must be made at the outset between the principle of notiLication in
238 para.2, emphasis added

148
Article 4 (3), and the obligation to provide information under the
reporting procedure in Article 40 and, in the case of individual
communications, under Article 4 (2) of the First Optional Protocol.
The fact that a State Party provides information under Article 40
or Article 4 (2) of the First Optional Protocol should never be seen
as fulLilment of the obligation under Article 4 (3), because these
are two different types of obligation with completely different
aims. This is a salutary distinction.
The main rationale for the important procedural requirement of

notiLication is that other State Parties are aware of the derogating
State’s position (and the contextual circumstances of the
derogation), so as to be able to exercise their own rights under the
ICCPR, speciLically the inter‐state complaints procedure.
NotiLication also assists the Human Rights Committee in
ascertaining the extent of their jurisdiction, and in the
interpretation of Article 4, in respect of the particular factual
situation within the derogating State. While this might seem sound
as a theoretical proposition, as we saw before, there have been no
instances in which any State has engaged the inter‐state
complaints procedure under the ICCPR. The experience, by
contrast, under the ECHR has been markedly different, where the
inter‐state procedure has been the most successful mechanism of
ensuring compliance with ECHR standards during times of
emergency.
Nonetheless, there is a strong incentive behind the requirement of

notiLication. Derogating States are obliged by this requirement to
exercise that right publicly and with the knowledge of other States
Parties and the UN. They are compelled thereby to fulLil many of
the substantive requirements of Article 4, such as demonstrating
that the derogating measures are ‘strictly necessary’ and
149
proportionate, in addition to conformity with domestic legal and
constitutional stipulations.
There has been some debate about the legal effect of a failure by a
derogating State to fulLil the requirement of notiLication, in regard
to which there are two different aspects: (a) total failure to submit
a notiLication, and (b) the partial failure to do so (i.e., where the
notice of derogation is incomplete, contains insufLicient
information, or has not been sent within a reasonable time
period.)
The total failure to notify a derogation raises an interesting legal

problem. Does the State concerned entirely lose its right of
derogation because of a failure of procedural compliance, or can
the treaty body apply the derogation provisions to the State
notwithstanding the failure? In principle, the right of derogation is
a sovereign right of the State, not of any treaty body, and the
failure to notify does not allow a treaty body to exercise a right
that it does not posses. On the other hand, it is absurd that where
a state of emergency in fact exists within a State, that the treaty
body should apply standards applicable in a state of normalcy,
merely because the State in question has failed, inadvertently or
deliberately, to communicate its derogation.
The Human Rights Committee has maintained that under the

reporting procedure,239 if a State has not notiLied a state of
emergency, it is unable to take into account the difLiculties faced
by that State in the crisis in order to apply the leeway offered by a
valid derogation. For example, in the dialogue following the
signiLicant 1983 report of Sri Lanka, Mr. Opsahl of the Committee
stated that because there was a total failure of notiLication by Sri
239 Article 40 ICCPR

150
Lanka, it should be held accountable under the normal standards
of the ICCPR.240 However, the Committee as a whole recommended
that Sri Lanka duly declare and notify its state of emergency to
other State Parties, which it did in 1984.241 Unfortunately, this also
was found to be too brief and without the adequate information
required by Article 4 (3).242
With regard to current practice, the Human Rights Committee’s

General Comment No. 29 states:
“Such notiLication is essential not only for the discharge of

the Committee’s functions, in particular in assessing
whether the measures taken by the State party were
strictly required by the exigencies of the situation, but
also to permit other States parties to monitor compliance
with the provisions of the Covenant. In view of the
summary character of many of the notiLications received
in the past, the Committee emphasizes that the
notiKication by States parties should include full
information about the measures taken and a clear
explanation of the reasons for them, with full
documentation attached regarding their law. Additional
notiKications are required if the State party subsequently
takes further measures under article 4, for instance by
extending the duration of a state of emergency. The
requirement of immediate notiKication applies equally in
240
UN Human Rights Committee (1983), Report of Sri Lanka, CCPR/C/SR.
473 (1983)
241
Sri Lanka (report reviewed on 3rd November 1983; notiLication, 21st
May 1984; see also A/39/40, p.25, para.123
242UN Human Rights Committee, Human Rights: Status of International

Instruments: notice of derogation by Sri Lanka, 21st May 1984
151
relation to the termination of derogation…The Committee
emphasizes the obligation of immediate international
notiLication whenever a State party takes measures
derogating from its obligations under the Covenant. The
duty of the Committee to monitor the law and practice of a
State party for compliance with article 4 does not depend
on whether that State part y has submitted a
notiKication.” 243
4.3.4 The Principle of Non‐Derogability
Perhaps the central pillar of the entire human rights protection

regime of the ICCPR, and of the other regional systems, the ECHR
and the ACHR, as well as of progressive domestic constitutional
bills of rights such as that of South Africa, is the principle of non‐
derogation from certain fundamental rights even in a state of
emergency. These rights are considered so fundamental to human
dignity that they cannot be suspended under any circumstances.
In the ICCPR, this principle and the rights made subject to it, are
set out in Article 4 (2), which states, “No derogation from articles
6, 7, 8 (paragraphs 1 and 2), 11, 15, 16 and 18 may be made under
this provision.” The rights thus enumerated in Article 4 (2) are: the
right to life; freedom from torture and cruel, inhuman and
degrading treatment; freedom from slavery and servitude;
freedom from imprisonment merely due to non‐fulLilment of a
contractual obligation; prohibition on retroactive penal sanction;
right to be recognised as a person before the law; and the freedom
of thought, conscience and religion.

152
The point has often been made, with justiLication, that the list of
non‐derogable rights in the ICCPR betrays a quality of ad hoc
selection. In the long drafting period of the ICCPR, this was due to
the various compromises that had to be made between various
States, which is true also of the ECHR and ACHR (although to a
lesser extent because they are regional instruments negotiated
between like‐minded neighbour States, sharing inter alia a
common regional history). In the result, Article 4 (2) of the ICCPR
contains seven non‐derogable rights, Article 15 (2) of the ECHR
has four, and Article 27 (2) of the ACHR has eleven (including
judicial safeguards to enforce the non‐derogable quality of the
rights so classiLied).
As Oraá explains, “In the drafting of the [ICCPR, the ECHR and the
IACHR] there was unanimity on the necessity of including that
principle in the derogation clause…Even though there was total
agreement on this principle, the problem of establishing which
rights should be made non‐derogable was far from an easy task for
the drafters [of the three treaties]. One of the striking features of
the derogation clause of these treaties is that they contain a
different list of non‐derogable rights…The difLiculty of agreeing on
a concrete list non‐derogable rights is well illustrated in the
travaux préparatoires of the treaties.”244
By contrast, in the more ‘homogenous’ environment of national

constitution‐making, the example of South Africa, born out of a
long and bitter experience of the abuse of emergency powers by
the former apartheid State, illustrates not only the central
signiLicance given to this principle in the design of its bill of rights,
244 Oraá: pp.87‐88

153
but also the deeply conceptualised basis on which the rights
included in the list of non‐derogable rights were selected.245
If there was international unanimity with regard to the inclusion

of the non‐derogation principle in the derogation clause of the
ICCPR, what then was the rationale for the choice of the particular
list of rights which were eventually included? Citing Hartman,
Oraá suggests two criteria: “First, to include those rights which are
absolutely fundamental and indispensable for the protection of
the human being. Secondly, to include those rights the derogation
of which by the State in public emergencies would never be
justiLied because they have no direct bearing on the emergency.”
246 While it is implicitly apparent that both criteria were at work in
the ICCPR selection, it also appears that they have not been
applied very consistently or coherently. Thus certain rights which
are fundamental and requiring special protection have been
excluded, whereas others which are not so fundamental and may
not in any case be especially endangered during a state of
emergency, have been included.
However, there are four non‐derogable rights common to the

ICCPR, the ECHR and the IACHR. These are the right to life, the
freedom from torture, the freedom from slavery and servitude,
and the non‐application of retroactive penal laws. These rights are
to be considered so important and fundamental that they are
considered part of both customary international law and jus
245Nicholas Haysom (1989) ‘States of Emergency in Post‐Apartheid South

Africa’ Columbia Human Rights Law Review 140
246Oraá: p.94; General Comment No. 29 makes direct reference to the

second rationale in para.11
154
cogens.247 As Oraá observes, “These four rights constitute what has
been called the ‘irreducible core’ of human rights.” 248
In addition to this ‘irreducible core’ (as well as the other rights

entrenched in Article 4 (2) as non‐derogable), however, an
important matter to bear in mind is that certain other rights and
principles of the ICCPR are by implication also held to be non‐
derogable. According to Oraá, these are (a) the provisions related
to the exercise of non‐derogable rights (i.e., the right to an
effective remedy and the prohibition on discrimination); (b) the
provisions which contain general exceptions; and (c) the
provisions related to the machinery of implementation (i.e., the
inter‐state complaints procedure, the individual complaints
procedure, and the reporting procedure).249
In General Comment No. 29, the Human Rights Committee has

added to and elaborated on those rights and principles that it
would treat as non‐derogable by recourse to general international
law and other international human rights treaties:
“The enumeration of non‐derogable provisions in article 4

is related to, but not identical with, the question whether
certain human rights obligations bear the nature of
peremptory norms of international law. The proclamation
of certain provisions of the Covenant as being of a non‐
derogable nature, in article 4, paragraph 2, is to be seen
partly as recognition of the peremptory nature of some
fundamental rights ensured in treaty form in the
247Oraá: p.96 et seq; Questiaux (1982), op cit., p.19; General Comment No.
29, para.11
248 Oraá: p.96
249 Oraá: p.102

155
Covenant (e.g., articles 6 and 7). However, it is apparent
that some other provisions of the Covenant were included
in the list of non‐derogable provisions because it can
never become necessary to derogate from these rights
during a state of emergency (e.g., articles 11 and 18).
Furthermore, the category of peremptory norms extends
beyond the list of non‐derogable provisions as given in
article 4, paragraph 2. States parties may in no
circumstances invoke article 4 of the Covenant as
justiLication for acting in violation of humanitarian law or
peremptory norms of international law, for instance by
taking hostages, by imposing collective punishments,
through arbitrary deprivations of liberty or by deviating
from fundamental principles of fair trial, including the
presumption of innocence.” 250
It is obvious that there is little meaning in classifying rights as

fundamental and non‐derogable, if provision is also not made for
their enjoyment. In this respect, speciLically important
considerations are that they should be enforceable through the
availability of an effective remedy, and that they should be enjoyed
without discrimination. In the logic of the scheme of the ICCPR,
therefore, during a state of emergency these two principles also
become non‐derogable in their application to those rights
expressly entrenched as non‐derogable. Thus, a State cannot deny
an effective remedy against the violation of non‐derogable rights,
and a State cannot in fact discriminate in the enforcement or
application of non‐derogable rights, on the pretext that it cannot
in law derogate from those rights.251
250 para.11
251General Comment No. 29 afLirms the right to an effective remedy in

paras.14, 15 and 16, and the principle of non‐derogation in para.8
156
The second type of principle established by the ICCPR, which is by
implication non‐derogable although not expressly set out in
Article 4 (2), are those provided for in Article 5. Article 5 (1)
prevents any State Party, group or person from engaging in any
activity aimed at the destruction of any right recognised by the
ICCPR, or limiting any right to a greater extent than is provided for
in the ICCPR. Article 5 (2) also contains the prohibition on using
any provision of the ICCPR as a pretext for limiting or derogating
from human rights that are guaranteed, by either municipal law or
other treaty, to a greater extent than the ICCPR. Implicit is also the
principle that permitted restrictions cannot be used for any other
purpose than the one prescribed by the ICCPR.
Thirdly, the provisions relating to the implementation machinery

are also deemed to be non‐derogable. As we have seen, the ICCPR
implementation machinery, with their dependence on State Party
co‐operation, may seem weak enough. But to allow States to
derogate from those provisions citing a state of emergency would
be to totally defeat the checks and oversight provided by these
mechanisms. Thus, it is essential to the scheme of the ICCPR that
these provisions be regarded as non‐derogable.
The current practice of the Human Rights Committee devotes

serious attention to the principle of non‐derogation, its scope,
nature and application. In addition to the three areas considered
above, General Comment No. 29, has now added a plethora of
other principles and rights of international law that it would
consider to be non‐derogable. BrieLly, these are (not being a
conclusive list):
• Crimes against humanity (para.12, and for jurisdictional

purposes the Committee would take into account the Rome
157
Statute of the International Criminal Court in its
interpretation of ICCPR Article 4)
• All persons deprived of their liberty shall be treated with

humanity and with respect for the inherent dignity of the
human person (ICCPR Articles 7 and 10)
• The prohibitions against the taking of hostages, abductions or

unacknowledged detention are not subject to derogation (The
absolute nature of these prohibitions, even in times of
emergency, is justiLied by their status as norms of general
international law).
• Certain elements of the international law of minority

protection including the prohibition of genocide, non‐
discrimination and the freedom of thought, conscience and
religion (the latter two of course being part of the ICCPR
derogations clause)
• The prohibition on the deportation or forcible transfer of

populations without grounds permitted under international
law, in the form of forced displacement by expulsion or other
coercive means from the area in which the persons concerned
are lawfully present (afLirmed in the Rome Statute as a crime
against humanity, and which cannot be violated under the
permitted restrictions to ICCPR Article 12 relating to freedom
of movement and residence).
• To engage in propaganda for war, or in advocacy of national,

racial or religious hatred that would constitute incitement to
discrimination, hostility or violence (being contrary to ICCPR
Article 20).
158
Finally, it is clear from both the textual formulation of Article 4 (1)
as well as General Comment No. 29 that there are three
substantive conditions which must be adhered to by States
seeking to derogate from rights during a state of emergency. These
are the requirements that the derogating measures must only be
‘to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the
situation’ (i.e., the principle of proportionality), that such
measures must ‘not involve discrimination solely on the ground of
race, colour, sex, language, religion or social origin’ (i.e., the
principle of non‐discrimination), and that the measures are ‘not
inconsistent with…other obligations [of the State] under
international law (i.e., the principle of consistency). Each of these
substantive requirements, being conditions precedent to the
invocation of the derogations clause, must be examined in turn.
Moreover, attention must be drawn to an important issue of legal

construction raised in General Comment No. 29. Having
enumerated the list of non‐derogable rights in Article 4 (2), the
Human Rights Committee makes the following observation:
“The rights enshrined in these provisions are non‐

derogable by the very fact that they are listed in article 4,
paragraph 2. The same applies, in relation to States that
are parties to the Second Optional Protocol to the
Covenant, aiming at the abolition of the death penalty, as
prescribed in article 6 of that Protocol. Conceptually, the
qualiKication of a Covenant provision as a non‐derogable
one does not mean that no limitations or restrictions would
ever be justiKied. The reference in article 4, paragraph 2, to
article 18 [i.e., the freedom of thought, conscience and
religion], a provision that includes a speciKic clause on
restrictions in its paragraph 3, demonstrates that the
permissibility of restrictions is independent of the issue of
159
derogability. Even in times of most serious public
emergencies, States that interfere with the freedom to
manifest one’s religion or belief must justify their actions by
referring to the requirements speciKied in article 18,
paragraph 3. On several occasions the Committee has
expressed its concern about rights that are non‐derogable
according to article 4, paragraph 2, being either derogated
from or under a risk of derogation owing to inadequacies
in the legal regime of the State party.”252
This is a salutary observation: the fact that a right is non‐

derogable under Article 4 (2) does not mean that during a state of
emergency when there may be interference with the right in fact,
that that interference will escape scrutiny by the Committee. The
Committee will examine whether such interference is within the
‘four corners’ of the restrictions of the speciLic right allowed by the
ICCPR. The legalistic response that the right is non‐derogable, and
therefore the State could not in law interfere with its enjoyment,
will not preclude scrutiny by the Human Rights Committee.
4.3.5 The Principle of Proportionality
The principle of proportionality constitutes a general principle of

international law, Linding application in the customary
international law of reprisals and self‐defence, the humanitarian
law of war, the law of non‐forcible countermeasures, and in the
law relating to the delimitation of the continental shelf. It is of
course, a fundamental principle of the international law of human
rights.

160
In the theoretical development of the legal and political
philosophy underlying human rights, one of the central problems
was that of the question of how to balance the rights and freedoms
of individuals with the public interest, with the principle of
proportionality emerging as a device with which to determine the
legality of the State’s interference in the private sphere of rights.
As Oraá states, “The same rationale lies behind its applicability in
modern human rights law; the rights and freedoms recognised to
individuals [sic] are not absolute or without limits; however, such
limits must be proportionate to the legitimate aim pursued by the
limitation. This has become a well‐established principle in
domestic as well as in international law.”253 In the international
law of human rights and the ICCPR, proportionality applies in
respect of three major issues: (a) non‐discrimination; (b)
limitation clauses; and (c) the legal regime of derogations.
In the area of non‐discrimination, international law recognises

that not all types of discriminatory treatment or differentiation
are bad in law; indeed, the maxim that equality demands that non‐
equals be treated unequally is now well‐established in both
international and municipal public law. The two criteria generally
employed to determine whether negative discrimination has
occurred are (a) whether the differentiation of treatment lacks an
objective or reasonable basis, and (b) whether there is
proportionality between the means used and the legitimate aim
pursued.
Likewise in respect of limitation clauses, the jurisprudence of the

adjudicatory organs of the ICCPR, ECHR and IACHR, suggests that
limitations may be imposed on the exercise of rights only when
necessary in a democratic society for reasons such as public order,
253 Oraá: pp.140‐141

161
national security, and the protection of the rights and freedoms of
others. The European regime is exemplary in this regard and the
legality of a limitation is determined by (a) whether the purported
limitation pursues an aim speciLically allowed by the relevant
limitation clause, and (b) whether the means used to so limit the
exercise of a right is proportionate to the aim, i.e., whether the
State’s action in limitation is ‘necessary in a democratic society.’
Thus the principle of proportionality is inherent to the concept of
necessity in a democratic society.
However, it is in respect of the legal regime governing derogations

that proportionality assumes paramount importance, because, as
Oraá has pointed out, it is the ‘main substantive criterion’
employed to assess the legality of derogating measures taken by a
State in a state of emergency. Thus in ICCPR Article 4 (1),
proportionality is embodied in the requirement that the
derogation is only ‘to the extent strictly required by the exigencies
of the situation.’ Oraá contends that two theoretical bases form the
foundation of the principle of proportionality in the derogation
clause. The Lirst is derived from the principles set out in Article 29
(2) of the UDHR and Article 5 (1) of the ICCPR, “which embody a
fundamental theory of limitation and imply that the extent of
every limitation or derogation should be strictly proportionate to
the need of defending the higher interest of society”,254 and the
second is found in the principle of self‐defence in international
law.255
In the application of the proportionality principle in respect of

derogations, it is important to distinguish between four
dimensions and sets of issues. The Lirst is a situation in which a
254 Ibid, p.142
255 Paris Minimum Standards: para.5; Questiaux (1982), op cit, para. 60

162
government makes a declaration of emergency in bad faith, when
there is in actual fact no emergency or crisis justifying the
adoption of derogating measures. Here the issue of
proportionality does not arise at all.
The second case is where a state of emergency actually exists, but

where the question is whether the crisis is sufLiciently grave
enough to engage the principle of exceptional threat discussed
earlier, or what the ICCPR has deLined in Article 4 (1) as a ‘public
emergency threatening the life of the nation.’ Thus here the
question is one of degree (or proportion) of the threat. However,
as Oraá observes, “this is not what can be called proportionality
stricto sensu.”256
The third scenario is where a crisis exists within the meaning of

the concept of public emergency in Article 4 (1), and where the
main question is whether the derogating measures taken by the
State are proportionate to the threat. This is what Oraá identiLies
as proportionality stricto sensu.
The fourth case is a particular application of the above, in which a

change of circumstances occurs during a declared state of
emergency. As Oraá states, “Emergencies can have a dynamic
nature, in the sense that the gravity of the circumstances can vary
over a certain period of time. In these cases, the measures to deal
with the emergency must also vary in accordance with the
different degree of gravity of the circumstances. There must
therefore be a certain proportionality in each of the phases of the
emergency.”257
256 Oraá: p.142
257 Ibid
163
The Human Rights Committee has repeatedly, and without
challenge, afLirmed its competence to review a State Party’s
compliance with the principle of proportionality. In this regard, it
has held that the legitimacy and legality of resorting to derogating
measures is justiLied only in cases where ordinary legislation and
normal executive powers for maintaining law and order are
insufLicient for dealing with the emergency. Moreover, in
consonance with the principle of exceptional threat discussed
before, and the fundamental assumption throughout, that
emergencies are exceptions to normalcy, derogating measures are
justiLied only so long as the emergency lasts. Derogations must
have a direct bearing and relation to the emergency. Thus, for
example, the restriction of political rights in dealing with a natural
disaster will not be regarded as valid. The Human Rights
Committee has striven to assess speciLic measures of derogation
for proportionality and necessity, although the insufLiciency of
detailed information has made this difLicult. It has also attempted
to examine not only the extent of derogating measures (in the
context of the constitutional and legal frameworks of States
Parties), but also how such measures operate in practice.
Therefore, mere reference to abstract legal frameworks would not
be sufLicient; States Parties must also demonstrate the practical
effect of how restrictions of rights under derogation actually
operate. In this regard, the Committee would also examine the
procedural and other safeguards in place to prevent abuses of
human rights, even where a State has (validly) invoked the right of
derogation.
In General Comment No. 29, the Committee made the following

important observations with regard to the manner in which it
applies the principle of proportionality: “A fundamental
requirement for any measures derogating from the Covenant, as
set forth in article 4, paragraph 1, is that such measures are
164
limited to the extent strictly required by the exigencies of the
situation. This requirement relates to the duration, geographical
coverage and material scope of the state of emergency and any
measures of derogation resorted to because of the emergency.”258
Furthermore, “Derogation from some Covenant obligations in

emergency situations is clearly distinct from restrictions or
limitations allowed even in normal times under several provisions
of the Covenant. Nevertheless, the obligation to limit any
derogations to those strictly required by the exigencies of the
situation reKlects the principle of proportionality which is common
to derogation and limitation powers. Moreover, the mere fact that a
permissible derogation from a speciKic provision may, of itself, be
justiKied by the exigencies of the situation does not obviate the
requirement that speciKic measures taken pursuant to the
derogation must also be shown to be required by the exigencies of
the situation. In practice, this will ensure that no provision of the
Covenant, however validly derogated from will be entirely
inapplicable to the behaviour of a State party.”259
General Comment No. 29 also set out the Committee’s

requirements for both a valid invocation of the right of derogation,
as well as the speciLic measures taken thereunder:
“The issues of when rights can be derogated from, and to

what extent, cannot be separated from the provision in
article 4, paragraph 1, of the Covenant according to which
any measures derogating from a State party’s obligations
under the Covenant must be limited “to the extent strictly
required by the exigencies of the situation”. This condition
258 para.4; emphasis added
259 Ibid, emphasis added

165
requires that States parties provide careful justiLication
not only for their decision to proclaim a state of
emergency but also for any speciLic measures based on
such a proclamation. If States purport to invoke the right
to derogate from the Covenant during, for instance, a
natural catastrophe, a mass demonstration including
instances of violence, or a major industrial accident, they
must be able to justify not only that such a situation
constitutes a threat to the life of the nation, but also that
all their measures derogating from the Covenant are
strictly required by the exigencies of the situation. In the
opinion of the Committee, the possibility of restricting
certain Covenant rights under the terms of, for instance,
freedom of movement (article 12) or freedom of assembly
(article 21) is generally sufLicient during such situations
and no derogation from the provisions in question would
be justiLied by the exigencies of the situation.”260
4.3.6 The Principle of Non‐Discrimination
The principle of non‐discrimination is the second substantive

condition required by the ICCPR to be satisLied for a valid
derogation to be made. While the principle itself is a value of much
broader application within the framework of human rights
protection envisaged by the ICCPR, it has a speciLic function in
respect of derogations and its limits must be clearly understood.
The scope of the non‐discrimination principle in the context of

Article 4 (1) is limited by two factors. Firstly, it prohibits
discrimination only on Live grounds (i.e., race, colour, sex,
260 para.5
166
language, religion or social origin), and not on the other grounds
encapsulated in the general prohibition on discrimination found in
Articles 2 (1) and 26. The excluded grounds in the attenuated list
in Article 4 (1) are political or other opinion, national origin,
property, and birth or other status. Secondly, even in relation to
the included grounds, what Article 4 (1) prohibits is
discriminatory derogating measures based solely on those
grounds. Therefore, the derogation clause allows derogating
measures to discriminate even on grounds of race, colour, sex,
language, religion or social origin, provided that the measures are
connected to some other reasonably justiLiable grounds, such as
grave military exigencies which are demonstrably necessary to
overcome the threat posed by the crisis.
While these limitations on the scope of application of the non‐

discrimination principle may be criticised, the travaux
préparatoires of the ICCPR shows that they were based on
practical policy grounds to ensure States’ subscription to the
treaty.261 Moreover, as Oraá argues, “Although the extent of the
non‐discrimination provision is limited, its inclusion in the
derogation clause is commendable because the risk of taking
discriminatory measures based only on racial prejudice and
hatred towards minorities is greater in situations of
emergency.”262 However, he adds that “…derogating measures
should be carefully scrutinised…in order to assess whether these
measures have an objective justiLication, e.g. for military necessity,
or are based exclusively on prejudice against minorities.”263
261 See Oraá: p.172‐174
262 Ibid, p.189
263 Ibid
167
The only occasion in which the Human Rights Committee dealt
with an allegation of discrimination through emergency measures
in contravention of the provisions of Article 4 (1) was in
Weinberger v. Uruguay (1978),264 in which the communication
alleged discrimination solely on grounds of political opinion.
However, since the State Party was unable to substantiate an
actual state of emergency in fact or law, and thereby the
circumstances for a valid derogation, the Committee found in
favour of the author of the communication on other grounds
(Article 25) on the basis of normal standards used in peacetime.265
In General Comment No. 29, the Human Rights Committee

adumbrated the following standards:
“According to article 4, paragraph 1, one of the conditions

for the justiLiability of any derogation from the Covenant
is that the measures taken do not involve discrimination
solely on the ground of race, colour, sex, language, religion
or social origin. Even though article 26 or the other
Covenant provisions related to non‐discrimination (articles
2, 3, 14, paragraph 1, 23, paragraph 4, 24, paragraph 1,
and 25) have not been listed among the non‐derogable
provision in article 4, paragraph 2, there are elements or
dimensions of the right to non‐discrimination that cannot
be derogated from in any circumstances. In particular, this
provision of article 4, paragraph 1, must be complied with
if any distinctions between persons are made when
resorting to measures that derogate from the
264Weinberger v. Uruguay, Communication No.26/1978, adoption of

views, 29th October 1980, 11th Session
265However, see the position under the ECHR in Ireland v. UK, 2 EHRR 25,
and under the ACHR in the Nicaragua – Miskitos Case, IACHR, p.120
168
Covenant.”266
4.3.7 The Principle of Consistency
Article 4 (1) of the ICCPR provides that the right of derogation

during an emergency is limited by the requirement that any such
measures must not be inconsistent with the State’s other
international obligations. As Oraá explains, “The operation of this
legal criterion of the validity of the derogating measures can only
come after all the other conditions of the derogation clause have
been satisLied; in other words, after the [Human Rights
Committee] has accepted that (1) there exists a public emergency
threatening the life of the nation, (2) that the emergency has been
ofLicially proclaimed, (3) that there has been a valid notice of
derogation, (4) that it has not affected a non‐derogable right, (5)
that the measure is strictly required by the exigencies of the
situation, and (6) that it does not involve discrimination. Once the
[Human Rights Committee] has been satisLied that these
conditions have been met, it should check, in order to accept the
validity of the derogating measure, that the latter does not conLlict
with the State’s other obligations under international law.”267
As the Human Rights Committee has observed in General

Comment No. 29, “…article 4, paragraph 1, requires that no
measure derogating from the provisions of the Covenant may be
inconsistent with the State party’s other obligations under
international law, particularly the rules of international
humanitarian law. Article 4 of the Covenant cannot be read as
justiLication for derogation from the Covenant if such derogation
267 Oraá: p.190

169
would entail a breach of the State’s other international obligations,
whether based on treaty or general international law. This is
reLlected also in article 5, paragraph 2, of the Covenant according
to which there shall be no restriction upon or derogation from any
fundamental rights recognised in other instruments on the pretext
that the Covenant does not recognise such rights or that it
recognises them to a lesser extent.”268
While it would seem ex facie that the principle of consistency has

very broad application, by enabling the Human Rights Committee
to pronounce on States’ compliance with other international
obligations under treaty or customary international law, it should
be noted that in fact, the scope of the principle is circumscribed by
the requirement that a derogation under Article 4 must Lirst be
admitted for the principle to apply at all. Therefore, other
international obligations cannot be implemented through the
principle of consistency in Article 4. However, General Comment
No. 29 contains the following advice:
“Although it is not the function of the Human Rights Committee

to review the conduct of a State party under other treaties, in
exercising its functions under the Covenant the Committee has
the competence to take a State party’s other international
obligations into account when it considers whether the
Covenant allows the State party to derogate from specific
provisions of the Covenant. Therefore, when invoking article 4,
paragraph 1, or when reporting under article 40 on the legal
framework related to emergencies, States parties should
present information on their other international obligations
relevant for the protection of the rights in question, in particular
those obligations that are applicable in times of emergency. In
268 para.9
170
this respect, States parties should duly take into account the
developments within international law as to human rights
standards applicable in emergency situations.”269
269 para.10
171
PART II
The Sri Lankan

Experience of Emergency
Powers
172
173
CHAPTER V
SRI LANKA’S CONSTITUTIONAL AND LEGAL

FRAMEWORK REGARDING STATES OF
EMERGENCY
5. Sri Lanka’s Constitutional and Legal Framework regarding

States of Emergency
5.1. The Constitutional and Statutory Framework:

Chapter XVIII and the PSO
5.1.1. Emergency Regulations
5.2. Special Anti‐Terrorism Powers: The PTA
5.3. Judicial Review of States of Emergency
5.4. General Observations on Constitutional Framework

on Emergencies
5.4.1. The DeLinition of ‘State of Public Emergency’

5.4.2. Declaration, Extension and Termination
5.4.3. Legal Effects
5.4.4. Checks and Balances
174
The framers of the Second Republican Constitution of 1978 clearly
perceived the declaration and the conduct of government in a
state of emergency to be purely political and administrative
matters; primarily the prerogative or right of the executive and to
the extent oversight was contemplated, they vested Parliament
with that responsibility. Whether this was driven purely on
considerations of executive convenience or whether it was
symptomatic of an underlying tendency to authoritarianism is a
moot point.270 More palpable is the fact that those involved in the
making of this particular constitutional scheme shared a political
and legal philosophy that drew copiously from Dicey and Austin:
in other words, imperial‐era British legal doctrines about omni‐
competence, plenary power, strong government, and command‐
theory positivism. This is why perhaps a recent commentator –
with distinct overtones of the Diceyan conception of martial law
and the common law doctrine of necessity – felt able to make the
extraordinary assertion that:
“The subject of public security itself has been located

within the constitution in chapter XVIII. By subjecting this
area to the constitution the framers of the constitution
have indicated that there is a natural aversion for the use
of this subject for political and personal ends. The
executive power of the land is free to declare an
270 See Parliamentary Series No.14 of the Second National State Assembly
(1978) Report of the Select Committee of the National State Assembly
appointed to consider the revision of the Constitution, 22nd June 1978: p.
141; Dissenting Report of the Members of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party: p.
149; Draft Article 149 on Public Security: p.602. See also A.J. Wilson
(1980) The Gaullist System in Asia: The Constitution of Sri Lanka
(1978) (London: Macmillan): pp.54‐56; The ‘architect’ of the 1978
Constitution, President J.R. Jayewardene, Lirst articulated his case for a
presidential executive in December 1966, in a speech to the Ceylon
Association for the Advancement of Science, cited in Wilson (1980), op
cit., p.1.
175
emergency without having to look over its shoulders to
check whether there could arise a need, in the future, to
answer in a court of law for declaring it. But thereafter the
executive power remains answerable to the Supreme
Court for the contents and for the application of the
Regulations it might promulgate under such an
Emergency. Such an arrangement clearly satisLies the
interests of the principal parties. The state and the
citizen.” 271
The central argument of this book is predicated on the belief that

such an arrangement emphatically does not satisfy the interest of
the principal party: the citizen. The executive power of the land
must always be made to justify its measures before, during, and
after an emergency. Based on the basic distinction between
normality and the exception, reciprocal to the recognition that the
State must be given special powers to deal with an emergency is
the expectation that the operation of emergency powers is limited
in time; that there are requirements of substantive justiLication
prior to invocation of these powers; that there are effective
mechanisms for approval, oversight and accountability; and that
the substantive reach of emergency powers are constitutionally
established and regulated, especially where fundamental rights
are implicated.
This chapter describes the constitutional and statutory framework

governing states of emergency in Sri Lanka, in terms of the
institutional arrangements between the key organs of government
and the scope of the substantive powers envisaged for the
executive in dealing with crises. While the constitutional and
271
Lakshman Marasinghe (2007) The Evolution of Constitutional
Governance in Sri Lanka (Colombo: Vijitha Yapa): p.273
176
statutory framework is founded on the assumption that
emergencies are the temporary exception to the norm of
constitutional government, in practice what we have seen is that
the fact of protracted and intractable conLlict has made the
exception the norm. Thus, apart from brief periods, emergency
government has become institutionalised and normalised, with
many of the empirical and structural consequences we discussed
in detail in Chapter 3. Moreover, the special regime of anti‐
terrorism powers under the Prevention of Terrorism (Temporary
Provisions) Act is not merely a nomenclatural misnomer; it has
served to negate the fundamental analytical assumption of the
legal accommodation model about the norm and the exception. 272
This outline, which includes the judicial interpretation of the

textual provisions, will be used to measure the Sri Lankan
framework against the international and comparative standards
discussed above in Part I of the book.
5.1 The Constitutional and Statutory Framework: Chapter

XVIII and the PSO
The constitutional framework governing states of emergency is set

out in Chapter XVIII, which primarily concerns procedural
requirements and the oversight role of Parliament during their
currency. The substantive powers brought into operation by a
state of emergency are set out in the Public Security Ordinance No.
25 of 1947 as amended (PSO). The power to promulgate
emergency regulations (i.e., the grant of legislative power to the
executive) is provided under Part II of the PSO.
272 See Chapter 1

177
A state of emergency is brought into being by Proclamation made
by the President,273 which brings into operation the provisions of
the Public Security Ordinance as amended.274 This includes the
power to make emergency regulations by the President having the
legal effect of overriding, amending or suspending the provisions
of any law except the constitution.275 The same applies to statutes
of Provincial Councils, which may be overridden, amended or
suspended by emergency regulations.276
The sole discretion in issuing a Proclamation declaring a state of

emergency is vested in the President, but which must be forthwith
communicated to Parliament.277 The Proclamation is at Lirst
instance valid for a period of fourteen days and any continuation
in force is subject to the approval of Parliament.278 If Parliament
does not approve a Proclamation made under Article 155 (3), the
declaration of emergency immediately ceases to be valid or of any
force in law (but without prejudice to anything lawfully done
thereunder).279
The Chapter sets out detailed rules as to how the approval of

Parliament is to be obtained including provision for its immediate
summoning if it stands adjourned, prorogued or dissolved. Subject
273 Article 155 (3)
274 Article 155 (1)
275 Article 155 (2)
276
Article 155 (3A) introduced by the Thirteenth Amendment to the
Constitution (1987)
277 Article 155 (4)
278 Article 155 (6)
279 Article 155 (8)

178
to parliamentary approval, a Proclamation of a state of emergency
operates for a period of one month, and may be further extended
by one month at a time, although it may be revoked earlier.280
Before their repeal by the Tenth Amendment to the Constitution in
1986, the original paragraphs (8) and (9) of Article 155 provided
that where a state of emergency has been in operation for a period
of ninety consecutive days, or ninety days in aggregate within a
period of six months, a resolution passed by a majority of two‐
thirds of members was required for a valid parliamentary
approval of the continuing state of emergency. This safeguard is no
longer available.
There was no provision for judicial oversight or review over the

declaration or anything done in good faith under a state of
emergency in Chapter XVIII, which makes Parliament the sole
oversight and control mechanism of the executive during an
emergency. However, Article 154J (2), which was introduced by
the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution (1987), seeks to
prohibit judicial review in respect of the making of the
Proclamation. Some commentators have suggested that this was a
response by the government to the Supreme Court’s decision in
Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992)281 where the Court
narrowed down the ouster clause in the PSO in respect of the
promulgation of emergency regulations, and for the Lirst time,
struck down an emergency regulation as unconstitutional.282
280 Article 155 (5)
281Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992) 1 SLR 199 (decided in March 1987,
eight months before the enactment of the Thirteenth Amendment in November
1987)
282
Radhika Coomaraswamy & Charmaine de los Reyes (2004) ‘Rule by
Emergency: Sri Lanka’s Postcolonial Constitutional Experience’ I.CON, Vol.2, No.2,
272 at p.287
179
Chapter XVIII was predicated on the existing statutory framework
governing public security set out in the PSO as amended from time
to time. The Proclamation bringing Part II of the PSO into
operation (i.e., the declaration of a state of emergency) is at the
discretion of the President under Section 2. Under this provision,
the President may issue such a Proclamation where, in view of the
existence or imminence of a state of public emergency, he is of the
opinion that it is expedient to do so, in the interests of public
security and the preservation of public order or for the
maintenance of supplies and services essential to the life of the
community.283
Sections 3 and 8 are the general ouster clauses, which provide

respectively that ‘the fact of existence or imminence…[i.e., the
declaration]…of a state of public emergency shall not be called in
question in any court’ and ‘no emergency regulation, and no order,
rule or direction made or given thereunder shall be called in
question in any court.’
Section 5 (1) is a general grant of law‐making power to the

President to make emergency regulations and Section 5 (2)
enumerates, without prejudice to the generality of the power
conferred under Section 5 (1), the various purposes for which
emergency regulations may be made. These include provision for
the detention of persons, commandeering and acquisition, entry
and search, hearings, appeals and compensation for those affected
by the regulation, and to require application, amendment or
suspension of the operation of any law. Section 5 (3) is signiLicant,
especially in the light of the Chapter XVII framework and the
prima facie ouster of judicial review in Sections 3 and 8, in that it
283 For a discussion of the meaning of the phrases ‘in the interests of’ and
‘public order’, see J.A.L. Cooray (1995) Constitutional and Administrative Law
of Sri Lanka (Colombo: Sumathi): p.752, hereinafter Cooray (1995)
180
empowers Parliament to add to, alter, or revoke any emergency
regulation by resolution.
In terms of Section 7, emergency regulations and any decision,

order or rule made thereunder prevails over any other law. Part III
of the PSO provides other rules, as special powers of the President,
in matters connected with the exercise of emergency powers
including calling out the armed forces in aid of the civil power,
procedure for arrest, detention and executive review of detention,
and the suspension of certain provisions of the Code of Criminal
Procedure. As noted above, Section 8 seeks to oust judicial review
of anything done under the PSO. 284
5.1.1 Emergency Regulations
There is a large number of emergency regulations currently in

force, dealing with a wide array of matters including terrorist
activities, special administrative arrangements, high security
zones, procurement and so on.285 For reasons of space, relevance
and implications for the issues addressed in this book, however,
the Emergency (Miscellaneous Provisions and Powers)
284 However, it was held in Siriwardena v. Liyanage (1983) 2 FRD 310, at

329 that Section 8 does not preclude the court from examining and ruling
upon the validity of an order made under any impugned emergency
regulation, and further, ‘where an emergency regulation empowers an
authority to make an order only if he is satisLied of the existence of certain
facts, the Court can inquire whether it was reasonable for the authority to
be satisLied of the existence of those facts. However, the evaluation of
those facts is for the authority alone and the Court will not substitute its
opinion for that of the authority.’ See Jayampathy Wickramaratne (2006)
Fundamental Rights in Sri Lanka (2nd Ed.) (Colombo: Stamford Lake):
pp.124‐126
285 See index of emergency regulations currently in force, infra

181
Regulations No. 1 of 2005286 and Emergency (Prevention and
Prohibition of Terrorism and SpeciLied Terrorist Activities)
Regulations No. 7 of 2006287 are of particular signiLicance,
especially the latter. Both sets of regulations were promulgated in
the wake of acts of terrorism: the assassination of Foreign Minister
Lakshman Kadirgamar in August 2005 and the attempted
assassination of Defence Secretary Gotabhaya Rajapakse in
December 2006. Both sets of regulations give rise to serious
concerns as to whether they represent an appropriate balance
between legitimate national security and public order
considerations, on the one hand, and rule of law and legality
principles and fundamental human rights, on the other.
The 2005 regulations deal with powers of arrest, detention, search

and seizure, trial procedure, evidence and admissibility of
confession, and various other amendments to ordinary criminal
procedure.288 The 2006 regulations seek to deLine ‘terrorism’ and
‘speciLied terrorist activity’ and to create offences in relation to
terrorism and terrorist activities, in particular offences regarding
‘transactions’ with a terrorist group and information relating to
terrorism and terrorist activities.
Regulation 6 of the 2006 regulations provides that no person or

group, including an organisation, shall either individually, as a
group, or through other persons engage in (a) terrorism, (b) any
286 Gazette Extraordinary No. 1405/5 of 13th August 2005
287 Gazette Extraordinary No. 1474/5 of 6th December 2006
288Extensive commentary on the impact of these regulations on

fundamental rights and their consistency with international standards in
the International Commission of Jurists (2008) BrieZing Paper: Sri
Lanka’s Emergency Laws and International Standards, June 2008
(forthcoming publication)
182
speciLied terrorist activity, or (c) any activity in furtherance of (a)
or (b). Regulation 7 provides that no person shall, inter alia,
promote, encourage, support, advise, assist or act on behalf of any
person or group that is engaged in terrorism or speciLied terrorist
activity. Regulation 8 is an unusual provision which provides that
no person shall engage in any ‘transaction’ deLined in very wide
terms with a person or group acting in contravention of
Regulations 6 and 7. However, in the Lirst proviso to Regulation 8,
it is provided that ‘for the purposes of facilitating the development
of a peaceful political solution, termination of terrorism…
maintenance of supplies and services essential to the life of the
community, conducting developmental activities, or for any other
lawful purpose’ any person including local and international NGOs
could in good faith and the written approval of the Competent
Authority,289 engage in any ‘approved transaction’ with persons or
groups acting in contravention of Regulations 6 or 7. Moreover,
Regulation 9 prohibits the provision of ‘any information which is
detrimental or prejudicial to national security’ to any person or
group.
Regulation 20 deLines ‘terrorism’ as any unlawful conduct which

(a) involves the use of violence, force, coercion, intimidation,
threats, duress, or (b) threatens or endangers national security, or
(c) intimidates a civilian population, or (d) disrupts or threatens
public order and the maintenance of supplies and services
essential to the life of the community, or (e) causes destruction or
damage to property, or (f) endangering a person’s life (other than
289The Competent Authority is appointed by the President in terms of

Regulations 15 and 16. Regulation 17 provides that any person aggrieved
by a decision of the Competent Authority is entitled to appeal to the
Appeals Tribunal constituted under Regulation 18, which comprises of
the Secretaries to the Ministries of Defence, Finance, Nation‐Building,
Plan Implementation and Justice.
183
that of the person committing the act), or (g) creating a serious
risk to public health and safety, or (h) is designed to interfere with
or disrupt an electronic system; and which is aimed at (a)
endangering the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Sri Lanka
or any other recognised sovereign State, or (b) any other political
or governmental change, or (c) compelling the government of Sri
Lanka to do or abstain from doing any act, and includes any other
unlawful activity which advocates or propagates such unlawful
conduct. ‘SpeciLied terrorist activity’ is deLined as any offence
speciLied in the PTA, the PSO, Section 3 of the Prevention of Money
Laundering Act No. 5 of 2006, Section 3 of the Convention on the
Suppression of Terrorist Financing Act No. 25 of 2005, and any
offence under Sections 114, 115, 116, 117, 121, 122, 128, 129 of
the Penal Code.
On the face of the text, the wide, overbroad language of these

regulations could lend themselves to abuse, in that, in addition to
dealing with activities that the State could legitimately restrain or
prohibit in the interests of national security and the suppression
of terrorism, they could also serve to curtail legitimate democratic
activity and fundamental freedoms, dissent and the autonomy of
civil society. In particular the wide range of activities prohibited by
Regulation 6, 7 and 8, the deLinition of terrorism in Regulation 20
and the immunity clause, Regulation 19. These provisions are
overbroad, drafted in very wide language, and where offences
have not expressly been established, they allow for the possible
criminalisation of a range of legitimate activities of civil society,
and could violate constitutionally protected fundamental rights.
184
It is a cardinal principle of Sri Lankan criminal law290 and
international human rights law 291 that laws creating criminal
liability must be framed in clear and precise language. The
principle of legality in criminal liability would be infringed if
people cannot easily understand the nature of the offence, and if
they cannot with sufLicient certainty anticipate what conduct
would lead to liability. Under international law, this requirement
must be respected even in emergency law‐making in a crisis
context of armed conLlict.292 Vague, ambiguous and unclear legal
deLinitions clearly contravene international law.293 Vague,
ambiguous or overbroad language may also fall foul of the
constitutional requirements upheld by the Supreme Court, where
emergency regulations operate to restrict or abridge fundamental
rights.294
The ‘transaction clause’, Regulation 8, is particularly repugnant to

the principle of legality. It is formulated in such a way that
virtually any act of, for example, journalists, civil society
organisations and even private landlords, can give rise to potential
criminal liability. These are strict liability offences and there is no
290
G.L. Peiris (1999) General Principles of Criminal Liability in Sri
Lanka (Colombo: Stamford Lake): Ch.13
291
See e.g. ICCPR Article 4 (2); ECHR Article 15; ACHR Article 27. See also
UN
Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 29, para.7
292 Ibid
293UN Special Rapporteur on the Independence of Judges and Lawyers

(1998) UN Doc. E/CN.4/1998/39/Add.1, para.129
294See Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992) 1 SLR 199; Sunila

Abeysekara v. Ariya Rubasinghe, Competent Authority, and Others (2000) 1
SLR 314
185
mens rea requirement for any act of commission or omission,
central to any conception of serious criminal liability. The Lirst
proviso to Regulation 8, however, provides for exemptions to
engage in approved transactions in certain circumstances such as
the furtherance of peace and the termination of terrorism with the
written permission of the Competent Authority appointed by the
President. This will give the Competent Authority, sweeping
discretionary power over the activities, inter alia, of civil society
organisations including those committed to human rights, national
reconciliation and also the media. Such powers will give the
government excessive control over civil society organisations
which is incompatible with the freedom of expression and
association and other freedoms which are necessary for the
independence and autonomy of such organisations.
The dangers of these regulations are made worse by the fact that
an appeal from the decision of one presidential appointee, the
Competent Authority is to be made to an Appeals Tribunal
consisting entirely of other presidential appointees, the
Secretaries to the Ministries of Defence, Finance, Nation‐Building
and Justice. There are two principled objections to this
arrangement. The Lirst is that it is in breach of international law,
which requires a right of appeal from an administrative decision to
an independent judicial body. Secondly, conferring what amounts
to at least quasi‐judicial powers to persons in the executive branch
of government is a violation of the principle of separation of
powers and is an unconstitutional encroachment into the judicial
sphere. Furthermore, it is fanciful to believe that a tribunal
consisting of Secretaries to Ministries can function as an
independent appeals body.
The wide immunity clause, Regulation 18, also gives rise to

serious concern. It seeks to provide immunity from suit to public
186
servants and other authorised persons, who act in good faith in
the discharge of their ofLicial duties. This sadly reLlects a wholly
obsolete attitude to the accountability of administrative action,295
especially where fundamental rights are implicated, and could be
used, as so often in the past, to protect members of the police,
armed forces and other persons who may infringe fundamental
rights in the discharge of their duties or under colour of ofLice.
Given the wide ranging powers provided to the State and its
ofLicers under these regulations, the absence of independent
review, the history of abuse of similar draconian legislation,
including the Prevention of Terrorism Act, to stiLle legitimate
democratic activity and political dissent, and the culture of
impunity that has developed in Sri Lanka in recent years in
particular, such a clause could easily become one that promotes
impunity rather than providing for immunity for bona Kide actions.
5.2 Special Anti‐Terrorism Powers: The PTA
Special anti‐terrorism powers are provided in the Prevention of

Terrorism (Temporary Provisions) Act No. 48 of 1979 as amended
(PTA). The sweeping powers given to the executive by the PTA are
in the nature of emergency powers, but the exercise of those of
those powers are independent of and not subject to even the
limited oversight framework of conventional emergency powers
(such as proclamation and periodic parliamentary approval)
under Chapter XVIII and the PSO. The PTA’s Lirst point of
departure from the liberal conception of the rule of law therefore
is that it reverses the assumption of exceptional circumstances
that is at the root of the conceptual justiLication for granting
295See the majority decision in Carltona Ltd .v. Commissioners of Works

(1943) 2 All ER 560 and Lord Atkins’ dissent, and Yasapala v.
Wickremasinghe (1983) 1 FRD 143, discussed below
187
extraordinary powers to the executive under the models of legal
accommodation. From the perspective of international standards,
this means that the regime envisaged by the PTA falls foul of the
important procedural safeguards of declaration, notiLication, and
periodic approval and oversight.296
The PTA was enacted in 1979 as a temporary measure,297 as an

element of the then government’s political and military strategy in
dealing with the early stages of the low intensity insurgency in the
North of the island. The process of its enactment through the
procedure under Article 84 is also noteworthy. Article 84 is a
bizarre provision which permits bills that are inconsistent with
the constitution to be passed by a two‐thirds majority in
Parliament. Article 120 (c) precludes the pre‐enactment
constitutional review jurisdiction of the Supreme Court in respect
of the substance of such bills falling within the scope of Article 84.
Thus under these provisions of the constitution, provided the
requirement of a two‐thirds majority is met, it is possible to enact
laws that are inconsistent with any provision of the constitution,
including fundamental rights. As Mark Fernando J. observed in
Weerawansa v Attorney General (2000): “When the PTA Bill was
referred to this court, the court did not have to decide whether or
not any of those provisions constituted reasonable restrictions on
Articles 12 (1), 13 (1) and 13 (2) permitted by Article 15 (7) (in
the interests of national security etc), because the court was
informed that it had been decided to pass the Bill with two‐thirds
majority (SC SD No. 7/79, 17.7.79). The PTA was enacted with
296See Chapter 3, section 3.1 and Chapter 4, sections 4.3.2 and 4.3.3,
supra
297Section 29 of the original enactment expressly provided that it would

be in force only for a period of three years, but this was repealed by the
Prevention of Terrorism (Temporary Provisions) Amendment Act No. 10
of 1982
188
two‐thirds majority, and accordingly, in terms of Article 84, PTA
became law despite many inconsistencies with the constitutional
provisions.”298
The PTA contains a three‐paragraph preamble that outlines the

underlying government policy, that public order has become
endangered by elements that advocate the use of force or the
commission of crime as a means of accomplishing governmental
change, and which have resorted to acts of terrorism including
murder, armed robbery, coercion, intimidation and violence; that
free institutions can only remain so when freedom is founded on
the rule of law; that grievances should be redressed by
constitutional methods; and (perhaps by way of legitimisation)
that other democratic countries have enacted special legislation to
deal with acts of terrorism.
Notwithstanding these lofty ideals, the PTA’s less than admirable

inspiration were apartheid South Africa and Britain’s
counterterrorism legislation of the same name. It Llies in the face
298Weerawansa v. The Attorney General and Others (2000) 1 SLR 387 at

394‐395. In this case the court also held that a suspect arrested under
Section 6 (1) of the PTA is entitled to be informed of the reasons for
arrest, and under Article 13 (2) of the constitution, to be entitled to a
hearing by a competent court regarding the validity of the arrest,
notwithstanding Section 9 (1) of the PTA which provides for detention by
ministerial order.
189
of almost every human rights norm299 pertaining to the liberty of
the person, including most prominently, detention without charge
for extended periods of time at irregular places of detention, the
broad denial of detainees’ rights, admissibility of confessions in
judicial proceedings subject only to the most tenuous of
safeguards,300 the shifting of the evidential burden of proof to the
defendant, and disproportionate penalties.301 The unchecked
detention powers, special trial procedures and absence of
meaningful review in the PTA facilitate arbitrary and capricious
ofLicial conduct, including torture. The PTA also makes serious
incursions into the freedom of expression and the media by
requiring in certain circumstances governmental approval for
printing, publishing and distributing publications and
299 For near universal international condemnation of the PTA, see:

Virginia A. Leary (1981) Ethnic ConZlict and Violence in Sri Lanka,
Report of a Mission to Sri Lanka in July‐August 1981 on behalf of the
International Commission of Jurists: p.75; UN Human Rights Committee
(2003) Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee, UN Doc.
CCPR/CO/79/LKA, 1st December 2003, para.13; Patricia Hyndman (1985)
Sri Lanka: Escalating Violence and Erosions Of Democracy, Interim
Report of the Fact Finding Mission to Sri Lanka, 17th to 22nd February
1985, for LAWASIA Human Rights Standing Committee, 21st March 1985:
LAWASIA Human Rights Bulletin (1985) Vol.3, No.2; International
Commission of Jurists (2008) BrieZing Paper: Sri Lanka’s Emergency
Laws and International Standards, June 2008 (forthcoming
publication); Ganeshalingam, op cit., fn. 303
300See, however, Nagamani Theivendran v. The Attorney General (2002) SCM

16th October 2002
301 See Chapter 4, section 4.3.5, supra

190
newspapers.302 For these reasons, the PTA represents an
aberration of the rule of law upon which the constitutional order
of Sri Lanka is ostensibly based, and has been the gateway to
systematic abuse of human rights, giving rise especially to gross
ethnic discrimination in its implementation. 303 It has also proved
to be patently an entirely unsuccessful law in terms of the
purposes for which it was enacted.304
5.3 Judicial Review of States of Emergency
The Sri Lankan judiciary has traditionally been conservative in

holding the executive to account, especially in respect of the
exercise of powers under emergency law. Several of the pre‐
republican era cases in this regard concerned challenges on the
302Part V (Prohibition of Publications). According to media sources, a

journalist has been charged for the Lirst time under these provisions
when Mr. J.S. Tissainayagam was indicted on or about 18th August 2008 in
the Colombo High Court, on matters directly arising out of the practice of
his profession. See the statement of the Free Media Movement (FMM) and
related reports and links at http://www.freemediasrilanka.org/English/
news.php?id=1050&section=news. In a case that raises a number of
issues in respect of the matters dealt with in this book, Mr. Tissainayagam
was held in detention without charge in the custody of the Police Terrorist
Investigation Department (TID) between 7th March and 20th August 2008,
when he was moved to remand prison.
303For an excellent concise introduction to the provisions of and practice

under the PTA measured against the standards of human rights
protection established by the ICCPR and the jurisprudence of the Human
Rights Committee, see S.V. Ganeshalingam (2002) ‘PTA violates
International Human Rights Standards’, Beyond the Wall, June‐August
2002 issue (Colombo: Home for Human Rights)
304
See N. Manoharan (2006) Counterterrorism Legislation in Sri Lanka:
Center)
191
question whether executive law‐making under Section 5 of the
PSO was an unconstitutional alienation of the legislative power of
Parliament. Based on the doctrine of delegation, however, this
issue was settled that the PSO and regulations made under it were
valid and that there was nothing in the PSO to suggest that
Parliament had abdicated its legislative power. In Weerasinghe v.
Samarasinghe (1966), Sansoni C.J., held that, “One thing is
essential for the validity of a delegation of [Parliament’s] law‐
making power, and that is that it should not abandon its legal
authority to which it has delegated the power. It must not
transform the executive into a parallel legislature and abdicate its
function.” 305 The two republican constitutions have expressly
provided for emergency rule‐making by the executive, and
therefore, the more common question to be determined by the
courts in respect of impugned regulations or executive and
administrative action nowadays is the question of vires. 306
In regard to executive and administrative action under emergency

regulations, it was held in Hirdaramani v. Ratnavale (1971) that if
an order (in this case, a detention order by a Permanent Secretary
made under authority of an emergency regulation) was produced
and was valid on the its face, it was for the petitioner (in this case,
305Weerasinghe v. Samarasinghe (1966) 68 NLR 361 at 363; see also H.M.

Zafrullah (1981) Sri Lanka’s Hybrid Presidential and Parliamentary
System and the Separation of Powers (Malaya UP): pp.59‐61
306Articles 16 (1), 155 (1) and 168 (1) of the 1978 Constitution;
Wickremabandu v. Herath (1990) 2 SLR 348. On the reasoning of the
Supreme Court in Yasapala v. Wickremasinghe (1983) 1 FRD 143, Cooray
has noted that the President’s power of making emergency regulations
under the 1978 constitution is ‘co‐extensive’ with that of Parliament,
except for the limitation as to the period during which emergency
regulations are in force. The ‘limitation’ is that found in Article 155 (3) to
the effect that emergency regulations override law made by Parliament.
Cooray (1995), op cit, p.750, fn.3
192
the detainee) to establish a prima facie case against the good faith
of the Secretary, and that the petitioner must prove the facts
necessary to controvert the matter stated in the order, namely that
the Secretary was of the opinion that it was necessary to make the
detention order for the purpose speciLied in the order itself.307
Hirdaramani v. Ratnavale (1971) and similar cases followed the
(now discredited) reasoning of the majority in Liversidge v.
Anderson (1942)308 where it was held that the court could not
enquire into the grounds for the belief that led to the making of
the order under emergency powers. It was a matter for
administrative discretion, although the court may examine
positive evidence of mala Kide or mistaken identity. As Cooray
observes, the essence of the decision was that, “In regard to a
‘political and non‐triable issue an objective test of reasonableness
could not be applied but only a subjective test.”309 The majority in
Liversidge relied on the dictum of Goddard L.J. in Greene v.
Secretary of State (1942) that, “…where on the return an order or
warrant which is valid on its face is produced, it is for the prisoner
to prove the facts necessary to controvert it.” 310
It is, however, the celebrated dissent of Lord Atkin in Liversidge

that has come to be regarded as the correct view on both the
307Hirdaramani v. Ratnavale (1971) 75 NLR 67. See also Gunasekera v. De

Fonseka (1972) 75 NLR 246.
308 Liversidge v. Anderson (1942) AC 206
309Cooray (1995), op cit., p.575; the counterparts of UK these cases in the

US are the Japanese‐American internment cases during World War II:
Korematsu v. United States (1944) 323 US 214; Hirabayashi v. United States
(1943) 320 US 81. The issues raised by these difLicult cases within the
model of constitutional accommodation of states of emergency was
discussed extensively in Chapter 3, section 3.2.2, supra
310 Greene v. Secretary of State (1942) AC 284

193
merits as well as the statement of English legal principles,311
where he delivered the withering opinion that he viewed “…with
apprehension the attitude of judges, who on a mere question of
construction, when face to face with claims involving the liberty of
the subject, show themselves more executive minded than the
executive.” Lord Atkin disagreed with the majority that the burden
of disproving the good faith of the executive should lie with the
petitioner: “Who could dispute the good faith of the Secretary of
State or disputing it, prove the opposite?” His Lordship also stated,
“In English law every imprisonment is prima facie unlawful and it
is for a person directing imprisonment to justify his act.”312 As
Cooray notes, “Eleven years earlier in a Privy Council decision
(Eshugbayi Eleko v. Government of Nigeria)313 Lord Atkin made a
similar statement: ‘In accordance with British jurisprudence no
member of the Executive can interfere with liberty or property of
a British subject except on the condition that he can support the
legality of his action before a court of justice.’ This statement of
Lord Atkin was cited by Abrahams C.J. in the landmark case of
Bracegirdle.” 314
In keeping with this older tradition of deference (exempliLied in

cases such as Hirdaramani v. Ratnavale (1971)), judicial attitudes
in respect of executive accountability during emergencies, the
311See Cooray (1995), op cit., pp.757‐758; R v. Inland Revenue

Commissioners, ex parte Rossminster Ltd (1980) AC 952 per Lords Diplock
and Scarman; Nakkuda Ali v. Jayaratne (1951) AC 66 (Privy Council),
(1950) 51 NLR 457 (Supreme Court of Ceylon); R v. Home Secretary, ex
parte Khawaja (1984) AC 74
312 Liversidge v. Anderson (1942) AC 206 at 245
313 Eshugbayi Eleko v. Government of Nigeria (1931) AC 662 at 670
314
Cooray (1995), op cit, p.758; In re Bracegirdle (1937) 39 NLR 193 at
212
194
Supreme Court was initially restrained in the engagement of its
fundamental rights jurisdiction under Article 126 of the 1978
Constitution, which contemplated a more robust role for the court
in the enforcement of justiciable positive rights against executive
and administrative action.
Thus for example in Yasapala v. Wickremasinghe (1980), the

Supreme Court held that the President was the sole arbiter of the
circumstances necessitating a Proclamation of emergency and was
not bound to state reasons for that decision. Sharvananda J. held
that, “It is not competent for the Court to examine whether a
Regulation was reasonable in the circumstances or likely to
achieve the object of defusing the emergency. It is not the objective
fact but the subjective opinion of the President that it is necessary
or expedient to pass a regulation that is a condition of the
regulation‐making power.”315 His Lordship relied on a number of
Commonwealth cases, but primarily on the opinion of Lord Greene
M.R. in Carltona Ltd .v. Commissioners of Works (1943) to the effect
that. “All that a Court can do is to see that the power which it is
claimed to exercise is one which falls within the four corners of
the powers given by the legislature and to see that those powers
are exercised in good faith. Apart from that, the Courts have no
power at all to inquire into the reasonableness, the policy, the
sense or any other aspects of the transaction.” 316
However, the Supreme Court soon started developing a more

assertive role. In Edirisuriya v. Navaratnam (1985), the Court
315Yasapala v. Wickremasinghe (1980) 1 FRD 143 at 155‐156, emphasis added;

Janatha Finance and Investments v. Liyanage (1982) 2 FRD 373
316Carltona Ltd .v. Commissioners of Works (1943) 2 All ER 560 at 564; see also
Bhagat Singh v. King Emperor (1931) AIR 111 (PC); H.W.R. Wade & C.F. Forsyth
(1994) Administrative Law (7th Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press): p.442 et seq.
195
struck down a detention order after an investigation into the
circumstances of the impugned detention and in Nanayakkara v.
Perera held that reasons for arrest and detention must be given to
the detenu.
As mentioned before, Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992)

established the test of rational or proximate nexus between the
impugned emergency regulation and the harm or mischief sought
to be averted. Sharvananda C.J. held that, in terms of Article 155
(2) of the constitution, “…the President’s legislative power of
making Emergency Regulations is not unlimited. It is not
competent for the President to restrict via Emergency Regulations,
the exercise and operation of the fundamental rights of the citizen
beyond what is warranted by Articles 15 (1‐8) of the
Constitution…The grounds of restriction speciKied in the limitation
Article 15 are exhaustive and any other restriction is invalid.” 317 The
Chief Justice went on to hold that:
“The regulation owes its validity to the subjective

satisfaction of the President that it is necessary in the
interest of public security and public order. He is the sole
judge of the necessity of such regulation and it is not
competent for this court to inquire into the necessity for
the regulations bona Kide made by him to meet the
challenge of the situation. But under Article 15 (7) of the
Constitution it is not all regulations, which appear to the
President to be necessary or expedient…which can
impose restrictions on the exercise and operation on
fundamental rights. It is only regulations which survive
the test of being in the interests of national security,
317Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992) 1 SLR 199 at 214‐215, emphasis

added
196
public order…[sic] in terms of Article 15 (7). In a contest
regarding the validity of a regulation, the President’s
evaluation of the situation that the regulation appeared to
him to be necessary or expedient is not sufKicient to lend
validity to the regulation.
The regulation to be valid must satisfy the objective test

that it is in fact in the interest of national security, public
order, etc. It is competent to the court to question the
necessity of the Emergency Regulation and whether there is
a proximate or rational nexus between the restriction
imposed on a citizen’s fundamental rights by the
Emergency Regulation and the object sought to be achieved
by the regulation…” 318
Thus in Karunathilaka v. Dissanayake No.1 (1991),319 the Supreme

Court employed the test of rational nexus to hold that a purported
postponement of a Provincial Council election under emergency
regulations (seeking thereby to circumvent the bar on
p o s t p o n e m e n t u n d e r o rd i n a r y l aw ) wa s i nva l i d . I n
Wickramabandu v. Herath 1990),320 the Court held that the
invocation of the grounds of restriction of Article 13 under Article
15 (7) was subject to a judicially determined standard of
reasonableness. This encompasses the test established in Joseph
Perera.
Perhaps one of the most extensive judicial expositions of the

law ,relating to how the restrictions of fundamental rights
318 Ibid, p.216‐217; emphasis added.
319Karunathilaka and Another v. Dayananda Dissanayake, Commissioner of

Elections and Others (No.1) (1999) 1 SLR 157
320 Wickremabandu v. Herath and Others (1990) 2 SLR 348

197
recognised in Article 15 may be validly imposed through
emergency regulations, is to be found in the unanimous judgment
of the Supreme Court delivered by Amerasinghe J. in Sunila
Abeysekera v. Ariya Rubesinghe (2000).321 In this decision,
Amerasinghe J. considerably expanded the test of rational nexus
and the general concept of reasonableness by enunciating a tri‐
partite test of constitutionality for emergency regulations seeking
to restrict fundamental rights. The court explicitly based this test
on that established in the European Convention of Human Rights
which involves an exploration into whether restrictions are
prescribed by law, have a legitimate aim, and are necessary in a
democratic society.322
Thus, in addition to the bare requirement of legality established by

the constitution, it would appear that the courts have now added
public law concepts such as necessity, rationality, reasonableness
and proportionality as procedural and substantive requirements
of justiLication expected of the executive in the exercise of
emergency powers where they restrict or inhibit fundamental
rights.
5.4 General Observations on the Constitutional Framework on

Emergencies
The preceding description of the general constitutional and

statutory framework governing states of emergencies, its judicial
interpretation, as well as the special counterterrorism legislation
321Sunila Abeysekara v. Ariya Rubasinghe, Competent Authority, and Others

(2000) 1 SLR 314
322
See Asanga Welikala (2000) ‘The Censorship Case: An Immanent Critique’,
Moot Point, Vol.4 (Colombo: Centre for Policy Alternatives): p.8
198
in force, gives rise to several issues when viewed against the
conceptual requirements of the models of accommodation and
international standards set out in Part I of this book. The general
observations in this section are grouped under the main elements
of a framework of emergency powers in the discussion in Part I:
(a) the deLinition of emergency; (b) the legal framework for the
declaration, extension and termination of an emergency; (c) the
legal effects of a declaration of emergency; and (d) the framework
of institutional checks and balances. These elements, or
conceptual features, of the model of legal accommodation of
emergencies as we saw, inform both the design of constitutional
frameworks for states of democracy in liberal democracies as well
as the derogation framework under the ICCPR. The following
discussion should thus be treated as an exercise in recapitulative
assessment of the Sri Lankan framework in the light of these
conceptual, comparative, international considerations.
5.4.1 The Debinition of ‘State of Public Emergency’
The Sri Lankan constitution in Chapter XVIII does not provide a

formal deLinition of what conditions precipitate and constitutes a
state of emergency. Instead, the description or deLinition of the
conditions that may give rise to the implementation of emergency
powers are provided in Section 2 (1) of the PSO. The PSO is the
statutory elaboration of the constitutional framework in Chapter
XVIII.
The PSO has an interesting provenance (and history of

amendments), in that it was passed in 1947 as an urgent bill just
prior to independence with minimal legislative debate. The
hurried process has given rise to inevitable political analysis about
199
its underlying policy and motivations.323 However, on the face of
the text, the PSO is a fairly typical piece of legislation of its genre,
which draws on similar, if quondam, British and Commonwealth
legal formulations and structures of the era.
Under Section 2 (1), the President may issue such a proclamation

of a state of emergency where, in view of the existence or
imminence of a state of public emergency, he is of the opinion that
it is expedient to do so, in the interests of public security and the
preservation of public order or for the maintenance of supplies
and services essential to the life of the community. This is
therefore (a) a general description of the conditions that would
give occasion to the President to proclaim and emergency, along
with (b) the aims – national security, public order and
maintenance of essential services – for which such powers are to
be used.
The formulation of Section 2 (1) does not seem to reLlect the

principle of exceptional threat that is a condition precedent to a
valid declaration of a state of emergency. Terms such as ‘in the
interests of public security’, ‘in the opinion of the President’, and
‘expedient’ in the provision enabling the proclamation are at odds
with Article 4 (1) of the ICCPR which deLines the conditions
necessitating a declaration as an emergency threatening the life of
the nation, or Section 37 (1) (a) of the South African constitution
which allows a declaration only when the life of the nation is
threatened by war, invasion, general insurrection, disorder, natural
disaster, or other public emergency. These formulations impose a
323See Coomaraswamy & de los Reyes (2004), op cit, p.274; A.J. Wilson
(1979) Politics of Sri Lanka, 1947 – 1979 (London: Macmillan): p.119;
Robert N. Kearney (1971) Trade Unions and Politics in Ceylon (USA:
California UP): p.138‐140
200
higher threshold of justiLication as to the existence or imminence
of the actual emergency situation than is required by the Sri
Lankan law.
5.4.2 Declaration, Extension and Termination
In the manner judicially interpreted, determining the imminence

or existence of the conditions described in Section 2 (1) is a
subjective matter of sole presidential discretion. However, courts
will review the exercise of powers that become operational
consequent to such a proclamation, in respect of promulgating
emergency regulations and administrative decisions, to determine
whether such regulations and decisions are intra vires, bona Kide,
have a rational nexus with the aims allowed by statute, and are
within with scope of the restrictions of fundamental rights
permitted by Article 15 of the constitution.
The Sri Lankan framework for declaration is thus consistent with

international standards to the extent that it requires a formal
proclamation, and thereby satisLies the principle of proclamation.
The principle of proclamation, by publicising the declaration of a
state of emergency,324 is key to ensuring legality and the rule of
law by promoting access to and foreseeability of the emergency
measures to be taken. It, however, is outdated and inconsistent
with international standards in several respects.
324Section 2 (1) provides that the proclamation of a state of emergency is

to be published in the government Gazette, and Section 2 (7) requires that
notice of the approval of a proclamation by Parliament shall, as soon as
may be convenient, be published in the Gazette. The inaccessibility of the
Gazette to the general public is, of course, another matter.
201
Firstly, the problem of the deLinition of what constitutes a state of
emergency discussed in the previous section, which facilitates
rather than imposes the necessary constraints on the act of
declaration.
Secondly, there is no attempt in the Sri Lankan law to ensure that

the power of declaration is not abused, or availed of too easily. The
principle of exceptional threat in Article 4 (1) of the ICCPR and
Section 37 (1) (b) of the South African constitution require that a
declaration of a state of emergency should be an act of last resort
once the normal measures are exhausted or inadequate, and then
only where it is necessary to restore peace and order. Indeed, in
Sri Lanka the opposite is the case where the exclusive discretion in
respect of proclamation is vested (with judicial approval) in the
President who is entitled to exercise that discretion according to
the dictates of his personal opinion, and without any statutory (or
judicial) circumscription of that broad discretion. The absence of a
constitutional or statutory requirement of necessity results not
only in the too‐frequent use of the power; it also means that there
is no consideration of the proportionality of a declaration to the
threat sought to be averted.
Thirdly, Section 3 of the PSO precludes judicial review of a

proclamation of a state of emergency. While this may have
accorded with notions of the separation of powers in the 1940s, it
has now certainly become an anomalous anachronism. Per contra,
Section 37 (3) (a) of the South African constitution expressly
empowers any competent court to decide on the validity of a
declaration of a state of emergency.
Article 155 (5) of the constitution provides for the extension of a

state of emergency for a period of one month at a time, subject to
approval of Parliament by simple majority. Given that Parliament
202
is the principal oversight mechanism in the emergency
framework, having in addition the power under Section 5 (3) of
the PSO to add, alter or revoke any emergency regulation, it may
be expected that the monthly emergency debate would be an
important one, involving opposition and backbench scrutiny of the
government and rigorous ofLicial justiLication of emergency
measures. In practice, however, this is not the case, due perhaps in
equal measure to legislative apathy and, in the context of
communal alienation and conLlict, the fear of antagonising public
opinion. There is also no report of Parliament exercising the
power to amend or revoke emergency regulations, which is a
testament to both the weakness of Parliament’s committee system
and the quality of parliamentarians.
As noted earlier, before their repeal by the Tenth Amendment to

the Constitution in 1986, the original paragraphs (8) and (9) of
Article 155 provided that where a state of emergency has been in
operation for a period of ninety consecutive days, or ninety days in
aggregate within a period of six months, a resolution passed by a
majority of two‐thirds of members was required for a valid
parliamentary approval of the continuing state of emergency. This
safeguard is no longer available.
The Sri Lankan framework is consistent with international

standards in requiring extensions to be formally made by the
executive, subject to parliamentary approval; and further, in
empowering Parliament to reject any extension and to amend or
revoke emergency regulations. However, the original framework
prior to the Tenth Amendment requiring special majorities and
limitations on the number of extensions within a stipulated period
would have been more consistent international best practice.
Section 37 (2) (b) of the South African reLlects this important
safeguard, whereby any further extension after one initial
203
extension requires a special majority of 60 per cent, following a
public debate in the legislature.
The discretion of the President to revoke a proclamation of

emergency is implicit in both Article 155 of the constitution and
the PSO. SpeciLically, Section 2 (5) provides that upon revocation
of a proclamation within a period of fourteen days of it being
made, any further proclamation made within fourteen days of the
original proclamation shall only come into force upon
parliamentary approval. By providing for termination before
expiry by operation of law, the Sri Lankan law seems to meet
international standards, although an objective legal description of
the conditions that would necessitate a termination
notwithstanding the discretion of the executive would be an
improvement of the framework, by structuring administrative
discretion.
5.4.3 Legal Effects
The main questions in this regard are as follows: which elements

of the normal constitutional order are affected, in whole or in part,
or suspended (if at all) by an emergency declaration? What
constitutionally protected fundamental rights may be limited or
derogated from?325 How does the institutional balance of the
constitutional order change? Do emergency powers permit
constitutional amendments?
The main change in the institutional architecture under a state of

emergency in Sri Lanka is the grant of extensive legislative powers
325 This is dealt with in detail in Chapter 6 and will not be discussed here
204
to the executive.326 These have the effect of overriding the
provisions of ordinary law made by Parliament, but they cannot be
inconsistent with the constitution (except to the extent the
constitution itself permits restrictions to be imposed on
fundamental rights under Article 15). The courts are the
guarantors of ensuring that executive law‐making is kept within
these bounds. Under no circumstances can the constitution be
suspended using emergency powers (or indeed any other means
than the procedure established by the constitution itself), and Sri
Lanka has been fortunate, unlike several regional neighbours, of a
never having experienced a suspension the constitution through
extra‐constitutional means.
More ambiguous, however, has been successive governments’

attitude to legality. This has perhaps not been so much as
intentional illegality as a lack of understanding of constitutional
propriety in the discharge of executive functions. While
illustrations abound, the best recent example of where the
executive’s conception of its emergency and national security
powers that have clearly been in excess of what is contemplated
by the constitution is the eviction by executive order of Tamils of
North‐eastern origin from Colombo in 2007.
Another point of concern is how the assumption of emergency

powers affects the constitutional principle of devolution within
the framework of the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution
(1987). Similar to the overriding effect of emergency regulations
on ordinary law made by Parliament, Article 155 (3A) provides
that they override statutes made by Provincial Councils. Article
154J (1) provides that once a state of emergency has been
declared on the grounds of war, external aggression or armed
326 See Zafrullah (1981), op cit., pp.46‐50, 59‐61, 114‐117

205
rebellion, the President is empowered to give the provincial
Governors directions as to the manner in which the executive
power exercisable by the Governor is to be exercised. Article 154K
provides that where a Governor or any Provincial Council has
failed to comply with any presidential directions, the President is
entitled to hold that a situation has arisen in which the
administration of the Province cannot be carried on in accordance
with the constitution. Article 154L provides that where the
President is satisLied that the administration of a Province cannot
be carried on in accordance with the constitution, he may by
proclamation (a) assume to himself the powers and function
vested in a Provincial Council or Governor and (b) declare that the
powers of the Provincial Council shall be exercisable by
Parliament. Article 154M provides that Parliament may confer the
legislative power of the Provincial Council on the President.
These provisions represent very broad powers for the centre to

intervene in the devolved provincial sphere in a crisis. The
broader debate about devolution is beyond the scope of the
present discussion, but the Thirteenth Amendment framework is
further evidence as to how regional autonomy can be
countervailed when in conLlict with other policy of objectives that
come into play during a crisis. While Sri Lanka is certainly not
unique in this respect,327 the danger of providing such wide
unilateral powers to a single central authority of course is that the
possibility of abuse is never far away.
327 See Chapter 3, section 3.1.3, supra

206
5.4.4 Checks and Balances
The two traditional constitutional devices in this regard are

judicial review and the separation of powers. It has already been
noted how the provision of parliamentary oversight, while
reLlective of compliance with international standards, has in
practice been largely ineffective. While the Sri Lankan framework
is riddled with ouster clauses, we have seen above how the courts
have attempted to narrow down the scope of their preclusion from
reviewing the exercise of emergency powers. The courts’ role in
relation to the enforcement of fundamental rights is discussed
more fully in the following chapter. However, it is submitted that
excluding judicial review of the exercise of emergency powers is
symptomatic of an approach that has now become obsolete, and
that international best practice is reLlected in Section 37 (3) of the
South African constitution, which allows judicial review of all
aspects of an emergency including declaration, extension, and
legislation. Moreover, introducing comprehensive judicial review
must be accompanied by the reform of the substantive legal
framework relating to fundamental rights by the inclusion of
features such as the enumeration of non‐derogable rights and
concepts of accountability such as necessity, proportionality, and
consistency with international obligations; only then could the
potential of judicial review be fully realised.
207
CHAPTER VI
FUNDAMENTAL RIGHTS
6. Fundamental Rights
6.1. Chapter III: Sri Lanka’s Constitutional Bill of Rights
6.2. General Observations on Fundamental Rights

Framework
6.2.1. Structure and Content
6.2.2. Judicial Protection of Fundamental Rights
6.2.3. Restrictions on Fundamental Rights:

Limitations and Derogations
6.3. Restrictions on Fundamental Rights: International

Standards
6.4. Sri Lanka’s International Obligations: ICCPR
6.4.1. The Singarasa Case (2006) and Sri Lanka’s

International Obligations
6.4.2. The Supreme Court Advisory Opinion on the

ICCPR (2008)
208
Certain civil and political rights, as are guaranteed by the Sri
Lankan constitution are set out in Chapter III. Sri Lanka’s Lirst
post‐independence constitution did not contain a bill of rights,
apart from a general anti‐discrimination clause in Section 29.
While the First Republican Constitution of 1972 did indeed
contain a bill of fundamental rights, it has generally been accepted
that it was a much weaker framework than that envisaged by the
1978 Constitution. Certain socio‐economic principles are
enunciated in Chapter IV as ‘directive principles of State policy’,
which neither create rights nor are justiciable. Sri Lanka acceded
to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights in 1980
(including the Inter‐State Complaints Procedure), and its First
Optional Protocol (Individual Complaints Procedure) in 1997. In
November 2007, Parliament enacted the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) Act No.56 of 2007. Despite its
title, however, this law is not aimed at the domestic recognition of
the ICCPR as a whole.
6.1 Chapter III: Sri Lanka’s Constitutional Bill of Rights
Basic democratic rights declared and recognised by Chapter III of

the constitution include the right of freedom from torture or cruel,
inhuman or degrading punishment (Article 11); freedom of
thought, conscience and religion (Articles 10 and 14 (1) (e));
rights relating to the security and liberty of the person including
freedom from arbitrary arrest, detention and punishment (Article
13); freedom of speech and expression including publication
(Article 14 (1) (a)); freedom of peaceful assembly and association
(Articles 14 (1) (b), (c) and (d)); freedom to enjoy and promote
culture and language (Article 14 (1) (f)); freedom of movement
and right of return (Article 14 (1) (h)); and freedom of lawful
occupation (Article 14 (1) (g)).
209
Permissible restrictions on these rights are set out in Article 15 for
various purposes including national security, public order,
protection of public health and morality, the protection of the
rights and freedoms of others, the interests of racial and religious
harmony or the national economy, or of meeting the just
requirements of the general welfare of a democratic society. Not
all rights are subject to the same restrictions and Article 15
enumerates the restrictions as may be imposed on discrete rights.
All restrictions must be prescribed by law, and in respect of
restrictions made in the interests of national security and public
order, ‘law’ includes emergency regulations.
Article 10 (freedom of thought and conscience), Article 11

(prohibition of torture), Article 13 (3) (right to be heard at a fair
trial by a competent court, with or without legal representation)
and Article 13 (4) (right to due process and fair trial prior to
imposition of punishment, but excluding pre‐trial detention) are
not subject to any restriction by Article 15, and are thereby to be
considered absolute and non‐derogable rights.
The rights that may be restricted by law in terms of Articles 15 (1)

and (7) in the interests of national security and public order are as
follows: presumption of innocence, criminal burden of proof and
retroactive penal sanctions (Articles 13 (5) and (6)); equality
before the law and non‐discrimination (Article 12); ordinary
procedure for arrests and judicial sanction for detention (Articles
13 (1) and (2)); rights to freedom of expression, assembly,
association, movement, occupation, religion, culture and language
(Article 14).
The justiciability of the fundamental rights set out in Chapter III is

limited to their infringement or imminent infringement by
executive and administrative action (Article 17). The remedy for
210
violations is provided for by way of petition to the Supreme Court
in the exercise of its jurisdiction under Article 126. This is an
exclusive jurisdiction of the Supreme Court and is in the nature of
a discretionary public law remedy.
6.2 General Observations on the Fundamental Rights

Framework
The Constitution of 1978 introduced the concept of justiciability

to constitutionally declared fundamental rights for the Lirst time in
Sri Lanka’s constitutional evolution. While therefore in principle a
positive development, the full realisation of even the limited set of
civil and political rights included in Chapter III were, and
continued to be hampered by several factors. These include
structural considerations of Chapter II such as the range, scope
and content of the rights so recognised, the constitutional
regulation of limitations and derogations, and the mechanisms of
justiciability.
Consistency with international standards is also a concern, and in

this regard, it must be mentioned that although the constitution
contemplates socio‐economic and cultural entitlements, these are
expressed as aspirational goals rather than justiciable rights, and
are accordingly expressed as part of directive principles of State
policy (Chapter VI). The justiciability mechanism in Article 126 as
well as the evolution of judicial attitudes to fundamental rights
protection has also been a mixed experience.
211
6.2.1 Structure and Content
Viewed against international best practice in the design and

structure of constitutional bills of rights aimed at guaranteeing,
protecting and promoting human rights, the Sri Lankan bill of
rights is incomplete and structurally incoherent. The lack of a
coherently conceptualised theory underpinning the Constitution
that seeks to maximise the enjoyment of human rights by Sri
Lankans makes hermeneutical interpretation of the bill of rights
as a whole difLicult. This is reLlected in the fundamental rights
jurisprudence of the Supreme Court over the last three decades.
This lack of theoretical coherence in the Supreme Court’s
fundamental rights case law is also partly due to its role as a court
of Lirst instance in respect of fundamental rights, rather than as a
constitutional court that enunciates general principles in the
interpretation of the bill of rights. This aspect will be discussed
further below.
It is not clear from the text the basis on which the rights selected
for inclusion were chosen, the order in which they appear was
determined, or why certain textual formulations were adopted
when more liberal options were available. The three instruments
of the International Bill of Rights, viz., the Universal Declaration of
Human Rights (1948), the International Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights (1966) and the International Covenant on
Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (1966) had been well‐
established in international law by the time the constitution was
drafted in 1977 – 78, as had other regional instruments such the
European Convention on the Protection of Human Rights and
Fundamental Freedoms (1950). These could have provided useful
guidance in designing the bill of rights, but apart from some
textual evidence that the drafters drew from the UDHR and ICCPR,
it seems as if the design and drafting was informed by political
212
considerations other than a principled pursuit of human rights
protection and promotion. The result is that the bill of rights
resembles a randomly cherry‐picked cluster of inchoate rights that
cannot at the conceptual level amount to a proper bill of rights
compatible with modern expectations. 328
Thus, for example, temporary policy considerations that were

relevant at the time of drafting Lind incongruous expression in the
fundamental rights chapter such as where Articles 13 (7) and 14
(2) deal with citizenship policy concerning the categories of
persons falling under the Indo‐Ceylon Agreement
(Implementation) Act No. 14 of 1967.
The absence of a proper rationalisation of constitutional values is

evident elsewhere in the fundamental rights chapter as well.
Article 16 is wholly inconsistent with constitutionalism and the
central object of a constitutional bill of rights when it validates all
existing law, notwithstanding inconsistency with fundamental
rights. This negates the purpose of a constitutional bill of rights as
the principal instrument of citizens’ human rights protection,
which sets out human rights standards binding all executive action
and legislation, and which can be only restricted to the extent and
manner set out in the constitution.
6.2.2 Judicial Protection of Fundamental Rights
The jurisdiction vested in the Supreme Court under Article 126 in

the enforcement of fundamental rights was advanced as a
328See for a discussion of the South African Bill of Rights, Halton Cheadle
& Dennis Davis, ‘Structure of the Bill of Rights’ in Halton Cheadle, Dennis
Bill of Rights (Durban: Butterworths): Ch.31
213
reLlection of the high importance accorded to fundamental rights
by the constitutional order introduced in 1978.329 However, case
law from the early years of the constitution evinces a general
attitude of difLidence in developing its fundamental rights
jurisdiction, and showed extreme deference to the executive in
circumstances of public emergency. This changed later when the
Supreme Court demonstrated a more aggressive approach to
holding the executive to account and in developing its
fundamental rights jurisprudence.
Thus, the rendering of the Supreme Court as a court of Lirst

instance has resulted in a mixed experience. On the one hand, the
Supreme Court has been able to assert itself against the executive
in states of emergency in a way a lower court would have found
difLicult. This was especially true during the late 1980s and 1990s
when the Supreme Court was at its apogee as the guardian of
fundamental rights against a rampant executive in a particularly
challenging security context. On the other hand, the theoretical
clarity and the development of general principles with regard to
the judicial interpretation of the bill of rights have suffered as a
result of case law dominated by questions of fact.
The judicial response to review of procedural and substantive

executive action in states of emergency will be discussed further
below. Given, however, that during the thirty years of existence of
the present constitution, the state of emergency has been the
norm rather than the exception, the vast majority of fundamental
329See Parliamentary Series No.14 of the Second National State Assembly

(1978) Report of the Select Committee of the National State Assembly
appointed to consider the revision of the Constitution, 22nd June 1978: p.
141; Draft Chapter III: p.526; See also A.J. Wilson (1980) The Gaullist
System in Asia: The Constitution of Sri Lanka (1978) (London:
Macmillan): Ch.6
214
rights petitions have concerned violations arising from excesses of
emergency powers, and powers exercised under the PTA.
In Visuvalingam v. Liyanage (1984),330 an early example of judicial

deference, the majority upheld the sealing of a newspaper through
emergency powers on the basis that during a state of emergency
the State’s prerogative in respect of national security and public
order could prohibit freedom of expression (Article 14 (1) (a)),
and further that such exercise of prerogative could not attract
judicial review.331 It is interesting that in the more rights‐
conscious dissenting opinions of Wanasudera and Soza J.J., the
judges made reference to Sri Lanka’s international obligations
under the ICCPR. Similarly, the court upheld a wide discretion for
the State in respect of arrest and detention during emergencies on
the basis of Article 15 (1) and (7) restrictions on rights protected
by Article 13, in early cases such as Yasapala v. Wickremasinghe
(1980),332 Kumaratunga v. Samarasinghe (1986)333 and Edirisuriya
v. Navaratnam and Others (1985).334 Even in cases concerning
allegations of egregious abuses such as torture (Article 11 and
which is an absolute right), the court can be found applying
330Visuvalingam and Others v. Liyanage and Others (1983) 2 SLR 311;

(1984) 1 SLR 305; (1984) 2 SLR 123
331 Siriwardene and Others v. Liyanage and Others (1983)2 SLR 164
332 Yasapala v. Wickramasinghe (1980) 1 FRD 143;
333Kumaranatunge v. Samarasinghe, Additional Secretary, Ministry of

Defence and Others (1983) 2 SLR 63
334 Edirisuriya v. Navaratnam and Others (1985) 1 SLR 100

215
unduly conservative and restrictive tests for excluding its review
over the executive.335
Even though there is some previous case law,336 perhaps the

watershed in the Supreme Court’s attitude towards a more robust
role in the protection of fundamental rights is marked by the case
of Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1987), reported in 1992.337
The case primarily concerned freedom of expression and its
permissible restriction under emergency regulations. Speaking for
the majority, Sharvananda C.J., held the purported exercise of
emergency powers (including the restriction of fundamental
rights) was not unbounded in law. The Court interpreted the
ouster clause in the PSO narrowly and asserted its competence to
review the validity of emergency regulations against an objective
test of necessity based on the proximity or rationality of the
restrictive measure and the aim sought to be secured. What came
to be known as the ‘rational nexus test’ (essentially a general
requirement of reasonableness) in Joseph Perera has been later
developed by the Supreme Court into an even more sophisticated
test in respect of determining the procedural and substantive
validity of emergency powers.338
Joseph Perera also signalled a wider space for a conception of

freedom of expression based on the UDHR, establishing that
335See for e.g., the dicta of Wanasundera J. in Thadchanamoorthy v.

Attorney General and Others (1978‐79‐80) 1 SLR 154; and Velmurugu v.
Attorney General and Another (1981) 1 SLR 406
336 See for e.g., Vivienne Gunawardene v. Perera (1983) 1 SLR 305; Sudath
Silva v. Kodituwakku (1987) 2 SLR 119; Edirisuriya v. Navaratnam (1985)
1 SLR 100; Nanayakkara v. Perera (1985) 2 SLR 375
337 Joseph Perera v. Attorney General (1992) 1 SLR 19
338 See Sunila Abeysekera v. Ariya Rubesinghe (2000) 1 SLR 314

216
restrictions based on public order or national security must
demonstrate that the impugned speech would undermine the
public order or was an incitement to the commission of an offence.
The case established the precedent for a series of later cases in
respect of freedom of expression where the Supreme Court
adopted more stringent standards of scrutiny for purported
restrictions.339
The establishment of a more robust standard of accountability in

Joseph Perera has also inLluenced the Supreme Court’s case law in
respect of arrest and detention and the right of personal liberty
and security set out in Article 13. The court has developed a body
of rules in this respect that Lill the considerable gaps in the
constitutional and statutory texts in favour of fundamental rights.
While the argument must surely not be overstated, this has
contributed to establishing at least some basic standards of the
rule of law, fundamental rights and reasonableness of executive
and administrative action during states of emergency.340
Despite these developments, it was observed earlier that the

vesting of original jurisdiction in the Supreme Court in respect of
fundamental rights has inhibited the coherence of the
constitutional jurisprudence on the bill of rights. For example, in
339See for e.g., Amaratunga v. Sirimal and Others (1993) 1 SLR 264;
Shantha Wijeratne v. Vijitha Perera (2002) 3 SLR 319; Karunatilleke v.
Dissanayake No.1 (1999) 1 SLR 157
340See Wickramabandu v. Herath (1990) 2 SLR 348; Seetha Weerakoon v.

Mahendra (1991) 2 SLR 172; Gamini Perera v. Rajaguru (1997) 3 SLR 141;
Sunil Rodrigo v. Chandrananda de Silva (1997) 3 SLR 265;
Vinayagamoorthy v. The Army Commander and Others (1997) 1 SLR 113;
Jayaratne and Others v. Chandrananda de Silva (1992) 2 SLR 129;
Abeyratne Banda v. Gajanayake (2002) 1 SLR 365; and under the PTA,
Weerawansa v. The Attorney General and Others (2000) 1 SLR 387
217
Lilanthi de Silva v. The Attorney General and Others,341 the only
decision so far to have struck down an emergency regulation
impugned solely on the right to equality, the decision in favour of
the petitioner was facilitated by an implausibly weak argument on
behalf of the State. In these circumstances, the value of the court’s
p r o n o u n c e m e n t o n s u c h a n i m p o r t a n t ly n c h p i n o f
constitutionalism and the rule of law as the equality clause is
diminished. Similarly, in Sunila Abeysekera v. Ariya Rubesinghe
(2000), the impugned emergency measures concerning military
censorship were upheld on the facts, even though the opinion
Amerasinghe J. contains an entirely progressive construction of
the law.
6.2.3 Restrictions on Fundamental Rights: Limitations and

Derogations
Perhaps the most serious structural weakness of the bill of rights

is in relation to the way it deals with restrictions, especially in
states of emergency when fundamental rights are most vulnerable
and therefore require strong constitutional protection and
regulation of governmental action.
Article 15 is the provision on permissible restrictions, which is not

only an example of the incoherence of the Chapter of which it is a
part, but from the perspective of human rights protection, it is also
the weakest provision in the Chapter. An elementary safeguard in
human rights instruments is the distinction made between
‘limitations’ and ‘derogations.’ This is in recognition of the fact that
some human rights may legitimately be limited in their enjoyment
341 Lilanthi de Silva v. The Attorney General and Others (2000) 3 SLR 155
218
and exercise, and that in exceptional circumstances, such as states
of emergency, some rights may be require to be temporarily
suspended. From the recognition of these necessities and the
consequent distinction between limitations and derogations Llow
a set of detailed rules that govern the substantive and procedural
dimensions of limitations and derogations, including the
constitutional enumeration of absolutely non‐derogable rights.
Moreover, the development of international best practice in

respect of limitations shows that the preference now is to
entrench a single limitation clause in the bill of rights which sets
out the general principles to be used in determining the scope of
permissible limitations themselves. In other words, the concern is
to ‘limit the limitations’ so as to protect the essence of a right from
being extinguished in the name of permitted restrictions. An
instructive example of the latter approach is Section 36 of the
South African Constitution.342
Similar to the ICCPR, however, the Sri Lankan bill of rights adopts
the older approach which involves attaching restrictions based on
different justiLications to speciLic rights. Article 15 employs the
term ‘restrictions’ and in its enumeration of permissible
restrictions encompasses both limitations (e.g. for the protection
of the rights of others) and derogations (i.e., restrictions based on
national security). However, the Sri Lankan bill of rights does not
follow the ICCPR in expressly setting out a list of non‐derogable
rights. These are identiLied by implication as described above.
It is to be further noted, that the rights which are not susceptible

to restriction under the constitution are not as extensive as those
342See also Halton Cheadle, ‘Limitation of Rights’ in Cheadle, Davis &

Haysom (2002), op cit., Ch.30; ECHR Article 18; ACHR Articles 27, 29 and
30
219
provided for by the ICCPR Article 4 (2), and more signiLicantly, are
also inconsistent with ICCPR standards in terms of the content of
protection. For example, whereas Article 4 (2) recognises the
Article 15 prohibition of retroactive criminal liability as a non‐
derogable right under the ICCPR, Article 15 (1) of the constitution
permits restrictions on the apposite prohibition in Article 13 in
the interests of national security.
The only procedural safeguard provided by Article 15 for the

imposition of restrictions on fundamental rights, is that they are
required to be prescribed by law, which, however, includes
executive‐made emergency regulations having an overriding effect
over ordinary legislation. As we have seen, even in older
instruments such as the ICCPR, restrictions have to meet
requirements other than prescription by law and include higher
thresholds of substantive justiLication, such as necessity in a
democratic society. While reference is made in Article 15 (7) to
‘the just requirements of the general welfare of a democratic
society’, this is set out as a separate ground of restriction rather
than as an inherent justiLicatory requirement of restrictions that
are aimed at securing national security.
6.3 Restrictions on Fundamental Rights: International

Standards
The Siracusa Principles on Limitations and Derogations, based on

the ICCPR, are generally considered as representative of United
Nations and international best practice in this area (although the
Constitution of South Africa advances these basic standards into a
much more robust regime in many respects).
220
The Siracusa Principles set out general interpretative guidelines
on limitation clauses. These include requirements such as that the
scope of a limitation cannot be so wide as to jeopardise the
essence of the right itself and all limitation clauses are to be
interpreted strictly and in favour of the rights at issue (Principles
2 and 3); that every limitation is subject to legal challenge and
remedy against abusive application (Principle 8); that whenever a
limitation is required as ‘necessary,’ the limitation must be (a)
based on one of the grounds justifying the limitations recognised
by the rights conferring instrument itself, (b) responds to a
pressing public or social need, (c) pursues a legitimate aim, and
(d) is proportionate to that aim. Any assessment as to necessity is
to be made on objective considerations (Principle 10); and that in
applying limitations, a State is bound to use no more restrictive
means than are required for the achievement of the purpose of the
limitation, and the burden of justifying limitations lie with the
State (Principles 11 and 12).
The Siracusa Principles also set out interpretative principles in

respect of speciLic concepts relating to limitations, two of which,
‘prescribed by law’ and ‘national security’ are relevant to this
discussion. Principles 15, 16, 17 and 18 require that restrictions
prescribed by law must be made by clear and accessible law of
general application consistent with ICCPR standards, that these
cannot be arbitrary or unreasonable, and that adequate remedies
must be provided. Principle 31 states that national security cannot
be used as a pretext for imposing vague or arbitrary limitations
and may only be invoked when there exists adequate safeguards
and effective remedies against abuse. Principle 32 is a salutary
standard: “The systematic violation of human rights undermines
true national security and may jeopardise international peace and
security. A State responsible for such violation shall not invoke
national security as a justiLication for measures aimed at
221
suppressing opposition aimed at such violation or at perpetuating
repressive practices against its population.”
The stipulations of the Siracusa Principles and other sources of

international standards regarding states of emergency and human
rights protection will be discussed further below.
6.4 Sri Lanka’s International Obligations: ICCPR
Sri Lanka acceded to the ICCPR on 11th June 1980 (entry into force
11th September 1980). At the time of accession, it made a
declaration recognising the competence of the treaty body, the
Human Rights Committee, under Article 41 (i.e., the Inter‐State
Complaints Procedure). Sri Lanka made a second declaration and
acceded to the First Optional Protocol (i.e., the Individual
Complaints Procedure) recognising the competence of the
Committee to entertain complaints by individuals subject to its
jurisdiction on 3rd October 1997 (entry into force 3rd January
1998). No other reservations or objections have been entered by
Sri Lanka. The ICCPR is thus part of the international obligations
of Sri Lanka, while controversy prevails as to where it stands in
respect of the First Optional Protocol following the judgment of
the Supreme Court in the case of Singarasa v. Attorney General
(2006).343
In addition to the substantive rights contained in Part III of the

ICCPR, States Parties are bound by the overarching provisions of
the Convention, of which Part II is of signiLicance for this
discussion. Article 2, which has been described as a fundamental
343Singarasa v. Attorney General (2006) S.C. Spl(LA) No. 182/99; decided

on 15th September 2006
222
cornerstone of the Convention, sets out States’ undertakings to
respect, protect and promote the rights established by the
Convention. Article 3 prohibits gender discrimination and Article
4 establishes the rules of derogation and the list of non‐derogable
rights.
Article 2 establishes a tripartite set of responsibilities in States in

respect of its treaty obligations under the ICCPR. Firstly, the State
undertakes the ‘negative’ obligation to respect human rights; that
is, to refrain from actions and omissions that contravene rights.
Secondly, the State must protect human rights, and involves
executive, legislative and judicial action to actively protect the
right of persons within its jurisdiction. Thirdly, the State is obliged
as a ‘positive’ duty to take measures to ensure the promotion,
enjoyment and fulLilment of human rights, including the creation
of an atmosphere conducive to this.
Article 4 (1) sets out the objective conditions that must be met,
where in exceptional circumstances a State may derogate from its
obligations under the Covenant. There must be a public
emergency, ofLicially proclaimed, that threatens the life of the
nation. Derogations must only be pursued to the extent strictly
required by the exigencies of the situation, must not be
inconsistent with the State’s other obligations under international
law and cannot undertake prohibited forms of discrimination.
Article 4 (2) lists the non‐derogable rights. Article 4 (3)
establishes the signiLicant obligation, that where a State avails
itself of the right of derogation, it must through the UN Secretary
General inform other States Parties to the Covenant, of the treaty
provisions from which it has derogated and the reasons by which
it was actuated. A similar communication must be made at the
termination of the period of derogation. It will be seen below that
the emergency regulations currently in force (as well as the PTA)
223
considerably diverge from, and in some cases vitiate, the rights
and standards of restrictions established by the ICCPR. Despite
this, however, Sri Lanka has made no communication of
derogation as required by the procedure set out in Article 4 (3).
This is a prima facie violation of a treaty obligation aimed at
international monitoring of human rights within States, and
thereby diminishes an important device of human rights
protection in Sri Lanka.
Finally, attention needs to be drawn to the unique nature of the

international legal obligations undertaken by State ratifying the
ICCPR. Once States have acceded to the Covenant, they have no
right of unilateral withdrawal and would continue to be bound by
the treaty despite contrary intention, unless all other States
Parties agreed to such withdrawal. In Fact Sheet No. 15, the OfLice
of the High Commissioner for Human Rights provides the
following explanation: “Unlike many treaties, the concluding
provisions of the Covenant do not provide for denunciation of the
treaty allowing a State party to withdraw from the treaty regime.
In these circumstances, the [Human Rights] Committee has taken
the view that in the light of the particular character of human
rights treaties such as the Covenant, which extend basic rights and
freedoms to persons within a State party’s jurisdiction, these
rights and freedoms may not be withdrawn once conLirmed.
Accordingly, once a State has ratiLied the Covenant, it is not
permitted to withdraw from its obligations by denouncing the
treaty.”
224
1.4.1 The Singarasa Case and Sri Lanka’s International
Obligations
The case of Singarasa v. Attorney General (2006) concerned an

application for revision and / or review of an earlier decision of
the Supreme Court upholding the conviction of the petitioner on
charges under emergency regulations and the PTA. The
application was made on the basis of the views of the Human
Rights Committee in respect of Communication 1033 of 2000 that
had been made by the petitioner, availing himself of the right of
individual communication provided by the First Optional Protocol
to the ICCPR.
In the course of the judgment, Silva C.J., speaking for the court,
went on to make some remarkable pronouncements that are of
major signiLicance not only for human rights protection in Sri
Lanka, but which also throws into question the fulLilment of
fundamental international obligations by the Sri Lankan State.
The reasoning of the court is perplexing when assessed against

widespread contemporary thinking regarding the judicial role in
the protection of human rights, and appears to depart from
modern developments in international human rights and
comparative public law in several respects. Moreover, the court
adopts an attitude to the interpretation of sovereignty as laid
down in the constitution that can reasonably be described as
outmoded, and is inconsistent with the State’s undertaking of
international obligations under the ICCPR and the First Optional
Protocol. In view of the relatively uncomplicated, although limited,
reception of international human rights norms evidenced in the
fundamental rights jurisprudence of the Supreme Court in the
past, the Singarasa judgment represents a strident departure from
previous judicial attitudes.
225
The court’s reasoning with regard to the constitutionality of, and
rights available under the ICCPR and the First Optional Protocol
rest on two principal arguments, which are both founded on the
court’s interpretation of sovereignty and the separation of powers
as laid down in Articles 3 and 4 of the constitution. These require
separate analysis.
First, with regard to the ICCPR itself, the Court found that the
executive power of the people as exercised by the President under
Article 33 (f) read with Articles 3 and 4 (b) of the Constitution
empowered the President to represent Sri Lanka abroad and
under customary international law to enter into treaties, the
contents of which must be consistent with the Constitution and
the laws of Sri Lanka. The court found that the accession to the
ICCPR was a valid exercise of executive power and found its
contents consistent with the Constitution of Sri Lanka. Citing the
dualist tradition of Sri Lanka with regard to international law,
however, the court took the position that no enforceable rights as
a matter of domestic law could automatically Llow from the
accession in the absence of enabling legislation enacted by
Parliament to give effect to the ICCPR. The court deemed it
presumable that speciLic legislation to give effect to the ICCPR in
domestic law was not enacted because the government considered
the fundamental rights declared and recognised in the
Constitution as adequate fulLilment of Sri Lanka’s treaty
obligations.
Secondly, with regard to the declaration made by the President in

1997 acceding to the First Optional Protocol, the court found that
this was unconstitutional for two reasons. Firstly, the declaration
amounted to the conferment of public law rights on individuals
because it recognised that rights under the Covenant were directly
available to persons within the jurisdiction of Sri Lanka, and
226
further, conferred a right on individuals to address
communications to the Human Rights Committee alleging
violation of Covenant rights. In the view of the court, this was a
purported legislative act by the President in excess of powers,
because the creation of rights could only be done through
legislation passed by Parliament. Under Article 76 read with
Articles 3 and 4 (b) of the Constitution, Parliament cannot alienate
its legislative power, except to make provision for the President to
promulgate emergency regulations. Secondly, the court was of the
view that the declaration of accession to the First Optional
Protocol recognising the competence of the Human Rights
Committee to receive and consider communications from
individuals was a conferment a judicial power (and therefore
unconstitutional alienation of sovereignty) on the Human Rights
Committee, in contravention of Article 3 read Articles 4 (c) and
105 (1) of the Constitution.
The court also offered its own interpretation of Article 2 of the

ICCPR, stressing the right of a State Party to give effect to the
rights of the Covenant through law or other measures according to
its own constitutional processes. In this way, the court adopted the
traditional approach to State sovereignty vis‐à‐vis the province of
international law and Lirmly subordinated the ICCPR to State
jurisdiction, asserting the right of States to determine the extent
and manner in which ICCPR rights were exercisable by individuals.
In doing so, the court’s reasoning is conspicuously at odds with
the prevailing doctrine of international human rights that accords,
as a general proposition, primacy to human rights in relation to
State sovereignty. To the extent that this judgment is one of major
constitutional signiLicance, it is clear that the conservative and
unimaginative constitutional doctrine of the Supreme Court is one
based on State sovereignty and command theory positivism,
rather than on rights‐based constitutionalism. The refusal to
227
embrace judicial activism, in not only the enforcement and
protection, but also the active promotion of international human
rights norms capable of bringing the Constitution into modernity
through adjudication and interpretation is unfortunate. This puts
the Supreme Court of Sri Lanka at variance with the progressive
traditions of judicial behaviour that increasingly characterise
superior courts elsewhere in the world, including in Asia and
Africa. More to the point, the Singarasa judgment is directly at
odds with the Human Rights Committee’s views as the
authoritative interpreter of the meaning of the ICCPR.
It is beyond the scope of this discussion to critically analyse the

reasoning of the Supreme Court in detail, apart from making the
following observations that show the incongruence of the
judgment with international developments.
The authoritative interpretation of Article 2 of the ICCPR and the

nature of the general legal obligations imposed by States Parties to
the Covenant is to be found in Human Rights Committee’s General
Comment 31. Paragraph 4 states:
“The obligations of the Covenant in general and Article 2 in

particular are binding on every State Party as a whole. All
branches of government (executive, legislative and
judicial), and other public or governmental authorities, at
whatever level – national, regional or local – are in a
position to engage the responsibility of the State Party. The
executive branch that usually represents the State Party
internationally, including before the Committee, may not
point to the fact that an action incompatible with the
provisions of the Covenant was carried out by another
branch of government as a means of seeking to relieve the
State Party from responsibility for the action and
228
consequent incompatibility. This understanding Llows
directly from the principle contained in Article 27 of the
Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, according to
which a State Party ‘may not invoke the provisions of its
internal law as justiLication for its failure to perform a
treaty.’ Although Article 2, paragraph 2, allows States
Parties to give effect to Covenant rights in accordance with
domestic constitutional processes, the same principle
operates so as to prevent States parties from invoking
provisions of the constitutional law or other aspects of
domestic law to justify a failure to perform or give effect to
obligations under the treaty.”
There can be no clearer statement as to the applicable

international law that demonstrates that the Supreme Court’s
reasoning is inconsistent with Sri Lanka’s treaty obligations.
Thus while in States belonging to the dualist tradition domestic

enactment of the Convention is desirable (for e.g. in the way the
Torture Convention has been incorporated), there is nothing to
preclude the Supreme Court from incorporating rights and human
rights norms established in the ICCPR by way of constitutional
interpretation. It is clear from General Comment No. 31 that the
judicial branch of the State is expected to play a major role in the
promotion and protection of Covenant rights, and even take the
lead in ensuring compliance of the Covenant on the part of the
executive and legislative branches. The Supreme Court’s attitude
in Singarasa is rendered all the more incomprehensible because
there is precedent for this in its own case law.344
344For e.g., Karunathilake v. Dissanayake No. 2 per Fernando J: ICCPR;

Velmurugu per Wanasundera J: ICCPR, Joseph Perera per Sharvanada C:J
UDHR, Sunila Abeysekera per Amerasinghe J: ECHR
229
With regard to the Linding of unconstitutionality of the accession
to the First Optional Protocol, it will be recalled that the Supreme
Court’s reasoning rests on two bases, namely, the purported
lawmaking by the executive without lawful authority, and the
argument that the recognition of the Human Rights Committee’s
represents an unconstitutional alienation of judicial power.
It is evident from General Comment No. 31 that technical

arguments focussing on strict vires are inappropriate and even
counterproductive when the effect of the purported exercise of
power is to secure a signiLicant body of internationally recognised
human rights in the domestic realm through the provision of an
effective enforcement mechanism (i.e. the Individual Complaints
Procedure). In any event, the Court’s objection on the ground of
lack of jurisdiction could have easily been cured through the
enactment of necessary legislation, had the Supreme Court
allowed the space for such remedial action to be taken.
The argument to the effect that the recognition of the Committee’s

competence is an alienation of judicial power in violation of
sovereignty is totally inconsistent with the established
international consensus regarding the nature of the treaty body’s
role and competence under the Covenant. That the Committee
does not exercise powers of a judicial or even quasi‐judicial nature
is self‐evident from the treaty provisions, and Linds consensus in
the view of the Committee itself as well as universal academic
opinion.345 It is astonishing that the Deputy Solicitor General
should have advanced this argument and even more so that the
Court should accept it. If the Committee is not a judicial body, then
there cannot be an alienation of sovereign Sri Lankan judicial
345
Javaid Rehman (2003) International Human Rights Law: A Practical
Approach (London: Longman): Ch.4
230
power to it, whether constitutionally or otherwise, and the
foundation of the Court’s argument in this respect collapses.
Finally, there remains the question as to what impact the

Singarasa judgment has on the executive with regard to the treaty
obligations. The government is bound by the Supreme Court’s
pronunciation, the unequivocal and sweeping nature of which
would require a constitutional amendment to entrenched
provisions of the Constitution. This would require a majority of
two‐thirds in Parliament and the approval of the people at a
referendum. If the government agrees with the Supreme Court, or
is for other reasons disinclined to address the legal defects of the
accession to the Protocol, then international law requires it to
withdraw from it. Article 12 of the First Optional Protocol
provides that any State Party may denounce the Protocol by
written notiLication addressed to the UN Secretary General. Since
judgment was delivered in Singarasa in September, there is no
ofLicial information in the public domain that indicates the
government’s intention either way on this matter, although there
have been press reports of negotiations between the Attorney
General’s Department and the OfLice of the High Commissioner for
Human Rights and/or the Human Rights Committee with a view to
Linding an appropriate settlement to the issue. In this situation,
the State of Sri Lanka remains in legal limbo and the ultimate
losers are the ordinary citizens of Sri Lanka.
In its concluding remarks, the Supreme Court alluded to the

response of the government of Sri Lanka to the Committee’s views
in Singarasa’s Communication to the effect that the remedy
recommended by the Committee was unavailable in Sri Lankan
law. The court was of the opinion that this did not reLlect well on
the Republic of Sri Lanka. It is extremely ironic, therefore, that it
seems not to have occurred to the Supreme Court as to how its
231
own judgment in Singarasa reLlects on the commitment of the Sri
Lankan State to human rights and its obligations at international
law in respect of a multilateral treaty, that is a foundation stone of
the international legal system today.
6.4.2 The Supreme Court Advisory Opinion on the ICCPR
In March 2008, the President submitted a reference under Article

129 (1) of the constitution to obtain the opinion of the Supreme
Court on two questions of law:
1. Whether the legislative provisions cited in the reference

that have been taken to give statutory recognition to civil
and political rights in the International Covenant on Civil
and Political Rights (ICCPR) of the United Nations adhere
to the general premise of the Covenant and whether
individuals within the territory of Sri Lanka would derive
the beneLit and the guarantee of rights as contained in the
Covenant through the medium of the legal and
constitutional processes prevailing in Sri Lanka?
2. Whether the said rights recognised in the Covenant are

justiciable through the medium of legal and constitutional
process prevailing in Sri Lanka?
Four intervenient petitioners, including the Centre for Policy

Alternatives (CPA), were permitted by court to make submissions.
The opinion was published in the press (The Nation, 30th March
2008), albeit without the schedule of legal provisions alluded to in
the opinion in the following terms: “On the basis of the
submissions of the Additional Solicitor General, the observations
of Court and submissions of other counsel, for purposes of clarity
232
a comprehensive schedule annexed hereto was prepared with two
columns. The column on the left gives the particular Article of the
Covenant and the column on the right gives the legislative
compliance within Sri Lanka and the relevant pronouncements
made by the Supreme Court and the other Courts to further
strengthen the guarantee of rights recognised in the Covenant.”
This has not been publicly available, and it is therefore difLicult to
verify its claims in respect of the compliance of Sri Lankan law
with the ICCPR. The Supreme Court dismissed all of the
submissions on seven speciLic matters made by counsel for the
intervenient petitioners, mainly on the ground that many of these
of submission were based on hypotheses. The court came to the
conclusion that “…the legislative measures referred to in the
communication of…the President dated 4.3.2008 and the
provisions of the Constitution and of other law, including the
decisions of the Superior Courts of Sri Lanka give adequate
recognition to the Civil and Political Rights contained in the
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and adhere to
the general premise of the Covenant that individuals within the
territory of Sri Lanka derive the beneLit and guarantee of rights
contained in the Covenant” and “that the aforesaid rights
recognised in the Covenant are justiLiable through the medium of
the legal and constitutional process prevailing in Sri Lanka.”
It is difLicult to agree with the Supreme Court, given that the

opinion did not contain a full and reasoned basis on which its
conclusions can be defended. For example, in relation to the ICCPR
Act No. 56 of 2007, the court conLined itself to reiterating the
claims made in the preamble – which is a total misnomer given the
substance of the Act – and did not consider the fact that the ICCPR
Act contains only four main substantive rights‐conferring
provisions in Sections 2, 4, 5 and 6 (viz., the right to be recognised
as a person before the law; entitlements of alleged offenders to
233
legal assistance, interpreter and safeguard against self‐
incrimination; certain rights of the child; and right of access to
State beneLits, respectively), and that these provisions are
formulated in terms substantially and signiLicantly different from
the corresponding provisions of the ICCPR.
Given that none of the fundamental issues relating to the

recognition of ICCPR rights at domestic law were given any
serious judicial consideration and settlement, it is to be expected
that this debate will continue.
234
235
CHAPTER VI
CONCLUSION
“…unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

As a nose on a man’s face, or a weathercock on a steeple”
William Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II, Sc. 1
This book began by establishing its fundamental analytical

perspective that – to properly accommodate states of emergency
within the rule of law, and to ensure that fundamental human
rights are protected whilst granting to executive government the
powers necessary to effectively deal with the crisis – the clear
appreciation of a distinction between what is ‘normal’ and what is
‘exceptional’ needed to be made. It is only if this distinction is
made that we can think clearly about how to strike the
appropriate balance in the inherent tension between order and
democracy, and make informed policy choices accordingly. More
often than not however, in Sri Lanka, it is impossible to have a
dispassionate conversation about such choices and alternatives,
because these issues are intimately connected to emotional
debates about broader matters of great political signiLicance such
as identity, ethnicity, religion, and history. In the midst of violent
conLlict, differences are sharpened, and it becomes increasingly
difLicult to achieve social consensus on such matters as essential
236
as respect for human dignity regardless of socially constructed
identities.
In this context, to argue that crisis government is not ‘normal’ and

that we should be thinking about (a) how we can return to
‘normality’, and (b), from that perspective, to rethink how we are
going to rationalise the powers of the executive in the future in a
more satisfactory way, runs the risk of falling from the grace of
public opinion. Ultimately it becomes a contest of values and of
authenticity, in which liberal democratic options would be
portrayed as hopelessly foreign ideas which have no traction in
the politics of real people. That is to frame the debate in its
sharpest permutation: a debate between liberals and ethno‐
nationalists. To the latter, the agenda dictated by group political
interest trumps all others. On either side of the ethnic divide, we
Lind that the protagonists are more at home with Schmitt’s
concept of the political than with the liberal language of liberty
and freedom from fear, and where the binary dynamic of ‘us v.
them’ dominates political calculations.
For the vast majority of ordinary people, however, the experience

of three decades of protracted conLlict has meant that both conLlict
as well as the assumption of extraordinary powers and measures
by the State have become normalised as a part of everyday life.
Thus we seem to have become complacent in the belief that
nothing can be done to ameliorate the many mundane miseries of
crisis, because that just seems to be the way life is. This is what we
discussed as the ‘normalisation of the exception’ and which has
become invisible as the weathercock on a steeple.
The objective of this book has been to challenge these notions.

Peace, order and good government is both desirable and
achievable, but these public goods can only Llow from making
237
certain commitments, and then acting on them. The commitments
are with regard to positing human rights and the rule of law as
non‐negotiable values, and the constitutional reform debate in
respect of states of emergency needs to be conducted from this
standpoint.
If we make a commitment to go down this happier path, there is a

vast array of options and ideas that are available to us to learn
from and adapt to our own conditions. The comparative
experiences of other countries as well as international law and
standards, discussed at length in this book, are sources of
constitutional ideas from which we can beneLit greatly, if only we
are open to them.
238
239
TABLE OF CASES
A Publication and a Printing Company v. Trinidad and Tobago,
Communication No. 361.1989
Abeyratne Banda v. Gajanayake, Director, Criminal Investigation

Department and Others (2002)1 SLR 365
Amaratunga v. Sirimal and Others (Jana Ghosha Case) (1993)1 SLR

264
Bhagat Singh v. King Emperor (1931) AIR 111 (PC)
Carltona Ltd .v. Commissioners of Works (1943) 2 All ER 560
Consuelo Salgar de Montejo v. Colombia, Communication no.

34/1978 (UN Human Rights Committee)
Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Netherlands v. Greece (1969) 1

Commission (1969)
Edirisuriya v. Navaratnam and Others (1985) 1 SLR 100
Eshugbayi Eleko v. Government of Nigeria (1931) AC 662
Ex parte Milligan (1866) 71 US (4 Wall.)
Gamini Perera, Attorney at Law (On behalf of Saman Srimal

Bandara) v. Rajaguru, W.B. Inspector General of Police and Others
(1997)3 SLR 141
Greene v. Secretary of State (1942) AC 284
Gunasekera v. De Fonseka (1972) 75 NLR 246
240
Habeas Corpus in Emergency Situations, Advisory Opinion, (1987)
8 Inter‐Am.Ct.HR (ser. A) 33, OEA/ser.L/V/111.17.doc.13 (1987)
Hirabayashi v. United States (1943) 320 US 81
Hirdaramani v. Ratnavale (1971) 75 NLR 67
In re Bracegirdle (1937) 39 NLR 193
Inter‐American Court of Human Rights: Habeas Corpus in

Emergency Situations, Advisory Opinion, (1987) 8 Inter‐Am.Ct.HR
(ser. A) 33, EA/ser.L/V/111.17.doc.13 (1987)
Ireland v. UK 2 EHRR 25
Janatha Finance and Investments v. Liyanage (1982) 2 FRD 373
Jayaratne and Others v. Chandrananda De Silva (1992)2 SLR 129
Jorge Landinelli Silva et al v. Columbia, Communication No. R/

15/64 (UN Human Rights Committee)
Joseph Perera alias Bruten Perera v. The Attorney General and

Others (1992)1 SLR 199
Karunathilaka and Another v. Dayananda Dissanayake,

Commissioner of Elections and Others (Case no.1) (1999)1 SLR 157
Korematsu v. United States (1944) 323 US 214
Kumaranatunge v. Samarasinghe, Additional Secretary, Ministry of

Defence and Others (1983)2 SLR 63
Lawless v. Ireland (1960‐1961) 1 Eur.Ct.HR (ser. B) 56

(Commission Report)
Lawless v. Ireland (1960‐1961) 3 Eur.Ct.HR (ser. A) (Court)
Lilanthi De Silva Attorney General and Others (2000)3 SLR 155
Liversidge v. Anderson (1942) AC 206

241
Nagamani Theivendran v. The Attorney General (2002) SCM 16th
October 2002
Nakkuda Ali v. Jayaratne (1951) AC 66 (Privy Council), (1950) 51

NLR 457 (Supreme Court of Ceylon)
Nanayakkara v. Henry Perera, A.S.P. and Three Others (1985)2 SLR

375
R v. Home Secretary, ex parte Khawaja (1984) AC 74
R v. Inland Revenue Commissioners, ex parte Rossminster Ltd (1980)

AC 952
Refah Partisi v. Turkey (2003) 37 EHHR 1
S.R. Bommai v. Union (1994) 3 SCC 1
Seetha Weerakoon v. Mahendra, O.I.C. Police Station, Galagedara

and Others (1991)2 SLR 172
Singarasa S.C. Spl(LA) No. 182/99
Siriwardene and Others v.Liyanage and Others (1983)2 SLR 164,

(1983) 2 FRD 310
Sudath Silva v. Kodituwakku Inspector of Police and Others (1987)2

SLR 119
Sunil Rodrigo (On behalf of B. Sirisena Cooray) v. Chandananda De

Silva and Others (1997)3 SLR 265
Sunila Abeysekara v. Ariya Rubasinghe, Competent Authority and

Others (2000)1 SLR 314
Thadchanamoorthi and Others v. Attorney‐General and Others

(1978‐79‐80)1 SLR 154
The Communist Party Case (1956) 5 BVerGE 85(German

Constitutional Court)
242
The Socialist Reich Party Case (1952) 2 BVerGE 1 (German
Constitutional Court)
UR v. Uruguay, Communication No. 128/1982
Velmurugu v. The Attorney General and Another (1981)1 SLR 406
Vinayagamoorthy, Attorney at Law (On beha lf of Wimalenthiran) v.

The Army Commander and Others (1997)1 SLR 113
Visuvalingam and Others v. Liyanage and Others (1983)2 SLR 311
Vivienne Gunawardena v. Perera and Others (1983)1 SLR 305
Weerasinghe v. Samarasinghe (1966) 68 NLR 361
Weerawansa v. The Attorney General and Others (2000)1 SLR 387
Weinberger v. Uruguay, Communication No.26/1978, adoption of

views, 29th October 1980, 11th Session
Wickremabandu v. Herath and Others (1990)2 SLR 348
Wijeratne v. Vijitha Perera, Sub Inspector of Police, Polonnaruwa

and Others (2002)3 SLR 319
Yasapala v. Wickramasinghe (1980) 1 FRD 143 (Sri Lanka SC) 83
Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer (1952) 343 US
243
PROCLAMATIONS
AND EMERGENCY
REGULATIONS
(currently in force, 27th August 2008)
 Government NotiLications, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1561/17

of 6 August 2008
 Proclamations & c., by the President, Gazette Extraordinary
No. 1560/30 of 2 August 2008
of 11 July 2008
of 6 July 2008
 Proclamations by the President 1556/14 of 2 July 2008
 Prevention and Prohibition of Terrorism and speciLied
Terrorist Activities (Amendment) Regulations, No. 7 of 2006,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1555/33 of 27 June 2008
of 6 June 2008
 Appointment of Competent Authority under Prevention and
Prohibition of Terrorism and speciLied Terrorist Activities
Regulations, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1552/10 of 3 June
2008
244
 Proclamations by the President, Gazette Extraordinary No.
1552/1 of 2 June 2008
of 8 May 2008
of 6 May 2008
1547/22 of 2 May 2008
of 11 April 2008
of 6 April 2008
1543/23 of 2 April 2008
of 10 March 2008
of 6 March 2008
 Proclamations & c., by the President, Gazette Extraordinary
No. 1538/37 of 2 March 2008
of 8 February 2008
of 6 February 2008
 Proclamations by the President Gazette Extraordinary No.
1534/24 of 2 February 2008
of 11 January 2008
of 6 January 2008
 Parliament High Security Zone Regulations, No. 8 of 2007,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1529/11 of 26 December 2007
245
 Yala National Park Regulation 7 of 2007, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1529/12 of 26 December 2007
 Prohibition on Publication and Transmission of Sensitive
Military Information Regulations, No. 6 of 2007, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1521/25 of 1 November 2007
 Prohibition on Publication and Transmission of Sensitive
Military Information Regulations, No. 6 of 2007, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1521/3 of 29 October 2007
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1518/8 of 8 October 2007
of 21 August 2007
Terrorist Activities (Amendment) Regulations, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1511/9 of 21 August 2007
of 30 July 2008
 Restriction on the Procurement of certain items Regulations,
No. 5 of 2007, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1508/8 of 30 July
2007
 Katunayake Airport High Security Zone Regulations, No. 4 of
2007, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1504/11 of 4 July 2007
 Fuel Storage High Security Zones Regulations 1 of 2007,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1499/24 of 30 May 2007
 Appointment of Competent Authority under Regulation 3 of
Fuel Storage High Security Zones Regulations 1 of 2007,
 Muttur (East)/Sampoor High Security Zone Regulations No. 2
of 2007, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1499/25 of 30 May 2007
 Appointment of Competent Authority under Muttur (East)/
Sampoor High Security Zone Regulations No. 2 of 2007,
246
 Restricted Use of Outboard Motors Regulations No. 8 of 2006,
 Appointment of Competent Authority under regulation 15 of
Prevention and Prohibition of Terrorism and SpeciLied
 A Proclamation by His Excellency the President of the
Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1474/5 of 6 December 2006
 Prevention and Prohibition of Terrorism and SpeciLied
 Restricted Zone Regulations, No. 6 of 2006, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1472/27 of 25 November 2006
 Appointment of Competent Authority under Restricted Zone
Regulations, No. 6 of 2006, Gazette Extraordinary No.
1472/27 of 25 November 2006
 Port of Colombo Regulations, No. 5 of 2006, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1468/7 of 25 October 2006
 Appointment of Competent Authority Port of Colombo
Regulations, No. 5 of 2006, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1468/7
of 25 October 2006
 Emergency Miscellaneous Provisions and Powers Regulation,
No. 1 of 2005, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1464/26 of 29
September 2006
 Emergency Miscellaneous Provisions and Powers Regulation,
September 2006
 Appointments by the President of the Commissioner General
of Rehabilitation under Miscellaneous Provisions and Powers
Regulation, No. 1 of 2005, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1462/9
of 12 September 2006
247
 Establishment of a new Department of Civil Security, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1462/20 of 13 September 2006 2008
of 15 August 2006
 Emergency Miscellaneous Provisions and Powers Regulation
(Amendment), No. 1 of 2005, Gazette Extraordinary No.
1458/5 of 15 August 2006
 Appointment of Commissioner‐General of Essential Services,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1458/5 of 15 August 2006
1456/27 of 3 August 2006
1456/4 of 31 July 2006
of 31 July 2008
 Fuel Storage High Security Zones Regulations, No. 4 of 2006,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1455/37 of 28 July 2006
 Colombo High Security Zone Regulations, No. 3 of 2006,
1450/18 of 21 June 2006
1448/21 of 8 June 2006
1442/16 of 27 April 2006
 Revoking of Temporary Suspension of Regulation No. 2 of
2005, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1442/13 of 25 April 2006
248
 Administration of Local Authorities Regulation, No. 1 of 2006
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1441/8 of 19 April 2006
 Establishment of Prohibited Zone Regulations No. 1 of 2006,
Gazette Extraordinary No. 1438/8 of 27 March 2006
1414/22 of 13 October 2005
 Temporary Suspension of Regulation No. 2 of 2005, Gazette
Extraordinary No. 1411/14 of 21 September 2005
August 2005
 Proclamation by the President declaring a State of Emergency
throughout Sri Lanka, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1405/13 of
13 August 2005
 The Prevention of Terrorism (Temporary Provisions) Act,
 High Security Zone (President’s House and its Environs)
Regulations No. 1 of 2005, Gazette Extraordinary No. 1400/17
of 8 July 2005
February 2005
January 2005
249
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A State of Permanent Crisis

Constitutional Government, Fundamental

First published Colombo, 2008.

The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) is an independent, non‐partisan organization

PART I The Theory and Practice of Emergency

2. Theory and Practice: An Introduction to Three Models ..... 30

2.1. Models of Accommodation ............................................................ 32

2.1.1. Classical Models of Accommodation ............................. 33

2.2. Business as Usual Model ................................................................ 49

2.3. Extra‐Legal Measures Models ...................................................... 51

3.1. Comparative Experience: Constitutional Issues and

3.1.1. What is an Emergency? The Problem of DeLinition ......... 66

3.2. Comparative Experience: Areas of Concern .................................... 92

3.2.1. Constitutional Accommodation: Misuse and Abuse ........ 93

4. Standards governing States of Emergency at International

4.1. General Observations: International Human Rights

4.1.1. DeLinition of Emergency ........................................................... 117

4.2. International Protection vs. National Implementation:

4.2.1. The Human Rights Committee ............................................. 130

4.3.1. The Principle of Exceptional Threat ..................................... 142

PART II The Sri Lankan Experience of Emergency

5. Sri Lanka’s Constitutional and Legal Framework

5.1. The Constitutional and Statutory Framework:

5.1.1. Emergency Regulations .............................................................. 181

5.2. Special Anti‐Terrorism Powers: The PTA ........................................ 187

5.3. Judicial Review of States of Emergency ........................................... 191

5.4. General Observations on Constitutional Framework on

5.4.1. The DeLinition of ‘State of Public Emergency’ .................. 199

6.2. General Observations on the Fundamental Rights

6.2.1. Structure and Content ................................................................ 212

6.3. Restrictions on Fundamental Rights:

6.4. Sri Lanka’s International Obligations: ICCPR ............................. 222

6.4.1. The Singarasa Case (2006) and Sri Lanka’s

7. Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 236

Table of Cases .......................................................................................................... 240

The mandate of the Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) is the

This volume by Asanga Welikala, Senior Researcher in the Legal

An entire generation of Sri Lankans have known only emergency

Labelling of the crisis aside, there is no denying the existence of

CPA appreciates the partnership of the Friedrich Naumann

Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu

From a strictly dispassionate academic viewpoint, Vittachi’s

Coincidentally, 2008 is the thirtieth year of the Second Republican

Virtually for the entirety of the period since then, constitutionally

Our focus in this book is on the State, and its recourse to

2007 and 2008 have seen an escalation of military conLlict, in

This book is dedicated to one of them, J. S. Tissainayagam, in the

The basic framework of analysis and many of the ideas expressed

We also thank Dr. Deepika Udagama, Senior Lecturer at the Faculty

Almost the entirety of the author’s career in Sri Lanka working on

This book does not seek to examine the political and

The legal provision for states of emergency – for government

This central tension between order and democracy pervades the

The assumption of separation between emergency and normalcy,

At the level of the constitutional and legal framework, the

However, in the Sri Lankan experience, what is immediately clear

In Sri Lanka, moreover, while the constitutional and legal

All of these factors coalesce into what is now an executive praxis

The issue of the arrogation of extra‐legal ‘powers’ has assumed

From these preliminary observations it is clear that an analytical