And then they came for me
As journalists in Sri Lanka fall victim to a seemingly endless
string of violent attacks, media freedom groups say intimidation and violence
make it one of the most difficult countries in the world to report in. At least
14 journalists or other media workers have been killed in Sri Lanka over the
past three years and several others have been assaulted. More than 20
journalists have fled the country due to death threats. Others have been
arbitrarily arrested, tortured and disappeared while in custody of the security
forces. The situation is said to have worsened as the war with the Tamil Tigers
intensified and the government has been accused of encouraging the violence by
branding any reporters who are seen as critical of its actions as pro-rebel and
enemies of the state. On January 8, the editor-in-chief of The Sunday Leader,
Lasantha Wickrematunge, was shot by unidentified gunmen while on his way to work
in Colombo. He died a few hours later.
Some editors are said to have prepared obituaries of living
persons in the expectation, if not the hope, that they would die sooner or
later. Others are said to have mistakenly, and rather unfortunately, published
obituaries prematurely or incorrectly. The following obituary, both premature
and terrifyingly prescient, was no mistake, however. A self-written obituary by
Lasantha Wickrematunge, penned before he died, it is an elegy on the death of a
system and a nation that has failed its people.
BY LASANTHA WICKREMATUNGE
No other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their
lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the
course of the past few years the independent media have increasingly come under
attack. Electronic and print media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed
and coerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It
has been my honour to belong to all those categories and now especially the
last.
I have been in the business of journalism a good long time.
Indeed 2009 will be The Sunday Leader’s 15th year. Many things have
changed in Sri Lanka during that time and it does not need me to tell you that
the greater part of that change has been for the worse. We find ourselves in the
midst of a civil war ruthlessly prosecuted by protagonists whose bloodlust knows
no bounds. Terror, whether perpetrated by terrorists or the state, has become
the order of the day. Indeed murder has become the primary tool whereby the
state seeks to control the organs of liberty. Today it is the journalists,
tomorrow it will be the judges. For neither group have the risks ever been
higher or the stakes lower.
Why then do we do it? I often wonder that. After all, I too am a
husband and the father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities
and obligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism. Is it
worth the risk? Many people tell me it is not. Friends tell me to revert to the
bar and goodness knows it offers a better and safer livelihood. Others,
including political leaders on both sides, have at various times sought to
induce me to take to politics, going so far as to offer me ministries of my
choice. Diplomats, recognising the risk journalists face in Sri Lanka, have
offered me safe passage and the right of residence in their countries. Whatever
else I may have been stuck for, I have not been stuck for choice.
But there is a calling that is yet above high office, fame,
lucre and security. It is the call of conscience.
The Sunday Leader has been a controversial newspaper because
we say it like we see it: whether it be a spade, a thief or a murderer, we call
it by that name. We do not hide behind euphemism. The investigative articles we
print are supported by documentary evidence thanks to the public-spiritedness of
citizens who at great risk to themselves pass on this material to us. We have
exposed scandal after scandal and never once in these 15 years has anyone proved
us wrong or successfully prosecuted us.
The free media serve as a mirror in which the public can see
itself sans mascara and styling gel. From us you learn the state of your nation
and especially its management by the people you elected to give your children a
better future. Sometimes the image you see in that mirror is not a pleasant one.
But while you may grumble in the privacy of your armchair, the journalists who
hold the mirror up to you do so publicly and at great risk to themselves. That
is our calling and we do not shirk it.
Every newspaper has its angle and we do not hide the fact that
we have ours. Our commitment is to see Sri Lanka as a transparent, secular,
liberal democracy. Think about those words, for they each have profound meaning.
Transparent because government must be openly accountable to the people and
never abuse their trust. Secular because in a multi-ethnic and multicultural
society such as ours, secularism offers the only common ground by which we might
all be united. Liberal because we recognise that all human beings are created
different, and we need to accept others for what they are and not what we would
like them to be. And democratic... well, if you need me to explain why that is
important, you’d best stop buying this paper.
The Sunday Leader has never sought safety by unquestioningly
articulating the majority view. Let’s face it, that is the way to sell
newspapers. On the contrary, as our opinion pieces over the years amply
demonstrate, we often voice ideas that many people find distasteful. For
example, we have consistently espoused the view that while separatist terrorism
must be eradicated, it is more important to address the root causes of terrorism
and have urged government to view Sri Lanka’s ethnic strife in the context of
history and not through the telescope of terrorism. We have also agitated
against state terrorism in the so-called war against terror and made no secret
of our horror that Sri Lanka is the only country in the world to routinely bomb
its own citizens. For these views we have been labelled traitors, and if this be
treachery, we wear that label proudly.
Many people suspect that The Sunday Leader has a
political agenda: it does not. If we appear more critical of the government than
of the opposition, it is only because we believe that – pray excuse the
cricketing argot – there is no point in bowling to the fielding side. Remember
that for the few years of our existence in which the UNP (United National Party)
was in office we proved to be the biggest thorn in its flesh, exposing excess
and corruption wherever it occurred. Indeed the steady stream of embarrassing
exposés we published may well have served to precipitate the downfall of that
government.
Neither should our distaste for the war be interpreted to mean
that we support the Tigers. The LTTE is among the most ruthless and bloodthirsty
organisations ever to have infested the planet. There is no gainsaying that it
must be eradicated. But to do so by violating the rights of Tamil citizens,
bombing and shooting them mercilessly, is not only wrong but shames the
Sinhalese, whose claim to be custodians of the dhamma is forever called into
question by this savagery, much of which is unknown to the public because of
censorship.
What is more, a military occupation of the country’s north and
east will require the Tamil people of those regions to live eternally as
second-class citizens, deprived of all self-respect. Do not imagine that you can
placate them by showering "development" and "reconstruction" on them in the
postwar era. The wounds of war will scar them forever and you will also have an
even more bitter and hateful diaspora to contend with. A problem amenable to a
political solution will thus become a festering wound that will yield strife for
all eternity. If I seem angry and frustrated, it is only because most of my
countrymen – and all of the government – cannot see this writing so plainly on
the wall.
It is well known that I was on two occasions brutally assaulted
while on another my house was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Despite the
government’s sanctimonious assurances, there was never a serious police inquiry
into the perpetrators of these attacks and the attackers were never apprehended.
In all these cases, I have reason to believe the attacks were inspired by the
government. When finally I am killed, it will be the government that kills me.
The irony in this is that, unknown to most of the public,
Mahinda (President Rajapaksa) and I have been friends for more than a quarter
century. Indeed I suspect that I am one of the few people remaining who
routinely addresses him by his first name and uses the familiar Sinhala address,
oya, when talking to him. Although I do not attend the meetings he
periodically holds for newspaper editors, hardly a month passes when we do not
meet, privately or with a few close friends present, late at night at
President’s House. There we swap yarns, discuss politics and joke about the good
old days. A few remarks to him would therefore be in order here.
Mahinda, when you finally fought your way to the SLFP (Sri Lanka
Freedom Party) presidential nomination in 2005, nowhere were you welcomed more
warmly than in this column. Indeed we broke with a decade of tradition by
referring to you throughout by your first name. So well known were your
commitments to human rights and liberal values that we ushered you in like a
breath of fresh air. Then, through an act of folly, you got yourself involved in
the Helping Hambantota scandal. It was after a lot of soul-searching that we
broke the story, at the same time urging you to return the money. By the time
you did so several weeks later, a great blow had been struck to your reputation.
It is one you are still trying to live down.
You have told me yourself that you were not greedy for the
presidency. You did not have to hanker after it: it fell into your lap. You have
told me that your sons are your greatest joy and that you love spending time
with them, leaving your brothers to operate the machinery of state. Now it is
clear to all who will see that that machinery has operated so well that my sons
and daughter do not themselves have a father.
In the wake of my death I know you will make all the usual
sanctimonious noises and call upon the police to hold a swift and thorough
inquiry. But like all the inquiries you have ordered in the past, nothing will
come of this one too. For, truth be told, we both know who will be behind my
death but dare not call his name. Not just my life but yours too depends on it.
Sadly, for all the dreams you had for our country in your
younger days, in just three years you have reduced it to rubble. In the name of
patriotism you have trampled on human rights, nurtured unbridled corruption and
squandered public money like no other president before you. Indeed your conduct
has been like a small child suddenly let loose in a toy shop. That analogy is
perhaps inapt because no child could have caused so much blood to be spilt on
this land as you have or trampled on the rights of its citizens as you do.
Although you are now so drunk with power that you cannot see it, you will come
to regret your sons having so rich an inheritance of blood. It can only bring
tragedy. As for me, it is with a clear conscience that I go to meet my Maker. I
wish, when your time finally comes, you could do the same. I wish.
As for me, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I walked tall
and bowed to no man. And I have not travelled this journey alone. Fellow
journalists in other branches of the media walked with me: most of them are now
dead, imprisoned without trial or exiled in far-off lands. Others walk in the
shadow of death that your presidency has cast on the freedoms for which you once
fought so hard. You will never be allowed to forget that my death took place on
your watch. As anguished as I know you will be, I also know that you will have
no choice but to protect my killers: you will see to it that the guilty one is
never convicted. You have no choice. I feel sorry for you, and Shiranthi (Rajapaksa,
the first lady) will have a long time to spend on her knees when she next goes
to confession, for it is not just her owns sins which she must confess but those
of her extended family that keeps you in office.
As for the readers of The Sunday Leader, what can I say
but thank you for supporting our mission. We have espoused unpopular causes,
stood up for those too feeble to stand up for themselves, locked horns with the
high and mighty so swollen with power that they have forgotten their roots,
exposed corruption and the waste of your hard-earned tax rupees and made sure
that whatever the propaganda of the day, you were allowed to hear a contrary
view. For this I – and my family – have now paid the price that I have long
known I will one day have to pay. I am – and have always been – ready for that.
I have done nothing to prevent this outcome: no security, no precautions. I want
my murderer to know that I am not a coward like he is, hiding behind human
shields while condemning thousands of innocents to death. What am I among so
many? It has long been written that my life would be taken, and by whom. All
that remains to be written is when.
That The Sunday Leader will continue fighting the good
fight too is written. For I did not fight this fight alone. Many more of us have
to be – and will be – killed before The Leader is laid to rest. I hope my
assassination will be seen not as a defeat of freedom but an inspiration for
those who survive to step up their efforts. Indeed I hope that it will help
galvanise forces that will usher in a new era of human liberty in our beloved
motherland. I also hope it will open the eyes of your president to the fact that
however many are slaughtered in the name of patriotism, the human spirit will
endure and flourish. Not all the Rajapaksas combined can kill that.
People often ask me why I take such risks and tell me it is a
matter of time before I am bumped off. Of course I know that: it is inevitable.
But if we do not speak out now, there will be no one left to speak for those who
cannot, whether they be ethnic minorities, the disadvantaged or the persecuted.
An example that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that
of the German theologian, Martin Niemöller. In his youth he was an anti-Semite
and an admirer of Hitler. As Nazism took hold in Germany however, he saw Nazism
for what it was: it was not just the Jews Hitler sought to extirpate, it was
just about anyone with an alternate point of view. Niemöller spoke out and for
his trouble was incarcerated in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps
from 1937 to 1945 and very nearly executed. While incarcerated, Niemöller wrote
a poem that, from the first time I read it in my teenage years, stuck hauntingly
in my mind:
"First they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
And there was no one left to speak out for me."
If you remember nothing else, remember this: The Leader
is there for you, be you Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low caste, homosexual,
dissident or disabled. Its staff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the
courage to which you have become accustomed. Do not take that commitment for
granted. Let there be no doubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make,
they are not made for our own glory or enrichment: they are made for you.
Whether you deserve their sacrifice is another matter. As for me, god knows I
tried.
(This editorial appeared in The Sunday Leader on January
11, 2009.)
Courtesy: The Sunday Leader;
www.thesundayleader.lk