Editorial of "The Sunday Leader" Sri Lanka ; dt : 11.1.2009
And Then They Came For Me
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 has
profound meaning. Transparent because government must be openly
accountable to the people and never abuse their trust. Secular because
in a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural 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 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 routinely to 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 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 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 expos‚s 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 are 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 post-war 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 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 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 toyshop. That analogy is perhaps inapt because no child
could have caused so much blood to be spilled 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 under 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 will have a long time to spend on her knees when next she
goes for 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 Rajapakses 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 Niem"ller. 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.
Niem"ller 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, Niem"ller 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.
