Outlook records with regret the death of Lasantha Wickrematunge shortlyafter filing this despatchfor the print magazine. He was shot dead by two men on a motorcycle as he droveto work in Colombo on January 8, 2009. The following farewell editorial,apparently written for just such an eventuality, was published posthumously inhis newspaper, TheSunday Leader, on January 11. The Paris-based media watchdog Reporterssans Frontieres held Sri Lankan President Mahinda Rajapakse’s governmentresponsible for inciting hatred against Wickrematunge, an investigativejournalist. Sri Lanka was ranked 165th among 173 countries in the 2008 PressFreedom Index, the lowest ranking for any democratic country.
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No other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for theirart save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the course of thepast few years, the independent media have increasingly come under attack.Electronic and print-media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed andcoerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It hasbeen 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 beThe Sunday Leader's 15th year. Many things have changed in Sri Lanka during thattime, and it does not need me to tell you that the greater part of that changehas been for the worse. We find ourselves in the midst of a civil war ruthlesslyprosecuted by protagonists whose bloodlust knows no bounds. Terror, whetherperpetrated 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 organsof liberty. Today it is the journalists, tomorrow it will be the judges. Forneither 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, andthe father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities andobligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism. Is itworth the risk? Many people tell me it is not. Friends tell me to revert to thebar, and goodness knows it offers a better and safer livelihood. Others,including political leaders on both sides, have at various times sought toinduce me to take to politics, going so far as to offer me ministries of mychoice. Diplomats, recognising the risk journalists face in Sri Lanka, haveoffered me safe passage and the right of residence in their countries. Whateverelse 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 wesee 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 aresupported by documentary evidence thanks to the public-spiritedness of citizenswho at great risk to themselves pass on this material to us. We have exposedscandal after scandal, and never once in these 15 years has anyone proved uswrong or successfully prosecuted us.
The free media serve as a mirror in which the public can see itself sans mascaraand styling gel. From us you learn the state of your nation, and especially itsmanagement 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 youmay grumble in the privacy of your armchair, the journalists who hold the mirrorup 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 becausegovernment 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 weneed 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'dbest stop buying this paper.
The Sunday Leader has never sought safety by unquestioningly articulating themajority view. Let's face it, that is the way to sell newspapers. On thecontrary, as our opinion pieces over the years amply demonstrate, we often voiceideas that many people find distasteful. For example, we have consistentlyespoused the view that while separatist terrorism must be eradicated, it is moreimportant to address the root causes of terrorism, and urged government to viewSri Lanka's ethnic strife in the context of history and not through thetelescope of terrorism. We have also agitated against state terrorism in theso-called war against terror, and made no secret of our horror that Sri Lanka isthe only country in the world routinely to bomb its own citizens. For theseviews we have been labelled traitors, and if this be treachery, we wear thatlabel 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 onlybecause we believe that - pray excuse cricketing argot - there is no point inbowling to the fielding side. Remember that for the few years of our existencein 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 streamof embarrassing expos‚s we published may well have served to precipitate thedownfall of that government.
Neither should our distaste for the war be interpreted to mean that we supportthe Tigers. The LTTE are among the most ruthless and bloodthirsty organisationsever to have infested the planet. There is no gainsaying that it must beeradicated. But to do so by violating the rights of Tamil citizens, bombing andshooting them mercilessly, is not only wrong but shames the Sinhalese, whoseclaim to be custodians of the dhamma is forever called into question by thissavagery, 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 requirethe 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 byshowering "development" and "reconstruction" on them in thepost-war era. The wounds of war will scar them forever, and you will also havean even more bitter and hateful Diaspora to contend with. A problem amenable toa political solution will thus become a festering wound that will yield strifefor all eternity. If I seem angry and frustrated, it is only because most of mycountrymen - and all of the government - cannot see this writing so plainly onthe wall.
It is well known that I was on two occasions brutally assaulted, while onanother my house was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Despite the government'ssanctimonious assurances, there was never a serious police inquiry into theperpetrators of these attacks, and the attackers were never apprehended. In allthese cases, I have reason to believe the attacks were inspired by thegovernment. 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 havebeen friends for more than a quarter century. Indeed, I suspect that I am one ofthe few people remaining who routinely addresses him by his first name and usesthe familiar Sinhala address oya when talking to him. Although I do not attendthe meetings he periodically holds for newspaper editors, hardly a month passeswhen we do not meet, privately or with a few close friends present, late atnight at President's House. There we swap yarns, discuss politics and joke aboutthe 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 in2005, nowhere were you welcomed more warmly than in this column. Indeed, webroke with a decade of tradition by referring to you throughout by your firstname. So well known were your commitments to human rights and liberal valuesthat we ushered you in like a breath of fresh air. Then, through an act offolly, you got yourself involved in the Helping Hambantota scandal. It was aftera lot of soul-searching that we broke the story, at the same time urging you toreturn the money. By the time you did so several weeks later, a great blow hadbeen 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 didnot have to hanker after it: it fell into your lap. You have told me that yoursons are your greatest joy, and that you love spending time with them, leavingyour brothers to operate the machinery of state. Now, it is clear to all whowill see that that machinery has operated so well that my sons and daughter donot themselves have a father.
In the wake of my death I know you will make all the usual sanctimonious noisesand call upon the police to hold a swift and thorough inquiry. But like all theinquiries you have ordered in the past, nothing will come of this one, too. Fortruth be told, we both know who will be behind my death, but dare not call hisname. 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 justthree years you have reduced it to rubble. In the name of patriotism you havetrampled on human rights, nurtured unbridled corruption and squandered publicmoney like no other President before you. Indeed, your conduct has been like asmall child suddenly let loose in a toyshop. That analogy is perhaps inaptbecause no child could have caused so much blood to be spilled on this land asyou have, or trampled on the rights of its citizens as you do. Although you arenow so drunk with power that you cannot see it, you will come to regret yoursons having so rich an inheritance of blood. It can only bring tragedy. As forme, it is with a clear conscience that I go to meet my Maker. I wish, when yourtime 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 noman. And I have not travelled this journey alone. Fellow journalists in otherbranches of the media walked with me: most of them are now dead, imprisonedwithout trial or exiled in far-off lands. Others walk in the shadow of deaththat 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 butto protect my killers: you will see to it that the guilty one is neverconvicted. You have no choice. I feel sorry for you, and Shiranthi will have along time to spend on her knees when next she goes for Confession for it is notjust her owns sins which she must confess, but those of her extended family thatkeeps you in office.
As for the readers of The Sunday Leader, what can I say but Thank You forsupporting our mission. We have espoused unpopular causes, stood up for thosetoo feeble to stand up for themselves, locked horns with the high and mighty soswollen with power that they have forgotten their roots, exposed corruption andthe waste of your hard-earned tax rupees, and made sure that whatever thepropaganda 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 dayhave to pay. I am - and have always been - ready for that. I have done nothingto prevent this outcome: no security, no precautions. I want my murderer to knowthat I am not a coward like he is, hiding behind human shields while condemningthousands of innocents to death. What am I among so many? It has long beenwritten that my life would be taken, and by whom. All that remains to be writtenis 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 seennot as a defeat of freedom but an inspiration for those who survive to step uptheir efforts. Indeed, I hope that it will help galvanise forces that will usherin a new era of human liberty in our beloved motherland. I also hope it willopen the eyes of your President to the fact that however many are slaughtered inthe name of patriotism, the human spirit will endure and flourish. Not all theRajapakses combined can kill that.
People often ask me why I take such risks and tell me it is a matter of timebefore I am bumped off. Of course I know that: it is inevitable. But if we donot 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. Anexample that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that ofthe German theologian, Martin Niem"ller. In his youth he was an anti-Semiteand an admirer of Hitler. As Nazism took hold in Germany, however, he saw Nazismfor what it was: it was not just the Jews Hitler sought to extirpate, it wasjust about anyone with an alternate point of view. Niem"ller spoke out, andfor his trouble was incarcerated in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentrationcamps 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 teenageyears, 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 youSinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low-caste, homosexual, dissident or disabled. Itsstaff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the courage to which you havebecome accustomed. Do not take that commitment for granted. Let there be nodoubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make, they are not made for ourown glory or enrichment: they are made for you. Whether you deserve theirsacrifice is another matter. As for me, God knows I tried.
