Opinion
The epidemiology of violence
By Prof. Susirith Mendis
(First part of this article appeared in The Island Midweek Review of 05 June 2023)
Is civil disobedience violence or a prelude to violence?
Civil disobedience, by generally accepted definition, entails a deliberate breach of law (usually unjust), that is committed with the intention of communicating to a broad audience, including state authorities and the general public, the need for some legal or political change.
Mohandas Ramchand Gandhi internationalised the concept of non-violent struggle through non-violent civil disobedience (Sathyagraha and Sathyakriya) as an effective mode of modern political protests against the colonial rule of British in India. Gandhi’s Salt March was an act of civil disobedience – the principled refusal to comply with a law, at the risk of imprisonment or other punishment, in order to force a concession. Did the ‘aragalites’ envisage arrest and imprisonment at any time during their protests? Or were they of the firm belief that they are not breaking any law and therefore cannot and will not be arrested? Did they walk a thin red line or did they not?
Civil disobedience is a form of political protest. Martin Luther King exercised it in all his political actions by taking to the streets. But it is often emphasised that there are good pragmatic reasons for civil disobedience campaigns to adhere to non-violence.
It is useful for us to look at a recent example from France. Andreas Marcou describes this in his article titled “Violence, communication, and civil disobedience” in ‘Jurisprudence’ – an International Journal of Legal and Political Thought. He describes the events that took place in November 2018, when hundreds of thousands of French people took to the streets to protest President Emmanuel Macron’s planned tax hike for diesel and gas (déjà vu?). What began as a protest for fuel tax finally spiralled into multiple episodes of spasmodic violence. What commenced as non-violent protest within weeks of the initial protest, news outlets were brimming with pictures of burning cars, police in anti-riot gear clashing with protesters throwing projectiles, the Arc de Triomphe vandalised, and high street shops ransacked. With thousands of protesters and police officers injured, thousands were arrested and convicted, and several dead because of the protests. The current violence in Paris following the killing of a 17-year-old boy by the police is another example of the generally politically volatile French public.
Furthermore, Marcou goes on to describe how the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement that began largely as non-violent, there have been instances of clashes with police and counter-protesters, as well as looting and other damage to property. He says that the French protest and the resurgent Black Lives Matter movement “have once again brought forward debates about violence and disobedience”. Therefore, it is apparent that non-violent protest can qualify as civil disobedience. Some experts argue that some violent protests could be classified as civil disobedience. But we still need to find the ‘thin red line’ that demarcates civil disobedience from violent protests.
It is often debated that “violent civil disobedience” – though it sounds like an oxymoron – is justified in situations where “fundamentally illegitimate regimes” are violating human rights of citizens. For instance, even the killing of a genocidal dictator (such as Hitler or Pol Pot) when thousands of innocent lives are at stake, is arguably morally defensible. However, in the context of protests against a democratically elected legitimate regime, the use of violence is hardly justifiable. I would argue on the aforesaid basis, that the ‘GotaGoHome’ protests have justification only if they remained non-violent.
Justifiable violence
In self-defence
This is the most controversial and debatable aspect of violence. Often, we find that the perpetrators of violence use ‘justifiable violence’ as the excuse for their actions.
Andrea Borghini in an article in February 2019 titled “Can Violence be Just?” commences thus: “In some, probably most, circumstances it is evident that violence is unjust; but some cases appear more debatable to someone’s eyes: can violence ever be justified?
In its most basic form, violence is justified when it is personal counter-violence. If a person punches you in the face, it may seem justified to try and respond to that with counter physical violence – i.e., a form of self-defence. Borghini further argues that “In a more audacious version of the justification of violence in the name of self-defense, violence of any kind may be justified in reply to the violence of any other kind, provided there is a somewhat fair use of the violence exercised in self-defense.”
Political violence
Usually, political violence is a means to an end where the ‘end justifies the means’. Political violence by definition is said to be considered not as an end in itself. The concept of consequentialism would justify violence if the consequences were sufficiently ‘good’ to justify the harm of violence. Utilitarianism, on the other hand, would allow for the use of violence where utility or usefulness of violence is of benefit to society.
This may be countered by the argument that anarchic violence, though political, is often chaotic and directionless and the outcome or end is unclear.
Argument for the moral grounds of political violence have been enunciated by many philosophers. Political violence is justified in the situation in which the violence is employed as a necessary means to an end, in which all other ‘means’ have been exhausted and where the violence is for the restoration of democracy from authoritarianism or fascism.
Where in the spectrum of justifiable political violence does the ‘aragalaya’ fall into? Or is it justifiable in the context of an economic crisis precipitated by a multiplicity of factors – both external and internal – in a democratic sociopolitical milieu that was not authoritarian nor fascistic? Perhaps answers to these questions may lie in one’s political perspectives.
Revolutionary violence
Where in the spectrum of political violence can we put violence that has occurred during revolutions?
The major successful revolutions have been the Russian, Chinese and Cuban in our modern history. Then we have had the Iranian and Philippine revolutions; the revolutions in Nicaragua and some Latin American countries; and the ‘colour’ revolutions in the former Soviet-East European states. The latter have been qualitatively different from the former where street demonstrations have led to violence and regime change. Where do we put what happened in Iraq, Syria and Libya? In that sense, the ‘aragalaya’ has been the most non-violent with little or no state violence unleashed to save the ruling regime.
I remember reading somewhere, about Dr. Dayan Jayatilleke’s book and its theorisation of Fidel’s ethics of violence where he writes about three key elements – which are the avoidance of (i) targeting non-combatants, (ii) physical torture, and (iii) the execution of captives. This has not been true of all revolutions. The most notable being the execution of Czar Alexander and his family.
Morality and Ethics of violence
This brings us to another concept – the morality and ethics of violence. Since this article is getting longer than I first intended, I shall try to be as brief as possible. David Rapoport states that there are three prominent views on the morality of violence. They are: (1) the pacifist position, which states that violence is always immoral, and should never be used; (2) the utilitarian position – that violence can be used if it achieves a greater “good” for society; (3) a hybrid of these two views which both looks at what good comes from the use of violence, while also examining the types of violence used.
In a provocative thesis – ‘Virtuous Violence’ by Alan Page Fiske, an anthropologist at UCLA, and Tage Rai, a psychologist and post-doctoral scholar at Northwestern University, they conclude that “across cultures and history, there is generally one motive for hurting or killing: people are violent because it feels like the right thing to do. They feel morally obliged to do it.”
Can the perpetrators who attacked and killed 12 people in the Charlie Hebdo offices in Paris on January 7th, 2015, justify themselves on the basis of the above argument? The two brothers who were responsible for the attack and killings later said that they “were defending Prophet Mohommed”.
Can the bombing of Afghanistan by the US Air Force with support from Britain, France, Australia, Canada and Germany, soon after the 9-11 bombing of the twin towers in New York be justified on the same basis?
Can the Russian invasion of Ukraine be justified on the basis of an existential threat to its territory and nationhood from the attempted expansion of NATO?
Can the attack on ‘aragalites’ in front of ‘Temple Trees’ justify the burning and looting of 70-odd houses all over Sri Lanka?
It can be all too easy to brand violence as evil, but increasingly, research is revealing this approach is being too simplistic and offers no effective means of reducing violence. A similar insight is drawn by the Harvard psychologist, Steven Pinker who argues that most perpetrators of violence throughout history are not pathological but motivated to act within their own moral framework.
Now the obvious question comes up. What is this ‘moral framework’? It obviously differs from culture to culture and societal norms of different communities. Is violence justified when defending the unarmed and unempowered? The issue of morality and ethics of violence is not as straightforward as we might wish to think. Each specific situation demands analysis of the morality of violence. We are left with an unanswered moral dilemma. “Is violence always wrong?”
Just War theory
The just war theory (JWT) is a doctrine of military ethics that aims to ensure that a war is morally justifiable through a series of criteria, all of which must be met for a war to be considered just.
It is said that JWT can be traced as far back as to Ancient Egypt. The Chinese justified war only as a last resort and only if declared by the rightful sovereign. But they added the fallacious argument that the success of a military campaign was sufficient proof that the war had been righteous. This is not surprising as we find that this argument seems to be in play in modern times as well. The outcome of World Wars I and II and the Treaty of Versailles and the Nuremburg Trials are classic examples of the persistence of the Chinese argument for a righteous war.
The Mahabharata offers the first written discussions of a “just war” (dharma-yuddha or “righteous war”). In it, one of five ruling brothers (Pandavas) asks if the suffering caused by war can ever be justified. A long discussion then ensues between the siblings, establishing criteria like proportionality (chariots cannot attack cavalry, only other chariots; no attacking people in distress), just means (no poisoned or barbed arrows), just cause (no attacking out of rage), and fair treatment of captives and the wounded.
From the Islamic concept of jihad (Arabic: “striving”), or holy war, comes the concept of Muslim legal theory which is the only type of just war in their ‘rule book’.
Most wars are justified on one or another rationale. Those who go to war always have a justification. The US involvement in the Vietnam war and the current war between Russia and the Ukraine are contrasting cases from the ends of the political spectrum.
In conclusion
I have tried in this short essay to discuss violence as an anthropological entity with a spectrum of opinions and justifications. The debate/discussion will last as long as civilisation lasts. As long as we as humans will have our primaeval, atavistic ‘tribal’ propensities. As long as we are divided by class, caste, religion, race and nationhood.
The ‘aragalaya’ must necessarily fall into some slot in these myriad human propensities for violence and non-violence. As I said at the outset, there are a few unique features in what happened from April to July 2022. It began with a non-violent peaceful right to protest. The candle-lit vigils – mostly of the middle and upper-middle class – that almost immediately changed into a spasm of violence in Mirihana when a bus was torched. In the minds of some of them, their intentions were violent right from the beginning. But for others, it was justified, non-violent protests against a regime that had deteriorated fast into economic chaos leading to civil unrest.
So, to which slot exactly, can we put the ‘aragalaya’ in this ‘epidemiology of violence’? How spontaneous was it? Were there other players in the shadows who played ‘puppets on strings’? Were there external sources who funded the ‘aragalaya’? If so, what were their motivations? Was ‘regime change’ on their agenda? Did the circumstances of those heady events demand a regime change?
Did our predominant culture, the Buddhist ethos prevent serious violence on the part of the ‘aragalites’, and more pertinently on the part of the regime? Why was not a single shot fired into the air, and failing which into the crowd, when the Presidential Residence gates were breached? Why did the President slink away quietly by the back door into political oblivion? Do the current attempts at supressing dissent ‘by legal means’ portend of more violence to come?
We shall have to await a detailed and deep analysis of what happened in those critical months in 2022 in Sri Lanka to make better sense of what really happened a year ago.
By Professor G. L. Peiris
D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D.
(Sri Lanka);
Rhodes Scholar, Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London;
Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo.
I. The Youth Commission in Retrospect
My tenure of office as Vice Chancellor of the University of Colombo coincided with the most turbulent period in the history of the university system in our country. There was a near total collapse of all systems, and the cost in terms of the loss of life, destruction of public and private property and disruption of all sectors of national life, was exorbitant.
As this time of upheaval drew to a close, the Government, in October 1989, appointed a Presidential Commission to examine, inter alia, “the causes of disquiet, unrest and discontent manifesting itself in the rejection of existing institutions and in acts of violence”.
As one of 7 Commissioners I played an active role in the work of the Commission and in the preparation of its Report. Revisiting its content recently, I was struck by the immediate relevance of its major themes and recommendations, and the thinking underpinning them, to dominant challenges in our society today.
II. Politicisation a Central Malady
“The oral and written representations to the Commission indicated virtual unanimity that politicisation and perceptions about the abuse of political power are some of the main causes of youth unrest in contemporary Sri Lanka”. This was the first sentence in the Report of the Commission which identified, as the main issue, “the abuse of political power in the undermining of democratic institutions”.
Pre-eminent among the recommendations of the Commission was the setting up of a Nominations Commission “which will recommend to the President the names of persons who will constitute the membership of (a) important Commissions responsible for recruitment, promotion,transfer and dismissal in certain vital areas; and (b) Commissions responsible for policy making in selected areas”. The composition of the Nominations Commission was to reflect the balance of political parties in Parliament.
Disenchanted youth, giving evidence before the Commission throughout the length and breadth of the Island, insisted that, although they were not averse to acceptance of adversity – inevitable at times in a nation’s history – what they would vehemently reject and rebel against was deprivation accompanied by palpable injustice.
III. An Institutional Response: The Constitutional Council
This concept of a Nominations Commission was the origin and inspiration of the Constitutional Council introduced into our Constitution by the Seventeenth Amendment in 2001.
Militating against the “winner takes all” mindset and seeking to establish merit and fairplay as the cornerstones of a rules-based system of public administration, the Constitutional Council mechanism dominated political events for a quarter of a century.
Dramatic swings of the pendulum from progress to backlash characterised developments during the whole of this period. The Seventeenth Amendment envisaged a Constitutional Council consisting of 3 Members of Parliament (Speaker, Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition) and 7 representatives of civil society nominated by political parties in Parliament. The Eighteenth Amendment, in 2010, replaced the Constitutional Council with a Parliamentary Council which departed in crucial respects from the role of its predecessor, in that the Parliamentary Council consisting of 5 members – 3 from the Legislature and 2 from outside – could only make recommendations to the appointing authority, the President, but their concurrence was not required as a condition for validity of appointments. It was, therefore, a relatively weak instrument.
The Nineteenth Amendment of 2015, which brought back into being a Constitutional Council of 10 members – 7 Parliamentarians and 3 from outside – represented movement in the opposite direction by investing the Council with real authority. A further twist in the skein was signified by the retrogressive Twentieth Amendment, in 2020, which restored the largely impotent Parliamentary Council functioning as a mere advisory body.
The wheel came full circle with the Twenty First Amendment in 2022 which embodies the current law. This precludes the President from appointing personnel of vital Commissions – dealing with elections, the public service, the national police, audit, human rights, bribery and corruption, finance, delimitation, and national procurement – without an explicit recommendation by the Council.
Moreover, a whole range of important officials – the Attorney-General, the Governor of the Central Bank, the Auditor General, the Inspector General of Police, the Ombudsman and the Secretary General of Parliament – could not be validly appointed unless the appointment had been approved by the Council on a recommendation made by the President.
IV. Vigilance the Key
These are landmark achievements, in restricting the scope for partisan political influence in the higher echelons of governance; they serve to reinforce public confidence in the integrity of institutions.
There is no room for complacency, however. The nation was witness to the unedifying spectacle of an incumbent President upbraiding the Constitutional Council, on the floor of Parliament, for purported interference with the performance of executive functions. The current controversy between the National Police Commission and the Acting Inspector General of Police has the potential to thwart the former in the exercise of its constitutional responsibilities. Institutional norms of independence and objectivity can hardly be swept away by exigencies of operational control.
V. Legislative Sovereignty and Judicial Oversight
My distinguished predecessor in the Office of Minister of Constitutional Affairs, the late Dr. Colvin R. de Silva, was a protean figure in constitution making. Unyielding in his insistence on sovereignty of the Legislature, he fiercely resisted, on grounds of principle, judicial surveillance of any kind over the legislative functions of Parliament.
The rationale for this view was set out by him pithily in an address to the United Nations Association of Ceylon in 1968: “Do we want a legislature that is sovereign, or do we not? That is the true question. If you say that the validity of a law has to be determined by anybody outside the law making body, then you are to that extent saying that your law making body is not completely the law making body”.
So unflinching was the architect of the Constitution of 1972 in his adherence to this conviction that, even when a Constitutional Court with limited functions had to be provided for, he insisted that the Secretary- General of Parliament must serve as the Registrar of the Court, and that its sittings had to be held not in Hulftsdorp but within the precincts of Parliament.
It is a matter for satisfaction that this view has not taken root in the constitutional traditions of our country. Instead,we have opted for adoption of justiciable fundamental rights as a restraint on the competence of Parliament, in the interest of protection of the citizenry. This is a measure of acknowledgement of the dangers of untrammelled power and the lure of temptation. Contemporary experience demonstrates the wisdom of this choice.
The idea itself is not unfamiliar to our legal culture. Although the Constitution Order-in-Council of 1948 made no explicit provision for judicial review, our courts showed no disinclination to embark on substantive judicial review of important legislation including the Citizenship Act of 1948, the Sinhala Only Act of 1956, and the Criminal Law (Special Provisions) Act of 1962. The latter statute was struck down in its entirety by the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council on the ground of repugnance to the basic scheme of the Constitution.
Judicial oversight of legislation, then, is a defining principle of our legal system. However, the manner of its application is exposed to legitimate criticism in two ways.
(a) The Content of Fundamental Rights
It is disappointing that only civil and political rights have been deemed worthy of entrenchment in our Constitution, to the rigid exclusion of economic,social and cultural rights.This approach, which continues to receive expression in Chapter III of the present Constitution, runs counter to current international recognition that the latter category of rights is of overriding importance,especially in the context of the developing world.
(b) Exclusion of Post-enactment Review
Judicial scrutiny of legislation is confined in our system to pre-enactment review. There is provision for gazetting of bills and for challenge by the public on the basis of conflict with constitutional provisions. The proposed legislation cannot be debated or passed in Parliament until the Determination of the Supreme Court is received by the Speaker. The Court is required to decide, within a stipulated period, whether the legislation, or any portion of it, contravenes the Constitution and, if so, whether a special majority (two-thirds of the total membership of the House) is sufficient to secure its enactment or whether endorsement by the People at a Referendum is needed, as well. Amendments required by the Court must be compulsorily included at the Committee Stage, as a condition of validity (Articles 78 and 121).
A serious lacuna has been laid bare by recent events. In an egregious affront to the mandatory constitutional scheme, the Government, during passage of the Online Safety Bill, secured enactment of the legislation at the Third Reading, without moving all of the Amendments insisted upon by the Court. This resulted in a Vote of No Confidence being moved by the Opposition against the Speaker for intentional violation of the Constitution.
There have been other instances of flagrant abuse of the legislative process. A Bill which, as presented to Parliament and adjudicated upon by the Supreme Court, dealt with representation of women in Provincial Councils, was fundamentally altered in content AFTER judicial scrutiny through extensive Amendments at the Committee stage, making it virtually impossible to hold Provincial Council elections at all.
Deliberate manipulation of this kind, enabling subversion of constitutional procedures, goes without remedy because of the unqualified exclusion of post-enactment review. This derives from the conclusive bar imposed by Article 80 (3) of the Constitution: “When a Bill becomes law upon the certificate of the Speaker, no court or tribunal shall inquire into, pronounce upon or in any manner call in question the validity of such Act on any ground whatsoever”.
In the overall reform envisaged in the near future, this anomaly calls for urgent attention as a key issue.
VI The Public Service: Neutrality or Control?
Provision for an enabling environment for public officials to fulfil their responsibilities in a spirit of independence, without fear or favour, is generally considered an essential feature of a robust democracy.
However, this has not been looked upon as elf-evident at every stage of our constitutional history. On the contrary, political control of the public service has been sanctified as a cardinal virtue, and its cultivation assiduously promoted.
Root and branch opposition to the idea of a public service beyond the reach of political authority is exemplified by the Constitution of 1972, the sheet anchor of which was the principle that “The National State Assembly is the supreme instrument of State power of the Republic” (Article 5). Political control of the public service was held to be a necessary corollary.
This found expression in the emphatic statement that “The Cabinet of Ministers shall have the power of appointment, transfer, dismissal and disciplinary control of all State officers” (Article 106 (2)). For the exercise of this power, it was declared that the Cabinet “shall be answerable to the National State Assembly” (Article 106 (1)).
The State Services Advisory Board consisting of 3 persons appointed by the President, as its designation made clear, was no more than an advisory body. This, indeed, was true even of the Judicial Services Advisory Board set up under the Constitution of 1972: “The appointment of judges shall be made by the Cabinet of Ministers after receiving the recommendation of the Judicial Services Advisory Board” (Article 126). This Board was required to send a list, but the Cabinet had full power to appoint persons not on the list, with the reasons applicable tabled in the National State Assembly.
The Legislature, then, with the Cabinet as its delegate, became under the Constitution of 1972 the clearly identified source of authority over all State officers including judicial officers. The seed had been sown; and an abundant harvest was reaped in succeeding years.
Happily, our constitutional values took a different trajectory, leaving this tradition behind. The aborted Constitution Bill, which I presented to Parliament as Minister of Constitutional Affairs on behalf of President Chandrika Kumaratunga in August 2000, sought to reverse this trend frontally.
Making a radical departure from the policy stance of political control over the public service, the present Constitution provides unequivocally that this authority “shall be vested in the Public Service Commission” (article 55 (3)). An exception is made in the case of Heads of Department, in relation to whom the corresponding power is vested in the Cabinet of Ministers (Article 55 (2)). The power of appointment of Heads of the Army, Navy and Air Force is placed in the hands of the President (Article 61E). These are reasonable exceptions.
VII Precept vs. Example
Laws, skilfully crafted, do not furnish cast-iron guarantees. They simply provide a conducive environment for persons of goodwill and competence to fulfil their public duties, unencumbered by pressure: the rest is up to individual conscience. Constitutional provisions confer security of tenure on judges, prevent reduction of salary and other benefits during their tenure of office and protect them against attacks harmful to the dignity of their office.
The Lawyers’ Collective, comprising public-spirited members of the legal profession, pointed out last week the danger of judges, upon retirement, accepting lucrative appointments within the gift of the government in power. Public perception is the overriding factor in this field. To be remiss is to invite debilitating weakness and to risk erosion of confidence in the foundations of a functioning democracy.
Ahamed Kathrada, friend and advisor to Nelson Mandela said of Robben Island, where Mandela was imprisoned for close to 30 years, that “While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument to our hardship and suffering.”
Similarly, we do not want our beloved country to be a monument to our suffering. As Kathrada said, we want our country to be a symbol of the triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil, a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness. Managing the painful history of this country should be focused on achieving this objective.
Emotions, such as sadness, worry, anger and in some cases, hatred, festering in our society over the past forty years appear now to be reaching boiling point.
Considering my professional background and knowledge of the mind, I am not surprised by that.
Violence is wrong no matter which side it comes from and regardless of its source. However, the bitter truth that emerges when examining the history of the past forty years, even when looking at it from the best possible angle, is that the foundation of the immoral, illegal and violent politics established took root in Sri Lanka, after 1977.
Actions and counteractions of the negative political culture including violence then established, brought nothing but destruction to Sri Lanka.
The bitter truth is that our collective conscience, sensitivities and actions as a nation, are shaped and coloured by this ongoing aggression and violence that equally affected both the South and the North.
The specific period of terror of 1987 – 1989 was focused mainly in the South. Accepting the fact that the majority of those who suffered during this period were Sinhala Buddhists is merely stating the reality; it is not approaching the problem from a narrow, racist or religious perspective.
It should also be added that I myself was a victim of that terror.
The Sinhala Buddhist culture has a distinctive tradition process for alleviating the grief due to a death by holding awake: sharing the pain of loss with those closest to you, and engaging in religious activities specifically in remembrance of the dead person, a sequence of events including offering alms, that provides time to heal.
It is this cultural heritage of managing loss and grief that was taken away from those who lost their lives and their loved ones in 1987- 89. It is only those who have faced such unfortunate experiences who know the compulsion and pain left by that void, where there was no time to process loss and grief. It is time for introspection – for genuine reflection.
With this background as our legacy over multiple generations, we need to pay greater attention to guarding ourselves against the potential response of “identification with the aggressor.” Identification with the aggressor is an involuntary or sub-conscious psychological defence mechanism and a reaction to trauma where the victim who underwent the trauma identifies with and mimics the behaviour of the person who carries out the violence, as a psychological coping mechanism.
Such responses can be seen in, for example, children undergoing abuse, or young people undergoing ragging. The usual reaction one would expect is for the victim to refrain from abuse or ragging. However, contrary to that expectation, research has revealed that the victim displays behaviour similar to that of the person who abused or ragged him/her.
A clear understanding of how is this concept likely to impact the current political climate is critical at this juncture.
Wielding immense political power, politically less experienced and matured social strata may unknowingly become prone to treating their opponents in the same way that the oppressors of the past victimised them. Therefore, the leadership should be sensitive to the potential of former victims almost unknowingly impose past sufferings on current opponents. It is the responsibility of politically enlightened social strata to identify and prevent that situation in advance. It is a moral obligation of all political parties not just the ruling party.
I would like to share a personal experience in this context. Assistant superintended Senaka de Silva was the man who brutally tortured me at the torture camp at Chitra Road, Gampaha, run alongside the Batalanda torture camp.
After my release, I was working as the Head of the Emergency Treatment Unit at the Sri Jayewardenepura Hospital, when the former ASP de Silva brought his niece there for treatment, unaware that I worked there. He was disconcerted to see me and immediately turned back and walked away. I sent the security officer to bring that child back, admitted her to the hospital and did my best to treat her. The thought process and action that I followed that day is what I adhere to date as well. At the time I was only a specialist in family medicine, today, as a professor of psychiatry, I see these events from a much broader point of view.
The force of emotions arising due to pain or injustice can be destructive to society, but it is also possible to divert it into a force for good. For example, the lack of any post-election violence at the Presidential elections of 2024 indicated a commendable positive direction in social movements. Similarly, the dialogue arising around the Batalanda torture camp, too, should be constructive and forward thinking, so that we shall never again see such an immoral political culture in Sri Lanka.
Ahamed Kathrada, friend and advisor to Nelson Mandela said of Robben Island, where Mandela was imprisoned for close to 30 years, that “While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument to our hardship and suffering.”
Similarly, we do not want our beloved country to be a monument to our suffering. As Kathrada said, we want our country to be a symbol of the triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil, a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness. Managing the painful history of this country should be focused on achieving this objective.
This does not mean that we have to essentially follow the South African model of truth commission for reconciliation but we do it in a culturally sensitive way that suits us.
As a Nation we all need to understand that situations arise neither to laugh nor to weep, but to learn from past experience.
(The author of this article became a JVP activist as a student in 1977. He was the Secretary of the Human Rights organisation of Sri Lanka in late 1970s and early 1980s. He was known as the personal physician to the late leader of the JVP Rohana Wijeweera.
He was arrested and imprisoned in 1983, but later released without any charge. He was abducted in broard daylight on the 19 July 1988, held in captivity and tortured. He was released in 1990.
An internationally renowned academic, he is an Emeritus Professor of Global Mental Health at Kings College London and Emeritus Professor Keele University. He is also the Director, Institute for Research and Development in Health and Social care and the Chairman of the National Institute of Fundamental Studies.)
by Professor Athula Sumathipala
The proposed expansion of the Kelani Valley railway line has prompted the squatters to demolish the buildings and the above photograph depicts the ad-hoc manner in which a building in the heart of Nugegoda town (No 39 Poorwarama Road) has been haphazardly demolished posing a risk to the general public. Residents say that the live electric wire has not been disconnected and the half-demolished structure is on the verge of collapse, causing inevitable fatal damages.
Over to the Railway Department, Kotte Municipality Ceylon Electricity Board and the Nugegoda Police.
Athula Ranasinghe,
Nugegoda.
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