So he was glad the war was finished. But as for the notion of Eelam itself, “that will never be gone”, he said, looking suddenly intense, old and bitter. “But we can’t speak of it; we have not the power. Those that have the power can say. What can we say? We can’t say. But it will never be gone.”
Mr. Arayappan, quoted by Mark Whitaker in his essay featured in Sri Lanka: The Struggle for Peace in the Aftermath of War, edited by Amarnath Amarasingam and Daniel Bass
The convenience, or perhaps trappings of power, position and privilege often result in sanguine predictions for Sri Lanka’s post-war future. Last week, Cabinet approved the purchase of new fighter jets, apparently to replace the country’s ageing existing fleet. Following the approval given to the import of luxury SUVs for MPs, this is at a time when news reports suggest 95.4% of all government revenue is going towards debt repayment. And though incredible in the fullest sense of the word, fighter planes, creature comforts and cruise control clearly trump education, health and public utilities for our policymakers. There is clearly a rot at our core the Sirisena-Wickremesinghe democratic cred seeks to gloss over. It is a rot out of sight and out of mind for many, and conveniently so, in light of attention anchored to glistening computer renderings of urban spaces, the adulation of government by the international community and high-level engagements with bi-laterals and multi-laterals.
Arguably, a lot that is positive is taking place. The debate around the setting up of a permanent office to look into missing persons and enforced disappearances. The OMP bill, debated last week in Parliament, covers individuals who are missing (1) as a consequence of the conflict in the North and East, including soldiers who are missing in action; (2) in connection with political unrest or civil disturbances; and (3) from an enforced disappearance as defined by international law. This alone would never have been even remotely contemplated by the former regime. Earlier this year, a twenty member Public Representations Committee (PRC) on Constitutional Reforms, appointed by the PM held sittings across the country and came out with a substantive report. There is an Office for National Unity and Reconciliation. There is a Secretariat for Coordinating Reconciliation Mechanisms. There is currently a Consultation Task Force seeking public opinion across the country. These are all unprecedented moves. Though not always clear or coherent, there is open debate around the nature and constitution of investigative mechanisms around transitional justice, with the PM, President and other members of Parliament expressing views candidly, playing to respective constituencies. The Right to Information Act is now reality. Measures to give back land in the North are going on apace, as well as the demilitarisation of administrative structures through the appointment of civilians. We have a President who commands the respect and indeed, patience of the Tamil National Alliance. We have a PM who often now recognises in public what civil society under the Rajapaksa regime were called terrorists for advocating. Individually and collectively, the seemingly chaotic nature of pronouncements and policies aside, all this is generally positive and very welcome.
Revealingly though, there are however things we have not moved away from. The genuflection by every single political leader in front of a deeply conservative, risk-averse sangha primarily interested in maintaining the status quo. The near total lack of any introspection by the sangha of its own, and in particular the hate speech generation of the Bodu Bala Sena and its saffron-robed leaders. The revered status of ‘war heroes’, to the extent that any critical questioning on command responsibility around allegations of war crimes, or indeed, any wrongdoing, is still met with the greatest hostility. The conflation of separatism with the devolution of power from centre to periphery, and the enduring violent resistance of any kind of asymmetrical configuration for the North and East. The symbolic role of Buddhism in particular, and religion in general, in matters of the State. Proponents of reform calls for sequencing and patience – that just the ten years of democracy’s evisceration under the Rajapaksa regime will take time and effort to address, leave aside the legacy of decades of majoritarian policymaking post-independence. There is merit to this argument, and those of us not in government have the luxury of criticising inaction, without adequately appreciating the monumental difficulties of negotiating compromise amidst competing political interests.
And yet, this is where Mr. Arayappan’s sentiments, quoted by Mark Whitaker, comes into play. It speaks of a state of mind, real, not imagined. And mirroring the deep or dark state in the South – almost entirely invisible to average citizens yet omni-present and violently opposed to any radical restructuring of the state or the questioning of its agents – this state of mind if unaddressed will undermine every single thing the government says or does in the months and years to come. The violent deep state in the South is the result of incubation by successive governments for achieve partisan, parochial ends. The post-war imagination of Tamils is the result of alienation, wistfulness and desolation – the burden of grief in a landscape no longer reflecting the loss and trauma they carry within, the strain of a public persona that needs to engage with positive developments and a silent, inner voice that still yearns for recognition, respect and dignity. It is a condition of yearning too, for what the ‘boys’ stood for, even by those who lost the most to them. If the State is unable to capture the vacuum left behind by the defeat of the LTTE in mental spaces, and sees its victory and peace in primarily material or geo-spatial terms, we risk believing in the same fiction that disastrously drove the Rajapaksas in their pursuit of development-led reconciliation. Capturing hearts and minds is difficult, especially when successive governments and even Tamil political leaders have promised so much and yet delivered and done so little. And yet, it is essential.
A dark state embedded deep in the South, no longer politically expedient, can be controlled and curtailed by executive directives, judicial oversight, security sector reform and the sunlight of public scrutiny. Addressing a state of mind that remains only cosmetically attached to post-war governance poses a much harder challenge. You can’t force anyone to believe something, and the more you try, the less inclined they will be. OMP, TJ, SCRM, CTF, ONUR, RTI remain empty acronyms to those who continue to feel outside the fabric of democracy. A political leadership insensitive to this – how people who have been most affected by war feel – risks believing a self-spun fiction entirely removed from ground realities.
Rude awakenings will invariably follow.