Time may have helped non-Tamils to acknowledge July Eighty Three. But changes in the world of politics have been just as important. Not only the ceasefire and the Memorandum of Understanding, but also the end of the Jayawardene-Premadasa-Wijetunga Era. Chandrika Kumaratunga came to power in 1994 on a peace platform and her SLFP-led government had no qualms about exposing the terror of the previous 17-year UNP-rule. Her husband Vijaya Kumaratunga was also a victim of it. Earlier attempts by UNP dissidents like Lalith Athulathmudali and Gamini Dissanayake to call for the truth behind the killings of many like Gen Denzil Kobbekaduwe only saw themselves added to the list of victims. Silence was therefore a political virtue.
The presence of liberal elements around her, and her political alliance with the left parties, encouraged President Kumaratunga to set up a Truth Commission into the events of July Eighty Three and even prosecute corrupt military leaders. However once the war with the LTTE resumed, she became a champion of the military and an apologist for the violence against the Tamils. But by then the silence had been broken.
The remorse expressed last month by many Sinhalese individuals and organizations is an important watershed in the journey towards reconciliation, peace and constitutional settlement. But it remains incomplete. The fact that there is no complete record of even the number who died twenty years ago, indicates the extent to which the full details still elude us.
Until official records, government and security documents and testimony are provided to an independent international investigative body which can then evaluate the past, the identity of the perpetrators will remain the subject of conjecture. No one has so far been held accountable. And the culprits remain unpunished.
Apologists for the violence draw comfort from the heroic efforts of Sinhalese to shelter and protect Tamils. But that itself immediately raises the question: why did compassionate Sinhalese need to risk their lives when there already existed police and armed forces whose role it should have been to protect citizens?
Other apologists explain the role of the state and its security apparatus in terms of a moribund administration. But were the security forces merely inactive or were they instigators and participants? Did the state just fail to protect the victims or did they instead protect the victimizers. Were statements by Ranil Wickremasinghe, Lalith Athulathmudali and Ronnie de Mel sympathizing with Sinhala traders an implicit justification of violence against Tamil commerce? Why instead of sympathizing with the victims did J R Jayawardene “concede” the unexpressed demand of the mob and drive the Tamils out of Parliament with the Sixth Amendment? Why did the Jayawardene-Premadasa Regime draw attention away from the perpetrators of the violence by blaming and outlawing the JVP, NSSP and CP?
Apologists and their international backers seek comfort in the fact that Eighty Three was an isolated act of violence. But was it? Was it not preceded by a rising crescendo of anti-Tamil violence in 1956 ’58 ‘61 ’77 ’79 and ’81. And did anti-Tamil violence really end in 1983 or has it taken other forms – away from the glare of the international media. Has anti-Tamil violence been outweighed by the violence of the Tamils themselves, particularly that of the LTTE, as is sometimes claimed. Or has the post-83 situation been cleverly manipulated by the government and the media to present a political picture of their own making – making a victim out of the oppressor and a victimizer out of the oppressed?
The truth is that the current generation in Sri Lanka has had a twilight existence, precariously suspended between fact and fantasy. It is the inability to come to terms with reality that prevents the crafting of a pragmatic peace process. It is going to be a long journey back to reality. The end to the silence of the past is the first step.
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