[Reader-list] Then They Came for me: Lasantha Wikramatunge

[sukanya ghosh]

Sri Lanka's best known journalist and editor in chief of ''The Sunday 
Leader'' Lasantha Wikramatunge was shot dead recently. He foretold his 
murder in this editorial, published posthumously.

*Editorial*
And Then They Came For Me

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.



http://www.thesundayleader.lk/20090111/editorial-.htm