Sights of violence, sites of

memory: Reframing the past

by Tissa Jayatilaka - on 08/14/2015

Keynote on Sights of Violence, Sites of Memory: Reframing the Past

delivered on the 13th of August, 2015 for Framing the Past: Untying the
Future, 11th -17th of August 2015, Park street Mews, exhibition curated by
Senior Researcher at the Centre for Policy Alternatives and Editor
of Groundviews, Sanjana Hattotuwa, in collaboration with Artraker (United
Kingdom).
Art by M. VIJITHARAN, 2015, Motherland II-IV
Friends,
The subject of war, memory, memorials, memorialization and the violence
of the state has been rekindled both domestically and internationally in
recent weeks. Sri Lankas ongoing general election campaign has focused
on our long and brutal internecine war and the need for reconciliation.
Internationally the 70th anniversary of the awful events in Hiroshima and
Nagasaki has been observed. The Hiroshima Peace Memorial commonly
called the Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima is part of the Hiroshima Peace
Memorial Park, designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996. It serves
as a memorial to the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on 6 August, 1945. Over
70, 000 is reported killed instantly and a similar number is said to have
suffered fatal injuries from radiation. Bombs were dropped on Nagasaki on 9
August, 1945. Nagasakis Atomic Bomb Museum was built in 2003 around

the only structure left standing near the bombs hypocenter. Some locals
opposed the building of the Atomic Bomb Museum while some others were
for it. It is now 70 years since the dropping of atomic bombs by the United
States. Postwar Japan limited its military to self defence. Now Prime Minister
Shinzo Abe plans to loosen the restrictions on what Japans military can do.
Opinion is divided as most in Nagasaki and Hiroshima continue to be
supportive of peace and disarmament. According to the Mayor of Nagasaki
TomihishaTaue , there is widespread unease about Mr. Abe s legislation
that will alter the constitutional requirement limiting Japans military to self
defence.
Meantime in Chile , the death has occurred a few days ago, at age 86, of
Manuel Contreras, the man who headed Chile s intelligence service, Dina,
during the rule of Augusto Pinochet in the 1970s and 80s. Dozens of people
gathered at the military hospital in Santiago where Manuel Contreras was
being treated for cancer. He was serving a sentence of more than 500 years
for human rights abuses. The families of the victims say Dina, the former
Chilean intelligence service, was behind more than half the cases of
murder, disappearances and torture under the Pinochet government.
Contreras was one of the main architects of PalnCondor , a co-ordinated
campaign of political repression and assassination by military governments
in the southern cone of South America. It is said to have killed tens of
thousands of people across the region. One of those gathered near the
military hospital is reported as saying :
I am really happy, but its a conflicting emotion because the
murderer died of illness but he should have suffered much more,
just like many comrades suffered.
Pinochet seized power in 1973 in a military coup that toppled the
democratically elected government of Salvador Allende.
Vangeesa Sumanasekera drew my attention to Patricio Guzmans fine
documentary released a few years ago titled Nostalgia for the Light. The
title of the film is inspired by the title of a 1987 book by French scientist
Michel Casse: Nostalgia for the Light: Mountains and Wonders of
Astrophysics. In it Guzman draws our attention to the similarities between
astronomers researching humanitys past, in an astronomical sense, and
the struggle of many Chilean women who still search the Atacama desert
for the remnants of their relatives executed during the dictatorship.
Given the above, this exhibition and the related discussions we are
participating in are as timely as they are most relevant to Sri Lankan
society. Among the literature on the theme I consulted in preparation for

todays presentation, the book of essays titled Space and the Memory of
Violence. Landscapes of Erasure, Disappearancesand Exception published
in November 2014 edited by Pamela Colombo and Estella Schindeldrew my
attention especially because the origin of the book is associated with a
salon , and a piano there on which Fredrico Garcia Lorca used to once
play. I had read and studied the plays of Lorca, in particular the Blood
Wedding, The House of Bernada Alba and Yerma in my student days
and seen some of these performed in Sri Lanka and elsewhere as well.
In their introduction to the volume, the editors Colombo and Schindel
inform us , that the inaugural session of the symposium Spatialities of
Exception, Violence , and Memory, for which the essayscontained in
Space and the Memory of Violence, Landscapes of Erasure, Disappearances
and Exceptionwere originally written, took place in February 2012 at the
Residencia de Estudiantes( Students Residency) in Madrid. We are further
told that this institution has a legendary place in the intellectual history of
Spain, having served as an active cultural centre in the interwar period. It
had been here, at this building, that many prominent , daringly new, nonconventional artists and scientists, like Lorca himself, had met and initiated
interdisciplinary conversations with a view to forging and disseminating
new ideas, before Francos dictatorship had put an end to it all! It is fitting
that this symposium was held in this spot suffused with Lorcas memory
and the piano on which he once played standing there as a silent witness!
Lorca, arguably the greatest Spanish-language poet of the
20thcentury(1898 to 1936),was executed by the Francoist regime. Ironic as
it may seem,Lorca is a desaparecido , one of the disappeared , since his
remains have never been found. Colombo and Schindelpose the question:
What happens when state crimes do not leave traces and where there are
no recognizable graves? How can the absence be made visible? While
recognizing the immense validity of their questions, that which struck me
was why a relevant related question was not posed, namely, what happens
when those challenging the state commit crimes without leaving traces?
At this point, I realized how complex and difficult are the questions and
issues related to our theme for discussion is. I also noticed that, most if not
all, of these questions and issues do not have definite, clear and
unambiguous answers and that dispassionate analysis may neither be
possible nor desirable. And the exploration and discussion of these issues
are complicated further by the changing ways in which we get
news/information. National identity and honour often depends upon the
recitation of selective histories. Thus, many Turks continue to deny
Armenian genocide and many Vietnam veterans remain wedded, as
Joanna Bourke reminds us, to the defence of it was him or me when
justifying the slaughter of unarmed women and children. After the

genocidal war in Rwanda, the prisoners accused of war crimes or crimes

against humanity still protest their innocence. Bourke quotes Robert Black
of The Independent on Sunday, 31 July, 1994, who after a visit to a refugee
camp inGoma writes:
Perhaps the most disheartening of all is that most of the Hutus
despite their agony- still do not recognize that what happened to
the Tutsis was a crime of enormous proportions. There is a state of
collective denial by almost everyone you meet in the camps.
People do not see their ordeal as self-imposed but as the fault of
the Tutsis and the RPF(Rwandan Patriotic Front): We are dying
here because of the Tutsis and the cockroaches of the RPF who
want to rule over us, said one woman, who was absolutely
convinced of the correctness of killing Tutsis.
And yet the need for asking questions and articulating these issues remain
of paramount importance. And so I decided that my presentation today, at
best, would only be an exploration of this complexity and ambiguity rather
than an attempted last word on the subject . And my exploration will be
within my limitations. I know little or nothing about the raging academic
controversies over memory and space and memorialization in former sites
of terror based on what are termed Memory Studies or Cultural Studies.
Frankly these are beyond my ken. And If I tried to wade through the welter
of available academic material I would haveprobably ended up way outside
my academic comfort zone.
I, therefore, propose to approach my topic basing myself on myknowledge
of literature and life and my familiarity with the violence of the state and
the violence of those who seek to oppose the state. I also wish to confine
myself to Sri Lanka and the violence that we have endured at home in
recent decades.
Under the broad theme of Sites of violence, sites of memory: Reframing the
past , our topic today includes a number of sub-themes and significant
questions. They are:
Should sites of violence have new lives suitably transformed?
Should those sites remain as they are as a memorial to the crimes
committed at these sites?
Should we dwell on the past or pick up the pieces, move on and get on
with our lives?
Circumstances have changed after the violence and war that began
decades ago and came to an end in 2009. Yet, should not we question the
nature of the Sri Lankan state? Will Sri Lanka become more inclusive and
ensure that the rights and dignity of all of its citizens are respected? Or will

one segment of Sri Lanka continue to dominate the rest and perpetuate
the endless struggle for domination which will lead eventually to mutual
ruin? Should not we seek to transform and democratize the state so as to
make demands for separation irrelevant?
Some of us, perhaps a majority, happy that the war is behind us seem not
all that keen on analysis of the causes that led to war , the role of the LTTE
in it, and that of the state in meeting and overcoming the armed challenge
to its authority. Nor have we yet figured out a way in which we should
remember all who died, and care for others maimed and traumatized.
[And what of those marginalized youth who died in the two southern
insurrections? I remember those who perished in 1971 and 1987-89 period,
but will leave that discussion for another time.] Let me, however, be clear. I
refer here to all Sri Lankans who died, were maimed and traumatized,
regardless of their ethnicity or if they died in defending or attacking the
state. Here I am reminded of Antigone,Sophocless tragic play based on the
legend of Thebes. This play looks at the whole question of challenges to the
state and the states response to those challenges as a morally ambiguous
issue. Two of Antigones brothers die in battle, one attacking the state of
Thebes and the other defending it. Creon, the King of Thebes, decrees that
Eteocles, the brother who dies defending the state is buried with all
honourable observations due to the dead while Polynices the other brother
who dies attacking the state is not given burial. It is important for us to
remember that for the ancient Greeks burial after death was crucial for the
afterlife of the dead. According to Greek belief of the time, the departed
soul does not rest until the body is properly buried. In the circumstances,
Antigone was convinced that the morally correct thing for her to do, as an
individual, was to ignore the dictates of the state and give burial to her
brother. By her action, she was proclaiming that loyalty to ones loved ones
overrides ones obedience to the state. In similar vein, the state
represented by her uncle Creon argues that it has the right to safeguard
itself and its citizens. The audience or the reader of the play is left with the
notion, paradoxical as this may sound, that both are right and both are
wrong. And what is made startlingly clear at the end of the play is that the
states suppression of the individual (Antigones) right to bury her dead and
mourn that passing leads to tragedy, the destruction of everything of value
and eventually to the vitiation of the state ( as represented by Creon). The
gap between a good ruler and tyrant is very narrow. Creon wants to be a
good ruler but ends up a tyrant.
Most of us seem to feel that any questioning of how the war ended in May
2009 is unnecessary and to do so is to be disloyal to the state. Especially
as the US-sponsored UNHRC resolution against Sri Lanka hangs like a sword
of Damocles over the country, those who seek to raise questions about the

wars end are even viewed as traitors. It is that old you are either with us
or against us philosophy most recently popularized by George W. Bush. A
few of us who wish to look critically at the past with an open mind are
looked upon with suspicion and even hostility.
But, despite the attendant risks, a look backwards, not in anger or in a
judgemental sense, is called for, as this will enable us to confront our tragic
and blighted past. Such a sensitive and careful examination will help us to
understand better our past and assist us to come terms with it. For
withoutthis interrogationof our past and coming to terms with it, our
present will remain muddled and our future bleak.
It is true that a frank and open discussion about our past in order to
confront that which drove us to war and its aftermath has not taken place in
our mainstream media or within our national politics. Some members of our
academic community have produced well-researched papers on certain
aspects of the war and Sri Lankas post-war future that the International
Centre for Ethnic Studies (Sri Lanka) has published in2012 and 2013.Some
political entities, especially the United National Front for Good Governance
and its leader Ranil Wickremesinghe talk of setting up a Truth Commission
similar to that South Africa established some years ago.
What I propose to do in the next several minutes is to offer some personal
comments on issues such as memories and scars of war and trauma and
my thoughts on reconciliation in no particular order.
We human beings need to remember some things and forget others. It is
natural to want to remember the pleasant and forget the unpleasant.
Sometimes even unpleasant things linger in our memory. As I pondered
over this presentation, one of the questions that came to my mind was why
do we have cemeteries? This question arose when I was reminded of the
cemeteries of the Tamil Tiger dead in the north which have been destroyed
postwar and on some of which Army Divisional headquarters now stand. We
have cemeteries so we can bury the remains of our loved ones and have a
location we can visit( if we wish to) on special days or holy days. Of course,
it is a given that the loved one is not present in that grave but, yet,
there are many who feel a compelling urge and need to visit a grave and
remember a loved one. And to these latter, the burial site and the
gravestone thus serve as vivid reminders of the person they once knew
and loved. To raze a cemetery to the ground is thus an act of abomination;
a vilification of the spirit in which we recognize the other as human like
ourselves. We all have a right to remember and to celebrate as well as
mourn our absent loved ones.
However, not everyone wants or desires to have a permanent burial place.

Many have their ashes scattered in a river, in the sea or even on land, in a
spot that was special to them. What of them? If they are happy to have
their mortal remains scattered to the four winds of heaven , then why is it
such a horrendous act to destroy a cemetery? The key difference is that the
latter is by choice; while the former symbolizes the oppressive power of the
state over a people when it denies them the right to grieve and mourn the
passing of a loved one.
This begs the question why a state would destroy a harmless memorial
like a cemetery? Why does it prevent people from mourning the passing of
loved ones? I would think there are two compelling reasons which make the
state to act irrationally. These are fear and the desire for revenge. The state
is fearful because the memorial site could galvanize the loved ones into
acting passionately, irrationally perhaps and even fearlessly. Love is a
powerful emotion and grief over the loss of a loved one could turn even a
lamb into a lion. Grieving parents , spouses, siblings and children could
become a cataclysmic force which could threaten the state. At another
level, the agents of state who fought and overcame the so-called enemies
of the state, also feel the urge to flex their muscles in the manner that
conquering armies have done through the ages, in a bid to show them ( the
defeated) whats what! Thus while the first reason is linked to fears about
state security( unfounded or otherwise), the latter, that is, the show of
force through muscle-flexing is a consequence of a baser human instinct ,
one that needs to be deplored and condemned by civilized human beings.
Hence the destruction of a memorial site like a cemetery could be the result
of either one of the above reasons or a combination of the two- security
concerns plus the desire to rub the enemys nose in the dust. But such
action becomes entirely counter-productive as it would only serve to
strengthen the differences between the conquering and the conquered
people. By such perverse and vindictive behaviour, so at odds with our
religio-cultural values, we will have merely scorched the snake not killed it.
So what arethe alternatives available to the state in such a context? There
are no easy answers to this question. It has been said that a state will use
whatever means are at its disposal to subdue rebellion and crush a threat
to its existence. When people fight, they do not hold a book of rules in their
hand; particularly so when the perceived enemy, too, does not abide by the
rule book. Countries faced with civil unrest within their borders and threats
from without will do all in their power to safeguard themselves , even if in
the process, they contravene Geneva Conventions. If they do so, the
UNHRC will throw the rule book at them, as they must do. However, this is
complicated by the fact that the rule book is not thrown at everyone who
deserves to be at the receiving end. The powerful states of the world seem
to be exempt from the rules that are applied stringently to the actions of
less powerful states , leading to the outcry against the double standards in

operation. Yes, double standards are in operation and it is unfair and

unfortunate that this should be so. The absence of a set of standards to
aspire to, the absence of UN policing(however imperfect) , however, would
and could lead to anarchy or state terror.
The state, as we know it, has evolved over time. We are no longer an island
entire in itself but a part of the main. The evolving world seems to be more
barbaric in its behaviour and yet, because of new developments in the
spheres of knowledge and education, hyper aware of its own barbarity. We
are also no longer inviolable, no longer separate. We no longer have a
choice about whether or not wewant to become a part of the global
village. We are a part of it. As long as technology connects us instantly to
the rest of the world, as long as we sell to foreign markets and buy from
them, as long as we move freely to and from other states, borders become
fluid. Conversely this movement is paralleled by a counter movement
towards separation. Secessionist movements are on the rise giving rise
to conflicts between the existing nation state and its challengers. Perhaps
the time has come to frame a new world order. John Lennon famously sang
and said: imagine there is no country; and no religion too . . . Maybe there
is a message here for the 21st century. Is to re-imagine the state in the
manner suggested impossibly idealistic? Perhaps so.Perhaps not.
Now for some difficult but essential concluding thoughts about
reconciliation, accountability and justice. These pose enormous challenges,
accountability in particular. Even at the risk of over-simplifying issues, let
me say the following. There seems to be two very different and mutually
exclusive points of view on one and the same phenomenon which, in the
context of a protracted and bloody internecine war between the two main
ethnicities of the country, become impossible to mediate.
For the Sinhala person, even at the risk of brutally reducing the stakes here,
the soldier not only represents the hero who sacrificed life and limb to
safeguard the Motherland and the security of the Sinhalese, but they are
also, and quite literally, the sons of the rural poor in the Sinhala heartland.
For the Tamil, that soldier represents the murderer who killed their kith and
kin. In other words, with the same force that the Tamils would seek justice
for the loss of their loved ones, the Sinhalese would continue to see in the
soldier the image of a saviour.
This is the dreadful limit of the term accountability. How will the Sinhala
men and women in the south ever agree to a process whereby those who
are held accountable for the crimes would be punished? Any attempt at a
forcible enactment of an investigatory body- domestic or international
will only ever strengthen Sinhala Buddhist extremism, giving rise in turn to

politicians who would manipulate these sentiments.

But this seeming point of impossibility is also the point on which politics
resides- at least in the sense it was used in all great emancipatory
projects, from the communist movements(s) and national liberation
struggles to womens movement and gay/lesbian struggles. If we agree ,
that is, that politics consists in making seem possible precisely that which,
from within the situation, is declared to be impossible. In this sense, it is
around this point of impossibility the future of a different Sri Lanka is
tenable.
In concrete terms, and again, at the risk of simplification, this means that
there is really no midpoint at which the two contrasting opinions can meet
on this issue and we will always see EITHER the vase OR the two faces
(as per Rubin). This means that the political future in our country will
depend on the extent to which we can make the Sinhalese society
understand the justifiable nature of the demand of the Tamil men and
women who are trying to cope with trauma of loss of life, hope and desire. A
trauma of loss of life, hope and desire similar, I might add, to that which the
next of kin of those victims of the two southern insurrections have endured
for several decades now.
As a point of the impossibility, it is also a point of intersection between art
and politics and it is in the sphere of art that some of the most serious
attempts at grasping this seeming impossibility have been made from
the cinema of PrasannaVithanage, Asoka Handagama, Vimukthi
Jayasundera to the paintings of Jagath Weerasinghe, Chandragupta
Thenuwara et al. This leads us to the question of political art and its
relevance in the era after the demise of twentieth century communism.
What role will it play in the process of thinking of the Sri Lankan future from
the point of view of this impossibility we have been focusing on? What
novel idea do they teach us about art, and also about politics? Sketchy and
elementary thoughthese thoughts may be, I believe that searching for
answers to these queries are indeed significant as we grapple with
ourselves to shape our postwar future.
We all know only too well that healing the wounds and divisions of any
society in the aftermath of sustained violence is no easy task. The creation
of trust and understanding between former enemies is a monumental
challenge. If we are serious about seeking peaceful coexistence, however, a
genuine attempt to forge such trust and understanding has to be made.
Such an attempt at reconciliation is an essential stepping stone to a lasting
and enduring peace. For South Africa, truth was at the heart of
reconciliation. This, I am convinced, is equally important for Sri Lanka. We

need to find out the truth about the horrors of our past so that we could
attempt to ensure they do not happen again. Without getting at the truth ,
we will not able to place our faith and confidence in our future. As Bishop
Desmond Tutu has argued, examining the painful past, acknowledging it,
and above all transcending it together is the best way to guarantee that we
do not go back to war once more. Our aim should be to build a shared
future from a divided past.