January 14, 2009	Wednesday	Muharram 16, 1430

Archives Write to Mr. Irfan Husain

Like a stench, bad news finds you in the remotest of places. We were up in the Sri Lankan mountain resort of Bandarawela last week when I learned that Lasantha Wickramatunga, chief editor of the Sunday Leader, had been assassinated.

Killed in broad daylight, the attack on the journalist was obviously a professional job: four motorcyclists forced his car to a halt, broke open the windows, and gunned him down in cold blood. According to his brother Lal, the chairman of the Leader group, Lasantha had been threatened several times, and the newspaper had asked for police protection. These requests had been ignored by the local cops who are now being widely criticised.

Unfortunately, this murder is part of a wider, all-too-familiar pattern. Just two days earlier, the private TV channel MTV/MBC had been attacked late at night, and much of its equipment was destroyed by hand grenades and gunfire. Journalists in Sri Lanka have been threatened, kidnapped, beaten up and killed with monotonous and sickening regularity over the past few years. And mysteriously, hardly anybody has been arrested, and nobody to my knowledge has been sentenced for any of these crimes.

President Rajapakse’s reaction to this latest atrocity against the media was curious: he blamed unknown conspirators of committing these crimes to undermine his government’s victories against the LTTE. As the Tamil rebels are fighting for survival in the North, it seems unlikely that they would target journalists in Colombo. The fact that the victims of this murderous campaign have been critical of this government seems to indicate that some elements are being more loyal than the king.

Human rights groups in the country and abroad have expressed their outrage, as have a number of governments concerned with the erosion of democratic freedoms in Sri Lanka. Since I began visiting the island regularly, I have noted a decline in liberal values, particularly since the present government came to power some three years ago. In its editorial on the killing on 9 January, the Daily Mirror wrote:

“It is an undeniable truth that Sri Lanka is one of the most dangerous locations for journalists to operate. The level of killings, abductions, threats and intimidation to journalists is a sad manifestation of how intolerant we have become as a society to opposing views… It is the very elements of a social system that allows for such deaths to take place but also provide refuge for the culprits of such heinous crimes that we must find a means to end…”

Although the editorial is awkwardly worded, it does convey the sense of outrage felt by Sri Lankan civil society. Lasantha Wickramatunga’s funeral was attended by thousands, and people across the country were shocked and disgusted. Gamini, our articulate and very intelligent driver, was furious: “How can we call ourselves a Buddhist nation when such awful things happen every day?” he demanded.

Over the next three days, Gamini drove us around some spectacular countryside. Although the highlands of Sri Lanka seldom rise above 5,000 feet, they are thickly forested with an amazing diversity of trees, bushes and vines. Frequently, mist obscures the valleys, and suddenly clears to expose mysterious groves and majestic trees. Waterfalls cascade down granite cliffs, and cool streams tumble down along the steep road.

Relics of the Raj live on in the mountains. Our hotel had framed cuttings of old newspapers to remind guests of its past glory. Although it wasn’t very cold, we asked for a log fire in the wood-panelled bar. The menu was very colonial, as were the hot water bottles in our beds.

On this brief trip, we saw some stunning Buddhist statues and reliefs carved in rock. The group of seven figures at Buduruwagla is a serene and majestic work of religious art. Over a thousand years old, these amazing carvings had been lost to the jungle until discovered in the last century. The central figure of Lord Buddha is nearly 16 metres high. Luckily, there are no Taliban around to blow it up.

At Maligawila stand two huge, 7th century statues in a wonderful shady glade. The location shows distinct signs of a substantial earlier habitation with stone columns and crumbled walls. For me, the most wonderful thing about the complex were the trees and the birds. We saw a number of stunningly beautiful birds I had never seen before. In order to learn more about them, I have promised myself to acquire a book on the birds of the island, and a pair of good binoculars.

However, the east coast presents a bleaker view of the country. Mostly populated by Tamils and Muslims, this is a neglected and backward area that had been hit hard by the 2004 tsunami. The roads are pot-holed and rutted, and there are security check-posts everywhere. Normally, cops and soldiers manning these roadblocks are cheerful and polite towards tourists, but around Aragum Bay, they are suspicious and rude. This village shot into prominence in the Seventies as the waves here are the best in the island for surfing, but beyond that, it has few attractions.

The amazing diversity of this relatively small island constantly amazes me. Within three hours, you can travel from the coast into the mountains, and up there, each valley presents a different vista. Driving towards the coast, we passed through a national park, and were delighted to see a herd of elephants feeding peacefully in the open. All along the road were camouflaged army posts, and the jungle had been cleared for 50 metres to prevent the kind of LTTE incursion in the area that had caused many casualties a couple of years ago. As we drove past the soldiers and elephants in such close proximity, I reflected on the probability that in Pakistan, our army would have wiped them out long ago.

On our return, we stopped at the coastal town of Hambantota for lunch. Here, the Chinese are building a modern container port that, together with a planned airport, will transform the region. But given my experience with modernisation, I doubt if the change will be for the better.