[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 155 (2009), Part 1]
[House]
[Pages 1342-1344]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




               HONORING JOURNALIST LASANTHA WICKRAMATUNGA

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under a previous order of the House, the 
gentleman from California (Mr. Schiff) is recognized for 5 minutes.
  Mr. SCHIFF. Mr. Speaker, in 2006 I cofounded the Congressional Caucus 
for Freedom of the Press, and since then this bipartisan, bicameral 
caucus has sought to highlight the importance of free expression around 
the world. I rise today to honor Lasantha Wickramatunga, a brave 
journalist who was gunned down while driving to work in the Sri Lankan 
capital of Colombo.
  Threats, attacks and murders of journalists are becoming all too 
common in Sri Lanka. Mr. Wickramatunga knew the dangers too well but 
courageously continued reporting. Recognizing his work might cost him 
his life, Mr. Wickramatunga wrote a letter to be published in the event 
of his assassination.
  Today I will read excerpts of his letter which was published by his 
paper, The Sunday Leader, on January 11, 3 days after he was killed.
  He wrote, ``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 
honor to belong to all those categories and now especially the last.
  ``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.
  ``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

[[Page 1343]]

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 
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.
  ``If I seem angry and frustrated, it is because most of my 
countrymen--and all of the government--cannot see this writing plainly 
on the wall.
  ``It is well known that on two occasions I was 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.
  ``As for me, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I walk tall and 
bowed to no man. And I have not traveled 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.
  ``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 waste of your hard-earned tax 
rupees, and make 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.
  ``That The Sunday Leader will continue fighting the good fight, too, 
is written. For I did not fight this 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 galvanize 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.''
  These were the words he wrote in anticipation of his own 
assassination.
  Mr. Speaker, I submit the entire text of his letter for the Record.

       The following editorial by Lasantha Wickramatunga, was 
     published in The Sunday Leader on January 11.
       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, recognizing 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 
     have 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 exposes 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

[[Page 1344]]

     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 Niemoller. 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. Niemoller 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, Niemoller 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.

                          ____________________