A man of strong convictions, Sumanadasa remains friendly and humble, exhibiting that all-too Asian predilection for camaraderie and cooperation. At the forefront of the campaign for social justice, he subscribes to the familiar activist call: “Gung Ho!” (Work Together!)
My brother’s name is Gunarathna Athukorala. The last time I saw him, he was 29 years old, while I was 32. He was wearing a white sarong (long skirt) and a red shirt and told us that he would go to the village market to buy something and to the rice mill which was in front of the Sevana Army Camp. He had Rps. 30,000 ($280) with him and took the bicycle. It was the morning of 25 October 1989—Wednesday. He never made it back.
Later that day, we heard that the army had arrested several people. Fearing for my brother’s safety, I hurriedly went to the rice mill. There, one of the soldiers whom I was acquainted with, told me that Gunarathna was abducted by the army.
When I heard this, I felt extremely tense and confused and could not understand why his life was placed in peril under such circumstances.
Recovering from the initial shock, I immediately talked with the officers of the Sevana army camp but they denied that my brother was in their custody. Colonel Perrera assured me that even if my brother was arrested, he would just be questioned and released soon thereafter. I then went to the nearest police station to inquire and lodge a complaint but they refused to write it down.
Since there was no response from the army coordinating officers and from the local police, I sought the assistance of Brigadier Lucky Algama, Army Chief Hamilton Wanasinghe and Brigadier Karunathilaka, but still, no assistance came.
We have reasons to believe that my brother was murdered by army personnel while in detention. Every time I think about it, I get goosebumps all over. I think his abductors are all demented.
My anguish was so immense that I suffered from a kind of mental strain for about five (5) years. The loss of my brother was so terrible, it seemed as if the authorities themselves had cut off my other hand.
My brother was very active in the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP)1 and was quite interested in Left political ideas and I suspect that this was the cause of his disappearance.
Though most disappearances in Sri Lanka occurred in the 1988-1989, similar cases have also been reported since 1971. But generally, the JVP rebellion was the spark that triggered all these human rights violations. It must also be emphasized that the methods of the JVP were not healthy for democracy. For one thing, they do not allow other Left groups to exist, and in fact sought ways to destroy them and physically harm their members.
In their struggle against the government, the JVP’s means were also undemocratic, utilizing guerilla warfare with no regard whatsoever for human rights or civilian lives. They believed that through their actions, they were able to guarantee justice for the people but in reality, the people could not enjoy justice from the JVP. At the same time, the government’s reaction to the JVP insurgency was equally cruel and barbaric.
As a result of the atrocities committed during this period of civil war, more than one million people either became victims of involuntary disappearance or extra-judicial killings, most of whom were innocent. I believe that this was so because many of the real JVP activists were never caught.
I also soon realized that most of the disappeared came from middle and lower class families, with no children of government officers being subjected to these abductions. Clearly, in perpetrating these deeds, the security forces had exceeded far beyond the limits of their power.
Sri Lanka’s only ray of hope at this period was the determination of the families of the victims to attain justice and change an unjust regime. Their resolve was so immense that in 1994, we were finally able to dislodge the ruling United National Party (UNP) and install a new government under the People’s Alliance (PA). It was indeed a time of high hopes and great expectations from our people. But in the end, we became very disappointed and soon realized that the PA merely used the public’s sympathy to gain power.
My personal recovery, on the other hand, began when I met Wijayadasa Pathirana, the founder of OPFMD. For both me and my family, it was the start of some relief and the beginning of renewal. Through the organization’s relentless pressure, the government finally gave us and other victims’ families compensation by presenting a temporary death certificate. In fact, my mother received Rs. 25,000.00 ($240) from the government, although that would barely last, given our financial predicament and the fact that no amount of money is as precious as my brother.
The organization was also pivotal in my transformation from a human rights victim to a human rights advocate. Now, I feel I can do something to stop disappearances; and I have also made it my personal mission to “sensitize” government officials and members of Parliament about this issue.
At the moment, I am involved in the Embilipitiya case, one of the most celebrated cases of disappearances in Sri Lanka involving the abduction of 32 students. Through efforts like this, I feel I am able to contribute something worthwhile for my people and perhaps, for my missing brother as well.
Footnotes
1 Its English nomenclature is the People’s Liberation Front, a Maoist organization that sought to overthrow the government through force.
