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The murder of D. P.
Sivaram evoked widespread grief and consternation among his professional
colleagues, political actors and for the want of another term, intellectuals,
from southern Sri Lanka. Unlike the deaths of many other Tamil journalists at
the hands of assassins, which merely provoked media and human rights
organisations to issue statements, and, perhaps, hold a demonstration in front
of the Colombo Fort railway station, the reactions to this killing were
different.
What made the response to Sivaram’s demise different to others was the
widespread public articulation of emotion. Among emotions such as outrage,
sadness and praise emanating from the south however, there were two recurrent
themes. These were (a) we did not necessarily like what he wrote and (b) we
still allowed him to write. Those holding these values went on to say that
Sivaram’s murderers were vile and inhuman because they did not share such
hallowed ideals as allowing the proponents of unpalatable ideas and dissenting
views to stay alive.
This is nothing new however. It is the stereotypical position of the liberal
which basically states: “I disagree with all what you say, but will not take
away your right to say it.” Those who are a little more forthright would perhaps
add, “While acknowledging your right to say it, I would even go so far as to
persuade other people too, to refrain from placing obstacles on your path.”
We have to understand that when people put forward such points of view they are
shifting emphasis from the ideas expressed by the person, to the person himself
or herself. The idea takes on a secondary role as it were, while the agent or
vehicle of that idea or view assumes greater significance. In other words, the
person who advocates such ideas is allowed to do so, not because of the
importance of the content of what is expressed, but because of the sanctity of
the person saying it.
Human personalities are complex because the elements are so mixed in them. This
either endears them to others, or makes them repulsive. And depending on which
assumes ascendancy, one is either attracted or turned off. In most cases where
people have ideas that are repugnant to others but are allowed to express them
anyway, the negative facets in the idea itself is compensated for by the
positives in the personality from whom the idea is transmitted.
If we take the case of Sivaram, he was the symbol of Tamil nationalism and
openly uncompromising about the fact that Tamil rights could be won only through
military means and that if the Tamils were to negotiate without supporting their
position by the ability to wage war, they would come out, if at all, second
best.
Despite this being generally considered an extreme view, there was agreement
among sections of the south claiming they knew Sivaram as a person, that he
should be allowed the liberty to express it. This is due to the ‘extremism’ in
the idea or view being mitigated by the personality who advocated them. Among
those who condemned his killers were those who admired Sivaram for his undoubted
erudition, his conviviality, his antecedents in Batticaloa and more than all
that his ability to be a friend of the Sinhala establishment. In other words,
he, (the vehicle of his ideas) was acceptable because of these facets that made
up his personality.
One of the important factors that make us like some people and not others is due
to what we see in them to which we can relate. It is due the ‘us’ we recognise
in others – those factors that allow us to identify ourselves with someone else,
someone who is different. To see a part of our selves reflected in who is
essentially the ‘other.’ It is seeing the ‘us’ in other people that go to build
collective identities that is articulated in groups as diverse as races,
religious fraternities or the old school tie.
In the case of Sivaram too, it is essentially the same thing the Sinhala
establishment is saying. It found points of commonality with the murdered man
because he was part of ‘us,’ who sipped good wine, spoke the common language of
the coloniser and discussed western philosophy. And the establishment in turn,
by virtue of the fact it could identify itself with him, allowed him to live and
practice his profession though what he professed might have been inimical to
many in southern Sri Lanka. And it is also this group that has come out in
revolt against Sivaram’s assassins calling them evil because they dared to
transgress the rules whereby the Sinhala establishment played, What draws
individuals to others and to collectives is highly personal thing. It is
described personal chemistry. Another celebrated instance where it is rumoured
to have taken place is in the friendship that is said to have sprung up between
the chief negotiators of the UNF government delegation, Professor G. L. Pieris,
and the LTTE’s Dr. Anton Balasingham. It is said the latter saw more of his own
personality reflected in the good professor than his brethren in the jungle
fastness of the Wanni.
To return to Sivaram: while those from the south were willing to support his
right to write and publish freely, they were only ready to accept what they
found was acceptable, which meant when it did not fundamentally alter their own
worldviews or thinking. Whatever elements they found incongruent with theirs,
they ignored or denounced. Therefore, when they said there should have been no
impediments placed against publishing his ideas, what they in essence said was
that what he wrote could very well live in the realm of ideas, but it was not
going to affect them.
Therefore, in condemning his murder, they basically were being
self-congratulatory. There was the Sivaram with whom they could identify because
they were one with him as a person, while the ideas that he stood for in Tamil
politics they could cavalierly reject or denounce – all within the ambit of the
freedom of expression. But on the other hand, his killers were different because
their values placed them beyond the pale of the Sinhala establishment, which
loved and cherished Sivaram.
To Sivram’s killers however, his ideas and his writing was not something they
had the luxury of dismissing. It was not something they could read on the op-ed
page on Wednesday morning and forget by the time they had come to the sports
section, or use as a whetstone to reinforce their own worldviews, or craft their
responses. Those who murdered Sivaram knew only too well they were not part of
the club that feted him. On the contrary, what he wrote hit home so profoundly
that they could not ignore it. And that is why they decided to kill him.
Sivaram, like his killers, took his ideas seriously. It was what made him tick.
He believed he had contributed fundamentally towards shaping the thinking that
drove (and drives) Tamil nationalism. He was not somebody who relished others
treating his ideas in a take-it-or-leave-it manner. Which makes me wonder whose
attitude Sivaram would have respected more: the southern establishment that is
singing hosannas to him now, or those who killed him.
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