Much has been and continues to be said and done, since the Easter Attacks in Sri Lanka on 21 April, that killed over 250 individuals. The consequences have been far reaching for the country, which has been struggling to recover from three decades of civil war. After a brief hiatus – since 2009, when the military conflict ended and the more obvious signs of securitisation were gradually removed, especially in Colombo – Emergency Rule is back as a norm and checkpoints are once again visible across the country. Search operations are underway, and people are being arrested under the controversial Prevention of Terrorism Act, notorious for leading to the detention of 'suspects' for unduly long periods and the use of torture to obtain statements. Sadly, the most visible response to the attack has been the strengthening of anti-Muslim sentiment in the country – translating to very real effects for the Muslim community in their everyday lives. Ten years after the war ended, Sri Lanka seems once again on the brink of another cycle of conflict and violence.
As we search for ways to explain and understand events of that day, we risk establishing a narrative that masks the systemic and recurring patterns in Sri Lanka's polity that have produced these cycles of violence. It is vital that public commentators and opinion-makers do not, wittingly or unwittingly, contribute to the establishment of such a narrative. Two months on, there is much we do not know about what happened on that day and how a group of seemingly isolated individuals and groups came together, allegedly under the leadership of one person – Zahran Hashim – to carry out such a coordinated and planned attack. The details that are emerging, for example about how the operation was funded, or how this group of people moved around and managed to elude the state security forces, leave more questions unanswered than answered. The trope of Muslim radicalisation is far too sweeping and imprecise to offer an explanation of what happened. It also focusses attention on this particular event as the starting point of the investigation rather than it being the culmination of a bigger story. It is important that we have a better grasp of the circumstances and conditions that led to the attack, if we are at all interested in learning from what happened, and with the intention of preventing similar incidents. It is especially important that the Easter Sunday attacks are not viewed as an isolated incident, but as part of a pattern of violence in Sri Lanka.
The narratives that are being offered to make sense of what happened, while placing most if not the entire blame for the attack on what is described as a recent radicalisation of the Muslim community, obfuscate the culpability of the state in allowing the attacks to take place or failing to prevent them. Information has emerged in recent weeks to show that sections of the state were aware, at least of the possibility of such an attack, if not its precise details. This has been especially apparent in the statements made by the former secretary to the Ministry of Defence (who resigned in the wake of the attacks) and the former inspector general of police (who was sent on compulsory leave after the attacks, by the president) to the Parliamentary Select Committee probing the Easter Sunday attacks. Details being revealed in the proceedings show that the national-security apparatus was being manipulated by an incompetent and insecure president and that this had failed to concern an out-of-touch and arrogant prime minister. There is no doubt that the state of war between President Maithripala Sirisena and Prime Minister Ranil Wickremesinghe, exacerbated since the failed constitutional coup in October 2018, is directly responsible for the lapses in security, communication and maintenance of lines of authority. The president and the prime minister are from traditionally rival political parties – a result of the coalition that came into power in 2015. The collaborative spirit that brought both into power quickly dissolved, as personality disputes and a focus on strengthening their individual political bases began to overshadow national interests. What has emerged are two centres of power and authority often issuing contradictory and conflicting messages and orders. These conditions in turn resulted in intelligence information not being acted upon that warned specifically of possible attacks.
The clumsy, ineffective and bumbling responses from the political authorities after the attack further exposed these cracks and the inability of those in charge at least temporarily to cooperate in a moment of national crisis. Why this string of failures and demonstration of incompetence by the political establishment is not the at the centre of narratives being produced – rather than the failures within the Muslim community – speaks to the heart of the enabling conditions for such attacks in Sri Lanka. It also speaks to the casual and pervasive racism that is institutionalised within the Sri Lankan polity. Rather than holding accountable those responsible for the wellbeing and security of the population, and examining how we allow political survival and self-interest to drive the priorities of Sri Lanka's political leaders, we turn instead to the much easier target of blaming yet another minority community for just not trying hard enough to be good enough second-class citizens.