Killing of Sri Lankan Journalists: A Legacy of Silence and Struggle
Photo courtesy of JDS
The assassination of Mylvaganam Nimalarajan in Jaffna on October 19, 2000 remains one of the darkest chapters in Sri Lanka’s history of press suppression. His killing was not an isolated incident but part of a long continuum of violence, intimidation and impunity faced by journalists in the country. Families of the Disappeared (FoD), Redress and the International Truth and Justice Project have compiled a report that documents the killing of 44 journalists and media workers subsequent to Nimalarajan’s murder, a chilling reminder of how deeply rooted these crimes are. The question that arises is simple yet haunting: if this continues to happen again and again, will the history of Sri Lanka ever change?
Investigation failures in Nimalarajan’s murder highlight that impunity has been the rule not the exception. Investigations stalled, cases dragged on for decades and suspects often walked free or fled abroad. In Nimalarajan’s case, suspects arrested were later released on bail, committed further crimes and eventually fled to Europe. Ironically, they could not be deported back to Sri Lanka because of the existence of the death penalty. The result: perpetrators enjoying safety abroad while families of victims still await justice.
From the 1970s through the 1980s, the landscape was marked by political violence, civil war and insurgencies. Journalists became both witnesses and victims of these struggles. During the 1971 JVP insurrection, the 1983 pogroms and the brutal years of the war, dissenting voices were met with abductions, torture and killings. To speak truth to power was to risk one’s life. Even after the war ended, the cycle of silencing critical voices persisted. The killing of Sunday Leader editor Lasantha Wickrematunge in 2009 stands as a reminder that journalists often paid with their lives for their pursuit of the truth.
Senior journalist and social activist Mandana Ismail recalls the shock of hearing about Nimalarajan’s death when she was 20 and working at the Sunday Leader. “That was the first time I heard such a terrifying story,” she remembers. “After 25 years, justice for him has not come close. As a nation we should be ashamed.” For her, this was not only about journalism but about humanity itself. “Disappearance or killing of a human being is a downfall of the human race.”
Inside newsrooms, photographs of fallen journalists piled up as years passed. “After Nimalarajan’s killing, we posted his photo in our office. Then Lasantha’s picture was added and then more,” she said. These images became both memorials and silent protests against a culture of impunity. Families of the disappeared – wives, husbands, parents, siblings and children – are left carrying not only grief but also the burden of unanswered questions.
As pointed out by lawyers and observers, many of these cases collapsed within the state system itself. Files were sent to the Attorney General’s office or the Intelligence Department only to remain there indefinitely. The ACF massacre of 2006, in which 17 aid workers were killed and the Chemmani mass grave investigations in 1998 share the same fate: evidence lost, proceedings delayed and conflicts of interest within the justice system. Even commissions appointed to investigate were often compromised as in the case where observers withdrew in protest due to government interference.
What emerges is a systemic problem – one where justice is blocked not by lack of evidence but by political interference and entrenched impunity. Lawyers argue that until Sri Lanka establishes an independent prosecutor’s office, these high profile cases will remain non-starters.
For many, the killings are not only about silencing individuals but about silencing entire communities. Families continue to carry the scars. Mallika, whose husband and five family members disappeared, has been searching for 35 years. “I want to know if he is alive or dead. I want truth, I want justice,” she said.
Meanwhile, international pressure has ebbed and flowed. Since 2008, the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva has repeatedly discussed Sri Lanka but promises made by successive governments have largely turned into empty words. Small changes were announced but substantive justice was denied. Officials insisted they were a new government needing time while justice was indefinitely postponed.
Nimalarajan himself was a man of simplicity and courage. Colleagues remember him as someone who rode his bicycle in rubber slippers, reporting under death threats from multiple sides – government forces, paramilitaries and the LTTE. He worked with the BBC, reading out reports over the phone from Jaffna during the height of the war. His dedication reflected both his commitment to truth and the risks journalists faced daily in conflict zones.
Even decades later, his friends and colleagues remember the moment they heard of his death. One recalls calling his home just after he was shot, hearing screams in the background and then learning that his body was brought to Jaffna Hospital. “He was innocent, bold and deeply committed to people’s rights,” a colleague said. “His killing was not only a crime against him but against the people of this country.”
Justice, however, has been elusive. Political betrayals, broken promises and deal making have undermined accountability. Even politicians who once marched with journalists for justice have forgotten their promises after gaining power. The burden, once again, falls on the families, civil society and journalists who refuse to give up.
As one activist stressed, “This is not just a North or South issue. It is the problem of all mothers, brothers, and sisters of this country. Killing journalists is killing our democracy, our freedom, our truth.”
The remembrance of Nimalarajan is therefore not just about one man. It is about the 44 others killed since him, about Lasantha, Sivaram and so many unnamed voices who were silenced. It is about families who still hold photographs of their loved ones, waiting for an answer that never comes. It is about a country’s collective conscience, about whether we choose to forget or whether we demand justice even decades later.
The post Killing of Sri Lankan Journalists: A Legacy of Silence and Struggle first appeared on Groundviews.
