AruniW

When the Process Becomes the Punishment “The courts will ultimately determine guilt” is a familiar assurance offered by those who defend draconian laws. But what happens to the innocent before that determination? Before a trial even begins, a person may spend months or years in detention or remand, with little meaningful opportunity for bail. Livelihoods disappear, reputations collapse and families suffer—all before any offence is proved. Courts are indispensable. But eventual judicial intervention cannot justify inadequate safeguards against arrest and prolonged detention. Can we assume that every officer entrusted with extraordinary powers will exercise sound judgment, impartiality and integrity? Many serve honourably. Nevertheless, laws must protect citizens against error, prejudice and abuse. Our own experience offers painful lessons. In the Vavunathivu murders and the Lanka Hospitals grenade incident, the initial suspects were reportedly held on the strength of alleged confessions. Yet subsequent investigations pointed elsewhere, raising grave questions about those supposed admissions. After the Easter Sunday attacks, investigations linked the Vavunathivu killings to the extremist network responsible for those attacks. A Tamil suspect detained for nearly six months was released. Developments following the Borella church grenade incident similarly called the original police account of the hospital incident into question. If the initial suspects had supposedly confessed, how did subsequent investigations lead to others? What were those alleged confessions worth? Remember, too, the woman arrested in the Mahiyanganaya area over a dress motif alleged to resemble the Dharma Chakra. The Supreme Court subsequently found that her fundamental rights had been violated. But could that judgment erase her humiliation and suffering? By the time proceedings are instituted, notices served, objections filed, arguments heard and written submissions tendered, an innocent person may already have endured punishment in everything but name. These are human lives. Release cannot restore lost years or undo every injury inflicted on a family. Such experiences strengthened my determination, as Justice Minister, to work with then Foreign Minister Professor G. L. Peiris on the 2022 PTA amendments. We introduced a new judicial avenue for bail to address prolonged detention without the commencement of trial. The amendments did not resolve every objection to the PTA. They offered relief to people who could not wait indefinitely for comprehensive reform. Pursuing wider reform and alleviating immediate suffering were compatible objectives. The SJB, NPP and TNA voted against those amendments. The opposition dismissed them as cosmetic and demanded abolition. How quickly the language changes when power changes hands. Those who demanded abolition must explain any willingness now to defend similarly oppressive powers. Personal liberty cannot change in value according to who occupies the government benches. Sri Lanka needs effective laws against terrorism and organised crime, supported by credible evidence, accountable enforcement and timely judicial scrutiny. Protecting public safety and protecting innocent citizens are both responsibilities of the State. Safeguards must operate from the moment the State exercises coercive power. Justice must arrive in time to protect the innocent. Otherwise, long before the verdict, the process itself has become the punishment.

What have we become if another person’s suffering brings us satisfaction simply because they belong to a different faith? I am deeply disturbed by this circulating screenshot. If authentic, and correctly attributed to a medical practitioner, the sentiments expressed deserve unequivocal condemnation. A profession entrusted with protecting life carries a profound responsibility to treat every human being with compassion, dignity and equal care. Behind every tragedy are human beings: someone’s mother or father, someone’s child, a family’s home, a livelihood built through years of sacrifice. Their suffering does not become any less painful because they pray differently from us. We are all human beings. Every life matters. No faith, grievance or political allegiance can justify celebrating another person’s death, injury or loss. Our national anthem reminds us: “එක මවකගේ දරු කැල බැවිනා යමු යමු වී නොපමා” These words must mean more than something we sing while standing together. They must guide how we live together, how we speak of one another, and how we respond when tragedy strikes. We cannot sing of being children of one mother and then turn away from the suffering of our brothers and sisters. Let us reject this hatred firmly, without allowing it to breed hatred in return. The prejudice of one individual must never become a reason to condemn an entire community. Decent people of every faith must stand together and make clear that cruelty has no place in our shared society. The Sri Lanka we leave our children must be a country where nobody has to wonder whether their faith makes their life less worthy of protection, or their suffering less deserving of compassion. Our common humanity must always be stronger than the divisions between us.