Dear Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka.  We have been here for three weeks and are getting ready to leave the country.  Yesterday there were terrible bombings that have killed hundreds.  Our little family of five is safe but feeling vulnerable and nervous.  What we also feel is sad.  So sad that this beautiful nation has been rocked once again by violence.  So sad at the senselessness.  So sad that we can see the seeds of hate plant themselves in the shallow field of simmering discord that is under the surface. 

One of the beautiful things about Sri Lanka is that it seems to genuinely be a woven web of different religions.  Buddhists are the majority but we were repeatedly told by drivers, hotel hosts, tour guides, that there are 4 religions in Sri Lanka: “Buddhist, Hindu, Christian and Muslim” and that everyone gets along.  Repeatedly we heard, often with a chuckle, that families always have a mix within them: “my uncle is Christian, but I am a Buddhist” or “my grandfather was Hindu, but he married my grandmother and she was Buddhist” or “my wife was a Buddhist but she married me and I am Christian”.  There were a few comments that yes Muslims may be in the mix, but in retrospect, thinking back over the three weeks, they were fewer examples of such mixing.  

As we worked our way south we started to hear little threads of discord.  A word of warning that there will be unrest, that all is not well for the future, the government is corrupt and inept and the ethnic tensions still real.  

We hear disquiet about the pace at which the Muslim population is growing, becoming a larger percentage of the population in the last decade with no sign of slowing down and we hear hints of fear about once again being held hostage to a minority population who has power disproportionate to their size.  This is a reference to the 30 year civil war when the Tamils, who were a minority group, were fighting to gain control of the country that was predominately Sinhalese.  One person expressed “Tamils are all over the world, we Sinahalese only have Sri Lanka, let us have it”.  

There was annoyance that the Mosques blare their call to prayer at 5:30 am despite being asked/told not to.  It is worth mentioning that you never hear any of the other three religions loudly waking up entire neighborhoods in their quest for holiness, although I have been told temples and churches do it too, on their holy days, but not every day of the year.  There are flakes of fear of scarcity and resentment when talking about the wealth in the merchant Muslim communities,  And there is nationalistic betrayal that the Muslim Sri Lankans cheer for Muslim nations’ cricket teams when they come to play in Sri Lanka, rather than cheer their own nation, Sri Lanka’s team.  

I don't know the validity of these statements or beliefs.  I suspect there are likely some factual errors or omissions or poetic license.  But I can tell that the emotions are real.  The whispers of anger, fear, betrayal, resentment are bubbling quietly and slowly under the surface of a loving inclusive people and I fear that yesterday’s events are only going to shake and stir and add strength to the whispers.

I am writing this in the backseat of a car during a 3 hour drive back to the city from where we will catch our flight out.  Our driver, Sumith, is a Christian.  Yesterday he was at Easter service at his church when the blasts happened, one at a neighboring church.  We texted him to see if he and his family are okay.  We also say we understand if he doesn’t want to come down to get us the next day.  "Nonsense", you can almost hear him say, and he drives the strangely barren roads three hours south to pick us up and bring us to Negombo.  

We have spent the last 24 hours feeling nervous, unsure of what the safest/smartest plan of action was for our last 72 hours in the country.  The kids learned about curfew and what that means and how it felt to scurry back to our abode in time for the door to lock.  We had to sit with the discomfort of the unknown and the “what ifs”.  We felt a tinge of how fear brews in the bubble of the unknown.  And then, this morning, we were greeted by Sumith, with his big smile and easy laugh.  

As we take off for the 3 hour drive we talk about the bombings.  He tells the story about how he had his cell phone off during the service at his church and how there were "many, many" panicked calls waiting for him when he turned it back on, loved ones checking if he was safe (he was, his church wasn’t targeted).  He seems tickled that so many people were worried about him.  He then tells us how the security forces showed up and closed the gates and told the worshipers to leave in a trickle, rather than as a large group.  He told us this with a nonchalance of relating a funny anecdote from the weekend.   During our drive he took a phone call and among the Sinhalese words that sound foreign and indistinguishable I heard “funeral”.  He explains upon hanging up that he was asked to help get people to one of the many funerals later that day.   He seemed unruffled.  I wonder to myself if this is how you handle such things after living through a long civil war.  He asks, “those friends of yours who are coming later in the month, are they still coming?"  Then he tells us "You should tell them it is fine.  It will not happen again. The police security will be very good.” He seemed to have faith in the police and trust in goodness prevailing.    Once off the highway we saw a big army tank roll by and he tsked and said “first time army in 10 years.”  And then he continues another story.  Always with a smile, always with a chuckle.  Life goes on.  Optimism wins out.

As I hear his smiling voice and I see the world going on around us I am humbled by the resilience of humans and right now of Sri Lankans.  They are just getting ready to celebrate 10 years since the end of the civil war and the beginning of a decade of peace.  I hope that yesterday was not the beginning of a new reality for this country.  I hope that the hints and whispers don’t turn into a roar.  I try to find hope for there being a way that senseless violence in the name of God doesn’t continue to perpetuate more hate and violence, but at the moment I am not hopeful.  

What I do know, not hope but know, is that humans as individuals are more good than evil; that even good people can do evil things that escape comprehension; that faith can be a saving grace but also a destructive one; that humans want to find meaning and love in their lives, in whatever ways that manifests itself;  that coming from a place of scarcity or fear we narrow our ability to give or receive love.  

I cannot imagine the deranged reality inhabited by someone who believes that killing themselves and others will manifest a good or pure goal.  I just cannot.  But I can see how being promised a false hope of redemption in a promised afterlife may be more appealing to a harsh reality.  It saddens me that once again in the history of mankind organized religion is using violence in the name of the holy.  It fills me with a despair that I inhale and then let go with the following wish, as at the moment I don't know what else to do:

May all beings be at peace, may all beings be loved, may all beings be safe.

This morning waiting for our ride from the Southwest coast up to Negombo.
We are so fortunate.