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The world is the most perplexing place, even more so when you examine malicious hate crimes and attacks upon the innocent.
As part of our Amnesty International meeting this week, we watched a documentary called 'No Fire Zone' which detailed the absolutely horrific tragedies and deception that occurred during the 138 day Sri Lankan war. All filmed on handheld phone cameras and authenticated by experts, the film produces some of the most shocking and graphic images visible to the human eye; maimed civilians, total destruction and displacement and some of the most confounding and anger-provoking concepts that the human mind might ever know.
To be honest, I didn't know all that much about the Sri Lankan war. I'd heard about it in passing, but I hadn't engaged with the full extent of the damage. Whilst I had been growing up, studying for GCSEs and going through an absolute fashion faux-pas, I had been oblivious, in every sense of the word, to the shocking daily struggles of our Sri Lankan counterparts. But as part of Amnesty International, my ignorance provided me with the motivation to prevent others turning a blind eye, or not realising, what was really going on in the world.
We'd been campaigning in the main square at Uni, handing out leaflets to people who, either, thought we were trying to sell them something, didn't want to sign their name to a petition, thought we were mind-controlling activists or didn't care about human rights. In fact, we wanted as many people as possible to come and watch a documentary we were screening that evening and have them sign their names to prevent Sri Lanka chairing the Commonwealth.
Having stood outside in the numbing cold for a few hours, we had managed to generate considerable support or interest, at least and as 4pm approached, I began to prepare to get myself back to Uni to watch the video.
But I was, almost, reluctant to watch it. I haven't ever trusted myself with the strength of my stomach and my stubborn tears, which seldom appeared for anyone or anything would portray me as a cold-hearted brute if they did not fall at some point during the film. Nevertheless, I found myself seated in the second row.
We were warned that it would be graphic. I had seen pictures of dead bodies before and I knew that I was alright with blood but what we watched that evening has scarred me in such a way that certain elements of the film shall never leave my mind.
I couldn't stop the tears from falling as countless attacks on hospitals were announced, children waited for treatment on the cusp of death and women screamed in bunkers dug in the mud. The terror and grief of the whole scene was enormous.
There was one scene that I know I shall hold with me forever. It was of a girl; I'd say about 15 to 22. She was laying on her back, in a foetal position behind a panel of corrugated tin sheltering a shallow pit. She was dead. The man filming the sight on his phone zoomed in to confirm it. Yet another tragic loss of life. Then, with a thunderous crack and severe jolt of the camera, the men were being fired upon. They ducked besides the girl, behind the guard she had made for herself, before they moved into a more stable shelter. As they came out, once the sound of shelling had ceased, her mother was besides the young girl. "Look at my daughter! Look at my daughter!" she screamed, arms flailing at her side. She was in despair.
For me, this was the hardest part to watch and it chills me to think of it once more. I've been frustrated; agitated, and when I feel as though I can't find my way out, or I don't know what to do, I find myself flailing my arms, just as that mother did. I could empathize totally with her. In such a simple action, I could feel her pain. A deep wave of tears set in, right from the bowels of my stomach. I've never felt that way about an image.
So when, at the end of the film, I saw the queen, eagerly out-stretching her hand to Mahinda Rajapaksa - the Sri Lankan President - I couldn't contain my disgust. He was, for the most part, to blame for the atrocities. Zones which has been designated as safe had been targeted by the army essentially trapping innocent people.
I understand formality on the Queen's behalf. But there has to come a point in this world where someone, somewhere breaks the mould! And why couldn't that have been the Queen of England? Yes there would have been consequences for not shaking a diplomat's hand. Yes there would be criticism. But wouldn't that all have been justified if it was the right thing to do? Systems and tradition hold little importance when you are seen, publicly on television, to welcome a murderer. Maybe if I was the Queen I would have done the same. I hope I wouldn't have. But maybe under the strain I would have. But I don't think my heart would have let me carry on. You can plead ignorance in certain circumstances, but not this. If I had shaken the hand of a murderer - a mass-murderer - I could no longer hold my head high as I let people sing an national anthem asking for my protection. I would not show myself for birthday celebrations that I know very well, the nation will be watching. I wouldn't wave to spectators as I rode past in my horse-drawn carriage. I wouldn't even be in it.
But if I didn't shake his hand - the hand of a killer - I would feel the revolution behind me. And I would be happy for it.
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Please, please, please, if you've been moved by this post, help Amnesty International to prevent Rajapaksa becoming the chair of the Commonwealth and raise awareness for the abominable degradation of human rights in Sri Lanka.
Follow the link and save a life; https://www.amnesty.org.uk/actions/sri-lanka-no-commonwealth-seal-approval-abuses?from=issues
Thank you.
Thank you.
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