Reflections on things lost in the matter of winning and losing
History
is written by the winners, this is well known. In other words,
chronicling is an exercise that is framed by power realities. Those who
win and those who wield power frequently bend the story in ways that
glorify them. It is the exceptional historian that would paint things in
colours closest to the truth and resist embellishment as well as
footnoting or even blanking out. The author of the Mahawansa, or the
Great Chronicle, is an exception.
Political leadership
Today, the business of reporting is exactly that; a business. Those
who have power are able to frill as well as ignore and thereby offer
versions that appear to be true but in fact are a fair distance from
accurate reportage.
On the other hand, even the most meticulous chronicler tends to
conflate nation or collective with personality and regime, with scarce
mention of the complexities contained within broad categories. Wars are
won and lost by leaders and nations, not soldiers and populations.
In Sri Lanka, naturally, it is the political and military leadership
that won the major share of accolades for ending a 30-year struggle. The
troops and many who contributed in non-military ways were duly
recognized. Some were honoured with word. Some were rewarded materially,
with medal, promotion, house and diplomatic position. In time, these
names will fade and only the names of the political and military
leadership will be remembered. Unavoidable. Few apart from immediate
family and other loved one will remember the dead of the defeated, the
names of the leaders being the exception.
There was heroism. It is however not the preserve of the victor.
There are those who fight valiantly and die or are maimed on all sides
of every conflict.
Human resources
There are courageous people in lost causes too. History generally
tends to un-note them or else frame courage or heroism in political
terms, i.e. mentioning the ‘treacherous’ nature of the cause and
leadership on behalf of whom that heroism found expression. It is easy
to pin ‘lunatic’ on a suicide bomber, for example. An individual ready
to die for a cause is certainly not ‘normal’ in that your average
citizen would just not put his or her hand up to die, even if there was
identification with the cause or the objective. ‘Brainwashed’ is an easy
tag too and perhaps not undeserving either. Still.
When I think that 100,000 people died over the last 30 years, that
60,000 died between 1988 and 1999 and that another 20,000 perished in
1971, I feel we have not won anything but in fact lost too much. Even if
we assume that just one percent of this number (1,800) were endowed with
courage, discipline and other skills, that’s a massive blow to the
overall human resources of a nation of our size. But apart from all
this, I am wondering who would ever chronicle the little acts of
courage, heroism and humanity that went beyond political and ideological
commitment from among those who lost, the vanquished.
Human bomb
I remember that even today, among the most memorable moments of the
Olympic Games is the determined run by the Sri Lankan running the
marathon, even though he was placed last by several laps. That was in
1960, the Tokyo Games. He lost. Vanquished.
And yet, Ranatunga Karunananda’s example continues to inspire. So too
the image of Derek Redmond, limping to complete the race after pulling
his hamstring in the 400m race in Barcelona. We learn not just from the
heroics of the winners, but the courage of those who lost. They all add
colour and beauty to the rocky, flawed, tragic and nevertheless
remarkable human story, that tapestry we all weave thread into, whether
we like it or not.
I don’t know their identities. I might never know their stories.
Perhaps all I will have is the fact that they did exist and must have
done something that made someone remember with thanksgiving, even if
that someone also perished in the losing cause.
Seven years ago, I asked a question: ‘If the shattered pieces of a
human bomb were put together, would we recover a trophy called Triumph
or a nondescript shell called Pathos?’
Seven years later, I don’t have a satisfactory answer. Perhaps I am a
fool to ponder over questions such as this. All I know is that I feel
there’s something missing in the story and that knowing might not hurt,
but in fact empower and heal. I am willing to compile, if you are
willing to tell. That’s all I need to say about things lost in the
matter of winning and losing, as of now.
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