Protest diaries IV
24th April 2022 Gota go gama
Sunset. The sound of shouting. The road is below ground level so you can see them approaching — waves upon waves — a massive river of young people, moving in one direction. Crowds have a power that has to be seen to be felt. The marchers are young and they move as if they believe the world will change. The watchers start spontaneously applauding. It’s the moment the Inter University Students Federation (IUSF) march reaches Galle face.
5th May 2022 Parliament. Night
News shows the IUSF university students federation marching to the road in front of Parliament. The police put up steel barricades to stop them going on. They are tear gassed but refuse to leave. In the night they use the steel barricades to make a stage and camp out there — by this morning it’s named Horu go gama. The next day they are tear gassed again. Watching them on news — boys and girls on the ground, rubbing their eyes, vomiting, obviously in pain, I think they have what I lack — physical courage.
In university the students union was something alien for me. I avoided taking part in their protests—partly because I am not a protestor by nature, partly because I didn’t understand their causes, and partly because taking part in university protests seemed something you were supposed to do because you were part of a group and being different from the group was frowned on.
Now though I admire their endurance. And the thought that came to me when I saw them marching into Galle face , struck me again. When you are young you have energy and believe in things.
We have had numerous youth uprisings in the past — in 1971 and 1989 — all violent uprisings. The word hartal always reminds me of 1989. That was a revolution with guns. I was lucky, our family was hardly affected but I still remember things with the hazy memory of childhood. I remember waking up and listening for the sound of buses on the road outside and feeling happy when there was silence — that meant it was a hartal and we could stay home. I remember my father having to go for work and us worrying about him because the JVP had forbidden people to work. I remember that there was tension outside though inside our house everything seemed the same. I remember school closing early and being sent home, and being told to avoid the front gate because there were bodies there, bodies of young men and I remember feeling no grief about that, only happiness that school was closing early and I was released from a constricting classroom. I remember a strange time that passed.
1989 was an attempted revolution with guns. If we had another violent youth revolution no one would have been surprised. But this time, miraculously, it has not happened that way. What amazes us is not violence but non violence. It is more difficult to sustain, much less likely to make the news. Where things will go from here no one knows. Youth have been most visible at the protests but it has been supported by those of all ages. For weeks now we have seen people marching peacefully, lawyers filing up to protect them, we can see the weapon of the protester is not the gun but the camera and the placard, the power of memes, of laughter, of ridicule. I didn’t think my country had it in her. I am glad I was wrong.
