Dead men talking
Reporting on Lanka's blood-soaked years, I watched names disappear from my notebook.
This is one box nobody would like to check on his CV. Not even the most battle-hardened hack. But, early in September of 1989, I found myself in the wrongest place at the wrongest time. And witnessed my first, and hopefully only, live (apologies for that horrible malapropism, but we are all brainwashed by news TV now) execution ever. This was in the middle of Galle Road, Colombo's shopping and pleasure strip, studded with clubs and malls.
For just a moment, it had even seemed that the gunshot roar had come as a relief. There was a mild groan, and silence again. And as I reported then, in what you may call the first draft of this story ('Sri Lanka: Falling Apart', India Today, September 30, 1989), when a man is shot in the head with an M-16 rifle at 30 metres, he just drops dead. Soldiers jumped past streams of blood and poked the body with gun barrels. "Anyone who tries to take a picture will join this body in the ambulance," warned the officer. Since all of us had just seen him carry out the execution, nobody would even think about that. This was the Sri Lanka of 1989.
The victim had been clutching a bag. Soldiers suspected it contained a bomb and challenged him. He just sat down in fright as snipers took positions and a crowd of hundreds gathered, as if around a street performer. The man, obviously frozen in terror, just continued sitting quietly. It is a horrible comparison if you saw that film, but years later, as I watched Kevin Spacey, on his knees, his face a portrait of meditative peace, waiting for Brad Pitt to shoot him in David Fincher's disturbing dark thriller, Seven, this execution came back to me. Unlike Spacey's evil John Doe, this was a totally innocent man. It's just that you somehow saw calm, not fear, on his face.