When You Touch the Untouchables, Memory Becomes a Matter of State

When Those in Power Say, “I Don’t Remember” There are few phrases more powerful in a courtroom than “I don’t remember.” For an ordinary witness, it may simply reflect the limitations of human memory. But when the witness is a former Defence Secretary being questioned about disappearances, abductions and the conduct of security institutions, the phrase takes on a much heavier meaning.

Former Defence Ministry Secretary Gotabaya Rajapaksa recently testified before the Jaffna Magistrate’s Court via video link in the case concerning the disappearance of political activists Lalith Kumar Weeraraj and Kugan Muruganandan. The two men disappeared in December 2011 while working with families of missing persons in Jaffna.

Rajapaksa was Defence Secretary at the time.

During questioning, he said he could not recall a number of matters because many years had passed. He similarly said he could not remember whether he had received certain telephone calls concerning the abduction of journalist Keith Noyahr or whether he had communicated about the incident with senior police and intelligence officials.

Time, it seems, has been particularly efficient at erasing inconvenient details.

Of course, memory fades. No reasonable person should expect anyone to remember every telephone call or conversation from more than a decade ago. Nor should a witness be presumed guilty simply because he cannot recall an event. But disappearances are not ordinary events.

When a citizen vanishes, particularly in circumstances involving allegations against state or military-linked actors, the responsibility of the state is not merely to remember. It is to record, investigate and preserve evidence.

A functioning system of government cannot depend on the memory of one individual.

There should be files. There should be reports. There should be telephone records. There should be chains of responsibility. There should be minutes, correspondence and investigative material. There should be institutions capable of answering questions even when individual memories fail.

That is the real test of accountability.

Rajapaksa has maintained that his role as Defence Secretary was to communicate government policy to relevant institutions, rather than personally directing military operations or issuing orders concerning abductions and disappearances.

That is a matter for the court and the evidence to establish.

Holding high office does not automatically make someone responsible for every action carried out by institutions under their broader authority. At the same time, occupying a powerful position inevitably raises legitimate questions about what the officeholder knew, what information reached them and what action they took.

Those questions deserve answers based on evidence rather than political loyalty.

The disappearance of Lalith and Kugan should therefore not become another chapter in Sri Lanka’s endless contest between competing political narratives.

Their families do not need another argument between supporters and opponents of a former president.

They need the truth. If the allegations connecting state institutions to the disappearances are unfounded, a proper investigation should establish that. If officials were involved, the evidence should establish that as well. If senior officials genuinely had no knowledge of what occurred, the institutional record should help demonstrate that.

Justice cannot be built on assumptions. But neither can it be built on convenient forgetfulness.

There is also a larger lesson here for Sri Lanka.

For decades, the country has accumulated cases involving people who disappeared during periods of conflict and political violence. Too many families have spent years searching for answers while governments change, officials retire and investigations crawl forward.

Eventually, witnesses forget. Documents disappear. Institutions become defensive.

And the passage of time quietly becomes an ally of uncertainty.

That cannot be allowed to become the definition of justice.

A democratic state must be capable of investigating itself. Its institutions must be strong enough to examine allegations against powerful officials without fear or favour. And its courts must be allowed to determine responsibility according to evidence rather than political pressure.

The hearing in Jaffna is therefore about more than what one former Defence Secretary remembers.

It is about whether the state remembers.

Because when a person disappears, the burden should not fall on the family to remember every detail, pursue every lead and keep the case alive for decades.

The state has the resources, the institutions and the authority to establish what happened.

What it needs now is the political and institutional will to use them.

For the families of the missing, “I don’t remember” cannot be the final answer.