On Sunday June 15th 2014, in Sri Lanka, the land of my birth and a country I feel deeply tied to by both love and despair, the Bodhu Bala Sena went on the warpath. In English, “Bodhu Bala Sena” translates as the “Buddha Power Force,” a puzzling oxy-moron that represents a militant faction of Buddhist monks dead set on defending the country from what they see as encroachment from Muslims and Christians by any means necessary.
Sri Lanka is a country of deep devotions. Almost every street in the capital, Colombo, boasts churches, mosques, and temples, often in close proximity. Lonely country crossroads shelter shrines to Ganesh or St. Sebastian. But the most ubiquitous religious icons are the Buddha statues dotting the country from tiny garden shrines to 80-foot tall figures rising from the forest in the ancient Buddhist citadels of Polonaruwa and Anuradhapura. For much of the country’s history (despite a 26 year long ethnic civil war) the religions have generally coexisted.
Yet in recent times a brand of militant nationalist Buddhism led by the BBS has risen to prominence in part as a response to what monks see as the unchecked spread of Islam and the economic strength of the Muslim community. These monks have assumed the mantle of defending Sinhala Buddhism, the racial and religious strain of Theravada Buddhism in Sri Lanka that has existed on the island since ancient times, and they have grown stronger and more vociferous with time.
June 15th, 2014, however, marked a new demonstration of the power of the BBS. The monks gathered in a town called Aluthgama. Their chief was delivering a hate filled speech warning Muslims that they lived in a Buddhist country. “In this country we still have a Sinhala police; we still have a Sinhala army. After today if a single Marakkalaya [derogatory term for Muslims] or some other paraya [derogatory term for alien] touches a single Sinhalese… it will be their end,” shouted the head monk, Gnanasara Thera. A crowd of 7,000 gathered to see the strange sight of an orange robed monk shouting racial epitaphs and threatening violence. That night, after the speech, inflamed Sinhala mobs roamed the streets setting fire to buildings, harassing and attacking Muslims. By the end of the day, there were three confirmed deaths, 78 injured persons, numerous businesses and homes destroyed.
I called Muslim friends in the country, they were all safe but afraid. “Being a minority in Sri Lanka is like being in an abusive marriage. We never know when we are going to get whacked!” said one on her Facebook page.
As a Sinhala Buddhist myself, watching the riots in Aluthgama has been a heartbreaking act of profound cognitive dissonance. The Buddhism I was taught as a child stressed love and compassion. Buddhism now joins Christianity and Islam in a disturbing trend towards fundamentalism and exclusion. And like moderate Christians and Muslims, moderate Buddhists too must now attempt to present a reasoned counter-balance to those of these reactionary religious tendencies.
These riots also made me confront something I’ve never felt before, the despair of Muslims who strive to be both be faithful to their deeply held sacred beliefs and separate themselves from dangerous fundamentalists. For the first time I felt what it was to be lumped in with dangerous people who would kill in the name of our supposedly shared beliefs. What does it mean to call oneself a Buddhist when these are the actions committed in the name of Buddhism? I’m sure this is a question that Muslims are faced with constantly, as they are caught in the vice between Islamic fundamentalism and international anti-Muslim fervor. The day after Charlie Hebdo happened, a Muslim friend reacting to the push for Muslims to separate themselves from the attacks wrote, “Sorry, folks. I’m an immoderate Muslim. Why on earth would I want moderate amounts of love, compassion, joy, peace, or the countless other positive aspects Islam brings to my life?”
Ultimately, whether Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity, or any other ism, the world-wide push towards fundamentalism is also heartbreaking in that it forces those of us sustained by some sort of faith to have to say, what should be obvious, these acts of violence do not speak for us.
Nayomi Munaweera is a Sri Lankan-American author. Her debut novel, Island of a Thousand Mirrors, was initially published in South Asia in 2013. It was long-listed for the Man Asia Literary Prize and won the Commonwealth Regional Prize for Asia. It was long listed for the Dublin IMPAC Prize and short listed for the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature.
Granta is Accepting Unsolicited Submissions
After a long hiatus Granta, one of the world’s most prestigious literary magazines, is again accepting unsolicited submissions.
Granta’s history can be traced back to 1889 when a student politics and literature magazine called The Granta was founded at Cambridge University. Since its relaunch 35 years ago, Granta has been a quarterly literary journal, with the aim of publishing the best new writing.
Granta publishes fiction, non-fiction and poetry. There are no strict word limits, though most prose submissions are between 3000 and 6000 words and the editors advise they are unlikely to read more than 10,000 words of any submission.
Alongside the print edition, the online New Writing program publishes stories, poems, essays, interviews, animations and more from established Granta alumni as well as new voices.
All submissions will be considered for both the print and online editions (unless otherwise stipulated in the cover letter). Selection is extremely competitive and only a very small fraction of submissions will be chosen for publication. Reading recent editions of Granta will help you assess whether your work is likely to be a good match.