The purpose of this discussion series is to explore how, as a country and as a nation, we can rise from our current situation and collectively work to create a country where everyone can live happily and prosperously. In this process, we also ask, what is the role of religion? How do we bring the knowledge that comes from religion into this? This discussion looks at it from that perspective.

If we imagine creating a Sri Lanka where children choose to stay here, study here, and think, “I want to live here,” rather than dreaming of leaving the country, how do we build such a place within the next five years? If we think about being in a better place in five years but keep doing everything the same way as now, we will remain in the same situation after five years. To change, we need to shift the way we think, how we view certain things, and how we approach them.

One way to start this conversation is by reflecting on incidents from the past. Consider the people who lost their lives during the 30-year war. The government soldiers who died in the conflict are remembered through memorials and remembrance events. However, in the North, efforts to remember the other side of the conflict have often faced restrictions.

The prevailing narrative portrays the other side as “terrorists,” violent and ruthless groups who should not be commemorated. When this narrative was established, an entire system of institutions, laws, and governance aligned itself to enforce it. For example, when someone says, “They are terrorists, and there should be no commemoration for terrorists,” mechanisms such as police, military, checkpoints, and anti-terrorism laws are put in place to prevent such activities. These systems require significant funding and are maintained by hierarchies of officials and a ruling class that thrives on keeping this structure intact.

At the heart of this system lies the question: “Who should be in power? Who will protect us? Who will stop these ‘terrorists’?” Once this structure is established, it becomes self-perpetuating, ensuring that even after five years, the situation remains unchanged. So, how do we break this cycle?

Can we look at this differently? Can Buddhism provide any guidance? Yes, Buddhism offers a perspective through the story of Angulimala. The story illustrates the journey of transformation: from innocence to becoming a killer and ultimately to redemption. Every child is born innocent, loved and cherished by their parents, a playful and joyful being. However, if circumstances push these innocent children to the point of taking up weapons, it’s not just an individual issue—it’s a reflection of the environment around them.

The story of Angulimala shows that people often end up believing they have no alternative. After being shaped by their environment, they may be labeled as violent or as terrorists. There are two approaches to address this: one is to eliminate the result by destroying the “terrorist”; the other is to take a nonviolent approach and work toward transforming the individual. If we choose the second approach, we can rebuild the narrative and move toward healing.

Let’s remember that everyone who died in the 30-year conflict, whether soldier or civilian, was once an innocent child born into this world. So why did they end up feeling the need to take up arms? Sri Lanka’s colonial past offers some clues. All of us—Tamil, Sinhala, and others—lived under the oppression of the Portuguese, Dutch, and British. Independence promised the opportunity to work in our own language, preserve our culture, and participate equally in decision-making.

But within years of gaining independence, the official language policy marginalized one language, and peaceful demands for equality were met with violence. Over time, ethnic riots led to the loss of homes, property, and lives. Justice systems failed to hold wrongdoers accountable or compensate victims. Events like the burning of the Jaffna library further deepened divisions. Is it any wonder, then, that some felt there was no alternative but to take up arms?

As ordinary people, were we the ones who caused ethnic conflicts? Were we the ones who said Tamil should not be treated equally? Did we burn libraries? No. These actions were driven by a system that thrived on creating enemies to maintain control. This strategy became evident after 2009 when, even without an active conflict, new enemies were created to sustain the system. Lies were told to justify this, turning innocent people into villains, much like Angulimala’s transformation.

If equality had been ensured in language, education, employment, and decision-making, who would have felt the need to take up arms? The war and its devastating consequences were the result of maintaining enemies to secure power for certain groups. Both the soldier who died in fear and the Tamil youth who died after taking up arms were victims of the same system.

When viewed from this perspective, both the mother of the soldier and the mother of the Tamil youth can grieve together, saying, “Our children died too soon.” Recognizing this shared sorrow allows us to collectively remember those who passed away. Instead of treating remembrance as hostility, we can see it as a step toward healing.

If we think this way, we can begin moving toward building a beautiful Sri Lanka within the next five years. Otherwise, we will remain trapped in a system that perpetuates division, sustains oppressive mechanisms, and drains resources to maintain control. Let’s choose compassion and loving-kindness over hatred and anger. This is not an approach that pleases extremist forces, but it is a path toward creating a country where future generations can live happily.