The Republic of the Dead, What a Colombo Cemetery Teaches the Living About Peaceful Coexistence

The Republic of the Dead, What a Colombo Cemetery Teaches the Living About Peaceful Coexistence

In a world increasingly fractured by the deafening noise of identity politics, religious schisms, and ethnic strife, the most profound lessons in harmony are often found in the most unexpected of places. For Arefa Tehsin, as detailed in her poignant and lyrical meditation, that classroom is not a parliament or a university, but a cemetery. The Kanatte Cemetery in Colombo, Sri Lanka, is more than a final resting place; it is a sprawling, silent metropolis of the departed that offers a radical, working model of pluralism. While the living world above ground—in Sri Lanka and across the globe—struggles with the complexities of coexistence, Kanatte presents a simple, undeniable truth: beneath the soil, all divisions dissolve. This “republic of the dead,” as Tehsin calls it, stands as a powerful, silent critique of our failures and a timeless testament to our shared humanity. Its story, etched in granite and overgrown with wild grass, compels us to ask a urgent, unsettling question: Why must we wait for death to achieve the tranquility and unity that so eludes us in life?

From Imperial Order to Organic Pluralism: The Historical Tapestry of Kanatte

Founded in 1866 during the height of the British Empire, the Borella Kanatte Cemetery was conceived as a project of colonial administration and segregation. The imperial mind, obsessed with categorization and hierarchy, sought to impose its order even upon the dead. The original plan was starkly divisive: Anglicans here, Catholics there, and the so-called “heathens” in that corner. It was a blueprint for a segregated afterlife, mirroring the social and racial stratifications of the colonial world.

But as Tehsin beautifully observes, “the land had its own ideas.” Over a century and a half, the necropolis defied its founders’ intentions. It grew not into a monument to separation, but into “Sri Lanka’s most radical experiment in pluralism.” The rigid lines drawn on a colonial map were blurred and then erased by the organic, indiscriminate process of death itself. The cemetery’s 48-acre expanse became a mosaic of faiths and ethnicities. A Buddhist monk rests eternally near a Catholic nun; a Hindu priest shares the sacred ground with a colonial officer and a coolie—a term for a migrant laborer, representing the often-overlooked working class. In this “parliament of the afterlife,” as Tehsin dubs it, there are no debates, no filibusters, no partisan rancor. The only legislation passed is that of nature itself: the gentle fall of civet poop and the relentless, unifying growth of wild grass. This transformation from a symbol of imperial control to a sanctuary of organic unity is a powerful metaphor for the resilience of shared human dignity over imposed division.

A Silent Mirror to a Troubled Nation: Kanatte’s Lesson for Sri Lanka

The serene coexistence within Kanatte’s walls stands in stark, painful contrast to the turbulent history of Sri Lanka itself. The island nation has been scarred by a decades-long, brutal civil war (1983-2009) primarily between the Sinhalese-majority government and the Tamil Tigers, a conflict rooted in ethnic and linguistic nationalism. This war left deep, unhealed wounds in the national psyche. Furthermore, political life in Sri Lanka, from the parliament in Kotte to the village level, is often characterized by what Tehsin terms “quarrels,” where ethnic and religious identities are frequently weaponized for electoral gain.

It is against this backdrop of historical trauma and ongoing political friction that Kanatte’s silence becomes thunderous. Tehsin makes the poignant observation that the cemetery’s soil has “swallowed the bitterness.” In a profound and heartbreaking detail, she notes that “soldiers from both sides rest near each other.” This single image is a powerful repudiation of the ideologies that fueled the conflict. The very enemies who faced each other on the battlefield now lie in perpetual, undisturbed peace, their graves overlooking the same frangipani trees. Their shared silence is a more potent plea for reconciliation than any politician’s speech.

Kanatte thus serves as a sacred, moral compass for the nation. It is a physical space that demonstrates that the coexistence which seems so impossibly complex in the world of the living is not only possible but is the natural state of things when the superficial markers of identity are stripped away. It challenges the living to look beyond the “plantation pains stirred by politicians every election cycle” and to recognize the common ground they already share—a common ground that is, quite literally, their final destination.

Beyond Sri Lanka: A Universal Parable for a Divided World

The significance of Kanatte extends far beyond the shores of Sri Lanka. In an era of rising global populism, religious intolerance, and cultural tribalism, the cemetery’s message is universally relevant. Tehsin draws a sharp contrast between Kanatte and other world-famous cemeteries. Paris’s Père Lachaise is a “carnival of celebrity ghosts,” where the cult of personality and artistic genius draws visitors. Washington’s Arlington National Cemetery is a “parade ground of patriots,” a solemn tribute to nationalistic military sacrifice.

Kanatte, however, is neither. It is an “exuberant republic our countries never quite managed in life.” This distinction is crucial. It is not a curated museum of fame or a monolithic monument to state power. It is a messy, democratic, and unplanned community where the only requirement for membership is mortality. This is a model of pluralism that is not enforced by law or policy, but one that emerges naturally when human pride and prejudice are no longer operative forces.

For nations like India grappling with sectarian tensions, for Europe and America navigating debates on immigration and multiculturalism, and for any society where “the other” is viewed with suspicion, Kanatte offers a quiet, profound perspective. It suggests that our efforts to build inclusive societies should not be based on fear or forced assimilation, but on the humble recognition of our shared, finite human journey. The peace found in Kanatte is not the peace of uniformity, but the peace of unity in diversity—a concept often preached but rarely practiced with the effortless grace displayed in this Colombo cemetery.

The Ecology of Tranquility: Nature as the Great Equalizer

Integral to Kanatte’s lesson is the role of nature. The cemetery is not a manicured, sterile park; it is a “forest within a city,” a “true urban wilderness.” This thriving ecosystem is a key player in the narrative of equality. Monitor lizards sun themselves on warm tombs without distinguishing between the faith of the person beneath. Porcupines forage in the undergrowth, and owls call from high branches, their cries falling equally on every grave. The “leathery flap of a fruit bat’s wings” is a sound that pays no heed to ethnic lineage or religious creed.

This natural reclamation is a powerful force for deconstruction. It slowly erases the human-imposed hierarchies, gently weathering the stones and blurring the inscriptions. Nature, in its sublime indifference, is the ultimate equalizer. It does not care for the stories etched in granite; it simply integrates them back into the cycle of life and decay. This creates Tehsin’s “picture of profound tranquility,” a peace that is rooted not in the absence of story, but in the presence of a larger, more enduring narrative—that of the natural world, which ultimately claims us all. This “ecology of tranquility” suggests that reconnecting with the natural world might be a vital step for the living in overcoming our own artificial divisions.

Conclusion: Listening to the Silence

Arefa Tehsin’s childhood enchantment with a “moonlit playground of bones” was a premonition of a deeper understanding. Her journey to Kanatte is more than a personal pilgrimage; it is a journalistic and philosophical mission to report from the front lines of eternity. The cemetery’s silent epic, “written in granite and grief,” insists that “pluralism is not a lofty ideal but an inevitable reality.”

The challenge it lays before us, the living, is immense and urgent. We are asked to learn from the dead, to embody in our laws, our politics, and our daily interactions the peace that we so effortlessly achieve in death. We must find a way to carry the tranquility of Kanatte out through its gates and into our noisy, quarrelsome world. We must learn to see each other not as Sinhalese or Tamil, Hindu or Muslim, immigrant or native, but as future fellow residents of that great, democratic republic. The dead have already achieved their common ground. The pressing current affair of our time is whether the living will have the wisdom to find ours before our time runs out.

Q&A Section

Q1: How does the Kanatte Cemetery specifically challenge the historical and political divisions within Sri Lanka?
A1: Kanatte Cemetery directly challenges Sri Lanka’s divisions by physically juxtaposing the graves of those who were in conflict. The most powerful example is that soldiers from both sides of the nation’s long civil war now rest near one another. This creates a tangible, undeniable reality that subverts the narratives of eternal division promoted by conflict. Furthermore, the cemetery brings together all of Sri Lanka’s diverse ethnic and religious groups—Sinhalese Buddhists, Tamil Hindus, Christians, Muslims, and the descendants of colonial settlers—in one shared space. In a country where politics in Kotte (the parliamentary capital) is often defined by these very divisions, Kanatte presents a silent, alternative model of the nation: one not based on ethnic supremacy or religious dominance, but on shared mortality and peaceful coexistence.

Q2: The author contrasts Kanatte with famous cemeteries like Père Lachaise and Arlington. What is the fundamental difference in the “story” each one tells?
A2: The fundamental difference lies in the basis for their community.

• Père Lachaise in Paris tells a story of celebrity and human achievement. It is a “carnival of celebrity ghosts” where people are grouped and remembered for their fame, artistic genius, or cultural impact (e.g., Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde).

• Arlington in Washington, D.C., tells a story of nationalism and military sacrifice. It is a “parade ground of patriots” that reinforces a singular national identity and honors service to the state.

• Kanatte, in contrast, tells a story of democratic pluralism and shared humanity. It is not curated around fame or a single national narrative. Its community is formed by the random, democratic fact of death itself, creating an “exuberant republic” of ordinary people from all walks of life, faiths, and ethnicities, living together in a way they often could not in life.

Q3: What role does nature play in creating the unique atmosphere and message of Kanatte?
A3: Nature acts as the great equalizer and the primary agent of tranquility in Kanatte. It is not a meticulously groomed garden but a thriving “urban wilderness.” This wild ecosystem—with its monitor lizards, porcupines, owls, and fruit bats—is utterly indifferent to human stories, faiths, or ethnicities. A lizard will sun itself on a Buddhist tomb as readily as on a Christian one. This natural reclamation process gently erodes the human-made distinctions and hierarchies inscribed on the graves. The overgrowth of wild grass and the scent of frangipani create an atmosphere of profound peace that transcends human conflict, reminding visitors that we are all part of a larger, natural cycle that ultimately unites us all in its embrace.

Q4: The concept of a “republic of the dead” is central to the article. What are the “laws” or “principles” of this republic?
A4: The “republic of the dead” operates on a set of principles that are a stark contrast to the world of the living:

1. Absolute Equality: The only requirement for citizenship is mortality. All distinctions of wealth, faith, race, caste, or political allegiance are rendered null and void upon entry.

2. Silent Unanimity: There is no debate, no dissent, and no noise. The only “bills passed” are the silent, inevitable processes of nature.

3. Forced Coexistence: Unlike in the living world where segregation is often chosen, in this republic, different groups are integrated into a single, shared landscape. The colonial plan for segregation failed, giving way to an organic, mixed community.

4. Peace as the Default State: The article emphasizes the “unruffled coexistence” and “profound tranquility.” Bitterness and conflict are “swallowed” by the soil, leaving only peace.

Q5: The article is framed by the author’s personal epitaphs, which are both humorous and profound. What function do these serve in the overall narrative?
A5: The epitaphs serve multiple crucial functions:

• Tone: They inject a note of wry, macabre humor (“finally got her place in Colombo real estate”), which makes the profound philosophical subject matter more accessible and human, preventing it from becoming overly somber or preachy.

• Perspective: They bridge the gap between the reader and the dead. By imagining her own epitaph, the author includes herself in the republic, reminding us that this is not just about “them,” but about “us”—we are all future citizens of this common ground.

• Metaphor: Epitaphs like “If you’re reading this, my story still has readers” cleverly play on the author’s profession as a writer while making a deeper point about memory, legacy, and the stories we leave behind.

• Structural Device: They act as chapter headings, guiding the reader through different facets of the author’s reflection—from the economic and political to the ecological and spiritual—creating a cohesive and engaging narrative structure.