by Vasantha Wakkumbura
We often think of translation as a tool for connection—a way to share art, literature, and ideas across cultures. But sometimes, translation is about documenting the darkest, most painful chapters of our history.
For most of my early career, my focus was on translating English academic and historical texts into Sinhala to enrich our local consciousness. Working with the International Crisis Group (ICG) reversed that dynamic. I was tasked with translating extensive research material regarding the year 2000 Bindunuwewa Massacre from Sinhala into English.
Taking a Sri Lankan tragedy to the global stage carries an immense, almost suffocating, responsibility.
When you are translating testimonies, legal documents, and research surrounding ethnic violence and human rights violations, the margin for error is zero. You are not just translating words; you are translating trauma, police records, and the fragile pursuit of justice. A single mistranslated sentence or a misinterpreted cultural nuance in a human rights report can fundamentally alter the historical and legal record.
Furthermore, there is a psychological toll. A translator in the human rights space must act as a steady, invisible witness, sitting with harrowing material for hours on end to ensure the truth is accurately conveyed to the international community. Language, in this context, is not just communication—it is the bedrock of accountability.
It is heavy work, but absolutely vital for a society striving to understand its own fractures.
To the researchers, journalists, and activists in my network: how do you manage the emotional toll when your work requires you to deeply engage with the history of our national conflicts?
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