On Dec. 9 2020, a 20-day old infant, Shaykh, was forcibly cremated after he passed away from Covid-19. Shaykh’s parents, Mohamed Fahim and Fatima Shafna were left grappling with not only the sudden death of their child, but with the fact that in opposition to their religious beliefs, their son’s body was desecrated. They lost not only their son, but also the opportunity to mourn him with dignity.

Unfortunately, Shaykh’s story is not the first nor will it be the last. Rather, it has become the norm in Sri Lanka and occurs under a government mandate which states that all those who pass away or have been suspected to have passed away from Covid-19 must be cremated. That means no burials and no funerals. While this is a blanket policy for all of Sri Lanka, it unfairly discriminates against Muslims and Christians whose religious beliefs dictate that their dead be buried and not cremated. According to Islamic values, to cremate is to defile the sanctity of the dead and has far reaching consequences beyond the act of cremation itself. The act of cremation prevents the resurrection of the body, which in turn, prevents the soul from entering heaven. Thus, this government policy not only disrupts the process of mourning but actively forces families to bear witness to the desecration of their loved ones.

The Covid-19 pandemic incessantly continues to churn out moments of grief and loss. There is very little currently under our control and more often than not, we have had to sacrifice our most important rites and rituals — the traditions and practices that offer reassurance and a sense of normalcy — in order to protect ourselves and others. This has been especially difficult for communities which come together to celebrate happiness as well as commiserate through grief. Sadly, at times when we need our community ties and strength more than ever, the very circumstances which necessitate it simultaneously make it impossible to do so. This is the unfortunate reality of a world ruled by social distancing guidelines that is living in fear of community transmission. However, to use this new reality as justification for governments to commit religious discrimination is despicable.

What is truly damning about this situation is that the decision to cremate and disallow burials is not one motivated by scientific evidence. While government spokespeople, from President Gotabaya Rajapaksa to the Chief Epidemiologist Dr. Sugath Samaraweera, have claimed that burying bodies that passed away from Covid-19 will contaminate groundwater and become a public health risk, this is simply not true. The World Health Organisation has clearly stated that burials do not pose a health risk and has accordingly condemned the actions of the Sri Lankan government, along with the Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International. There has been significant international outrage at this inhumane treatment of the dead and the dismissive attitude underlying the government’s approach towards the Muslim community. Yet, it has had no tangible impact.

To add insult to injury, families of the dead are being asked to cover the cost of cremation. Refusing to be complicit in what they see as a violation of the dead, many Muslim families have had to make the difficult decison to not be a part of the act of laying their loved ones to rest. The ability to mourn the dead in accordance with religious beliefs offers dignity to the deceased and a sense of agency to their loved ones. Rituals are what we hold onto — what we have been taught to hold onto — in times that are emotionally turbulent. Unfortunately, we have had to compromise on the comfort derived from these practices. To be forced into a farcical situation such as this, without either moral or scientific justification, is cruel and callous.

There have, of course, been protests against this policy within Sri Lanka as well. From grassroots activists to the Leader of the Opposition in parliament, people have taken to the streets in rallies and marches, appealing the government to put aside their discriminatory and divisive policy. One of the most heartbreaking protests that truly captured the intense pain felt by the Muslim community was when individuals, across all faiths and backgrounds, silently tied strips of white cloth on the black gates of the cemetery where Shaykh’s remains were eventually buried. It was a moment of solidarity and provided a sense of catharsis. However, that very night, authorities removed the strips of cloth. Apparently, even symbolic protests are too much of a public health risk.

The Muslim community occupies one of the most fragile positions in Sri Lankan society and recent incidents, such as the Easter Bomb attacks in 2019, have only fanned the fires of racial tension against Muslims. The sense of security this community has access to is ever changing and this recent policy only serves to further “other” them. It is part of the Islamophobic narratives being spewed about and validates the rhetoric of how the existence of this community is a threat to the nation.

Despite both domestic and international pressure to discontinue the implementation of this alienating and harsh policy, there was little hope for change. Then, a few days ago, Prime Minister Mahinda Rajapaksa announced that burials will be allowed. Amidst all the anger and frustration, there was a moment of relief. One could lay to rest family and friends without guilt over being unable to perform the last rites. However, it was only a passing moment. Less than 24 hours later, with the current status of the policy still being unclear, the Muslim community is once again plunged into uncertainty which threatens their sense of security within the country. The dismissive and cavalier way in which the government is treating the emotional and mental trauma an entire community is being subjected to clearly depicts how easy it is for a single power and authority to target minorities with impunity and without fearing accountability.

Understandably, in these turbulent times a state must make decisions that are difficult to implement. And given the nature of Covid-19, we have all had to endure trying circumstances without the systems of support we were brought up to rely on. However, when a government has the ability to provide a sense of stability and comfort in an already fragile and rapidly deteriorating situation and instead chooses to target minorities at their most vulnerable, it gives up any pretence of acting in the best interests of its citizens.

If one is reduced to tying a strip of white cloth on the gates of a cemetery in order to mourn the passing of a loved one, the government has essentially failed to serve its people.