2024 Gerda Henkel Travel Grant (Lima)

It was a typically beautiful spring day in 2024 in Austria. I sat by my large windows, listening to birdsong, dreaming about my future, and working on my final master’s thesis—a routine that had become second nature. It was a challenging period, balancing thesis writing with academic courses while thoughts of an escalating economic crisis and political instability back home in Sri Lanka weighed heavily on my mind, casting uncertainty over my plans to attend the MSA conference in Peru. My mentors and family advised me not to return after graduation due to these difficulties, and I found myself searching for ways to continue my academic journey outside my country; it was surely a challenging time. Life felt full of uncertainty. I applied for several fellowships, hoping to secure a path forward in Europe, but none seemed promising. Then, against all odds, an email arrived from MSA: they were offering me a fellowship to attend their annual conference 2024 in Peru and the chance to conduct an independent, two-month research project. It all now feels like a dream, but it has truly come to life by the time I am writing the small story of the fellowship.

Honestly, I had never imagined traveling to or working in Peru. It all began since I got select to the MSA conference a few months before I receive the mail from MSA. As I started researching Peru’s history, politics, culture, and scholarship, I discovered unexpected connections to my studies on memories of violence, art, commemoration, reconciliation, and justice work in Sri Lanka. From that moment, I became increasingly focused on traveling to Peru—not only to present my research on Sri Lanka but also to learn from Peruvian scholarship and to expand my research on the marginal memories of violence and arts in post-conflict nations.
Fortunately, they all fall on my way to conduch the research project titled “Artistic Archives and Marginal Memories of Violence in the Post-Conflict Contexts of Peru and Sri Lanka.”

My research project began after the MSA conference in Lima, I joined as a research affiliate at the Institute of Peruvian Studies (IEP), where new doors were opened for my work. IEP became a rich hub of knowledge and resources, allowing me to connect with local communities and engage with prominent scholarship. Every day in Lima surprised me with its rich food culture, the hospitality of its people, and its vast body of Spanish-language scholarship. I cherish memories of waiting for Mary’s homemade lunches at IEP, sitting with a team of young researchers, and sharing ideas and knowledge. These conversations were invaluable, helping me navigate my research in Peru despite language barriers and unfamiliarity with local customs within the short span of my project.

With MSA’s generous support in transitioning my fieldwork from Lima to Ayacucho, I began my fieldwork in Ayacucho from August 30th to September 6th. My first impression of the city was one of awe: it is surrounded by mountains on all sides, filled with both old and new churches, and vibrant traditional clothing, with locals carrying their children on their backs, catching the eye of any newcomer. Gradually, however, the city’s invisible reality became apparent through stories of sorrow and violence that permeated this region during the armed conflict from 1980 to 2000. As one of the epicenters and most devastated areas of the conflict, Ayacucho bears an unseen yet profound sediment of violence, memories—perceptible only to those who look beyond the surface.

Thanks to the MSA fellowship, I had the opportunity to meet several artists, activists, and survivors in Ayacucho as part of this research project. Many of them lived through the armed conflict between the Shining Path and state security forces, surviving and continuing to create powerful works that archive and express these marginalized memories of violence through art, all in a shared pursuit of justice for ordinary survivors. Throughout my research, I was mindful of the distinct cultures, histories, and post-war contexts of Peru and Sri Lanka. Yet, with my own background in civil-war and post-war memory activism and research in Sri Lanka, I found that the stories of these survivors and the expressive work of these artists resonated with a shared narrative: stories of pain, loss, resilience, and hope that transcend cultural and geographical boundaries. I was especially curious about how memories of violence take material form, particularly through art. In one memorable encounter, I spoke with Wari Zárate Gutiérrez—a professor at the art school in Ayacucho, survivor, visual artist, anthropologist, and teacher for indigenous communities in the region—who shared how his memories, reflections, and ideas about the conflict manifest in his paintings, one of which is shown below.

In another instance, I visited Claudio Martinez Artista at his home, where the walls and floors were filled with his paintings. These intense and haunting pieces struck me as unsettling at first sight. Out of curiosity, I asked how his children responded to having such powerful artwork around them. Claudio’s answer was both profound and moving: he told me, “When they were young, they used to ask why I kept these paintings in the house. I replied that there is no space in the world for stories like these, so we must make room for them in our home.” This moment offered a powerful glimpse into the connection between memories of violence, the pursuit of justice, and art in post-war Peru. While Peru’s memory landscape is incredibly diverse and encompasses various narratives, there are still many stories from the armed conflict—particularly those involving violence by both state security forces and other armed groups—that await proper recognition and justice to this day. As a result, these stories and memories of violence remain central to many people’s justice work in the post-conflict period.

My experience throughout these seven days in Ayacucho was filled with stories of the armed conflict, justice work, hope, resilience, and reconciliation in Peru’s post-conflict landscape.These stories clearly demonstrated the power of artwork, which is not only used for archival and justice purposes but also extends beyond these functions. In one instance, my discussion with Rosalía Tineo Torres, a ceramic artist, survivor, and activist from Ayacucho, revealed how her ceramic work has become a coping mechanism for dealing with memories of violence—an aspect I am eager to explore further in my writing. Moreover, I found that art forms could serve as an ideal medium to research and explore how memories of violence can transcend their local context and connect with broader narratives of violence. Therefore, my research will also delve into the connections between post-conflict memory landscapes in Sri Lanka and Peru in my writings.

These two months were incredibly fruitful for my memory-related research, offering new insights from Sri Lankan scholarship and connecting me with amazing artists and researchers at IEP. In addition to the research itself, I will forever cherish the flavors of pisco sour, traditional papa (potato) dishes, ceviche, and the region’s music and dance. I am currently working on compiling these stories into a comprehensive publication that will explore the essence, politics, and relevance of these art forms in the post-conflict times drawing from the deep memories and knowledge of my research project in Peru.