Photo courtesy Vikalpa

Who is “Pulidaran?” What everyone knows – “On July 15, 2008, Pulidaran reportedly shot Kanapathipillai alias Satchi Master, while in Batticaloa prison.[1] What everyone does not, or chooses to ignore – “Pulidaran was a mere boy of 14 when he was arrested under suspicion of terrorism. Pulidaran was held for far longer than 18 months. He is now 29. He was detained for 14 long years before any charges were brought against him. In the news, Pulidaran was described as a LTTE cadre. Most readers did not stop to question what Pulidaran was doing in prison. The words “LTTE cadre” was more than sufficient to quell doubts.”[2] 

In “celebration” of the International Day of Democracy today, I would like to bring our attention back to the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA)[3], (particularly in light of the recent ‘so called’ removal of the Emergency Regulations (ER),) which has reared its ugly head in the “Democratic” Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka for more than three decades now. I say ‘so called’ because, a mere week following the President’s announcement to eliminate ER, our “eloquent” AG, Mohan Peiris tells the media “there is no change even though the emergency has been allowed to lapse.”[4] Thus affirming all fears that the Government’s move was purely cosmetic, and that it was in all likelihood only done to appease the international community albeit momentarily. Successive “Democratic” Governments of Sri Lanka have wielded this Secret Weapon which has enabled them to legitimize their illegal actions in the name of “safeguarding” the nation from “terrorism.” The State has long held the entire country to ransom by their arbitrarily usage of the term terror to suit their own racist agendas.

Enacted in 1979, countless campaigns for the ‘Repeal of the PTA’ by human rights groups both at home and internationally, including many Special Procedures of the UN Human Rights System, the Special Rapporteur on the Right to Freedom of Opinion and Expression, Frank La Rue[5] and treaty body Committees, have been to no avail. Now more than two years since the conclusion of the war in 2009, the PTA and its trusty side-kick the ER[6] continues to be meted out liberally to “dissenters” across the country.

The PTA is not only in violation of one specific fundamental human right, but rather, numerous rights, including the right to live free of torture, free of arbitrary arrest, detention or exile, to the freedom of expression, freedom of movement, and to equal protection under the law, as mentioned in the UDHR,[7] of which Sri Lanka is a signatory.

As of 2009, approximately 10,000 prisoners were held under the PTA in prisons island-wide, with numbers having increased significantly since then. (No official record on the exact numbers of detainees is available, due to the Government’s lack of transparency and outright denial of access to anyone to Government records.)[8]

Although the first to be detained under the PTA in 1979 were two Sinhalese activists from Kandy, (thus affirming the fears that the PTA would be misused to stifle dissidents,)[9] thereafter, it almost solely targeted Tamils arrested under “suspicion” of being affiliated to the LTTE.

The PTA allows for the arrest (without a warrant) and detention of a “suspect” for up to 72 hours prior to being produced before a Magistrate. The implementation of the PTA overrides the provisions of any other written law that protects the rights of detainees. The PTA permits the admission of confessions in evidence made to the Police while in custody, and protects all Government officials from prosecution against human rights abuses.

Many persons have been arrested under the PTA, and released without charge after extended periods of incarceration, e.g. Editor of the Tamil Newspaper Sudar Oli, N. Vithyatharan was arrested on February 26^th, 2009 and released 57 days later without charge[10].  Veteran Journalist, J.S. Tissainayagam was arrested by the TID on the 7^th of March 2008, indicted 5 months later under the PTA[11] for inciting communal violence through his writings and allegedly receiving money from the LTTE. On August 31^st, 2009 he was convicted of the charges by the Colombo High Court and sentenced to 20 years of rigorous imprisonment. Having been released on bail on medical grounds, he was eventually given a full Presidential Pardon. Vettivel Jasikaran was arrested by the TID on the 6^th of March 2008, and was held in detention for nearly six months before being released without charge. He was indicted on the 27^th of August, 2008 for “inciting communal disharmony” by printing, publishing and distributing the magazine North Eastern Monthly. Valarmathi, his wife, was charged with aiding and abetting her husband. On the 29^th of January 2010, CID officers broke into the premises of the Lanka Irida newspaper and arrested its Chief Editor, Chandana Sirimalwatte. He was detained in CID custody for three weeks before the court ordered his release in February, citing lack of evidence.[12]

Even though the Government and pro-Government “terrorism experts” have repeatedly stated the necessity to perpetuate the PTA to maintain national security,[13] our Incumbent himself has clearly stated that “…the war against the terrorists is now over.”[14] If so, why then are we as a nation still so insecure?

Most importantly though, as the PTA has been a long standing means of “systematic” human rights abuse in Sri Lanka, it has always taken the back seat to the numerous other violations the state has been accused of over the decades. This is more the reason why the Government must abolish this draconian law with immediate effect, and ensure the security and welfare of all its people.

• A Kunanayakam by any other name?
• Students Missing In Jaffna
• Photos from Day 3 of NFF protest against UN in Colombo
• HAS MAHINDA RAJAPAKSA BEEN A TRAITOR TO SRI LANKA?
• Who Guards the Guards? – The Need to Move Swiftly on Removing the ER/PTA from the Sri Lankan Constitution

Sinhala & Tamil New Year when I was growing up was always a much-awaited annual event in our neighbourhood. We’d have card tournaments and badminton tournaments leading up to the “Big Day,” and when the day actually came, it was always a flurry of activity. People rushing all over the place, kids laughing, games being set up or organised and other activities. Having just experienced my second New Year in post-war Jaffna, with the State sponsored ‘celebrations’ being one of the few public events to be seen, yet again I find that the people still hold the same hopes and aspirations as they did last year, only more fervently now.

Speaking to a few youth from diverse backgrounds in Jaffna, I was able to get a sense of their hopes, fears and expectations for the New Year.

“Since the end of the war I’ve not celebrated any of our festivals. How can I celebrate when young people in the Vanni and even in Jaffna are still suffering so much? Some are not able to study, and most don’t even have enough to eat. Most others my age feel the same way too. As a student, I have seen for myself how difficult it is for many other students to truly celebrate, because of how they feel inside. If the Government improves the lives of the people in the North, then we have a real reason to celebrate. The Government needs to have a change in mentality,” said an emotional University student, 24 years old.

“If one is to compare the North with the South of Sri Lanka, the people in the South are able to truly enjoy their freedom. In Jaffna, we are still regularly stopped at checkpoints and questioned. We have no freedom here. So how can we celebrate? Today, tomorrow, the day after… they’re all the same to me. New Year’s Day is just another day. We can only pray that God will bring true peace and equality to the Tamil people someday,” he added.

“I have no intention to celebrate the New Year, as I don’t generally celebrate it. We usually follow the cultural way of celebrating, but I don’t feel anything particularly special on these days. As for the situation here, there’s been a lot of talk for several decades, all to no avail. So, I’m simply not in a position to hope for anything better. We have a long way to go in terms of rights and freedoms, and that’s the biggest challenge we face. I think that a clear vision of demands, sounds negotiation skills, unity amongst the community, and the will to seek a political solution, will uplift us,” said Kosalai, 27 years old.

Yet another university student (24) sharing his thoughts, said, “to me, nothing much has changed from the last New Year to this one, but I have mixed feelings on this, because I have come across many ‘half Tamil speaking business people’ doing business on the pavement.”

“We were said to have been freed from ‘terrorists’ but the same strategy is being used by the State to ‘clear out’ those who don’t share their view or question it. Though it might seem that the people are happy now, it is not so. The Government is trying to ‘entertain’ the people in Jaffna, and distract them by organising various ‘shows,’ but don’t show any genuine interest in addressing the grievances of those most in need” he elaborated.

“I also sincerely wish that the Tamil community can join hands to find a reasonable solution, so that they can come to some sort of unanimous consensus, at least in the year to come,” he said in earnest.

“My hope is for peace of mind and happiness to fulfil our every action. We celebrate New Year as its part of our culture. We make Pongal, elders give us money as kaivisesam, as it’s believed that if we receive money from an elder it will bring luck. I also hope that this year positive things blossom, and the negative, fades away. Usually we all congregate at my grandmother’s house to celebrate, but as she passed away recently, we will not be celebrating the New Year this time around” said Thanu, aged 30.

Another former university student, 27 years old, elaborates on day-to-day life in Jaffna and the people’s strife. “I’m usually not in the habit of celebrating any religious or cultural festival, even though my family does. Our community has been suppressed for so long, and we’re still unable to express ourselves and move about freely, so what have we got to celebrate about” he questioned.

“We’re a defeated community, economically, politically, socially…we’re a homeless people. I think our people are both very confident and resilient, especially as we’ve gone through a lot in the past years. If we are united, we can restore the spirit of our people, but due to the countless restrictions we are made to face, this is not a possibility. A simple example is how a well-known priest here, spoke out about the grievances of the Tamil community at a public forum recently, and was threatened thereafter, by three unidentified persons. The Police are to take action on this issue. If a priest cannot speak on behalf of his own community, what hope do we have” he added in frustration.

The Army Commander made a public statement recently, that the military will be starting to vacate occupied houses gradually etc., But, still wherever we look, we see brand new boards bearing the words “Welcome to ‘X’ Brigade” or “Welcome to ‘Y’ Brigade.” I can’t help but wonder if we live in a civil society at all, or, if it’s merely a military one? Furthermore, the Government says that it wants to prioritize development issues in war torn areas. Why then do they have such bureaucratic obstacles and delays in the system, such as the requirement for Presidential Task Force (PTF) approval, for anyone to work in the North? In yet another instance, the Prime Minister himself stated that certain released ex-combatants have been re-arrested for further questioning. How is it possible for us to be secure in such a climate? We don’t know when we could be picked up or harassed? We are still to experience climate where we can truly celebrate. Empowering the youth and getting their input on both developmental and political issues, is vital for change. The Government however, seems to still be reluctant to do so” he said disheartened.

“I don’t think I will be consciously celebrating New Year this year. It will be just another day in my life. But, my family has already bought refreshments, my mother has cleaned up the entire house and a temple festival has been going on in my village for the past week, so I have been going there daily, and will do so on New Year’s day as well. For me, New Year is an artificial way of stepping into a new phase of time. When new, progressive things happen, I usually welcome them in the spirit of optimism and celebrate them as remarkable episodes in an arduous quest for a new order/a new world. I am not sure whether one could celebrate New Year comfortably when you see many homeless people around you. There are victims of caste oppression and domestic violence too. What though, does the New Year hold for these people? – a question that bothers me a lot” says Thiru, aged 26.

“I remember celebrating New Year when I was young during the long years of the war. I used to go on my father’s bicycle to my grandmother’s place with my sister. I wore new clothes, but we had no fire-crackers. As a child I always looked forward to celebrating this festival” he reminisces.

“The Tamil community awaits another New Year with concomitant feelings of hope and hopelessness. The benefits of the long-awaited peace have not arrived at the doorsteps of the Tamils as yet. I await the day, people are able to express their opinions without fear, and those who hold power do not obstruct the articulation of the people’s sentiments on issues of political significance. I think it’s high time the Tamil community and its political representatives embark on deliberating on the type of political mobilization they need to initiate if a lasting resolve is to be made. I also hope that they would join hands with the different marginalized and progressive groups in this country, in charting their future course of action” he added, obviously having given a lot of thought to this issue.

The mere fact that none of these youth wanted to be named in full, or some not at all, speaks volumes about the quality of freedom and peace enjoyed in the North today. On the brink of completing two years since the end of the war, the people of the North still yearn for a lasting peace. One can only hope that there’ll come a day we can all truly celebrate the dawn of a New Year.

[Editors note: Also read Jaffna and the Vanni today: The reality beneath the rhetoric by Valkyrie, which at the time of publication, has been read well over 13,000 times and generated over 80,000 words in discussion, from over 240 comments.]

• What are we celebrating? Questions to ponder
• New Festival to Promote Unity in Sri Lanka
• Interview with Kumaravadivel Guruparan, a Sri Lankan Youth Activist
• Deepavali Dilemma: Reflections from the Diaspora
• Watch Moving Images at Kandy International Film Festival (KIFF)

Citizenship, as I know it, is a means by which citizens of a particular country are recognized as entities of that country. I feel that citizenship gives each of us a sense of “belonging” and “responsibility” towards our motherland, and also a sense of “security,” that as holders of this particular citizenship, we’re ensured of our protection and wellbeing. At least, that’s what one would hope a citizen of a country is entitled to.

I guess we were called a “Land like no other” for a reason. That being, that we truly are like no other. The concept of “citizenship” as I mentioned above, is nothing but an illusion in our fair land. As citizens of one country, we hold no sense of camaraderie with one another. We’re told that a “good citizen of the State” obeys the State. That they should not question the State. That they should accept that the State only acts with their wellbeing at heart, and thus, all acts done by the State are always just. Our notion of “citizenship” is dictated to us by the powers that be, and we quite contently lap it up, like faithful little puppy dogs!

If the State tells us that a part of its “citizenship” must be harassed, ridiculed and stripped off of their rights, for the safety and wellbeing of the other part, we accept it. If the State tell us that a part of its citizenship must register with the Police and carry around a document with them at all times, to verify their reasons for residing in a different part of the country, to where they were born, in order to ensure the security of the other part of their citizenship, we think it’s fair enough. Now, approaching the 2 year mark since the end of the war, people, mostly in the Vanni, are still being registered door-to-door by the military. Part and parcel of the registration process is of course, that each house is given a registration number which is made mandatory to have marked on both your front door and you’re the outside of our gate. In addition, a group picture is taken of the entire family, and one member of the family (usually the head of the household) is required to hold up a piece of paper with their respective registration number on it, for yet another photograph to be taken (much like a prisoner would). The worst part though, is that these people think it’s “normal.” They think that if this is what needs be done for them to live their day to day life in peace, then, so be it. All this rings okay with the rest of us citizens. It is for the greater good after all. That too is only the few who know that such humiliating, undignified “processes” are even being carried out.

The State can randomly arrest parts of our “citizenship” on the faintest hint of suspicion, under a law that has been specifically designed to justify any unlawful acts conducted by the State, in order to uphold National Security, we see rationality in it. A part of our citizenship is still not permitted to return to their homes located within High Security Zones (HSZs) in the North, however, visitors to the North are permitted to go “sightseeing” inside those very HSZs. The rest of the citizenship sees the justice in this.

The State spends over one billion rupees on the Indian International Film Academy (IIFA) awards held in Colombo last year, but claim they have inadequate funds to house and feed their internally displaced citizenship around the country. It’s fine by the rest of the citizenship, because they got to see their favourite Bollywood Stars perform Live. Of course let’s not forget that a Star or two were taken on a goodwill mission “behind the wires” too, so it’s not all bad.

Similarly, the State has incurred hundreds of millions of dollars on a Port in the Incumbent’s hometown, Hambantota, which has been allegedly refused maritime insurance by Lloyds, London. Furthermore, the State imported 3 power train sets (each of which costing 3.5 million US$), of a fleet of 20 from India, one of which was tried out and failed on it’s first run due to complications including inadequate power supply. Irrespective of this rather pricey “hitch” though, it seems like the Government is planning to go ahead with the entire purchase without as much as a trial period to see if these trains are conducive to our railway system In yet another display of waste, our dear incumbent has successfully managed to garner a 300 million US$ arms loan from Russia, to safeguard ‘Post-War’ Sri Lanka, pushing us as a country, further and further into debt. How though could we even consider questioning such a “victorious” State as this? What ingrates we would be!

The State told us that until such time that they were able to “weed out” the terrorists from the non-terrorists, 300,000 of its citizenship (inclusive of new-born infants) had to be kept behind barbed wire, in deplorable conditions indefinitely, the rest of the citizenship nodded along as it did seem like the only sensible thing to do. Although most of this 300,000 have been released now, they are far from being free. Those not under arrest or being held in detention, are regularly questioned and harassed, have no proper homes, no jobs, no money and no access to basic amenities o facilities. In short, one part our citizenship is deemed ‘guilty until proven innocent.’ That too though is acceptable by the rest of the citizenship. Taking into consideration the current context of course.

The last stages of our war in 2009 which is said to have claimed over 40,000 innocent lives, although the UN estimates were lower and of course the States maintained its “miraculous” Zero Civilian Casualty rate As it was the most “comfortable” option for both ourselves and our conscience to believe that no innocents were killed in the last days of battle, we believed the State wholly and without question. However, let’s “assume” that having had access to eye witness accounts and footage, and having seen the UN figures, at least a seed of doubt in the State figures, started to grow in our minds? Say, we began to realize that maybe, just maybe, the State had decided to dispose of segment of our citizenship, so as to safeguard the rest of us. (The State being at the helm of such a glorious victory, which as a result has made both the State and the incumbent almost invincible and enabled him to rule over us for the rest of his days, having nothing to do with it of course.) This very State has the audacity to “condemn” another country doing the exact same thing it did? Is this State under the delusion that by it condemning another country’s atrocities, it by some twist of karma erases all the wrong it has committed? Does this State truly believe that it could be so easy to ‘pull the wool over (its citizen’s) eyes?’ Or is it? Maybe that’s yet another question for the citizenship.

Recently also on a post on GV, I actually had to argue the point on whether it was right to destroy a cemetery (Maveerar Thuyilum Illams) that did not in fact have actual bodies buried there. The post was about the desecration of LTTE cemeteries in the North, and building army camps in their stead. We’re not talking good guys vs. bad guys here (whoever they might be). We’re talking basic human decency and respect to the dead. A place where families come to bemoan their dead. A final resting place after a bitter battle. A memorial to those who fought a long, hard fight for something they and a part of our citizenship believed in. How can we call ourselves citizens of one country, if we deny a part of our citizenship such a basic human right?

And finally the icing on the cake. Everyone speaks of how cricket unites and how the entire country comes together to cheer our team on etc., etc., etc., Being so “united” though, were we even aware that many parts of this country did not even have electricity to watch the Final of this ‘so called’ “unifying” game! I was actually sending SMS updates to some friends in the North who not only did not have TV, but electricity also. I guess nobody found it to be an ideal commercial venture to set up giant screens in these neighbourhoods! How also is it possible for the same game that ‘supposedly’ unites its citizens, also wind up instigating violence against each other. Many youth have openly ‘liked’ this article on Facebook! To what depths have our humanity sunk to, if we’re able to justify attacks against fellow citizens over a mere Cricket match?

Where is that sense of “belonging” and “security” citizens are entitled to? If one part of a citizenship is made to feel abandoned and neglected, both by the rest of its citizenship and the State, is it any surprise at all that they should look to find that sense of belonging and security elsewhere?

One sided you might think. How else would the majority of a citizenship be kept safe, unless a State is to make a few unpopular (or in the case of SL, popular) decisions, for the sake of the greater good? Even IF the citizenship as a whole, is able to justify all of the above scenarios during a time of war, now almost two years since the end of the war, what’s our collective excuse? If we, as so called “citizens” are still able to stand by and watch other citizens undergo such levels of discrimination that it’s not only rendered at the hands of the State, but also endorsed by it, then perhaps it’s time we questioned the nature of this “citizenship” we claim to belong to. And we might also want think twice about what exactly we’re so proud about, when we beamingly proclaim to the world that we’re so “Proud to be Sri Lankan!”

Originally written for Options Magazine, a Biannual publication by Women and Media Collective, and updated for Groundviews.

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• Last comment on Sri Lanka: Is the war really over?
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• Intra-Party Democracy

When I was a kid, things were black and white. They were my heroes; the guys who were taking the bullet for me, so I could get about with my life as I know it. They were the brave guys who would safeguard our beloved motherland from all that was evil. I would always return their smiles if I ever caught their eye. I’d even quite willingly stop for a chat sometimes, if they initiated conversation. It was the very least I could do to show my gratitude to the guys who had ‘given up their today, for our tomorrow’ right? Everything was so simple then.

As I grew up though, it was not so much that I stopped being grateful to them, but I became aware of many more dimensions to these ‘brave men in cami’s’ than I had known or been exposed to as a kid. Herein lies the chaos. Poor village boy, selfless patriot, unsuspecting pawn, brutal villain… is it really possible for one person to be so many different things to so many different people? In my experience alone, I’ve experienced or witnessed a soldier playing all these very roles, so I guess it is possible.

Nowadays, when I walk past a checkpoint or pass a military person on the road, I try as hard as possible to focus on anything else around me – a lamp post, the pavement, the sky, anything, just as long I don’t have to confront the turmoil in my head. Should I be nice, because I wouldn’t be walking these streets right now if not for the sacrifices he’s made? Should I detest his very existence and the uniform he wears proudly, for giving him the ‘license’ to brutally rape and pillage, or torture citizens in an attempt to abstract information?

We all recently read about the despicable case where six soldiers were produced before court on the charges of raping a nine year old girl. I just couldn’t get myself to imagine what could possibly possess anyone, let alone the Military to do something so inhuman. When exactly and how does absolute power trump a shared humanity? How can that same young, bright eyed boy who probably topped his batch at cadetting, turn into this inhumane monster that molests children? Yes, of course all soldiers don’t do this. But, for those that do, what causes them to become so demented, so depraved that raping a little girl  becomes inconsequential?

Torture has long been one of the most commonly used and ‘supposedly’ most effective tools at their disposal to extract information from the “enemy”. Removing fingernails, shoving barbed wire up private parts, thrashing unmercifully until unconscious have come to be considered all in a day’s work. What I find difficult to grapple with is how much hatred and absolute animosity must harbour, in order to design and partake in such cruelty? Is it that a soldier can remove the ‘human’ status from these people thus, making his job easier? Or has he simply detached himself from feeling any emotion whatsoever.

I am vaguely aware that there’s possibly no such thing as ‘free will’ in the army. I’m also not too sure to what extent the average soldier is able to question the instructions passed down to him, or if the ability to question a command only increases with rank, if at all? As in all stories though, there’s always a ‘flip-side.’ This extract from the UTHR(J) Report released in October 2008 put me right back into ‘no man’s land.’

…Another soldier who had just been trucked to Murunkan south of the northern front asked a Tamil civilian where he was. When the civilian explained to him, the soldier slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “We were told we are being sent to Badulla!”…The officer poured out his heart and told them, “When we see people here with their families, we are reminded of our own homes and families. We hoped that this problem would be solved peacefully, but that was not to be. We will soon be sent to the front. We are anxious and afraid. Please pray for us.”…The young soldiers who spoke to Tamil civilians were very young and barely adults.

Traumatized, maimed, embittered, disillusioned as a result of bloody 30-year war, soldiers have and continue to be served quite a raw deal themselves. Come rain or shine, they’ve had to go days without food or shelter, pick up their best friend’s rifle after having just witnessed him being blown up into smithereens, never knowing when their time would be up.

Many are the soldiers who have once served dutifully, who, due to injury or trauma, been left to fend for themselves. The case of a young Captain we came across on a hospital delivery last year was just one such story. He was nothing but skin on bone; emaciated beyond comprehension, and barely able to speak. His brother told us how nobody from his troop had even dropped by to check on his welfare or offer any support. He had simply been left to die a slow, painful death.  Soldiers are still made to live in squalid little huts (some, mere holes in the wall), a few planks for a bed and bare minimum toilet facilities.

So, is this merely the result of a vicious cycle where oppressor exploits the oppressed; the strong vs. the weak? The State oppresses the forces, thus, the forces oppress the vulnerable?  Each party abusing their power just because they can.

So, is he a hero or villain? I’m still none the wiser.

• Like Slaves In Jaffna
• Barbed Wire
• Permission To Travel Out Of Jaffna
• Ramblings of an outsider in Jaffna – 1
• After Today’s BMICH Explosion

I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve had that question asked from me over the years. Ironically enough, in these days of ‘peace’ I’ve had it asked of me more and more frequently. Firstly in Colombo and now in Jaffna too. Jaffna – a town where 99% of the resident community is Tamil, the question is still asked. But why? What can one possibly gauge/assess by the response to that response? If both Sinhalese and Tamils are meted out the same treatment at a check point (or anywhere else this question is asked) what possible need is there to ask this question, unless our post-war land of ‘no minorities’ is a complete and utter falsehood?

A cynic you say? Making a mountain out of a mole hill? Alright. If that be the case, can anyone answer why this question is still asked of us? Nobody I’ve spoken to, to date, has been able to give a meaningful response. If not to discriminate, then what? Let’s assume military personnel have been instructed to ask this question of every single person that passes their checkpoint, as a matter of protocol. Could it possibly be for the sake of curiosity perhaps? Or perhaps the Military and the Government are running a secret survey as to how many Sinhalese and how many Tamils pass by a certain area, on a daily basis. Then what becomes of the Muslims and Burghers? Or do they not fall into such surveys?

Let’s take a quick inward glance, shall we? How many times have we gone to a check point, been asked this question and quite gleefully responded “api Sinhala” even when we’ve had Tamil friends or family in the vehicle, purely for convenience sake? At time, our Tamil friends may have encouraged us to do this too, to substantially reduce the hassle of dealing with security personnel, but this alone says much doesn’t it?

I was travelling to Keerimalai a few days back with a Tamil friend who was going to show me around, when we were stopped at a check point just outside the HSZ. I stayed silent until she nudged me and whispered “speak to them in Sinhala!” Even as I spoke to them, I felt sick in my gut at the fact that my friend who was showing me around ‘her’ hometown, somehow felt it would be ‘safer’ and ‘hassle-free’ if I spoke in Sinhala to get through the formalities. If by some chance we’ve not realized it as yet, it’s best we know now that by taking the more ‘convenient’ route, we’ve also, inadvertently, encouraged and endorsed this culture of discrimination, simply by way of acknowledging it to be the norm.

A Tamil friend of mine, who obviously speaks Sinhala quite convincingly, was stopped at a check point without his ID once. Having explained that he’d accidentally left it at home, he’d been told, “ape ekkenek ne malli, ithin kamak neha. Habai ena para ID eka gedara thiyala enna epa harida malli?” (Because you’re one of us it’s okay this time, but don’t leave it at home and come next time okay?) My friend for obvious reasons didn’t try to clarify his ethnicity. He’d simply nodded and walked off. But, how does this sort of action translate to a citizen who is not ‘ape ekkenek’? It’s been taken for granted now that Tamils are for the most part guilty until proven innocent. We’ve all accepted it, both Sinhalese and Tamils alike, by our unquestioning acceptance of this exceptional culture. A Tamil not speaking out against this sort of discrimination is justifiable. What excuse do the rest of us have?

Another, bolder Tamil friend of mine from an urban background, who also speaks Sinhala fluently, usually responds to this question saying “I’m Sri Lankan” followed by an innocent smile. How many other Tamils would risk doing that though?

And is that the ideal response to this question or should it not be asked at all?

• Even post-war, discrimination runs deep in Sri Lanka
• For Lasantha and others
• The Terrorist Complex
• Post War Sri Lanka: Thoughts of University Students
• Is it a crime to be a Tamil in Sri Lanka?

My biggest fear when moving? Well, I guess it had to be the issue of, acceptance, or should I say, the lack of it. To be considered an “outsider” imposing on a way of a life I knew and understood very little of. Or worse yet, to be thought of as a “wannabe” trying to appease my guilt, clear my conscience or worse yet, do my bit of “charity” for the year. The prospect of being hated, resented or worse “tolerated” under duress was not appealing. Especially when I knew there was enough justifiable cause to hate and mistrust. Three decades of being “the other” cannot be erased overnight. Not that I expected it to be the case, but still, it was unnerving not to know how I would be received. To add fuel to the fire, I couldn’t even speak Tamil.

I watched her as she opened her bag of clothes and started searching inside it for her pack of cards. (A pack she told me had been given to her by a former boarder, when she left the Convent). Two full bags of belongings. And that was everything she possessed in the whole world! She had lost her parents and brother to the war. Her second brother worked part time at a Kade in town, and her sister was studying at the University. She now lived at this Convent. This was where she called “home.” She wants to become a “Sister” once she finishes her studies, she says. I laughed and said that if that were to happen, the Convent would be “mudinchi” (meaning “finished,” but, I’m sure my Tamil was all wrong. But she understood what I meant, and we both had a hearty laugh anyway.) She’s 19 and only sitting for her O/L’s this December. She had lost 2 whole years of schooling when her parents were killed in 2006, because she had to run the house whilst her brother worked and her sister went to campus. “I couldn’t cook and study at the same time,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “So I stayed at home and cooked,” she said, and then added smilingly, “now, I’m studying again.” And that was that. No tears. No sighs. No blaming anyone. That was just it.

My first significant interaction with “the other” was at the Convent. Much to the amusement of my friends and family, my current abode “happens” to be a “Convent”! I’ve come across a group of extraordinary girls here. Not only did they receive me with open arms, they were sincere. Their “reality” had seen the worst of “both sides,” which seemed to have helped them conclude that there really weren’t any “good guys” in this war. They had brothers who’d been forcibly recruited and brothers who’d been detained. They’d had family members killed by the army and by the LTTE. So, as far as they were concerned, my Sinhala identity bore little consequence to what they’d been through. I’m sure I’m over-simplifying things here, and I’m sure there are still girls who have their reservations about me, but by and large they’re warming up to me. And for that, I’m grateful.

I told her that the chain she was wearing was lovely and asked her who gave it to her. She promptly took it off her neck and put it around mine, saying her “appa” (father) had given it to her. At which point I refused the gift saying that it was from her father and that she should keep it. She just smiled and said, “you like it no, so I want you to have it. My appa won’t mind.”

There are 54 other girls boarded here, most of whom have been displaced at least once in their lives. Many of them are from outside of Jaffna, who’ve come here to work, school or attend University. Nobody should have had to go through and witness what most of them have. Living in absolute fear of their lives, seeing their family members fall down dead in front of them, hoping and waiting endlessly for a missing brother, mother or father to someday reappear – I wonder where they find the strength to carry on with their lives.

Every day I get back from work, they’re all studying intensely for exams, going for tuition classes, doing their homework, getting about their daily chores, sharing a joke, humming, returning from sports practices and of course never forgetting to ask me how my day. It’s almost surreal how such normalcy can exist after so much trauma. I can’t begin to imagine how hard and painful their lives must have been, and still continue to be.

They are my mentors.

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• A-Z of Sri Lankan English: C is for cousin brother
• Forgotten IDPs from the North
• Longing and Belonging series: From London to Jaffna for the first time

Dear RCD,

I was having a meal at home recently when I heard this piece of news repeated on the radio.

“…two men caught while trying to buy missiles and hundreds of AK-47 automatics rifles for the now routed Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka were jailed for 14 to 26 years by a US court. Sathajhan Sarachandran and Nadarasa Yogarasa were sentenced to 26 and 14 years in prison respectively for attempting to purchase $1 million worth of high-powered weaponry for the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE).”

Now you might wonder what about this piece of news warranted me to get so rattled up about the sentencing recently of two men arrested in 2008?

I’m not too sure if you’ve realized that it’s been just nine months or so since the conclusion of one of the longest, bloodiest and most futile wars of recent times. A war my generation was in fact born into. A war that brutally cost too many lives, limbs and property to even begin speaking of. But, I’m sure you already know all this. So, let me then perhaps draw your attention to a few crucial details that you don’t seem to have, or rather, conveniently seem not to have addressed.

Messrs. Sathajhan Sarachandran and Nadarasa Yogarasa (although you both are potentially lying in a prison cell right now, I’m assuming you have friends or family who might see this), I’d like to pose one question to you both. At the point of attempting to purchase these weapons, did either of you plann on following these weapons back to Sri Lanka? Did you each take the decision to return to Sri Lanka, along with your friends and family to fight for your “cause”? (The very same cause that ironically enough, has now wound you both in prison for a good part of your lives.) Or were you merely doing some of the ‘legwork’ in support of some organisation, that would in turn ship these weapons to Sri Lanka to further maim and kill people who’ve seen enough blood and gore? Did either of you ever question this reality?

Did you for one minute think about the people who would actually have to fight this war you’re helping to re-start? Did you ponder for a moment on what the last 30 years of war has actually achieved? Have you realized that the Tamil community here are as badly off, if not worse off, than they were 30 years ago?  Did either of you give pause to think about the consequences of your actions?

The next bit of absurd news was actually a message I got on Facebook.

“Act Now believes the Sri Lankan Tamil people deserve the right to self determination especially after the atrocities which have been inflicted upon them during the recent years. We believe that letting the Sri Lankan Government govern the Tamil people would be equivalent to letting the Germans govern the Jews after the Second World War.

This weekend the 30th and 31st January there is a referendum organised by the Tamil National Council being held for the Tamil Diaspora in the U.K. Similar votes have already taken place in France, Norway, Switzerland, Holland, Germany and Canada.”- http://www.vkr1976.org.uk/pollstations.html

A referendum being held for Tamils across the world to vote on whether or not there should be an Eelam in Sri Lanka? And France, Norway, Switzerland, Holland, Germany and Canada have already cast their votes. What I’m really curious to know is what do you hope to do with the results of this referendum, and how do they propose to achieve this ‘self-determination’ you speak of? Most importantly though, what percentage of your vote base is actually willing to anything more than cast their vote? Who will have to bear the brunt of these referendums and futile efforts? You, the Tiger-flag-waving diaspora, or “your people” over here?

I’m not talking off the cuff here. I’ve met, spoken with and most of all seen the immense suffering of the people affected by war. The very same people you and your organisations ‘claim’ to represent. One would think diasporic organisations were better informed of the enduring plight of people on the ground. I guess not, because the people want to just ‘live’ a normal life again, and not be part of any more violence, trauma and suffering. So tell me, does this sound like people who want to, or should be made to lose anything more?

Reality Check. The only solution has to, and will be a political one. That, if at all, is the long overdue space where the diaspora can step up and intervene constructively. Unfortunately though, that option doesn’t seem to hold as much appeal, or seem as “marketable” as the idea of collecting funds to buy arms to send back to Sri Lanka, a country few in the diaspora have any intention of returning to live in. Received memories and M.I.A.’s nonsensical statements have no bearing on what it is like in post-war Sri Lanka.

Let’s just cut the crap. If you genuinely care about “your people”, contribute in a way that actually makes sense. Or if you don’t care, please, just carry on with your lives and let us be. Your help is no help at all. We must be the engineers of hope and peace. Diaspora that tragically thinks purchasing weapons and conducting referenda for Eelam have no place in our future.

Yours sincerely,

Marisa de Silva

• Between Eelam and War: Where’s the solution?
• Life in an Open Prison
• A-Z of Sri Lankan English: E is for Eelamist
• National referendums and the aspirations of a diaspora: a Saturday morning reflection
• A Wobbly Bridge (Or Is It A Footpath?) From The Tamil Diaspora

I was on my way for practice yesterday, when I passed the Bambalapitiya Kovil, all lit up, and people thronging the entrance. I was a bit early, and also realized that I’d never set foot into a Kovil in Colombo before, so I thought, why not? Having criss-crossed past the entrance three times or so, I asked the flower garland kade man if there was some sort of special festival going on at the Kovil. He said, yes, that there was a Pooja going on. I asked if anyone could walk into the Kovil, to which he promptly nodded a ‘yes, of course.’ So, I mustered up some courage and walked in.

I watched the ladies in front of me leave their slippers at a certain point, so I followed suit. I then proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the Kovil and there I was, back-pack and all, standing at the entrance of the Kovil wondering, ‘What now?’ One side of the Kovil was alive and bustling with people worshipping and praying fervently, the other, had a lone man seated on the floor against a wall and three Kovil musicians making their contribution to the Pooja, whilst seated against the opposite wall. I opted to seat myself in the general vicinity of the lone man and observe my environment.

An environment where I wasn’t sure what to do, how to act, who to turn to? An environment where I couldn’t understand the language being spoken, the rituals taking place, the customs and traditions being practiced. A cursory glance or curious stare in my general direction was as much recognition as I received in the forty-five minutes I was there. I knew no one and no one knew me. No one said a word against me, (there was even a friendly old lady who told me which hand to hold the thread in, for the Swami to bless it), but somehow I felt like a fish out of water. You know how sometimes, nobody really has to say anything to you directly, but, you just feel as though you don’t belong? It was as though everyone just knew I wasn’t one of them. I saw their quizzical looks. I felt like I was encroaching on someone else’s terrain.

I guess I felt like I was a minority.

It was a new and strange feeling. I felt a bit discomforted, a bit unsure. And most of all, it all felt so real. Even though I knew that once I walked outside of those Kovil gates, things would be back to “normal.” I’d feel like I belonged again. People would know me. Accept me. Everything would be familiar again. I would be more confident of myself. No one could question my presence or my existence. Even though I knew all that, I just couldn’t let go of the feeling of absolute vulnerability I had felt before, (as fleeting as it might have been.) And that’s with me knowing full well that my reality lay very much outside of those gates.

What then must it be like to live your entire life from inside those Kovil gates?

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That five minutes of footage could have been of a possible rescue by one of the 100 or so spectators.  Or, that five minutes of footage could have been shot at the same time a call for assistance was made to the nearest Police Station, by someone present in the crowd. This was the heart of Bambalapitiya after all, and Sri Lanka is not short of mobile phones. But instead, the five minutes of footage shows us the gory, pathetic end of a young life, for no apparent reason.

The spectators watched on intently.

Three to four men surfaced out of the water, as if from nowhere, and began to advance towards the boy, who by then was fast retreating. Two men armed with large wooden poles (more like thick tree branches) continued to advance on the boy, and thrash him, one brutal stroke at a time. The spectators watch on. The boy kept trying to head towards the shore. He even brought his hands together in a desperate plea for mercy. His persecutors however, showed no sign of it.

The spectators continued to watch.

The more he pleaded, the more vicious the attack became. Closer and closer they inched to him, thrashing him unmercifully each time he surfaced. This went on for five minutes, until at last the deed was done. He resurfaced no more.

The spectators watched on, transfixed.

A friend said to me that maybe people didn’t want to get “involved” because they thought it was some “underworld” rift. That’s a damning indictment on us, our society. This video is proof that we’ve reached a point where our “fear” overrides a sense of humanity.

I sense a pattern of sorts here.

The deafening silence on the IDP issue for example. Everyone knows they’re suffering, some even care. But, our “fear” of a “possible” threat to our lives by the “possible” re-emergence of terrorism justifies our silence. Our inaction. Isn’t it strange to have a State half-heartedly respond only when threatened by the International Community to set these people free? Doesn’t it seem strange at all that a Government must be held to ransom to look after its own people? Our paralyzing fear of dissent and our sheer capacity to rationalize the violent fate of those who do dare to is another facet of our ‘Spectator State.’

If cold-blooded murder can take place in the heart of Colombo in broad daylight, in front of a crowd, we can only wonder what happened on bloody battlefields in the Vanni, with no one left to tell the tale.

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I’ve heard the justification that NIC’s are written in Tamil so that the “holder” is able to read it him/her self. Fair enough. I’ve also heard the explanation that there are Tamil officers in the forces, so this’ll enable them to check NIC’s as well. Correct me if I’m wrong here, but are only Tamils checked at check points? If not, how then can this “explanation” hold any water? If the justification is for both the holder and reader of an NIC to be able to read it, then all NIC’s of all Sri Lankans should be written in both languages. Yes, this should have been done way back in time, but, I’d say it’s better late than never especially in post-war Sri Lanka where we are told there are no majorities and minorities any more. Yet, discriminatory NIC’s are merely the ‘tip of the iceberg’.

Just yesterday I looked at a Tamil friend’s Birth Certificate and discovered that it has been filled up and signed in Sinhala. Of course the form itself is tri-lingual but, as far as my friend’s knowledge of what’s been filled in, her guess is as good as anybody else’s. She can’t read her own Birth Certificate! Yes, one can get a translation, but for a nation that “prides” its multi-ethnic, multi-religious, multi-cultural heritage and of course a newly established “Sri Lankan-ness” we all seem to claim with a gusto, should not all us citizens have our basic documents written in our respective mother tongues? Two friends of mine from Jaffna and Batticaloa told me that their Birth Certificates had been filled out in Tamil, possibly because it was difficult to locate a Sinhalese Registrar in the North and East around twenty years ago. But the reality remains that not all Tamils are from Jaffna or the East. Must they be born in a Tamil majority area to enjoy a fundamental right?

Another friend has five pages of ‘signed’ divorce papers she cannot read. Her husband (also Tamil), was provided with a one-line translation of this document, stating the clause under which she was filing for divorce, and by when he should appear/appeal to the Court.

Yet another friend was unable to get a withdrawal form in Tamil to withdraw some money at a State Bank. She was even reluctant to drop an ‘anonymous’ complaint into the complaint box for fear of being traced and possibly harassed or worse. If something as simple as an 8”x3” bank form cannot be translated by the State, what hope is there then for an official document?

I was also told of an instance where a Tamil had to make a complaint to the Police regarding an incident of assault on her husband. The entire statement was taken down in Sinhala and she had to sign it purely based on trust. In retrospect, she says that it could have said anything at all. Shouldn’t understanding and knowing what you’re signing be a basic prerequisite in a multi-lingual, multi-ethnic country?

I don’t even have to step very far out of my home to find examples of this systemic discrimination. A few weeks ago my domestic handed me a bunch of documents and told me that he was due some money for working in the plantations. He wanted me to see where he should go to collect the money and how much was due to him. The forms were all in Sinhala.

Think about something most people take for granted – ‘bus boards’, which are predominantly in Sinhalese only. A lot of State run buses have the tri-lingual stickers, but even here the font size of the destination in Tamil is much smaller than the name in Sinhala.

Responses to appeals made to the President’s Fund, notices at the Western Provincial Council Motor Vehicle Department, letters from the Grama Sevaka’s Office, notices in government hospitals – the list runs endless where Tamils cannot engage with the State in an official language guaranteed by the Constitution, also their mother-tongue. If Tamils are in fact “legitimate” citizens of this country, (as so vociferously proclaimed time and again) why must be there be a need for them to depend on/spend for translations, or rely on their Sinhala friends to interpret documents?

As a friend told me recently, “If I’m not “citizen” enough to be entitled to such basic rights as these, then don’t expect me to adopt or uphold a superficial “Sri Lankan-ness” that doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.”

I don’t need to tell you my friend’s ethnicity.

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