Given a choice, many Sri Lankan Tamils would forget the gruesome final battle that the armed forces and the LTTE fought in Mullivaikkal eight years ago. It is to this northeastern tip of the island that thousands of them flocked after the government, ironically, declared the zone safe. Having seen their loved ones die and homes perish, and with troubling questions about missing relatives and their uncertain future, forgetting is hardly an option. But they move on.
On May 18, some northern Tamil politicians and civil society members organised a commemorative event at the very spot that witnessed the war’s brutal finish. Urging Tamils the world over to mark the day as one of mourning, Northern Province Chief Minister C.V. Wigneswaran appealed to those in the island to join him in the memorial day events in Mullivaikkal. At a nearby church, Jesuit priest and activist Fr. Elil Rajan had organised a collective remembrance event, arranging stones bearing names of those who lost their lives in the final battle, for families to pay homage.
In a sudden development that afternoon, a magistrate court banned the church event, as it “threatened” national security and peace. After activists challenged the order in court, organisers were allowed to hold it on the church premises. The police questioned the priest at least thrice before and after, sparking old fears in the area familiar with post-war surveillance and military intimidation. Reportedly, the police said some of the names etched on the stones were those of LTTE cadre. At a time when a section of Tamils appreciates the democratic space they say has opened in the north, the court order did not go down well with residents and activists.
Grave concern
The Jaffna-based Adayaalam Centre for Policy Research issued a statement expressing “grave concern about the government’s repression of memorialisation efforts by Tamils in the North-East”. The same week, the government in Colombo honoured “war heroes” for “ending terror”, prompting an obvious question — why don’t Tamils have a right to remember their relatives that the same war claimed? The court order and police response appeared to suggest that any likely reference to the LTTE in a commemorative event warrants suspicion and scrutiny. “Many of those stones had names of infants and old people. Do they mean to say all of them were part of the LTTE?” asked a community leader in Mullaitivu, requesting anonymity.
Even if there were names of deceased Tigers, they were in fact someone’s son, daughter, or sibling. They may have willingly joined the rebel movement, or have been recruited by force. The community’s position on the LTTE is far more complicated than what some politicians would like or allow to come out in public, an activist in the Eastern Province said. This event, the Mullaitivu leader clarified, “was not about the LTTE”. Those who want to remember cadre, mark the day in the Karthigai month, he said, referring to “ Maaveerar Naal ” (Heroes’ Day) observed in November. “This was about our loved ones. This is about ordinary people’s grief. Those questioning us must learn to differentiate between LTTE cadre and civilians.”
From hardliners in the south to some groups in the north, that is a distinction many are reluctant to make. “There is a significant difference between poralis [militants] and makkal [the people]. Everyone must realise that,” said the community leader. Conflating the two has only made matters worse for the people. Effectively, they can neither forget their brutal past nor remember their loved ones as they look towards the future.
