Jaffna on the map. (Source: Google maps)
Jaffna is a city in the northernmost part of Sri Lanka belonging to the arid zone. While it faces drought for a major part of the year, I happened to arrive in Jaffna in the wet season in December when the rice paddy fields were lush and the entire penninsula was abundant with migratory birds. In other words, it was the best time to be in this city to witness nature at her finest performance.
Acres and acres of beautiful green rice paddy fields
A decade ago, it was impossible to even think of visiting the city of Jaffna because the country was torn apart by a racially and politically driven civil war that lasted nearly two and a half decades from 1983 to 2009. Looking back from this point in time, the war was a completely unnecessary event that caused more harm than achieve any useful outcome. Countless families on both sides of the cause (more on the minority side, of course) lost loved ones, the grief and psychological after-effects remain today, so much potential and good ambitions of a younger generation were crushed and the war affected areas fell backwards in terms of development. The worst consequence of the war was perhaps the increased feelings of hate, suspicion and racism between the two races that still linger in the minds of most.
I started writing part of this post in Jaffna a few hours before my departure from that city because I left with a slightly unsettled feeling and a lot of unanswered questions.
For the purposes of this post, I shall refer to two parties called the “majority race” (75% of the population of Sri Lanka) and the “minority race” (approximately 11%). I belong to the majority race.
When I visited Jaffna, a city dominated by the minority race, the people of the area who I associated with treated me with overwhelming respect and kindness. A few went out of their way to ensure our stay was very productive and comfortable. Sure, I was a part of a humanitarian mission to better the lives of the agriculturally oriented people there so they probably saw us coming with harmless intentions. And there may have been plenty of others in that city who did not like our presence. But seven years post-war, I still wonder what these people really think of us.
Do they hate all of us and blame us for the atrocities that occurred to their people? Do they still idolise the group which we call terrorists and they probably see as freedom fighters? Were there some of them who opposed the group we called terrorists but didn't openly admit it out of fear and reprisals? Do they still want to a clean split from this country to operate as an independent state? Do they still feel discriminated by systems set up by the central government for education, medical facilities, employment, etc? Do they still feel like outsiders in this country? As they slowly rebuild their lives and move out of smaller towns to the other parts of the country for better opportunities, do they find their views and opinions of us changing? As a city which was previously suppressed by war and now experiencing a boom of development, are they realising that education and rising above poverty will slowly give them leverage? Do some of them feel betrayed by the political groups that represented them and made them take up arms? Are they biding their time and waiting for the next opportunity to join another struggle to win independence? Are they willing to start another war if things are in their favour despite the recent developments in infrastructure and trade? Do they feel sympathy for the innocent lives lost from the majority race through brutal acts of terrorism by those who fought in their name? Do they realise they also have a part to play in healing the racial divide by reaching out to the majority race and not isolating themselves? Do they think that someday a peaceful and undivided Sri Lanka is a possibility?
The friends of the minority race there who helped us are nearly my age. We share the common experience of being born during the war, which consumed most of our childhood and early adulthood. While us in the majority race were spending normal and happy childhoods, these friends were affected by the war, each having some experience of fleeing from place to place as children, fearing for lives, hearing constant bombings and shelling, not having regular schooling, sharing one home with many relatives for safety or losing people close to them due to the atrocities of the war. Those thoughts pained me especially when these same friends who went through such adversities in their childhood not so long ago gave us the best hospitality they could afford. Even though I had nothing to do with starting that war, I felt an overwhelming feeling of (perhaps misplaced) guilt when I received kindness from some of these people.
Maybe someday I will have the courage to ask those friends for answers to my questions. And maybe there exists a small minority within their minority race who, like a minority of us in the majority race, are willing to start building the bridges from their end.
