One by one, however, the barricades have gone, checkpoints
have disappeared, and summary stops gave way to random checks which too became
less and less frequent. We are not
completely free of these security measures, but there is certainly reason to
feel freer than we were, less on account of the downgrading of these mechanisms
than the removal of principal threat. The barricades could of course come. They could go away too, perhaps even permanently. That requires two hands; two hands belonging to two people or two communities. There's no reconciliation where reconciliation-need does not exist and where such need is non-existent, typically, no-need people will play a game called 'Let There Be No Healing And Let Non-Healing Begin With Me'.
Conflicts leave scars, some visible and some not. There is greater scar-visibility in places
where the fighting was most intense, in our case, the Northern and Eastern
parts of the country. This conflict,
nevertheless, spilled over the relevant boundaries in many ways. First, anything and anyone was ‘fair game’ to
the LTTE. The Central Bank was attacked,
a President was assassinated, and therefore the point does not require
elaboration. It ‘spilled out’ because
those who had to take out the enemy and save fellow-citizens came from all
parts of the country. Economies depended
on the salaries of the troops, and their death or maiming caused grief. Yes, some
scars are more visible than others.
We move on, though. As so we should. That which was damaged gets rebuilt. The dead are remembered by those they left
behind. Grief is not a collective thing. It is personal, regardless of the
identity of the dead or the aggrieved; regardless of loyalties and preferred
political outcomes. If we lamented mass
slaughter in greater degrees of collectiveness then, we now focus, if at all,
on our individual losses. Here in
Colombo, as the city becomes more beautiful by the day, conflict-signs have all
but disappeared.
Invisible, however, does not mean ‘non-existent’. There are times, for example, that we
remember, if something triggers reflection.
Today is a day like that, as the second anniversary of war-end is celebrated. Remembrance came to me in a different way,
though. I saw a young man on crutches. I
immediately thought, ‘Johnny Batta’, the name given to the anti-personnel mine
that the LTTE buried in their thousands all over the Vanni and which cost
hundreds of soldiers their legs.
I remembered, then, the tireless and dangerous work carried
out by the security forces to clear the Vanni of landmines, one square inch at
a time, with no map or reliable information about location, those responsible
for burying being dead or (naturally) averse to offered guide-services. My thoughts also went to a day in either
April or May 2009.
At that time, the LTTE leadership had decided that it could
no longer depend on the support of Tamils living in areas under their control. The days of volunteering were long gone. The retreat that began when the LTTE lost
Silavathura marked the beginning of comprehensive hostage taking. All civilians
had to flee with the LTTE leadership. As
the troops moved relentlessly forward, the LTTE had to increase the speed of
retreat. They were hampered by the slow. They knew they could only be as fast
as the slowest in the group. The
slowest, naturally, were those who had lost their legs to the very devices the
LTTE had planted to stop or delay their pursuers. There was an easy solution. ‘Easy’ because it
was the LTTE that had to come up with it and because the LTTE is what many
always knew believed it was.
Some 40 women, all on crutches since they had all lost at
least one leg, were ordered to get into a bus.
Then they blew it up. They were
all Tamils; Tamil civilians injured by devices set by terrorists in the name of
liberating the Tamil people, terrorists supported by word, action and funds by
sections of the Sri Lankan Tamil Diaspora and whose crimes were regularly
whitewashed or responded to with silence by the Tamil National Alliance. They were all, in one massive flash of fire
and brutality unburdened of all scars, visible and invisible.
We are told to be grateful for small mercies. We are told
not to complain about the lack of shoes, because some people don’t have
feet. These are ‘grin and bear’
recommendations. They are not always sourced to a will to subjugate though.
Right now, I believe those who can walk and dance are
blessed. Thinking of the 40 plus women
whose bodies were broken to pieces and who were instantly robbed of the right
to dream, I think even those without legs, can feel blessed.
msenevira@gmail.com
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