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Refugees Magazine Issue 130: (Sri Lanka) – Death, despair ... and then hope
For the handful of humanitarian officials working on both sides of the Sri Lanka conflict during the late 1990s, life was a daily, dangerous tightrope, as they tried to convince soldiers and rebels alike to respect a beleaguered civilian population, at the same time maintaining the trust of suspicious commanders, negotiating the front lines with emergency supplies and crossing a scary no man's land where anything could happen. When Kilian Kleinschmidt was a senior field officer in the northern town of Vavuniya in 1996-97, the war seemed so hopelessly bogged down, even aid officials wondered why they were there.
A few bloodstains in the dust, household belongings scattered around the little mud house 200 yards from the main junction in Mankulam. A plastic wall clock smashed, indicating the time of death of the old man who was killed instantly by shrapnel from a shell which hit this strategic junction in one of the so-called ‘uncleared areas' in the north of the country.
Never mind: another useless death, more hatred and more displacement as hundreds of families leave the same night on overburdened ox-carts or little tractors, past ‘heroes cemetery' where rebels have buried their fighters, and into the jungle which offers a little cover, water and snakes. Don't bother building another hut. Some civilians out of the hundreds of thousands who have been displaced, have done this 10 times, 20 times already, but the war always catches up with them and repeats the cycle.
It begins with a peaceful village. But then there is the dreadful intrusion: bombardment, attack, scare, flight; finding a new place, building a house, starting a garden, bombardment, attack, scare, flight ... The shelling of Mankulam is just a minor incident on the wider stage of an unending war between government and rebel forces. Why should we even bother about this forgotten conflict? But then there are no other witnesses; maybe 10 international staff working in the rebel-controlled area. So we feel responsible – we are responsible – for protecting the innocent, constructing a credible account of the situation, trying to maintain the delicate balance of trust with both sides, convincing the commanders perhaps that their military operations could be driving the civilians-caught-in-the-middle into the opposite camp. We owe it to the dead old man of Mankulam and especially the survivors.
Once back in government territory, I urge my army interlocutor, a brigadier, that bombs such as those which fell on Mankulam do not necessarily win hearts and minds. Without trying to interfere with military operations, couldn't we agree that the army will advance along the main road and we can group civilians in the jungles left and right? Yes we can. But can we for our part guarantee there will be no rebel cadres among these families? No we can't. The dialogue continues.
Later, there is a similar exchange with officials of the rebel LTTE: on civilian rights versus ‘the cause' and military strategy, how to get civilians out of the way of the fighting, freedom of movement. I sit on the same sofa set, a familiar prop which has been transported with the constantly moving war headquarters from place to place in the rebel enclave during these endless discussions. We disagree on many things but do concur jokingly that when peace breaks out the excellent rebel logisticians will easily be able to find new employment.
Each side is kept closely informed about these meetings ‘on the other side' of the front lines. Transparency is our only weapon in holding their trust and allowing us to continue working.
CROSSING THE LINE
The Captain of Ramya House, the last military checkpoint between the government-held territory and rebel-controlled Vanni region, is our ‘most beloved enemy.' We get along ... kind of ... but his job is to make it as difficult as possible for humanitarian workers and their emergency supplies to reach the enclave. We meet almost every day and the routine is always the same. Verification of permits. The physical scrutiny of goods. Yet another piece of paper for one thousand blankets, 10 bales of used clothes and cooking utensils. Other permits for new tires, one bag of cement and one jerrican of fuel for the UNHCR field office.
Is he in a good mood? An enthusiastic movement of the head from right to left means yes – a hesitant shaking means that we will see. No movement at all and some frowns on his forehead mean a clear no! A telephone call to the Brigadier or Headquarters in Colombo may mean no departure today. Come back tomorrow at which time you will need a new movement permit from the capital.
Will he order the used clothes to be sorted by individual colours? Camouflage is refused. Ten bottles of shampoo are confiscated. The shampoo could be used as engine oil. AA sized batteries are verboten, since they could be inserted in mines. The one bag of cement for a new UNHCR base camp? Not today, despite a permit. It could be used to construct a rebel bunker.
A body being repatriated from Sweden in a sealed coffin must be searched for restricted items and weaponry – by hand and metal detector. The checking officers visibly recoil and cover their noses as they open the zinc coffin – but restricted items have been discovered before in the most unlikely places.
The convoy proceeds cautiously into the 2000-yard no man's land between the military and rebel checkpoints. Blue flashlights revolve from the vehicles roofs, alerting everyone to our presence.
The lid of the coffin from Sweden bounces open. Bunkers built from smashed palm trees, mud and sand line the route. There are soldiers dressed in flip-flops, green t-shirts and boxer shorts, rifles thumping against their backs. Heavy rails which formed the country's major rail link which were ripped up to act as crash barriers, must be physically manhandled aside. A government convoy of 40-50 trucks with essential commodities moves through. It is a true oddity of this war that even as both sides try to kill each other, Colombo has decided to keep feeding the rebel pocket, civilians and LTTE fighters alike.
The transfer of dead soldiers and rebels is often made in this dangerous no man's land, but sometimes even this poignantly tragic act of kindness can have a grisly end. A truck loaded with corpses from a recent battle arrives. Access to cross the front lines is denied because the arrival of so many dead bodies would be an acute embarrassment and public relations disaster. Even the checkpoint commandant has tears in his eyes. The bodies will find no permanent resting place, but will simply be listed as missing in action.
A seemingly endless and hopeless war continued on its way.
Epilogue: One paragraph appears in a European newspaper about the peace process in Sri Lanka. There is also a 30-second television report. My LTTE 'colleagues' shake hands with a government delegation in a process brokered by the Norwegians. But didn't we discuss this in 1996 and 1997? and the idea went nowhere then. But good news at last.
Source: Refugees Magazine Issue 130: "Sri Lanka – Emerging from the ruins" (April 2003). Download the complete issue in pdf format: low-resolution (880Kb) here or high-resolution (1.5Mb) here.
