My Shattered Dreams - “We will meet in three days”

I

It was April 21, 2006.

The final day in my home and on my soil.

The final minutes I spent with my dad.

The last time I saw my mum and dad together.

My final activity in Jaffna[1].

My last direct initiative in the North part of the Island.

My final good bye to Jaffna in that atmosphere.

That was the final day I saw many of my friends.

Would it be possible to see at least my mum in our home again? Or was it my last journey in Jaffna?

Just before I left the house, I wanted to say bye to “Appa” (dad[2]), but he was at the prayer room. When I moved the curtain, he noticed me and said “take care of yourself, we will talk in three days once you returned “and waved his hand.

As always, “amma” (mum) came with me to the gate and waited till I got on the bus to Jaffna.I went to Jaffna, in order to show my solidarity at the Consortium of Humanitarian Agencies (CHA) workshop before I headed to a meeting at my head office in Colombo.  After an hour, I said bye to the participants and organisers and left the auditorium.  Thereafter, I entered into my branch office and did the final preparations for the meetings the following day at my head office in Colombo.

I left the room once I was satisfied with my preparation and said bye to the management of the building. So many “byes”, but I didn't expect at the time that these were my final good byes in Jaffna.

As I had to attend the CHA workshop, I decided to travel via land route to Colombo. I came to the bus stand, which was near the Jaffna district government secretariat, to take the bus to Muhamalai[3]. Usually, there were buses at-least every 15 minutes during weekdays, but strangely, there were no buses for more than an hour especially on that day and particular time.

I now realise my soil wanted to keep my steps on her as long as possible. The wind tied its freshness around me. I felt something, but I never thought that was my final moment with my people on our soil.

Finally, the bus arrived and I got in with my small shoulder bag as I have to stay only two days in Colombo. I was planning to return to Jaffna afterwards in order to bring together the North Ceylon Journalist Association and the Jaffna Journalist Association as the united journalist structure in Jaffna district to face future challenges and strengthen democratic voices.  (I took this initiative in early January. At last my mediation succeeded with the support of the key people of both organisations    After almost 95 percent working mechanism was completed and a new set up emerged, we decided to announce the completion soon after my return from Colombo, although later I heard of one or two people opposing to bring both organisations together [4]).

I arrived in Colombo on the same day and attended the Monday (23rd) staff meeting. I was supposed to go back to Jaffna after the meeting via flight as I have to meet the members of the journalists associations, but my coordinator asked me to extend the stay due to another meeting. Therefore, I decided to stay and informed the relevant people concerning the postponing.

During my brief at the meeting, I recalled Prof. Cheran’s poem, “On the clouds…fire has written its tale” and gave a short analysis about the worsening situation. According to the rearranged schedule, I had to leave on the 26th of April, 2006, but that days’ blast cancelled my journey back to Jaffna as all transportation routes to Jaffna were stopped until further notice.   Since then, I have never been back to Jaffna due to volatile security situation, which was a personally threat for me as well.

My life in Colombo was very dramatic, which I will write about on another occasion. Some of that memory is written under the title of “The Life in An Open Prison” in another paper. The constant pathetic situation forced me to leave the country. I decided to see my parents before I had to leave Sri Lanka, but I could not go to where they were. Therefore, I invited them to Colombo. After few days, mum told me that “they (military) will provide defence clearance for one person only, either for me or appa”.  Some minutes after silence, I told her to come to Colombo, because I thought my dad is a healthier person and I can see him upon my return, which I hoped would happen in maximum one year. My mothers’ health concerned me, as she cannot live without medicine; most of her days spent in hospital and with treatments. When my mother arrived in Colombo we were extremely happy to meet each other; I was with her twenty two days. These were unforgettable days in my life.

Then, with hugs and bye to my mum, I left Sri Lanka on the 30th of September, 2008; in reply mum gave me blessings.  

Of course! I saw the tears in her eyes, when we said goodbye to each other. Again and again I told her to take care of her and my fathers’ health condition.  I conveyed a message to dad through mum, and also sent a letter after I arrived in Europe about my concern with regard to both of them, my studies and other things.

I was counting the days to return, but before I could go back, the message came to me.

II

A message of my fathers’ death (17 January2009, around 12:30 am).

I am still shocked when I think about my fathers’ death. Our family never expected his death so soon as he was the healthier person in our family. After the 2002 Cease fire Agreement (CFA), I saw my parents after five years and stayed with them about one week. Just before I had to leave for Colombo again, my father told me, “As you became a journalist, you need to be more careful. If either of us, I or “amma” (mum) die, wherever you are, don’t miss to come and keep the fire / embers [5] (kolli) (Kavanam appu, enkai irunthalum kolli vaika vanthidu) on me or her during the cremation.” I replied to soften the conversation, “Dad, you are strong enough, you will live for long time, you will die after me only”.  He replied: “Don’t talk like that, even as a joke. Nothing bad will happen to you”.

I know my parents were worried about me since I started my journalism career, but I thought I could stay with my parents for long time as Cease Fire Agreement was signed between the Government of Sri Lanka and Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. However, neither of these things took place: my long stay with my parents or the final fire on my dad’s cremation ceremony. Remarkably, the CFA went through a coma stage and finally died. 

I tried to go to my dad’s funeral, but I wasn’t able to do so as I was warned that guns were targeting me as my pen had been too vibrant. I remember, usually in the evenings during my childhood, dad carried me on his shoulder to the playground, temple and relatives’ house. Once I met him after five years and gave some amount of money from my first salary. I had stored this money for some time so that I could give it to my parents first. Upon giving him the money I told him, “Dad, you carried me on your shoulders in my childhood. Now, you are getting older and shouldn’t do any hard things, now I can carry your responsibilities.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t even fulfil his desire of keeping embers on his body during his cremation. Still, our souls are deeply connected and this event will be forever with me. 

I couldn’t fulfil my dad’s humble expectation…..On the “Thai Pongkal” day, I talked to dad, which was the final conversation between us. As he lost his hearing power, he didn’t understand what I said. However, as other times, he said he is fine, but that my mum is constantly taking medicine and not that well. He asked me to tell her not to fast so much, as it is worsening her health condition. “We are deeply missing you, and would love to see you. A few days ago I posted a letter for you where I wrote some important things to you; to have your foods on time and take care of yourself, we are helpless to help you as you are alone there”. 

I told my mum that now she should reduce her fasting as her health condition is in a weakened state; my sister also said the same thing to mum. She answered that she will do it gradually. I told her to tell dad (as he could not hear what I said over the phone) that I sent some of my photographs through a cousin of mine, which dad could see in a few days. She said, “I also looking forward to see that and will tell dad”, then she added, “after a long time Appa was so enthusiastic to do the Thai Pongkal festival and it went very well, but we missed you very much”.   I told her that I am glad to hear that both of them had a great time and that I was happy about their Thai Pongkal celebration. I said they should not worry as I will be there for the next Thai Pongkal. Our conversation came to an end after her describing the joyful festivities of the Thai Pongkal festival. That was the last “Thai Pongkal” my mum celebrated with dad.

I was eagerly waiting for my father’s letter, which I didn’t receive even after nearly twenty one months. My mum told me that father was waiting to see my pictures but nothing happened. However, dad is not with us anymore; he died just before my cousin brought my photos to him.

The irreparable loss happened during very early hours (around 12.30am) of January 17, 2009.

My mum didn’t know about dad’s death for the first five days. Dad got chest pain while he was watching television at our neighbour’s house, who is our close relative. According to them dad suddenly touched his chest and didn’t say anything. Immediately, our relatives called mum, who was ready to enter into the bathroom. Along with my mum, some of my relatives took dad to nearest base hospital. Soon after dad was hospitalised  mum informed me, my sister, uncle and aunts.

When mum called me, I was discussing with a foreign journalist in Germany how to prevent the expected bloodbath. After she called, I realised that she was in panic and nervous, but she said: “I hope he will be fine”. After the discussion with the journalist, I traveled to Switzerland. As I arrived in Switzerland, my mum called me again and said that my dad’s situation was not improving, therefore the doctors advised her to take him to the Jaffna hospital in an ambulance. They did the arrangements and dad was taken to Jaffna hospital.   

Few minutes after mum got down from the ambulance she fainted. Then, both of my parents were hospitalised  but neither dad nor mum realised any of it. After a few hours, my dad left without telling us: he passed away. 

Since I heard of the death of my father, I was trying to talk to mum, but couldn’t succeeded as she was also admitted to the Intensive Care Unit. I think it was after two days that I finally could speak to her. She told me as follows: “Appu[6],  Appa (dad) was admitted to the males ward, I bought a juice for him, which he like very much, but doctors and nurses didn’t allow me to go there and give it to dad. Can you talk to them to allow me to give the juice to dad? Also, he didn’t see me for long time and he will worry as I am hospitalised  If I visit him, he will be happy, you know that. Please explain this to the doctors”. 

What I can reply to her??? I was silenced. Whilst controlling my tears, I told her a lie, “Mum, dad is ok, don’t worry, take care of yourself. Sister will be with you very soon”. Even, she couldn’t talk properly; she asked me, “Why sister is coming, tell her not to come here, the situation is not good”.   I replied that both of them are now at the hospital and my sister wanted to come and see both of them. (Actually, sister wanted to go and see parent’s long time back, but due to the volatile situation in the country, she couldn’t make it.)  We decided to tell my mum about dad’s death through my sister once she arrived there, which would be better to ease my mum’s pain. My sister went to our home after twenty years and saw dad’s dead body. We didn’t meet each other the last twenty years.  

As dad condition was getting critical, I got some strange impression and I was at an unprecedented mindset.  Two of my friends (both of them are my close relatives) tried to calm me down. They asked me to go the church, where they have immense belief and told me that some of their friends went through some similar situations and went to the church to get God’s blessings.  So I also went to the church and begged God, but this time God also couldn't help me or, I think, dad died just before I entered the church.

I was on my way back home as I got a call from Jaffna. It was about 12.30am there. I could sense my cousin was panicking and was very reluctant to talk. I realised the situation, and she told me: “Nishan Anna[7], unakadai appa (your dad)…” She couldn’t continue. My voice changed, but didn’t shake. I asked her: “You mean, Dad is not with us anymore?” She said yes and talked in an empathic way. I told her don’t worry about me, please take care of mum. Soon after I kept the phone, my mind went back to wonderful memories of my dad and I from childhood and until I was with him last.

Dad’s death has been the hardest time in my life, but I haven’t shed tears properly until now. I was online during the funeral time, while the candles were being lit. I heard my mum and sister’s cries and lament, which shook me too. Apart from this, I cried slightly in two other occasions, which were when I wrote a poem for dad’s funeral (later people said, they cried not only about dad’s death, but due to my poem as well) and when I started to write this piece of reflections.

I wanted to cry for my dad properly. Indeed, I will cry for him one day… but this is not the time for that. There are moral responsibilities which I have to do. I couldn’t go to my dad’s funeral, I couldn’t put the embers on my dad, I couldn’t be with mum during her hardest time, which I feel occurred by injustice.  What happened to me shouldn’t happen for others. I have a strong moral sense that my struggle for justice will win one day. Then, I will cry as the way I wanted. Otherwise, my dad’s moral bond to me won’t accept my cry. I think my dad approves of my decision, because my parents often said that I was born on the day of “Sooran Poar”, which means the day injustice was defeated.

If the justice prevails, I will go home. I will see mum at our home, I will enter into the prayer room, where I saw dad the last time. There is a framed photo of dad with his unique smile and I will cry and pay my final respect, while holding my mum hands.

Until justice prevails, my struggle will continue against injustice.

NB: I have decided to write this article as I left Sri Lanka on this day (September 30, 2010) two years ago without a chance to see my dad.


[1] Jaffan is a district in the northern part of the island nation
[2] He cannot hear properly, after he was got in a Sri Lankan military attack in 1987 
[3] Entry / exit point of Jaffna, which was the border between the military and LTTE controlled territory.
[4] I will explain more about this imitative at right time
[5] According to the Hindu culture, during his dad or mum crimination time, their son will put ember on the death body, after rounding and praying his dad or mum. In circumstances, other also can do, but parents always wanted their son to do it.  Sons’ feel this is there major responsibility and parents feel as a great satisfaction. (There are in-depth note on it with different perspective)
[6] Some of Tamil parents call their son like that with deep love and great kindness
[7] My relatives and childhood friends call me as Nishan and Anna means elder brother.

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Reconciliation in Sri Lanka: Breaking the Myth and Bringing the Truth

“There cannot be reconciliation without justice. Justice and equity are at the core of reconciliation” – Professor Hizkias Assefa

The platform for an “genuine reconciliation” should be rooted via the democratic exercises, rights and participation of all citizens throughout a country. But, if people are under fear to express their grievances and aspirations, including opposition political parties, dissident voices, independent media and even some ruling party government ministers how can a national minority discriminated and oppressed for more than five decades practice their rights in Sri Lanka?

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A Turning Point in the life of a Human Rights Defender

When the 1994-95 peace process in Sri Lanka also failed, war erupted again on 19th April 1995, and the then President Chandrika Kumarathunga initiated a “War for Peace” campaign. In the same year, another event forced me to change my approach toward the path of non-violence. On the 22nd of September 1995, I received an urgent notice from my officer in charge for the St. John’s Ambulance Service. I told my mum about that notice during a time when heavy shelling and aerial bombing was taking place around us. After a few minutes silence she told me to attend to that invitation.

Neither of us thought that this mission would prove to be a turning point in my life. As a first aider with the St. John Ambulance Brigade that was my first mission in a warzone. There were constant attacks on one side, while I was moving on the other side.  When I reached the meeting point I saw only four other volunteers.  Usually, we would provide our service to nonviolent demonstrations, rallies and festivals. Throughout that period we had 25 to 50 volunteers, but, regrettably, for this particular mission only five of us came forward.

We joined with the Sri Lanka Red Cross (SLRC), Point Pedro Branch. Altogether there,  we were about 15 volunteers. We decided “we must be ready to face ‘anything’, and basically, it is a kind of do or die mission”.  Our teams rotationally deployed in Point Pedro, Nagarkovil and Manthikai hospital.  At about 1.30pm we heard the news that ‘pucara’ aircraft bombed Nagarkovil Maha Vidyalayam (School). Our teams rushed to the spot.

The whole area was resembled a bloodbath, there were dead and wounded bodies strewn around and many screams of distress and cries for help. On the same day in the evening, when I was at Manthikai hospital I got to know that 21 students were killed and 40 wounded. All were in their school uniforms. All of us were deeply disturbed by that tragedy; however, we continued our service for five days without proper meals or sleep.

I was the youngest in our team, and when I met the SLRC for the first time; they asked me "Can you carry a stretcher?" I replied to them through my actions. On the third day of our mission we all gathered at SLRC office in Point Pedro. After three days we were ready to sit for dinner when shells began to fall close to our premises. Our Team leader ordered us to jump into the bunker. We did it immediately, but shelling continued. When we were inside the bunker, we heard screaming from a neighbouring house. Nearly 15 shells fell in our surrounding area; after shelling turned from our area, we came out and rushed to the particular direction, from where the screams were coming. A Mother and daughter were wounded, but not seriously injured, immediately we sent them to Manthikai hospital. For reasons of safety hundreds of people stayed there.

Later we stopped bothering about the shelling; where -ever shells were falling we rushed to that spot to provide first aid for people. We did our best; throughout our mission, we protected hundreds of civilians. We were satisfied about our support for war affected people, but memories of tragedy still exist, even after 15 years.  When I was in Jaffna, I used to take part in an annual remembrance for massacred students.  Now I wonder how I had that much of courage at 15 years of age. We were at that time led by Mr.Thavarajah who in 2007 was shot dead by militias in Jaffna.

Five days after, I returned home, almost like a living corpse, because of tiredness on one hand and the continuous remembrance of tragedy scenes on the other hand. When I returned Amma (mom) was also back from temple (later on I learnt that during the five days of my abscence she spent most of her time at temple for prayers, especially for my safety). I don’t know how to explain that feeling, she hugged me and I saw her tearful eyes. Some of our relatives were not happy about my actions, they said to me ‘you are the life of your Amma, if anything happens she cannot bear it, you should think about it’. After they went I told my Amma about all the incidents which I had seen in those five days.  She was also worried and furious at the war regime. After a few minutes silence she said “We must teach a lesson to them (the war regime). Definitely, one day they will learn it." But I did not ask in which way to teach a lesson, and neither did she mention it.

Within a short period two out of five of my team-mates joined the LTTE. Amma was aware of it as well. My relatives thought I too would do the same. That same evening Amma asked me to go with her to our family temple. Already, sh  had arranged a special prayer for me. After prayers she tied a protective thread around my hand. After a  moment’s silence, we looked at each other’s eyes. That look was heavy with meaning and contained different understandings which we tried to convey to each other  A few minutes later she took a deep breath and then broke her silence. She was telling me that due to government censorship the student massacre news did not reach the outside community. However, Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) and ICRC statements had partly  brought it to the attention of the world. Further she said, "This kind of information needs to reach outside Sri Lanka." There is certain continuity among peace people of all varieties. The young pick up ideas through families, friends, schools, books or particular experiences. [1]

My mom’s above mentioned concern planted a constructive seed in my mind. That particular moment was the starting point of my current caliber as a journalist, human rights defender and peace activist.

After two of my St. John ambulance teammates took to the gun as a weapon, I chose the pen, but both my friends did not achieve their expected goal. I lost one of my friends. But, I still strongly believe in my path of non-violence.

During the Tsunami period it came to my knowledge that the brother of a Sinhala friend of mine is in the Sri Lankan Army and was deployed in the Nagarkovil Forward Defense Line (FDL). When I told this story to my friends they reminded me that my remaining friend who was with me during the 1995 student massacre was also deployed in the Nagarkovil FDL as a LTTE cadre. I do not know where they are now, but if they are still there, if war erupts I will lose at least one of my friends. I do not worry about whether he is a Sinhala army soldier or a Tamil rebel; I do not want to lose any of them.    This reason is also vital to my dedication to the field of peace building.

During the current presidency, journalists and later peace activists / humanitarian workers became targets. Human rights defenders are targeted or under pressure after the GoSL lost its seat in the UN human Rights Council election in 2008. The life of an activist in Sri Lanka is one of alarming risk.  Between January 2006 to August 2007 44 humanitarian workers were killed in Sri Lanka.[2] At present the number has reached about 50.

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[1] Locke, Elsie (1992) Peace People, pg 134 Hazard Press
[2] http://www.sangam.org/2007/08/Humanitarian_Workers.php?uid=2511

 This article was written in November 2008 

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