A first person account of escaping from the land of the dead among Tamil refugees
Rome (AsiaNews) – Varuvel, a Tamil humanitarian worker, spent years of war with Tamil refugees. As an NGO employ he saw death all around him, escaped bombs, attacks, abductions. His story is one of madness, madness that the government brought to an end yesterday, but one that scarred him and countless refugees for life.
“I remember a boy who had to leave his pregnant mother,” he said. “She was wounded and dying, and he had to escape, but did not want to leave her.”
Varuvel is not his real name; he wants anonymity because he wants “to live in Sri Lanka to help people devastated by the war,” but in an almost clinical tale, without sentimentalism, he describes the “inhuman conditions to which we were reduced, [. . .] the bodies of the dead lying by the road like the carcass of some dead animal.”
For months he lived among the civilians, trapped in the No Fire Zone (NFZ), between the advancing army and the Tamil Tigers putting up a desperate resistance, shot at by both sides.
His story, and his escape from the North, began years ago, as he tried to flee the army’s offensive and rebel incursions.
“When the army began advancing, the north was still largely under Tiger control. Some people wanted to escape but many chose to stay because they had relatives and sons who had been forcibly recruited into the rebel army. Their life and their homes were there and they did not want to abandon them.”
The government organised by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) had its own administration, banks, police, etc. But we needed their authorisation to leave.
“The Tigers did not allow anyone to leave, not even those prepared to sell their land to buy their way out.”
Soon truing to escape and desperation became people’s daily lot.
“When in March 2006 the army launched an all-out assault in Vanni, the Tigers resorted to conscripting child soldiers.”
As the army advanced the intensity of the fight increased.
“Starting last September anyone who could fight was forced into the rebel army,” he said.
“Before the No Fire Zone was set up, it was one attempt to flee after the other until.”
“When the army announced that it was setting up a safe area for civilians on 21 January, many believed it. They thought that the time of escaping had come to an end; in reality, we could already sense how things would turn out.”
The No fire zone, a graveyard for refugees
All the setbacks and problems are engraved in Varuvel’s memory.
“We heard about the NFZ three days after it was officially announced. We had no power, no newspapers or no radio. How were we supposed to know about it? When we found out we left, with bombs falling on us. The army told to escape into the NFZ, but they did not stop shelling.”
As the army advanced people pulled back. “More than 330,000 ended up seeking refuge in an area that was constantly shrinking. The NFZ became just one huge graveyard.”
The army claims that in April it saved 190,000 people. In the last days of the conflict, it saved another 70,000. Another 70,000 are still unaccounted for.
“At the start we dug some holes in the ground or built some shelters above ground to escape the bombing and shelling. We sat with our legs pulled up. Running from air strikes was easy. You could hear them from far away and we had all the time to get into our shelters. But when ground combat began and the heavy guns of the artillery began pounding away we were caught off guard. Those who got into the shelters could hear shots coming from every side. The army was close and we were there.”
Last February things escalate as food dwindled and the safe area got smaller and smaller. Life became almost impossible.
“Everyone wanted to get out because the situation was beyond anything humanly possible. Women, children, the sick, old folks, everyone had run out of everything: no food, no medicine, no lavatory facilities; all stuffed inside tents, three metres by four.”
“What a resistance people showed! It was something incredible,” said Varuvel in a voice betraying his admiration, remembering the heroic efforts of the few volunteers who had stayed behind, the government doctors, the priests and nuns coping as best they could with the humanitarian emergency.
On 20 April the government released images showing the wave of refugees pouring into Nanthi Kadal lagoon.
“When the NFZ was reduced to the beach, we could not even dig a hole to protect ourselves from the bombs,” Varuvel remembers.
“We could only eat some fish caught in the sea. Rice and greens had long gone. Every item essential for life was taken away from us.”
“We just wanted to live and found ourselves caught between the army’s bombs and the Tigers who wanted to use as a human shield.”
End to injustice
The war is now over. Before communal demands are voiced, it is important to “meet the needs of the refugees,” provide food, medicines and clothes.
“We need assistance right away to help people survive,” Varuvel said.
“We need to act right now to stop the hardships people are enduring. We need schools for children, jobs for adults, and long term plans so that pledges made to the refugees that they can return home are not betrayed.”
Refugees should leave the so-called “welfare villages,” relief centres set up by the government which refugees cannot leave, virtual “concentration camps” according to Varuvel.
And for reconstruction the country needs much more than “a response to a humanitarian emergency.”
The “international community must become involved in the country so that there be justice for all,” Varuvel said.
“Sri Lanka’s history is marked by ethnic and religious injustice, discrimination against women and farming communities, a clear demarcation line separating elites and the people. There are well-established mechanisms and an ideology that over time generated uncontrollable developments. Such is the truth. And the population of Sri Lanka must accept it. Only then will it be able to build a country where there is equal dignity and justice for all. The path is long and we cannot do it alone.”
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