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Some Mother's Son

By Beena Sarwar

21 June, 2004
Countercurrents.org

There is strength and inspiration to be drawn from those who use their pain, not to cause further destruction, but to heal and move ahead. One such woman is Visaka Dharmadasa, whose young son Achinte went missing in September, 1998 when the LTTE attacked his unit of the Sri Lankan army. Only a missing person's family can know the pain of waiting, day in and day out, every moment of 24 hours, for news of their loved one. They don't have the luxury of mourning, and getting on with life.

Visaka's uncertainty and the agony are intensified because of another son still on active duty. But she has transformed her personal pain and sorrow into a powerful force - not in anger against the army for sending her son into a dangerous area, or the LTTE for attacking his unit, but to connect with Tamil mothers. She obtained a pass from the army to take five other women ostensibly to visit a Christian shrine in an LTTE controlled area, where the priest got them in touch with 'the other'. At an uneasy first meeting, Visaka broke the ice by asking a young soldier about his children, and pretending to be surprised that he didn't have claws, or horns on his head.

On a more serious level, they found something very special. "We found that they did not have hatred towards us, and nor did we towards them." When young LTTE boys risked their lives to get her group back across the divide, it formed the basis for a firm friendship that has transcended the breakdown of peace talks.

"I don't feel angry with the LTTE at all. They didn't target my son as an individual but because he was from the other side. And for him too, the LTTE was the enemy," says Visaka, implicitly acknowledging the common humanity of both sides - something that armies, whether state-run or private, obliterate in order to condition their cadres for violent action against 'the other'.

In 2002 Sinhala and Tamil women joined hands publicly at a rally for the missing - 12,000 in this last phase of conflict alone. The organizations Visaka founded, Parents of Servicemen Missing-in-Action and the Association of War-Affected Women build upon the grassroots desire for peace. They lobby the government to reciprocate the LTTE's actions of releasing soldiers and civilians, mobilize cross-community dialogue, and design workshops on rehabilitation, reintegration and reconciliation. They also try to get the government and the LTTE to respect the dead, and make identification disks compulsory.

"The highest number of missing in Sri Lanka is because dead bodies go unidentified," says Visaka. "Even after death, bodies are mutilated and disfigured, and we are trying to get them to agree to respect the dead. At least the parents will know that the child is dead." Once, talking to a general at his office, she made her point by saying that if they were both killed in a bomb attack at that moment, she could end up getting the ceremonial honours in burial, as he wasn't wearing his identification disk. "I'll do anything to make them realize the importance of identifying the dead," she says, smiling.

"Because this happened to someone like me who had the courage, I've been able to help thousands," she adds. "Unless there is peace, there will be more mothers like us. Since 1999 I have been going to the Norwegian embassy and asking them to include women in the peace process. At least let women sit in as independent observers."

Such inclusion may positively impact negotiations, given women's greater empathy to other people's feelings, says Visaka. "We know by the sound of our husband's footsteps when he comes home from work, what kind of mood he is in. But we have to burst into tears or do something dramatic for them to realize if we are upset!"

Of course, not all women are sensitive, just as not all men are insensitive. If some women exhort their husbands or sons into violence for the sake of 'honour', others can smilingly torture prisoners. But for all those who demonstrate such internalization of negative values, there are also those like Visaka in Sri Lanka, whose humanistic values link them to apparently unrelated organizations, from New York Not in Our Name, or Military Families Speak Out in the USA, to Israel's courageous 'refuseniks'.

The pain of the mother whose son was beheaded by Al Qaeda militants in Saudi Arabia is no less than the pain of one whose son died in a targeted missile attack in Wana, or whose political activist son was gunned down in Karachi -- or those who lose children in bomb blasts in Karachi mosques or the Iraqi cities. And if these women, like the Tamil and Sinhala mothers that Visaka leads, can make their voices heard above those who channelise their frustration and anger towards destruction, the world may yet become a better place.