Printer Friendly Version

Travels In A Militarised Society:
Part 1

By Prasanna Ratnayake

29 January, 2008
Countercurrents.org

Boralla Junction, Colombo – October 2007

I am waiting for a bus holding a small transparent plastic bag of fruit for my mother. As usual, the buses are sounding their horns, conductors are shouting out the stops on their route, lottery ticket sellers are offering fortunes. In the middle of Boralla Junction there is a Bo tree by a little temple from which a loudspeakers project Pirith chanting. On every corner of the busy crossroads large posters bless our three military forces – air, land and sea — faithfully pursuing their duty until the final victory. Other posters advertise the Superstar competition on Sirasa TV, modelled on American Idol, encouraging us to text in and record our votes for the candidates. Prostitutes and beggars who have worked Boralla Junction for years, older now but still plying their trades, move amongst the crowds.

Suddenly, an ordinary person in civilian clothes accosts me, “Can I check your ID?” I am taken aback for a moment; then ask politely, “Who are you?” “You don’t have to know who I am. I am a Boralla Junction Civil Guard. We work for the Police.” I hand over my card. Twice he asks me, “Are you Sinhala?” Twice I answer, “Yes, you can see it on my ID card.” He checks my transparent bag, “What’s in it?” “Fruits.” He throws my ID card back at me, turns away and accosts another person.

I spot my bus with its slogan: “This is The Nation of Buddha” and climb up. Inside a sticker reads, “This bus does not charge for Buddhist Sunday School children or Buddhist monks”. After herding people onto his bus from the footboard until it is crammed full, the conductor moves up and down amongst us, gesturing aggressively with his hand and shouting: “Give me your money! Your money!” Honking its horn, the bus jerks forward and starts chasing another bus.

At the next stop, the Castle Maternity Hospital, many pregnant women are pushing to get out. The driver has no patience and the bus starts to move again, making the women jump off. Every ten metres along our route, on both sides of the road, is a member of the Home Guard, the Police, the Army or the Air Force. After a few more stops we are nearing the Parliament Junction and pass the Ambilipitya monument. It was designed by Jagath Weerasinghe as a memorial to the students massacred in the late 1980s. The small temple-like structure is overgrown with weeds and has become a security checkpoint. The guards go into the little hall to have a piss when the need occurs. This and many other checkpoints are sponsored by banks and private companies nowadays: their banners are pasted on the walls, roofs and barriers of these security posts.

When I reach home, Mother is watching an old Hindi movie on TV. From time to time the film is interrupted by an ad break made by one of the country’s finest filmmakers. It’s a beautiful ad; with emotive music and spectacular images it summons our brave population to join the armed forces and defend the motherland. (This highly respected filmmaker has also recently published a book for the peace industry that analyses the relationship between the nation’s conflict and its cinema.) Other less elegant TV ads exhort people to be vigilant, to suspect everyone, including members of your own family—even yourself; advising that bombs can be hidden anywhere, that we are all in danger and must report our suspicions immediately day or night to the military or police authorities.

Shortly after 7 p.m., in the midst of the News, another ad pops up for “Prayathna (Effort) for the Peoples’ Movement”, giving a website address. We are not told what this “movement” is; in fact, its existence is limited to posters and these TV ads. With only 3% of the population computer literate, it cannot be a very big movement, whatever it stands for. Immediately after the Prayathna ad another pops up for “Mindada” (two hearts joined by the arrow of love), telling viewers they need not wait for tomorrow to arrange their marriage, it can be done today! Of course, given that 28% of the country’s women are war widows; this is more likely to generate a social movement than the other summons to make an effort.

Switching to another channel, there is a serious discussion in progress about how to conquer the Vanni, the Tamil district in the centre of the country. The panel of civilian men, who call themselves academics, and Buddhist monks, are making war in the TV studio in their immaculate saffron robes and well-ironed shirts, with benefit of AC and bottled mineral water. Loudly, belligerently, they outdo each other, shouting “We will win!” “We will crush the Enemy!” “We will prevail!” “We will have a proper Sinhala New Year in April!”

On a third channel another big discussion is going on between members of the Sangha and some more self-designated academics. They are devising a Buddhist justification for war; how to legitimate the process of annihilating non-Sinhala elements of the nation. A listener phones in to protest that this is not the Buddhist way. The panel of authorities strongly and unanimously reject this. Ours is a revised Buddhism; a Sangha-ism that accepts no dissent.

Andhradapura District, mid October 2007

The huge, busy conurbation of Andharapura—once a sacred city—has become the major transit centre for military forces en route to and from the current war zones. The ancient archeologically important ruins for which Andharapura is famous are dwarfed by the sprawling modern developments. An informal economy has grown up in which small traders sell the debris of militarism: single T56 bullets for 15 rupees each. Many young girls have come to the city to sell their favours to the military personnel. Guesthouses built for tourists who rarely come any more are now informal brothels. A trader approaches asking, “What do you want? Bullets? Weapons? Girls?” If you want a bullet, he takes one from his pocket. If you want a weapon, he guides you to a secret stash in this sacred city. If you want a girl, he directs you to the guesthouse. Three-wheeled taxis, Tri-shaws, fly around the city doing this business.

At Madawatchiya on the edge of the city, where the armed forces set off for the conflict area, I meet a trader who transports food and supplies into Vayvuniya. He is happy that the country has returned to war because he now carries far smaller quantities of goods than in peacetime and is making a much higher profit.

On my way from Andharapura to Horowpatana, there is a big tank called Mahakanadarawera. As I sit by the tank watching the beautiful scenery; large green heavy-duty Tata trucks suddenly speed past full of proud soldiers with their guns at the ready. In the front seat next to the driver, his elbow resting on the windowsill, his orange robe fluttering in the wind, sits an equally noble Buddhist monk. The label on the front of the truck reads, Jathika Saviya (National Strength).

At a small tea stall beside the tank, I have a little chat with the owners. They too are very happy with the new war situation: lots of young villagers, girls as well as boys, have got good local jobs as Home Guards and no longer worry their parents by going off to Colombo looking for work. They are well paid; they have job security and social status as never before. So the youth are happy and their parents are happy that the war has brought this improvement in their lives. On the billboards along the roadside of this agricultural district, amongst the ads for fertilisers and weed killers, are others which encourage and praise our valiant troops.

In Horowpatana town, where there’s not even a petrol station, you see plenty of people walking around with Nokia N70 mobile phones. Small as it is, there is a lot of traffic in Horowpatana because the government is clearing the thick forest and building condominiums for the security forces. This construction of 3000 new houses in the town will bring new businesses, more money, perhaps a shopping mall; so all the locals are in a good mood, looking forward to richer times.

Beyond Horowpatana, there is a modest little temple by the side of the road. The Buddhist monk here spent the past several years working with the peace-building network run by Colombo NGOs. He is more interested now in searching for Buddhist archaeological sites between the Eastern and North Central provinces where, he says, Tamil and Muslim people have destroyed many of these ruins in order to establish their farms. But his main work is in response to a request from the government to persuade local army deserters to return to their old posts or to take new positions in the Home Guards. During the past 30 years of civil war, each village had an average of 30-40 deserters. It will be good to get them back into the army because they were well trained in the past, unlike the new Home Guards. Besides, when they left the army, these deserters took their weapons with them and have been using them in an unregulated manner since. This holy man is very happy to have these new responsibilities. He has also been asked to participate in the Peace and Democracy rallies in Colombo and to bring 40 people with him each time. Although these rallies are not called every month, so many local people have now joined the Home Guard they don’t have time for the five or six-hour journeys to and from Colombo. He is a bit worried about this.

At his temple I also meet a Montessori School teacher from Welioya. In her after-school time she is being trained in the use of weapons. She is pleased about this as she is earning more money than before and is treated with greater respect by her community. She tells her young girls seeking employment to join the Home Guard. They are very happy with this alternative as the only other jobs are in the Free Trade Zones where they are sarcastically referred to as ‘garment items’ and forced to supplement their meagre pay by working as prostitutes. As Home Guards—in their uniforms, carrying guns like the boys do—they get a good salary and a level of social dignity unimaginable before. A proper government job like this confers the highest possible status in their villages.

Along the roadside, the huge government-owned rice storage barns, where farmers have long delivered their harvest to be bought at controlled prices, have been converted into storage sites for military hardware. As a result, the farmers have to sell their rice to private companies or to individual buyers for the best price they can get. Nonetheless, they regard this as a temporary sacrifice for the bright future they expect once the war is won.

In Colombo Again – November 2007

In Bambalapitya, I am texting a friend while crossing the road. A man in a new military uniform I did not recognise accosts me, “What are you texting?” “I’m just texting one of my friends.” “Show it to me. I want to see that.” I smile, “Okay, you can read it,” and hold out my phone to him. I notice how young he is, with just a small show of adolescent fuzz above his lip. “And what’s in your bag?” “My laptop.” “Can you switch on your laptop?” “Yes.” I switch it on, he stares at it. In a friendly tone I ask, “Why are you checking my phone and my laptop?” He explains that the Tamil Tigers are using “infra red technology” to trigger bombs and explosives, so they have been instructed to check all these devices when they see people using them in the streets. “Even the Sinhala Tigers are using these things now.”

I walk down to the Café Lavinia, where the air conditioning feels cold after the 30º heat outside. I order a luxurious coffee and get to work on the free Wi-Fi. The Lanka-e-News page pops up. The heading reads: Is the Eastern Province under Military Rule? I scroll through the other items. A journalist has asked a Cabinet Minister at his news conference how many people have been recruited into the North and East civil defence forces over the past year. He answers, 250,000. My travels from the North Central Province to the East and from Western Colombo to the South have revealed that these new recruits are rarely given proper training. Some Home Guard youngsters—boys and girls—told me they don’t even know how to unload their new guns. I think too of the village blacksmiths that have been making copies of the Chinese T-56s, called T-kattas, and small hand guns called Gal-kattas for years. These craftsmen, who repair weapons for the local police, say that the old police guns are worn out; their replicas work better and are more reliable. Experts like these could have supplied weapons and lessons in how to use them far more cheaply than the government’s option.

I reflect on the fact that the ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka which gets all the attention is only one element in the matrix of social contradictions that are contributing to the war situation. Caste, class, gender, employment, poverty, resources and land issues are also involved. In the past, local police stations were set up to deal with crimes that arise from caste and other social conflicts. At the moment the war is the overdetermining and predominant issue, but these other long-standing problems still burn beneath its surface. With the government giving arms to Montessori school teachers, monks, teenagers, farmers and many others, what good can come of it? For most of these people, their immediate enemy is not a Tamil Tiger—a person somewhere far away whom they have never met—but those in their own communities with whom they have serious issues.

What none of this takes into account is the criminal underworld; the networks of gangsters, many of whom have connections to Cabinet ministers in Colombo, municipal politicians in other districts or local council authorities in the villages. These are the drugs barons, the contract killers, the thugs who collect ransoms and protection money—sinister characters of every description. And the freelancers: even in the High Security areas of the capital, it is possible to rent a gun, kill someone who has offended you, and return the weapon the next day. Some of these criminals slaughter whole families in the night to settle a score or on orders from their powerful masters.

As I sit with my coffee contemplating this nightmare, a cheerful friend who works for an international NGO sits down beside me with her coffee. She’s just come from a really successful workshop with the civilian actors who are going to organise peace and democracy. She’s very optimistic that they will sort everything out. She asks me to help her select the best photo in her digital camera for her report to the funders.

The Middle Aged Policeman and the Young Soldier – end of November/early December 2007

It is night in Nawala and we are stopped at a police checkpoint. The officer flashes his torch around examining us and what we are carrying. I say, “You’ve got a funky torch!” “Fucking hell, sir, I bought this torch myself! You’re the only person who has smiled or talked to me this whole day of checking people. I’m in a fucking depression with this situation! See that guy over there, that young guy? I’ve worked more than twelve years in this police force and my salary is still less that 20,000. That bugger, new recruit, hasn’t been in the army even six months and he’s getting 16,000! He can’t even carry his weapon properly. He complains that it hurts his shoulder so he has to take Paracetomol. I can’t see where we are headed with this situation. Even my weapon: look at it. It’s so old it doesn’t even work! It’s a toy! I know how to use a gun but this thing, it’s useless. Even if I’m attacked I won’t be able to do anything with this! If I die, get shot or blown up in an explosion; my wife will have to go from one office to another all over town trying to get my pension. Either that or she’ll have to take her clothes off for my senior officers!”

Another day I am having a cigarette, a small vade and a plain tea at a little stall near the Parliament Road, along which military guard are stationed every ten metres. It is the eve of the Budget Day vote and the city is tense. The young soldier nearby is looking at me and smiling. I immediately get it: he needs a puff, so I nod for him to come over. I buy him a tea and gave him a cigarette. He smokes fast and gulps his tea, keeping a wary eye out as he’s not at his post. “Today is the last day,” he says. “Why?” “I’m so happy this fucking budget debate will finish! We’ve been here on the road for the past two months. At 6 in the morning they bring us here, where we have to stay until 6 or 7 at night; standing up the whole day. When we get back to the barracks, there is often no time to wash our clothes or underwear if we are going to get some sleep before they bring us back the next morning. You know, I’m a married man. After one and a half months I had two days’ leave, a chance to go back home. It’s not far, just outside Colombo. But I can’t go. With all this standing around, I have a fungal infection all over my groin and private parts. I am too ashamed. I couldn’t go home. I spent my break wandering around the city. Now I’m back at this work, standing all day. I don’t even know the guys next to me on either side. We’re from different forces; we’re not coordinated, just stuck here in the mornings. How do I know if that guy there isn’t a Tiger in uniform?”

Human Rights Watchdogs, Neo-colonialism and the Stray Dog Population of Colombo

International human rights organisations accuse the Sri Lanka government, the LTTE and the paramilitary groups operating under the aegis of government portfolios or official military protection—like the EPDP and the TMVP—of continuous violations and killings. The government and its supporters scorn these accusations as neo-colonial interventions in the affairs of the nation and counter that these foreign NGOs ignore LTTE brutalities. In public spaces, on Television and other media, a conspiracy theory is disseminated about these neo-colonial criticisms and outsiders’ attempts to undermine the progress of our war. In Colombo and island-wide a poster asks: “We ate budgerie (cheap grain) during the OTHERS’ war, why can’t we be patient with the hardships we endure for OUR war?” Another poster says, “This government fights Human Rights Neo-colonialism and LTTE Separatism.”

In Colombo, Jaffna, the East, Vayvuniya, and elsewhere people continue to disappear. There are no investigations and no local or national records kept of who or how many they are. From one day to the next, people forget because another incident has occurred.

However, things are not all bad: last year the government decided it must stop the killing of stray dogs—not the right to be happening in a Buddhist country. The dogs have taken advantage of this ethical decision and packs of strays trot around enjoying the freedom of the capital city.

2008 – The Year of War: We will Show the World How to Exterminate Terrorism!

On December 31st 2007, the Lanka-e-News website reports that the opposition MP T. Maheswaren has visited the Jaffna peninsula. He says that in Jaffna District six or seven people are being killed every day by paramilitary groups who are protected by the Sri Lankan military. He promises to announce the details and name names when Parliament reconvenes on January 8th.

On my way home from New Year celebrations, between midnight and 1 a.m., I notice an Airforce vehicle moving around and stopping for soldiers to jump out and put up posters that read, “Gotabe the Great”. Emerging from my hangover later that morning, I hear the news that Maheswaren has been murdered inside a Hindu temple in the Colombo High Security zone. He is the third MP to be assassinated since 2005. A good start for the Year of War.

Following their victory in the East in 2007, the government strategy for 2008 is focused on the Vanni, the next Tiger area they intended to capture. However, the LTTE has also changed its strategy to random and indiscriminate killing of civilians in the South and the North Central province and bombs in the capital. As a result, the entire country is now the warfront.

The government continues to recruit civilians as Home Guards, Civil Guards and other categories. At the end of 2007 at Tissamaharamaya in the South following the Ranminithanna atrocity, they recruited 2,000 civil guards in one day. In January 2008 after the Bootala incident, they recruited another 2,000. And last week, the civil defence commander, Colonel Sarath Weerasekara, announced that they would recruit another 25,000 as an Urban Civil Defence force. If this continues, soon only the grannies and the under-fives will be without guns.

I cannot claim to understand either the government or the LTTE strategies as I am simply an ordinary civilian. Still, it seems to me that this massive distribution of guns to the population is a danger worse than missiles or rockets. Over the past 30 years, the LTTE has operated at different times as a conventional army and as a guerrilla army. In the present phase, as guerrillas, they may no longer be interested in holding land. They can move—and do move—anywhere and the consequences for civilians are irrelevant to them. So the government’s idea of capturing their territory may be misguided. After all, where is Al Qaeda’s territory?

In the mid-90s Brecht’s play The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui was staged in Colombo. At the time we believed that the dictator had finally gone. We were wrong. At present we are still watching the shadowy figures manoeuvre in the background, smelling the blood and waiting to see the dictator himself emerge. Perhaps the play should be staged again—but perhaps not.

References:
Budgerie posters appeared on December 12th 2007
“Is the Eastern Province under Military Rule?” Lanka-e-News, December 20th 2007
25,000 new recruits to the Urban Civil Defence Force, January 20th 2008, Sunday Lakbima, Internet version
2,000 Home Guards for Tissamaharamaya; Lanka-e-News, January 20th 2008