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"What do the Tamil Tigers have to do with Indonesia?"

Nearly a Year After the Tsunami, Sri Lanka Strife Flares

The New York Times

November 2, 2005

By SOMINI SENGUPTA

BATTICALOA, Sri Lanka - Nearly a year since the tsunami devastated the nation, a fresh wave of political violence is sweeping across eastern Sri Lanka. Armed factions vie for supremacy, assassinations and abductions go on in broad daylight and parents squirrel away their children for fear they will be conscripted into battle.

Loss piles upon unbearable loss. There is no sanctuary even at a relief camp here for families displaced by the tsunami. Since February three women at the camp have been widowed.

Dayaniti Nirmaladevi's husband was gunned down as he fetched noodles one night. Radhi Rani's husband was shot after a fishing trip. Koneswari Kiripeswaran lost her parents and her only child, age 4, to the tsunami, only to have her husband shot dead at a bus stop on his way back to work in Qatar.

All three women said their men had been active in political organizations opposed to the notorious ethnic separatist group - the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam - but had given up politics. It is impossible to verify their claims.

Assassinations are a near daily affair here. Rarely, if ever, is anyone arrested. The situation is a stark reminder of the fraying of the cease-fire agreement in 2002 between the Tamil Tigers and the government, which have been fighting for more than 20 years over control of the north and east, where most of the Tamil minority lives. The majority Sinhalese control the government.

The Norwegian officials who monitor cease-fire violations can do little about the bloodshed: political killings do not fall under their ambit, although they do keep a running count.

From February to the end of October, the monitors documented 190 killings in all, an average of more than five a week. By comparison, they counted 60 last year.

This eastern coast is by far the most treacherous swath of Sri Lanka. Except for a sliver of government-controlled coast and highway, the Tamil Tigers control much of the hinterland. Matters were made worse when a rival faction broke from the Tigers in March of last year and now fights against it; it is widely believed to be operating here with the army's blessing - or at least its blind eye.

The violence is terrifying for its opacity. Witnesses rarely come forward. The police say they cannot properly investigate. The targets are generally tied to one faction or another and increasingly include police and military informants. There is a gunshot here, an ambush there. No one claims responsibility. Fear and suspicion fuel a disquieting silence.

"Really, we do not know who is killing whom," said the Rev. S. Jeyanesan, the pastor at St. John's Church here. "People live in fear. People say they only open their mouths to eat. People don't speak."

The political aftershocks of the tsunami last December were different in Indonesia, where the government and rebels in the devastated Aceh region signed a tentative accord. Here in Sri Lanka the tsunami seems only to have sharpened the divide between the warring parties.

So low have relations sunk that in September, when fresh peace talks were proposed, the parties could not even agree on a venue. Now, with a presidential election scheduled for November, the future of peace negotiations is up for grabs.

The Tamil Tigers' influence in the east has apparently been crimped by the breakaway faction, led by a former Tiger commander known as Karuna. Abroad, the Tigers took a considerable hit in September when the European Union imposed travel restrictions against their delegations. Washington already includes the Tigers on its list of terrorist groups.

Here in Batticaloa the violence is not limited to enemies of the Tigers. One night in late September, Khandasami Alagamma's husband was eating dinner in the front yard of a pro-Tiger charity where he worked as a night watchman when five grenades were lobbed at the building. He was killed instantly.

A visit to Batticaloa turned up a chilling inventory of violence.

On Oct. 1 a mason hired to repair a Hindu temple was shot to death as he slept on its terrace; the police say they do not know why. The day before, the vendor of a pro-Tiger newspaper was shot dead on a busy street. On the Wednesday before came the grenade attack on the pro-Tiger charity, and on the Saturday before that, a tailor was killed inside his shop just after sundown. He is believed to have been an informer, but for which side is unclear.

With barely a half-dozen monitors assigned to these killing fields, the Norwegian-led Sri Lankan Monitoring Mission is in no position to conduct criminal investigations, let alone enforce security. Human rights advocates here are increasingly pressing for an independent mechanism to protect civilians.

In the hierarchy of fear, one of the most frightening aspects of life here is the recruitment of children into battle. They are recruited at schools, village markets and even at Hindu festivals, which draw thousands. Unicef recorded a spike in the practice in July, though the Tigers have long denied recruiting children.

How do parents protect them? In Tiger country across a lagoon from Batticaloa, one family keeps two of its teenage boys hidden at home, forbidden even to step out of the yard. To keep them entertained, they have gone into debt to lease a television.

In the same family, a 17-year-old girl has been married off; the Tigers do not take married women. The eldest son has been dispatched to work in the Middle East. Another boy, who served with the Tigers for two years, is in a church-run orphanage to avoid being taken again. "I can't bring him home," his mother said flatly. "He wouldn't stand a chance."

None of the mothers agreed to give their names, or those of their children, for fear of fatal retaliation.

Grown men are not immune to abduction either. Muthulingam Ratnakumar, 38, a courier, has not been heard from since vanishing into Tiger custody one day in March. He had gone, as he often did, to deliver a package to the countryside. He was detained and accused of spying for the Karuna group, a charge his family denies.

It has fallen on his father, S. Muthulingam, to seek his release. Relentlessly, the father has gone to the police, only to be told to talk to the Tigers directly. He has gone to the Monitoring Mission, to be offered the same advice. He has written to at least nine foreign embassies; only the Netherlands has bothered to respond, he said, suggesting that he turn to the Red Cross.

To anyone willing to listen, Mr. Muthulingam tells his son's story. He brings with him a file, stuffed with his desperate appeals.

He has visited the nearest Tamil Tiger office with regular devotion. He has not yet been allowed to see his son, or bring him a change of clothes. "I think maybe they can kill my son," he said. His eyes suddenly turned red.