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The fallout from Kilinochchi
By Kalyananda Godage
Former Sri Lankan Ambassador(Continued from yesterday)
Let us now examine or think of what the consequences may be of the defeat in Kilinochchi. The first consequence would of course be that the LTTE would find it easy to recruit whereas the recruitment to the Sri Lanka Armed Services would dry up. As Rohan Gunaratne has written 'When a soldier sees death and not victory in confrontation with the enemy, desertions become commonplace. It is imperative that a military engaging a guerilla force, with a capacity for protracted battle, preserve the morale as well as the strength of its troops. This has not happened in the Vanni, in operation 'Jaya Sikurui' (victory assured) aimed at opening a land route to Jaffna from Vavuniya.'
Whilst support for the LTTE is said to be on the rise in the north, popular support for the war could decline in the South. The prolonged military campaign without any successes, together with the heavy losses could result in the Army loosing ground in the country. Meanwhile the campaign to win the hearts and minds of the people of the north has also come to a virtual standstill, because the people of the north are putting distance between themselves and the army, despite the valiant efforts of the Armed Services personnel.
Let us for a moment reflect on just one matter. Since the debacle at Pooneryn at least three thousand five hundred sons of the South alone have lost their lives, which means that three thousand five hundred parents in the South have lost a son. (The President would know the feelings having a son herself) How many parents of the Colombo middle class have lost their children in this war? We should be able to count the numbers on our fingers. Why did the rural youth join the forces? Is it not because they are jobless and have no other opportunities available to them? Would not the people, living in rural areas therefore not accept the JVP thesis 'Colombata kiri apita kekiri'?
Would it therefore be wrong to conclude that these heavy losses of men, whether it is .09% or any other percentage, (the people want to know what percentage it was of the fighting forces!) would fuel unrest in the countryside. In at least two thousand five hundred villages of Sri Lanka they would ask the question 'did our boys have to die, and like this?' Imagine the political impact of this. If they had died whilst attacking the enemy there would have been a measure of consolation. How many more such 'Oyatha Alaikal' or 'ceaseless wave' operations of the LTTE would it take for our Commanders to realize that our strategy and the Forward Defence Line or FDL concept has not brought success and must be abandoned.
If the country is to avoid disaster let us stay with the truth. The Government must not allow the poison of falsehood to undermine the trust Trust of the people. A fifteen-year old school boy described the Ceylon Daily News as 'the best opposition newspaper in the country'. My advice to the President is, please recall what Barbara Tuchman wrote in 'March of Folly' Ñ on the folly of Governments from Troy to Vietnam. We seem to be making the same mistakes as the Americans. We appear have been out thought, out maneuvered and even out gunned by Prabhakaran and his men in recent times, or is it that they have gained only because of our errors? What have we to show for victories after we took Jaffna?
I need to pause here to discuss a very relevant issue. Many in this country Question the wisdom of our taking Jaffna. They have not given thought to the fact that at a particular point of time the LTTE had not only control over definable territory but also controlled the skies and the seas around the territory they held Ñ all the requirement to declare a State.
Their problem was only Palaly. Memories may be short but let us recall that when the LTTE controlled the Peninsula in 1986 they declared that from 1 January 1987, it would be they who would be imposing taxes on vehicles etc. Ñ they were taking over the administration. Before the fall of Jaffna they were in effective control of the administration.
In retrospect Jaffna may, I repeat may now seems more a trap than a victory. We took territory and were compelled to block half our Army just to hold Jaffna. We had no option if we were to halt the LTTE's 'long march' to Eelam. They may now have virtually cut off sea links and air links and we have not been able to open the road link either. The LTTE's strategy may be to slowly tighten the noose. Already prices in Jaffna have begun to skyrocket and it would not be long before the people there stage their own uprising. We must break out of this stranglehold and supply Jaffna; or else the situation would go into a tailspin and could then beyond our control.
Prabhakaran's watchword has been ATTACK! And by God has he not succeeded. The Sri Lanka Army has not been attacking relentlessly, but waiting for the enemy to come to them, and how they came! in ceaseless waves in Pooneryn, Mullaitivu and now in Kilinochchi. Experts in this type of warfare are of the view that what matters generally is not taking territory but eliminating the terrorists.
The LTTE seems to have now wrested the initiative from the Government forces despite our superiority in numbers and weapons, (which has cost over a billion dollars). The LTTE's victories appear to have been consequent to their total commitment, better strategies or tactics, training and last but not least superior intelligence, which ahs been our weakest link. Our strategies and even Generals must surely be changed. Surely there must be a Patton out there in our Army. We need tough, uncompromising Generals.
Who was it that stated that the LTTE was a spent force and that we had broken their back, after our troops entered Jaffna? we wonder what he has to say now. We must never underestimate the enemy.
The Government must make an honest appraisal of the situation, forget politics, bring the opposition into Government. Most unfortunately for this country, at a time when it is on fire, Ranil Wickremasinghe is also playing politics with this issue. He is calling for unconditional talks with the LTTE claiming that there is no other alternative.
We have gone down that road before and nothing has changed Ñ the Tiger has neither changed his stripes nor his food habits, throwing stakes to him would not change his disposition. Mr. Wickremasinghe knows full well of what happened time and again since 1984 when we indulged the LTTE in unconditional talks. It is being alleged that Mr. Wickremasinghe's interest is in the Tamil vote I find this difficult to accept. Our political leaders must put country before self, for this is a crisis situation and the very existence of this country and also the integrity of India is under threat.
Unconditional talks, on form, will take us nowhere, so what are the other options left? One option would be for the Government along with opposition representatives to negotiate with the LTTE, with third part facilitation, but only after they renounce Eelam and their demand for self-determination and recognition of the 'Tamil Nation'. agree to de-commissioning their weapons, this situation can come about either with the third party underwriting the talks, agreeing to imposing the severest of sanctions in the event of the LTTE reopening hostilities.
Another option appears to be to continue the war seriously and purposefully, but for this there must, I repeat must, be a greater commitment by all the people of this country to this war. The political parties and their leaders would need to put aside their personal ambitions form a fresh coalition, a war cabinet and declare that a state of war exists. The Government must marshal every resource at its command, order conscription and set about crippling the LTTE. This is a small price to pay to keep this country as one country.
There is also a 'final option', which would depend on whether we wish to pursue this war with a view to ending it or not. If there is no support for a general mobilization, then let us cut our losses and call off the war. Then thousands of our young men on both sides, who would otherwise die would live. The choice is ours.
From the book 'The Palm of his Hand' by E. C. T. Kandappa
A powerful speech clears the gloomy silence(C) E.C.T. Candappa
(Continued tomorrow)
This was also the very heart of Colombo's most opulent residential quarter.
'I've been in this area before,' said Bill conspicuously pink of complexion and contrasting the greenery with his white shorts and shirt. 'I was invited to dinner by a lawyer. You probably know him. Quite famous. Bloke by the name of Lal Vitarne.'
Of course,' said Paiva. 'He's a QC. Appears in all the big cases. I know him slightly.'
'Going to his place was a culture shock to me in a way,' said Bill.
'Culture shock? How do you mean?' Paiva asked.
'Well, you know I have a working-class background. Up to now I have been meeting and working with workers in the trade union sense; clerks, factory workers, peasants, manual labourers, that sort of thing.
'When I went to the lawyer's house in Gregory's Road, I was amazed at the contrasts. My eye is trained to note contrasts. But even to the totally untrained eye, they would have been obvious.'
Raj let all this wash over him like the gentle waves of the bays along the eastern coast. Who wanted to get involved in a discussion of social contrasts? He had come here to relax, to unwind. He could still do that if he remained silent, uninvolved.
But Paiva was interested. He was no ordinary copper. He was a scholar, and this type of conversation absorbed his attention.
'What sort of contrasts did you note?' he enquired. Paiva, too, hailed from an affluent family, but from Negombo.
'Well, to begin with,' said Bill, 'the moment I stepped past the gates and the high surrounding wall, it seemed I had entered another world. Less than a quarter of a mile away there were beggars, ill- clad, sick, emaciated, seated along the pavements. I know they get a few coins from passers- by. I know they receive alms from the mosque daily. I also noticed some beggars seated along the hospital walls, hanging around bus stops, outside eating houses.
'But here I seemed to have entered the parklands of an Indian maharaja. It really blew my mind. We walked through a huge garden with man-made creeks and running water and we had to cross small bridges over them. There was a tea-house sort of building with water running underneath. There were banana plants and other large leafy vegetation that you find here; oh, all sorts of colours. The place was lit up with wrought iron lamps and there were flood lights on the ground.'
Bill paused. His eyes had narrowed with pain.
'I had come straight from Pettah,' he said, 'where I see abject poverty round me all the time. Then we went in, and I couldn't believe this: liveried waiters served us drinks and hors d'ouvres. The furniture was antique, as in most Ceylonese houses, great chunks of ebony and other hardwood. There were several pairs of ivory tusks of elephants mounted on brass and ebony stands as ornaments and door stays, brilliant chandeliers from the ceilings, rich brocade drapes on the windows.
'I was introduced to my hostess and to the children. They must have been wearing fortunes in gold and precious stones on their persons., The lady was covered in gold jewellery, both arms gleaming with bangles, chains. And the meal — ooh. A fair way from the thosai boutique where I eat, I can tell you. Great steaming dishes of coloured rice...'
'Yellow rice. Coloured with saffron,' prompted Paiva.
'That's right, yellow rice and curried meats and fish, fried meats and fish, great vessels of vegetables and salads and red sambols. And silver service. Oh, it was gorgeous. Well, I must say in all honesty I placed my principles on hold and tucked into the best meal I'd had in weeks.
'I could stomach all the servants about the place but one thing stuck in my throat. There was a little girl, the lawyer's niece or someone, wandering around, and there was another little girl going behind her with a piece of bread and jam trying to feed her.
'I told my host, 'This is very un-Australian. You've been to Australia a couple of times. You've never seen anything like it.' I said I just don't believe it.'
'They told me the girl and her parents lived on their premises in a small hut and if they did not employ them, they would be on the streets, begging. Well, that was a different story.'
Raj sighed a deep sigh and plunged into the deep-end of the conversation. He could not let the moment pass.
'That's only a part of the story and a very small part,' he said. 'It is true there is widespread rural poverty. But the answer is definitely not urban slavery. Oh, I could tell you tales about the cruelty that these domestic servants are subjected to in some households. They have no working hours, they are given leftovers to eat, the young women are abused by the young, and even older, gentlemen of the household, they are paid pittances and tortured physically. They are caned and burnt and branded. Occasionally, and very rarely, such cases are reported to the Police, usually by neighbours, and then society ladies are reprimanded by magistrates and given token fines. I do believe, and very earnestly, that most of the sufferings this country has to go through collectively from natural disasters or civil commotion and riots, are retribution for the sufferings inflicted on this helpless, defenceless breed.'
This powerful speech had the effect of reducing all to a gloomy silence. In that gap, they listened to the chirping of cicadas, the rustle of leaves overhead and the subdued hum of traffic.
Raj felt his soul being restored al-ready as he lay beside the still waters of the pond.
After an interval Bill said: 'You mentioned riots a little while ago...'
Too late to take it back now, thought Raj, knowing where that would lead.
'You've heard of them, of course,' said the assistant superintendent.
'Well, yes,' said Bill. 'We saw some of it on TV in Australia. Pretty gruesome some of it was. And after I arrived here, I've heard a bit here and a bit there. But never the whole story. It seems to me that people are a bit reluctant to talk about it...'
'Which is true, you know. People would rather forget about it,' said Mr Paiva.
'But they can't. Not while the refugee camps are still there,' said Bill, 'and well beyond that. It will live on in the people's collective memory.'
'If you want to have a quick and brilliant summary of it as well as some of the background, you should read Tarzie Vittachchi's 'Emer-gency '58'.'
'Tarzie is the editor of our afternoon English paper, The Observer,' Raj explained.
'Oh, I've heard of him,' said Bill with some awe, as the man had the reputation of being perhaps the most fearless journalist in the country.
'Anyway, if you like, I could give you a summary of that,' said Paiva with undisguised eagerness.
'Please do,' said Bill with more than politeness.
Raj bowed to the inevitable. However, he decided to turn off and indulge in some pleasant daydreaming while the others talked.
'Do you want me to take you back to the very origins of the conflict, to the days of the ancient Sinhalese kings?' Mr Paiva asked generously.
'No, no, no, no.' said Bill, quite alarmed. 'Raj has already given me a fairly lengthy lecture on the historical aspects. Just fill me on what really happened recently.'
'Well,' said Mr Paiva, 'there is just not one beginning, although the year can be given as 1956, the year when Bandara-naike was catapulted into power. You see, the man is a demagogue. From the word go he has been a coldly ambitious man with an eye on nothing less than the Prime Minister's hat.'
'Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong in that,' said Bill. 'He's a politician, and therefore he's ambitious.'
'All right then. I'll tell the story as it happened.'
Paiva looked so much an academic, his white hair framing his smooth olive skin, taut over the pronounced cheek bones. Everything seemed incongruous, the man, the lecture and the setting.
'In order to come into power,' said Paiva, 'during his election campaign he promised to make Sinhalese the official language in twenty four hours. Of course, he knew that it could not be done, but it was a good catch- cry. When he did come into power he began to soft-pedal the undertaking and kept putting off passing the necessary laws. His rank and file kept up the pressure and went further. They tried to make sure that he would welch on the other part of the promise, to permit what he termed the ‘reasonable use of Tamil'.
'You may have heard, Mr Wilberton, how important language is in this country. The problem actually is a legacy of British colonial rule. All those who did not know English were unable to have dealings with the administration. Restoring the use of the Sinhalese and Tamil languages in the administration was really a matter of restoring justice, and it would have been quite easily accomplished among reasonable and honest people.
'And here is the dirty part of politics. People were using the so-called language question purely to gain or remain in power. For this purpose they descended to the lowest levels of hypocrisy and wick-edness, and this included welching on promises made in public, using the State services and the armed forces to serve political ends, committing murder, rape, infanticide.
'The Federal Party,' Paiva continued, 'itself the result of self-seeking opportunism and an exploitation of Tamil sentiment – that's my opinion, by the way – started the rot, in a sense. They claimed to represent the Tamils. But they only represented some Tamils in the north and a few in the east and in Colombo. Mostly they represented themselves. Some say that the Federal Party was merely reacting to the madness of the Bandaranaike Government.
'The letter SRI is sacred to the Sinhalese. In order to demonstrate graphically that a Sinhalese Government was installed to represent the Sinhalese people, all motor vehicle registration numbers began with the letter SRI. It was also the prefix to the ancient Sinhala name for Ceylon, Sri Lanka.
'When buses with the Sri initial on their number plates were sent to the Tamil north, the Federal Party incited the people to rub tar and deface them.
'The south reacted by applying tar over all the Tamil segments of trilingual place names all over the country and even over the faces of some Tamil people to rub the message home, as it were. The Sinhalese mob, mindless as all mobs are, even defaced the number plate of the Prime Minister's car.
'At the height of all this commotion the Federal Party was holding its second annual convention. It was to be held in the north. Tension ran high all over the country.'
'Why was this?' Bill wished to know.
Mr Paiva smiled benignly. His white hair shone against the rich, multi-coloured foliage.
About the author E.C.T. Candappa was one of Sri Lanka's been feature writers in the mid-fifties till the seventies. He was an outstanding journalist at Lake House and distinguished himself as a reporter and feature writer. He is now domiciled in Australia but still very much interested in his country of origin. He visited Sri Lanka last year and interviewed many of the personalities featured in this book.
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