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Thursday, Nov 26, 2009
It's been difficult to learn the truth about the Tamils in the LTTE-controlled camps. Statements issued by the Tigers' side have claimed interference by the Sri Lanka government and say that food and nonfood supplies earmarked for Tamil refugees are being diverted. It's part of a long campaign to paint the Tamils as victims of oppression and as second-class citizens in this predominantly Buddhist nation.
Which, to an extent, they have been. But the fact is that, traditionally, the Sinhalese have long regarded themselves as the "chosen people" of Buddhism and have seen their homeland -- call it Serendib, Ceylon or Sri Lanka -- as the single place where Buddhism is fated to remain unsullied.
Tamils arrived here long ago, too, across what was once a land bridge linking Sri Lanka and India. More were brought over from India to work as low-cost labor on the British tea plantations in the central hills. The Sinhalese were unwilling to kowtow to the British and stuck mainly to the coasts. What emerged, to sketch with broad strokes, was a situation where the Tamils received British educations and went on to become teachers, doctors and other professionals, while the Sinhalese continued to hold the helm of government. We all know where that dynamic leads. There has been, most locals will admit, a strong bias in favor of Sinhalese regarding high-level jobs, places at university, and opportunities for advancement.
But the civil war for an independent Eelam, or Tamil homeland, has been a misguided struggle with no real progress. More than 30,000 people have been lost and the civil war has kept Sri Lanka in the doldrums while its South Asian neighbors thrive. Meanwhile, the ruthless capers of the Tamil Tigers have made the word "Tamil," in some minds, synonymous with fanaticism.
We reach the camp in five minutes. It is located on the edge of Samboor, in what was previously a government agricultural building. There are dozens of tents, set too close together. This is the largest of the camps, with 126 families. It's the only one we'll visit; the next is a two- to three-hour drive on roads that will loosen your teeth. But this camp, we're told, is typical. The people here have been twice displaced: first by the civil war, which forced a relocation, and now by the tsunami.
Nor can they stay here. ZOA has found another location, and is arranging for new homes, also temporary, to be built. Thayalan, the no-nonsense project coordinator for ZOA, agrees to speak with me. I lead with my toughest question: Do the people at this camp feel they're being treated fairly? He puts the question to the refugees standing around us. Yes, they respond; the camp is treated well. There are ample supplies and the refugees are not being shortchanged.
"But what about the rumors that their supplies are being diverted, or denied?" I ask. Untrue, the Tamils respond, shaking their heads.
"ZOA is distributing food and nonfood items," Thayalan elaborates. "And no restrictions have been placed on us. The LTTE is providing medical care. UNICEF has promised books and pens for the school-age children, but they have not yet been delivered." I nod; it's a complaint I've heard in other camps. "And outside caregivers are getting in as well," Thayalan says. At that point, as if on cue, a huge flatbed truck carrying a load of children's clothes and school uniforms backs in through the narrow gate.
There are a few bottlenecks, Thayalan admits, as two Sri Lanka-based NGOs don't seem capable of living up to their promises. I note this down for my report to Anna; capacity building is one of Mercy Corps' specialties.
As recently as last week, I was receiving concerned letters from friends in the U.S., who were outraged by reports that the Tamils were victims of aid discrimination. Mind you, there are hundreds of camps, and some on both sides of the no man's land are being shortchanged. But this seems to be more an issue of disorganization, or location, than of intentional slight. This observation is confirmed by Roy Wadia, a communications officer for the World Health Organization, as he returns from several Tiger-controlled camps near Jaffna.
"We found them well supplied and very well organized," Wadia tells me. "And we heard nothing from the Tamils that would indicate otherwise."
The fact is, it's difficult to be a refugee in any context. Wearing that label means that you are denied some very fundamental things. There is no doubt that some camps are on the radar of more NGOs and so better off than others. Others are simply more accessible, literally alongside roads, where the most off-the-cuff relief teams might stop to drop off a load of coloring books or Pampers.
From my limited research, I'm reasonably confident that the Tamil camps, in Tiger-controlled areas, are being treated as well as their Muslim, Hindu and Christian compatriots, and that the rumors of their neglect have been greatly exaggerated. Like the refugees I have visited throughout Sri Lanka, the Tamils are a people whose plight transcends religion or ideology.
