Sometimes people in Sri Lanka (usually Sinhalese people) ask me, " What do Tamil people have to complain about in Sri Lanka today? Yeah sure in the past we know there were real issues. But what is there today? "

Well, what is there today (prior to these last few months and the "end of the conflict")? There are endless accounts of abuses by Sinhalese police officers (which comes under civilian law - I'm not going to get started on the military yet) of abuse of Tamil prisoners within jails, of racial profiling at checkpoints and others, of looking the other way when Sinhalese mobs descend on Tamil shopkeepers yelling now you've lost, so pay up!, of the small, mundane, undocumented instances of prejudice. There is the oft-touted fact that Buddhism is the national religion. And the fact that although Sri Lanka recognizes Tamil as an 'official' language, government documents are not printed in Tamil, government servants (who administer Tamil areas) cannot speak Tamil, and Tamil constituents are severely inconvenienced not ONLY in terms of practical things, but if you can't even understand your local government servant, let alone what the local politician is saying, how can you possibly feel 'included' or have 'faith in government'?

Add to this the atrocities of the past few months; of the terrible abuses going on in the camps, of rapes and killings and young Tamil men disappearing lest they sign up for a new Tamil militant cause. Of the 20,000 dead due to government shelling (and of course yes, LTTE cadres also used these civilians as hostages, but this government never even considered these people's lives as worth saving; rather it was a moral trade-off that could be easily accepted). Of the current 300,000 Tamil people who live in camps that are refused access to by basic emergency agencies like ICRC and OCHA. 

And then let us go back 30, nay 50 painful years to the complex roots and histories of discrimination and oppression, of nonviolent protests that started in universities in the North, to the desperate resort to arms and violence, to the thousands of young boys and girls who signed up for a cause, who died, apparently for nothing. No one will forget this moment. No one could, even if they wanted to. And I, who started off as a moderate, who did not want this war to continue, who at one point, considered 'peace at any cost', even I am now starting to question whether I can quell that irrational side of me, the side that will never forget, and never forgive. 

We are all a product of history, and we all make our pact with the devil in some way. In reality, as much as we want to be purists, we all have blood on our hands. But that does NOT make it OKAY. That does not mean we cannot point out other injustices, current flaws. That does NOT mean we have to accept things as they are. I have never known Sri Lanka without war. And it seems like I never will. 

life

We neatly define our way out of positions. We are not pro-LTTE, nor pro-Government; we are moderates that believe in peace, justice and democracy. But the moderates have nowhere to go, and no means to make their ideals a reality. So does it matter anyway? What do all these carefully articulated theories with history relegated to the footnotes mean, when there is no way to make them true. Rather, throw your lot in with one devil or the other. This is the world we live in. There is no such thing as truth, or standing up for what you believe in. All it matters is how you die. With your people or across the lagoon from them. This is what all those principles mean ultimately. 

I will tell you a story, an imaginary story. A man lost his brother once to a war that they had not asked for, but had fought in. When the army recruited them; one brother said to another; be careful. fortunes wax and wane. Those who are strong now, may be weak later. This is the world we live in, and all your ideals of justice will have to bend or break against these truths. And the other brother said; here I stand, I can do no other. He died at a moment when the revolution he fought for, was losing. He never lived to see it rise again, as it did. And the other brother watched, and waited, and bled along with everyone else, secretly; and was forever torn between the battle that he should have fought for, and the life he chose. And he never forgave himself for it. Which brother lived better, and which brother died better? I don't know the answers to these questions.