The Current Economic Crisis and the People's Movement in Sri Lanka: Prospects and Challenges

On July 14, 2022, Sri Lanka’s parliamentary speaker announced that he had accepted the resignation of President Gotabaya Rajapaksa, sent by email from Singapore where he had fled via The Maldives.[1] That this former military commander – known as ‘the terminator’ due to his propensity to get critics assassinated[2] – was forced to resign by an overwhelmingly non-violent mass movement marks this as a major episode in Sri Lanka’s protracted democratic revolution.[3]

Sri Lanka's Democratic Revolution: The Latest Episode in a Decades-Long Drama

On July 14, 2022, Sri Lanka’s parliamentary speaker announced that he had accepted the resignation of President Gotabaya Rajapaksa, sent by email from Singapore where he had fled via The Maldives.[1] That this former military commander – known as ‘the terminator’ due to his propensity to get critics assassinated[2] – was forced to resign by an overwhelmingly non-violent mass movement marks this as a major episode in Sri Lanka’s protracted democratic revolution.[3]

Nightmare's End?

I am not in Sri Lanka, and I feel torn about what is happening there. Acute anxiety about how millions of people will survive the dearth of food, fuel and medicines nestles alongside a glimmer of hope that this crisis could be the beginning of the end of a decades-long nightmare. Since the country gained its Independence in 1948, various sections of the population have been targeted by its ruling bloc: threatened with losing their homes, livelihoods and often their lives. They have fought back, but each section has been isolated and crushed by an increasingly centralized and ruthless state. Now, for the first time, the vast majority of the population has risen in revolt. Criticism of the dictatorship is widespread, and divisions between working people may finally be healed.

Political Dimensions of the Crisis in Sri Lanka

Let me start with a childhood memory. My father was Tamil, my mother was Burgher – that’s what they call people with European ancestry in Sri Lanka – and we were living in a predominantly Sinhalese neighbourhood just outside Colombo. One day in May 1958 our Sinhalese neighbour Menike, who was like a member of our family, came over in great distress, insisting that we leave our home at once and go somewhere safe because a bloodthirsty mob was heading our way. At around the same time my mother’s former student Yasmine, who had become a family friend, also Sinhalese, came over in a car, offering to shelter us at her parents’ place. My mother had been for a walk so my parents knew that Tamils were being attacked, but at that point they refused to leave. They packed off my brother and me and our Tamil grandmother in a taxi with another Sinhalese neighbour to stay with our Burgher grandmother, and started making Molotov cocktails to defend themselves and their home. By this time Menike was frantic and threatened to commit suicide unless they left. They finally agreed, and yet another Sinhalese neighbour drove them in his car to Yasmine’s parents’ place.

Thirty years later, when I was doing research on Sri Lankan refugees and internally displaced people, I came across numerous similar stories in which Tamils had been saved by Sinhalese friends, neighbours, colleagues, or even total strangers. To me these stories encapsulate the divided soul of Sri Lanka: hatred and violence on one side, love and compassion on the other, racism on one side, anti-racism on the other, brutal authoritarianism on one side, a stubborn pursuit of democracy and human rights on the other.

Journey Without a Destination: Is there a solution for Sri Lankan refugees? (Chapters 6 and 7 and Bibliography)

 

Chapter 6: Tamil Eelam: the only solution, or part of the problem?

There were some Tamil refugees – not many, but a few – who felt that the only solution to the problem of decades of discrimination against and persecution of Tamils was the creation of a separate Tamil state: 

Are there any prospects for a positive change in the future?

 

• If there is a separate homeland. Before the British came, we were separate, and we were united only because of their regime. So it’s better for us to live separately… Most Sinhalese don’t like the idea of a separate state, but at the same time they won’t give any equal opportunities or rights to the Tamils either. 

You think most Sinhalese people are like that?

 

Yes. The government last year promised to give some devolution of power, but it is in writing only – in practice they don’t give it… they won’t ever give equal opportunities. 

So you think the only solution is to have a separate Tamil state?

 

Yes. Then we can be good neighbours. Otherwise Sinhalese and Tamils will always be fighting. But we can be friendly neighbours if we have a separate state.

Journey Without a Destination: Is there a solution for Sri Lankan refugees? (Chapters 4 and 5)

Chapter 4: ‘How can we live like this?’

    The condition of Tamil refugees in Britain leaves much to be desired; but the state of those remaining in Sri Lanka is incomparably worse. I did not visit Tamil refugee camps in the North and East, and therefore did not see the worst; but what I saw was quite bad enough. Refugees were herded into large halls, their mats spread side by side along the walls and down the middle, all their belongings crammed into that small strip of space which, for the time being, they could call their own. Or crowded into small cadjan [coconut palm leaf] huts, several families in one room.

    Facilities were minimal: about four water taps and the same number of toilets shared between about 1,500 people; in some camps, people stayed up all night, waiting to use the toilets. Rations – mainly rice and bread – were provided by the government. Conditions had deteriorated between my visits in October 1990 and September 1991, with more and more refugees coming in. Unregistered inmates outnumbered registered ones by about three to one, and since the government provided rations only for those who were registered, the shortfall was made good partly by donations from voluntary organisations, partly by watering down and stretching out whatever food was available, making the monotonous diet even less nutritious and more unappetising. Lacking employment and therefore money, most of the refugees spent their time in forced inactivity, although efforts made by voluntary groups had secured school places for children of school-going age, and later on, classes for pre-school children as well.