A View from the North

Photo by Don Nishantha

Although Sri Lanka’s civil war ended almost 17 years ago, many issues facing the minority Tamil community in the North are still unaddressed including putting in place a genuine power sharing mechanism, heavy militarisation, large tracts of land remaining in the hands of the military, drug use and unemployment of youth and the taking over of Hindu religious sites in the name of Buddhism.

While the NPP secured a significant proportion of the Northern vote at the presidential and parliamentary elections and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake is still a popular figure, that goodwill is diminishing in the wake of government inaction to find solutions to these issues.

Groundviews asked a leading English language journalist in Jaffna, who spoke on condition of anonymity, about his views on the situation in the North.

Why did you decide to start an English language publication in Jaffna?

What I began to notice was that Sri Lanka lacked the kind of serious political magazines like The Week, Frontline or India Today. In my view, there was a clear gap, particularly in the North and East, for serious, citizen-driven journalism. Most existing newspapers were strongly aligned with political parties or individual leaders. What was missing was a neutral, independent platform, one that was willing to question and criticise anyone regardless of power. I chose to publish it in English because I believe the issues, experiences and concerns of Sri Lankan Tamils must be articulated in a language that reaches a wider national and international audience. English allows those voices to travel beyond the North and East and become part of a broader conversation about the country.

What is the main problem faced by people in the North after the war?

The war may be over but the militarisation of the North has not ended. I do not have exact figures but it is widely believed that a significant portion of Sri Lanka’s military remains stationed in the Northern and Eastern provinces, the regions where Tamils form the majority. Nearly 17 years after the end of the war, that reality raises difficult questions. I am not a hard line Tamil nationalist. My point is much simpler. The government defeated a brutal insurgent movement. That victory is often celebrated as a defining moment in the country’s history. But if that victory was decisive, why does the North still feel like a heavily militarised space? Large areas of civilian land remain under military control. The state says it wants Tamil citizens to feel fully part of Sri Lanka. But how can that sense of belonging develop when people are still struggling to regain the land that belonged to them? In many parts of the North and East, the military today performs roles that go far beyond conventional security duties. Soldiers are involved in farming, running bakeries, operating shops and managing various commercial activities. It is difficult for ordinary civilians to understand why a military institution must occupy such a wide economic and social presence in their daily lives. My generation was shaped, and in many ways damaged, by the war. I was born in the late 1980s and grew up during the conflict. The generation before mine also carries the deep scars of that period. What I hope, at the very least, is that my children will grow up feeling they truly belong to this country, that they can see themselves as patriotic Tamil Sri Lankans, children of this nation. But for that to happen, the state must create conditions that allow such feelings to grow. That is the question I often ask those in positions of power: are we being given the space to think that way? Much of the land taken during the war remains under military occupation. Some of it has been used for army camps, playgrounds, hospitals and agricultural projects with produce sometimes sold back to the same local communities that once owned the land. This situation raises serious ethical concerns. Returning land to civilians should not be treated as a concession or favour. It is, fundamentally, the restoration of property that belonged to those communities in the first place. There are also troubling accounts from certain villages located within former high security zones. In some areas, entire structures were demolished after the war – in some cases years later, around 2013 – making it difficult for displaced families to identify or reclaim their original properties. In several villages today, there is little physical evidence left that communities once existed there. At the same time, it is important to say this clearly: the military is not actively harassing civilians in the North today. Daily life continues and relations are often calm on the surface. But the deeper question remains unresolved. Whether the scale of military presence and its continued control over civilian land are compatible with reconciliation and a genuine sense of belonging for the people who live there. That is the conversation Sri Lanka still needs to have.

How do people in the North view the NPP now?

Under the current government led by the NPP, the human rights climate in the North has improved in certain respects although largely because of political calculation rather than structural change. Many of the more hard line Tamil nationalist elements in the North have aligned themselves with the NPP. Some figures associated with the militant era and former proponents of Tamil Eelam now operate within that political orbit. The NPP, however, has been clear about its own position: it does not intend to provide space for traditional Tamil nationalist politics. At the same time, the political institutions available to Tamils remain weak. The provincial council system, which was once presented as a form of devolution, holds very limited powers in practice. That failure is partly structural but it is also the result of shortcomings among Tamil political leaders themselves. Meanwhile, demographic changes are reshaping politics in the North. The region once had nine parliamentary seats; today it has six. The reduction reflects the scale of migration over the past decades. In recent years alone, tens of thousands of young people from the North have left the country, many heading to Canada after its migration policies became more flexible. Estimates suggest that around 60,000 youth have migrated in recent years. This raises a deeper question: if people continue to leave, who will remain to sustain political movements rooted in Tamil identity? Without people, political slogans have little meaning. For many in the younger generation, the priority is no longer nationalism but development and opportunity. It is a painful truth for many Tamil political leaders but the younger generation is increasingly disillusioned with them. Some young people initially viewed the NPP as a disciplined and motivated political force that might bring meaningful change. In some ways, they also admired the discipline and organizational commitment that once characterised the LTTE although not necessarily its violent methods. But more than a year has now passed since the NPP assumed power, and many young people feel that tangible progress has been limited. As a result, some are beginning to view the NPP as simply another political force that has failed to deliver meaningful change to the North. There is also a generational shift in memory. A boy born in 2009, the year the war ended, is now 17 years old. He has no personal memory of the conflict that defined the lives of earlier generations. Against that backdrop, some political strategies pursued by Tamil parties appear increasingly disconnected from public sentiment. For example, protests framing Sri Lanka’s independence day as a black day strike many younger Tamils as counterproductive. Whether one likes it or not, Sri Lanka is our country. If Tamils refuse to accept that, then we effectively surrender the country entirely to others. In doing so, we would also be betraying our own place within it. The war lasted nearly three decades. Around ten percent of the Tamil population died during that period and roughly another 30 percent migrated abroad. The LTTE was once an extremely powerful and disciplined militant organization, yet it was ultimately defeated. Given that history, the choices before Tamils today are limited. One can either remain trapped in the politics of the past or accept Sri Lanka as one’s country and struggle within that framework to achieve justice and equality. My own position is that of a responsible minority voice. As a member of a minority community, I recognise the injustices and challenges we face. But that does not mean I reject the country itself. My struggle is not to divide Sri Lanka but to demand dignity and equality within it. Because of these views, my writing often draws criticism from Tamil nationalist circles. But I believe that honest conversations about the future of our community are necessary even when they are uncomfortable.

What are the social problems in the North?

A challenge facing the North is the social impact of migration and remittances. In many families, money sent from relatives abroad has become the primary source of income. While those remittances provide financial support, they have also created unintended social consequences. Some young people grow up with access to money but without meaningful employment opportunities. In certain cases, that has contributed to social problems, including drug use and a growing sense of aimlessness among segments of the youth. Young people who rely entirely on remittances often face deeper psychological pressures as well. Questions about work, identity and future prospects weigh heavily on them. Migration has also reshaped social expectations around marriage. Many families now view marriage to someone living abroad as the most desirable option. For some young women, diaspora men are seen as offering a pathway out of the economic uncertainty of the North. As a result, fewer people are willing to build their lives locally. The question many quietly ask is simple: who wants to remain here if opportunities are limited? Beyond these economic and demographic challenges, another issue continues to shape everyday life in Jaffna – caste. Caste remains a deeply embedded social reality within sections of the Tamil community. I know this personally. In 2017, I wrote a book criticising the caste system. In response, some people burned my effigy in front of a temple in Jaffna. Even decades of war did not erase these divisions. For many people, caste identities remain deeply ingrained and continue to influence social relationships, marriage and community life. One of the deeper problems, in my view, is the absence of a strong reformist movement within Tamil society comparable to the social reform movements that transformed other parts of South Asia such as the Self-Respect Movement in Tamil Nadu or the anti-caste movement inspired by B.R. Ambedkar in India. Many of the intellectual traditions that shaped modern Tamil political thought in Sri Lanka emerged within a social environment that often remained conservative in its outlook. As a result political leaders, both past and present, have largely worked within existing social structures rather than challenging them. That reluctance to confront deeply rooted social hierarchies remains one of the most difficult internal challenges facing the Tamil community today.

Do you think you can make some kind of progress and change people?

Of course, I have already done it. I want to be that voice – a different voice for the people. I also believe that it is ordinary people and ordinary voices that create real change and I want to be that voice.

Many Hindu religious sites are being converted to Buddhist sites. Is this causing tension?

One of the things that is rarely discussed in Sri Lanka is the history of Tamil Buddhism. Today, Buddhism in Sri Lanka is almost entirely associated with the Sinhala community. But historically that was not always the case. At one point in ancient times, Buddhism was a prominent religion among Tamils as well. Because of this, it should not be surprising that we find ancient Buddhist structures in the Northern and Eastern parts of the island. These regions were historically connected to South India, and there were Tamil Buddhists who lived, travelled, and worshipped here. The problem begins when these archaeological remains are automatically interpreted only through the lens of Sinhala identity and are then linked to contemporary political narratives about territory and ownership. That is where tensions arise. Very few people ask a simple question: why is it impossible that some of these ancient Buddhist structures could have been associated with Tamil Buddhists? In my view, that is a perfectly reasonable historical possibility. Tamil literary history itself provides important clues. In classical Tamil literature, what we call the Aimperumkappiyangal – the Five Great Epics – occupy a central place. Two of these works, Manimekalai and Kundalakesi, belong to the Buddhist tradition. Their very existence demonstrates that Buddhism once had a significant intellectual and religious presence among Tamils. Yet neither Sinhala nationalists nor Tamil nationalists seem eager to talk about this history. Perhaps because acknowledging it would complicate the rigid ethnic narratives that dominate contemporary politics. It would remind us that the histories of these communities are far more intertwined than we often admit. In fact, I personally believe that the roots of Sri Lanka’s long and painful conflict may lie more in religious tensions that gradually evolved into ethnic divisions rather than being purely ethnic from the beginning. Take Kurundumalai as an example. I consider it a Buddhist archaeological site. But there is also a Shiva Lingam that was placed there several decades ago. These layers of history reflect the complex religious interactions that have taken place over centuries. For me, the solution is not confrontation but coexistence. Both Buddhists and Hindus should be able to worship at such places, much like what happens in Kataragama. These sites should not belong exclusively to one community or another. Ordinary Sinhalese people do not have a problem with a Shiva Lingam and ordinary Hindus do not have a problem with the Buddha. The real tension often comes from politicians and more extreme elements who turn these issues into symbols of ethnic competition. If I say I am a Hindu but cannot live alongside Buddhism, then in truth I cannot live alongside anyone. I do not blame ordinary Tamil people either. But when a hard line Tamil nationalist leader tells them that the government with the help of the Archaeology Department is stealing their land, many will understandably believe it. That is why these issues must be approached with honesty, historical understanding and a willingness to accept the shared and layered nature of Sri Lanka’s past.