This photo does not exist
I see things I cannot show and I hear things I cannot say. There are children in Sri Lanka with the distended bellies and skinny legs of famine. There are children without legs at all. There are elders dying of starvation. The LTTE prevented these people from voting for their lives in 2004. The LTTE herded them from one coast to another as a human offering to the media gods. And our government, led by zealots, is willing to cruely and inhumanly kill them anyways. I stand for the future, but I know I stand for only a chance now. The die was cast, and people are dead.
Vavuniya now is like the biggest refugee camp in the world, with over 177,000 people, officially. I think one of the last record holders was 210,000 fleeing the Somalian War. And we do have Somalian type scenes now, of hunger, infection, death and despair.
It is important to remember that this is orchestrated in every possible way by the LTTE. Though the blood is ultimately on Sri Lankan hands. They banned the Wanni people from voting for their lives, enabling Mahinda to win by about 181,000 votes. Now about the same number they disenfranchised are made voiceless cannon and camera fodder, again by the LTTE. The international media swoops in and sees the result, but they do not see the reason, the bitter calculation. The LTTE set up this crucible, or crucifix as it were.
Yet the blood is on our hands. Regardless of the situation. The Sri Lankan government is choosing to kill its way through the LTTE’s bluff. The LTTE may be some of the biggest bastards the world has ever seen, but so are we. Not equal by any sense, Sri Lanka did not set this tragedy up. But the blood is still on our hands.
Me, I try to wash it off in charity, in relief. I still wake up in the morning and feel this gnawing tension. I think something has to be wrong with you karmically to not feel thousands of people slipping and clawing off the edge of your island. Colombo is running, but I can still feel that something is terribly wrong.
I understand all the reasons. I can see the historical context. But all I feel is the pain.