Font size: 
They were making the journey by air because they had no other realistic alternative, as the A9 land route that connects Jaffna to the rest of Sri Lanka now lies closed for over a year and a half. According to what I have heard, the journey by ship is a terrible one, which no one who is in a state of ill health or can afford the extra money will want to take.
The flight from Colombo to Jaffna was smooth, although full of delays. One of the worst parts of the journey was the protracted stops within the Palali base to check and recheck our travel documents and our baggage.
The facilities in which those checks were conducted were no better than cattle sheds. They were composed entirely of metal sheeting on plain gravel which gave up a cloud of dust when dry and became mud pools when rain came down. It was clear that the concern of the military authorities was primarily the security of the air force base, and not at all the comfort of passengers, some of whom were very sick patients, the elderly and toddlers. A redeeming feature of this harsh environment was the general politeness of the young military personnel on duty.
At Palali airport all passengers were photographed and interviewed by military officers, who could decide on our bona fides and perhaps deny us permission to enter Jaffna. Sometimes the other passengers had problems explaining themselves, as the military officers spoke little Tamil and the passengers spoke little Sinhala, and their mutual knowledge of English was not sufficient to make it a link language in accordance with government policy. In this encounter, it seemed that the military officer had all the power and we as citizens had none.
This imbalance of power that I encountered for a brief period summarizes the reality of life in Jaffna for the people who live in the midst of an overpowering military presence at virtually every major street corner. Indeed, the title of this article is derived from my observations at the airport of this imbalance of power and the peoples' inability to appeal. Those of us who were in the bus waiting to be transported to Jaffna had a firsthand view of this reality when a young woman was denied permission to board the aircraft that was making its return journey to Colombo after we had disembarked.
We watched a protracted negotiation between this young woman and the military officers, and then watched her walking to our bus with her head bowed and tears streaming from her eyes. As she came and sat in the bus in front of my seat, I had the opportunity to ask what had happened.
It turned out that the blue temporary permit that we were all given at Palali for entry and exit purposes from Jaffna did not suffice in her case, as she was a university student in Jaffna. Apparently the rules in military-run Jaffna changed constantly. She also needed a special clearance from the Civil Affairs Office of the military in Jaffna. She did not have this. There was no appeal. The man next to me said, "The only thing we can do is cry."
The main topic of discussion during the three days I was present in Jaffna was the headline news in the local newspapers regarding the army commander's interview with the international media. General Sarath Fonseka was quoted as saying that in the current war against terrorism it would not be possible to prevent killings and disappearances from taking place.
The constant killings have created a terror psychosis in Jaffna, where people do not wish to talk about politics because they do not know what will get them into trouble, and with whom. Although the army commander may have meant this as a truism and a reality, this brutal logic was viewed with despair by the people I met.
Although a curfew is supposed to be in force in Jaffna only from 9 p.m., the shops start putting up their shutters at about 4 p.m. By 5 p.m. the people start to disappear from the streets. People do not wish to take a chance of being caught out after it falls dark. Ironically, at about 6 p.m., when we asked a soldier on duty at a checkpoint who had stopped us what time the curfew commenced, he said 7 p.m.
The problem of communication between Sinhala-speaking soldiers and Tamil-speaking civilians is compounded by lack of communication within the military itself. On the positive side, the encounters we had with the military were invariably polite, even before they knew our group had Sinhalese people in it.
Those who are living in terror do not wish to hear truisms. They expect those who are vested, and entrusted, with the authority of the state to look after them, to protect them, and not leave them to the mercy of the killer squads, whether they be government-backed or the LTTE, against whom there appeared to be a sense of sharp disillusionment for putting the people into this tragic situation.
But bleak as the situation is, the human tendency is to hope and to seek to communicate. We went to Jaffna to see if an international conference on religion and peace could be held there. The answer was an overwhelming yes. The people yearn to be in solidarity with the rest of the country, and with the world. They do not wish to be shut off or forgotten.
--
(Dr. Jehan Perera is executive director of the National Peace Council of Sri Lanka, an independent advocacy organization. He studied economics at Harvard College and holds a doctorate in law from Harvard Law School. ©Copyright Jehan Perera.)
