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| Sunday, 30 January 2005 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Plight of the displaced in Jaffna : Caught between two forces by Ranga Jayasuriya reporting from Manalkadu, Vadamarachchi East When she heard a sound like shelling coming from the coast off Manal Kadu, Deva Ranjani's first thought was war had resumed. She was wrong in her guess.
Deva Ranjani survived. So did her family. A 28-year-old mother of three kids, she said her cousin came to help rescue her kids. But most villagers in this fishing village on the Northern coast, a few miles from Point Pedro were not so lucky. Out of the 237 families living here, 72 people were killed and the entire population was displaced. Manal Kadu is the worst hit village the government controlled areas in the Jaffna district. Since the tsunami swallowed everything, from lives to property, Deva Ranjani, like the rest of her fishing folk live in a welfare centre run in a school. Over 17,000 people live in 24 refugee camps in the Jaffna District, according to the statistics of the Government Agent. In Jaffna, the management of welfare centres is somewhat a strange business. The government and the Tamil Rehabilitation Organisation (TRO) are supposed to work together. The Government is to be represented by the Grama Sevakas, through whom the Government Agent channels daily rations to the camps. The government provides a daily allowance of 45 rupees per person and 30 rupees per kid for every displaced person living in camps. Sitting on the sandy floor of her tent at Kudaththanai Government Tamil mixed school, Deva Ranjani says she is satisfied with the food, even though like most refugees she hates "rata hal" (rice) routinely given for meals. Her usual meal consists, rice, canned fish, dhal and some vegetables. The dinner is usually bread and curry, or perhaps Pittu. The TRO, a registered NGO in Sri Lanka, but also a known LTTE front has its own way of doing business. Even though, there is the Grama Sevaka, it is the TRO which runs the show. TRO officials show a manifested reluctance to appreciate the government's role in the relief work. At a refugee camp at the Pulloli Methodist Mission Tamil Mixed School, a TRO official, when asked whether the refugees receive the 45 rupee day allowance, said "Not to my knowledge", but the Grama Sevaka when pressed with the same question admitted that the refugees received the allowance, "and indeed, that it is the government's allowance which covers the greater part of expenses at the camp." When Deva Ranjani was asked whether she knows that the government is channeling a daily living allowance for refugees, she replied in the negative. There is, obviously a communication gap between the government and the displaced people, perhaps because the government's representatives do not wish to invite personal risk by disturbing the existing status quo. "The most difficult thing is working with two administrations, the government and the LTTE" says Rev Panitha Kumar, the junior priest of the St. Anthony's Church, which has also been damaged by the ravaging sea waves. Rev. Panitha Kumar's senior priest, Rev Roy Ferdinand has not yet got over the trauma of the tsunami devastation. Even though the Bishop had granted him one week's leave, Rev. Ferdinand returned to his damaged church to help his people. "This is a 100 per cent Catholic village," says Rev. Panitha Kumar about Manal Kadu. A group of soldiers are cleaning the church, while some other sailors are searching the neighbouring sandy land with metal detectors, looking for guns and ammunition washed away and buried in the sand. Six sailors and two soldiers were killed by the tsunami. What is also obvious is that government's allowance is painfully inadequate. Given heavy transport cost and LTTE taxing, life in Jaffna is generally expensive. "Even a pack of ordinary lunch here costs 60 rupees, how can a man eat three meals from a meagre 45 rupees," questions Rev Panitha Kumar. As plans were afoot to open schools on January 26, refugees and camp management were heading for further trouble. Rev Panith Kumar says school principals faced tremendous pressure from the parents to open schools on January 26, while the camp management insist that they could not vacate the school, unless an alternative place is provided. "These people are to stay in camps at least for three months. Their houses are destroyed, they have no place to go to," argues one TRO official at the Pulloli Methodist Mission School. But before schools are opened, there are other problems to be looked into, like the case of 17 year- old - Washington Reginald. The boy, the eldest in the family, lost both his parents and two sisters and is left with a younger sister and a five year-old brother. Haunted by trauma, and orphaned, and the house being destroyed, Reginald is helpless. He does not know where he would turn to, even though he has an uncle, who would probably take care of them. The uncle has also lost two children to the tsunami. Perhaps, it is the understanding of the socio-political complexities of the lives in the country's Northern peninsula, that would be essential to address the effects of the tsunami and its aftershock. |
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| Produced by Lake House |
She saw a wall of blackish water as high as a Palmyrah tree, ravaging
towards land, battering through the security forces detachment located
near the coast. Deva Ranjani ran towards high land, clutching her two
kids. From their she saw the poor fishing hamlet she was living in being
washed away.
