Watching footage from the ground released by one of the few active local NGOs left in Vanni, the Tamils Rehabilitation Organization (TRO), reminds me of the period after the 2004 Tsunami when we would all watch terrifying videos of how this natural disaster left 40,000 people dead in Sri Lanka. Even though the scenes were unbearable to watch, we were somehow transfixed to those images for some time. Maybe it was because of the sheer disbelief that something like this could affect a population already affected by almost 30 years of ethnic conflict.

This time we are once again in sheer disbelief of the crisis that Tamils in Northern Sri Lanka are facing, except our disbelief is not related to giant waves or undersea earthquakes.  It is related to the international community’s silence during a mounting genocide. An appeal from the Mullaitivu Council of NGOs reported that in just under two weeks 1,400 Tamil civilians have been killed in artillery and aerial attacks.

In a recent video from the ground, there were scenes from a makeshift hospital full of civilians who had survived the Sri Lankan army’s shelling of the PTK hospital in early February.I was more distressed once I realized that I was not only just watching a video of Tamils suffering from injury, displacement, trauma and loss of life, but at the same time I was looking for familiar faces of people I had met and who I have not heard from in months.It crushed me to think that this is way many Tamils all over the world are wondering what has happened to those with whom we once drank tea, taught English, treated in hospitals, played games, interviewed, laughed, cried and sighed.

There has been much controversy in the international media about civilian movement between government and LTTE-held areas, in particular the LTTE preventing civilians from leaving areas still under their control. Nothing can be verified since the Sri Lankan government has blocked independent media and international presence from the conflict zone, but what has not occurred to many is that there are civilians who do not want to leave areas under LTTE control in fear of losing protection or even worse, facing death. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch recently expressed grave concern over detention centers for refugees in the disguise of “welfare camps” in the areas bordering the conflict zone, such as Vavuniya and Mannar. Officials have warned that these refugee centers mirror conditions of “concentration camps.”

So, at this juncture in the hunger strike people might be wondering, are we running on empty?No. We’ve gotten energy from you, fellow Tamil voices and others speaking out for the silenced: the Tamil community is making noise through worldwide rallies attended by thousands, singer M.I.A., a Tamil refugee herself from the ethnic conflict is advocating for an end to genocide, and Timor Leste President Jose Ramos-Horta urging a political resolution to the conflict, the complete opposite of the Sri Lankan government’s current military campaign. We sustain ourselves by continuing to hear these voices and your voice –it’s the most important way to urge the international community and the U.S. to listen to those who we see, and don’t see, in that harrowing footage from the ground.

I never really realized how big of a role eating food plays in my life until I began this fast. I may be tiny, but I eat ALOT. Usually, right when I get home after going anywhere, the first place I go to is the fridge, or to the microwave, or to the stove. After I got my food, I would spend at least a half hour to maybe even an hour eating and refilling. Now, its so different. It’s like I have nothing to do anymore. Now, as soon as I arrive home, I grab another bottle of Gatorade and go upstairs into the computer room and hide away as food gets cooked or warmed up in the kitchen. These past weeks, the computer room has basically turned into my bunker, and I end up having extra time that I dont want. I’m so used to taking my time and eating my food, that it kind of feels like I have nothing else to do in life.
Again, I’d like to say that I’m so lucky to be worrying about having extra time from not eating. The people I fast for, my own Thamil people who are suffering back there, are not only consumed with the thoughts of what to fill their bellies with for each meal, what to drink to quench their thirst due to the hot, humid, tropical climate, but also, how do they survive the next round of bombs being fired at them from the sri lankan army. They worry about how to protect their children, how to survive the next hour, how to stay strong when they are constantly humiliated by the government’s “valiant soldiers,” who rape Thamil women. They may even think about how to leave the concentration camps known better as “safe zones” or no-fire zones, where the government repeatedly attacks poor, defenseless Thamil civilians. I’m lucky enough to only have to worry about “what are my plans for the upcoming week,” while my people back there are trapped thinking “how do I survive the upcoming week.” I never thought I would appreciate even a grain of rice as much as I do now. I cant wait to start eating again, but I know that it’s even worse for our people back home, who are struggling to survive these conditions, who are a lot more weaker, and skinnier physically than I am, which is what fuels me to go forward. Everyone who has expressed their support at some point during this strike, and The media coverage and reporters, bloggers, and interviewers who have brought attention to our cause are greatly appreciated by me, as well as all of the members of our group. I hope that this nation will get more involved in assisting our people with humanitarian aid into the affected regions, instead of fueling the genocidal government’s more oppressive measures against Thamils.

It’s been a year and a half since I walked through Kilinochchi, wandering through the rows of shops, buying chocolates for my students. My flagrant attempts at bribery were always rewarded with eager eyes and outstretched arms.

It’s been a year and a half since I left those children, my students, behind.

When I left the country, the conflict was simmering and my older students teased me with foreboding comments like “You will go and return – but whether we’ll be here then, no one knows.” I responded with the same light banter I used to defend myself against the shocking reality of their words. I smiled and turned away, joking that they would come and visit me in my school in America instead – knowing this was a dream far exceeding the grim desperation of their situation.

I would leave. I would return to Georgetown and continue my classes and see my family and celebrate birthdays and holidays with them. I would leave to a normal life.

They would stay. Amidst the bombs that had already begun falling, destroying schools, hospitals, childhoods. They would continue their suffocated lives, as the government increased their stranglehold by embargoing more and more items daily. They would grow increasingly adept at fleeing to the underground bunker, waking easier during midnight runs as the fear pervaded even their dreams.

Local doctors say children have been most affected by the current crisis. That children are the ones most often pierced by the government’s shrapnel, and children are the ones bleeding to death in the streets. To me, they’re not just children. They’re the little sisters and brothers I taught, played with, scolded. They all have names and faces, and they are now in my dreams, as fear pervades my sleep.

I wake up thinking of them. At least now I can go to bed fasting for them.

People often debate the meaning and classification of genocide - which conflicts are genocide and which are not? When do individual acts of repression turn into a concerted campaign to exterminate a people? Often times the question is one of the scale and speed of the crimes - when the world sees tens of thousands killed in one day, they take notice. But when the crimes occur over decades, they often pass with little note. Genocide, however, is not a question of scale - it is a question of intent.

The Government shows their intent when they declare an area a safe zone, shepherding civilian towards it, and then proceed to shell the area.

They show their intent when they order all international NGO’s out of a region when civilians desperately need their help.

They show their intent when they disappear their critics, silencing them forever.

They show their intent when journalists are suppressed, when orphanges are bombed, when aid workers are killed and when hospitals are shelled.

The Government has made its intent clear.

So on this, the fourth day of our fast, I keep going by remembering that in three decades of ethnic conflict, it has been the Tamil civilian population that has overwhelmingly borne the brunt of the Government’s aggression. It is they who have suffered at the hands of a government that refuses to value the lives of the people it claims to be fighting to govern. Compared to their sacrifice, my fast is nothing.

Today was the third day of our fast. It is supposedly the hardest day of a fast because your body stops relying on whatever leftover food you had from your meals before the fast and it begins to realize no more is coming in. We are expected to start feeling much more sluggish from now on as our body fiercely tries to conserve what it can, whatever remains.

I find it ironic that this demanding day coincides with Sri Lanka’s Independence Day. Sri Lankans are celebrating while Tamils around the world remember it as the day that began a prolonged genocide. A little bit of history might help in realizing how this all began.

Sri Lanka originally was home to 3 kingdoms: 2 Sinhalese and 1 Tamil. When the Dutch and the Portuguese ruled the island, they ruled the kingdoms separately. When the British ruled, they ruled everyone jointly (as they are known to erase and create boundaries with reckless abandon) and when they left, they received false reports regarding demographic distribution and released control purely to the Sinhalese.

Independence Day, indeed.

What followed for the Tamils is somewhat analogous to the situation I described regarding the third day of our fast. At the very beginning, Tamils were able to rely on our reserves, like our deep-rooted cultural commitment to education, to help us begin to fight back, even with the loss of representation and the lack of a Bill of Rights in the 1948 Constitution. But as government policies quickly and systematically began to weed Tamils out of citizenship, higher education, jobs and life, we began our fierce struggle to conserve our identity. And today, over 60 years after “independence”, that’s where we still are, just trying to conserve our identity. Or at least, whatever remains.

Continuous killing of Tamils needs to be stopped that’s why I’m fasting. Stop the genocide.

As my third day of fasting ends, I wonder, where is the change? Although I know there may be no direct correlation between my fasting and the Tamils suffering the aerial bombing and shelling in Northern Sri Lanka, I somehow had this daydream that once we started this it would all change…it has to, right?

How much worse can it get? Could it get any worse than a hospital in Puthukudiyiruppu being shelling incessantly nine times in a row, where 500 patients were seeking urgent medical treatment? Could it get any worse than the Sri Lankan government telling everyone that this hospital was a “legitimate target?” Could it get any worse than bombing that leaves 52 civilians dead in one day? Could it get any worse than the Sri Lankan government accusing international news media and NGOs of “sensationalizing civilian casualties” and “exaggerating number of deaths” in this real humanitarian disaster?

While I’m trying to convert my daydream to fit reality, I am reminded of the people I met in Northern Sri Lanka only three years ago, where they were living with dignity in the very places that have now been overrun by the Sri Lankan government. I remember them and their words about wanting freedom, to live in peace where they could govern themselves, and no longer have to live under fear and oppression from the Sri Lankan government.

I won’t forget meeting a young woman in Northern Sri Lanka who just had a baby boy in 2006. She captured the essence of what Tamils living in the Northeast strive for during one of my conversations with her. She said, “when we go to the South, we are sent back North; when we travel through checkpoints were are harassed; when we seek aid, we are ignored; when we look for work, we are turned away; when we go fishing, we are fired at; when we sleep at night we do not know if we will be here the next day…if we live in our own land and have our own people to govern us, we will finally feel like human beings.”

Even though it seems like things are not changing, I embrace those wishes of people in Northern Sri Lanka during this fast, and know that beyond the clashes of war, our act of solidarity is charging people all over the world to start speaking out more for those who are silenced.

I’m scared that in all the drama of beginning this fast, I am going to forget the real reason for the entire endeavor. Pure, innocent, angelic children in Sri Lanka are starving, bleeding to death from shrapnel injuries, and leaving this world so soon after they came into it.

The Sri Lankan government is commiting genocide against the Tamil people of Sri Lanka. I used to hesistate to be so bold. I used to parse my words due to my own secret doubt and for the sake of political correctness. That time has passed. Have you ever heard of a government placing food and medicine embargos on sections of its own citizenry? Have you ever heard of a government bombing its own civilians using fighter jets? Have you ever heard of a government destroying its own hospitals because they serve a specific segment of the population? Have you ever heard of a government expelling international journalists and NGOs because they dare raise doubts about the government’s intentions?

If you haven’t, I present to you the “government” of Sri Lanka. But what is the point of me writing on this blog? This grotesque reality has for far too long been confined to the minds of the suffering Tamils. If our 10,000-meal fast does not spark mainstream media coverage of the Tamil genocide, all is for nought. If our fast does not spur members of Congress to take action on behalf of the languishing civilians, all is for nought.

There is indeed hunger in my stomach. But it’s not for food. It’s for a mindset which accepts nothing less than selflessness on behalf of my suffering brothers and sisters back home. I hunger to be worthy of speaking on behalf of the children that suffer in Sri Lanka. I hunger for America to live up to its ideals and stop the genocide of Tamils.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a cold, or anything that involves a stuffy nose, as much as I do now. So today’s the first day of the fast. To be honest, today wasn’t that bad. Yeah there were instances where my stomach hurt soo bad that i just needed it sit down and sit still for a bit, but overall, today wasn’t that bad. Unfortunately, I hate to break this to myself, but today’s only the first day.
The biggest killer about today wasn’t even the not eating part, but it was smelling food. Yeah, smelling food, any kind of food, was like someone picked you up and drop kicked you, it hurt. Especially knowing that it was there, and that you couldn’t have any of it. I also don’t think I’ve ever really noticed the different aromas of food as much as I did today.

This is my first fast ever, and I usually eat a ton of food everyday, so I’m well aware that it’s going to be difficult. A lot of people, including my mom for some time as well, have said no, why are you doing something like this, it’s bad for you, etc… Here’s what I think, well first off, why are we doing this? Because people are suffering in “shelters” with no food or water or any of the basic necessities. No humanitarian aid is delivered to these “shelters” and people are not allowed to leave these places. There are no options for them, they can only die. If that isn’t bad enough, these sri lankan government claimed “safe zones” are being bombarded with cluster bombs and many other types of bombs. This situation is sickening, and although I was born in the US, my roots are from there, and I am very proud to be of the Tamil heritage. Those are my people suffering back there, and I believe that if I truly consider myself Tamil, then it’s my job, my duty to do anything I can for my people. Here’s the response I give, there’s small children, babies, all struggling without any food or water, and their bodies are much much smaller than mine, and they are going through these miserable conditions. I am doing this for the sake of them, to try to raise awareness and make people do something to try to save them. If everyone shows at least half the concern that they do about me and our group fasting, because we can at least drink water and have a vitamin and some gatorade, and it’s a lot hotter over there, then I believe that their situation would improve a great deal more than how it is now.

I hear Tamil people talk about Tamil culture all the time. They bring their children to cultural events, wear the traditional clothes, speak the language, eat the food, and of course, go to Toronto at least once a year to be with the Tamil community over there. I think that is a great thought, I love being Tamil, I think that being Tamil makes up a huge part of me, I love the culture, everything about it, but what I notice around here is that when it comes to Tamil parties and Tamil cultural events, there is a much higher percentage of people who show up than when there is a memorial service, human rights meeting… I don’t like to call out others, but it would be nice for people to understand that if our people are gone, and our country has disappeared, then there won’t be a Tamil culture to go to, there is no homeland anymore, and we all have to take action immediately to save our country, our people, our language, our identity.

For now, I’ve found a solution, there’s noodles and everything cooking downstairs, and I can smell it so strongly from up here, so I’ve decided I’m going to walk around the place with a clothespin over my nose. I really wish I had a cold right now.

It has been almost 3 years since I met you. You joked with me about my boyfriend, teased me about my accent, and scolded me for not having mastered the Tamil language. I watched you express concern for your students and listened to the aspirations you had about transforming your school to “American” standards. I remember your shy smile as you told me your wife was pregnant, and I treasured the photos of your baby you sent me after I left. I felt guilty every time I thought about how you asked me to buy the school a fridge. A fridge which I did not buy. An insignificant gesture worth gold to you. And now, I have learned that you have been killed.
 
Well, today I am embarking on a fast.

I do not know how long it will be for. That is for others to decide.

I am scared, though surely not as scared as you were.

I am angry, perhaps not as angry as your wife.

I am hungry, though not starving like your son.

But I am hopeful, and that hope is sure to bring about peace as your wife nears the birth of your second child.
 
Anpudan,
Rosha