2  Inside The Tigers’ Den

When we left London for India in 1979, a new and fundamentally different chapter in my life opened up. Although neither of us ever expected that involvement in a liberation organisation and struggle would be an easy, we never anticipated the depth of complexity that we ultimately confronted. The intrigues of revolutionary politics as well as the socio-cultural milieu of South India generated new awareness within me and opened up new frontiers in my consciousness. This encounter with strange, extraordinary events, new relationships and challenges from the new environment constituted a memorable era in my life that radicalised my thinking and feelings, enriched my personality and made me a stronger human being. Certainly when I reflect on the years 1979-1987, the enormity of the task of rendering so many tumultuous events, both personally and politically, into a few pages of a book is an awesome enterprise. I can only offer glimpses of the era. It all began in the latter part of 1979.

The laying of one’s freedom and life on the line in active participation in an armed revolutionary struggle is quite a different phenomenon to articulating subversive and revolutionary politics from the safety and security of thousands of miles away from the actual ‘warfront’. So our departure for India and a meeting with the underground LTTE leadership and combatants signified a deepening of our commitment and participation in the liberation struggle. It was no longer armchair politics in democratic England, but rather we were setting out to meet fiery young rebels who were wanted by the Sri Lanka state for their radical new politics. The LTTE cadres had taken the people’s struggle for freedom into the extra- Parliamentary sphere, onto the realm of armed struggle. At that historical time the LTTE cadres were actively engaged in small guerrilla operations against the state apparatuses the military forces and police. So we were getting involved in radical politics that had far reaching implications for the Tamil people, the cadres and ourselves. It was not a joke. Even though we had not personally taken up arms at that time, enjoying an intimate understanding and relationship with the guerrilla organisation’s leadership, and trusted with the knowledge of the internal dynamics of the organisation put us in a position where we felt an enormous responsibility to the cadres and the struggle. Just having the ‘inside’ information on the structure of this rebel organisation and knowledge of the identities of the underground leaders placed us in a sensitive situation.

We arrived in Chennai, accompanied by Mr. Krishnan, for our meeting with the LTTE and its leader Mr. Pirabakaran, by flight via Mumbai. The LTTE cadres knew we were arriving on the night flight from Mumbai, but there was nobody at Meenambakkam Airport, Chennai, to openly meet us. This was our entry into underground politics and since that day, the politics of secrecy have become part of my life.

The indomitable Indira Gandhi was at the helm of India’s affairs in 1979 on our first visit to Chennai. The patriarch of Tamil politics, Mr. Karunanidhi, was enjoying one of his terms as Chief Minister of the State of Tamil Nadu. As far back as then Tamil Nadu politics and Indian foreign policy were crucial and determining factors in the path of the Tamil Eelam people’s struggle for freedom. In particular this dimension of Indian foreign policy has had its implications at the domestic, regional and international level.

India’s foreign policy in the 70s and 80s was shaped by the international relations of the Cold War days and by the policies of the Non-Aligned Movement. Having been the founding father of the Non-Aligned Movement, India championed the ideals of neutrality and non-intervention to the nations of the Third World. But India’s dream of constructing a New World Order free from the constraints of the competing super powers collapsed when China invaded her Northeastern borders in the early sixties. As the world’s largest democracy and determined to assert herself as a world power and as a regional superpower, India felt threatened by the power configurations of the US-China-Pakistan axis in Asia. These security concerns compelled India to enter into a strategic partnership with the Soviet Union and to embark on a process to become a nuclear power by testing a nuclear bomb in the early seventies. Although she continued to argue in favor of non-alignment for Third World countries, India fell squarely within the Soviet camp. Furthermore, as a country subjected to centuries of exploitative colonial rule and having won a freedom struggle, India sympathised with and provided moral and political support to several oppressed nations engaged in liberation struggles. Subsequently, India became a foremost supporter of the African National Congress in its battle against the universally condemned apartheid system and of other African liberation struggles. India’s consistent and effective support for the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO) could have been nothing less than an enormous moral boost for the Palestinian people in a hostile politico-diplomatic world that viewed their struggle as ‘terrorism’. But while India was out-spoken and generous in her moral and diplomatic support for liberation struggles in other continents or regions, she played out the game of regional politics in her own backyard with considerable political expediency and sagacity. The Tamil people’s struggle is a case in point. India was well informed of the plight of the Sri Lankan Tamils and of the armed struggle by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. Indeed Bala had written to Indira Gandhi on behalf of the LTTE as far back as 1978. Tamil Nadu politicians such as Mr. P Nedumaran had also briefed Mrs. Gandhi on the Tamil national struggle. Nevertheless, knowing all this, India confined her perturbation over the plight of the Tamils in statements expressing that rather innocuous and highly diplomatic term ‘grave concern’. Just enough to warn the Sinhalese that India, as the regional superpower kept an eye on events in the island.

Ever sensitive and concerned not to incite or encourage secessionist tendencies within her own borders, India had no intention of offering support for the demands for a separate state being made by the Tamils in neighbouring Sri Lanka. Nor could she brush aside or underestimate the inflammatory and destabilising potential of sixty million Tamils on her Southern flank who clearly sympathised with their brethren 22 miles across the Palk Strait. Added to this was Indira’s major concern about the Sri Lanka President J R Jayawardene’s undisguised pro-Western position. She feared that the Sri Lankan leader was deliberately creating conditions for US hegemonic domination in the Indian Ocean region, the geographical realm where India wanted to maintain its sphere of influence. A master in the art of political wizardry Indira Gandhi, while steadfastly recognising the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Sri Lanka, placated the Tamils by ‘tolerating’ the militants as a strategy to bring pressure on Colombo to return to Delhi’s fold. The overall objective would be to prevent Colombo from falling into the nexus of Western influence and bring it back into Delhi’s orbit. So in this geo-political scenario, many Tamils in the Northeast of Sri Lanka viewed Tamil Nadu as a safe haven. Few believed India would ever let them down. For the LTTE cadres it was not only a safe refuge but also a secure ‘base’: a place where they could live, organise and plan without fear. And that is why the LTTE cadres were in Madras in 1979. Enjoying the low profile patronage of Tamil Nadu politicians, the underground Sri Lankan Tamil insurgents found in Tamil Nadu a breathing space to survive. Nevertheless, confronted by problems caused by ‘enemies within’, the close surveillance of the various intelligence agencies, and the subversive activities of the Sri Lanka embassy in the state, the LTTE cadres functioned as a clandestine organisation in Tamil Nadu. It was into this scenario we arrived at Meenambakam Airport. These conditions explain why, while none of the cadres acknowledged us, two or three pairs of LTTE eyes, mingling with the crowds, clandestinely observed us and followed our every move until our eventual secret meeting.

A rickety black taxi rattled its way from Meenambakam Airport along the night streets of Chennai and delivered us to the entrance of a pre-designated ‘hotel’- or more precisely, lodge. Mr. Krishnan booked us into the lodge and left for an unknown destination to inform to the LTTE leader our whereabouts. This lodge was chosen, I can only guess, for its presumed inconspicuosness in a poor part of town. But that proved to be incorrect. Unused to the stifling Indian heat, we kept the windows in the rooms constantly open. The windows opening onto the main street offered passers by a liberal view of the guests. Indeed, so open was the room it was necessary for me to slip into the pokey bathroom to get some privacy for changing clothes. And the bathroom was a nightmare also. An incessantly dripping tap kept the dirty floor wet, making it impossible to change one’s clothes without dunking them in the dirt. But more seriously, a white woman with a Tamil man had made this room a voyeur’s paradise and we became objects of curiosity - and not for the right reason either. Given the general assumption - and by comparison for vast sections of Indians it is true that all westerners are rich, it would certainly have been difficult for the local people to understand why a Tamil man and a white woman should choose such shabby accommodation in a poorer part of town if they were not up to no good. When the LTTE cadres, including Mr. Pirabakaran, came to meet us in the middle of the night, I have no doubt this further titillated the already suspicious staff and the local population also.

Meeting Mr. Pirabakaran

I really had no idea of what to expect from the LTTE leaders when I first met them. Of course I knew of their militant revolutionary activities and I wholeheartedly supported their armed resistance campaign. LTTE workers in London had told me that the central figure of the Tamil resistance movement, Mr. Vellupillai Pirabakaran, was indefatigably dominated by and committed to the political objective of the liberation of his oppressed people and that he firmly believed the establishment of a separate Tamil state as the final and only solution to the Tamil national question. That he had been a strict disciplinarian was legendary, even in those very early days. Indeed it was precisely his potential to enforce discipline which earned him his popularity and respect and set him apart from other fledgling leaders struggling to establish a guerrilla force capable of confronting the Sri Lankan state’s military apparatus. But he was not a disciplinarian for the sake of it. He believed, and most military men would probably agree with him, that discipline was essential to morale and high performance of cadres. His high moral character, to the point of puritanism, was the other quality for which he was well known. Again, he views exemplary behaviour in personal life as a crucial factor if a leader is to retain authority. Neither of these traits of his personality and behaviour has waned over the years. Critics of Mr. Pirabakaran have often taken up these characteristics of his personality and accused him of authoritarianism. But I would go as far as to say that these two factors have been crucial to his sustained support amongst wider sections of the Tamil populace. Nevertheless, despite the steely reputation that preceded Mr. Pirabakaran, I discovered at our first meeting, a warm and concerned human being. “Thamby’ - as those who are older or close to him affectionately address him- quickly understood the inadequacy of our accommodation and the discomfort and awkwardness of the situation I was subjected to. He promptly dispatched one of his cadres to find a ‘better’ hotel and we were moved out the next morning.

The first meeting with Mr. Pirabakaran (who was accompanied by one of the earliest LTTE cadres, Mr. Baby Subramaniam) took place in the middle of the night. We waited all day in our shabby little room sweating it out in the Chennai humidity before we met Mr. Pirabakaran. As naive novices to the underground game, we had no idea that we would have to wait till dark to meet him, nor did we expect that the meeting would be very late at night. But for Mr. Pirabakaran, a stickler for security, moving around under the cover of darkness had become a necessary habit. His attention to such problems as security was indicative too of the seriousness with which he viewed his commitment. That was okay with me. Given that he had been ‘wanted’ in Sri Lanka for the past seven years since the age of sixteen - and in a situation where interested parties would have no qualms in finishing off committed persons of liberation struggles such as he, it was fair enough for him to maintain his security. Clearly, the struggle was a serious matter for him.

Quietly and without any fanfare, late in the night, two young men appeared at the door, one dressed in the national dress of a white verti and the other in trousers and a light coloured printed shirt. I must admit that I was taken aback by how young and innocent these two ‘terrorists’ looked. Indeed their appearance belied their reputation. Both were short neat little men who looked like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Baby Subramaniam carried a bag full of all sorts of documents and political literature. This short, slightly stocky man in the national dress of a white verti and lugging a bulging, over stuffed bag or brief case which appeared too heavy for him to carry, became a trade mark image of Baby Subramaniam. Mr. Pirabakaran was not so encumbered. His style was different. Meticulous grooming is Mr. Pirabakaran’s hallmark. Dressing is an event for Mr. Pirabakaran, not a necessary practice to be completed and out of the way quickly. But Mr. Pirabakaran’s young face was clear and bright and his huge black eyes penetrating. Indeed one gets the feeling that he is peering right through to your soul and it is this depth in his eyes, which mirrors his mind and thinking too. On several occasions in our long relationship Mr. Pirabakaran’s eyes have told many stories. Only a careful observer would have noticed the bulge from the weapons they had tucked into their waists and covered by the shirts that hung loosely over them. Cleverly too, the buttons disguised a row of press studs sown underneath which allowed them to tear open their shirts, giving them easy and quick access to their weapons.

The first meeting between these two now historical figures whose lives became intertwined, Mr. Pirabakaran and Bala, was essentially a mutual sizing up exercise. One could see Mr. Pirabakaran scrutinising Bala’s face. This rigorous facial scan by Mr. P’s eyes is a common aspect in dialogue with him and there is a no way untruth or deceit can creep into a conversation when these probing eyes are watching every word.

The initial meeting was long, lasting for several hours from midnight till the early hours of the morning. Bala later conveyed to me how Mr. Pirabakaran queried his personal history and particularly his views about the Tamil armed resistance. ‘Thamby’ had already read Bala’s political writing and his translations of Che Guevara and Mao Zedong on guerrilla warfare. But this was not enough to convince Mr. Pirabakaran of Bala’s and my commitment. He wanted to know more about the people from London to assess their potential for real, genuine and enduring commitment to the struggle. Bala dwelled for some time trying to impress upon ‘Thamby’ the importance of political theory and practice to advance an armed revolutionary struggle. The meeting went off successfully. But although they liked each other from the outset, it took many years for both to cultivate a unique friendship based on profound mutual understanding. I too liked Mr. Pirabakaran and he didn’t show any open suspicion of me. He was obviously concerned as to how to address me. In Tamil culture the titles Mr. and Mrs. are not generally used to address people. Titles of address are linked to social hierarchy and social and familial relationships. Since our relationship was not familial or familiar he couldn’t address me as ‘akka’ (older sister) and at the same time he couldn’t be so formal as to address me as Mrs. Balasingham. Since I was older than he was it would not be culturally correct to address me as an equal by using my Christian name either. ‘Thamby’ found a solution to his dilemma by christening me with the affectionate compromise and comprehensive title ‘Auntie’. Apart from Bala and one or two others, Tamil people of all ages have come to know and address me as ‘Auntie’ many, I think, unaware of my real name.

Having been accommodated in a more ‘comfortable’ hotel after the initial meeting, ‘Thamby’ visited regularly with one or more cadres and dialogues would extend to long hours in the morning. ‘Thamby’ had much to tell Bala and Bala too had plenty to discuss with him. It was decided also that Bala should hold a session of political classes for the cadres in Tamil Nadu. The hotel was considered an unsatisfactory location for these classes since the numbers of young men coming and going would attract unnecessary attention and suspicion about these ‘subversives’ from Sri Lanka. Subsequently it was arranged for the classes to be held in the private residential room of Mr Senjee Ramachandran at the Tamil Nadu Members of the Legislative Assembly living quarters. Indeed we eventually left the hotel room and were provided with accommodation in this MLA hostel. Mr Ramachandran was not the only strong supporter of the LTTE at that time. Member of the state government of Mr. Karunanidhi, the Agricultural Minister Mr. Kalimuttu was also a helper and we also met him during our stay there. The well known poet Pulamai Pithan, a distinguished man with his thick mounds of wavy, more white than black hair and a huge equally greying handlebar moustache, was also a strong supporter of the LTTE. We visited his home on a couple of occasions.

Well grounded in socio-political and psychological theories, Bala’s classes included expositions of contemporary national liberation struggles, elucidations of socialist theories and political concepts. He set out the distinction between the class system, which characterises Western social structure, and the caste system of South Asian societies such as India and Sri Lanka. The various conceptions of society’ as defined by Western social thinkers were also conveyed. The curiosity of some young cadres to know more about sexuality led Bala to hold a few sessions on basic Freudian theory.

Although many of the cadres had an inherent sympathy with socialist views, none of them ever articulated Marxist positions; neither did any of them ‘look’ like Marxist revolutionaries in the classical sense. None sported the long beard and scruffy dress which seemed to define the young ‘revolutionaries’ of, for example, the EPRLF etc. Indeed such an appearance was an anathema to Mr. Pirabakaran who, as I previously mentioned, is obsessive about cleanliness and good grooming and instils these standards in his cadres, particularly in his senior cadres whom he expects to set an example. The attention to hygiene and immaculate grooming is not only a concern of any military establishment, but is, undeniably, more rooted in reality than pretensions of being radical through scruffy laid back personal appearance. But more deeply than that, over the years we were to learn that Marxism had no real mass appeal in the Tamil social formation where religion, particularly Hinduism, has become a deeply entrenched ideology steeped in the socio-cultural life of the Tamil people. Bala introduced Marxism to LTTE cadres as primarily a social and political theory. Utilising Marxist concepts, he explained the armed struggle as the highest mode of political struggle. Yet, Marxism too has its inadequacies and limitations. Being an Euro-centred philosophy, it is an inappropriate theoretical tool to provide sufficient analysis to a fundamentally different socio-political environment. For example, it is difficult to embark on a socio-structural analysis of the caste-ridden Jaffna society using Marxist concepts. It is also difficult to utilise the categories of class in a social formation that is neither capitalist nor feudal; where there is no distinct class of bourgeoisie or feudal landlords but rather dominated by a middle class of high caste ‘Vellalas’. Furthermore, the Jaffna Tamils have their own belief systems and political instincts and no amount of theoretical analysis or persuasion will easily influence their thinking. In the early stages of its historical development, the LTTE adopted categories and concepts of the Marxist/Leninist thought systems to legitimise the armed struggle as a political struggle for self-determination. But later on, with the collapse of the communist system, the organisation abandoned Marxist thought and adopted social equalitarianism as the ideology of the movement. Undeniably Tamil patriotic sentiments have been the driving force of the struggle.

Quite often during these discussions and classes I would slip out with one of the cadres to take in the sights of Chennai. India was a new experience for me and it was such a contrast to the western world I was passionate to observe and feel as much of it as I possibly could. Subsequently, over the many years I spent in India - or more specifically Tamil Nadu - I grew to love the country and its people. Had the opportunity arisen my preferred place of abode after I was compelled to leave the Northeast of Sri Lanka in 1999 would have been Chennai, as opposed to returning to London.

First Impressions of India

Throughout the years I was in India from 1979 to 1987 - I lived in a socio-cultural sphere that was antithetical to that of the Western world. The contrasts are vast and complex: documenting the disparities would be a book in itself. Here I can only offer a few glimpses. To begin with, in the wider context, the most immediate divergence between my western socialisation and life in Tamil Nadu rested on the fundamentals of social relations. Western social existence is premised on the individual, the nuclear family and privacy. In Tamil Nadu and Sri Lanka also when I was there - any attempt to live an isolated, individual existence is doomed to utter failure and an absolutely incomprehensible aspiration for the people in these societies. Living a private life closeted behind four walls of a house, undisturbed, and with visitors by appointment, is an inconceivable ideal to the majority of people of Southern Asia. And this fundamentally divergent conception of social life was not only a mode of thinking I had to take on board, but also one I had to live with in reality. I can never forget a question asked by a young British journalist when she visited our house in Jaffna, Sri Lanka. By that time -around 1991- living in an open house with people around us all the time was so normal I had forgotten anything else. And so I was rather taken aback when she suddenly asked me how I coped with the lack of privacy. She was amazed at the number of people active in one way or another around the house. Our house was wide open and people known to us came and went at anytime during the day. Indeed, I doubt that our house in India was ever locked or empty of people. Linked to these social relations is the role society allocates to the individual. For example, motherhood invests women with a particular social role and status and she is expected to fulfil that role which, in turn, brings with it a network of social relations and authority. The oldest son is invested with a particular role and status with its obligations and responsibilities. Likewise, every individual enjoys a particular social role and status and it is from these roles, relationships emerge which also accounts for the constant social interaction between people. Indeed so complex and consuming are these social relations that little time is available for private concerns. Quite often the only time a husband and wife find time to discuss matters with one another is a few hours at night. Contributing to this generally more sociable environment is the extended family system that forms the basis of social relations in both Indian and Sri Lankan society.

In the Tamil social formation the extended family system remains the dominant family structure. Consequently, in most homes, apart from parents and their children, there will be a relative of some degree residing in the house with them. Elderly parents living with siblings or younger relatives residing with older brothers and sisters and their families, is very common. Nieces and nephews will come to stay and so on. The matriarchal elements in Tamil society mean that it is not uncommon for sisters to share houses also. For example, one sister and her family will occupy the ground floor of the house and another sister and her family will occupy the accommodation above. Eating times also are social occasions. Of course it is true that people are invited for meals and preparations are made accordingly, but it is equally true that food is seen as fundamental to human life as water, and to be shared in the same way. So, in this context, I had to transform my cooking habits from preparing food for a nuclear couple, into social cooking. And most women in Tamil society cook for more than is required for the family members. This means that women are able to offer food to visitors at whatever hour they should come. The offering and sharing of food at anytime of the day is a very important expression of the warm Tamil hospitality and women are essentially responsible for and involved in this socio-cultural practice. Furthermore, women often share food between themselves also. For example, rarely would a day pass without a friend or a neighbour sending a small amount of the food she had cooked for us to taste, or, if she cooked a dish she knew either of us liked, she would send some over for one of our meals. In village areas, the social relationships between women in the family and neighbours can be so close that they feel absolutely no inhibitions in asking a friend, relative or neighbour to prepare food for them while they are out. If they have unexpected visitors and there is insufficient food immediately available, they draw on the kitchen of neighbours or friends.

And another, perhaps more significant, divergence between the western life style and India, is the influence of society and family opinion as a powerful form of social constraint on individual behaviour. Social opinion can make or break the individual’s reputation and by extension his or her future. This is particularly the case with women. The fear of social opinion is a powerful and effective form of social control of women.

The sheer numbers of people in India creates a contrasting situation to European life also. I doubt that a minute would ever pass without seeing another human being. Quite the opposite to, for example, England, where it is not uncommon not to see a fellow human being on the street. But in India, the preponderance of friendly and cultured humanity ensures that one never feels alone. So, surrounded by such a mass of humanity in such contrasting social conditions, Tamil Nadu was a place where all my emotions and senses were constantly alive. This feeling stemmed not only from the social relations, but also from the constant barrage on one’s emotions evoked by the socio-economic conditions of existence of millions and millions of people. So overwhelming and glaring was the devastation to people’s lives caused by poverty and so deeply did such suffering affect me, I would be making a mistake not to comment on it.

Undeniably my upbringing in the affluent West would explain why I was so taken aback by the living conditions of millions of people. So glaring and so frequent were the examples and incidents of poverty, social exploitation, injustice and contradictions one would have to be blind not to observe them and insensitive not to be emotionally moved by them. And time never healed my outrage over the poverty and exploitation. Initially, during my first visits, I had the feeling that it wasn’t real, that it would go away. But it never did; it was there all the time, gnawing at one’s conscience and creeping into one’s thoughts. A glimpse out of the aeroplane window on landing in Mumbai will reveal the story in an instant. The impressive oasis of skyscraper buildings will slowly recede to a seemingly endless fringe of shanties on its borders. Setting foot outside the airport too, dozens of pleading little hands will be reaching out to welcome you.

Another early encounter with my conscience took place when we were eating out at a very ordinary restaurant in Chennai. The privilege that I was enjoying was driven home to me when I saw the gaunt faces of three or four children peeping expectantly through the restaurant door they had boldly pushed ajar and were watching us eat hoping, presumably, for some leftovers to be given to them. Another phenomenon which never went away and which was always they’re to remind me of widespread social disadvantage and exploitation was the beggars in Chennai. Of course, being white made me a target for the begging community, so it was a common experience for me to have any number of beggars with outstretched hands trailing behind me and pleading ‘amma’, ‘amma’ (madam, madam), particularly when I shopped in the main streets of Chennai. It took a long time for me to overcome my embarrassment with people begging from me and I was concerned about how to handle this problem. Initially I felt uncomfortable about such scruffy looking and poor people pestering me. I had never before seen such poverty so close to me. Furthermore, because I was from the West I thought that most people would have assumed I had money, and I didn’t wish to appear stingy if I refused to give a few piase. On the other hand, I didn’t wish to be seen as a ‘do-gooder’ who didn’t understand the system and therefore encouraged an industry which most of the society doesn’t approve; an industry based on the exploitation of the very people we think we are giving to.

As far as I was concerned I was not on a crusade to abolish the practice of begging. I wanted to resolve the contradiction between the embarrassment I felt in the simple practice of walking down the street surrounded by people, and at the same time not wanting to reject the people and send them away with nothing. Initially I gave to everyone hoping that the beggars would disperse; it had the opposite outcome, creating a ripple effect with more beggars crowding around a soft touch. Since the practice of giving created the very conditions I was trying to avoid, I decided it best not to give anything to anyone, which the state’s polity prefer, but that didn’t work either: I was followed until I relented. So what to do in this confusing situation? I could not stop going shopping because of the unease I felt when surrounded by beggars, nor could I continuously dish out coins to a seemingly endless stream of them.

I thought hard about dealing with this obvious social problem. I realised that much of my embarrassment was caused not by the beggars themselves surrounding me, but by the fact that their presence drove home to me my own relative social privilege and good fortune in life and the reality and injustice of social inequalities staring me so closely in the face. So as opposed to viewing these children and women, the crippled and handicapped and the elderly as a community of people harassing me and to be dismissed and rejected, I decided it best to resolve this conflict within me. I was aware that begging is an industry in itself and state governments discourage the practice, but as far as I was concerned the very fact that people either had no other alternative or considered such demeaning work as appropriate for them, was appalling in itself. Anyway, I had nothing to lose by giving a few paisas to these people. Having resolved that problem within myself I discovered that by giving them a few cents and asking them, in broken Tamil, to go away, they politely took the money and peacefully dispersed. So I adopted a policy of taking plenty of five paisa coins with me wherever I went and any beggar who approached me was given the token few cents and asked to go away; which they did.

Over the years I got used to the begging community and never side stepped or avoided a beggar coming in my direction or following me. But for me one of the most enduring symbols of poverty and oppression was the pot-bellied girl baby or child. Her skinny legs and arms, her haunted, sunken eyes peering from their sockets, and the dishevelled and mattered brown black hair - so characteristic of malnourishment - hanging around her face as she sits woefully and listlessly on her mother’s jutting out hip, was a pitiful sight. Whether or not the women are part of the begging industry is not the issue. The issue is the pathetic plight of the little girl. The preference for male children and the social injustices towards women in India is a widely known fact. So too is the deprivation of food for girl babies in favour of others or, when necessary, the need to have a malnourished child to evoke sympathy.

Problems Within the Organisation

Bala and I were able to establish a good rapport with the leaders and cadres of the LTTE. We were taken into their confidence to the extent of revealing some sensitive problems within the power relations of the organisation. During this period in the history of the LTTE the original nucleus of participants of the Tamil freedom movement were caught up in intrigues of power struggles and personality conflicts with led to its fragmentation, transformation and ultimate growth. A serious contradiction between the senior leaders and Uma Maheswaran, the Chairman of the Central Committee had erupted. A split within the organisation was imminent and Bala was called upon for his advice and counsel. An apparent cause of the crisis was a sexual affair relating to the violation of moral code of conduct of the organisation. The codes of conduct were viewed as crucial and essential to the discipline and integrity of the organisation to which the members had committed and subordinated themselves for the purpose of achieving the noble cause of liberating their oppressed people. Anyone who violated these moral codes was subject to disciplinary action. On this occasion, Uma Maheswaran, an unmarried man, was charged with having a sexual affair with the earliest female LTTE cadre, Urmila, a divorcee.

Both Uma and Urmila were originally youth wing leaders of the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) who were inducted into the LTTE by Mr. Pirabakaran to promote the international propaganda work of the organisation. Both of them, along with the other cadres, lived in a house in Chennai. The cadres had seen both Uma and Urmila in a sexually compromising position and reported the matter to the leadership. It was for this reason that Mr. Pirabakaran and other leaders were compelled to come from Jaffna and investigate the matter. Extra marital or premarital sexual activity was forbidden under the disciplinary rules of the organisation. A thorough inquiry into the allegations was carried out and Uma was called upon to marry Urmila, or resign from the Chairmanship of the Central Committee. Uma, a much more worldly man than the other cadres, vehemently denied the relationship and refused to resign his position, sparking a major a crisis within the group. Urmila was equally adamant in her denial of the affair. Bala, who was called upon for his advice on the matter, discussed the issue with both Uma and Urmila. Bala felt the situation could be resolved if the couple admitted the affair and agreed to marry, perhaps at a later date. The couple continued to protest their innocence and the witnesses to the affair stuck to their side of the story. Ultimately, the majority judgement went against the couple’s explanation and the Central Committee decided that Maheswaran should give up his position and resign from the organisation. Maheswaran categorically rejected the decision and the result was his estrangement from the organisation. We later learned that Uma Maheswaran and Urmila had returned to Vavuniya and that Urmila became seriously ill with hepatitis and died in Gandhi Illam, a charity organisation run by Dr. Rajasundaram.

Nevertheless, despite these deep organisational problems we returned to London with fond memories of our first visit to India. We knew too that while we had a good rapport and admiration for the LTTE leaders and cadres, a great deal of political work would be necessary to develop the organisation into a national liberation movement. But it was early days and ‘big trees from small acorns grow’. We were not dispirited and we were prepared to labour on for the struggle, and, as far as we were concerned, the LTTE offered the best potential.

We actively worked for the organisation in London having communication with the leadership, and, two years later, in 1981, we returned to Chennai for the second time. Once again the organisation was confronted with serious problems. It was during this time that Mr. Pirabakaran formed an alliance with the Tamil Eelam Liberation Organisation (TELO). Sri Sabaratnam temporarily headed the TELO since its founding fathers, Thangathurai and Kuttimani had been arrested by the Sri Lankan military forces and jailed under the terms of the Terrorism Act in Sri Lanka. Subsequently, moves were afoot to bring the LTTE and TELO into a single organisational structure to strengthen and expand the armed resistance campaign. These initiatives to forge a unity were hampered by the sinister moves of Uma Maheswaran who claimed the leadership of the LTTE. Mr. Pirabakaran and his cadres, anxious to retain their history of armed combat under the banner of the LTTE, resented Maheswaran’s unilateral assertion of the LTTE title. However, forming a new organisation by merging the LTTE and TELO at that time, would have facilitated Maheswaran to usurp LTTE’s title and leadership. Senior leaders and cadres of the LTTE were not in favour of dismantling the organisation until Maheswaran’s matter was resolved. It was agreed to delay the formation of the merged organisation and to strengthen both the LTTE and TELO while discrediting Maheswaran’s claim. Sri Sabaratnam was not happy with the postponement of the merger but he understood the rationality behind the decision. Subsequently, Bala and Baby Subramaniam launched an effective media campaign in Chennai disowning Uma Maheswarna’s false claim. In the meantime letters were sent to the LTTE supporters all over the world explaining the reason behind Uma’s dismissal. Finally, Uma Maheswaran gave up his claim to LTTE’s leadership and formed an independent militant organisation called PLOTE (People’s Liberation Organisation of Tamil Eelam). But events have moved on and the LTTE-TELO alignment was not realised.

Learning More

While all this ‘high’ political drama was going on amongst the leadership during our 1981 visit, I engaged myself with the other colleagues. For this visit the cadres had rented a house at Varasalavaakkam, on the outskirts of Chennai and, despite the political intrigue that was going on, there was a great deal of camaraderie in the house. Staying with us were figures who, in one way or other, became historical names or important LTTE cadres. One was Baby Subramaniam (alias Ilam Kumaran), a life long compatriot of Pirabakaran. An expert in explosives and the mechanics of time bombs when he was a young cadre, Baby is, nevertheless, an extremely gentle character. Indeed, of all the cadres in the long history of the struggle Baby Subramaniam -most would agree - is a man who would never harm another through petty or vicious gossip or get involved in personal power struggles. Baby, an unassuming character, is, literally speaking, a walking encyclopedia of knowledge on the history of the struggle and the LTTE. A life long strict vegetarian he astounded me in the kitchen when he fried green chillies and then took five or six shallots to eat with rice as his main meal of the day. Despite his quirks he has remained an unwavering and most trusted member of the LTTE and an old friend.

Someone who remained a close friend but no longer an LTTE member was Nesan (Ravindran Ravithas), now a resident in a foreign country. Nesan, a clever young man who gave up his passion for medicine, dropped out of medical college to join Pirabakaran in struggle. Once a close confidante of Pirabakaran, having fallen out of favour, Nesan, unable to cope up with the complexity and intrigue of the internal dynamics of the organisation and more inclined towards spirituality, opted for a different, peaceful life style.

With us in those days too was Shankar, the first LTTE cadre to be martyred and on whose date of death the LTTE’s day of remembrance and tribute to fallen cadres is celebrated Heroes’ Day, November 27th. Shankar was shot in the abdomen by the Sri Lankan army during a round up of the house he was staying in 1982. He was taken to India for treatment, but a delay in his receiving proper medical care resulted in peritonitis and septicaemia and he succumbed to his injury. I found it extremely difficult to reconcile his death with the fine athletic young man I used to watch striding in as he returned from his daily running exercise when we were in Chennai in 1981. His death drove home to me that armed struggle meant that young people were going to die. Ragu, for many years Pirabakaran’s bodyguard and trusted lieutenant, shared the responsibility for Pirabakarans’s security in those Chennai days with his boyhood friend Shankar. Many years later Ragu violated the rules and was expelled from the organisation. And the third member of this troika of village and boyhood friends was Pandithar.

When I went to Chennai I couldn’t speak a word of Tamil and Pandithar had absolutely no knowledge of English. Nevertheless, we seemed to strike up rapport and were able to communicate quite adequately with a little bit of expressive hand language and laughter. But whenever I think of Pandithar I am reminded of a young man heaving with asthma. Hardly a day went by when the dust of India or the chilli fumes from cooking didn’t choke Pandithar’s respiratory system. But he was undeterred by this obvious physical discomfort and refused to allow the disease to constrain his political activities. He died before I ever had the occasion to meet him in Jaffna. Nevertheless, I can well imagine him huffing and puffing as he pushed his cycle from one place to another during those dangerous days when he was a wanted man as head of the Jaffna district political section of the LTTE. And it was a sad day for me when I learned of his death in Atchuvely, Jaffna in January 1985. Indeed it took quite some days for Mr. Pirabakaran to inform me of Pandithar’s death. Perhaps he felt I would be distressed by the sad news. I had been informed of the army round up of his underground cell following betrayal by an army infiltrator into his ranks in Jaffna. During the round up of his house, so I was told, only one or two people had escaped and they were waiting for news of Pandithar’s whereabouts. The discomfort of Mr. Pirabakaran and his vagueness of information made me suspicious about the full story and I had my doubts that Pandithar had escaped the round up. As the leader of the LTTE group and a trusted and fond colleague of Pirabakaran, his whereabouts would have been first to be known about. I was correct in my suspicions and a few days later Baby Subramaniam came to our flat and told me that he had indeed been killed. The army informant escaped and was last heard of as a corporal or some other rank in the Sri Lankan army. Pandithar was one of the earliest LTTE cadres to die. Fortunately he had traveled to Chennai to visit us just a few months before his death. When I visited his home in Valvetti in 1987 I was amazed to see the emotional pain his mother had endured. Locked up and untouched since the time of his death, his mother had made a tomb out of his room as a memory of her son’s life. A photo of him occupied centre stage of the entrance to his very poor room. We were all in tears during the visit.

Of the TELO cadres staying with us was Sri Sabaratnam who later became its leader. A quiet man, Sri was with us for political and strategic reasons only. Sri had embraced the well-known Valvettiturai rebels, Thangathurai and Kuttimani of the TELO, as his political leaders and was planning their escape from Welikade jail following their arrest in the Northern seas of Sri Lanka. Not a brilliant military strategist himself and with even less military experience, Sri knew from where he could acquire the necessary skills he required for such a dangerous military mission. Pirabakaran’s military planning abilities, and the proven courage of Tiger cadres to execute any strategy, were vital to him. Bala’s intervention dissuaded Pirabakaran from embarking on what was obviously a dangerous suicidal mission for both him and his cadres. Obviously the plan was never realised. But politics and scheming apart, Sri was extremely kind to us, particularly during an incident when Bala was seriously ill with a very high fever and diarrhoea. Bala was unable to walk so Sri carried him in his arms to the vehicle we had called to transport him to hospital and then from the car into the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, complicated contradictions in politics and personalities prevented a closer relationship with Sri, but we never had any personal animosity towards him and I was glad to see him again when we met, briefly, at the LTTE political office where he came for a political meeting with Bala in Chennai in 1985. He was subsequently killed in a shoot out during the brutal internecine warfare between the LTTE and TELO.

Although the number of young men who could actually be called LTTE cadres was very few in 1981, Mr. Pirabakaran exhibited his style of leadership, organisational methods, emphasis on discipline etc. even amongst the few cadres. Nevertheless, absent were the years of experience to come, and as a small group we could easily wear the label ‘innocent’. So, regardless of the positions, roles and functions given of the members there were elements of equalitarianism, sincerity in relationships and expressions of fondness amongst us in Varasalavaakkam. As is the case in most houses, the kitchen was the meeting place, and eating was a shared joy. Bala, Pandithar, Shankar, Ragu, Baby, Nesan and myself could often be found laughing and joking as we collectively cooked for everyone. Bala would cut the fish and then sit on the sack of rice in the corner of the room and tell jokes; by the nature of the laughter from the cadres they must have been dirty jokes. I would peel the annoying small onions; Nesan would squat on the ground and scrape the coconut; Pandithar sweated it out and puffed over the kerosene cookers in his role as the chief cook; Ragu would finely cut the vegetables according to Pandithar’s instructions and so would Shankar. Sri would sometimes assume the role of chief meat cook and prepare his specialty. Pirabakaran too would join in the bonhomie often cooking his favourite chicken curry dish. But while this all sounds normal stuff it was in fact a manifestation of Mr. Pirabakaran’s training of his cadres. Pirabakaran had instilled in all his cadres the necessity of each one of them being competent in cooking as a fundamental requirement of a guerrilla fighter. This included Mr.Pirabakaran also. Once the laborious task of cooking and cleaning up was completed and everyone had washed and freshened up, we would spread the mats out on the floor and all sat round, crossed legged, and shared and relished the meal. All the cadres, including Mr. Pirabakaran, who really enjoys delicious, tasty food, were competent cooks. But Pandithar, by mutual agreement, was the best.

For us to eat it was not only necessary to cook, but to shop first. Unlike the West, where food is bought in bulk and stored in refrigerators, in India it is necessary to purchase fresh fish, meat and vegetables on a daily basis. So it was not unusual to see Mr. and Mrs. Balasingham, Pandithar and anyone else who wanted to come, heading off in the hot mid morning Indian sun, to the market. Leisurely we strolled the kilometer or more to the bus stop and waited. With the sight of the big, clumsy grey - green bus lumbering down the road one of us would step out and wave it to a halt. Not used to what seemed like a three feet high step up, Bala and I would clamber onto the bus and take a seat in the open windowed vehicle. A forty-five minute journey and numerous stops on the way through the inner rural areas would bring us to Per Oor local market and its masses of people. Constrained by a budget of ten rupees per person per day Bala, with his keen eye and sharp bargaining, would unburden Pandithar of the responsibility of choosing the freshest fish for the best price.

The afternoon heat in Tamil Nadu forgives anyone who wishes to lay low and avoid it. So except for those compelled by one necessity or another, most people choose shelter - usually a nap - as the best option from the burning afternoon sun. While we napped, Pandithar, despite his very basic knowledge of mathematics, would sit, every day, painstakingly counting and recounting the funds, adding and subtracting the organisation’s accounts and balancing his budget and books.

But once the fierceness of the daylight sun wanes and turns from a shimmering inferno into a benign crimson magnificence overseeing us all, refreshed energy springs up ready to enjoy the cool of the evening. And so off to the cinema we would all go including Mr. Pirabakaran- joining the throngs of people heading in the same direction. While Tamil cinema is the main source of and most popular entertainment in Tamil Nadu, it is popular more for the fantasy than for the content it projects. The beautiful and handsome film stars and the subtle sexual suggestion in a sexually repressed society excite the fantasies and mesmerize the population and draw millions of people to the box office. Mr. Pirabakaran, as well as his cadres, preferred English films particularly war films. But if we didn’t go to the cinema we would all sit upstairs on the flat top roof of a typical Indian house. And here we would enjoy the most wonderful display of the unknown. Cloudless skies permitted a glimpse into infinity by revealing countless numbers of stars reminding us of just how small we are in the universe and how little we know. And for those not interested in philosophical speculation, Bala would amuse the cadres with his witty answers to their curiosities about the more intimate aspects of life. Playing cards, another interest among Tamil men, was banned by Mr. Pirabakaran, but Bala, a keen player in his youthful years, could easily coax the enthusiastic cadres into a clandestine game if Mr. Pirabakaran was out of the house. If he returned unexpectedly Thamby would laugh, jokingly castigate Bala for encouraging the boys down the wrong road, and join in.

As I previously mentioned, the budget in the organisation was tight. Ten rupees per day per person were spent on food. The cadres were allowed two changes of clothes per person. New clothes were bought twice a year. Pocket money for cinema once a week was given to everyone. Smoking and drinking has always been prohibited for the cadres in the organisation so money was never wasted on that expenditure. But the movement was generous with me. I was what in Tamil is called a ‘chella pullai’, or, in English ‘a favoured child’. And so this fondness was expressed by taking me shopping to buy saris or whatever I wanted. Bala was decked out with new glasses and fondness was expressed by showing concern for his greying hair and encouraging him to dye it, which he conceded too. Overspending on the food budget and occasionally eating out were also ways in which care for us was expressed. That was okay for Mr. Pirabakaran whose favourite pastime is trying out all types of food: particularly foreign food.

It was during this visit I was introduced to and started to live with weapons. When I became involved with the LTTE and armed struggle for national freedom I knew that I would have to put my life in jeopardy. There cannot be total commitment to an armed struggle unless one understands and is prepared for the possibility of loosing his or her life. So when I started to handle weapons I considered it as a necessary part of the struggle and I viewed weapons as a necessity for self-defense and an instrument for liberation. Indeed, in the Tamil struggle, the weapons are vital for self- defense. Pirabakaran, Ragu, Pandithar, Shankar and Baby all carried revolver pistols with them for security purposes; but they had their ‘big’ guns too. So it was decided to give ‘Auntie’ some target practice; but first the weapons had to be recovered from their hidden place. Pandithar and Ragu went off to retrieve them and at our rendezvous point I could see these two innocent looking young men strolling along, nonchalantly, with two very long newspaper wrapped parcels dangling in their hands. These parcels were the ‘well-concealed’ weapons and I laughed to myself. I wondered how people would react if they knew that two wanted ‘terrorists’ were carrying automatic rifles on their way to target practice just a few miles out of Chennai.

We traveled a few miles Southward out of Chennai to the coastal area, and there in a young cypress tree plantation the target was set up and I was instructed in the art of shooting. Pirabakaran instructed and demonstrated to me, how to use the revolver. He then handed me the weapon. I, of course, felt clumsy handling it but I thought I should learn how to use it as a part of participation in the struggle. I aimed and hit the target at least once out of six shots. We then turned to the automatic rifle and that was an awesome experience. The power of the recoil nearly made me drop the weapon. Using the weapon didn’t bother me, but anyone who has handled a rifle will immediately feel its potential for destruction. Weapons, big or small, are exactly as they are meant to be deadly. But what I learned from this exercise was not so much my respect for weapons, but the cost involved in a few minutes practice and the privilege I had been subjected to. The six rounds that I had fired off so easily was at the rate of 25 rupees a bullet and, in those days, extremely rare items. In the early stages of the growth of the movement, shooting practice for LTTE cadres was at the rate of about one or two rounds a week and the procurement of a simple revolver was greeted with much celebration. Consequently, there was great discipline in this exercise. Because of the scarcity of ammunition, the cadres used every session of target practice to the optimum trying to achieve maximum accuracy with every shot. The outcome of this constant shortage of ammunition and the difficulty in procuring weapons and fresh supplies of ammunition was the instillation in the cadres of a sense of responsibility and value for the weapon and this remains one of the cardinal principles of the LTTE. But over the years the weapon has become more highly valued since it is well known that many cadres have sacrificed their lives in the battlefield to aquire weapons for the expansion of the struggle. Indeed the weapon was then, and remains so even more today, synonymous with the struggle, the freedom of the people and the sacrifice of the cadres. Furthermore, Mr. Pirabakaran, a man who has an interest in guns and an excellent marksman himself, has also been acutely aware of the lethal potential of weapons and has inculcated strict procedures and discipline into his cadres when handling them. The death of a cadre through misfire reinforces the rules and procedures they are expected to maintain when handling weaponry. So living with weapons came to be part of my life. When I returned to Chennai in 1983, I was the first woman to carry a weapon after Mr. Pirabakaran presented me with a SIG Sauer pistol for both Bala’s and my self-defense. I carried the pistol in my handbag everywhere I went. Ultimately, years later, carrying an automatic rifle and sleeping with one in my room became the norm. And I was always grateful to have one at my disposal.

Several other historical LTTE cadres were in Tamil Nadu during the time of our visit in 1981. Mathaya (Mahendrarajah), the ill fated Deputy Leader of the LTTE, who was executed for treason in 1994, also spent a few days with us. Indeed it was rather praiseworthy circumstances which brought him there. The family of one of the LTTE helpers was being held under house arrest in Jaffna by the Sri Lankan army. Mathaya was courageous enough to help the family a woman and her four children to escape from under the noses of the army and brought them across the seas and delivered them safely to her husband in Chennai. Mathaya’s stay was very brief and I did not have the opportunity to get deeply acquainted with him at that time to understand his personality. He was soft spoken, reserved and engaged in lengthy conversations with Pirabakaran, probably over issues in Tamil Eelam. In later years also, I was never as close to him as I was with other leaders and cadres. This had more to do with opportunity than political or personal differences. But he was always courteous to me during his frequent visits to our house to see Bala.

Another legendary figure from the early days was the indomitable and gregarious Kittu. We first met him at the LTTE camp in Madurai during our 1981 visit to India. Somewhat of a prankster in his youthful days, Kittu delighted in outraging the local population and challenging their conservatism. He donned the sacred white thread of the Brahmins, went to a restaurant, ordered goat meat curry and fried chicken and ate it with great relish while the astonished vegetarian community looked on disapprovingly. But Kittu was undeniably a young man of tremendous leadership ability. His command of the military campaign in Jaffna from 19831987 earned him the reputation amongst his people of both a courageous guerrilla fighter and clever strategist. His charismatic personality enabled him to combine both rigid discipline with congeniality. But I remember Kittu most of all for his unabashed and passionate love of his cadres, people and homeland. Indeed when Kittu came to visit us in Chennai in 1985 he came with a plan to take Bala and myself back to Jaffna with him where he thought he could both protect us and show me around his much loved Jaffna. The hundred thousand or so people who turned out for his memorial service in his home town of Velvettiturai following his tragic death at the hands of the Indian navy in 1993, was not only a tribute but a testimony of the widespread appeal and support for this real son of the soil. Ponnamman, another trusted Lieutenant of Pirabakaran, was in Madurai with Kittu in 1981. A gentle character, Ponnamman was highly respected and much loved by the cadres of the movement. Ponnamman was in the first batch of cadres to be militarily trained by India in 1983 and was responsible for establishing the training camps in Tamil Nadu. He was killed in an accidental explosion in Jaffna.

Final Decisions

On our return to London we were endowed with the unique distinction of having met and lived with the legendary Mr. Pirabakaran and the ITPE guerrilla fighters. In London, we waited expectantly for the day we would return to either Chennai or perhaps even Jaffna. After our visit to India we were not only totally politically committed, but emotionally committed also and we preferred to be directly involved ‘in the field’ as opposed to speculative, armchair politics thousands of miles away from the battlefield. We kept contact with the organisation and continued our political work in London while Bala slogged on half heartedly with a thesis that he now viewed as abstract theorising and of little use to anyone. I returned to earn an income by working night duty as a nurse in one of the big London hospitals. Living with the expectancy that we would one day soon return to either India or Sri Lanka sustained me, for I was physically and emotionally tired of nursing. I had several professional and academic qualifications under my belt nursing was the basic one so it was not very encouraging not to be utilising or building on them. The only advantage nursing gave me was the freedom to choose my own time. Other than that, the profession had become a real slog for me.

Apart from this professional limbo I found myself in, I had to give some thought to my biological clock also. Producing children had not seriously entered into my mind for many years. Of course, as a teenager and young woman I talked and fantasized about having children, but to be very frank, the older I became, the less I viewed motherhood as an option for me, or more precisely, I did not even think of it let alone consider it. But at the age of thirty-one, married for three years and on the brink of throwing everything in and involving in an armed struggle, I thought I should examine all my options, including motherhood. The cadres in Chennai were curious as to why I hadn’t conceived; but that was understandable. In Tamil culture marriage is followed up rapidly by pregnancy and motherhood. Women are expected to produce a child within the first two years of marriage. Most women have their first child within the first year of marriage. The production of children consolidates the relationship of an arranged marriage couple and creates a family situation, which compounds them in mutual responsibilities which are not easy to walk away from if the relationship isn’t as compatible as either would like it. But my objective in marriage was not to produce children. Indeed I married to gain social acceptability of living with the man I loved. I didn’t marry to have children and start a family life. In fact I was taken aback when I realised just how deeply entrenched people’s attachment to established life styles are. I had presumed the world to be more ‘progressive’ in its toleration of different lifestyles but one learns how entrenched social views are only when one steps outside them. I could tolerate the queries about my having children from the cadres when we were in Chennai. Their queries reflected their cultural conception of marriage and womanhood. They would view choosing not to have children as a rationalisation for infertility. In England I came face to face with the hegemony of motherhood on several occasions from colleagues. Some women thought me in someway lacking for not jumping on to the bandwagon of motherhood. But others were out rightly hostile. Even before I had made the final decision, I well remember an occasion when four or five of us were sitting around at work talking about children. When I said I didn’t have any, one of the colleagues, supported by a few others, jumped up and accused me of selfishness and greediness for working and saving money rather than producing children. Of course they had no way of knowing that we were bankrupt and I certainly would not have been working at night if we weren’t.

This tyranny of the reproducers quite took me aback and compelled me to think about how I was perceived by people and whether in fact their criticisms were justifiable. But in the end their criticisms had no impact on my decision. Indeed long before that incident the glorification of pregnancy, labor and delivery had been slightly fractured by my work experience. As a young woman of twenty-one I really enjoyed practicing as a midwife, but pregnancy, labor, confinement and all that maternal stuff had little attraction for me. As a health visitor, observing women staying at home constantly pre-occupied with their children, didn’t appeal to me very much at all. I really thought there must be more to one’s life. Perhaps, had I married at around the age of twenty-two or twenty- three it would have been different, but when I married my life was taking off. I had entered the university at the age of twenty-seven, during which time I never even thought about having children, and then into a different world altogether with my entry into politics. To put it bluntly, I was very happy with my husband, feeling pretty good about myself and, for me, most importantly, I felt free and I could not imagine tying myself to one or two children when, it seemed, the whole world was open to me. By this time my mind had moved a million miles and I aspired for a life beyond a personal family life: or to put it more frankly, my consciousness was more concerned about the oppressed and the poor and I wanted to do something in those areas. I had read widely on women in national liberation struggles and liberation struggles in general, I was reasonably politicised and I felt my life could be best spent in the service of people worse of than me; oppressed people, the poor and so on.

I was fortunate to find a man who not only shared my views but also was in a situation to realise our aspirations. He too was not concerned about producing progeny, but the ultimate decision not to have children was mine. And I have never regretted it. Indeed, as I have learned over the years, one of my most cherished principles in life has been my personal freedom and, in different ways, as I have grown older I find I have become freer. One path to freedom is the shedding or absence of emotional attachments and not having children has freed me of enormous emotional baggage. But having said that I would never presume to impose my view or advocate my lifestyle on anyone. In my perception the right to choose and the control of reproductive potential are women’s fundamental rights and essential for a widening of the scope of decision women can make about their lives. Furthermore, I would never presume to denigrate women who choose motherhood. Not only would it bring me into confrontation with 99% of womanhood (which I wouldn’t want) it would send out many wrong signals about my views. Advocating childlessness as a choice for woman would seem to imply a denial of the delightfulness and endearment of children and the obvious joy children bring to people’s lives and society in general. Beyond that it would undermine the enormous respect and wonder I have over creation. No. Producing children is fundamental to human survival and social life so women need to produce children; and they should have children and a family life if they want that for themselves. But it was not what I wanted and, in the same way as I respect their decision to have children, I expect people, even if they furiously disagree with me, to at least respect my right to choose.

The Waiting Period

Our involvement with the Tamil struggle and our trips to India to meet LTTE leaders brought us into contact with different Tamil groups in London. We knew almost all the young generation espousing the cause of a separate Tamil state. Included in this crowd were London representatives of Eelam People’s Revolutionary Front (EPRLF), People’s Liberation Organisation of Tamil Eelam (PLOTE), Tamil Eelam Liberation Organisation (TELO). We knew of the Eelam Revolutionary Organisation (EROS). Then, as now, they all held different ideologies with different conceptions of the conduction of the struggle or the armed struggle. They were critical of the LTTE for one reason or another. The main criticism they leveled against of the LTTE was its total commitment to armed struggle at the cost of politics. But time has proven that these critics were better at talking politics than organising an effective national movement for national freedom. It is only recently some of the militant organisations have realised the futility of collaborating with the Sinhala state and have become more sympathetic to the LTTE’s cause.

Although I have no personal dislike of any of these armchair revolutionaries I am amazed that we wasted so much talk on these empty vessels now languishing around London in various stages of moral and emotional decay. But pretentious revolutionaries with over inflated egos were not the only people aspiring to be involved in the struggle of their people. The LTTE, in my experience, has a way of attracting some of the most committed, dedicated and decent young men and women into its ranks. This was true in London and it was certainly true in Chennai and Sri Lanka.

Of the London crowd, two young men who were regular visitors to our house returned to Sri Lanka and became popular and historic figures in the history of the LTTE. One was Ratna who later became better known as Murali. A young man driven abroad in search of greener pastures where he could work safely and earn some money for his poor family, Ratna never really settled in London and yearned to return home. And so he did. A few months after the anti-Tamil riots in Sri Lanka in 1983 Ratna followed us to Chennai where we had been since August 1983. He returned to Jaffna and became the first organiser of the Student Organisation of the Liberation Tigers (SOLT) in Jaffna. He was one of those lucky people who quickly made friends and endeared himself to the people and he was successful in mobilising the students in Jaffna for the struggle. Ratna was one of the first LTTE cadres to die in battle at Kopay, on the forward defence lines resisting the Indian army advance into Jaffna town. The other cadre who returned to Jaffna to participate in the struggle was Baheen.

Baheen travelled with us when we returned to Chennai during the tumultuous upheaval of the anti-Tamil riots. The riots made Baheen distraught and I have very vivid memories of him sitting next to Ratna on the floor of our London flat, crying his eyes out and begging us to take him with us when we returned to Chennai in the next few days. Nothing could not console him, nor would he take no for an answer. In the end we conceded to his pleadings. But we had one problem with Baheen. Baheen had overstayed in England and his passport had expired. To overcome this problem some of his friends clumsily altered the expiry date on his passport. When we passed through immigration at Heathrow airport Bala and myself went ahead of Baheen and waited for him to follow. With great nervousness we watched as Baheen handed over his passport to the not so friendly immigration officer. He scrutinised the passport and flicked through the pages looking up occasionally at Baheen. Baheen, desperate that nothing should obstruct his departure, was nonchalant. A sharp immigration officer would have easily noticed that the passport had been tampered with, but I suppose he thought that keeping this fellow in custody was more costly than letting him leave the country, so he waved Baheen on. We sighed with relief once he was through and headed off happily, with some smugness too, to board the plane for Chennai. In Chennai Baheen immediately set about getting himself physically fit and kept pestering everyone to send him to Jaffna. So eventually, happily he went back to his village in Velvettiturai. But it was not long before he was gone, forever. Baheen was one of several young men taken into custody during an army round up Valavettiturai. Unable to escape, Baheen bit into his cyanide capsule and became the first LITE cadre to commit suicide.

It was during this ‘waiting’ period before 1983 I read a great deal. One of our greatest simple pleasures was to spend time in a bookshop browsing and buying books. Quite unconsciously I chose books written by women or I found myself in shops looking at books with female authors. I was an admirer of Doris Lessing’s writing and of Doris Lessing herself; in particular her potential to identify what is wrong and to make decisions to change her life and live the way she wants to, regardless of the personal emotional pain or the pain of others. Elizabeth Croll’s writing on women in China, in particular her book Feminism and Socialism in China, which gives an interesting account of the women’s movement in China and where she deals with the conflict of interests between women’s struggle and social struggle and the emergent problems for women in socialist society, was certainly a great read. Women and State Socialism: Sex Inequality in the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia by Alena Heitlinger is self-explanatory and also extremely informative and thought provoking. Susan Brownmiller’s work on rape, Against Our Will, became a great classic. Ann Oakley’s sociological studies on women were always interesting. The books Sandino’s Daughters, Third World Second Sex and many others setting out the triumphs and adversities of women in struggle, were books for us to identify with and feel inspired by. It all seems along time ago: certainly yesterday’s book are a different reality in struggle.

Having read a fairly extensive list of books to the point of a research project - I started to flirt with the notion of writing. Much more confident than my younger days I set out to sum up women in struggle’s experience in a small book for women in Tamil Eelam interested in participating in the struggle. There is so much commonality of problems between women all over the world and I wanted the women to share in and feel solidarity with other women in struggle. But before I could get into a book the anti-Tamil riots intervened and we returned to Chennai in August 1983. I left all my reference material in London and took only a few notes, which finally became the small book entitled Women and Revolution.

The Turning Point: Black July 1983

The violent events that exploded in Sri Lanka during July 1983 in the form of anti-Tamil racial riots brought about tumultuous changes in the Tamil political struggle. Though there had been periodic anti-Tamil pogroms since 1958, the racial holocaust of July 1983 was the worst in Sri Lankan history for its cruelty, brutality and savagery. Anti-Tamil riots rocked the entire island and the historical hatred of the Sinhalese erupted into volcanic violence bringing death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. Several thousand defenseless Tamil civilians were butchered by the rampaging, bloodthirsty mobs. The inhumanity of the Sinhalese, the genocidal intent of the riots, the violent fury of racism shocked the conscience of the civilized world. This racial upheaval made the Sinhala nation the sick man of South Asia.

This explosion of racial hatred was the response of the Sinhalese to a guerrilla attack that took place in the northern town of Jaffna. On the 23rd July 1983, a commando guerrilla unit of the LTTE under the direct command of Mr. Pirabakaran ambushed an army convoy at Tirunelveli, Jaffna, killing thirteen soldiers on the spot. As far as the LTTE was concerned, it was a successful guerrilla operation. For the Sinhala government it was a humiliating military debacle. This was the first time the Sri Lanka army had suffered heavy casualties. The Jayawardene Government was furious. The Sinhala media highlighted the incident, writing inflammatory reports igniting communal passions among the Sinhalese. The government announced a state funeral for the fallen troops on the following day of the incident. The event was slated as a day of ‘national mourning’. But the Sinhala politicians, the Buddhist priests, the police and armed forces had a different agenda, a secret agenda. For them it was a day to avenge the dead soldiers.

The state funeral of the ‘fallen heroes’ turned into state sponsored mass violence against the Tamil people. Rampaging mobs led by politicians and priests (Buddhist monks) aided and abetted by the police and army stormed Tamil houses, shops, buildings and businesses and plundered the property and murdered the defenseless Tamils. Those who led the unruly mobs had precise information of the Tamil residences and properties. Most of them operated with voter’s lists to identify the Tamil houses. It was impossible for those who lived in Colombo and in the South among the Sinhalese to escape identification. There were unspeakable horrors. Innocent Tamils were beaten and hacked to death. Hundreds of them were burnt alive. While the Tamil victims cried in agony the Sinhala rioters danced in ecstasy. In one incident in Colombo a group of foreign tourists were terror stricken and sickened as they watched a mini-bus load of Tamils being burnt alive while the Sinhala mobs were dancing in a mad frenzy. For forty-eight hours the Government maintained a calculated silence, allowing time for the violent mobs to avenge the dead soldiers. Those prominent politicians who masterminded the carnage ensured not only the mass killing of the Tamils, but also widespread destruction of Tamil property, annihilating the economic base of the Tamil business elite in Colombo. On 26th July, when President Jayawardene finally declared curfew, colossal damage had been done to life and property of the Tamil people. Even the Tamil political detainees in the Welikade prison were brutally attacked and thirty five perished on the 25th July; a horrendous massacre that occurred with the collusion of the prison officers.

Black July of 1983 left a deep scar in the soul of the Tamil nation. The Tamils felt that co-existence between the two nations was impossible. The event gave new momentum to the Tamil struggle for self-determination and political independence. The enactment of the Sixth Amendment of the constitution soon after the anti-Tamil riots forced the moderate Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) to abandon Parliamentary politics and to seek refuge in Tamil Nadu. The doors of constitutional politics were closed to the Tamils. Armed struggle for self-determination became the only viable alternative. Thus, the ugly events of July 1983 marked a turning point in the history of the Tamil political struggle effecting a transition from democratic parliamentary politics to a revolutionary armed resistance campaign.

When the shocking news of the riots in Colombo and elsewhere in Southern Sri Lanka reached London, the entire Tamil community was thrown into a state of agitated anxiety. Everybody scurried for information of what was happening. Panic-stricken people desperately tried to contact their families in Sri Lanka. But most of all the people were outraged and furious. Ironically, a brutal racist outburst, which was set in motion with the objective of teaching the Tamils a lesson for articulating or aspiring for their rights and aimed at cowing them, had the opposite effect. The racial holocaust ignited the dignity and pride of a people in national solidarity against a common enemy, and exacerbated the conditions the Sinhala politicians had been trying to crush. The pogroms drove a deep, irreconcilable wedge between the two people’s and entrenched and escalated the struggle of the Tamil people for political independence in a liberated Tamil state.

Friends and colleagues were coming and going to our flat throughout this emotionally charged period of the riots. LTTE workers from Europe hurried to London for consultation on what to do next. Fund raising for armed struggle was stepped up and LTTE supporters and new converts to Eelam gave generously. It was a time when many Tamil expatriates who had, for sometime, been sitting on the fence, now got off and took sides. For many, the riots were convincing evidence of the impossibility of living in security amongst the Sinhalese. Mr. Pirabakaran sent an urgent message requesting us to return to Chennai. We sorted out our personal matters in preparation for the possibility that we would never return to London, packed our bags and departed for Chennai. Nearly twelve hours later, we landed in Chennai where hundreds of thousands of people were out on the streets in shows of support and solidarity for the Tamils in Sri Lanka. Our lives were never to be the same again.