25 years ago this month in Sri Lanka, riots broke out between the majority Singhalese and minority Tamils, an event that came to be known as Black July. On July 23, 1983, Tamil Tiger rebels ambushed and killed 13 government soldiers in the northern town of Jaffna. Singhalese nationalists used the incident to whip up anti-Tamil feelings and, a day later, thousands of Singhalese went on the rampage against Tamils. Some sources claim that as many as 3000 people were killed. The official figure is under 400.
Thousands of Tamils fled the chaos, leaving behind loved ones and belongings to escape. Some moved to Tamil regions of Sri Lanka and many others, like commentator Kannan Arunasalam's family, left the country for good. Not everyone left their homes however. Some Tamils stayed and survived the violence with help from their friends. A fact that often goes unrecognised is that many of Tamils were helped by their Singhalese and Muslim neighbours. These neighbours risked their own lives to protect their Tamil friends.
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A story of courage
By Kannan Arunasalam
I caught up with my cousin Anjali, now living in Britain, to speak to her about her experiences of Black July, events that forced her family to leave Sri Lanka for good. Anjali was just 13 years old, but she remembers the events vividly. Her family lived in the hill country town of Kandy, some 70 miles from the capital Colombo.
 Kandy, Sri Lanka. Photo: McKay Savage |
She remembers how the 24th of July started and continued like any other: her journey on the school bus and the usual day's lessons. But towards the end of the day something strange happened. Her teachers asked the girls to remove their pottu, the mark worn by Tamil women and girls on their forehead. As Anjali rubbed the pottu mark off her forehead, she knew something was not quite right.
Her suspicions increased when an uncle from Colombo called up that evening, urging the family not to stay in the house, especially since Anjali's father was in London at the time. While Anjali's mother was busy packing, she and her brother were more concerned with hiding things around the house. It became a game for them. Anjali hid her violin under her bed thinking it was the safest place.
Riots and killings
As they were packing, Padma, a Singhalese family friend arrived at the house. She suggested that they stay with her family until things calm down. Padma's family was large, so the prospect of spending time with children her own age was exciting for Anjali. They left the house with three suitcases packed with clothes, thinking they would be away for only couple of days.
That evening, Anjali remembers how the adults sat around the dining table trying to tune the radio so that they could catch the BBC World Service, the only reliable link to news of the emerging chaos around the country. But with so many people under the same roof, Anjali felt safe. The children were pleased that they were allowed to stay up so late.
The fear first struck Anjali when she heard the noise of the mob talking and marching outside the house. She overheard the adults saying that they were some thirty or forty of them. She started to listen to the news. People were calling the house. The riots had spread across the island; Tamils were being killed and their homes destroyed.
 Buddhist procession in Kandy Photo: Thomas Brauner |
A few days later Anjali's family learned that their own house had been burnt down. But it was only after two weeks that they felt safe enough to leave Padma's house. During the journey, Anjali remembers thinking whether her violin would still be there. When they arrived, they were shocked to see the charred remains of their former home. Each room had a single heap of burnt remains, as if their belongings had been emptied from their cupboards and piled up to ensure that nothing remained.
In late August, Anjali and her family left the country as refugees to join their father in England. Like thousands of others, they started new lives there. Anjali's family is of course deeply aware that Padma's family risked their lives to protect them. She wonders now how they must have felt, putting their own family at risk. But whenever they have met since, the families never talk about Black July. Not because it is a taboo subject, but because they feel that what they did was only normal, what any human being would have done in their position.
Trust
For me, telling Anjali's story is important. When your government is fuelling the frenzy and your own president is failing to condemn the atrocities, but you still risk being branded a traitor and losing your life at the hands of an angry mob, maybe it is time to hear more of these stories of courage. Where people saw beyond ethnicity and as human beings. Perhaps then it will help these two communities to begin to trust one another, especially now as the war continues unabated.
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Omer Cassim Mohammed Sevahir is one of those exceptions. He is a Muslim, living in a small Muslim community amidst the Singhalese majority and tiny pockets of Tamils.
He has friends of all backgrounds, and over the years his friends have learned that if trouble comes, Omer's door is open. Omer works as a driver for an international news agency and that's how correspondent Andrea Wenzel got to know him.
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Tags: Black July, Colombo, courage, Jaffna, Muslims, Singhalese, Sri Lanka, Tamil Tigers, Tamils