The four Tamil Sri Lankan-Americans who ventured back to Yalpannam knew the story well.  After all, it was only one generation that stood between them and the violence whose legacy left no Tamil family untouched.  It had been passed down through ammammas and ammas, re-constructed in academic texts, explored through journalistic exposes, and stripped of its factual particulars by opposition political parties.  As we walked past bullet-ridden buildings and spray-painted taggings of the LTTE, paid our respects at the Mahaveerar cemetery, brushed off the dust kicked up by the army trucks which thundered through the middle of town…not only did that story come to life, but it no longer stood as a reality outside of ourselves something to be studied, informed about, and observed.  In those 21 days, through those 40 children, the tale of the struggle for Tamil Eelam became embedded within us, not as history or ancestry- but as an essential part of who we are.

12 VISIONS volunteers of 2004 with Jaffna students

However, arriving at this identity epiphany was no simple process.  First, it required that us first-worlders acclimate ourselves to beetles in blankets, spiders in the "shower", jumping geckos…daily encounters with a virtual smorgasbord of the earth’s most despised creatures.  Then, the carnivores amongst us quickly learnt that at a Hindu Board-run orphanage, the only thing we would be sinking our teeth into was a ripe banana at every meal.  These culture shocks and lifestyle discomforts we reassured ourselves were endured for a reason.  But what was that reason?

Presumably the answer was the children:  Forty children, fifteen brought North from the Eastern provinces, and twenty-five who resided in Jaffna itself.  The children, it seemed, were a bit more skeptical.  Children, of all ages, have a disarming ability to de-construct everything about you, to force you to evaluate who you are, what your strengths are, the significance of what you are doing and plan to do.  As we attempted to view ourselves with the simplicity and clarity these children possessed...we saw that the children of the NorthEast of Sri Lanka were not, and did not want to be, our purpose.

In one leadership lesson we struggled to navigate the complex web of language barriers to convey the distinction between sympathy and empathy.  Perhaps they were keen on regurgitating the new lesson, but in hindsight, these children had an impressively profound grasp on the definition of empathy.  They wanted us to speak English and to learn Tamil, to teach them cards and to learn Sri Lankan skipping games, to listen to their experiences…but not to pity their situation.

As the children, and many of the people around them, warmly embraced us, we were allowed a glimpse into their world.  Presented with the harsh reality of daily wartime atrocities, the Tamil people of Jaffna recoiled into the only comfort zone which remained, their culture.  The lines that defined a conservative Jaffna Tamil society were re-affirmed by the strict conduct code of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam.  Whether riding on a bike, studying in a classroom, practicing as a physician, or playing sports, women wore their long hair in a neat plait, small gold earrings adorning their ears, long skirts, and a centered bright red kungamum for those for whom a marriage proposal had been successful (a mark seen infrequently in recent years).  To venture even slightly outside these cultural norms set in stone is to leave oneself vulnerable to harsh judgements, bold questions, criticism and suggestions intended to nudge one back within the realm of what is acceptable.

As they erected their walls to stave off modernity and preserve their way of life against an increasingly uncertain world around them, the traumatic tales of the war became aberrations in the history of this conservative society- not to be discussed, not to be revealed.  But the stories which had been so carefully tucked away eventually pushed their way to the surface.  They emerged through the silent tears a young girl during an English lesson, as she mourned the recent loss of her brother in the continuing skirmishes plaguing the Batticaloa region.  The presence of traumatic histories was felt in trips to the LTTE cemeteries where certain women wouldn’t enter, and young boys who had lost their fathers to the cause, proclaimed themselves ardent supporters of the LTTE.  "For ‘our people’ they are good" claimed the boys, infected with the pervading nationalism for Tamil Eelam.

The residuals of decades of conflict combined with the strict codes of Jaffna Tamil society produced unexpected results when we gingerly broached the topic of gender with the children.  Determined to not impose western feminist ideology on the children in the VISIONS program, we structured the session in a dialogue format, asking boys and girls identical questions, encouraging them to speak their minds, ensuring that their voices were heard.  The usually timid women of the group boldly spoke out for gender equality, citing the strength of women in childbirth, as soldiers and as mothers.  Some men conceded the points that could not be debated, while others clung to the chauvinistic perceptions of gender relations that had been ingrained in them through the generations.  One point was universally agreed upon.  They had never had a discussion like this before and appreciated that a forum had been provided to air these issues.

Two-time VISIONS volunteer Nimmi Gowrinathan with children in Jaffna

As layers of the Jaffna Tamil society were slowly peeled away, we understood that like any other conflict zone there existed a variety of untold stories, unaddressed issues, and individuals who suffered in silence.  UNICEF provides funds to the homes housing children who have lost two parents.  What about those homes which shelter the child whose father joined the LTTE and mother tried to marry her off to a much older man who had tried to kill her father?  Women’s studies research draws attention to the multitudes of young women committing suicide every year in Jaffna.  Who will listen to the educated woman whose marital choices were limited by the war, and married a farmer whose insecurities led him to lock her in the house, paranoid that she was interacting with other men in her professional activities?  Human rights groups attack the rebel group for accepting the young women "child soldiers" who willingly enter the movement.  Who stands up for the women who stay home and accept their fate to be married off at a young age to men who spend most nights at the home of their mistresses, commonly referred to as their "chinnaveedu "?

Did VISIONS make a difference in these childrens’ lives or fulfill our purpose?  One girl told us that her elder brother had been in the program the previous year and told her that it was the happiest time of his life.  If the returning children from Batticaloa were any evidence, they astounded us with their growth over 12 months.  They were positive, motivated, helpful - they were leaders.  We had thought that perhaps it would best to be dispassionate and face the children with a measured sense of objectivity lest we get emotionally involved, potentially a detriment to our ability to implement our mission statement.  However, the children themselves dictated the tone of our interactions, pouring their thoughts and affections into every aspect of the VISIONS program.  Perhaps we arrived in Jaffna as role models to the children we worked with, however it was with the perspective they offered us that we could envision the type of role models we wanted to be.  Participating in VISIONS activities they learnt an essential vocabulary list: empathy, respect, compassion, confidence, trust.  For these concepts, we taught them the definitions, and in the end, they taught us the meanings.

- Nimmi Gowrinathan ( nimmig4@hotmail.com )

PhD Student, University of California at Los Angeles