At dawn, 48-year-old Sivakumar Chandradevi loads equipment and supplies onto a boat that sets off for Mantivu, a deserted island off Sri Lanka’s Jaffna Peninsula.
The island, littered with landmines from the country’s civil war, is her team’s daily battleground. Chandradevi leads a demining crew working to make the land safe once more.
For these women, demining is a means to support their families.
“Working here is really tough, so taking care of a team in the midst of all these things is quite challenging,” she said.
Together, they carefully unearth factory-made and improvised explosives — remnants of a brutal conflict that claimed more than 100,000 lives.
“If we didn’t clear the mines, people would lose their limbs or lives. Sometimes fishermen come along with their children, taking them fishing. Clearing the mines makes them feel safe and protected. I hope nobody gets affected by the landmines the way we once were,” she said.
Demining the legacy of Sri Lanka’s civil war
During Sri Lanka’s 26-year civil war, both the Sri Lankan Army and the Tamil rebels of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), known as the “Tamil Tigers,” laid tens of thousands of anti-personnel mines to secure territory and fortify frontlines.
The Tamil rebels sought to establish an independent homeland, citing systemic marginalization by the Sinhalese-majority government.
Even after the war ended in 2009, resulting in the crushing defeat of the LTTE, the landmines have continued to endanger civilians.
Forty-seven-year-old Sundramurthi Sasireka, a demining field supervisor, described the demining work as an act of defiance against the “cursed land” of Muhamalai, a former frontline between the warring sides.
“If we clear all these mines, thousands of people will get their livelihoods back,” she said.
Sasireka’s life has been shaped by years of conflict, and despite all odds, her work has made her the resilient and determined woman she is today.
“Women can stand on their own with a little courage,” said Sasireka, who juggles the demands of her dangerous job with caring for her son and elderly mother.
Both Sasireka and Chandradevi work for the Halo Trust, an NGO dedicated to the humanitarian task of clearing landmines and unexploded ordnance while supporting communities affected by conflict.
Mothers, sisters and wives of the disappeared
While deminers work to remove the physical remnants of the war, another unresolved trauma looms large: the disappearance of over 20,000 people, mostly Tamils, during the conflict.
In 2020, the Sri Lankan government declared all missing persons dead, a move that left families feeling abandoned in their search for justice.
Reports from the United Nations and human rights organizations, such as Amnesty International, have highlighted that Sri Lanka has the second-highest number of disappearances globally.
As most of the disappeared were men, it is primarily mothers, sisters and wives who have led the search for their loved ones.
According to the UN, enforced disappearances were primarily used by Sri Lankan security forces and the paramilitary group LTTE to intimidate and suppress perceived opponents.
For 74-year-old Nadaraja Sivaranjani, whose son and granddaughter disappeared in 2009, the wounds are still raw. Holding onto photos of her loved ones, she questions the government’s offer of compensation: “Would a mother accept money in place of her child?”
Survivors and activists argue that without a genuine effort to investigate these disappearances and bring perpetrators to justice, reconciliation will remain unlikely.
Change of leadership in Sri Lanka
The Sri Lankan government’s promises of reconciliation have long been met with skepticism. Newly elected President Anura Kumara Dissanayake recently pledged to return lands seized by the military to displaced Tamils.
In Mullaithivu, some are legally fighting for the rights of those whose lands were seized.
“Farmers, fishermen, and poor people come to us saying, ‘This state department has filed a case against our land, and now we have nothing for agriculture,'” said V.S.S. Thananchayan, a Mullaithivu-based human rights lawyer.
“Most of them lost their documents during the 2009 war or the 2004 tsunami. Collecting documents or evidence to prove our case in court is extremely difficult.”
In Sri Lanka’s east and north, Tamil farmers and activists face land seizures under the guise of state-backed development projects.
During the final stages of the war, both the Sri Lankan Army and the LTTE committed atrocities, including mass killings, enforced disappearances, and gender-based violence.
The United Nations has documented these crimes, but successive governments have resisted calls for an independent war crimes tribunal, framing these issues as internal matters.
Whether the new president will fulfill his promise to return of the seized lands and pave the way for reconciliation measures remains to be seen.
Reconciliation measures amid cultural and linguistal divides
The lack of accountability has compounded the mistrust between Tamil communities and the state. While infrastructure in the Tamil-majority north and east remains underdeveloped, the Sinhalese-majority south has seen significant investment.
The linguistic and cultural divide between the Tamil and Sinhalese communities remains a significant barrier to reconcilliation.
Amita Arudpragasam, a former reconciliation official, notes the chronic shortage of bilingual officials in key institutions like police stations, hospitals, and courts.
“Without state involvement, my fear is that communities will move further apart rather than come together,” she warned, adding that the victim community is seeking accountability in various forms, including public apologies, acknowledment or sentencing.
Healing emotional wounds and trauma
The physical scars of the conflict — landmines, ruined homes and mass graves — are matched by the emotional wounds that linger.
Chandradevi’s life has been marked by immense loss and unrelenting grief. Like many others affected by the war, she continues to hold onto a fragile hope of reuniting with her loved ones.
“My husband and son went missing, and we’re still searching for them,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “There are many others like us. We’re clinging to a sliver of hope. All we have left are our tears.”
The emotional toll of these losses has profoundly affected Chandradevi’s mental health.
“I’ve never known happiness in life,” she shared. “The only peace I find is when I’m working — otherwise, I would have lost my mind.”
The work of women like Chandradevi and Sasireka is a persistent act of rebuilding and reclaiming, but their efforts alone cannot address the longstanding divisions caused by the war.
Edited by: Keith Walker
