There is a hidden world that goes mostly overlooked by the busy streets, the fragrant spices, and the noises of daily life, nestled amidst the chaotic terrain of Thoothukudi, a city that is a vibrant monument to its cultural richness. The Tamil exiles from Sri Lanka live in this reality, torn between their unknown future and the past they left behind. The ‘refugee colonies,’ known locally, stand in sharp contrast to the posh areas and shopping centres scattered across the city. The dwellings are modest but full of warmth and resiliency, and the streets are smaller here. In this society, the idea of home was as elusive as a desert mirage, and the distinction between exile and belonging was hazy at best. The poignant experiences of the other Sri Lankan Tamil refugees unfold in these corners, but this world belonged to Meera, a young Tamil woman raised behind the walls of this camp in Thoothukudi, Tamil Nadu, India. Blessy Mathew writes.
Chapter 1: The Fringes of Hope
A strong-willed young woman in her forties, Meera stood at the extreme edge of the camp, staring out at the vast sea. Her eyes, which had once been bright and full of dreams, now had a strange, eerie appearance. As though looking for solutions in the waves that stretched eternally towards the unknown, they appeared to be able to see beyond the horizon. A light breeze rustled her hair, but the unbearable heat did not go away. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as sweat shimmered on her forehead. She held a faded picture close to her heart, a treasured memento of a life gone by. She was standing with her family in front of their modest but contented house in that picture, which is now just left as debris and memories.
Meera’s narrative is merely one thread in the complex tapestry of the Tamil refugee experience in Sri Lanka. The refugee colonies in Thoothukudi, where modest residences coexist, are more than just collections of buildings; they are archives of resiliency and history. Life in these communities moves to a beat of its own, characterised by the hope of returning to a homeland that seems farther away. Like many others in the camp, Meera was left without citizenship or official recognition, leaving her in limbo. They were refused access to essential services and fundamental rights and caught in a legal and bureaucratic maze without identifying documents. Hope had become as scarce in this barren land as water during a drought since the world had turned a blind eye to their predicament. The improvised homes surrounding her narrated tales of both hope and sadness. Youngsters playing in the dust with their faces covered in grim echoed fragilely with their laughter, a reminder of their lost innocence. Older women gathered close to one another, a lifetime of suffering and loss evident in their eyes. Men who had once been the heads of houses were now aimless and without a purpose. In the camp, dreams were abandoned to wither like frail desert flowers that battled to thrive in the hostile environment. It was a microcosm of sorrow. But despite everything, Meera continued to be a ray of hope. She was determined, and like a small but steady flame, she would not give up.
Chapter 2: A Land of Dreams and Desperation
Her thoughts drifted back to the world she had known before the war destroyed it as she stared out at the far-off sea. Her mind was filled with images of her early years, laughing with friends and her family’s loving embrace. But along with those memories came the anguish of loss, an agony that had followed them here into exile and had become a daily companion. She started to think about her parents and their house in Sri Lanka as she lay there.
There was a time when the sounds of children playing cricket, the steady pulse of Tamil music, and the enticing smell of home-cooked meals emanating from kitchens filled the streets of Jaffna. With its immaculate beaches and verdant surroundings, the Jaffna Peninsula was more than simply a location on a map; it was home. However, the aspirations of the people of Jaffna started to fall like sandcastles in a storm when the civil conflict consumed the island nation of Sri Lanka. Government forces and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), a militant group battling for Tamil rights and independence, faced off in this bloody and drawn-out battle.
For many Tamils in Jaffna, the urge to flee became a lifeline as the civil war in Sri Lanka intensified. In an attempt to find safety on foreign soil, families painfully decided to leave behind their homes, belongings, and comfort. The first challenging job of the voyage was to avoid the LTTE’s and government troops’ vigilant gaze. Travel restrictions enforced by the warring parties made it almost impossible to obtain legal permission to depart Jaffna. Consequently, covert operations led by neighbourhood support systems arose to aid those in dire need of escape. Little groups of refugees would congregate at prearranged locations every night, resolve and fear imprinted on their features. Although they were aware of the dangers in store for them on the road ahead, they were unable to resist the promise of safety and freedom waiting on the other side of the Palk Strait. But the trip her family took to cross the Palk Strait when she was five years old was dangerous. The boats that waited for them were hardly the robust craft one would anticipate for a journey across the sea. They were frequently in various degrees of disrepair, overcrowded, and decaying. Squeezing onto tiny boats with their meagre belongings, the refugee families hoped against hope that they would survive the choppy waves.
As they sailed into the unknown, the passengers’ hearts were racing with fear. The elderly turned to prayer for comfort, while the children clung to their parents. The sound of the waves lapping against the flimsy boats’ sides constantly reminded them of the perils they were in. They would be adrift in the vast sea, only the horizon visible, for hours, maybe even days. Testifying to improvised fixes, the boat’s engine chugged along, its erratic beat reflecting the uncertainty of their future. They would be filled with both hope and horror when they saw the flicker of lights on the horizon in the depths of night. They were eager to arrive at the lights that marked the Indian coast, since they served as a beacon of safety. They were aware, however, that they may be intercepted by Indian officials and face imprisonment, expulsion, or worse.
As the sun sank closer to the horizon, the camp was covered in lengthy shadows. Meera realised that again another day was coming to an end, and with it yet another uncertainty and need. She did, however, silently vow to herself and the other people who called this area home that she would never give up and would continue looking for a way out of the limbo that kept them imprisoned between two worlds as the light faded and she tried to forget her experiences.
Chapter 3: The Invisible Lives
Life in the temporary camp for refugees became depressingly monotonous as the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months. The shock and urgency of the beginning had given way to a bone-deep tiredness that seemed to seep into every part of the camp. The harsh conditions the refugees lived in were symbolised by the heat of the sun, which pounded down relentlessly. Built from frayed fabric and rusting poles, the tents had borne the brunt of numerous storms. The cloth was mended with whatever materials the occupants could find, and they slumped under the weight of hopelessness. A harsh reminder of the world they had left behind, the blue waters of the Bay of Bengal shimmered in the distance, enticingly out of reach.
For Meera and hundreds of other Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka who had fled the horrors of civil war and persecution at home, this camp had turned into a kind of purgatory. Denied access to fundamental rights and essential services, they were left stateless and stripped of official status and citizenship. They became entangled in an endless legal and bureaucratic maze. To the outside world, their lives were invisible. The predicament of the migrants served as a sombre reminder of the weaknesses in the current security measures and the moral difficulties society faces when dealing with such vulnerable groups. The weight of their statelessness muffled their voices as they suffered in the shadows of bureaucracy and indifference. In the middle of this ocean of hopelessness, Meera’s soul held firm. For everyone in her vicinity, she had turned into a ray of hope. Her tenacity and fortitude encouraged the community to cling to its hopes for a better life, much like a flickering flame in the dead of night.
Often, Meera would spend her mornings in deep reflection while sitting on the edge of the camp and gazing out over the boundless ocean. Grasping that faded picture close to her heart, she felt a connection with the past and the family she had lost. Even with grief in her eyes, there was still a glimmer of optimism. Tales of sorrow and yearning were passed down in the camp like priceless gems. Older women would get together in the wee hours of the morning, whispering about the life they had left behind. Men would think back on their homes and ways of life, now that they were idle and aimless. Younger generations, unable to completely comprehend the gravity of their circumstances, would listen with wide eyes, taking in the suffering of their elders. She frequently attended these events, providing a consoling presence rather than dwelling on her own grief. She realised that the migrants required more than just financial support; they also required a feeling of community and a motivation to continue. She spoke softly but with such conviction that her comments gave the camp a new lease on life.
Days became months, and Meera’s power increased. She prepared spontaneous classes for the kids, giving them folktales and songs from their native country. She inspired the ladies to pool their culinary talents and, via the aromas of home-cooked food, foster a sense of community. Despite the hazards involved, she even went outside the camp’s confines to negotiate for more supplies and help with the local authorities. She’d emerged as a conspicuous force of change amidst their invisible lives. She had demonstrated to the immigrants that their hopes for a better life were worthwhile and that they were not forgotten. She personified the very best of human resiliency and the ability to find hope even in the most dire situations. But she knew their struggle was far from done when the sun set each evening and left dark shadows over the camp. The desire of a better life remained distant, the bureaucratic obstacles remained unsurmountable, and the outside world remained uninteresting. Nevertheless, Meera’s spirit continued to shine in the face of these difficulties, demonstrating the human spirit’s resiliency and the lasting power of hope.
Chapter 4: The Compassionate Ally
Kindness and consideration had grown scarce in the refugee camp, as elusive as rain in a dry desert. The residents clung to what little optimism they could find, stuck in a never-ending cycle of uncertainty and sorrow. In this desolate environment, Meera met a ray of hope—a kind comrade who would fundamentally alter their paths in life. One hot afternoon, a local social worker named Dr. Rani showed up at the camp. Her presence provided a refreshing contrast to the brutal reality that surrounded the immigrants, like a cool wind on a hot day. Empathy and a strong feeling of moral obligation had driven her to dedicate her life to upholding the Ethics of Care. This way of thinking insisted that each and every person be respected for their intrinsic value and dignity.
When she first saw Dr. Rani, she was walking across the camp with a purpose and an unrelenting gaze. Her quiet drive was contagious, and it was clear that she wasn’t there to lend a helping hand. Her goals were more profound and went right to the heart of the migrants’ humanity. At a community meeting, where they first met, Dr. Rani talked eloquently about the value of maintaining hope and dignity in the face of hardship. Her remarks struck a chord with Meera and many others in the camp, providing a ray of hope amidst the general misery.
Dr. Rani’s presence became a frequent source of solace during the weeks that followed. She listened to the refugees’ experiences as accounts of lives replete with suffering and resiliency rather than as cases to be recorded. She realised that their pain was a heavy psychological and emotional load that went much beyond mere bodily anguish. According to Dr. Rani, compassion is a real experience rather than an abstract idea. She became fully involved in the camp’s daily activities and forged relationships with its residents. She could still recall the kids’ names, anniversaries, and best anecdotes. She spoke with the older women, taking on their sadness and wisdom. She felt compassion for the men who, although formerly the backbone of their families, were now struggling with a feeling of powerlessness. However, Dr. Rani’s kindness went beyond sensitivity. She made real changes in the lives of the refugees. She advocated for better healthcare, clean water, and sanitary facilities with the local government. She planned educational activities for the kids so they could have some normalcy in the middle of the commotion.
Dr. Rani was a kindred spirit for Meera, who had become a leader in the camp. As a team, they developed into a powerful force that sacrificed everything to better the lives of other refugees. With Dr. Rani’s leadership and steadfast encouragement, Meera was even more determined to make a difference—not only for herself but for the community as a whole. Under the gentle guidance of Dr. Rani, the camp gradually changed. Once expressions of resignation, the faces of its people started to show a hint of hope. The men rediscovered a sense of purpose by working together to better their living conditions, the elderly women found comfort in their shared experiences, and the children’s laughter became more contagious.
The refugees had discovered an advocate in Dr. Rani, someone who did not view them as statistics in a humanitarian disaster but rather as unique people in need of care and protection. Her dedication cut above the bureaucratic walls that had trapped them, demonstrating that sincere compassion could, in fact, overcome the most difficult challenges. One evening, as Meera surveyed the newly altered camp, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of thankfulness. Dr. Rani had demonstrated to them that the Ethics of Care could flourish in the most hopeless situations, nurturing both their bodies and spirits. The power of compassion was restoring the refugees’ humanity and dignity, allowing their previously unseen lives to become visible again.
Chapter 5: Resilience in the Shadows
The camp for refugees had changed from being a place of hopelessness to one of resiliency. As Meera’s story progressed, it became clear how strong people become who once used to hide in the shadows. The refugees’ links of solidarity grew stronger with every day that went by. They had developed into a kind of surrogate family, providing consolation, sympathy, and support to one another. The emergence of a communal spirit was evidence of the human ability to persevere despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles. In the centre of this community, Meera represented tenacity and hope. Her transformation from hopelessness to resolute determination had not gone unnoticed. She was now a lighthouse, illuminating the path for everyone in her path. Her bonds with her fellow refugees served as a living example of the need of providing for one another.
Since they had only experienced the harsh reality of life in exile, the youngsters at the camp were among the most defenceless. Meera decided it was her responsibility to provide them some sort of normalcy. She planned spontaneous classes and taught them games, songs, and stories from their native country. These happy moments become like oasis in the middle of the desert. Their common recollections provided comfort to the elderly women as well. When they got together in the evenings, they spoke softly but with a wealth of knowledge and experience. They maintained the torch of their culture in the unlikeliest of settings by passing down customs and knowledge through their stories.
Previously providing for their families and serving as guardians, now the men had lost their positions. Many battled feelings of powerlessness. Seeing that they needed a purpose, Meera organised group efforts to better their living conditions with Dr. Rani’s help. They took satisfaction in the improvements they were making and started working as builders and repairmen for the camp. With her fellow migrants, Meera had relationships characterised by an unshakeable feeling of care. They cared for one other’s children, shared their little resources, and provided shoulders to cry on. It was a sobering reminder that support could be found in the most unlikely of places, casting doubt on the idea that people in positions of authority were the only ones who could provide it. The camp for refugees had changed dramatically as the days stretched into months and the monsoon rains gave way to the intense heat once more. It was now more than just a place to stay; it was a resilient community united by the shared goals of survival and hope.
Chapter 6: The Guiding Light
Dr. Rani and Meera had a late-night talk that gave rise to a straightforward concept. They had frequently talked about the necessity for a longer-term, more comprehensive solution to the refugees’ statelessness than just providing them with food and shelter. They realised that obtaining proper identity documents was essential to escaping the maze of bureaucracy. The people who lived in the camp had been marginalised by society for far too long. They were denied access to fundamental rights, education, and jobs because they were stateless and unrecognised. Years had passed, and it was still this kind of unseen pressure. Dr. Rani was driven to pursue justice for the refugees by her unshakable faith in the Ethics of Care. Dr. Rani and Meera set out on a voyage together that would put their determination to the test. They sought help in negotiating the intricate web of paperwork that had entangled the refugees by contacting friendly government officials, human rights organisations, and lawyers in the area. Even though it was an overwhelming assignment that occasionally appeared unachievable, they remained unfazed.
The neighbours united in support of them. Once helpless men and women started to band together and mobilise their combined might to demand that their rights be recognised. The children became the voices of a generation that had only known exile because of Meera’s persistent dedication. As word of their suffering spread, unexpected sources of help began to come in. Journalists, attorneys, and activists started to become interested in their situation, bringing attention to the lives that were long overlooked yet were invisible. As the international world began to realise that the statelessness of the migrants constituted a global humanitarian disaster rather than a local problem, it too began to pay attention. When a receptive government official consented to meet with Dr. Rani and Meera, it was a game-changer. As they made their case for citizenship and acknowledgment, it was an anxious and hopeful occasion. Inspired by their tenacity and the resounding support they had received, the official pledged to champion their case at the highest echelons of the administration.
Negotiations and lobbying attempts continued for months after that. It was a difficult process with many disappointments and dark periods. But the community as a whole, including Meera and Dr. Rani, remained steadfast. They had battled too hard and travelled too far to go back at this point. The breakthrough materialised at last. Acknowledging the injustice that had held the refugees in a state of uncertainty for so long, the government acknowledged the refugees’ right to citizenship. That was a moment of victory—a triumph of fortitude, empathy, and unflinching faith in the ethics of care. Tears of excitement spilled over as the migrants were given their official identity documents. The camp, which had before represented hopelessness, was now a site of joy. At once the invisible lives that had been ignored for so long might be seen, acknowledged, and safeguarded.
The tale of “Between Two Worlds” had come to life like a resilient, compassionate, and hopeful tapestry. It was a story that illuminated the unseen lives of the stateless population and clarified the moral ramifications of passivity and inaction. It was not just a story for the audience to sit back and enjoy, though; it was also a call to action, an appeal for compassion, and a reminder that feelings of love, grief, and longing are universal and do not respect national boundaries, even when those boundaries are marked by the agony of being stateless. Numerous additional people who lived on the periphery of society, hidden from the view of those with the ability to change things, were represented by the unseen lives of the refugees in the story. They had become stateless due to events beyond their control, which may happen to any of us, not because of a decision they made. “Between Two Worlds” was more than just a tale; it served as a mirror reflecting the moral ambiguities and injustices that continued to exist in the actual world. It made us reflect on our own responsibilities for improving the situation of stateless communities and creating a more welcoming and caring global community. The story serves as a reminder that boundaries—whether they be administrative or physical—should not stand in the way of compassion and action. It exhorted us to speak out in favour of reform, become involved in statelessness concerns, and offer our support to organisations and individuals that dedicate their lives to helping those in need and keeping them safe.
[Cover Image: Tamil civilian women at a refugee camp on the outskirts of the northern Sri Lankan town of Vavuniya. Source: Lakruwan Wanniarachchi/Reuters/Pool, published in Rediff News, 2016]
Blessy Mathew is a PhD candidate at the Department of Political Science, University of Hyderabad, Telengana, India. Blessy maybe reached at bless1911@gmail.com. This article was developed as part of optional Module F2 (Ethics of Care and Protection) of Calcutta Research Group’s Eighth Annual Research and Orientation Workshop on Global Protection of Migrants and Refugees.
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