Written by: Shayanika. S
As the roosters called the dawn of yet another day, little did they know of the events that would unfold changing the fate of many. Soon, people were slowly getting out of their beds, getting ready amidst yawns and stretches. Some going out for a quick morning jog or for a swim. Others grabbing a cup of warm tea or coffee and toast as they run out the door. Streets bustling with cars, buses and autorickshaws, Autodrivers and bikers sneaking into the little gaps of the morning traffic. Street vendors peeping their heads into the autos and knocking on car windows trying to make their first sale of the day. Excited children chattering and giggling as they crossed the streets on their way to school. Store owners hastily opening the shutters in order to get things ready for their first customers. Market vendors calling out to passers-by: “Ayya, Amma, Maattayya…Good price here…Come buy”. It was a busy morning just like any other in the heart of the capital city of a beautiful and luscious island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
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As it neared the end of a working day, businesses were getting ready to close, people were trying to get home before the evening rush hour, school children going to tuition classes with their friends. All was well…until…men armed with large sticks, knives, cans of petrol and matchsticks set to work. Also in their hands were copies of voting lists distinguishing Tamils and Sinhalese, and conveniently listing their respective residential addresses. Innocent people crossing the streets were first to be attacked. Vehicles were abruptly stopped as the men passed them to inspect every single one of them and as such catch any Tamil who might be hiding in the comfort of a vehicle away from the chaos on the streets. Once the identity was confirmed to be Tamil, there was no hope of survival for the individual, who was to be forcibly dragged to the streets, beaten, stabbed and burnt alive. Businesses and their owners were no exception. Their store signs were enough to identify them, and most were burnt alive with their life earnings. The very shutters they had eagerly opened for business that morning were pulled shut trapping them, forcing them to embrace death.
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The violence had dragged on into the early hours of the next day. Tamil homes were searched. Anyone who dared question the actions of the mob or the officers faced an immediate sentence of death. Every penny that these individuals had earned and stored in their homes was looted. Even Tamil prisoners awaiting their trials were not left alive. They were severely tortured and beaten to death. Tens of thousands of Tamils, who were now homeless, sought refuge in schools and places of worship. It was not until several days later that the violence slowly came to an end.
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The streets were covered with tears, blood and ashes. The thick black smoke that filled the air made it hard to see and even harder to breathe. A foul stench of death filled the air. Every Tamil individual that had walked those streets several days ago were now dead or homeless. Due to the long days of violence, food was a shortage. In order to stay alive, those that had sought refuge ate whatever they could find around them. No one dared risk venturing far in search for food in case of being attacked.
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The trauma of experiencing such violence left the Tamil survivors in much fear. Many, afraid to continue living in Colombo, fled to their traditional homeland in the north and east and attempted to build their lives from scratch. Others sought immediate means to leave their home country and seek refuge abroad.
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This was Black July and it is the lives of our brothers and sisters, which were taken away from them during this period that we seek to remember. This month is significant for every Tamil living in Sri Lanka and in countries all over the world. Black July is a part of our history, of our identity and embrace it we must.
In remembrance of the events of Black July ’83…
Tags: Speak Out
