The tamil and sudanese slaves’s cattle camps

Michael was one of the first slaves to tell his tale. His eyes were
red, fatigue showed on his weathered face. Scars marked the places
where wounds from beatings have never healed. He said his wife was
stabbed to death by their master’s wives, four Arab women who were
angry she was at the water well with them. Michael was beaten
unconscious because he charged his master when he heard the news of
his wife’s death.

The younger slaves, children like Ahkmed, were born into slavery. His
mother was killed by her master. Ahkmed has no idea where his father
is, no clue of his age. The reddish tint in his hair shows how
malnourished he is. His clothes were ripped and dirty, barely hanging
on him.

This organized rescue of slaves was begun about 20 years ago by the
Sudanese themselves. The Arab/Dinka Peace Committee is a grassroots
organization that liberates Sudanese slaves. The covert operation
generally begins in cattle camps in the north, where the underground
network trades slaves for cattle vaccine. Each vaccine is worth about
$40, and it costs one or two vaccines per slave. Livestock is much
more valuable to the Arab slave masters than are human beings.

Pastor Heidi McGinness, Denver-based director of outreach for CSI-USA,
has made the journey to Sudan many times. “I live to see family
reunions,” McGuiness said. “Mothers, fathers reunited with sons and
daughters taken into slavery, thought dead but returned alive, is the
greatest joy one could observe.

And, let’s face it. These victims are black. Politically, Darfur is in
bed with China, which is in bed with the United States. Slavery in
Sudan is a three-pronged issue: race, religion and politics.

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I never have more than a few minutes to capture decades — centuries?
– of labyrinthine history. In recent years, especially following the
2004 tsunami and the collapse several months ago of a tattered cease-
fire between the government and the , a separatist militant group, Sri
Lanka has appeared in the news slightly more than usual. But even this
isn’t very much, so I can understand why the question is asked. Who’s
willing to give it more than those few minutes? I’m never sure, and so
I find myself wrestling to construct responsible boilerplate that at
least suggests Sri Lanka’s historical and political complexity. Of
course, when I wrote the book, this was not a job I aimed to do.

“Love Marriage” tells the story of the way Sri Lankan politics affect
a family living in the United States. The story takes Yalini and her
family from suburban America to Toronto, where they are reunited with
an uncle who has left Sri Lanka after a life of militancy with the
Tamil Tigers. The book is about specific characters, not
representatives of a culture. Still, I had to do my homework to write
it, so I did become versed in some history. Add to that the fact that
my parents emigrated to the United States from Sri Lanka, and it makes
some sense for reading audiences, reporters and others to ask me
questions about the country.

An island about 25 miles off the southern tip of India, Sri Lanka is a
complex place, with multiple ethnicities, religions, languages,
loyalties and histories. In July 1983, long-simmering tensions there
exploded into ethnic riots. An ambush of 13 soldiers from the
country’s ethnic Sinhalese majority by militants from its Tamil
minority ushered in days of anti-Tamil violence in which the
Sinhalese-dominated government was obviously complicit. Voter lists
made it easy to find Tamil citizens, Tamil stores and homes were
destroyed, and thousands of Tamils were killed. In the aftermath, many
Tamils emigrated, finding refuge in Western countries, including
Australia, Britain and Canada. Today, in those Western countries, the
players in Sri Lankan politics are generally characterized as the
Tamil Tigers, a militant separatist group fighting for a Tamil
homeland in the northern and eastern parts of the island, and the
government, which has discriminated against Tamils for decades.

I am hardly a substitute for all these voices. But I cannot dictate
how people hear me, and given these moments of opportunity to speak
publicly about a place that I love, I feel compelled to take them.

I was completely thrown. I don’t even remember how I began. Perhaps I
picked up the chalk and drew the lumpy map of the country. (The
professor: Does it really look like . . . that?) Or perhaps I began by
trying to explain the ethnic conflict. (The professor: Who are these
different groups? How did they originate? Can you explain the
different groups of Tamils? What do you mean, Ceylon Tamil? And the
up-country Tamils, who work on tea estates? And are the Muslims Tamil?
No? But don’t they speak Tamil?) Whatever I did, it was wrong — or
not right enough, or not complete enough. When the class ended, I was
still trying to explain Sri Lanka. We hadn’t even gotten to the book I
had been assigned to discuss. I left the room stunned at my inability
to put the country’s history into brief, teachable terms. You’ll thank
me later, the professor said. Next year, when your book comes out,
people will ask you that question — and then they will dissect your
answer.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008 :In a blatant effort to scuttle tomorrows one-
day strike by hundreds of unions, the Sri Lankan government has
mounted a terrorist scare, claiming to have information that the
Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) could set off bombs in the
South this week.