There are two ways into Batticaloa, by road and by rail, and both are heavily guarded. On a recent journey from Colombo my train was stopped by government forces and searched from top to bottom. The police officers went from car to car, checking to make sure that every piece of luggage was claimed, before allowing the train to proceed into town. The next day, army officers stopped the local bus I was riding and forced everyone except old men and mothers to disembark for a body search. The day after that my trishaw was pulled over no less than three times in the course of an hour-long ride.
According to the Batticaloa residents I spoke with, this represents major progress over the city’s condition during the war. When I complained to a friend about how many times my trishaw was pulled over, she said that there used to be seven checkpoints along that same stretch of road. It’s safer to travel at night than it used to be, although the roads are still largely deserted after seven in the evening. By 10 the city is a ghost town—no people on the streets, no lights in the windows, no sounds except the frogs and crickets.
While in town I stayed at a cozy guest house mostly occupied by NGO workers—one Englishwoman and two Germans. The guest house’s manager told me that business fell off when aid workers who came to Batticaloa after the tsunami began to leave a few years ago. Since there is still virtually no tourism in the East, the manager relies on NGOs operating in the area to supply him with guests. He’s optimistic about the future, though, and is putting up a new building to house the tourists he hopes will come back.
Like the manager, the government seems to believe that with the war over tourism will inevitably return to the East. But what I saw on my trip to Batticaloa casts doubt on that assumption. First, Batticaloa’s infrastructure is in near-total disrepair. The narrow two-lane road into town is dark—there are few streetlights—and pockmarked with gaping holes. Workers have begun to widen and improve one stretch of road, but it will take months, if not years, to complete the repairs. At least the main road was paved. When I was in town most of Batticaloa’s dirt streets had been reduced to rust-coloured mud by the monsoon rains.
Because there is only one railway track into town, my inbound train from Colombo had to wait half an hour on an alternate track for the outbound train to pass. The final leg of the train journey was so bumpy that I couldn’t read the book in my lap. Even the infrastructure projects that have already been approved seem to have stalled. Near the city’s lagoon an enormous billboard announces the construction of a replacement for the Kallady bridge. The only evidence of such a project is a dirt berm on one side of the lagoon, now abandoned but apparently intended as a ramp. On a positive note, the government seems to have carried out a badly-needed expansion of the local hospital.
The second factor impeding the tourism industry is the pervasive militarization of the city. Gun-wielding men in uniform are so ubiquitous that a visitor may be excused for mistaking Batticaloa for a giant army barracks. There seems to be a soldier on every corner, a checkpoint at every intersection, and a barbed-wire-enclosed army base at the end of every road. “Where are you from? Where are you going?” I was asked again and again. The soldiers seemed to be asking more out of boredom than concern. Even the local residents at Pasikuda Beach must enjoy themselves under the watchful eye of a nearby army outpost. Will the outpost be removed to make way for the luxury hotels intended to be built on this pristine beach?
The owner of the nearby guest house where I had lunch told me that the land along the Pasikuda Beach had been leased by the state to many private companies. He had been told that 13 new hotels were to be built there, and residents of Batticaloa have heard similar stories. It’s hard to imagine that after decades of warfare and violence Batticaloa can become a tourist destination anytime soon. Ironically, right after the tsunami many of the local fishing communities were made to move inland, supposedly out of concern for their safety. Now this same “unsafe” beach is to be sold to private companies, inevitably creating problems for the fishermen.
Despite stories of disappearances, and continuing military and para-military operations that intimidate the local population, some people seem to believe that large-scale tourism can be quickly developed. Yes, the army’s presence is probably necessary to prevent the renewal of fighting among the TMVP, Karuna’s supporters, and remnants of the LTTE. And I have no doubt that the city has fewer soldiers and checkpoints than before. But as long as the East looks and feels like an occupied territory it’s going to be hard to convince tourists from Sri Lanka or abroad to spend their vacations here. Judging from the stares I received during my visit the city sees few Westerners.
Although first-time visitors are shocked by the poor condition of Batticaloa’s infrastructure, a few days in the city convinced me that roads and bridges are the least of the problems here. With enough money roads can be mended and bridges can be built. But it will take more than “development” to make the people of Batticaloa feel safe again in their own homes. After experiencing decades of murder, rape, disappearances and child recruitment, people here have developed a cynical shell. They find it hard to believe the violence is over. A friend told me that under the current conditions it is only a matter of time before another militant Tamil group rises up to challenge the government, restarting the vicious cycle of bloodshed.
Combating this fatalistic attitude may prove more difficult for the government than defeating the LTTE in battle. It will take more than propaganda and promises to reassure people in the East that the government is on their side, that the long years of violence and poverty are behind them. And in the end the people will judge the government with a simple test: have their lives improved since the war ended? My visit to Batticaloa left me without an answer to that question.
