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A review by archytas
The Seasons of Trouble: Life Amid the Ruins of Sri Lanka's Civil War by Rohini Mohan
challenging
informative
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
This is an outstanding recent history, following three Tamil people through the end and aftermath of the Sri Lankan civil war. Mohan has written the book like a novel - there are many moments I wished it was fiction and not truth - making it a hold-your-breath read, while clearly explaining the background to the nets that her interviewees were caught in.
Mohan keeps both herself and (mostly) her opinions out of the story, but uses the structure cleverly. We follow both Mugil, an LTTE cadre, and Sarva, a merchant seaman in the metropolitan south who is arrested and accused of being one. Sarva's mother, Indra, campaigns tirelessly for his release, finding her life consumed by the struggle for her son.
Their experiences are markedly different. While Sarva is imprisoned or in hiding for most of the narrative, Mugil is surrounded by family she must take care of. Mugil's daily struggles are for food, shelter and refuge from bombs, while Indra cooks feasts to take to Sarva in jail. When Sarva's case is picked up by NGOs, Mohan eventually makes the implicit explicit - the NGOs will only represent him because they believe he is not LTTE. Tamil Tigers like Mugil may have theoretical human rights, but no-one is going to help them assert them.
In my younger days, I knew a number of LTTE supporters. While none were uncritical, I did not question their passion for the Tigers, and the pride in the Tiger-controlled community lands and their advocacy of gender equality. In the last 115 years, I have wondered what happened, as that support disappeared, to be replaced by fear. Seasons of Trouble went a long way to explaining this, portraying a party increasingly consumed by it worst aspects, and its cannabilising its own community to sustain a losing military strategy. Mohan never patronises her subjects - especially those in the LTTE-run Vanni. Even as the LTTE persecute their own people, they are no match for a Sri Lankan Army which shells refugees as they cross rivers, and destroys a hospital with 500 patients, and which imprisons, beats and abuses Tamil citizens in the South.
Mohan never directly criticises the asylum process, but she clearly shows the desperate inhumanity. Sweden is the only country in the war to assess refugees in-country. In Britain, authorities are looking for a ludicrously narrow set of people to "accept" - you have to be provably LTTE, for starters, an impossible ask for people who have spent their previous lives proving the opposite.
The book should be depressing as hell -there are so many images that are impossible to forget - starting with Mugil walking away from the bodies of the children the LTTE forced into combat before they knew how to hold a gun, who have been raped and shot by the Sri Lankan military while she watched helplessly from a tree. At this moment, Mugil leaves not just the tree, but the Tigers, the war, and her sense of control. She returns to her family to focus on those she loves. It should be awful, but Mohan brings out her humanity in that moment, as she does with Indra's pouring of love into her cooking. These people persist - they fuck up, and they suffer, and they push each other way at times, but through it all, they love fiercely, build literal and figurative bridges, laugh and simply survive. It is both an honour and a pleasure to share a book with them, through such a skilled journalist, and I would really like Mohan to get on and write another book now.
Mohan keeps both herself and (mostly) her opinions out of the story, but uses the structure cleverly. We follow both Mugil, an LTTE cadre, and Sarva, a merchant seaman in the metropolitan south who is arrested and accused of being one. Sarva's mother, Indra, campaigns tirelessly for his release, finding her life consumed by the struggle for her son.
Their experiences are markedly different. While Sarva is imprisoned or in hiding for most of the narrative, Mugil is surrounded by family she must take care of. Mugil's daily struggles are for food, shelter and refuge from bombs, while Indra cooks feasts to take to Sarva in jail. When Sarva's case is picked up by NGOs, Mohan eventually makes the implicit explicit - the NGOs will only represent him because they believe he is not LTTE. Tamil Tigers like Mugil may have theoretical human rights, but no-one is going to help them assert them.
In my younger days, I knew a number of LTTE supporters. While none were uncritical, I did not question their passion for the Tigers, and the pride in the Tiger-controlled community lands and their advocacy of gender equality. In the last 115 years, I have wondered what happened, as that support disappeared, to be replaced by fear. Seasons of Trouble went a long way to explaining this, portraying a party increasingly consumed by it worst aspects, and its cannabilising its own community to sustain a losing military strategy. Mohan never patronises her subjects - especially those in the LTTE-run Vanni. Even as the LTTE persecute their own people, they are no match for a Sri Lankan Army which shells refugees as they cross rivers, and destroys a hospital with 500 patients, and which imprisons, beats and abuses Tamil citizens in the South.
Mohan never directly criticises the asylum process, but she clearly shows the desperate inhumanity. Sweden is the only country in the war to assess refugees in-country. In Britain, authorities are looking for a ludicrously narrow set of people to "accept" - you have to be provably LTTE, for starters, an impossible ask for people who have spent their previous lives proving the opposite.
The book should be depressing as hell -there are so many images that are impossible to forget - starting with Mugil walking away from the bodies of the children the LTTE forced into combat before they knew how to hold a gun, who have been raped and shot by the Sri Lankan military while she watched helplessly from a tree. At this moment, Mugil leaves not just the tree, but the Tigers, the war, and her sense of control. She returns to her family to focus on those she loves. It should be awful, but Mohan brings out her humanity in that moment, as she does with Indra's pouring of love into her cooking. These people persist - they fuck up, and they suffer, and they push each other way at times, but through it all, they love fiercely, build literal and figurative bridges, laugh and simply survive. It is both an honour and a pleasure to share a book with them, through such a skilled journalist, and I would really like Mohan to get on and write another book now.