Sitting in my room in the Tissawewa Rest House, I took stock of the situation. Although I had managed to go where no other journalist had been for over two years, I didn’t have much to show for it. ‘Front’ is specifically a visual magazine. I had taken a few photos of road-blocks and bunkers around Anuradhapura, but there was nothing to suggest that I was in the middle of a war zone. I would need some action pictures.
From a public phone in the center of Anuradhapura I called the mobile number that Mr Kumar had given me. I didn’t recognize the voice that answered. I explained that I had managed to get to Madhu Road, but had been turned back. I emphasised that, for my story to have any impact, I would need some action photos. The voice told me to call back in one hour.
I was directed to a small shrine not far from the Tissawewa. As I waited it wasn’t only the intense heat that was making me sweat. I really didn’t think that such a third world country had the technology to intercept every phone call, but, should I be caught meeting with someone who was undoubtedly linked to the Tigers, it could be very serious.
Eventually, a tuk-tuk pulled up and the driver approached me. He bid me good day and called me Norman. Clearly, this was my contact. I got in and we set off. Over the next hour or so we drove along the highways and byways of Anuradhapura as my loquacious driver regaled me with stories of the armed struggle in the north.
I asked about the women’s brigades and he told me of the recent battle for Elephant Pass. He described it as the greatest victory in Tamil history. Elephant Pass was a massive military base for over 20,000 Government troops. Built around a lagoon, the inter-linked satellite bases that protected it were thought to be impregnable. One by one, over a period of six months, key satellite bases had fallen to onslaughts by women suicide squads. Finally, they captured the base that controlled the water supply. The 20,000 troops were now trapped without water. They fled, leaving masses of equipment behind them.
I suppose it was a tribute to the way the Government managed the news and the international community co-operated with them, that there had been few reports of this in the press. No doubt I should have felt privileged to be one of the first to hear about it first hand. However, my mind was firmly on getting the photos and putting some distance between myself and this driver. Finally, he wished me farewell and handed me a small package.
Back in my room I examined the photos. There were twenty of them and they were exactly what I wanted. I had heard that the Tigers had a pretty good propaganda machine of their own. They regularly filmed battle situations. Each photo had been taken in the heat of battle. There was enough blood and dead bodies to satisfy ‘Fronts’ requirements. In the event, they printed several of them prominently on one page.
The editor expressed his satisfaction with my story, despite the fact that I hadn’t managed to meet with the Tigers. For myself, I was disappointed. Even though no other journalist had managed to get past the Government’s blockade, I still felt that I hadn’t delivered what I had promised. This was reflected in the somewhat childish tirade I concluded the article with. It was pure ‘Front’ though.
“So next time some scumbag dictator bans the international press in an attempt to cover up his war crimes, he’d better watch out. ‘Front’ just might show up at the front”.