Sixteen years ago, the Sri Lankan Tigers’ struggle was brutally suppressed by the Sri Lankan army, aided by international silence, the support of Tamil parties, and an internal split. However, if we fail to acknowledge the reckless and unilateral approaches of the LTTE in its downfall, it would be a disservice to history.
Published Oct 20, 2025 | 1:00 PM ⚊ Updated Oct 20, 2025 | 1:18 PM
In times of crisis, when trapped in a Chakravyuh, questioning the journey of a revolutionary movement may seem unjust.
Synopsis: When the Bhima Koregaon case was fabricated to silence the Adivasis and the civil society working on human rights at the national level, the situation should have been recognised. The civil society that condemns rights violations and repression has also, from time to time, offered suggestions regarding the review of Maoist practices. Such discussions have likely been ongoing internally as well and must continue.
Eras emerge, eras fade. Time alone is infinite and uninterrupted. Chapters come to an end, but the saga of human history will continue.
These are not words spoken merely to reflect optimism; even in spiritual detachment, inevitabilities and possibilities recur across ages. Forces that clash with one another gain the upper hand in different phases.
The defeated may go down, retreat into prolonged silence, or see their old forms shattered, but second, third, fourth, or thousandth waves of resurgence are never absent. If we believe that historical experiences shape the future, then human resolve and effort always remain progressive. Step by step, in essence, it finally triumphs.
The ambassadors of hope, who drew their swords against the systematic oppression that plunders the resources and labour of the people, are now facing an annihilating war. The fortresses of self-defence they built, the alternative systems they created, are collapsing under the onslaught of mobilised state power. Even the courage of heroic sacrifices is slipping into despair and surrender.
There may be committed Casabiancas who sink with the ship, and tomorrow’s history may glorify them, but to the ordinary eye, only despair is visible. Continuation seems impossible. A new beginning cannot be ruled out. For now, though, this is tragedy.
The annihilation or surrender of a party or a particular method of struggle may primarily concern those organisations and their ardent supporters. However, the erosion of the political, social, and cultural environment built by revolutionary forces over half a century, and the fading hope of constructing a just society, is causing profound unease in the Telugu commune.
Perhaps this anguish is also being expressed to some extent at the national level. The helpless pain of a living force slipping away is tormenting even ordinary people. The weakening of a moral force that stood as a standard for good and evil, right and wrong, seems to be creating a void.
Who are the agents of this ‘final’ battle? The central government, aligned for the benefit of corporate forces? The ruling party at the centre, intent on building a religious-nationalist state?
The brutal suppression tactics of police, paramilitary, and military forces, or the covert infiltrations through conciliatory strategies? Or the recent wave of surrenders?
Former top leaders facing allegations of conspiring to split the party by bringing internal differences to the forefront? While discussing these reasons, is there no room to question whether the party facing severe attacks today is also reaping the consequences of its own actions?
Sixteen years ago, the struggle of the Sri Lankan Tigers ended in tragedy. A massacre wiped out the organisation and its fight.
The brutal suppression by the Sri Lankan army, the silence of the international community including China, India, and the USA, the direct and indirect support of Tamil parties and parliamentary factions, and the split caused by the senior leader Karuna—all contributed to the LTTE’s downfall.
At the same time, if we fail to acknowledge that the reckless and unilateral approaches of the organisation and its leader Prabhakaran, as well as the brutal violence unleashed against dissenters, were also reasons for that outcome, it would be a disservice to both history and the future.
In times of crisis, when trapped in a Chakravyuh, questioning the journey of a revolutionary movement may seem unjust. If one never spoke up or issued warnings before and only does so now, it could indeed seem like an act lacking sincerity.
There may not even be scope for correction at such a time. However, the signs of what Maoists and the Adivasis in their operational areas are facing today were visible a decade ago.
When the Bhima Koregaon case was fabricated to silence the Adivasis and the civil society working on human rights at the national level, the situation should have been recognised.
The civil society that condemns rights violations and repression has also, from time to time, offered suggestions regarding the review of Maoist practices. Such discussions have likely been ongoing internally as well and must continue.
Questions and reviews should not be seen as hostile. A question in itself is not betrayal. Even if those intent on committing betrayal start raising questions to serve their ends, the question itself does not become meaningless.
For any reason, equating questions with rebellion and stifling them undermines the democratic tradition of critique. It amounts to pressuring critics.
What has happened within the Maoist party is unknown to outside society. Has a split occurred? Was it externally orchestrated? Is it merely a split, or something beyond—a rebellion? Such doubts are circulating on social media.
The intensity with which the ideological and organisational aspects of revolutionary parties are discussed on social media is unprecedented.
Ordinary revolutionary sympathisers in Telugu-speaking regions think about these developments only from a compassionate, humanitarian perspective.
They do not give much weight to internal struggles within the party or accusations between different factions. They hope the situation improves, that discussions lead to temporary calm, and that no harm comes to revolutionaries.
When they learn that Dandakaranya is no longer an impregnable forest and that the revolutionary groups they revered are in danger, even if they surrender, such compassionate advocates view escaping immediate danger positively.
Considering the sacrifices made, they condemn blaming the revolutionaries. In situations where death becomes inevitable, they believe accusations and criticism against those who surrender are futile.
Regardless, it feels like the debate on these issues is not happening within the bounds of civilised discourse. On the other hand, in this chaos, fundamental questions are becoming sidelined.
Not only revolutionary forces but also the broader progressive camp and liberals are facing a state of repression. Ordinary public life is becoming steeped in hatred, plunging into deep divisions.
The problem is not merely Dandakaranya or the survival of armed revolutionary groups. Governments are explicitly stating that the target after this ‘annihilation’ is the ‘urban Naxalites.’
Yesterday, central leaders criticised the Congress party for talking about negotiations with Naxalites; today, they question why CPI and CPM are trying to protect Naxalites.
Power is steadily consolidating in the hands of those who seek to build a system that suppresses all questions in the country. This trend seems set to continue.
In this situation, who will take the responsibility to forge a broad united action and provide an alternative path for the nation? Who will lead the discussion and questions for a broader scope and deeper responsibilities?
To what extent do those acting in the name of the people consider the opinions and aspirations of the people? If the notion that the people are the ultimate victors is merely a mechanical principle, where will the initiative to overcome the current defeats come from?
(Edited by Dese Gowda)
