First, he and his family happened to be at lsquo;ground zero rsquo; of the biggest disaster in living memory, the Indian Ocean Tsunami in December 2004.
Then, within months of that blow came the resurgence of political violence in Sri Lanka, making it a lsquo;double whammy rsquo; for tens of thousands caught in the cross-fire. If Nature rsquo;s fury had somehow spared him, there was no such consideration on the part of his murderers.

News reports last week simply said that Theeban was shot dead on March 3 by four unidentified persons. The killers had forced their way into the temporary camp for tsunami survivors at Kesar Road, Karaitivu in eastern Sri Lanka. One assailant was apprehended by camp residents and handed over to police; the others escaped.

No one yet knows who is responsible for this senseless killing, one of many in a wave of terror and lawlessness currently sweeping Sri Lanka. It is uncertain whether Theeban rsquo;s killers will ever face justice.
Theeban, 16 at the time of his death, was one of eight survivor children in four Asian countries that tracked for one year under the regional media project.

Until the tsunami shattered his life and dreams at the age of 14, Theeban was an eager, talented schoolboy - ndash; fond of mathematics, cricket (hero: Sri Lankan spin bowler Muttiah Muralitharan) and Tamil movies (idol: Indian actor Rajinikanth).
That world fell apart within a few hours: the waves took away his mother and youngest brother (four years), and also destroyed their house and ruined the father rsquo;s thriving fishing business. A middle class family suddenly found themselves destitute, taking refuge in a temporary shelter.

That was where we found them in January 2005 when searching for a statistically average family affected by the tsunami, whose story we wished to film for a year.
Two weeks of watching mostly sensationalist and superficial tsunami news on television had convinced us of the need for sustained, empathetic coverage of survivors as they slowly raised their heads.
Two weeks of watching mostly sensationalist and superficial tsunami news on television had convinced us of the need for sustained, empathetic coverage of survivors as they slowly raised their heads.

We didn rsquo;t set out to do some more of the on-the-run, one-off type reportage that saturated the airwaves. We wanted to stay with the prolonged recovery stories, as they evolved completely unscripted.
Our challenge was to mount the editorial, logistical and financial requirements within an ethical framework that respected communications rights of all affected families.

And do so at eight locations in the four worst-hit countries: India, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Thailand.
Once we explained what it was all about, Theeban rsquo;s father and grandmother -- who had stepped in to take care of the three surviving grandchildren -- agreed to have our video crew visit them every month to film their recovery progress (or the lack of it).
Life after the tsunami was far from easy for Theeban, who dropped out of school and took to manual labour.

He worked for a few months as an apprentice at a tractor repair garage.
When some older boys at work started bullying him, he left the place and joined efforts to clear coastal rubble. From that he moved on to various odd jobs in masonry and paddy harvesting.

ldquo;I can rsquo;t get a job at some places because I rsquo;m too young hellip;I had to lie about my age being 19, to work at the clearing site. rdquo;
On some days he didn rsquo;t find any work and living conditions at the make-shift camp remained basic as weeks turned into months.
The billions that caring people and governments around the world had donated in tsunami aid somehow failed to help this particular family rsquo;s recovery.

And for most Colombo-based charities, the East was on the lsquo;wrong side rsquo; of the island to extend help.
Unable to restart his life, Theeban rsquo;s father became depressed and alcoholic. As time passed, the family was scattered: the father remarried and moved out, and Theeban rsquo;s two younger brothers were boarded at a youth hostel in Ampara, an hour rsquo;s bus ride away.

Chronicling these slow-moving developments on video was difficult: in some months, little or nothing was happening in Theeban rsquo;s life in spite of an aid-inspired frenzy around him.
At the time of his death, more than 26 months after the mega-disaster, Theeban and his grandmother were still living in the lsquo;temporary rsquo; camp, dependent on food rations for their daily survival.
As journalists, we have been trained not to get lsquo;too attached rsquo; to the people or subjects we cover, lest it affects our judgement and dilutes our lsquo;objectivity rsquo;.

The four production teams involved in Children of Tsunami initially agreed to follow this norm when we met in Bangkok in early 2005 for our first (and only) planning meeting. We also resolved not to reward our participating families in cash or kind, as they were all participating voluntarily with informed consent.
But the ground reality was different.

As (2005) wore on, with survivors slowly patching their lives together again, our film teams found themselves becoming friends of families or playing good Samaritan. For example:

• Sometimes our teams would find a survivor family close to starvation and - ndash; acting purely as human beings, not journalists - ndash; they would buy dry rations or a cooked meal.

• At other times, finding the children restless or aimless, they would buy them a football, kite or another inexpensive toy that would produce hours of joy and cheer.

As commissioners and publishers of Children of Tsunami stories, we didn rsquo;t object to these acts of kindness.
Throughout 2005, the camera crew from (the Sri Lankan production partner) became friends of Theeban rsquo;s extended lsquo;family rsquo;. There was a language barrier (Theeban spoke no Sinhala, and some crew no Tamil) but that didn rsquo;t hinder communications too much.

On some visits, grandma Sharada would treat the crew with rice cooked in curd, a traditional delicacy prepared with her meagre means at the camp. And the crew members remember well how Theeban was thrilled to accompany them to the pastry shop down the road during his first-ever visit to Colombo.

Simple items or incidents elated Theeban rsquo;s spirits.

Somebody once gifted him a portable audio cassette player, which became his most cherished possession and which he carried everywhere.
Until, perhaps, the new shoes arrived. A spanking white pair of sneakers was the only item that Theeban bought for himself when he visited Phuket, Thailand, for a few days in November 2005.

He spent the rest of his modest per diem to bring thoughtful gifts for all his loved ones.
He travelled to Phuket to be part of an Asian forum of children and young people responding to the tsunami. Organised by , it brought together over 20 children and youth from five tsunami-affected countries.

Close to a hundred adults representing -- UN agencies and humanitarian organisations -- also came to the Thai resort town to listen to these young people.
It was a huge logistical challenge to send Theeban to Thailand. At our recommendation, Unicef invited both Theeban and Heshani -- the 13-year-old girl from Suduwella, Matara, in southern Sri Lanka, whose story we were also tracking.

With all their documents washed away by the waves, we first had to establish the identity of these children and accompanying guardians.
When Theeban produced government-issued documents to the passport office in Colombo, they were flatly rejected - ndash; simply because everything was written in Tamil, legally an official language in Sri Lanka. It was only after everything was translated into Sinhala and certified that his passport application was accepted.

If the bureaucracy s indifference was predictable, nothing prepared us for the reaction at . The UN agency s Colombo office had been bypassed by their own regional office in Bangkok that directly selected the Sri Lankan children.
Colombo s indignation showed in their treatment of our first-time travellers.

And the UN agency s full book of procedures -- involving travel claim forms and staggered per diems among others -- was thrown at these teenagers without any consideration of their age or the recent trauma from which they were recovering.
But the trip, when it happened, was the highlight of Theeban rsquo;s first year after the tsunami. A colleague who was on the same flight recalls how Theeban was fascinated by everything - ndash; Colombo and Bangkok airports and the Thai Airways flight itself were all new experiences.

In spite of everything he had been through, he retained the sense of wonder, and the ability to smile.
We never met Theeban in person after he returned from Phuket. carries photographs showing Theeban taking part in various cultural and group activities during the four-day event.

Prasad Pereira, our researcher who accompanied the Sri Lankan children and guardians, reports how Theeban slowly opened up to the array of new experiences. He was less expressive than the artistically-inclined Heshani, but in his own pensive way, Theeban had engaged young people from across coastal Asia who had all shared the tsunami.
Our monthly visits to the participating families stopped in late 2005 when we ran out of money to sustain filming, after which contact with the families became less frequent.

But our colleagues at Video Image did stay in touch because, as they put it, lsquo;we spent almost a year following his life, and we can rsquo;t just walk away rsquo;.
If 2005 was long and arduous for Theeban, 2006 proved to be much harder. From bits and pieces of news that eventually found their way to Colombo, we learnt that he was abducted by an armed group in mid 2006.

Given the complex political and security scenario in Sri Lanka rsquo;s Eastern Province, we could only hazard a guess on who might be responsible. Hundreds of young men, and increasingly young women, are being coerced into combatant roles in an aimless war that has lasted longer than their entire short lives.
At that time, the father and grandmother sent desperate pleas for help ndash; to track down Theeban and secure his release.

We who lsquo;shoot rsquo; with video cameras felt utterly helpless when confronted by trigger-happy groups whose business is shooting to kill.

Weeks later, Theeban had suddenly reappeared at the camp. We don rsquo;t know what happened during the time he was missing.

But his escape is the most likely reason for his cold-blooded murder on March 3 -- a deadly lesson for him, and a warning to others.
We parted with these words: ldquo;Our journey with the eight families ends here. In the coming months, these families -- and thousands like them -- will continue their own journeys of recovery.

rdquo;
Theeben rsquo;s own journey is now over. He survived the natural calamity and lived through endless hardships of displacement, only to be sucked into the vortex of political violence.
Theeben rsquo;s own journey is now over.

He survived the natural calamity and lived through endless hardships of displacement, only to be sucked into the vortex of political violence.
Whereas the tsunami rsquo;s devastation helped heal deep-rooted animosities in Indonesia rsquo;s Aceh province, it only created a temporary lull in Sri Lanka rsquo;s long-drawn war.
The disaster rsquo;s Sri Lankan death toll (close to 40,000 dead or missing) shocked the world when it happened within a few hours or days.

Yet, at least twice as many people - ndash; most of them unarmed and uninvolved civilians -- have been killed in over a quarter century of fighting. That doesn rsquo;t always grab headlines.
Thillainayagam Theeban has become another statistic in a lsquo;low-intensity conflict rsquo; (as some researchers call it).

And while this war lasts, it will continue to consume thousands of other young lives -- a grim roll call of Sri Lanka rsquo;s Lost Generation.

---

The author, Nalaka Gunawardene, was the originator of the concept and served as its executive producer. The views in this article are his own and do not necessarily reflect those of .

Photographs courtesy: More on Children of the Tshunami on .

---

Comments

Station Manager SW Radio Africa Written by Gerry on 2007-03-12 08:18:36 I'm not sure I necessarily believe in too much detachment. I'm a little tired of much of the detachment I hear in the media today and have always liked opinionated journalism. Also I think it depends what you're covering. It's much easier to be detached when it's a conflict 'over there.' We report on the crisis in Zimbabwe, from London. But it's our friends and colleagues who are under threat back home. They're people we know. As I write a good friend is being tortured in a police station in Zimbabwe, along with many others. This is after the weekend crackdown on the opposition which saw the death of one activist. Detached? I think not. If I'm in a position to rage about this, I will.

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