Facing continuous military occupation and the construction of a controversial Buddhist shrine, displaced Sri Lankan Tamils in Jaffna are intensifying protests to demand the immediate return of their ancestral lands.
Seventeen years following the brutal conclusion of the Sri Lankan civil war, the physical and emotional scars of the conflict remain vividly apparent in the country’s Northern Province. For decades, thousands of Tamil civilians have been barred from returning to their ancestral properties, many of which remain firmly under the jurisdiction and control of the Sri Lankan military. On May 1, 2026, a group of civilian landowners from Thaiyiddy, a village situated in the Kankesanthurai (KKS) region of the Jaffna peninsula, boldly escalated their long-standing campaign for land restitution. At least 17 landowners took to the streets, holding a protest along the road leading to their occupied properties.
Their demand is unambiguous: the immediate and unconditional release of their civilian and farming lands that have been swallowed by military-enforced High-Security Zones (HSZs) since the mid-1990s. The demonstration underscores a broader, deeply entrenched issue in post-war Sri Lanka. Despite the government’s repeated international commitments to transitional justice and post-conflict reconciliation, progress on the ground has been agonizingly slow. For the Tamils of the North, the continuous presence of the military is not just a grim reminder of the war, but a persistent obstacle to rebuilding their fractured lives and restoring their community’s socioeconomic independence.
The Tissa Raja Maha Vihara Controversy and Sinhalization Fears
At the heart of the recent wave of demonstrations in Thaiyiddy is the controversial construction of a Buddhist shrine, the Tissa Raja Maha Vihara. According to the protesting Tamil landowners, this religious edifice was erected illegally on private, civilian-owned land. The temple’s construction was reportedly advanced during the height of the global COVID-19 pandemic, utilizing military labour and state resources at a time when civilian movement and public assembly were heavily restricted.
For the local Tamil, predominantly Hindu and Christian, population, the establishment of the Tissa Raja Maha Vihara is perceived as far more than just an unauthorized building. It is widely viewed as a glaring symbol of the Sri Lankan state’s systematic “Sinhalization” efforts – a calculated attempt to alter the demographic, cultural, and religious landscape of the historically Tamil-dominated Northern Province.
Prominent political figures have joined the civilian outcry. S. Kajendran, a former parliamentarian from the Jaffna district, has been a vocal participant in the demonstrations. He has consistently joined local residents in staging protests, particularly on full moon Poya days, when Buddhist devotees are transported from the country’s Sinhala-majority southern regions to participate in religious observances at the newly built shrine. “Why did they build a Buddhist shrine where no Buddhists live, and devotees have to be transported from the South on important occasions?” Kajendran questioned, highlighting the artificial nature of the temple’s integration into the local community.
The Human Cost and Decades of Displacement
The human toll of this protracted land dispute is profound and highly personal. Pathmanthan Sarujan, one of the 17 landowners currently fighting for the release of his family’s estate, vividly remembers the day his life was upended. Like thousands of others, his family was forcibly displaced from their home in 1996 as the bloody conflict between the separatist Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and Sri Lankan government forces ravaged the Jaffna peninsula.
“We were displaced from our home and land due to war in 1996. It was the last time we saw our homes,” Sarujan lamented. His family’s property, spanning approximately 100 perches (0.253 hectares), was absorbed into a sprawling military High-Security Zone. Today, 17 years after the guns fell silent in May 2009, Sarujan and his neighbours are still waiting to go back home.
The landowners’ anxiety reached a boiling point in recent years with the erection of the Tissa Raja Maha Vihara, sparking fears that the temporary military occupation will soon transform into a permanent, legal acquisition of their ancestral lands. When government authorities attempted to conduct a formal land survey on April 18, 2026, the landowners fiercely resisted, blockading the officials and refusing to permit the survey to proceed. “We are suspicious of whose interests the authorities are trying to safeguard,” Sarujan remarked, reflecting a deep-seated distrust of state mechanisms that have historically marginalised Tamil grievances. The Department of Archaeology and the Ministry of Buddha Sasana have reportedly already cleared the land for the shrine, further alienating the displaced owners who hold the original deeds.
Government Responses: Committees, Security Concerns, and Empty Promises
In response to the mounting tension, local government administrators have attempted to mediate the crisis, albeit with limited success. Jaffna District Secretary S. Pradeepan stated that the state is actively seeking an amicable resolution to the escalating land dispute. He announced the impending formation of a multi-stakeholder committee, which will include local government officials and representatives from both the Department of Archaeology and the Ministry of Buddha Sasana. “We are trying our best, but certain elements are trying to mislead people with false information,” Pradeepan claimed, pushing back against the narrative of deliberate state land-grabbing.
However, the promises of localized committees stand in stark contrast to the broader national security apparatus’s unwavering stance. In March 2026, Sri Lanka’s Deputy Minister of Defence, Aruna Jayasekara, explicitly dismissed rumours that the government planned to relocate or remove the massive military headquarters in Jaffna. Addressing the Parliament, Jayasekara emphasized that any decision regarding the release of occupied lands would remain strictly subject to “national security” considerations. He firmly rejected demands for a total demilitarization of the North, labelling such expectations as politically motivated manoeuvres designed to obstruct the government.
This steadfast military posture translates into an excruciatingly slow process of land restitution. While the government occasionally coordinates highly publicized handover ceremonies – such as the release of a mere two-acre plot in the Vasavilan East area of Jaffna in March 2026 after 36 years of occupation – these gestures are widely criticized by human rights advocates as piecemeal. District secretariats have confirmed that over 2,500 acres of civilian land in the Jaffna District alone remain firmly under the grip of the armed forces, utilized for army camps, agricultural farms, and commercial ventures operated exclusively by the military.
A Broader Geopolitical and Societal Struggle
The situation in Thaiyiddy is a microcosm of a much larger, systemic crisis plaguing the Tamil homeland. The continued military occupation stifles economic redevelopment and limits agricultural output in a region that was once economically self-sufficient. Former fishing hubs and fertile farming lands remain cordoned off behind barbed wire fences, forcing many displaced Tamils to rely on daily wage labour or government assistance, effectively stripping them of their autonomy and heritage.
Moreover, civil society groups continually warn that the military’s expanding footprint – ranging from the construction of religious monuments to active involvement in local administration – undermines the democratic rights of the Tamil populace. Despite constitutional provisions and intense international pressure from the UN Human Rights Council to address war crimes and facilitate transitional justice, the stark reality for families like Sarujan’s remains unchanged.
As the civilian landowners of Thaiyiddy vow to continue their monthly protests in the shadow of the newly built vihara, their struggle illuminates the enduring resilience of the Sri Lankan Tamil community. They say that they are fighting not just for the return of dirt and soil, but for their identity, their history, and their fundamental right to exist peacefully in the lands of their ancestors.
