Author Paul Moorcraft talks about his experiences in Sri Lankan minefields.
Biteback has reported on a number of my crazy adventures in my two recent books, Shooting the Messenger: The Politics of War Reporting and Inside the Danger Zones, detailing my frontline travels in 30 conflict areas.
One of my last blogs was about more frivolous dangers: when I was filming in South Sudan last year, a very real challenge was ‘death by mango’. Our hotel in Juba was attractive in a malarial sort of way, right alongside the Nile, and fringed by massive mango trees. Large mangoes were dropping every few minutes; at night they sounded like mortar fragments crashing into the tin roofs. The cameraman was a Royal Marine just out of Afghanistan. He said: ‘What a way to go – I survived all those Afghan IEDs, to have my head caved in by mangoes.’
In pursuit of (belated) frontline verité for my forthcoming book, on the long civil war in Sri Lanka, in the last few months I found myself yomping around possibly the most densely packed minefields in Asia, without my sharp-eyed, battle-hardened Royal Marine colleague. It was at a place called Kumarapuram, once an area held by the Tamil Tigers. They were masters of explosives devices – they made the Taliban look like spoiled kindergartens kids with temper tantrums.
Nearly all the Tamil civilians displaced by the war have been resettled, mostly in their former villages. But some could not return because the areas were so heavily mined. Some international critics said the Sri Lankan army was stalling on resettlement so I needed to look at their demining activities first hand.
I donned the Lady Di gear – helmet, padded jacket and, crucially, a flap hanging down to cover what I jokingly referred to as my ‘Welsh member’. I reckoned that bit was an important part of my Celtic heritage, and future.
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The brigadier in charge gave me the usual briefing as he went through the various land mines assembled on a table, in an open-sided hut, on the edge of the jungle canopy. The majority were home-made by the Tigers, although mines from Singapore, China and Pakistan had been collected, and – I presumed – de-activated. Most were the size of a large can of beans.
I asked to be taken into the minefield. We went to an area recently demined. It was hot and sticky but we trudged on through thick bush with tree cover disguising or hiding much of the light. But I saw lots of small pegs and white tapes.
‘Can I actually visit the current de-mining?’ I asked.
The brigadier escorting me had a quick conflab with his officers. ‘Yes, but you must walk very carefully – many active mines remain.’
We walked for another mile, as I tried to step in precisely the same spot as the brigadier in front of me. We came upon a small charred clearing where sappers were scraping away, carefully, with metal prods.
I asked a daft question: ‘How dangerous is this method?’
‘In the last few months 12 of my men have lost a hand or two,’ the brigadier replied in a rather relaxed manner.
Just then a sapper shouted that he had found one.
Quite small, it seemed to me. Since some of the mines are booby-trapped to stop the top section being unscrewed to defuse the mechanism, I quickly positioned myself behind a small tree, and behind the brigadier. But not too obviously: I couldn’t be seen to be cowering.
The soldier unscrewed the lid and it didn’t go off. A very brave man doing that all day. He was paid a pittance; for some reason I thought of the fat-cat bankers being compelled to do internships in mine-clearance to justify a little of their pay.
I took some pictures, and decided to walk back, very carefully retracing my steps along an unmarked path, which had numerous tree and bush stumps to trip me.
In London, especially on the underground during rush-hour, I often use a white cane to stop myself from being trampled on. In Sri Lanka on an arduous tour of battlefields, bunkers and minefields from the war that officially ended in 2009, I could not admit to being disabled. ‘Elf and safety’, thank God, would not have been a problem there, but I did not want to be fussed over. I went everywhere by armoured vehicle, helicopter and sometimes on foot. I needed to get as much access as possible, to feel and – with a tiny bit of vision – see the terrain. The book will be much better for it, and I came home with my Welsh member still attached.