Review: Island of Blood by Anita Pratap

On reading Island of Blood: Frontline Reports From Sri Lanka, Afghanistan And Other South Asian Flashpoints I was struck by the fact that one learns more about Pratap and her careerism than one learns about the conflict zones under scrutiny. Anita Pratap is an award-winning journalist who has worked for the Indian Express, Time Magazine, India Today and eventually CNN.
The book itself is essentially a biographical account of her experiences reporting from these various conflict zones. Biographical accounts written by journalists are common enough, but it is the peculiar narcissism that mars Pratap’s work that really strikes the reader. In these kinds of biographical accounts it is acceptable for the author to provide an account of their feelings and comportment towards the incidents under analysis, but when it obscures an understanding of the encounters there is a problem. And this is precisely what happens in Island of Blood.
Although Pratap discusses coverage and incidents in Afghanistan and India, I will focus on her discussion of Sri Lanka which substantially makes up her book anyway. This is partly because many of the flaws become most evident there.
First, let me say that there are some positive aspects to the book. Pratap recounts a number of interesting and enlightening encounters: running from the IPKF, covering the 1984 riots in Colombo, taking note of the 1989 JVP uprising, and smuggling a boy out Batticaloa (to name just a few). She also adequately recounts some of the historical and contextual connections that her encounters are grounded in (however, there are other books – like Swamy’s Tigers of Lanka that realize this goal more effectively). But in spite of these positive matters the book, I would say, is fatally flawed.
The initial problem is with her narcissistic and self-serving style of writing. The horrors that she witnesses are delivered almost exclusively through her own emotional reactions and this – as a consequence – results in the book being focused on her rather than the victims of the attacks. Her narcissism is painfully obvious in the following self-assessments: “Akbar had planted the seeds of my reputation as a daring, fearless journalist” (p.52), “But crisis always transforms me into Ms Professional.” (p.127), “I guess I’m tough.” (p.129), and so on. The worst case is the painful-to-read epilogue in which she says (amongst numerous other self applauding comments):

“All through, I maintained my calm, always the determined Ms Professional, journeying to in accessible areas, reporting, taking notes, dredging details and information that no one else could, faithfully telling the world what I’d seen and heard, competing to be the first to break the news…” and so on. Also, “While reporting these tragic events, there were times when I felt faint, felt ill. But succumbing would have meant missing the deadline.” (p.273)

The epilogue goes on like this at length and these seemingly endless comments are distracting for the reader. The reader does not want to hear an author pump up his or her ego. The merits or flaws of the author are for the reader to decide based upon the actions and successes of the writer. For Pratap to insist on her journalistic excellence is painful to read and insults the readers intelligence.
There is also the troubling matter of Pratap’s impartiality. Pratap explains that she is Prabharkaran’s preferred journalist – something Pratap takes some pride in explaining. To some degree this betrays her loyalties:

“I shared the Tigers’ vision of their destiny. I was sure Pirabhakaran’s uncompromising commitment to Eelam would ensure his trajectory as the most powerful leader of the Sri Lankan Tamils. So I ignored the other groups and concentrated on the activities of the LTTE. Needless to say, this endeared me to the Tigers. They felt that I was the only one who understood their spirit, their superiority, and their inevitable pre-eminent role in the Sri Lankan ethinic conflict.” (p.71)

What she means to say is that ‘needless to say, this endeared the Tigers to me.’ She gets it around the wrong way of course, but could this be a Freudian slip? Pratap is certainly enamoured by Prabharkaran, describing him at length as charismatic, muscular and decisive. Yet she omits any detailed examination of his brutal leadership and morally unscrupulous activities. At one point in the book she declares that she, “did not want to put him in the spotlight” and that she wanted to understand his “psychology.” Yet the book has a certain humanistic tone (she even admits to this in her epilogue) and she seems eager to let her audience know about the immoral activities that are executed in Sri Lanka. So why not ask Prabharkan uncomfortable questions? Is it because she wants to preserve her premier position as favoured journalist? There is no reason why she cannot have both (Robert Fisk achieves this with Usama bin Laden). Yet she has a double standard because she is happy to ask difficult questions of Sinhalese killers (and that, after all, is what these people are). For example she disapproves of Premadasa Udagampola for his brutal crackdown on JVP supporters. She describes him as having become:

“… a burly, brutal engine of revenge taking pleasure in exterminating his enemies. His campaign of terror was even more ruthless and effective that the JVP’s” (p.110)

While conducting an interview with him, he produces a gun and places it on the table in front of them in order to intimidate her. She replies:

“’That gun is not going to stop me from asking tough questions.’ A faint quiver of a smile flickered across Gill’s stern face, and eh answered my questions, staring at me intently while his fingers caressed the revolver.” (p.111)

Why is it acceptable to ask tough questions of Udagampola and not Prabharkaran? If she is engaging in some kind of moral awareness project, which cannot be denied, then she has a responsibility to be even in her interviews. And she does, after all, judge Udagampola to be morally unpraiseworthy. Consider the following extract:

“I caught a gleam in his eye. An indescribable gleam. Years later, when somebody asked me to picture evil, what came to my mind was that gleam.” (p.111) (Small point: First, she says the gleam is indescribable but then characterizes it as “evil”. This is inconsitent).

The book implies that she has been charmed by Prabharakan in some way and that she agrees with his politics (although she seems reticent on the matter of his brutality).
At one point, after an interview and having learnt that Prabharkaran likes Chinese takeaway, she quips: “Surely he is entitled to some good food.” (p.123). It seems self- evident that, no, he is not so entitled since he denies basic services (let alone luxuries) to his own people, the people he is precisely trying to protect. Instead, Pratap seems to regard his resourcefulness at being able to obtain Chinese takeout in spite of the embargos against him as praiseworthy. If she had have bothered to explicate that Prabharkaran is feasting on Chinese takeout (in fact, growing fat, as she points out) while his own Tamil people starve due to his intractability, there would be something morally useful at play. As it stands it only goes to show how uncompassionate Prabharkaran is for his own people and how gullible Pratap is.
Pratap describes at length how resourceful and talented Prabharkaran is and how well organized the LTTE are. This is fine (it may well be true), but is there any need to glorify them? On Prabharkaran:

“That’s the critical difference between Piribhakaran and most politicians (p.121)…He never boasted or threatened [to kill people]. He just did it…” (p. 122).

When one makes statements like this, one better quickly add that it is morally impermissible to assassinate people arbitrarily, hold extra-judicial killings, abduct children and force them to fight against their will. But Pratap does not do this. The above comment seems to be is praise of Prabharkaran’s ability to kill people. Better for Pratap just to report that Prabharkaran is good at killing people merely by explaining the facts. She endangers her own credibility by making these kinds of value judgements in such an arbitrary fashion.
On the whole, Prataps moral aptitude can be called into question in various ways. At the beginning of the book she explains that having had a privileged childhood, the 1984 riots helped her:

“…grow up, made me realize that another world of violence, horror, injustice and brutality exists. It prepared me for life, especially for the personal challenges that were soon to come hurtling my way” (p.52)

Fine. But surely any vaguely sensitive person is aware of these horrors already? If it requires one to actually witness such atrocities in order to be morally sensitive to them, then it says few positive things about the moral fortitude of such an individual. On the whole, Pratap comes across as hopelessly naïve in these passages.
If that were her intention, there are better ways to explain her journalistic development (i.e. as a story of her development from a simple reporter to a towering authority on south asia). I do not want to suggest that Pratap is morally autistic, but is rather confused in her moral convictions. This is somewhat evident by her inconsistencies and implausible explanations for moral failure. For example, she later says, having witnessed looters murdering and burning innocent Tamils on the streets of Colombo:

“Those were not men looting and burning and murdering on the streets of Colombo. They were demons escaped from some infernal region of hell. Most of them were drunk. It’s not possible for human beings in their senses to commit such ghoulish crimes.” (p.57)

But of course they do. Pratap’s pseudo-moralizing doesn’t help her case. She should either report the bare facts or engage in the business of moral debate maturely. This doesn’t involve her simply writing off morally impermissible acts as being perpetrated by the possessed. This is nonsense because it implies that the mass killings and violence that go on in Sri Lanka (or anywhere else for that matter) are not motivated by conscious, calculating minds, but instead are motivated by some other – possibly supernatural – action. The trouble is that many of these crimes are often committed by knowing and thinking participants. Prabharkaran, for example, purposefully murders civilians for the supposedly rational purpose of the founding of the state of Eelam. Only a particularly zealous theist would suggest he is possessed.
Her moral confusion is also evident when she later presses her driver to continue on in spite of the danger quite unaware – it would seem – that she has a responsibility to consider the welfare of her employee (p.107-109). Why, given the dangers, could she not hire a self-drive vehicle? From her own account, the driver was eager not to go on and – apparently – suffered a mental break-down on account of her insistence (“he was hunched forward in his seat, clutching the steering wheel tightly – out of fear or to stop his trembling…I felt sorry for him, I felt bad about bullying him, but I had a job to do (p.109)). The encounter is meant to illustrate how frightened the local people were and how brutal the police were at that time (all true), but it indirectly shows how career orientated Pratap is and how she (in this instance) disregarded the needs of those in her care.
Her pseudo-philosophizing extends in other directions. After witnessing a man (who was later murdered) voting in spite of the promise that there would be retribution, Pratap writes:

“Societies have survived only through the heroism of such ordinary men and women who live and die, faithfully living out their principles, undiscovered by the media. In many ways their actions, their beliefs, their very existence remains, like them, simple, ordinary, innocent, without being exaggerated and distorted, lionized or demonized, as inevitably happens when presented through the prism of the media.” (p.113).

This flowery monologue only illustrates how desperate Pratap is to say something profound. Various profound things could be said I suppose, but in her case they seem to result in tired clichés and poor prose. (Incidentally, she refers to the above man as “A god-fearing Buddhist…” (p.113), but Buddhists don’t believe in god so this is nonsense). Her melodramatic style of writing is especially evident in the following account:

“Sri Lanka, this enchanting tear-drop shaped island in the Indian ocean, began to resemble a drop of blood. Murder became the great leveler, sparing neither guerilla nor parliamentarian, rich nor poor, soldier nor farmer, priest nor president. It became an island where the blood of its ordinary and extraordinary inhabitants continuously spilled and seeped into its red earth. An island of blood, swirling with broken dreams and broken hearts.” (p.114)

I’m not sure this style is suitable for this kind of writing. In fact it is more like fiction prose (the quality of which is up to the reader as far as I am concerned – I don’t think much of it). Basically, it just doesn’t fit with the tone and nature of the writing which seeks to expose facts, not mysticize historical event. I cannot say much in favour of her writing style at all, which is amazing given that she is a print-journalist and has presumably written countless news reports.
I don’t mean to say that the violence that goes on in Sri Lanka is the explicit domain of Prabharkaran and the LTTE. The Sri Lankan government and other paramilitary factions have perpetrated their own brutal crimes. In fact, Pratap is quite adept at describing the crimes executed by these latter groups. But that is precisely the problem – she is inconsistent in her reporting. Why in heavens name did Pratap not interview and child soldiers or investigate their abductions? These are unique activities peculiar to the LTTE and Pratap was in a special position to engage in their investigation. Island of Blood is satisfactory as an account of the conflict in Sri Lanka, and, if one can get past the self-congratulatory prose, an enjoyable enough read. The problem is rather with the failure of the author to engage in a morally meaningful way with the material that she is confronted with. I think this is an important aspect of journalism that should not be overlooked or trivialized.

India: Pokkhara - Kathmandu

We left Bhairawa (the town that our Lumbini-Kapilivastu adventure was based in) the day of a festival known as Holi. This was a big problem as Holi is the Indian-Nepali festival of colour. This entailed people stalking the streets with handfuls of fluorescent powder which they would liberally throw at random passersby, covering them from head-to-toe in bright pinks, yellows and reds. Everyone we encountered in the area seemed to have been smeared with the stuff. To Kumudu and I, it was a MASSIVE inconvenience as it meant we had to try and avoid people that were likely to target us and ruin our clothes (not knowing it was holi we had not worn disposable clothing - and anyway, we rather liked all the clothes we had bought). Besides all that, we weren't too fussed about the whole business since it wasn't exactly an activity you consented to - although all the locals universally regarded it as great fun. Needless to say, we failed miserably at avoiding the locals attack and as the bus careened (as they all do) at top speed along the outskirts of Bhairawa, a cheeky kid threw an entire bucket of water at the bus, directly hitting Kumudu and I and soaking our clothes. On the face of things, it seemed like the bucket did not contain any holi powder (we later discovered we were wrong about this). We forced the bus to stop so that we could change, much to the dissapointment of the other passangers (which suited me as the passengers seemed to think getting soaked was completely hilarious - we couldn't see the humour in it. Actually, on a side note, the Nepali people seemed to have a very cruel sense of humour. For example, in Kathmandu I bumped my head somewhere and a random old lady cracked up as if it was some brilliant joke. Real life slapstick is not funny!).

Kids playing in a river at the bottom of a gorge, along Siddhartha Highway (between Bhairawa and Pokhara):

Hawkers sell food to passangers on the bus as we wait for lunch break to finish:

Back to the holi later, first let me say something about the bus ride. The bus was meant to leave at 9am. We waited in the bus for an hour before getting bored and asked where the driver was. The bus depot guy said he was having lunch. I said that we didn't care and that we wanted to go. Bad move. I've since discovered (after living in Sri Lanka) that "he's having lunch" usually means "he's stuffing around and will get there when he feels like it" (post offices and customs facilities are notorious for this in SL). So I returned to the bus and glumly waited until the driver showed up a full 2.5 hours after we were meant to leave. So now at 11.30am we finally left. It was a public bus so was: a) kind of old and gross, and b) crammed FULL with people the whole journey. We elected to take a public bus because we were trying to save money and because there was no private bus between Bhairawa and Pokkhara (if there had been we probably would have forgone the public bus ride and forgotten about our 'money concern'). Already 2 hours late, the bus never seemed to arrive in Pokhara. It was meant to be a 5-7 hour bus ride (bad enough) but turned into a marathon 11 hour trip! Why this was the case I can't exactly tell, but I expect it had something to do with all the people that jumped on board the bus and the late start. What was even worse was that I had contracted (another) stomach bug and was in a certain degree of discomfort during the ride. I spent the first day in Pokhara in convalesence (but ce la vie right? - it is India and Nepal after all).

View of the lake from outside the hotel:

Me rowing Kumudu around on the lake:

We were delighted to arrive in Pokhara. We both thought Pokhara was kind of like Aspen or Arrowtown in NZ, a kind of little mountain township. It was really fantastic actually. Apparently it was a former hippie enclave, and it was HEAVILY tourist orientated (which after our experiences in the badlands of India was kind of a relief). Also, from Pokhara onwards all our accomodation was fantastic. The Pokhara hotel (Yak and Yeti Lodge, it was called) was the best place we stayed in and I stayed up late while sick watching the Disaster Files - it was rubbish, but it was a New Zealand program (I was chuffed).

The hotel was next to Pwewa Tal Lake, an enormous and lovely lake which - reputably - reflects the Annapurna ranges in its water (we did not experience this btw). The Annapurna range is part of the Himalayas and contains three 8000 m high mountains (the tallest in the world). During our stay we never really got a good look at the range because of cloud cover. We could have got up early to see them, but we were recovering from our blitz through the centre of Nepal and could not bring ourselves to get up at 5am.

We visited a Tibetan settlement on the outskirts of Pokhara which was nice (the Tibetans have been driven out of their homeland by the Chinese and have settled in Nepal and India mainly). While in Pokhara we took advantage of the shops and bought a Thangka (a Tibetan painting, ours was - basically - an 'esoteric' diagram of Nirvana used in tantric meditation - and tantric meditation is not 'sexy meditation' btw). We also went for a boat ride on the lake - I rowed (Kumudu was scared, hehe - oh and it was complete with an ominous bailing tool) and later climbed up a large hill that overlooked Pokhara to get a view of the mountains (we kinda saw them through the clouds). On top of the hill was another Japanese World Peace Pagoda. The climb was a bitch - in the LP it said it was 15 min. More like 1.5 hours).

Local Tibetan kids at the Tibetan settlement:

A gompa at the Tibetan settlement:

After a few days in Pokkhara we took a bus to Chitwan National Park in central Nepal. This time we took Greenline Buses - a bus that caters principally for tourists so is all tricked out and comfortable (thank god). However the taxi driver that took us from our hotel to the bus depot took us to the public bus stop instead. He pointed at another delapidated bus and said, "This bus go to Chitwan." I wailed him out and soon we were on our nice comfy bus. Chitwan National Park is a sprawling wild life reserve that has been deemed a UN protected territory. In spite of this, the rare Nepali one horned rhino is still poached by Maoists and other criminal groups. It was quite a remote area and we had to transfer from the main bus to a small vehicle and then, after being dropped off with our gear at a deserted township, we had to cross a river (the bridge had planks missing and everything) board a jeep and head to the "resort". It was actually quite a nice spot situated as it was right next to the reserve.

The gentleman that operated the place was this weird old guy who forgot EVERYTHING: He forgot: a) to pick us up on the day we arrived (which was part of the deal - although he subsequently sent a vehicle for us), b) he forgot whether we paid him at all (??), c) he forgot to wake us up (as pre-arranged) causing us to nearly miss our exit bus, d) he forgot what times the safari activites were booked for, etc etc. It was actually kind of funny because he was just some crazy old dude. At Chitwan we also met an American who was an interior designer (he was raving gay) who claimed that he was pals with the Clintons. He described how he organized some rich Jewish kid's bamitzfah and that he built an indoor golf course for his promo shots. He also mentioned that he was certain the US was going to invade Iran. He told us a lot of other odd stories. I was pretty sure his Nepali 'guide' was also his lover.

Us getting splashed by an elephant:

Our safari elephant:

As for Chitwan we had a cool time taking a jungle safari in which we saw several rhinos, deer and heard a tiger. Riding an elephant is cool for the first half hour but then your arse gets sore. We also took an elephant bath - in which you get the bath - and also went for a canoe ride. Actually, the canoe ride was nearly aborted when the guide saw a rhino bathing up river. "He might charge us. Run up that bank if he does," he told us unhelpfully. Another guide went and threw rocks at the rhino until it wandered off disgruntled (I swear that the guy must have been suicidal). Behind us was this elderly tourist in another canoe who nearly had a heart attack when he saw the rhino in the water and protested that it was dangerous etc etc. ...It probably was.

One other thing: In Chitwan we encountered this implausibly stupid money changer. She agreed to change our US travellers cheques, but after Kumudu had counter-signed the cheque she refused to bank it because she didn't accept Sri Lankan or South African passports (she'd had bad history with nationals from those countries or something - I didn't care). "Thanks for telling us that after we signed the cheque. Shall we now just use that US$100 cheque as toilet paper?" (Okay I didn't say exactly that, just something similar). In spite of her own incompetance she simply refused to change the cheque and we had to argue with her for a good 15-20 minutes to get her to relent. I basically went bonkers and had to let Kumudu handle the situation. Eventually, she called her manager who more or less instantly told her to proceed with the exchange (these frustrating occurances are the bread and butter of social interactions in South Asia and no mistake).

We only really needed 2 day in Chitwan as we were satisfied with our wildlife encounter so we pressed on to Kathmandu. After another luxurious (by Nepal standards) Greenline bus ride we arrived in Kathmandu on time (a miracle, of course, and indicative of the fact that we were on a bus designed for tourists). Kathmandu was a cool place and had some of the best food in our entire trip. The food in Pokhara was western, but completely sucked. Indian food was always tasty, but almost certainly poisonous. Kathmandu had great western food - which was good as typical Nepali cuisine is kind of naff (Kumudu tried it and liked it, though). After many months of being without pizza, I got to indulge in it which was great. We even dined in a pizzaria which was a favourite of the homocidal prince of Nepal who subsequently massacred several members of the royal family.

We stayed several days in Kathmandu and visited Swayambunath (a cool stupa located on a hill overlooking Kathmandu) and Bodhnath (another Buddhist area characterized by a large Tibetan community). Swayambunath was great and has a stupa made famous by the Buddha eyes that adorn the peak of the monument. It was flooded with tourists and I was continually annoyed by their general disrespect for Buddhist customs (for example, you shouldn't pose in front of a Buddha statue - it's kind of like doing bunny ears behind a Jesus statue in Jeruseluem and taking a snap - not kosher). It would be okay if they didn't know, but all the guidebooks detail these customs so there is no excuse. People just don't care. Bodhnath was a favourite spot in Kathmandu and we visited it twice, once at night and once during the day. We ate pizza overlooking the stupa as the light faded - it was cool. One curious thing about Nepal was that it seemed to be in a continuous state of blackout. I thought that Sri Lanka was bad. The state of the electricity may have had something to do with the Maoist insurrection, but who knew. Also the place we stayed at was nice (Astoria Hotel) but the staff were kind of retarded and seemed unable to fix our hot water (this was fine in India, but Nepal was very nippy and cold showers were not nice).

Sadhus hanging out at Hindu temple:

Bodnath stupa in Kathmandu:

We also visited an important Hindu location called Pashupatinath which was another Varanasi-like place where people get cremated. It was characterized by a hospice (where people die), a series of ghats were the bodies are cremated, and a Ganges tributory where the remains are disposed. There was also a network of caves up-river where holy men, sadhus, meditatate and continually smoke weed. I've since discovered that being a Hindu sadhu is kind of an entrepeneurial activity and seems to have little to do with moksha (liberation) and more to do with rupee (cha-ching). A bunch of sadhus posed for us and we were required to give them some money. We gave them about 20 rupees. They were annoyed by this since they saw we had more money. They seemed to be involved in a similar racket in Varanasi. We also spotted someone being cremated on the ghats. The guide said, "You can take a photo -the family isn't here." We declined, although the ghat subsequently ended up in an image taken at distance. Otherwise, the site was characterized by a lot of phallic paraphenalia (which I always find a weird aspect of Hinduism given how conservative Hindus actually are - I suspect these sexual aspects emerges as a function of the importance of marriage and the relation between man and women in living Hindu society).

Subsequently, we visited Durbar Square in Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktipur (the central square of the three main Nepali cities). Kathmandu Durbar Square was crowded with people and choked with hawkers and other annoying people (btw - Kumudu and I were continually approached by leather jacket wearing, greased hair oddballs who wanted to sell us weed. It was really weird and creepy. Although the tourists were weird and creepy as well so it kind of made sense). In Kathmandu Durbar Square (KDS) we saw Kumari Devi who is a Nepali living goddess. She is selected at birth by way of a series of highly specific physical attributes. Once found she is locked away in a particular building in KDS and only taken out for certain festivals (notably dasein). When she hits puberty, however, she loses her status as goddess and another person is selected. basicaly the goddess exists as an immortal 1-11 year old. After she is released from service her life sucks because no one will marry her or socialize with her. We left the Kathmandu Durbar Square quite promptly.

Patan was a little quieter which was nice. The Durbur Square there had a Krishna temple ("He is play-boy god!" the guide said. Sure enough, the temple had ancient porn sculpted around its struts. The guide told us: "When people want to know how to make baby, they come here. No need for books or lessons at school." I wasn't sure if he was joking). One of the central temples in Patan is also where the dasein festival is centred. There, kumari-devi is taken - put in a cage (basically) and made to watch 122 buffalo slaughtered and a whole host of chickens and goats. That kid must be screwed up - actually we asked the guide about this, he didn't get the question. After the slaughter is done, the buffalo entrails are hung up around the temple. Last year's intestines were still hanging, all cracked and dry, from the temple support struts. Why all the slaughter? For Kali of course, the goddess of blood and destruction. The Nepali people are very in to esoteric, tantric Hinduism which entails a lot of: a) sexualized Hinduism and b) the fetishization of the shakti consorts of the gods which are often violent in character.

Bhaktipur was far far away, expensive to get to and bitterly cold. We had not brought proper clothing for the weather ( I only bought two full pairs of pants, one pair was stolen in Bhairawa). As a result we didn't stay long.

After we finished in Kathmandu, we flew back to Kolkatta (stayed at CKT Inn again) and then went on to Colombo via Chennai, basically backtracking. I was sick (again!) on the way back so the flight was a bit uncmfortable (and delayed, groan). We wanted to press on to Tibet, but lack of money prevented this.

So when we got back to Sl, we discovered that the holi powder that we thought we had avoided had actually got on some of our clothes. What was worse was that when we tried to wash it out, it just got in the water and stains other clothes. We lost about 5 T-shirts that way. Stupid holi festival!