Marking 38 Years of the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord: Unkept Promises and Enduring Struggle

Editor’s Note

July 29 marks the 38th anniversary of the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord, signed on 29 July 1987 amid a brutal civil war. This report is compiled to reflect on the Accord’s legacy and its impact on the Eelam Tamil community – the Tamil people of Sri Lanka’s north-east – who have endured war, displacement, and discrimination. The aim is to provide a balanced, in-depth analysis that gathers survivor accounts, historical records, and expert commentary. We hope to shed light on the unresolved issues of identity, autonomy, and justice that have persisted for decades. Some testimonies include graphic memories of violence; readers are advised of the sensitive nature of these accounts. The following sections encapsulate the history, voices from the ground, and current relevance of the Accord’s promises and failures, presented with contextual maps and timelines for clarity.- Wimal Navaratnam, Human Rights Activist, July 26, 2025.

Executive Summary

Historical Context: The Indo–Lanka Accord was signed in July 1987 between India’s Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and Sri Lankan President J.R. Jayewardene at the height of Sri Lanka’s ethnic war. It aimed to end armed conflict by guaranteeing Tamil rights through devolution (the 13th Amendment to Sri Lanka’s Constitution) and disarming Tamil rebel groups. The agreement recognized Sri Lanka as multi-ethnic and acknowledged the Northern and Eastern provinces as areas of historic Tamil habitation.
Initial Hopes and Betrayal: Eelam Tamils initially welcomed India’s intervention, hoping it would ensure their security and political rights. However, within months, the mission derailed – the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF), deployed ostensibly as protectors, turned their guns on the Tamil militants (LTTE) and civilians. The result was a cycle of massacres, human rights abuses, and a profound sense of betrayal that scarred Tamil communities.
Long-Term Impacts: The Accord’s promises remain largely unfulfilled. The 13th Amendment created provincial councils, but genuine autonomy was never realized – powers like land and police control were withheld, and the mandated referendum on merging the North and East was never held (the provinces were de-merged by 2006). Sri Lanka’s civil war reignited after the IPKF’s departure and raged until 2009, culminating in mass atrocities against Tamils. The Tamil population continues to demand a meaningful political solution, while Sinhala nationalist elements view the Accord and 13th Amendment as illegitimate impositions, deepening the polarization.
Voices from the Ground: Survivor testimonies highlight the human toll. Tamil civilians recount witnessing loved ones killed or disappeared during the IPKF offensive in 1987. Survivors of the 2009 Mullivaikkal massacre describe desperate final days without food or medicine and soldiers looting the bodies of the dead. Despite the trauma, many Tamils express an enduring resolve that their struggle for dignity and self-determination will one day succeed.
Current Relevance: Thirty-eight years on, the core grievances that led to the Accord remain unresolved. Indigenous identity and heritage in the Tamil homelands are still contested – the Sri Lankan state continues policies of militarization and “Sinhalization” (state-sponsored demographic and cultural changes in Tamil areas). Autonomy remains limited: provincial institutions exist but without substantial power, and Tamil leaders across parties now urge a genuine federal arrangement beyond the failed unitary framework. Justice is still elusive – no accountability for wartime atrocities, tens of thousands of missing Tamils, and repeated calls by Tamil civil society to refer Sri Lanka to international tribunals for war crimes and genocide.
Looking Ahead: The Indo–Lanka Accord endures as a cautionary tale. It offered a blueprint to reconcile a multi-ethnic nation, but lack of trust, flawed implementation, and geopolitical gamesmanship paved the way for greater tragedy. True reconciliation will require confronting hard truths: recognizing the Tamil people’s historical identity and rights, ensuring meaningful power-sharing, and delivering justice for past atrocities. Without these steps, the shadows of 1987 will continue to loom over Sri Lanka’s future.

Historical Background

Origins of the Conflict and India’s Involvement

Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict traces back to the early post-independence period. After 1948, successive Sinhala-majority governments enacted policies that marginalized the Tamil minority, including the “Sinhala Only” language act of 1956 and state-aided Sinhalese settlements in traditional Tamil areas. Peaceful Tamil protests and power-sharing pacts (such as the Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam agreements of the 1950s–60s) were never honored, leading to growing Tamil alienation. By 1977, the main Tamil party (TULF) formally demanded a separate state – Tamil Eelam – after Tamil political rights were repeatedly denied. Ethnic pogroms in 1977, 1981, and the infamous “Black July” riots of 1983 (when over 2,000 Tamils were killed and 100,000 fled to India as refugees) fueled Tamil militancy. By the mid-1980s, the armed Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) had become the dominant force espousing Tamil self-determination, fighting Sri Lankan state repression in a brutal civil war.

India, Sri Lanka’s giant neighbor, initially provided covert support and training to Tamil rebels as sympathy in Tamil Nadu ran high after the 1983 violence. However, India’s motives blended altruism with self-interest. Strategically, New Delhi was determined to prevent Sri Lanka from fracturing or falling under hostile foreign influence (Pakistan, US, Israel). The influx of Tamil refugees and emotional outrage in Tamil Nadu gave India a locus standi to intervene. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and later her son Rajiv saw an opportunity to broker a solution that preserved Sri Lanka’s unity while addressing Tamil grievances – thus keeping Tamil separatism from reigniting in India and extending India’s regional influence.

By mid-1987, Sri Lanka’s military had laid siege to Jaffna (the Tamil heartland). Facing a humanitarian crisis, India stepped in with a dramatic airdrop of food on Jaffna in June 1987 (Operation Poomalai), warning Colombo that it would not be allowed to annihilate the Tamil rebels. Under intense pressure, President Jayewardene agreed to negotiate. After secret talks in Delhi, the Indo–Sri Lanka Peace Accord was hurriedly finalized and signed in Colombo on 29 July 1987. The Tamil militant leadership – notably LTTE leader V. Prabhakaran – was not a direct signatory and had misgivings, but was flown to New Delhi and pressed to cooperate.

Key Provisions of the 1987 Indo–Lanka Accord

The Accord’s text and annexes outlined a framework to end the conflict. India’s role was to guarantee implementation and ensure the safety of all communities in the north-east, effectively giving India a lasting say in Sri Lanka’s ethnic issue. Sri Lanka’s commitments centered on devolution and recognition of Tamil identity, while Tamil militants were to disarm. In summary, the main provisions included:

Provincial Unity & Devolution: Sri Lanka agreed to merge the Northern and Eastern Provinces into one administrative unit (the Tamil-majority “North-East”) with a single elected Provincial Council, Governor, and Chief Minister. This was subject to a referendum in the Eastern Province by end of 1988 to confirm the merger (which could be postponed by the president). Provincial Councils would be established island-wide, empowered with a measure of self-governance over local affairs (except national defense, foreign affairs, etc.). Crucially, the Accord envisioned enhancing these powers in time – President Jayewardene even promised India in writing that additional powers would be devolved beyond 13A’s initial scope.
Tamil Language and Identity: The government formally recognized Sri Lanka as a “multi-ethnic, multi-lingual” nation. It accepted that “Northern and Eastern provinces are the historical habitat of Sri Lankan Tamil-speaking peoples” (among other communities), affirming Tamils’ right to their homeland while acknowledging the plural demography. Tamil was to be elevated as an official language of Sri Lanka alongside Sinhala (and English as a link language) – a major concession enshrined in the 13th Amendment. Additionally, all those detained under anti-terrorism laws for Tamil militancy would be granted amnesty and released.
Cessation of Hostilities: A ceasefire was to take effect in the north and east. The Sri Lankan military would pull back to barracks in those provinces, and the police and security of Tamil areas would essentially come under the Indian Peace Keeping Force. Simultaneously, Tamil armed groups were to surrender their weapons, overseen by the Red Cross and the IPKF. India committed to disarm Tamil rebels who refused and to “underwrite and guarantee” the settlement’s implementation.
Indian and Regional Security Assurances: In bilateral letters annexed to the Accord, Sri Lanka agreed that its ports (notably Trincomalee) would not be made available to military use by adversaries of India, and foreign troops would not be invited in. India, for its part, agreed not to support any separatist militant activities on its soil (meaning the Tamil insurgents’ bases in India would be shut down). These clauses underscored that beyond resolving Tamil grievances, the Accord was also about cementing India’s geopolitical influence in Sri Lanka.

Despite LTTE reservations, Prabhakaran announced a hesitant “cooperation” with the Accord initially – telling gathered Tamils in Suthumalai on 4 August 1987, “My beloved people, we have no alternative other than to co-operate with this Indian endeavour… Let us offer them this opportunity.”. The next day, the Tigers began handing in some arms, hopeful but wary. On 30 July 1987, thousands of Indian troops of the IPKF landed in Jaffna to a warm welcome by Tamil civilians, who garlanded the Indian soldiers and hailed them as saviors arriving to enforce peace. For a brief moment, war-weary Tamil people breathed a sigh of relief, believing that the Accord’s “guarantees” – backed by India – might finally end decades of oppression.

An Accord Fails: From Peacekeeping to War

The honeymoon was short-lived. Underneath the public optimism lay mutual distrust. The LTTE felt excluded from the Accord’s negotiation and feared it fell short of Tamil aspirations. Within weeks, signs of trouble emerged. Sri Lankan troops had not fully ceased hostilities, clashing with the LTTE in pockets. In September 1987, LTTE political cadre Thileepan undertook a hunger strike unto death, appealing to the Indian government to honour promises (such as withdrawing Sri Lankan forces and ensuring Tamil political rights); his martyrdom rallied Tamil public sentiment and strained Tamil-Indian relations further.

A breaking point came in early October 1987. The IPKF, under pressure to show results, attempted to apprehend hardcore LTTE members. Twelve senior Tiger fighters were detained by the IPKF and were about to be handed over to Sri Lankan authorities – but rather than face likely torture, they ingested cyanide and died in custody. This incident shattered the remaining trust. As LTTE advisor Anton Balasingham observed, it was “the straw that broke the camel’s back” in the tense India-LTTE relationship. Within days, on 10 October 1987, the IPKF launched a full-scale military offensive against the LTTE in the Jaffna peninsula. The peacekeepers had become combatants.

What followed was a bloody two-year war between the IPKF and the LTTE (1987–1990), fought entirely on Tamil soil. The initially cheering Tamil populace soon found themselves caught in a nightmare of crossfire and retribution. The IPKF’s operations – aimed at crushing the LTTE – were often indiscriminate and brutal in densely populated areas. Civilians who only weeks earlier greeted Indian soldiers with flowers now gave them a bitter nickname: “Innocent People Killing Force.” As J.R. Jayewardene grimly quipped, “the referee was now fighting in the ring.”

Multiple credible reports and eyewitness accounts attest to large-scale atrocities by the IPKF during this period. In the October 1987 battle of Jaffna, Indian forces shelled and bombed the city relentlessly for weeks. One local narrative described “mortar and artillery shells raining from every direction 24 hours a day… people were killed everywhere”. On 21–22 October 1987, IPKF troops stormed Jaffna Hospital, shooting dead scores of patients, doctors, and nurses in a horrific massacre inside a supposed safe zone. At least 68 civilians (including 21 medical staff) died in that hospital attack, an incident so shocking that even foreign press later dubbed it “India’s My Lai” – comparing it to the infamous Vietnam War mass killing.

Across the north-east, Tamil civilians were subjected to massacres, rape, enforced disappearances, and widespread destruction at the hands of the supposedly friendly IPKF. Entire villages were razed and women viciously assaulted – “Hundreds of Tamil women were raped… most done to death after sexual violence,” the LTTE charged, accusing the IPKF of unleashing “a war without mercy upon the Tamil people”. A young widow from Kopay recalled how her husband went missing when Indian troops swept her area: “After one month of his disappearance, I came to know that he was shot and killed by the army… and his body was disposed of by the army itself,” she testified. Another survivor, a father, described fleeing on a tractor with others when an Indian shell struck: “A shell fell close to us, killing 4 persons, including my eldest daughter Shobana, age 16,” he recounted solemnly. Such personal tragedies became devastatingly common.

By early 1988, the conflict had effectively pitted India against the very Tamil populace it meant to save. Jaffna residents cowered in bunkers or jungles, caught between a ferocious IPKF onslaught and the LTTE’s uncompromising resistance. India imposed a strict media blackout, barring international journalists from the war zone and dismissing emerging atrocity reports as “LTTE propaganda”. Nonetheless, news of the IPKF’s conduct trickled out, sparking outrage in Tamil Nadu. In late 1987, massive protests erupted in Chennai; political leaders in Tamil Nadu formed human chains demanding an end to “the war against Tamils.” The Indian prime minister Rajiv Gandhi’s popularity plummeted over the intervention, which became a contentious issue domestically.

On the Sinhala side, the Accord provoked a fierce backlash as well. Many Sinhalese saw the agreement as a violation of sovereignty – Indian troops on Sri Lankan soil was an affront to nationalist pride. Hardline elements painted Jayewardene as a traitor. The leftist-nationalist Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) launched an insurrection in the Sinhala south (1987–89) to protest the “Indian invasion” and the devolution pact. This “bheeshana yugaya” (terror period) led to the deaths of an estimated 60,000 Sinhala youth as the government brutally suppressed the JVP uprising. Thus, the Indo–Lanka Accord inadvertently ignited another conflict front – a Sinhalese civil rebellion – even as it failed to stop the Tamil separatist war.

Collapse of the Accord and Aftermath

Ultimately, the Indo–Lanka Accord’s peace experiment collapsed. After 32 months of bitter fighting, India withdrew the last of its IPKF troops in March 1990 at the request of the Sri Lankan government (and amidst India’s own changing political winds). Over 1,000 Indian soldiers lost their lives, and many more Tamil civilians perished (local counts say 1,400+ Tamil noncombatants were killed in just the first few weeks of IPKF operations in late 1987). When the Indians departed, there were few Tamil mourners; the populace had come to view them as occupiers rather than protectors. The LTTE, though bloodied, survived and re-established its control over the northern region.

Sri Lanka was left essentially where it started – but with the situation arguably worse. Trust between Tamils and India was shattered. As the LTTE later observed, “when a Peace Keeping Force transforms into an army of aggression…the psychological impact is tremendous”, destroying any illusion that Tamils could rely on outside powers for protection. The episode imparted a bitter lesson to the Tamil struggle: they felt betrayed by India’s realpolitik and hardened in their resolve to pursue independence on their own terms. In May 1991, LTTE operatives assassinated Rajiv Gandhi in Tamil Nadu – a revenge for his role in the Accord and IPKF war, which would freeze India’s willingness to engage with the Tamil cause for years to come.

Politically, the Accord’s only surviving legacy was the 13th Amendment. In late 1987, Sri Lanka incorporated the promised devolution into its constitution under Indian pressure. The new Provincial Council system did come into effect (elections were held in 1988 for the merged North-East Council, which the pro-Accord Tamil group EPRLF won under Indian supervision). However, once the IPKF withdrew, the central government in Colombo stalled and rolled back devolution. President Premadasa and later regimes treated the provincial councils as administrative appendages rather than autonomous bodies, withholding powers over land, police, and finance that the law technically allowed. The referendum to decide the North-East merger was never conducted; in 2006, Sri Lanka’s Supreme Court ruled the Northeast’s union null and void on technical grounds, formally de-merging the provinces.

Meanwhile, the main war between the LTTE and the Sri Lankan government resumed in June 1990 and raged on for nearly two more decades. With India out of the equation, the Tigers declared they were fighting for nothing short of an independent Tamil Eelam. The 13th Amendment arrangement – despised by Tamil militants as a paltry half-measure – did not gain much legitimacy among the Tamil populace, especially as war and emergency rule trumped any provincial rights. The North-East Council itself lasted only until 1990, when its Chief Minister Varadaraja Perumal (allied to India) was chased into exile as the Sri Lankan Army and the LTTE fought to control Jaffna. Perumal had even declared a unilateral independence of the NE province as IPKF left (a largely symbolic move that Colombo of course rejected). Thereafter, the north-east had no elected provincial government for decades (the Northern Province only saw a council elected again in 2013, four years after the civil war ended).

In short, by the early 1990s, the Indo–Lanka Accord’s grand design was in tatters. India “washed its hands” of direct involvement after the Rajiv Gandhi assassination, adopting a more hands-off approach to Sri Lanka’s conflict (save for occasional diplomatic efforts). The LTTE versus Government war escalated, with no effective mediator. Successive Sri Lankan regimes, freed from Indian leverage, oscillated between military solutions and half-hearted negotiations until the war’s climax in 2009. The Tamil civilian population endured enormous suffering in the interceding years – from mass displacement (e.g. over half a million Tamils fled overseas, forming a global diaspora), to atrocities like the 1995 Navaly church bombing and the 1996 Chemmani mass graves, to systematic persecution under draconian anti-terror laws.

Thus, the Indo–Lanka Accord failed to bring immediate peace. Yet it remains a pivotal chapter in the conflict’s history, one that offers insight into subsequent developments. The Accord confirmed certain principles (Tamil language rights, the concept of a Tamil territorial unit, etc.) in Sri Lanka’s constitution, which still linger, contested but not removed. It also altered the trajectory of the war – in ways arguably for the worse – by adding new layers of trauma and mistrust. The next section examines how these long-term impacts have played out for the Eelam Tamil community and the island as a whole.

Long-Term Impacts of the Accord on the Eelam Tamil Struggle

A Fractured Tamil Polity: One immediate impact of 1987 was the split it caused in Tamil leadership. The Indo–Lanka Accord created a rift between militants like the LTTE (who rejected anything short of full independence) and other Tamil groups who decided to accept provincial council roles under Indian tutelage. This division weakened the Tamil political front. Post-Accord, the LTTE eliminated rival groups seen as “traitors” for collaborating. Moderate Tamil leaders who had initially supported the Accord (like Appapillai Amirthalingam of TULF, who saw it as a starting point) ended up assassinated by the LTTE by 1989. The LTTE emerged as the sole Tamil force, uncompromising on the goal of Eelam. Some argue Tamils “missed a chance” for devolution – “if they had been politically astute they could have accepted the accord as a starting point and gradually enhanced devolution… hitching their wagon to the Indian star,” one analyst writes in hindsight. But after the IPKF’s onslaught, the Tigers and much of the Tamil populace had lost all faith in incremental solutions within a united Sri Lanka. The stage was set for a long war of attrition.

War without Witnesses: The IPKF episode also influenced how the later phases of the war were fought. Tamils learned that even an international intervention could turn against them, and the international community largely averted its eyes. The pattern of imposing censorship and cutting off outside access, seen during the IPKF conflict, would be repeated by the Sri Lankan government in future offensives. During the final war (2006–2009), Sri Lanka barred independent media and NGOs from the north, much as India had in 1987–89, enabling heavy-handed tactics away from scrutiny. This contributed to the scale of atrocities in 2009 (with tens of thousands of civilian deaths) because the Army, like the IPKF earlier, operated with impunity behind closed doors.

Erosion of Tamil Trust in India: The Accord’s collapse dealt a lasting blow to Tamil perceptions of India. The Tamil Eelam nationalist narrative hardened – portraying India’s 1987 intervention as a cynical geopolitical move that sacrificed Tamil lives. Even today, many Tamil survivors carry scars from the IPKF period and remain wary of Indian motives. For instance, families in Jaffna still recall the IPKF with horror, associating the name with “bombardment, rape and grief”. This lingering distrust complicated India’s later attempts to facilitate peace (such as the Norwegian-brokered 2002 ceasefire, where India stayed in the background). It also means that Tamil activists now engage the international community beyond India, seeking support from UN bodies, Western countries, and diaspora networks. The sense of betrayal is summed up by an oft-cited reflection: “The legacy of the IPKF is one of bitter lessons and unhealed wounds” – a trauma that pushed many Tamils to pin their hopes on transnational advocacy rather than regional powers.

Political Autonomy Deferred: The provincial councils set up under the 13th Amendment have persisted in Sri Lanka’s governance, but for Tamils, they never delivered the meaningful autonomy envisaged in the Accord. Over the past 38 years, the “Tamil national question” remains unresolved. The merged North-East Province existed temporarily from 1987 to 2006 (governed mostly de facto by the LTTE in the 1990s, and then formally de-merged). The Eastern Province reverted to separate provincial administration, diluting the concept of a single Tamil homeland. Furthermore, successive central governments either kept the Northern Province under direct rule (during wartime) or tightly controlled the councils through governors and budget strings. Key provisions like land and police powers, promised in the Accord’s spirit, were never actually devolved – even today, the Sri Lankan military controls vast lands in the north-east and policing is centralized. Tamil leaders point out that all attempts to “build upon” 13A have failed, leaving only a shell that “does not allow for practical power-sharing” within the unitary state. In other words, the political grievances of the Tamil people – lack of self-governance, security in their areas, and recognition as a distinct nation – were not cured by the Accord’s partial implementations. This has prolonged the sense of political injustice among Eelam Tamils.

Continued Resistance and Internationalization: The failure of domestic solutions post-Accord led the Tamil struggle to transform rather than die. Even after the LTTE’s military defeat in 2009, the call for Tamil self-determination did not disappear – it shifted to democratic and international arenas. The 1987 Accord had implicitly acknowledged a Tamil homeland and identity; Tamil activists today latch onto that and international law to make their case. They increasingly frame their struggle in terms of indigenous rights and self-determination principles. For example, Tamils assert they are a people with “a distinct language, religion and historic homeland,” entitled to autonomy under instruments like the UN Charter and Indigenous Peoples’ rights. This echo of the Accord’s recognition (Clause 1.4 and 1.5 of the Accord acknowledged distinct Tamil identity and habitual Tamil habitation of the North-East) is now used as an advocacy tool globally. The unfulfilled promise of the Accord thus partly seeded a transnational campaign: diaspora organizations frequently cite the Accord and its unkept commitments in lobbying foreign governments and the UN, arguing that international intervention is needed since Sri Lanka reneged on the 1987 settlement and subsequent obligations.

Polarization in Sri Lanka’s Ethnic Politics: Within Sri Lanka, the Accord’s legacy has been divisive. On one hand, it offered the Tamils a constitutional concession (13A) that remains the baseline of any discussion on devolution. On the other hand, Sinhalese hardliners have never accepted the Accord’s legitimacy. As noted earlier, the JVP’s second insurgency was fueled by opposition to the Accord. Even after the war, influential Sinhala nationalist voices continue to demand the repeal of the 13th Amendment – seeing it as a Trojan horse for secession. They argue it created “borders of a fictional [Tamil] homeland” and entrenched communal politics. For example, one Sinhala columnist writes that the debate should be not 13 Plus or 13 Minus but “when (not if) the 13th will be abrogated,” claiming the amendment “caused blood to flow” and should be scrapped to preserve Sri Lanka’s unitary integrity. This enduring mindset among a segment of the majority means every attempt to implement or expand provincial powers meets stiff resistance. Thus, the Accord’s imprint is a deeply contested one – Tamils view 13A as the floor (and far from sufficient), whereas Sinhala nationalists view it as the ceiling (and beyond what they can tolerate). Sri Lanka’s post-war leaders have constantly had to navigate this polarization, often resulting in paralysis on genuine power-sharing reforms.

Human Rights and Justice Issues: Finally, the human rights dimension of the conflict – which the Accord failed to adequately address – has only grown more prominent with time. The Accord included an Indian guarantee of physical security for Tamils. Its betrayal on that front (through IPKF abuses) and the subsequent mass killings of Tamils in the 1990s and 2000s have left festering wounds. To this day, tens of thousands of Tamil families await answers about those who disappeared during the war years (including the IPKF period and the final 2009 events). The lack of accountability for atrocities committed by any party – be it the IPKF’s war crimes or the Sri Lankan Army’s slaughter of civilians in 2009 – remains a central Tamil grievance. In the long shadow of the Accord, justice delayed has been justice denied. The Indo–Lanka Accord’s failure to prevent future massacre of Tamils (arguably it presaged one) has reinforced the Tamil community’s determination to seek international justice. In recent years, Tamil politicians and victims’ groups have jointly appealed to the UN Human Rights Council, urging member states to refer Sri Lanka to the ICC for atrocity crimes. They emphasize that 38 years after 1987, and 14 years after 2009, not a single perpetrator of mass atrocities has been punished, calling it “16 years of no progress on accountability” since the war’s end. This culture of impunity is seen as an root factor enabling ongoing abuses against Tamils. In essence, the long-term impact on justice has been grim – the Accord’s lofty human rights assurances proved empty, and Tamils are still struggling to this day for acknowledgment and redress of the crimes inflicted on their community.

In summary, the Indo–Lanka Accord cast a long shadow. It altered the trajectory of the Tamil struggle, closing some doors and opening others. It injected the principle of devolution into Sri Lanka’s polity but discredited the idea of external “saviors.” It temporarily intensified the conflict (via the IPKF and JVP episodes) even as it tried to solve it. For the Eelam Tamil community, the Accord is remembered with ambivalence – as a moment when their cause gained international recognition and promises on paper, but also as a painful chapter of betrayal and bloodshed. The following firsthand voices illustrate how those events are etched in individual and collective memory.

Voices from the Ground: Tamils Remember the Accord and Aftermath

“Suddenly, our saviours became killers.” – K., a schoolteacher from Jaffna (1987). When the IPKF arrived, K. joined thousands in welcoming them with relief. But weeks later she was fleeing for her life. She recalls one horrific day in October 1987: “We had to walk past the bodies of our dead. As we were walking, we could see in the distance, the [Indian] army looting jewellery from dead bodies and putting it in their clothes and shoes,” she recounted, describing the chaos after battles in her village. Like many, she was stunned that the very force meant to protect them unleashed such cruelty. “Neither the Tamil people nor the LTTE anticipated, even in their wildest dreams, a war with India… India was their protector, guardian and saviour,” the LTTE’s Political Committee reflected, capturing the shock of betrayal felt by civilians. K.’s husband never returned home during the IPKF onslaught – he vanished without a trace in an IPKF round-up. Months later, she learned through rumors that he had been shot and his body dumped secretly. “The Tamils were shocked beyond belief,” one report noted of that period – a sentiment K. echoes to this day whenever she speaks of 1987.
“All we had was kanji; everything else was gone.” – Anonymous survivor, Mullivaikkal (2009). In May 2009, in the war’s final days, tens of thousands of Tamils were encircled on a tiny strip of land in Mullivaikkal, under constant shellfire. A woman who lived through this massacre of civilians recounts the deprivation and despair: “We sold whatever we could for whatever money we could get. We made plain kanji (rice gruel). By the 12th and 13th [of May] we could not even make kanji. We had no rice. We had no pots and pans, no clothes, no sanitary products for women,” she remembers. As artillery shells rained down and families huddled in shallow bunkers, basic survival became a luxury. The same survivor witnessed Sri Lankan soldiers rifling through the corpses after the cease-fire: “As we were walking [out of the battle zone], we saw the army [soldiers] looting jewellery from the dead bodies… pocketing it,” she testified, highlighting the indignity piled upon unspeakable loss. Despite losing nearly everything, this survivor’s voice does not quaver when she talks about the future. “Even if not today, our struggle will succeed one day,” she insists, expressing an undying hope that the Tamil people’s quest for justice and self-determination will ultimately prevail. Such resilience amid devastation is a common refrain among Mullivaikkal survivors – a mix of trauma and determination handed down to the next generation along with the memories of atrocity.
“We cannot forget – or give up.” – K. Thurairajah, displaced villager from Mannar. For many ordinary Tamils, the decades after the Accord have been a saga of displacement and disenfranchisement. Thurairajah’s family was uprooted multiple times: once by the IPKF-LTTE fighting, again in the 1990s by Sri Lankan military offensives, and still today they are unable to return to some of their own lands due to military high-security zones. He laments that the pledges of 1987 feel like a cruel joke: “The Accord promised to protect us. Instead we got more war. We lost our home in 1987, in 1990, and again in 2008. Now ‘peace’ has come, but still an Army camp occupies my fields,” he says bitterly. In 2023, over 6,000 acres of land in the Northern Province – including areas like Thurairajah’s – were newly gazetted by the government as state land, preventing original Tamil owners from reclaiming them. Instances like this convince him that the state is not serious about reconciliation. Yet, he has become active in a local civil society group lobbying for land returns and provincial powers. “If India and the world community helped impose a solution once, they can help again,” Thurairajah says, pointing to how he and others have submitted petitions to the UN. His group contributed to a memorandum handed to the visiting UN High Commissioner in 2025, documenting ongoing land grabs and the lack of any shift in policies towards Tamils. “We want the world to know our struggle didn’t end in 2009. We are still fighting, peacefully, for the same rights we were promised decades ago,” he affirms. For people like Thurairajah, memory of loss fuels civic activism; the voices of villagers and war victims now feed into letters to diplomats and human rights forums, keeping their plight on the global agenda.

These testimonies – whether from 1987 or 2009 – underscore a common narrative thread: the Eelam Tamil community has endured immense suffering in their quest for security and autonomy. They illustrate how the events surrounding the Indo–Lanka Accord have been internalized by Tamils as part of a collective trauma. A once-friendly neighbor becoming an aggressor, overcrowded hospitals turning into slaughterhouses, children dying of hunger and shellfire – such images remain seared in the communal consciousness. And yet, through these voices also runs a stubborn resilience and remembrance. “The psychological impact [of seeing a onetime saviour turn oppressor] cannot but be tremendous,” wrote one Tamil survivor, “but it also taught us that we must rely on ourselves and never give up our rights.” The hard-earned lessons of those years now inform Tamil civil society’s unwavering (if peaceful) push for truth, justice, and self-determination. As the community commemorates 38 years since the Accord, these ground-level perspectives ensure that the human dimension – beyond the politics and diplomacy – is not forgotten.

Current Relevance: The Accord’s Ghost in Today’s Crisis

In 2025, Sri Lanka grapples with multiple challenges – economic crisis, political change, and calls for reform – and the Indo–Lanka Accord’s legacy is sharply relevant in debates on the Tamil question. The core issues that the Accord sought to address are still on the table. This enduring relevance is evident in recent developments:

Unfulfilled Promises of Devolution: The 13th Amendment, born out of the Accord, remains a focal point of contention. Sri Lanka’s current President (elected in late 2024) has indicated some willingness to implement 13A fully, acknowledging that “without ethnic reconciliation there will be no economic stability”. In early 2023, then-President Ranil Wickremesinghe even promised to unveil full 13A implementation by Sri Lanka’s 75th Independence Day – a promise he failed to meet. Still, that such a statement was made underscores that even the country’s economic recovery is seen as linked to resolving Tamil grievances. To date, however, Provincial Council elections have been delayed for years, and powers like police remain unapplied. Tamil leaders emphasize that what little the Accord achieved (13A) has been eroded by lack of will. M.A. Sumanthiran, an MP from the Tamil National Alliance, recently noted that joint Indian-Sri Lankan statements in 2010–2012 explicitly agreed to “fully implement 13A and build upon it” – yet “that has not been done”. The North and East remain under a unitary state structure that concentrates authority in Colombo. In April 2025, a delegation of Tamil politicians met Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi in Colombo, urging India to hold Sri Lanka to its past commitments. “The implementation of the Indo-Lanka Accord has not taken place – many shortcomings are evident,” Sumanthiran told Modi, highlighting that meaningful power-sharing via a new constitution is needed, “based on the Indo-Lanka Accord.” This shows the Accord is still used as a reference point and lever in diplomatic dialogue. Modi publicly “reiterated unwavering commitment to equality, dignity and justice for Tamils within a united Sri Lanka” and called for provincial council elections to be held. However, Sri Lanka’s leadership remains divided: ironically the new president, Anura Dissanayake of the leftist NPP, hails from the JVP tradition that “fought staunchly against the Accord and remains against its implementation”. Thus, the fundamental impasse persists – Colombo sends mixed signals, while India gently prods, and Tamils grow impatient.
Calls for Federalism vs. Unitary State: Tamil parties have largely moved beyond 13A, calling it inadequate. The Tamil National People’s Front (TNPF), for instance, urges India and the international community to reject 13A as a final solution, instead supporting a federal structure or even a UN-supervised referendum on Tamil nationhood. TNPF leader Gajendrakumar Ponnambalam argues that 38 years of unitary-state devolution have failed: “Even though the Indo-Lanka Accord was meant to resolve the Tamil ethnic issue, it has been brought under a unitary framework through the 13th Amendment. That is why, even today, the issues of the Tamil people remain unresolved.” His stance, shared by a spectrum of Tamil civil groups, is that only a federal arrangement – going beyond the unitary constraint – can fulfill the Accord’s intent effectively. In their April 2025 meeting with Modi, Tamil leaders (including TNPF, ITAK, TELO, PLOTE representatives) requested that India facilitate a dialogue that “implements the Indo-Lanka Accord beyond the unitary system, through a comprehensive federal structure.” This is a significant development – essentially asking India to bless a renegotiation of Sri Lanka’s state model, something India historically avoided after 1987. Meanwhile, Sinhala nationalist actors, as noted, vehemently oppose federalism, viewing it as a stepping stone to secession. The current Sri Lankan government’s statements tread carefully: they speak of full 13A implementation “and consensus-based additional measures,” but stop short of the word “federal.” Yet, noteworthy is the quiet shift in discourse – federal ideas are being discussed more openly now than at any time since the Accord, partly due to Tamil unity on this demand and the urgency created by Sri Lanka’s political and economic crises.
Human Rights and International Pressure: The cause of accountability for past atrocities has gained renewed momentum, intertwined with the Tamil national question. In June 2025, during a visit by UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk, a cross-section of Tamil political and civil society leaders delivered a stark letter. Titled “Need for a sincere and genuine approach to ensure accountability in Sri Lanka,” it warned that the government was using token gestures to “weaken the resolve” of the UN to push for justice. The letter notes “16 years of no significant progress” on accountability since the war ended and cites fresh examples of repression – such as the continuing land grabs, building of Buddhist temples on Tamil lands (e.g. at Kurunthur Malai and Thayiddy) and backtracking on repealing the draconian Prevention of Terrorism Act – to illustrate that the Sri Lankan state’s approach to Tamils remains hostile. Significantly, the letter references a joint Tamil submission from 2021 that urged UN member states to refer Sri Lanka to the International Criminal Court for genocide, war crimes, and crimes against humanity. Among its signatories were members of Parliament from all major Tamil parties and victim group representatives, showing an unprecedented unity. This internationalization of justice efforts is directly linked to the failure of mechanisms tied to the Accord – Sri Lanka’s own commissions have been deemed shams, and even India’s guarantees did not protect Tamil civilians. Now, Tamil leaders plead with global bodies to not let Sri Lanka “exploit” diplomatic engagements to escape pressure. The UN rights chief, for his part, publicly urged Sri Lanka to genuinely prosecute war criminals in June 2025, noting the lack of any credible domestic trials so far. The persistence of this issue highlights that without justice, peace is incomplete – a notion the Accord touched on by promising amnesty and safety, but which current advocates extend to demanding accountability for state-perpetrated crimes as well.
Militarization and Identity Erosion: On the ground in the north-east, Tamil activists report that military presence is still heavy (the north has one of the world’s highest soldier-to-civilian ratios in peacetime). State-driven demographic changes continue – for instance, government-sponsored Sinhala settlements and Buddhist stupas built in historically Tamil Hindu/Christian areas. This is seen as an attempt to dilute Tamil indigenous presence. A diaspora human rights group, PEARL, in May 2025 accused the Sri Lankan government of maintaining a “state policy to disempower Tamils through heavy militarization, land-grab gazettes and further Sinhalization of the Tamil homeland, all while claiming to prioritize ‘reconciliation’.” It pointed out that the root cause – Sinhala-Buddhist majoritarianism – remains unaddressed, “with the [new] government’s unwavering commitment to the unitary state and outright rejection of meaningful constitutional reform.” This assessment encapsulates why Tamils feel that the spirit of the 1987 Accord (which recognized the north-east as Tamil’s historic areas and envisioned power-sharing) has been steadily undermined. Indeed, nearly every clause of the Accord that involved concrete action has stalled or been reversed: the north-east is demerged; provincial powers are hollow; Sinhala settlers are entrenching themselves in the east (where a Muslim/Sinhala population could vote down any merger if a referendum were held now); Tamil language implementation is patchy at best; and most glaringly, India’s guarantee of Tamil security proved short-lived. Yet, paradoxically, the Accord remains valid on paper – neither India nor Sri Lanka abrogated it officially. This means Colombo technically still has obligations (like those letters annexed, and to nurture the multi-ethnic character recognized by the Accord). Tamil advocates leverage this by reminding India that the Accord is “an instrument of Indian influence in the region” that can be reactivated. Every time Sri Lanka drifts too far – say, a leader hints at scrapping provincial councils – India invokes the Accord to rein it in. For instance, in 2020 when calls to abolish 13A rose, New Delhi firmly stated that it “expects” Sri Lanka to uphold Tamil provincial rights as per the Accord.
Geopolitical Shifts and the Tamil Issue: Contemporary Indo–Lanka relations are influenced by new factors (China’s influence, economic dependencies). India recently signed a defense cooperation agreement with Sri Lanka (April 2025) to secure its strategic interests. While defense pacts grab headlines, India simultaneously emphasizes that Tamil rights are a core aspect of bilateral ties. Prime Minister Modi’s visit in 2025 included meetings with Tamil leaders specifically to address their concerns, and he publicly urged the Sri Lankan Government to “fulfil its commitment towards fully implementing the constitution…and conducting Provincial Council Elections.” This indicates India sees the Tamil issue as intertwined with regional stability – exactly the logic in 1987. However, Tamil skeptics worry that India might once again prioritize strategic cooperation over Tamil human rights (as happened in the late 2000s when India provided quiet support to Sri Lanka’s anti-LTTE war). The difference now is the robust voice of the Tamil diaspora and international human rights networks that continuously shine a light on Sri Lanka. They act as a check, to some degree, on any back-room compromise that ignores Tamil interests. Thus, the current relevance of the Accord is also as a diplomatic tool and benchmark: it is cited in UNHRC resolutions and by foreign ministries as the starting template for a political solution. For example, nearly every UNHRC session on Sri Lanka references the need for a political settlement including provincial devolution (implicitly referencing 13A/Accord). The Accord’s framework is effectively the only internationally recognized arrangement on Sri Lanka’s ethnic issue.

In conclusion, the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord at 38 is not merely a historical footnote but a living factor in Sri Lanka’s present. The country stands at a crossroads with a chance – under intense economic and global pressure – to finally address the cry for equality that led to 1987. Tamil leaders caution that history will repeat if grievances are not resolved: “Those who forget the lessons of history are condemned to remember them again bitterly,” a veteran Tamil journalist wrote on a past anniversary. The “lesson” of the Accord is that imposing a top-down solution without genuine consensus and follow-through can be disastrous. The hope now is for a bottom-up, inclusive process that takes into account the voices of Tamils (and all communities), learning from the mistakes of 1987. As both India and the international community re-engage with Sri Lanka on these issues, the Accord’s legacy looms large – a reminder of unrealized aspirations, and a blueprint, however flawed, that could still guide a path forward if properly built upon.

Conclusion

“July 1987” remains a watershed in the narrative of Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict. Thirty-eight years on, the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord can be seen as both a missed opportunity and a minimum benchmark. It was a bold attempt to recognize the multi-ethnic reality of Sri Lanka and accord Tamils a measure of self-governance, but it unraveled in execution, leading to deeper wounds. The Eelam Tamil community today carries the twin legacies of the Accord: on one hand, the legal and moral affirmation that they are a distinct people with a right to govern their own affairs in their homeland; on the other, the painful memory that external assurances failed to protect them when it mattered most.

The historical, political, and social impacts detailed in this report illustrate a sobering truth: structural grievances left unaddressed will fester and ignite again. The Accord temporarily doused the flames in 1987, only for a fiercer fire to rage afterward, culminating in the 2009 cataclysm. The core issues – recognition of Tamil nationhood within Sri Lanka, equitable power-sharing, an end to discrimination and violence – survived the war and remain urgent. Tamils in Sri Lanka still live under a constitution that refuses to explicitly name them as a constituent people or acknowledge their heritage in the north-east. They still seek a political arrangement that ensures they can chart their destiny without fear of majoritarian dominance. And they still demand justice for historical wrongs – from the burning of Jaffna Library in 1981 to the shelling of Mullivaikkal in 2009.

At the same time, the resilience shown by the Tamil community offers hope. The fact that survivors of the worst atrocities continue to raise their voices, and that Tamil representatives who once were divided have forged common positions, indicates a determination to achieve through democracy and advocacy what could not be won on the battlefield. Their struggle has transformed, not ended. As one Mullivaikkal survivor said, “we believed that even if not today, our struggle will succeed one day.” This hope now rests on political wisdom prevailing where military solutions failed.

For the Sri Lankan state and the international guarantors (like India), the 38th anniversary of the Accord is a moment to reflect and recalibrate. Genuine reconciliation in Sri Lanka will require courageous steps that were avoided in 1987 – such as devolving meaningful powers (potentially federalism), acknowledging the Tamil people’s status as a nation within a plurinational state, and ensuring accountability for atrocities so that Tamil citizens can trust the state again. These are difficult steps, but the alternative is continual instability and disunity. The Accord showed that imposed peace without justice is illusory. Lasting peace must be built on truth, trust, and the consent of those governed.

In closing, the Indo–Lanka Accord’s story is a lesson in the perils of half-measures and the cost of broken promises. If Sri Lanka is to move forward, it must finally address the spirit of 1987 – the idea that unity in diversity is possible through power-sharing and respect for each other’s dignity. The Eelam Tamil community, having paid an incalculable price over the decades, stands ready to embrace a just peace. The question that remains at this 38-year milestone is whether Sri Lanka’s leadership and its international partners have the resolve to fulfill an accord – and accord the Tamils the rights – that are long overdue.

Disclaimer

This report is a journalistic analysis and commemorative piece compiled from diverse sources – survivor testimonials, news archives, political statements, and academic research. The perspectives presented (especially those of survivors and community voices) reflect the experiences and sentiments of those individuals, not any official position. Every effort has been made to verify facts and represent differing viewpoints accurately, given the sensitive nature of historical memory. The inclusion of first-hand accounts of violence is intended to honour and document truthfully what occurred. Some names and identifying details have been omitted for the privacy and security of those who shared their stories. This document does not aim to cast blame on any one community, but rather to shed light on the consequences of political decisions and the enduring need for reconciliation. The content herein is provided for informational purposes, with sincere respect for all victims of Sri Lanka’s conflict.

Appendices

Appendix I: Key Provisions of the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord (1987) and Outcomes

Provision (Accord Clause)	Intended Measure	Status/Outcome (2025)
Merger of Northern & Eastern Provinces (Clause 2.2)	Temporarily merge two provinces into one Tamil-majority unit; referendum in Eastern Province by end of 1988 to decide on permanent merger.	Merged as “North-East Province” in 1987. Referendum never held; merger annulled by Supreme Court in 2006. Northern and Eastern Provinces now separate.
Provincial Councils & Devolution (Clause 2.2 & Annexure)	Establish elected Provincial Councils with powers over local matters (except reserved national subjects). 13th Amendment to Constitution enacted this.	Provincial Councils formed in all 9 provinces (1988). Powers devolved were limited; key subjects (land, police) not genuinely transferred. Elections in North/East interrupted by war; after 2009, councils function but under central-appointed Governors’ influence.
Official Language Status for Tamil (Clause 2.13)	Tamil to be an official language of Sri Lanka (with Sinhala); English link language.	Enshrined in 13th Amendment. Tamil is legally an official language now. Implementation is partial – e.g., government services often still Sinhala-dominant.
Citizenship for Stateless Indian Tamils (Clause 2.8)	Grant citizenship to all “Indian Tamil” Plantation workers who were still stateless by 1988.	Largely completed by 1988 law – most up-country Tamils got citizenship. Not a central issue for Eelam Tamils of North-East, but resolved a decades-long injustice for Plantation Tamils.
Return of Displaced Persons (Clause 2.5)	Persons displaced by ethnic violence could return to their homes, and refugees in India repatriated voluntarily.	Limited success. Some refugees repatriated under UNHCR in late 1980s, but new displacement waves occurred 1990s. As of 2025, ~100,000 Sri Lankan Tamil refugees still live in India.
Security Arrangements: - Ceasefire (Clause 2.9) <br> - Sri Lankan forces to barracks (Clause 2.14) <br> - Disarming of Tamil militants (Clause 2.14 & Annexure)	Cease-fire declared in North and East; Sri Lankan Army in those areas to withdraw to barracks or bases. Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) to oversee surrender of arms by Tamil militant groups under Red Cross monitoring. Home Guards and paramilitaries in Tamil areas to be disbanded.	Ceasefire lasted only weeks. LTTE partly surrendered arms but clashes resumed by Oct 1987. Sri Lankan forces initially pulled back, but redeployed once war with LTTE restarted (with IPKF tacit approval). IPKF ended up fighting LTTE (Oct 1987–89) instead of peaceful disarmament. No permanent ceasefire achieved; full-scale war reignited after IPKF exit (1990).
India’s Obligations: - Guarantee implementation (Clause 2.15) <br> - Ensure Tamil security (Clause 2.16e)	India to “underwrite and guarantee” the Accord’s implementation and cooperate in ensuring the “security, safety of all communities in the Northern and Eastern Provinces.” An IPKF of ~50,000 deployed to enforce peace.	India deployed IPKF (1987–90) but failed to implement Accord fully; instead engaged in conflict with LTTE. IPKF accused of human rights violations against Tamil civilians it was supposed to protect. India withdrew in 1990 without achieving Accord’s goals. To date, India still officially supports 13A implementation, but does not enforce guarantee.
Recognition of Tamil Identity (Clause 2.1 & 2.3)	Sri Lanka’s Constitution to be amended to state that Sri Lanka is “multi-ethnic, multi-lingual” and Northern and Eastern Provinces are areas of historical habitation of Tamil-speaking peoples (while all communities can live there).	13th Amendment preamble and Provincial Council Act acknowledged Sri Lanka’s multi-ethnic character. However, no explicit constitutional acknowledgment of Tamil traditional areas exists (this was in the Accord text but not fully reflected in domestic law beyond administrative merger). Sri Lankan state rhetoric rarely acknowledges historic Tamil homeland.
General Amnesty (Clause 2.11)	Grant broad amnesty and release to political prisoners and detainees held under anti-Tamil security laws. LTTE and other militants would not be prosecuted for treason or Terrorism Act violations up to that point.	Many Tamil detainees were released in 1987–88 under the amnesty. However, new detentions occurred during IPKF-LTTE war and afterward. As of 2025, Tamil political prisoners from the later conflict years remain in jail under PTA.
Referendum in Eastern Province (Clause 2.2.b)	By December 31, 1988, hold a referendum in Eastern Province for voters to choose whether to remain merged with Northern Province or separate. Could be postponed by president but needed eventually.	Never conducted. The merger was temporarily extended by emergency regulations, then judicially undone in 2006. The promised referendum effectively nullified by events, denying Eastern Tamils a say.
Foreign Military Activity (Exchange of Letters)	Sri Lanka agreed not to allow its territories (e.g. Trincomalee harbor or airports) to be used for military purposes by countries unfriendly to India; and India agreed to stop Tamil militant activities on Indian soil. (E.g., Tamil insurgent training camps in India to close.)	Implemented: India shut down LTTE bases in 1987, and Sri Lanka in turn kept out foreign forces during that period. Post-1990, Sri Lanka did drift towards other allies (e.g. Pakistan, China) for military aid, which India tolerated as it was not direct base use. These geopolitical clauses are technically still in effect.

Sources: Text of Indo–Lanka Accord (1987); Sri Lanka Constitution 13th Amendment; news reports and analyses on implementation.

Appendix II: Timeline of Key Events in the Eelam Tamil Struggle & Indo–Lanka Accord Legacy

1948: Ceylon (Sri Lanka) gains independence from Britain. Citizenship Act disenfranchises a large portion of Indian-origin Tamils. A unitary state structure is adopted, laying ground for ethnic majoritarian rule.
1956: Passage of the Official Language Act (“Sinhala Only” Act). Sinhalese declared sole official language, igniting peaceful protests by Tamils which are met with violent reprisals (first anti-Tamil riots occur in 1956).
1965–1968: Attempts at federal-style solutions (Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam Pacts of 1957 and 1965) are signed between Sinhala leaders and Tamil leaders, but both are unilaterally abrogated under pressure from Sinhala nationalists. Tamil faith in piecemeal reforms erodes.
1972: New Republican Constitution entrenching Buddhism’s “foremost place”. Anti-Tamil measures (e.g. university standardization) fuel resentments. Tamil political parties unify as Tamil United Front.
1976: The Vaddukoddai Resolution is adopted by the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF), calling for full independence of Tamil Eelam in the north-east. Tamil youth militancy rises, with groups like LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) forming.
July 1983: Black July pogrom – Organized anti-Tamil riots erupt after LTTE kills 13 soldiers. Between 2,000–3,000 Tamil civilians are massacred, and many Tamil neighborhoods in Colombo are burned. The event is a watershed: civil war begins as thousands of outraged Tamil youth join militant groups. Over 100,000 Tamil refugees flee to India.
1985: First attempt at peace talks in Thimpu, Bhutan between Sri Lankan government and Tamil militant groups (including LTTE). Tamils articulate the Thimpu Principles – recognition as a nation, homeland, and right to self-determination – but talks collapse.
May 1987: Sri Lankan military operation “Vadamarachchi” in Jaffna nearly crushes the LTTE. Sensing imminent rebel defeat and massive civilian suffering, India intervenes on June 4 with Operation Poomalai (air-dropping supplies). Jayewardene yields to Indian pressure.
July 29, 1987: Indo–Sri Lanka Accord is signed in Colombo. On the same day, an emotional protester in Colombo attempts to attack Rajiv Gandhi and is killed; widespread riots and a general strike occur in the south, orchestrated by the JVP (leftist Sinhala nationalist party). The Sri Lankan Parliament passes the 13th Amendment soon after, implementing parts of the Accord under Indian backing.
August 1987: LTTE leader Prabhakaran, after initial meetings with Indian officials, returns to Jaffna and makes a cautious speech indicating cooperation but dissatisfaction. Tamil militant groups (except LTTE) start surrendering arms to the IPKF. The IPKF (Indian Peace Keeping Force) is deployed, ultimately numbering around 50,000 troops in the North-East.
October 1987: Fragile peace breaks: following incidents (including LTTE cadre suicides in IPKF custody), the LTTE clashes with the IPKF. On Oct 10, IPKF launches Operation Pawan to take Jaffna from LTTE control. Heavy fighting ensues; on Oct 21, the Jaffna Hospital massacre by IPKF shocks international observers. By late 1987, IPKF and LTTE are in full-scale war.
1988: Northeast Provincial Council elections are held in November under IPKF protection (boycotted by LTTE). The Eelam People’s Revolutionary Left Front (EPRLF), a Tamil group backing the Accord, wins and Varadaraja Perumal becomes the first (and only) Chief Minister of the merged North-East. Meanwhile, in the Sinhala south, the JVP insurgency intensifies with assassinations and strikes against the Accord and Indian presence.
1989: Indo–Lanka relations sour after Rajiv Gandhi loses Indian elections. New Sri Lankan President R. Premadasa secretly opens talks with LTTE and demands IPKF withdrawal. By mid-1989, the JVP insurrection is brutally crushed by government forces (estimated 40,000–60,000 mostly Sinhala youth killed in 1988–89). The second rebellion’s end ironically removes domestic Sinhala pressure against devolution, but by then, the LTTE-IPKF war has made the North-East ungovernable.
March 1990: The last IPKF soldiers depart from Sri Lanka, ending India’s direct intervention. Chief Minister Perumal, fearing LTTE retribution, flees to India (where he still lives in exile) after symbolically declaring an independent “Eelam” in a final session of the council (Sri Lanka dissolved the council shortly thereafter).
June 1990: The LTTE, now the sole Tamil armed force, resumes war against Sri Lankan government forces. The Eelam War II begins. Any pretense of Accord implementation is gone; 13th Amendment institutions function only in parts of Sri Lanka outside LTTE control (Eastern Province, etc., but North under LTTE rule).
1990s: Intense fighting, massacres on both sides. Notable events: 1990 – LTTE expels Muslims from Jaffna (ethnic cleansing in north); 1991 – LTTE assassinate Rajiv Gandhi in India (May); 1993 – assassinate President Premadasa; 1995 – Sri Lankan Army captures Jaffna Peninsula from LTTE, displacing half a million; 1997 – provincial councils in North-East remain defunct under military/security rule; war continues.
2002: A Norway-brokered Ceasefire Agreement (CFA) is signed between the Sri Lankan government and LTTE. The Northern Province essentially self-governing under LTTE during the ceasefire, while the Eastern Province is shared. Talks of a federal solution come up (Oslo Communiqué of Dec 2002 where parties agree to explore federalism). The spirit mirrors what a successful Accord implementation might have looked like. But hardliners on both sides undermine the CFA.
2006: Supreme Court of Sri Lanka rules that the 1987 North-East merger was not valid, separating the two provinces effective immediately. This legal decision, welcomed by Sinhala nationalists, dealt a blow to the concept of a single Tamil territorial unit. (A referendum as per Accord was never held.) Also in 2006, a new Eelam War (IV) breaks out after collapse of peace talks.
May 2009: Sri Lankan government wins the civil war, defeating the LTTE. Mass civilian casualties in the final offensive (exact figures debated; UN estimates ~40,000 deaths, Tamil sources claim over 100,000). LTTE leadership is wiped out. The war’s brutal end draws international allegations of war crimes and genocide against Tamils.
2010–2015: Post-war, the government (under President Mahinda Rajapaksa) adopts a triumphalist stance. Northern Province remains under military governorship until 2013, when provincial elections are finally held as a result of Indian and international pressure. Tamil National Alliance (TNA) wins and C.V. Wigneswaran becomes Chief Minister of Northern Provincial Council – seen as a late fruit of the Accord. However, the central government undermines the council; no meaningful devolution occurs beyond symbolism.
2015: A change in government brings a reformist noises. Sri Lanka co-sponsors a UNHRC resolution promising accountability and a new constitution that might go beyond 13A. Yet, domestic opposition stalls progress. Tamil families of the disappeared begin continuous protests (which still continue) demanding answers about those missing from the war.
2017: A draft new constitution proposing a degree of federalism (without using the word) is prepared but shelved due to political backlash. The unitary vs federal debate, dormant since 1987, resurfaces and becomes polarized, contributing to its abandonment.
2019: Rajapaksa family returns to power (Gotabaya Rajapaksa as President). A more nationalist stance resumes; talk of scrapping provincial councils emerges from some government allies. Tamils fear recentralization; provincial council elections are indefinitely postponed from 2018 onward.
2022: Sri Lanka faces an unprecedented economic collapse, leading to mass protests (Aragalaya) and the ousting of President Gotabaya. Amid crisis, new President Ranil Wickremesinghe (backed by Rajapaksa party) reaches out to Tamils with promises of reconciliation to garner international aid.
2023: Wickremesinghe indicates willingness to fully implement 13A and hold long-delayed Provincial Council polls. However, hardline Sinhala parties (JVP, JHU, etc.) strongly oppose any such moves. In the north and east, Tamil civil society remains skeptical, noting that military land occupation and Buddhist encroachment continue unabated. Tensions persist, but overt violence is low.
2024: Presidential election year. The opposition NPP (with roots in JVP) campaigns on economic issues but maintains it will not grant federalism or police powers to provinces, reflecting enduring Sinhala sentiment against the Accord’s vision. Tamils overwhelmingly boycott or vote for Tamil parties; two respected elder Tamil leaders (R. Sampanthan and Mavai Senathirajah) pass away in 2024, marking end of an era.
Early 2025: Anura Dissanayake (NPP/JVP) becomes President in a surprise win, aligning with public desire for change. Tamils cautiously welcome a non-Rajapaksa leader but remain concerned given JVP’s history. In April, Indian PM Modi visits Colombo and presses the new government on Tamil issues. Tamil party leaders meet Modi, jointly advocating a federal solution beyond the Indo-Lanka Accord’s initial frame.
July 2025: Sri Lanka approaches the 38th anniversary of the Indo–Lanka Accord with many original aspirations unfulfilled. Provincial councils (the creation of 13A) are largely inactive pending elections. Tamil leaders intensify calls for either implementing 13A fully or moving beyond it to a new constitutional settlement. India quietly signals that while it supports 13A, it is not opposed to any arrangement acceptable to Tamil people and Sri Lankan polity. International human rights mechanisms continue to demand accountability for wartime atrocities, with a critical review due at the UNHRC in September 2025.

This timeline highlights how the Indo–Lanka Accord has been a thread running through Sri Lanka’s contemporary history, whether in the forefront (in the late 80s) or as an undercurrent influencing later events and policy debates. The struggle for Tamil rights and autonomy that predated the Accord certainly continued long after, shaped in part by the successes and failures of that 1987 agreement.

In solidarity,

Wimal Navaratnam

Human Rights Advocate | ABC Tamil Oli (ECOSOC)

Email: tamilolicanada@gmail.com

References

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PEARL: Tamil Genocide Remembrance Day — Still No Justice, Still No ...
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THE INDO-SRI LANKA ACCORD OF 1987-A STUDY ON ITS IMPLEMENTATION - JSTOR
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“Accord Without a Voice: 38 Years of Imposed Silence”