Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared- August 2025

 

Portraits of Persistence: Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared

Why grief alone won’t silence the search for truth.

In the war-torn landscapes of Sri Lanka, long after the guns fell silent, the search continues—not for peace treaties or political promises—but for sons, husbands, and fathers whose disappearances remain unacknowledged. The mothers, aging and determined, have become the archivists of justice and the authors of public memory. As the global conversation shifts toward accountability and reconciliation, their voices must lead the way.

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Background: A Legacy of Disappearances and Enduring Grief

Sri Lanka’s history since the 1980s has been scarred by enforced disappearances on a staggering scale. Tens of thousands of people were abducted or arrested and never seen again during two brutal eras: the Marxist insurrections in the predominantly Sinhalese south (late 1980s) and the armed conflicts in the Tamil-majority north and east (1983–2009). A 1999 United Nations study found Sri Lanka had the world’s second-highest number of disappearances, noting over 12,000 people had vanished after being detained by security forces. Subsequent estimates only grew grimmer – by 2017, Amnesty International assessed the total number of disappeared since the late 1980s to be between 60,000 and 100,000. These figures underscore that enforced disappearance was not a series of isolated incidents, but a widespread practice affecting all of Sri Lanka’s communities. The victims include Tamil civilians and fighters who went missing during the armed conflicts, as well as Sinhala youth who disappeared amid the government’s crackdown on leftist rebels in the south.

The armed conflicts’ end in May 2009 did not bring closure for the families of the missing. To this day, no one knows the fate or whereabouts of thousands who “surrendered” in the final days or were taken into custody by Sri Lankan security forces. Even years later, government officials have hesitated to fully acknowledge these unresolved disappearances. (In 2020, President Gotabaya Rajapaksa stated that the armed conflicts’ missing were “dead,” offering no evidence or accountability – a declaration that families found both heartbreaking and inadequate.) Every unanswered question—Where is my child? What happened to my husband?—continues to haunt the war-weary communities, impeding true reconciliation. As human rights groups note, without knowledge of their loved ones’ fate, entire communities remain in torment, and national healing is undermined. The burden of this unresolved grief has fallen most heavily on the missing persons’ mothers, wives, and daughters, who in many cases have become the sole keepers of their families’ hope and memory.

Sri Lanka’s legacy of disappearances spans decades, but so does the legacy of resistance by mothers. Historically, women have mobilized across ethnic and regional lines to demand truth: the Northern Mothers’ Front was formed in 1984 by Tamil mothers in Jaffna seeking their sons taken by the army, and a Southern Mothers’ Front emerged in 1990 to protest thousands of disappearances during the JVP uprising. This tradition of mothers’ activism – also seen in other countries like Argentina’s Madres de Plaza de Mayo – established “motherhood as a space of protest” in Sri Lanka. It bestowed moral authority on these women’s demands, as they publicly confronted the state’s contradictions (appealing to their role as life-givers while exposing the state’s role in destroying life).

Mothers of the Disappeared: From Silent Sorrow to Relentless Protest

“When the silence of the past threatens the future.”

In the post-war years, the mothers of the disappeared have transformed their private anguish into a potent public movement. Beginning in early 2017, groups of Tamil mothers (along with fathers, wives, and other relatives) in the northern and eastern provinces started continuous roadside protests demanding answers about their missing loved ones. These peaceful vigils – often held under the scorching sun by aging parents clutching faded photographs – have persisted day after day, year after year. By August 2018 the families marked 500 consecutive days of protest, and by August 2022 they reached 2,000 days of continuous struggle. This represents one of the longest-running civil protests in Sri Lanka’s history. The demonstrators, predominantly women, wear black sarees or headbands and hold banners with questions such as “Where are the children who surrendered to the army?” – pointedly reminding the public and authorities of specific incidents (like those who surrendered in May 2009) that remain shrouded in silence.

“We only need the truth,” one woman searching for her brother since 2009 pleads, encapsulating the movement’s core demand. These mothers – many now in their 60s, 70s or even 80s – have spent the past decade relentlessly archiving evidence and memories of their loved ones. They have compiled lists of names, collected photographs, and documented the circumstances of abductions. For example, the Association for the Relatives of the Enforced Disappearances in the North and East helps coordinate searches; its members, like 72-year-old “Kamala,” have visited former camps and even scoured mass grave sites in hopes of finding traces of the missing. They not only protest on roadsides but also knock on every door of the state: over the years, families have testified before numerous government commissions, filed police complaints and habeas corpus petitions, petitioned the Human Rights Commission, inquired with military authorities, and appealed to international bodies. As one civil society statement noted, by 2017 the families had “exhausted most other avenues” and, in sheer desperation, took to permanent protest when the state failed to provide answers or justice nearly a decade after the war.

Despite intimidation and the passage of time, the mothers remain undeterred. Their persistence has come at great personal cost. Many are elderly and in poor health, standing vigil in harsh conditions. The prolonged uncertainty inflicts deep psychological trauma – “It is very difficult to explain the pain of mothers,” says Laxmy, a 62-year-old mother who has fought for years without knowing if her son is alive or dead. Without a body or confirmation of death, these families cannot even perform final religious rites for the peace of the soul; “I do it for my dead husband, but I cannot do it for my son,” Laxmy explains, highlighting the cultural and emotional limbo they endure. Economically, many mothers of the disappeared have had to become breadwinners in the absence of their husbands or sons. They survive on meagre livelihoods – working in paddy fields or sewing clothes – and some have been driven to sell their possessions just to feed their remaining family. Years of protest have taken a physical toll: at least 138 elderly family members (mostly mothers) died during the 2017–2022 protests without ever learning their loved ones’ fate. Others fear that time is running out for them. “I am now 72 years old, and I will leave this world soon. Maybe I will get to see my son again or at least find out where he is buried,” Kamala says, acknowledging the real possibility she may not live to see the truth uncovered. Indeed, “hundreds of mothers, wives, and others have passed away without learning what happened to their loved ones”, Human Rights Watch reports, and “many more express fear they might not live to see justice done.”

Yet hope and resolve drive these women forward, turning their private grief into public activism. Their ongoing campaign includes:

• Vigils and Rallies: The mothers hold regular vigils at symbolic sites and march in rallies on key dates. For instance, they rallied in Kilinochchi on August 12, 2022 – the 2,000th day of protest – to draw national and international attention to their cause. They choose public anniversaries (such as the International Day of the Disappeared on August 30) to stage demonstrations, despite authorities occasionally trying to ban these gatherings.
• Preserving Memories: They carry folders of documents and stacks of photographs of the missing. Often, a mother will sit by the roadside with a portrait of her disappeared son hanging from her neck – a poignant assertion that this life mattered. In the absence of official archives, these women have become “the archivers of justice”, preserving the stories of each missing person so they are not forgotten.
• Mutual Support Networks: Through associations and support groups, the families of the disappeared support one another. They share information and unite across former front lines – as Brito Fernando, a Sinhala man who leads a “Families of the Disappeared” organization, notes: “Families from the North, East and South are fighting together for justice, to make sure this does not happen again, and to demand truth and compensation.” This inter-ethnic solidarity underscores that their struggle is a national one.
• International Advocacy: The mothers have sought global allies. They have met visiting UN officials and testified to international human rights organizations. Many engage with the UN Working Group on Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances by submitting cases. When a UN Human Rights Council session or other international forum approaches, the mothers amplify their calls, hoping global attention will pressure Sri Lankan authorities. As one local leader of the families’ groups explained, they timed their 2,000-day rally to “highlight this long-pending issue before the Human Rights Council session in Geneva”, placing faith in international intervention.

Through these actions, Sri Lanka’s mothers of the disappeared have ensured that the issue stays in the public eye. They have become, in effect, the conscience of the nation, reminding Sri Lankans that peace is not simply the absence of war, but the presence of justice. In the words of one mother, “I need to know where my son is. Without knowing, we cannot have peace in our minds.” For these women, grief has evolved into strength. Their unwillingness to be silenced – “No matter how hard things get, we will not stop demanding justice for our children” – is a powerful rebuke to the culture of impunity that allowed these disappearances to happen. It also sets the moral foundation for any genuine reconciliation process in Sri Lanka: their voices must lead the way, as the custodians of truth.

Violations of International Law: Rights and Conventions Ignored

The enforced disappearances in Sri Lanka constitute egregious violations of international law, infringing multiple human rights and humanitarian norms. Under international human rights treaties, no one may be arbitrarily deprived of life or liberty, nor subjected to torture or inhuman treatment – yet enforced disappearance by its very nature violates all these guarantees simultaneously. It has been called a “multiple human rights violation” because each disappearance typically involves the denial of the right to liberty and security of person, the right to a fair trial, and often the right to life, coupled with the torment of families that can amount to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment. Key legal instruments and their provisions underscore the gravity of this crime:

International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance (ICPPED):

This United Nations treaty, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2016, codifies a global prohibition of enforced disappearances. Article 2 of the ICPPED defines “enforced disappearance” as “the arrest, detention, abduction or any other form of deprivation of liberty by agents of the State or by persons acting with the authorization, support or acquiescence of the State, followed by a refusal to acknowledge that deprivation of liberty or by concealment of the fate or whereabouts of the disappeared person.” In simpler terms, if authorities (or their proxies) secretly detain someone and then deny it or hide what happened, that is an enforced disappearance. Article 1 of the convention flatly states that “No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war, internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification for enforced disappearance.” Even war or national emergency cannot lawfully excuse this practice – a principle reinforced by a 1992 UN General Assembly Declaration which used almost identical language. Article 24 of the ICPPED affirms the rights of victims and their families, including the right to know the truth regarding the fate of the disappeared and the progress of any investigation. It also requires states to ensure victims receive reparations and have their disappeared relatives officially recognized (for instance, via mechanisms like Sri Lanka’s Certificates of Absence). Furthermore, Article 5 of the ICPPED classifies the “widespread or systematic” practice of enforced disappearance as a crime against humanity, linking the convention to international criminal law.

International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR):

Sri Lanka has been a party to the ICCPR since 1980, thereby legally bound to uphold fundamental rights even during internal conflicts. Enforced disappearances breach several non-derogable provisions of the ICCPR. Most starkly, they often violate Article 6 (the right to life) – many disappeared persons have been extrajudicially killed or are presumed dead due to state action or indifference. Every person’s Article 9 right to liberty and security is violated when they are detained without legal process and held in secret. The Article 7 guarantee against torture and cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment is violated both with respect to the disappeared person (who may be subjected to torture in custody) and their family (who suffer profound mental anguish). Importantly, the ICCPR allows no suspension (derogation) of the right to life or the ban on torture even in a declared emergency. Thus, Sri Lanka’s security forces had no legal justification to “disappear” people, even at the height of war. The UN Declaration on Enforced Disappearances (1992) explicitly echoes this: “no circumstances whatsoever” – not even war or instability – can justify enforced disappearances. By violating these core rights, Sri Lanka’s enforced disappearances flouted the country’s obligations under international human rights law.

Convention Against Torture (CAT):

Abducting someone and holding them incommunicado often entails torture or at least cruel treatment, and always the threat of it. Sri Lanka is also a state party to CAT, which obligates it to prevent and punish acts of torture and cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment. The deliberate concealment of a person’s fate inflicts severe mental suffering on relatives; international jurisprudence has increasingly recognized this suffering of family members as a form of cruel or inhuman treatment in itself. By failing to investigate disappearances – and thereby prolonging families’ uncertainty – the Sri Lankan state has been accused of perpetuating torture by omission (a violation of CAT) in addition to any torture the disappeared person was subjected to directly.

International Humanitarian Law (IHL):

Many enforced disappearances in Sri Lanka occurred in the context of the non-international armed conflict between government forces and the LTTE. Even in war, however, there are clear legal protections for persons who are detained or have laid down arms. Common Article 3 of the 1949 Geneva Conventions (applicable to internal conflicts like Sri Lanka’s) prohibits violence to life and person of detained individuals, including murder, mutilation, cruel treatment, and torture. It also requires humane treatment of civilians and captured fighters at all times. Disappearing a prisoner – effectively executing or concealing them outside any judicial process – violates these basic IHL guarantees. Additionally, if the victims were surrendering combatants or civilians when they were taken into custody (as many in Sri Lanka were at war’s end), then killing or harming them would violate the laws of war. International humanitarian law also contains provisions (e.g., in Additional Protocols to the Geneva Conventions) addressing the obligation to account for persons reported missing in action and to inform families. By failing to register detainees or inform families, Sri Lankan authorities denied disappeared persons the protections normally afforded to prisoners of war or detained civilians. The UN Human Rights Council, in resolutions 46/1 (2021) and 51/1 (2022), noted that Sri Lanka’s unresolved disappearances represent “gross violations of human rights and serious violations of international humanitarian law”, underscoring that these are not only past abuses but ongoing breaches of international norms.

Crimes Against Humanity (Rome Statute of the ICC):

Enforced disappearance has a special designation in international criminal law. Article 7(1)(i) of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC) lists “enforced disappearance of persons” among the defined crimes against humanity, when committed as part of a widespread or systematic attack against a civilian population. The statute’s Article 7(2)(i) further elaborates the definition of enforced disappearance, essentially mirroring the ICPPED’s definition (requiring state involvement and intent to remove the person from legal protection). What this means is that if disappearances are not isolated incidents but rather organized as a campaign (as alleged in Sri Lanka, especially during the late war and the JVP crackdowns), then those responsible could be culpable for crimes against humanity – among the gravest offenses in international law. Sri Lanka notably has not ratified the Rome Statute, which limits the ICC’s jurisdiction there. However, the classification of enforced disappearance as a crime against humanity reflects a broad international consensus: such acts, when systemic, offend humanity as a whole. In fact, Sri Lanka’s own Enforced Disappearance Act of 2018 (which domestically implemented the ICPPED) could be amended to explicitly criminalize widespread or systematic disappearances as crimes against humanity, as recommended by the Sri Lankan Human Rights Commission. The continuing failure to hold perpetrators accountable in national courts has led human rights advocates to call for invoking universal jurisdiction – i.e., for other countries to prosecute Sri Lankan war criminals under international law – and for targeted sanctions against the worst offenders.

In summary, Sri Lanka’s “disappeared” are not just a moral tragedy; they represent a flagrant breach of international law. The abductions and secret detentions violate binding human rights treaties (ICCPR, CAT), customary international law (the absolute ban on enforced disappearance under any circumstances), and the laws of war. The persistent denial of truth to families violates these families’ right to an effective remedy and to closure. Each passing day that the fate of the missing remains concealed is, in effect, a continuing violation – enforced disappearance is unique in that it is an ongoing crime until the person’s fate is revealed. Sri Lanka, by international legal standards, has an obligation to investigate, punish, and provide reparations for these violations (ICPPED Articles 3, 6, 7, and 24). The next section examines how the Sri Lankan state has responded to these obligations – and how far it still falls short.

State Response: Promises, Obstacles, and Continued Impunity

For decades, the Sri Lankan state’s response to enforced disappearances has oscillated between official denial, half-hearted measures, and outright obstruction, leaving families frustrated and justice deferred. Successive governments have established various mechanisms purporting to address the issue – from presidential commissions to an Office on Missing Persons – yet impunity prevails to this day. In many instances, Sri Lankan authorities not only failed to deliver truth and justice but have been accused of actively silencing the voices of the mothers. Below is an overview of key state actions (and inactions) and their outcomes:

Government Actions and Mechanisms	Outcome for Victims’ Families
Presidential Commissions of Inquiry (1990s–2010s) – Multiple ad-hoc commissions were appointed to document disappearances (e.g. 1994, 1998, 2006, 2013). These inquiries gathered evidence and witness testimony. Official data indicates that over 27,000 cases of missing persons were examined by past commissions.	Commissions confirmed the massive scale of disappearances and often identified alleged perpetrators, but their findings led to almost no prosecutions. Final reports were sometimes shelved or only partially published. Families participated in good faith, recounting painful details to commissioners, yet saw little follow-up action. The lack of implementation of recommendations bred deep mistrust. (“Successive governments have ignored the needs of victims and their calls for accountability,” as one activist noted.)
Certificates of Absence (2016) – The government acknowledged at least 65,000 missing persons from the armed conflicts  and the JVP uprising, and offered families “Certificates of Absence” allowing them to legally manage a missing relative’s property or access benefits.	This was a humanitarian gesture but not a truth-seeking measure. Families could settle administrative issues (inheritance, pensions) but still learned nothing of their loved ones’ fate. Many appreciated the recognition of their missing family member’s status, yet they stressed that administrative relief is no substitute for answers. Some families even feared that accepting a certificate or compensation would be used to close the case file without investigation.
Office on Missing Persons (OMP, established 2017) – A permanent state institution tasked with tracing the fate of the disappeared and providing recommendations for justice. Initially seen as a key commitment of the 2015 reformist government, it was endowed with legal powers to subpoena information and safeguard mass graves.	Disillusionment with the OMP set in quickly. As of 2023, the OMP had “resolved almost no cases”. Families report that the OMP rarely shares progress and sometimes suggests that they accept death certificates and ex gratia compensation (around Rs. 200,000, roughly US $660) in lieu of a full investigation. Trust eroded further when individuals viewed as aligned with the security forces (including a former military intelligence head) were appointed as commissioners, raising conflict-of-interest fears. Many victims’ families now see the OMP as “an instrument to deflect international pressure” that lacks genuine will to uncover the truth.
Enforced Disappearance Act (No. 5 of 2018) – This law incorporated the ICPPED into Sri Lankan domestic law, criminalizing enforced disappearance (with penalties up to 20 years’ imprisonment) and formally recognizing it as an offense in Sri Lanka’s Penal Code.	Despite the law’s existence, enforcement has been nil. Astonishingly, by late 2024 – six years after enactment – not a single case had been filed under this law. A recent Right to Information inquiry revealed that the Attorney General’s Department had opened zero prosecutions under the Act and had not even initiated investigations on known cases. This illustrates a glaring gap between law on paper and action: Sri Lanka has criminalized enforced disappearance, yet in practice, perpetrators remain untouched. One reason is that many disappearances occurred before 2018, and under Sri Lanka’s legal system, retroactive application of criminal law is constitutionally barred unless the act was internationally criminal at the time. Despite enforced disappearance being a crime against humanity internationally, Sri Lankan authorities have shown no willingness to test such prosecutions. The result is de facto amnesty through inaction.
Harassment and Suppression of Protesters – In lieu of providing answers, the state’s security apparatus has often targeted the families demanding truth. Police and intelligence agencies have closely surveilled memorial gatherings and demonstrations, and have sought court orders to restrict them. In August 2024, for example, police in Trincomalee obtained a ban on relatives of the disappeared holding a procession on the International Day of the Disappeared. Activists (including aging mothers) have been dragged into court on charges like unlawful assembly. Some women have been beaten by police during peaceful protests and later arrested. Mothers recount how officers show up at their homes late at night to serve “stay orders”, even climbing over gates or cutting fences to do so, and snap photos of them in their nightclothes – a form of intimidation. Security forces have stooped to threatening the protesters’ surviving children: “You have to look after your child who is still alive,” police warned one mother, suggesting harm could come to her other son if she didn’t stop campaigning. In one case, days after a mother was active at a rally, her son was arrested on a fabricated drug charge – a tactic of reprisal the community says is becoming common. This climate of fear aims to erode the persistence of the families. Yet, remarkably, the mothers refuse to be silenced, even when it means risking the safety of their remaining loved ones.
Official Narrative and Denial – Sri Lankan authorities have generally avoided accepting state responsibility for disappearances. There has been no public release of lists of those who surrendered to the army and then went missing, nor a comprehensive accounting of detainees. High-ranking officials implicated in alleged disappearance cases have instead been elevated to powerful positions (for instance, a navy commander accused in the abduction of 11 youths was promoted to Admiral and later made a provincial governor after charges against him were dropped). The state’s messaging has often been that any accountability should be handled “internally,” while painting international scrutiny as an infringement on sovereignty.	For families, the government’s stance feels like a betrayal and whitewash. The 2015 administration of President Maithripala Sirisena initially raised hope by acknowledging past abuses and pledging truth and reconciliation measures. But a sharp reversal came with the return to power of the Rajapaksa family (who led the war effort) – Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s 2020 pronouncement that all missing are dead without due investigation typified the dismissive approach. Such statements, absent any details, deny families the right to truth and appear aimed at shutting down the issue. Meanwhile, by promoting alleged perpetrators rather than punishing them, the state sends a chilling message that those responsible for disappearances are effectively above the law. This entrenches a sense of injustice among survivors and erodes public trust in institutions.

As the above overview shows, Sri Lanka’s mothers of the disappeared face not only the pain of not knowing, but also the pain of being ignored or targeted by the very institutions meant to protect them. Every modest step forward (e.g. establishing the OMP, issuing certificates) has been undercut by lack of political will or active resistance from entrenched powers. It is little wonder that many families have lost faith in domestic processes. “We don’t accept it. We don’t have faith in it,” one mother said of the latest government proposal for yet another “truth and reconciliation” commission, reflecting the deep skepticism borne of previous failures. Their skepticism is warranted: Sri Lanka has cycled through numerous such bodies – yet not a single military or police official has been convicted for war-era disappearances. Impunity remains the rule.

On the legal front, while Sri Lanka has formally embraced relevant international conventions (ratifying the ICPPED in 2016 and even calling enforced disappearance a criminal offence in 2018), these moves have not translated into justice for victims. Domestic legal proceedings, such as habeas corpus cases, often languish in courts for years without resolution. (The Human Rights Commission in 2025 urged reforms to prioritize these cases at the High Court level, noting that they rarely advance under current conditions.) Additionally, Sri Lanka’s dualist legal system means that international treaty obligations must be implemented through local legislation to take effect. Although the Enforced Disappearance Act of 2018 ostensibly meets this requirement, its non-use suggests either a lack of intent or political interference. Observers point out that the Act does not explicitly cover past disappearances as crimes (due to the ex post facto constitutional bar). Thus, the tens of thousands of pre-2018 cases remain unprosecutable unless creative legal strategies (like charging as crimes against humanity under customary international law, invoking the constitutional proviso for crimes “recognized by the community of nations”) are attempted – something prosecutors have so far avoided.

Moreover, the security sector’s continued power casts a long shadow. Many officers suspected of involvement in disappearances continued in their careers post-war, some reaching top ranks. The military’s dominance in the post-war period, especially in former conflict areas, has been accompanied by surveillance of victim communities. The “culture of secrecy and fear” birthed during the war thus persists. Mothers travelling to a protest site often report being followed by intelligence agents; some have covert officers sitting outside their homes. As the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights observed in 2023, there is “a persistent trend of surveillance, intimidation and harassment of… those working on enforced disappearances … and reprisals against family members of the disappeared engaging with the UN or international actors.” This means that seeking help from the international community – a lifeline for many families – can itself invite retaliation, a cruel Catch-22.

Despite these daunting obstacles, Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared persist in their quest. Their unwavering activism has spurred some shifts: it has kept the issue alive domestically and compelled international bodies to take incremental actions. Recognizing that domestic remedies have failed, the families and their allies have increasingly turned outward for support, as discussed in the next section.

Quest for Truth and Accountability: National Struggles, International Support

The struggle of Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared is not only a personal or national issue; it is part of a broader global fight for truth, justice, and reconciliation after mass atrocities. Over the past decade, as these mothers campaigned on the streets, diplomats and human rights organizations worldwide have been echoing their calls in the halls of the United Nations and other forums. This evolving global conversation on accountability has been crucial in pressuring Sri Lanka to at least appear responsive, and it offers a measure of hope that grief will not have the last word.

On the national stage, the concept of transitional justice gained prominence after the armed conflicts. In 2015, a new government in Sri Lanka co-sponsored a UN Human Rights Council resolution (30/1) promising a comprehensive approach – including a truth-seeking commission, justice mechanism, reparations, and institutional reforms. For the families of the disappeared, this raised expectations that, at long last, their truth might be acknowledged and perpetrators held accountable. The establishment of the OMP in 2017 was one product of those commitments. Another was the Office for Reparations in 2018 to handle compensation and memorials. However, progress stalled and then backtracked: by 2020, the government had changed and explicitly withdrew from the commitments of Resolution 30/1. The promised truth commission and special court were never set up. This domestic backslide left families once again dependent on international action.

The United Nations has played a key role in keeping the spotlight on Sri Lanka’s disappearances. The UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) investigated in 2015 (the OISL report), which documented patterns of enforced disappearances as part of possible crimes against humanity. Subsequently, the UN Human Rights Council established a special Sri Lanka Accountability Project (OSLAP) in 2021 (via Resolution 46/1), renewing it in 2022 (Resolution 51/1). This initiative is tasked with collecting and preserving evidence of serious human rights violations, including enforced disappearances, to support future prosecutions. It effectively serves as a repository of testimony and data – a sort of shadow justice mechanism preparing for the day when courts, domestic or international, might be ready to use that evidence. Families of the disappeared have been cooperating with OSLAP, seeing it as a safer channel to record their stories. The project’s mandate explicitly includes developing strategies for “future accountability processes” and advocating for victims, affirming that the international community recognizes these families’ plight.

Additionally, Sri Lanka’s case has repeatedly been raised by the UN Working Group on Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances (WGEID), which has a long list of outstanding cases from the country. On August 30 each year (the International Day of the Victims of Enforced Disappearances), UN experts and human rights organizations often single out Sri Lanka as a place where justice is lagging. For instance, in 2022 the UN High Commissioner urged Sri Lanka to “acknowledge the involvement of State security forces” in disappearances and “disclose the fates and whereabouts of the disappeared”, calling these steps essential for reconciliation. Such statements bolster the mothers’ demands by giving them international legitimacy.

International human rights organizations like Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch (HRW), the International Commission of Jurists, and others have also been vocal. They regularly publish reports and updates on Sri Lanka’s disappeared, ensuring the issue stays on diplomatic agendas. For example, HRW’s 2024 report highlighted how “the Sri Lankan government continues to persecute the families of victims of enforced disappearance who seek to enforce their rights” and implored UN member states to maintain scrutiny. Amnesty International, observing the 2,000-day protests, urged the government to “urgently and genuinely take account of the demands of families of the disappeared” and to “prioritise ... the families’ rights to truth, justice and reparations” instead of pressuring them to move on. These organizations often facilitate platforms for the mothers to share their stories, whether through international media or events.

Some individual countries have also responded to the call for accountability. Notably, in March 2025 the United Kingdom imposed sanctions on four Sri Lankan officials (two senior military commanders, a former army chief, and a former LTTE-turned-government paramilitary leader) for their roles in serious human rights violations during the war. Those sanctions explicitly cited involvement in atrocities including enforced disappearances of Tamil civilians. The United States had earlier taken similar action, barring certain Sri Lankan generals (like Shavendra Silva) from entry due to credible information on gross rights abuses. These targeted measures, such as travel bans and asset freezes, send a message that if Sri Lanka’s own courts won’t act, at least some consequences can still befall those accused of disappearances. They also validate the families’ long-standing claims by naming alleged perpetrators publicly on an international stage. The Sri Lankan Human Rights Commission itself, in 2025, urged the government to consider ratifying the Rome Statute of the ICC so that crimes like widespread enforced disappearances can no longer be immune from international justice. While Sri Lanka has not heeded this call, it reflects a domestic acknowledgment that aligning with global justice norms is necessary.

At the community level, transnational advocacy networks – including Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora groups and international coalitions for the disappeared – have assisted in keeping the pressure on. Groups like the International Truth and Justice Project (ITJP) compile dossiers on alleged war criminals and lobby foreign governments to act. The persistence of the mothers on the ground thus finds an echo in courtrooms and meeting rooms abroad.

However, in the quest for justice, the families emphasize that international action should complement, not replace, domestic acknowledgement. They ultimately seek truth about their loved ones – something only those responsible or those with inside knowledge in Sri Lanka can provide. The mothers are not driven by vengeance; most say they would be at peace if they could simply know what happened and receive the remains of their family members to perform last rites. One consequential step would be for the Sri Lankan state to open up its military and police archives, and for any officers with knowledge to come forward. International bodies have urged Sri Lanka to create a comprehensive list of all detainees from the war and match it with missing persons reports. Such truth-telling is painful but necessary. A credible truth commission, if established with genuine independence and with participation from victim families, could still play a role – but only if it has the power to compel testimony and guarantee witness protection, and if it operates transparently (past commissions’ secrecy being a major flaw).

For reconciliation, knowing the truth is only one pillar. The families also want accountability (justice) and reparations. Justice, in their view, includes prosecuting those most responsible for ordering or orchestrating disappearances. As years pass, direct perpetrators may be aging or evidence may grow cold; nonetheless, the principle that no one is above the law must be affirmed. If Sri Lanka continues to shield its war-era officials, families see international trials as justified. “Those responsible should be punished and human rights violations should stop. If this does not happen the conflict will not go away. They are planting the seeds for another [conflict],” warned Kamala, linking impunity today to potential unrest tomorrow. This warning reflects a hard-earned wisdom: lasting peace is impossible without justice. Indeed, the intergenerational nature of trauma – children growing up with missing fathers, communities seeing unrepentant alleged perpetrators in power – can sow resentment that endures and potentially fuels future strife.

Reparations go beyond monetary compensation. “Satisfaction” (a form of reparation under international law) includes measures like official apologies, memorialization, and institutional reforms to ensure non-recurrence. The mothers of the disappeared have effectively been doing the memorialization work themselves, but they seek formal recognition – such as memorial monuments or a national day of remembrance – to validate their loss in the country’s history. They also stress guarantees of non-repetition: reforms such as proper training of security forces in human rights, establishing systems to log and track detainees (to prevent secret detentions), and removing those implicated in past abuses from positions of power (vetting). Some of these align with recommendations by the UN and local human rights bodies. For example, the HRCSL’s 2025 report not only urged legal changes but also prioritization of pending cases and an honest reckoning with findings like the Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission (LLRC) report, which had itself documented over 1,000 disappearances of people who had surrendered in the final days of the war (17–18 May 2009). Acknowledging such findings officially would be a start.

In sum, while the road to justice in Sri Lanka is long and fraught, the convergence of persistent local activism with international advocacy has kept the hope alive. Each mother, by refusing to forget her child, has made it harder for the world to forget Sri Lanka’s disappeared. The process is now at a point where international and domestic efforts must reinforce each other: Sri Lanka must be pressed, through diplomatic and legal means, to fulfill its obligations, and the voices of the victims must be central to any solution. As one UN report put it, the country “must confront the legacy of enforced disappearances by holding those responsible to account” – there is simply no other way to turn the page on this tragedy without writing the truth first.

Conclusion: Why Grief Won’t Be Silenced

The story of Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared is a testament to resilience in the face of overwhelming sorrow and intimidation. These women have endured what international law calls the “continuous crime” of enforced disappearance – a crime that, for them, renews itself with each dawn that their child is still missing. They have turned their grief into a driving force for truth, ensuring that their loved ones’ absence is not met with silence, but with a clarion call for justice that echoes from remote village lanes to the United Nations in Geneva.

Their fight is not an easy one. It is, in fact, a form of heroism in everyday clothes: a mother travelling by bus for hours to attend a court hearing that yields no answers; an old father holding a portrait at a protest despite failing health; families pooling money to print flyers about the missing; a grandmother learning to write a petition so she can send it to authorities. Such persistent acts have collectively created a human rights movement that commands respect. It’s a movement that says, “We will not accept that our family members simply vanished. We will not allow their story to end in a void.”

Legally, morally, and emotionally, the Mothers of the Disappeared are changing the narrative. They have reframed the issue from one of individual tragedy to one of collective memory and justice. By cataloguing names and refusing to perform final rites without evidence, they assert that these men and women existed, they were loved, and they had rights that were violated. In doing so, they have become the authors of public memory – documenting history from the perspective of survivors, not the state. This challenges Sri Lanka to incorporate their truth into the nation’s history, rather than burying it. It also serves as a cautionary tale globally: that unresolved grievances of this magnitude do not fade away – they are handed down generations, unless addressed.

International law, as cited above, is firmly on the side of these families. So is basic human decency. The violations – of the Geneva Conventions, of human rights treaties like the ICCPR and CAT, of specialized conventions like the ICPPED – are clear. What remains is the political will to see justice done. By continuing their struggle, the mothers are effectively making sure that Sri Lanka’s obligations under those conventions (Articles 6, 7, 9 of the ICCPR; Articles 1, 2, 24 of the ICPPED; etc.) are not merely lines on paper but a debt that the state still owes its citizens. They remind the government and the world that a peace built on unaddressed atrocity is a brittle peace. True reconciliation can only take root when the truth is acknowledged and those who suffered are honored with justice.

It has been said that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” In Sri Lanka, that arc is being bent by the will of mothers who will not let it snap. Their persistence has already brought about some change – Sri Lanka can no longer completely deny the issue of the disappeared, and the world is watching more closely than ever. The United Nations’ active role and the recent international sanctions on perpetrators signal that global patience for Sri Lanka’s inaction is wearing thin. The moral authority these mothers carry is influencing that global response.

In closing, Sri Lanka’s Mothers of the Disappeared have shown that grief, when channeled into action, becomes a powerful force that no amount of state pressure can extinguish. They have, through love and desperation, become standard-bearers for accountability and human rights. Their portraits – women holding candles and photographs, standing resolute in protest – are now indelible in Sri Lanka’s social conscience. These portraits of persistence challenge all of us: they ask whether we will stand idle in the face of injustice, or join in the demand for truth. For Sri Lanka to move forward, it must finally listen to these voices. Grief alone won’t silence the search for truth – in fact, it is the seed of an unstoppable demand for justice. And until that truth is found, the mothers will be there, at the forefront, leading the way.

     In solidarity,

     Wimal Navaratnam

     Human Rights Advocate | ABC Tamil Oli (ECOSOC)

     Email: tamilolicanada@gmail.com

References 12

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