File photograph: Karaitivu Beach (Gowshan Nandakumar)
It was a quiet morning on 12 April 1985 when Karaitivu, a small coastal Tamil village in the Amparai district of Sri Lanka’s Eastern Province, was plunged into terror. As villagers prepared to celebrate the Tamil New Year, armed mobs - composed largely of Muslim men and backed by Sri Lankan security forces - descended upon the village and carried out a horrific massacre (Ismail, 1985; Hoole, 2014). Around 40 Eelam Tamils were slaughtered over three days - hacked, shot, or burned alive. Over 5000 homes were razed to the ground, Tamil temples were desecrated and thousands were displaced (UTHR Report).
Forty years later, the Karaitivu Tamil massacre remains largely unacknowledged, including in state-centric narratives on the war. For Eelam Tamils, however, the events of April 1985 remain a painful symbol of the unchecked impunity that has shaped Sri Lanka’s post-colonial trajectory. Furthermore, these events marked the most severe violence by Muslims against Tamils till that date, harming community relations for decades to come, and setting in motion tit-for-tat violence, which escalated in the following weeks, months and years.
A Long Road to Karaitivu: Roots of Anti-Tamil Violence
The Karaitivu massacre was not an isolated eruption of violence. The Sri Lankan state, nervous about the sympathy shown by many Muslims in the North-East towards the Tamil nationalist cause, stoked tensions between the communities. The Tamil Times (April 1985) reported that the violence was orchestrated “in the context of the growing solidarity between the Tamil and Muslim communities in the eastern province and several recent successful attacks by Tamil and Muslim militants on the security forces”. Sri Lanka had also recently re-established relations with Israel, causing consternation among Muslims. At the time, Tamil militant groups maintained an avowed anti-Zionist and anti-imperialist agenda. Driving a wedge between the two communities became of utmost importance to the Sri Lankan state, particularly in the east.
Historically, Tamils and Muslims coexisted in the North-East, bound by shared language. With the rise of Sinhala-Buddhist chauvinism, Muslims, who unlike Eelam Tamils did not lay claim to nationhood and were minoritised across the entire island, found themselves increasingly caught in between the Sinhala claims to the same land that was claimed as the Eelam Tamils’ homeland. On the other hand, the Tamil leadership too, often took Muslim support for the Tamil cause for granted. The post-independence Sri Lankan state adopted majoritarian policies aimed at consolidating Sinhala-Buddhist hegemony across the entire island. This included land colonisation schemes, which altered the demographic makeup of Tamil-majority areas. At the same time, Sri Lanka saw in the Muslim community a potential political buffer between Tamils and the Sinhala state. The state-backed divide exacerbated localised tensions and began to take more violent forms. In areas like Kattankudy, Eravur, and Kalmunai, tensions over land, markets, and local power escalated. Some Muslim political actors, aligned with ruling Sinhala parties, helped create paramilitary-style defense groups under the guise of “self-protection” from Tamil militancy.
While Tamil militants like the LTTE and others were beginning to emerge in resistance to state violence, with significant numbers of Muslim youths joining the Tamil resistance, the state quietly facilitated the arming of Muslim homeguards. These homeguards were often given military training, weapons, and political protection by the British and Israeli-trained Special Task Force (STF). The state’s strategy was clear: weaken the Tamil resistance through direct military occupation and retaliation against civilian sympathisers and by depriving them of an important source of support in the Muslim community.
This pattern of violence cannot be understood outside of the state’s role in engineering instability in the North-East. The arming of Muslim homeguards was part of a broader counterinsurgency strategy designed not only to combat Tamil militancy, but to fracture Tamil political power in the East. While many Muslims were also victims of state violence, some segments of the Muslim elite and armed actors, as with some Tamil elites and armed groups, were active participants in the state’s anti-Tamil program.
The Karaitivu Massacre
Days before the massacres, leaflets were dropped from Sri Lankan Air Force helicopters, inciting Muslims against Tamils. According to the Tamil Times (May 1985), these leaflets contained “false accounts of ‘terrorist’ attacks on Muslims and demands of ransom from Muslim businessmen”. Hartals and protests were thus organised, whipping up emotions, fuelled further by widespread coverage in state-owned media.
A.L.A. Majeed, former SLFP MP for Kinniya warned against efforts to divide Tamils and Muslims even before most of the violence had occurred. In a speech on 12 April he said “The Tamils and Muslims have been living peacefully for hundreds of years. I wish to bring to your notice that certain sinister forces and self-interested parties are trying to bring about a violent clash between Tamils and Muslims. Therefore Muslims should be vigilant. We learn that certain fake politicians are doing their damnedest to provoke a violent clash between the Tamils and the Muslims in the Eastern Province, which will only result in the loss of life and property. Such a conflict will also further weaken the position of the Muslims. We must see through the motives of these politicians instead of shifting the blame on the Tamils.”
Despite these pleas, anti-Tamil violence erupted on the morning of 12 April. Muslim youths, many of whom were bussed in with the help of government officials, came armed with military-issued guns, knives, and Molotov cocktails.
An excerpt from the Home for Human Rights report on the massacre, details how the violence unfolded:
“The people who travelled to Kalmunai from Karativu [sic] on the 12th morning through Maalikaikadhu were set upon and severely beaten up by the members of the Jihad and the Mossad-trained STF. The victims of the attack suffered severe injuries. However, they managed to escape death. A victim to the attack describes: ‘We carried much cash to purchase goods for the New Year feasts and celebrations. When we were nearing Maalikaikadhu junction, we spotted a few police vehicles being parked at the edge of the road and some policemen together with men in camouflage. A little away from policemen were a large number of men, all strangers to the area. As we proceeded near them, we found them to be Muslim youths, identified by their dress and beard. The young men appeared restive.’
The witness added, ‘The presence of policemen, the STF (Kaluwanchikudy) and strangers at Maalikaikadhu did not invest in our minds any sense of discomfort or nervousness. I thought that the policemen were there to prevent any possible breach of peace that may occur among Muslim fundamentalists and others. Since we had no conflict with our Muslim neighbours at Maalikaikadhu we felt safe. We proceeded on our journey. When we reached the junction, a number of youths rushed at us with menacing looks and began attacking with wooden poles. Apart from the attackers there were also the others armed with deadly weapons. They were watching the attack.’
‘Our senses were transported with fear at the unexpected attack. We lost our money, suffered injury and mental agony. It was a damnable behaviour on the part of the youth. The attack on the users of the highway on legitimate business in the presence of the law-enforcing authority was a revolting atrocity. When attacked we cried out to attract the attention of the policemen who were very much near the scene of attack.
The policemen did not respond and nor did the STF. It was our good luck that those men did not abduct us as many Tamils disappeared later while on their journey through this area. The fact was established that the state, unable to find a just solution to the problems with its own citizens resorted to promote violence between communities. Goons were brought from elsewhere to attack the native Tamils in the district of Amparai.’”
The pogroms continued for several days, with no police intervention and escalated into wider clashes across the east for weeks.
The violence was calculated. Tamil homes were specifically targeted. Properties were looted before being burned. Women were dragged from their homes and raped (Imtiaz and Hoole, 2011). The elderly and children were shown no mercy. When local Tamils attempted to call for help, none came. The police were absent, the security forces stood by. The message was clear: this violence would be tolerated, if not encouraged.
By the end of the violence in Karaitivu alone at least 40 Tamils had been brutally murdered. The true toll, however, remains unknown. Some bodies were never recovered. Others were buried in unmarked graves by surviving relatives too fearful to speak.
In response, Tamils, including members of the police forces, killed those they deemed the leaders of the Muslim gangs. Journalists reported that the STF would attack areas where they thought militants were hiding, only to withdraw ahead of the curfew, leaving Muslim villagers exposed to retaliatory attacks (Ismail, 1985).
Aftermath
No arrests were made. No investigations were launched. The state media barely reported the incident, referring vaguely to “communal disturbances”. Writing for The Island, Qadri Ismail said the entire region was in complete control of the STF and that it was directly implicated in the violence. The BBC, asking a senior military officer why they did not act to prevent attacks against Tamils, reported that the officer responded: “We have no orders to shoot at Muslims”. British diplomats at the time, reported that the British-trained STF not only aided and armed Muslims, but also incited them to attack Tamils. According to the High Commission, the attacks were a “success”, as “[any] possibility that the Eastern Province Muslims would support the Tamil separatist groups is now even less likely than it was before” (Miller, 2020).
One of the key figures implicated in the violence was Colombo-based UNP cabinet minister, MH Mohamed, who was also thought to have been involved in fuelling anti-Tamil violence during Black July two years prior (Imtiaz and Hoole, 2011). However, his Tamil cabinet colleagues, S Thondaman of the Ceylon Workers Congress, and KW Devanayagam of the UNP, blamed an “outside force” for the pogroms, with Thondaman claiming Mohamed organised buses and jeeps with Muslims to travel from Colombo to the east to take part in the violence.
Even the then opposition leader Sirimavo Bandaranaike, blamed the government for encouraging the attacks on Tamils, saying “The government does not want to quell the violence. They thrive on it.” Minister Lalith Aluthumudali’s claim that the violence by Muslims was in retaliation for the alleged killing of three muslims in a mosque in Mannar was rejected by the former prime minister Bandaranaike. As quoted by Ismail, she said “Tamil militants trained by the PLO are exterminating Muslims…do you think that the ‘terrorists’ have anything to gain from shooting Muslims in mosques? If they ever achieve Eelam…they have to live together with the Muslims [...] The whole issue gives cause for grave suspicion. Why should the ‘terrorists’ attack Muslims? Some say certain ministers are involved, some say the Mossad and even the commandos [STF].” Her SLFP colleague Badiuddin Mahumud blamed Israel. “Some outsiders are in this game to keep the Muslims and Tamils divided. We have our suspicions of Mossad. They are the mischief-makers. The Israelis have always been enemies of Islam. They will always make trouble to damage Islam” (Ismail, 1985).
40 years later
The massacre at Karaitivu remains not just an unacknowledged atrocity, but a stark symbol of how the Sri Lankan state weaponised division to dismantle Tamil political power. The violence was not spontaneous—it was orchestrated, calculated, and enabled through military complicity, state propaganda, willing collaborators and a deliberate policy of turning communities against one another. Karaitivu reveals a broader counterinsurgency strategy that used communal fault lines to fracture Tamil-Muslim solidarity in the East, weakening resistance while deepening ethnic antagonisms that led to horrific violence on both sides in the following years.
That the massacre is still absent from official memory is no accident. It is a continuation of the same project of erasure and impunity, rooted in a “reconciliation” culture that places emphasis on Tamil violence. But for Eelam Tamils, remembering Karaitivu is more than an act of mourning - it is an act of political resistance. It challenges the false narratives of one-sided violences by Tamils against Muslims, and it demands justice not only for the lives lost, but for the structural violence that persists. As long as events like Karaitivu are buried in history’s margins, there can be no meaningful reckoning with the violence between Muslims and Tamils. After all, for many survivors, the perpetrators of such violence remain in their very neighbourhoods, and the bitterness persists. Until this history is confronted honestly and openly, both justice and reconciliation between these Tamil-speaking communities will remain elusive.