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by Judi Fairholm
Judi Fairholm recently returned from a mission to Sri Lanka, where she helped coordinate the psychosocial training of community workers for a Canadian Red Cross-funded project. Judi lives in Vancouver, and is the national director of RespectED: Abuse and Violence Prevention for the Canadian Red Cross.
On a beach in Mullaitivu in north eastern Sri Lanka, the same sea that supported the work, the hopes, the laughter, and the lives of people for generations today laps quietly over the sand.
The afternoon sun is hot, yet I feel a chill as I look down the beach. All I see is debris. Crows are the only sign of life. As I climb over broken walls and chunks of cement, I imagine the panic as people tried to outrun the December 26 tsunami, and I wonder ‘What is it like to have your world totally change in three minutes?’ ‘How do you cope when the source of your livelihood and joy becomes your demon?’ ‘What makes you take that next step toward living when you have seen so much death and destruction?’
I stand in front of a religious statue and wonder how it survived. I walk through a church doorway into nothing and wonder how many people that morning had walked through this same doorway, bringing hopes, prayers and pain. I try to say my own prayer, but find no words.
Yet even among these ruins, the resilient human spirit is beginning to rise through the destruction and grief.
I watch three fishermen working on their nets, preparing their boat. Where once there were 2000 boats, there are now only two. One of these men tells me he lost four children and saved one, along with his wife; today he is facing the sea again to rebuild his life.
Down into town, between smashed walls and empty structures, shops are being renovated and goods are re-appearing. Music blares; a three-wheeled “tuk tuk” drives by looking for business.
Just outside the town, in the lagoon, there are men rebuilding their prawn traps and catching fish. One comes and shows me his fish with pride, like fishers I’ve met in every corner of the world.
I am here with the Canadian Red Cross to coordinate the training of community health workers and volunteers who will provide psycho-social support to over 120,000 Sri Lankans. The project, a collaboration with the Sri Lanka Red Cross and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), is funded by Canadian donations.
The psychological effects of this disaster have been profound here, especially in areas where much of the population had been displaced previously due to armed conflict. Now the source of their livelihoods, an integral part of their existence, has been the cause of devastation.
Doctors warn that communities are now threatened by an increase in depression, sleeping disorders, alcoholism and suicide.
Although the psychosocial support work to be done is immense, the path is simple. Experts tell us that over 90% of those who face such trauma don’t need professional help, but rather benefit from an understanding and supportive listener. Professor Somasundaram, head of Psychiatry for Jaffna University who is leading the psychosocial response, notes that the biggest need is “individuals who can share the tears and confusion, and reassure affected people that their reactions are normal reactions to an abnormal situation.”
Through 10 days of intensive training, health workers and volunteers will learn to listen, befriend, define the stresses, recognize and support the grieving process, and identify those who need more specialized help. They will become key players in their communities’ wellness and resiliency.
Stopping at a transit camp supported by the ICRC, I hold a three-month-old baby. Two months ago, her young mother ran from the wall of water clutching the infant. Today, the baby is safe, grinning up into my face. Her mother has expanded their tent by adding tarps for a cooking space. Several metres away, a group of children laugh and argue as they play.
And I marvel. People are incredibly resilient.
Despair and loss are a reality, but they are not a constant. Standing in direct opposition to the trauma is the demonstrated resiliency of individuals and communities. I am humbled by their smiles, their willingness to share their experiences and their gratitude for the help they have received.
I wonder, ‘How do we join them in their quest for life – not as diagnosticians but as co-conspirators in facing the next day? How do we fuel their resilient spirits so that they can continue taking steps toward self-sufficiency?’
The journey is long and difficult – there is much debris, both internally and externally - but the spirit of those impacted is alive and pushing its way clear of the destruction.