By Sivas Premjeyanth –

Dr. Sivas Premjeyanth

Sri Lanka stands at a crossroads, yearning for a leader who can bridge decades of division and discrimination. Like many Tamils, I welcomed the recent presidential election with cautious optimism, hoping for a leader who could truly unite the country. However, Mr. President, your first speech as the nation’s leader left me disheartened—not because of its content, but because of its delivery—or, more accurately, the lack of delivery in Tamil. As your words reached the masses, accompanied by a sign language interpreter—a thoughtful gesture for the deaf community—I found myself, in that moment, wishing I were deaf rather than Tamil.

Tamils in Sri Lanka have long sought equality, not superiority or privilege. Our aspirations have been simple: to live as equals and to see our language, culture, security, and identity respected. Decades of discriminatory policies—favoring Sinhala in language, education, employment, and development—pushed our community to the margins and, eventually, into a struggle for survival. As Prabhakaran once remarked, “If JR Jeyawardene were a true Buddhist, I would not have taken up arms.” His words reflect the deep-rooted grievances that have plagued our nation.

We want a leader who cares for all, irrespective of race, religion, or language. Your election and pre-election speeches, Mr. President, offered many promises. You acknowledged the struggles of Tamils, Muslims, upcountry Tamils, and even the marginalized Sinhalese communities. It hinted at an understanding of Sri Lanka’s complexities and the need for inclusive leadership. But the absence of Tamil translation in your address sent a conflicting message—a reminder that even the smallest acts of exclusion can overshadow good intentions.

Broadcasting your speech in Tamil would have been a simple yet powerful gesture. It would have signaled that Tamils are an integral part of this nation and that their language is valued as much as Sinhala. Inclusion begins with small acts like these. It is through such gestures that decades of mistrust can begin to heal.

For far too long, politicians—both Tamil and Sinhala—have exploited divisions for their own benefit. Tamils have suffered not only from external discrimination but also from internal failures of Tamil leadership. Despite this, we remain hopeful. In you, Mr. President, we see the potential for a leader who can rise above divisive politics and chart a new path for our nation.

But hope must be nurtured through action. Treating everyone equally in language, policy, and development is not just a political necessity—it is a moral obligation. A Tamil citizen should not feel excluded from the president’s address to the nation. Language is more than a tool for communication; it is a symbol of respect and belonging.

Mr. President, I wish I were deaf and understood sign language during your speech rather than being a Tamil speaker unable to follow it. Perhaps then, I could have grasped your message. But as a Tamil, I want to listen to you, understand you, and connect with you through the language I know and cherish.

Your presidency can mark the beginning of a new era for Sri Lanka. But the path to unity begins with small, meaningful gestures. By recognizing and respecting these simple yet crucial facts, you will find that trust and progress will follow.

Tamils do not ask for favors but for fairness and equity. Let us walk together as equals in this shared land, starting with the acknowledgment of our language—from vital speeches to essential documents like birth certificates and death certificates to all forms of communication. For in such gestures lies the foundation of true unity.