While the civil war in Sri Lanka ended in 2009, the city of Jaffna’s digital space remains a battleground where identity, memory, and power continue to clash. In this post-war environment, Tamil voices online face persistent surveillance, shrinking civic space, and growing Sinhala nationalist pressure. These forces, stemming from factions within the politically dominant ethnic group in Sri Lanka, threaten not only freedom of expression but also the preservation and evolution of Tamil identity itself. In response, Tamil youth are turning to digital tools to preserve memory, assert their identity, and resist erasure.
In the years following the war, security forces in the Northern Province of Sri Lanka maintained a strong offline presence that bled into the digital realm. The digital space is far from liberated; surveillance continues to quietly persist via social media, messaging platforms, and device monitoring. Recent reports indicate that activists and protesters are closely monitored. This continuation of surveillance echoes wartime logics of suspicion, suggesting that the war might have merely shifted from physical to digital battlefields.
A 2018 brief from the Adayaalam Centre noted activists being photographed, videotaped, called, and questioned by suspected intelligence agents at protest sites in Jaffna and Kilinochchi. More recently, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights expressed concern about “reports of surveillance and intimidation by security agencies in the North and East” during the political transition. Even after the recent 2024 election and the formation of a new government, journalists and civil society actors remain cautious when reporting on controversial issues like caste revivals, land disputes, and state accountability. There is a growing sense that online discourse is becoming increasingly sanitized, with many avoiding sensitive topics altogether.
Online Threats Mirror Offline Intimidation
The digital repression is further amplified by harassment from the online ecosystems of Sinhala nationalists, often targeting Tamil journalists who remain dangerously exposed. Predominantly Buddhist, the Sinhala community has historically controlled the country’s political and economic power, with nationalist factions promoting Sinhalese-Buddhist supremacy over minority communities like Tamils and Muslims. These digital ecosystems are composed of Sinhala-Buddhist majoritarian political groups and military-aligned networks that target minorities. They include troll farms and coordinated bot networks that weaponize social media to push divisive content.
Even casual online mentions of land disputes can provoke legal threats or visits from intelligence agents. In October 2023, Tamil journalists Punniyamoorthy Sasikaran and Valasingham Krishnakumar were pulled in for questioning after reporting on state land seizures. A month later, court orders demanded they hand over unedited footage of a Buddhist monk issuing threats against Tamils. Such incidents highlight how constant surveillance and legal intimidation significantly limit press freedom. These restrictions do not exist in isolation but are part of a broader legal and regulatory framework that tightens control over digital expression.
This surveillance creates an atmosphere of fear, pushing many Tamil users toward self-censorship. The problem worsened in January 2024, when Sri Lanka’s parliament passed the Online Safety Act (OSA), a sweeping law aimed at regulating online content and social media platforms in Sri Lanka. The legislation grants an unelected government commission broad authority to monitor, remove, and prosecute online content labeled as “false,” “harmful,” or “offensive.” Freedom House’s 2024 report notes that these terms are vaguely defined, raising concerns about arbitrary enforcement and the potential suppression of legitimate speech and dissent. The law also mandates internet service providers and social media companies to assist authorities in surveillance and content takedown. Non-compliance can lead to severe penalties, including fines up to 700,000 rupees ($2,100) and imprisonment of up to seven years.
The OSA effectively centralizes control over digital speech, giving the state extensive authority to police online expression. Human Rights Watch and tech giants Google, Apple, and Meta have warned that the law “could potentially criminalize nearly all forms of legitimate expression.” It reflects a growing unease among global actors about Sri Lanka’s increasing control over online speech. As UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk noted during his 2025 visit, “the same old patterns of surveillance of human rights defenders persist.” This observation points to a deeper continuity between past and present forms of repression, despite shifts in political leadership. Coupled with routine data collection by telecommunications companies and state bodies, this legislation fuels anxiety among Tamil digital users, shrinking their space for open dialogue.
Digital Resistance and the Reclamation of Memory
Despite this repressive atmosphere, Tamil youth are creatively reclaiming digital platforms to preserve their history and assert identity. Digital platforms have become critical spaces for preserving memory and identity by building solidarity across geographies. A study by Dr. Vivetha Thambinathan, a Tamil activist scholar at the University of Michigan, shows how second-generation Tamil refugees are using social media and digital “memory-box” projects to archive family stories and photographs of wartime Jaffna. Locally, initiatives like the Community Memorialization Project have created spaces for people across ethnic and regional lines to share personal narratives and engage in dialogue through workshops, exhibitions, and digital media. These projects serve not just as personal remembrance but also as quiet resistance against erasure.
Humor and satire have become powerful tools of resistance. A 2024 study analyzing Sri Lanka’s political crisis found that online memes helped activists evade censorship by mocking official narratives and exposing government absurdities. In Jaffna, student groups livestream job-market protests on TikTok, turning digital platforms into arenas for solidarity that span the island and diaspora. Each sarcastic GIF or viral meme is a small act of defiance against a system that continues to view Tamil aspirations as threats to national security.
From a psychological perspective, these digital expressions of humor and satire serve as critical sites for collective identity formation and political resilience among Tamil communities. By transforming individual frustration into shared experiences, these acts promote solidarity while also creating alternative spaces for resistance under conditions of intense surveillance and repression. Humor operates not only as entertainment but as a tool to assert agency and disrupt dominant narratives. Moreover, maintaining visibility in a hostile environment can strengthen connections across local and diaspora networks. This circulation of digital satire through the use of memes and GIFs to navigate censorship illustrates how resistance continuously adapts and endures within online spaces.
Yet the stakes remain high. If digital repression persists, Tamil identity risks being reduced to curated memories that never confront present realities. Policymakers in the capital of Colombo must urgently repeal or amend the Online Safety Act and ensure digital laws align with international human rights standards. Beyond legal reforms, establishing independent digital rights bodies and promoting community-led digital literacy programs can empower Tamil users to safely navigate and reclaim online spaces. International partners and civil society should support these efforts through capacity-building and monitoring of digital freedoms. Only by safeguarding digital expression can Sri Lanka begin to heal its post-war wounds and create a future where Tamil identity is not erased, but celebrated; where the pixels of memory become the foundation for open debate and justice for all citizens.
(Sreepreya Srinivasan is an intern with the Center for the Study of Organized Hate’s (CSOH) Community Resilience and Empowerment Program. She was selected through the Oslo Scholars Program.)