I WOKE up after barely any sleep to messages asking “Where are you, are you okay?” Outside, an island-wide curfew was already in place.

The day started out slow, but crowds defied curbs to head to protests and make their voices heard. Throughout the day, social media was awash with folks trying to thwart the Rajapaksa family’s escape to a foreign country. What happened after that was rather chaotic; government supporters attempted to incite racial tensions among area residents in Negombo, who immediately saw through their tactics.

People in many locations could be seen advising others to ‘remain calm’ as the state played its games to retain power. The president has also given orders to shoot anyone engaged in looting property or risking the safety of others, with the curfew being extended for another 24 hours.

But a lot has happened in the last 24 hours.

For the past two months, Sri Lankans in various parts of the island had been engaged in peaceful protests against the ruling party over the severe economic crisis facing the country.

In terms of the bigger picture, foreign reserves are so low that they are likely to last only a few more purchases.

On an individual level, middle-income to poor families have been struggling to put food on the table as prices increased exponentially, and gas, fuel and food became dearer and dearer.

Over the span of 60 days, protesters railed against the government’s policies, setting up entire protest villages in the capital.

Two of these villages were the backdrop and targets for the events of May 9; Gotagogama (Gota Go Village) for President Gotabaya Rajapaksa, and Mainagogama (Mahi­nda Go Gama) for now former prime minister Mahinda Rajapaksa. The former is located outside the Presidential Secretariat and the latter outside the PM’s office.

On Monday, a pro-government group had been gathered inside the PM’s office to ask him not to resign. Reports indicated that this was not an organic gathering – these people had been put up to the task by their local councilors, hailing from Rajapaksa’s party.

Soon after their meeting with him, these ‘protesters’ descended on Mainagogama and flattened the protesters’ tents and other paraphernalia within minutes. A young woman who spoke to me later in the day said the mob had hit her as she knelt down to help another injured friend. “They would have done more damage had I not been wearing a helmet.”

The pro-government ‘protesters’ then took off down the main road connecting the two protest sites, while security personnel ambled alongside. The riot police water cannons, which had targeted peaceful student protesters near parliament just one week ago, were now pointing away from the violent mob. Residents of the Gotagogama village also said later they felt the tear gas was being used to deter them from protecting their spaces, not to prevent the mob from tearing down their village.

Galle Face, the beachside park where the protest village is located, is a common outdoor space for families and friends looking to eat snacks, spend time together and dip their feet in the sea. The village that sprang up close to it was also a communal space that brought together people from different walks of life to share meals, engage in discussions and learn about their country’s political and social history.

Watching it being taken apart – in real time or on a screen – was heartbreaking for many who had made it their home these past weeks and months.

In the hours that followed the chaos, I visited the site, having to pass through police and army barricades and a notice of curfew being put in place. It had only been hours since the violence, but the resilient community of protesters was already piecing their tents back together.

A tent-library that had been torn down was being quickly restocked. A sign above one of the now-empty shelves read: ‘Books are the greatest weapons of the people’s revolution’, and a volunteer was obliging by quickly cramming the shelves with titles on political science.

But not all was salvageable; the art gallery, where everyone from professional artists to little children would come to create protest work, was razed to the ground. Small mobile kiosks, owned by daily-wage earners, had also been torched by the mobs.

Smoke filled the air and was carried on the sea breeze towards the gathering crowds. A man scraped through the burning shards of his stall with a stick; he told me he spent a small fortune on getting a loan to buy new toys for the upcoming Vesak festival. Of the toys, only some plastic bubble blowers remained.

Perhaps one of the most humbling signs of solidarity was when people whose work shifts ended at around 5pm, arrived at Galle Face in their office attire, to rally as a march or to simply be at the site.

Doctors and nurses in scrubs, teachers in sarees, IT professionals in smart office attire, ports staff in their duty overalls and more, adding their numbers and support.

On the routes out of the city, things got a little murky. Reports of vigilante pro-government groups accosting buses, tuk-tuks and other vehicles were all over social media. “Don’t video us, keep your phones inside. Sorry to inconvenience you but we are doing this for the future of our country,” the men say, before climbing off and waving the vehicle away.

Along the dark roads, vandalised and beaten buses lie motionless, the glass scattered around them like dust. For many Sri Lankans, the onset of emergency regulations and the unfolding situation still doesn’t answer the most burning issues of the moment in time. The queues for fuel and gas will continue, and rising prices will make it increasingly challenging to feed a family, especially for those who already find it difficult to cope.

The protesters’ key demand is that the Rajapaksas – who caused the crisis – resign from office and be held accountable for their actions. Whether that will happen, remains to be seen. But the protesters at Gotagogama only have one message for the president: “We are not leaving until you do”.

Published in Dawn, May 11th, 2022