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Devánjali: A window unto the permanence within impermanence

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Devánjali. A word, a poem, description of a way of being, a dance performance.  This is the latest production put together by the Chitrasena Vajira Dance Foundation, especially choreographed for the Sydney Festival and scheduled to be presented to the Sri Lankan audience at the Lionel Wendt on December 19, 2014. 

On Wednesday, December 11, 2014, the Chitrasena Dance Company had a special show, a preview of sorts.  If this was ‘preview’ and one performed more than a month before the ‘big show’ audiences in Australia are certainly in for a rare treat, so close to perfection did it seem to be, albeit to a ‘lay’ spectator.  It is the first time that the Dance Company has been invited to participate in what is now considered the premier cultural festival in Australia. 

Previously, that is in 1963 and 1972, when the names Chitrasena and Vajira were synonymous with ‘dance’ as it pertained to unique Sri Lankan traditions, the Company had performed at various festivals in that country.  Today, several decades later, it is the third generation of the family and their contemporaries that take stage. 

Upeka, the principal trainer of the dancers now that the legend Chitrasena is no more and his decades long fellow-dancer and fellow-guru Vajira is in virtual retirement, spoke with The Nation about Devánjali, the themes depicted in each dance sequence, the artists, the philosophy that drives the Dance Company and of course the energy and love that produce movement, beat and their union in ways that thrill, delight and prompt deeper self-reflection. 

The word Devánjali is a conjugation that refers to the worship of gods or deities.  Worship in the form of dance of course or more precisely the intricate interweave of drum and dance.  It begins with the age old tradition of seeking the blessings of gods and gurus with the ritual master (kattadiya) summons the Gara Yaka to bless the performance, the performers and the audience. 

There is sequence but there’s a seamlessness to it, for one phase yields to the next with very little pause either in time or in movement.  The next piece is a solo by Thaji in a re-make of an original sequence choreographed by Vajira for her daughter Upeka way back in 1998,‘bera nada chalana’.  The adjustment is for youth and less experience as well as the younger dancers and drummer who perform with her.    It is principally a mix of Kandyan and Low Country dance and drumming traditions with some movements from the Sabaragamuwa tradition worked into the sequence. 

Next is a celebration of Lord Ganesha, God of Knowledge and Remover of Obstances, derived and re-choreographed for three male dancers from the Ganapathi Vannama by Heshma, who by the way not only choreographed the entire production, but is also the artistic director and lighting director.   This is followed by a dance with revolves around the folk instrument pantheruwa, believed to be anklet of Goddess Pattini, worshipped by Buddhists and well as Hindus.  The pantheru dance is traditionally associated with celebrating victory.  The dance, according to Upekha, is driven by the pantheruwa, its shape and the ideologies behind it. 

The sound and energy that color these segments yield to a more sober performance, ‘Moksha’ where once again Thaji takes center stage.  Perhaps the thinking behind the entire production is best captured in a quote by the maestro himself, read out by way of introduction: ‘Why do you repeat?  To emphasize, to bring home a point.  Why do you hold on?  Because you know it will otherwise change. How can you grasp something which is elusive? This is the beautiful paradox of the dance and of life.  When you know it, you can glimpse the permanence within the impermanence.’  There is violin, flute and female voice.  There is reference to the Buddha.  It is an exercise that seeks to show permanent-impermanent unity.  A challenge which the dancer takes on as something sacred. 

Finally, there is the Kankaari Aara or the way of the Kandyan Ritual where dancers and drummers challenge each other and through this demonstrates the union of drum and dance.  It is at once a celebration of the Kandyan Dance as well as the Chitrasena legacy.

The group, made of 3 female dancers, two of whom (Sandani and Upekha) are performing for the first time, 4 male dancers (Priyanga, Geeth, Dayan and Akhila, the last another first timer), and 4 drummers (the brothers Susantha and Prasanna, Udaya and Varuna). 

Watching the performance one is stunned by the synchronizing where only a trained eye if at all could detect the slightest mis-move.  The slower sequences were exquisite with even the breathing appeared to have been choreographed. 

‘That’s all Heshma,’ Upeka explained. 

‘She makes notes.  She writes down the slightest mistake, even finger movement that is not quite right will be noted.  She is meticulous.  As I said, she is the artistic director and also handles lights.  She designed all the costumes too.’

The hard work put in can only be imagined.  Upeka who is the main trainer (supported by her niece and the lead female dancer Thaji), and who will be accompanying the group, says that they’ve worked hard for almost a year. 

‘We take this work very seriously.  There’s a lot of research that goes into this.  This after all is all we have to say “uniquely ours”.  Nowhere in the world will you find this dance, these drums.  We have taken the essence of that which is ours, given a contemporary touch so that the entire world can enjoy it.  It is not a reproduction of the kankaariyabut it certainly contains its signature.’

That it does, clearly.  There’s continuity, change and through it all something that endures.  A fitting tribute to Chitrasena, Vajira and all the traditions that made them who they were and inspired them to create a legacy that continues to inspire, entertain and educate.





Udaya Gammanpila and the Principal Principle

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උදය ගම්මන්පිල ගේ මම වෙනුවෙන් මම මොහොත?
[Udaya's 'All About Myself' moment?]
Udaya Gammanpila’s historic ‘double-cross’ topped all crossover stories last week. Just days after lambasting the President and the Government when his party left the ruling coalition, Western Provincial Council member of the Jathika Hela Urumaya rubbished the positions he himself had previously defended.  All those who crossed party lines pleaded ‘principles’.  Gammanpila spoke the word a tad more sweetly than the less eloquent. What was said was ‘principle’ but some may have heard it as ‘self interest’. 

Mahinda, Maithripala or Delusion?

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‘We are not in the business of issuing character certificates to those who cross,’ JVP Leader Anura Kumara Dissanayake said.   The past few weeks have seen a lot of politicians crossing party lines.  These moves have been received with jeers and cheers, depending on whether the person left or arrived, respectively.  Interestingly, if you took names of the ‘movers’ and the names of those who either praised or vilified the move out, it would be as though people are using the same script. 

If rhetoric and self-righteous chest beating is all that these crossovers are about, it would be silly to take them too seriously.   They do matter, however.  They keep contenders and campaigns in the news.  They are used to portray ‘sway’ even if they don’t exactly translate into the numbers that movers and backers toss around.   On the other hand if people do get swayed by those who are up for sale what does it say about the voter?  Not much, unfortunately.

It is in this context that Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s wry observation has to be viewed.  Our political culture was never really great, what with rogues, murderers, drug traffickers and common thugs seeking office and getting elected and re-elected, even when they switch loyalties. It seems to have hit rock bottom if the somersaults, pole-vaults and other gymnastic moves by people of all hues are considered.  If anything is worse than the rubbish uttered at post-crossing press conferences it is the wild cheers of the fans who believe the candidate they support have gained.  Even as they argue that theirs is the moral choice, they refuse to see the immorality of eleventh-hour ‘jumps’.  There’s a question that’s not being asked: ‘were these people sleeping all these years?’ 

In all this, there’s a character being taken for a big time ride by politicians.  The voter.  That’s you.  That’s all of us.  What happened to ‘Good vs. Evil’?  What happened to ‘Honesty vs. Dishonesty’?  What happens to notions such as law and order, good governance, the need to eradicate corruption, when you get the evil, the dishonest, the lawless and disorderly, wreckers of good governance and the corrupt on both sides of the principal political divide?  What does it say about the political maturity of a country when all that matters is liking or disliking someone in the particular political camp?  It is as though people have already decided (for whatever reason) and then say whatever is necessary to justify decision. 

When this is the political culture that governs important elections, one cannot blame the JVP for keeping out of it, except of course that party arguably has not-so-noble reasons such as not wanting to be embarrassed by having their true support base revealed.  One has to keep in mind, also, that the JVP is playing a ‘For-Maithripla’ game where the thahanam vachanaya (taboo word/name) is ‘Maithripala’. 

So if it’s about principles (which it is not for the vast majority, obviously and unfortunately), then the voter is fixed in mid-air, he/she is floating or has to support one of the many no-chance-in-hell candidates.  At best, people have to tell themselves (if they are honest, and the jury is out on that too!) ‘lesser evil,’ although it is tough to pick, considering all the riff-raff that the front-runners have surrounded themselves with.  Right now, though, the entire election is nothing more than a charade, where the vast majority of the country is happily engaged in a monumental exercise of self-delusion. 

Perhaps that’s consolation and the best we can come up with right now.  Sadly. 




The Soma Hamuduruwo who remains eleven years later

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A little over ten years ago, there was a General Election.  This was in April 2004.  It was an election that was won by the United People’s Freedom Alliance (UPFA) but was one that was marked by the entry of the Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU) and through them a visible and decisive presence of bikkhus in parliamentary politics.  What happened thereafter is history. 

The JHU, although only nine-strong in a 225-member Parliament, nevertheless orchestrated the election of W.J.M. Lokubandara as the Speaker.  The intervention of Rev Athureliye Rathana Thero at the Aid Group Meeting in Kandy stopped foreign funds being legally channeled to the LTTE.  The ‘fast unto death’ launched by Ven Omalpe Sobitha Thero outside the Dalada Maligawa similarly helped scuttle the P-TOMs arrangement.  The JHU would later lend support to Mahinda Rajapaksa in his first presidential election, with the party leadership scripting most of what came to be known as ‘Mahinda Chinthana’. Then there was the march to Mavil Aru precipitating a decisive political decision to launch a to-the-end battle with the LTTE. 

When the JHU’s history is written, there will be mention of work done, proposals made and rejected, shifting of loyalties and even splits.  These are remembered.  What is not being said and hasn’t been said for years is that one of the key factors that led to the political formation and which helped the JHU become the ‘game changer’ that it has evolved into is the extensive and thankless work of the little remembered and much vilified Ven Gangodawila Soma Thera. 

Ven Gangodawila Soma Thera spoke simply about simple things.  He responded to what many felt was an existential threat to Buddhists in multiple forms.  For all the ‘Buddhist’ trappings of the constitution, homage to the Sri Maha Bodi and the Dalada Maligawa by politicians, layers of pirith nool wrapped around their wrists, celebratory splashes during Vesak and Poson, it was clear then (as it is now) that the commanding heights of the economy including key decision making bodies were peopled by non-Buddhists (in a country where Buddhists make up close to 70% of the population).  Vilification of Buddhists and Buddhism was ‘par for the course’ for self-styled ‘intellectuals’.  The use and abuse of constitutional provisions to prey on relatively poor Buddhists with the intent of ‘conversion’ was (and is) out of control. 

While the Chief Prelates of the Buddhist Order sat on immense wealth and did little or nothing to uplift the lay Buddhists, Ven Soma went about saying what was politically incorrect.  He laid it out as it was.  He spoke against the myriad ritualistic practices that had got added-on as faith-items of lay Buddhists.  He spoke against life practices that could wreck families and condemn communities to impoverishment.  He inspired young people to return to the doctrine.  He brought people to the temple. 

Ven Soma was a revivalist of a particular kind.  He addressed largely a cultural and civilizational angst of a particular community.  He drew from the Dhamma, this is true, but less to show pathway out of sorrow than to make personal lives more wholesome and alleviate the anxieties of the Sinhala Buddhists.  Buddhists from all parts of the country attended Ven Soma's funeral.  The outpouring of grief was unprecedented.  No politician or even artist has been mourned in anything close to the way Ven Soma was.  

When he did delve into the Dhamma for other beyond-community concerns, Ven Soma Thera was less effective.  In fact he wasn’t very coherent, losing the thread of the point he was making courtesy almost habitual and frequent venture alone the byroads of elucidation.  He was naturally vilified by the usual suspects in the five-centuries long cultural, religious and political persecution of Sinhala Buddhists who have little time and energy and no eyes at all to see doctrinal disjuncture in any other religious community in the island. 

Ven Soma Thera died under mysterious circumstances.  To date investigation into that tragic moment has not yielded satisfactory conclusions.  Those who demanded a proper investigation and who used that demand to gather votes have ‘moved on’.  Ven Soma Thera, in that sense, or rather the death of Ven Soma Thera was nothing more than ‘stepping stone’ for people on a political journey. 

Eleven years on, there’s little or no mention of Ven Gangodawila Soma Thera.  Perhaps this is because the country is once again excited about a major election.  The issues he raised remain.  And yet, in some small way and perhaps for reasons unplanned by Ven Soma Thera there is a greater interest in the Dhamma among Buddhists, especially the youth.  While naturally there are bikkhus whose sermons are so popular that they have been surrounded by wealth gifted by the devoted, there are others who have invited a deeper study of the immense doctrinal wealth that is Buddhism. 

Ven Soma Thera’s in-your-face political project helped some but in the end the Buddhists did not benefit.  It was the interest he sparked in the Dhamma that stayed and will, in the end, provide answers to the existential angst of this religious community.  As it should be, one might add. 

M.S. 

Mahinda, Maithree and the floating voter

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In all elections people talk of the floating vote.  The undecided.   Those who may be swayed one way or another.  In some elections the floating vote can decide an election.  Naturally, come election time all kinds of theories are floated about the floating vote.  Some say it has expanded and some say it has contracted.  Some say ‘won’t count this time’ too.  No one seems to have succeeded in putting a finger on the floating vote.  But in a parallel universe, the floating voter has a voice.  Let us listen.

I am an intangible.  I am talked of as though I am someone’s playing.  A commondity.  A bargain.  No one wants to listen to me.  No one wants to acknowledge that I have grievances too.  In fact I have aspirations as well. 

Right now I am in a bit of a quandary.  Things are moving back and forth at such a speed that it is hard to figure out whether someone else is moving, whether I am being jostled this way and that by the traffic or if I am standing still while the political world does its usual election-time somersaults. 

I am supposed to be sitting on the fence.  I am supposed to be right there in the middle.  Neither here nor there.  I am supposed to be up for grabs.  My problem is that the fence is not staying in one place.  If this side is identified by who is located there and that side by who is on the other side, it’s gotten really confusing of late.  Here today, gone tomorrow: that’s how things have been the past few days.  ‘I won’t budge,’ someone says and the next moment he’s jumped and keeping jumping up and down in glee with his new found friends jumping with him too. Makes me dizzy to watch these things. 

And then there’s the line.  Forget politicians and who-what they may represent.  There’s also track record.  Then there’s the package, promises that is.  I’ve been looking this way and that and I am totally confused.  I can’t believe that some people can stand with some other people, considering what they’ve said about one another.  I can’t believe the promises made when there’s the past is littered with broken pledges, mandates re-interpreted for personal benefit and manifestos turned into toilet paper. 

The one good thing about being a floating voter is the ‘floating’ part of it.  Our people can fly.  We can rise above the gooey stuff that is made of periodically auctioning off non-existent resources, promising the undeliverable and solemn-faced acknowledgment of error and begging forgiveness for crimes of omission and commission.  From up here I can see a bunch of nitwits bickering at each other.  From up here I can see there’s blue and green on one side and blue and green on the other side too.  From up here I can see rogues and sycophants on both sides of the shifting, vaguely-demarcated political divide. 

From up here I ask myself, ‘do either of these jokers deserve my vote?’  From up here I can see that one of the biggest lies in these situations is the claim ‘lesser evil’ for EVIL is a word embossed on the membership card one gets the moment one assumes that despicable identity ‘politician’. 

I concur with my brother who said ‘I’m fed up of seeing the same bullshit over and over being quoted, re-quoted, edited, re-edited, mixed, re-mixed, compared, contrasted and conflated until none of it makes any sense at all.’

So here’s to you Mrs Robinson: ‘anyway you look at it you lose’. 

Going to sleep.   Wake me up sometime in late January 2015, ok? 


Reflections on a ‘radical’ of our times

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Champika Ranawaka has emerged as a key spokesperson in Maithripala Sirisena's presidential campaign. Some of his former critics have now become admirers.  Even his foes grudgingly acknowledge that he is not just eloquent but backs rhetoric with substance.  This is a revisit of sorts; an article written for the 'Daily News' of December 17, 2009, five years ago to the day.

I think it was George Bernard Shaw who made the following observation: ‘Reasonable men adapt themselves to the world, unreasonable men adapt the world to themselves; therefore all progress is due to unreasonable men.’   It is about swimming against the tide, doing the unthinkable, defying logic and reason and overcoming all odds. 

‘Progress’ is of course a loaded term, but Shaw is essentially right in that it is those who are ‘unreasonable’, who possess powers of observation and reasoning that enable them to envisage possibilities unthinkable to most, that have a transformational impact on society.

The true measure of a person’s impact on his/her social, economic, political and cultural environment is obtained only after that person is no more.  All salutations should be kept on hold until then.  And yet it is not impossible to praise and blame as appropriate in an interim sense.

This is about a book, a biography covering 30 years in the life of a man, a document appropriately titled ‘patisothagamiwa this wasak’.  My friend Karunaratne Paranavithana who reviewed this book recently in the Divaina points out that patisothagami means ‘swimming upstream’ and observes after the late Tissa Abeysekera that it is the appropriate Sinhala equivalent of ‘radical’.  The term ‘radical’ has been appropriated by Marxists and others who are obsessed with the left-right dichotomy; the truth however is that radicalism is not necessarily bound by preferred political outcome or social order. 

The book, by the way, was authored by Patali Champika Ranawaka, the Minister of Environment and Natural Resources.  The book is more than Champika’s recollections of his political life.  It is essential reading for students of Sri Lanka’s recent political history, especially the student movement and the agitations in the late eighties as well as the rise of the nationalist movement which peaked, one could argue, with the comprehensive military defeat of the LTTE in May 2009. 

It is just one man’s version and does not give the whole picture, yes.  On the other hand, the man concerned was not an idle observer, but a colossus in the political firmament.  I remember Upul Shantha Sannasgala speaking at a book launch several years ago, saying that there were three individuals who stood out as giants of his/our generation: Daya Pathirana (leader of the Independent Student Union, Colombo University), Ranjithan Gunaratnam, Convenor of the JVP-dominated Inter-University Student Federation and Champika.  He observed that the first was murdered by the JVP, the second by vigilante groups affiliated with the UNP regime of the time and opined that had they not perished in the UNP-JVP bheeshanaya they would have definitely shaped the nature of Champika’s intellectual and political interventions in the nineties. 

A few years ago, Milinda Moragoda asked me what kind of person Champika was. This was my answer: ‘He is a person who reads the political equation very accurately and is capable of playing trumps no one knew existed and turn everything upside down’.  Victor Ivan, editor of the Ravaya, who was also present, concurred. 

My association with Champika goes back to the year 1990, in the immediate aftermath of the annihilation of the JVP when there was a marked political silence in the entire university system.  I was introduced to him by Ven. Athureliye Rathana, a brilliant student at Peradeniya.  They were instrumental in rescuing me from the intellectual reductionism and limitations of Marxism.  I have known him close to two decades now. I was associated with political organizations he helped launch and have observed closely his political career as it evolved. 

Champika was not born with a political ‘silver spoon’. He did not come from a wealthy family.  And yet, this man with sheer force of determination and incredible intellectual drive left a singular mark in the political developments we saw in the last twenty years.  I can safely say that I have never met anyone endowed with the creative and intellectual capacities that Champika Ranawaka possesses. 

He has a rare clarity of mind that allows him to sit and write an entire political column within 30-45 minutes, without any errors, grammatical or otherwise, and without compromising ‘lyricality’, logic and overall coherence.  That quality is evident when he speaks too.  There was never a word too many and he got his point across whether he had 30 mts or 3 minutes. 

I still remember a brilliant lecture he delivered at the Institute of Fundamental Studies, Kandyat a conference on Buddhism, Science and Realism.  He spoke on quantum physics. In 45 minutes he was able to explain the most complex theories to people who had no background on the material he referred to. A professor who taught this subject observed, ‘if I was asked to speak on this subject I would have needed  3 weeks worth of lectures to say what Champika just said in 45 minutes’. 

Champika, like Nalin De Silva and Gunadasa Amarasekara, argued that the LTTE must be and can be militarily defeated.  Those were unpopular positions to take during the Chandrika Kumaratunga years.  He was vilified as a racist, a Sinhala-Buddhist chauvinist.  The agitational fronts he created such as the National Movement Against Terrorism played a crucial role in creating the ideological foundation from which that ultimate victory charge could be launched. 

Champika is not a journalist, but it would be difficult for me to name any regular columnist who could match him for volume, range of subject and argumentative power over the past two decades. 

When he took over the Ministry of Environment, he bragged that he would show how ministries should be run.  Well, he made good.  Within a year he made sure that the Ministry did not require any Treasury allocations.  His work in the sphere of environment has earned him a lot of respect internationally.  He and I may disagree on many things, but I, like almost all his detractors would acknowledge that we are better off as a nation for the energy, intellectual punch and strong and unwavering nationalism of this man. 

He may come off as an aloof, humourless, matter-of-fact individual, but that’s not true.  He is caring and sensitive when it matters.  I still remember an incident when we were both detained (along with 12 others) at the Wadduwa Police Station.  Champika was in a cell, I was handcuffed to the stairs along with Paranavithana (referred to above), Janaka Bandara (who later became Public Trustee and is now a National List MP of the UPFA) and others.  I was not in the best of moods because I had been interrogated a little while earlier and the officer who questioned me had threatened to assault me in the night.  Champika must have noticed that I was a bit down in the mouth.  He smuggled some biscuits to me as he passed me and spoke a few words of comfort. 

In all the years of our association, I have never failed to be impressed by the depth of his knowledge on a wide range of subjects, his eloquence in conversation, effectiveness in argument and to win for this country and our people victories that were thought to be unattainable.   Others might be dismayed of course, and that’s understandable.  Whichever way one looks at him, Champika Ranawaka is a man to be reckoned with. In our generation, I can say with confidence, there is no one who is endowed with the skills and capacities that this man possesses.  His book is therefore a window into an extraordinary political actor and one who will remain a determining force in our society.   Worth a read.



Malinda Seneviratne is the Editor-in-Chief of 'The Nation' and can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com.

Shortcuts to becoming a Kolombian

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This was taken by Indy Samarajeewa in January 2012
People are asking me about Kolombians.  Not Kolombians – they generally approve and appreciate.  Kolombians thank me for getting the word out, in giving them voice etc.  It’s the non-Kolombians who ask the questions. 

That want to know how one becomes a Kolombian.  Someone asked if there’s a Kolombian Handbook.   Someone else wanted to know if there’s a residency requirement.  There were questions such as ‘Do we have to sit an exam?’ and ‘Is Kolombianess tested every now and again and if you fail will you lose residency and residence?’ 


Well I can’t answer all these questions in one go.  We are in the middle of compiling a Kolombian Handbook.  ‘We’ as in the Kolombian High Command, led ‘ex-officio’ by the Queen of England and the President of the United States of America. 

There are no formal ‘tests’ but we have our own ways of kicking you out if you don’t fall in line such as making sure you don’t get invited to birthday parties and baby showers, and of course look-down-nose at you if you dare attend funerals.  There are other methods which our ‘Ways and Means Committee’ have come up with.  All this in good time. 

For now let me give some basics. 

Residency.  I’ve mentioned this before.  It’s not about where you are located but how you locate yourself.  Of course BEING IN COLOMBO or more precisely, hobnobbing with Kolombians (doing the clubs, events and parties) helps.  Things rub off, after all.  But it’s more about the sense, the feeling, inhabiting of a cultural condition. 

You have to know English.  Non-negotiable.  The Queen’s English is best, but in these days of Britain operating as another state of the United States of America, Barack Obama treating David Cameron as though he was a doorman and ‘King’ (Lebron) James putting his arm around the Duchess of Cambridge (that’s Catherine, wife of ‘will-be-king-himself-one-day Prince William), US-English is fine too.  

This is not enough of course.  You have to sneer at those who don’t know English (UK or US), laugh at those who don’t get the accent right, cheer like hell those who ridicule such yakkos or baiyyas and act as though everything written, said and sung in Sinhala or Tamil, by ‘definition’, is inferior and worthy only of contempt. 
  
It is not just language.  If anyone who can’t ‘say it right’ in English or doesn’t appear to show respect to things just because they are said/written in English or borrowed/derived from Europe and North America the idea or theory put forward has to be considered inferior.  Kolombians are required by way of tribal covenant to ridicule such utterings.  

For example, if ‘E equals MC squared’ was dreamed up by someone who couldn’t say it in the ‘Right English’ you have to say that it can’t be true.  No, that’s not enough.  You have to exclaim, ‘the effing gumption of this village idiot’ or something on those lines and vilify him into oblivion.  If you are in a generous mood you can pin a tag on such an upstart.  ‘Native Intellectual!’ you can spit those words out with a lot of venom. 

Another thing.  You have to be seen at English literary events.  The Lionel Wendt is a good place to be seen at, but certainly not when they are showing Rajitha Dissanayake's plays or Sinhala versions of European plays (like 'The House of Bernada Alba') or films (like 'Twelve Angry Men').   The Galle Literary Festival is alas no longer held, but that would have been a great hang-out place for Kolombian wannabes, just to get the feel of the tribe.  Don't worry, you don't need to be well-read, although it helps if you can drop a few names of some white men who wrote decent stuff. Like Shakespeare.  Don't try to be smart by talking of Pablo Neruda because only a few would have heard the name.  

And if you have not already done so, join an NGO.  That'll get you a free pass, almost.  Of course you'll have to learn to hang on to every word uttered by the US Ambassador, repeat them like a mantra as often as possible.  Oh yes! You have to watch BBC, CNN and better still Fox.  Here's a tip, check out what comes from Washington and start seeing the world from Washington's point of view. That's Washington DC, by the way.   


You get the drift.  The key quality is distinction.  You have to rise above.  You have to be apart.  Be aloof.  You have to position yourself so that you can spit on those upstart non-Kolombians.  Metaphorically of course.  If you can’t do that, you can’t be one of us.  It’s as simple as that.  

*Everyone takes note.  Some keep notes.  Some in diaries and journals.  Some in their minds and hears.  Some of these are shared via email or on Facebook or blog; some are not.  Among these people are Kolombians, people from Colombo who know much -- so much that they are wont to think that others don't know and can't think.  This is the tenth in a series published in 'The Nation' under the title 'Notes of an Unrepentant Kolombian'.

Ready for time travel?

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At some point in your life you would have heard of traveling through time.  When you read about a faraway place, enchanted lands, fascinating characters, there’s a part of you that wants to visit, wants to meet these amazing people in the flesh and so on.  That’s natural. 

It’s not about stories only.  We learn history and we learn geography.  We read about the Himalayas, Mount Everest, Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary, we search for text and pictures on the internet and wonder how cold it must have been.  We read about heroic feats and wonder what it would have been like to live in that time.  How was it like at the Last Supper of Jesus Christ?  If you were there, would you have done something to save that Prince of Peace?  Do you wish you were watching from behind some tree as the Ascetic Siddhartha attained Enlightenment? 

The truth is that we can visit these places and those times.  If we want to.  All it takes is a good imagination and some pieces of information about the period, the events and the personalities.  The only time machine one needs is the mind.  You can sit back, close your eyes and take off. 

You can imagine the moment when Prince Dutugemunu decided he would leave the Royal Palace.  You could follow him, be with him through those long, lonely years of self-imposed exile, shared his food, listened to his plans, his regrets and resolve.  You could accompany that other great king, Elara, to his chambers immediately after giving the order to punish his son and recount his grief.  

Do you not feel sorry for Princess Vihara Maha Devi as she is cast out into tempestuous seas?  Can you not feel the heat on the sand as her boat approached kinder shores?  Do you not see the surprise, confusion and sorrow in the eyes of Julius Caesar the moment he feels Brutus’ knife on his skin? 

Isn’t it easy to imagine growing up with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley as friend and playmate in some pre-school in that other world where everything is real and nothing is fiction?  It’s the same with Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne and other characters in the ‘Hunger Games,’ is it not?  You can, if you want, have breakfast with characters from ‘Divergent’ such as Tris Prior or Tobias Eaton.  You can tag along, stand shoulder to shoulder or even make the key decisions.   

This time machine is not something that can take you into storybook worlds and histories you’ve read about.  It can take you to the future too.  You can go to the worlds you’ve read about in science fiction, in machines not yet invented.  You can forget all the science fiction you’ve come across and visit a world where people are not dying of hunger even when there’s a feast going on the other side of town, a world where trees are not seen as ‘timber’ but as vital to the health of the planet, a world where people talk instead of ‘chat’, people meet instead of ‘tweet’ and have real life, real time and real space conversations. 

You can imagine a time where technology allows us to understand the language of dolphins, where birds don’t chirp but actually tell us of faraway places they’ve been to, what they had for breakfast and how nice it would be if kids didn’t break their nests or stole their eggs. 


You can go anywhere you like, with whoever you like, meet anyone you want to meet, explore, discover, be amazed and return to the present all the more richer for the experience.  And the best thing is that you don’t have to wait until science gives us a time-machine.  Better still, it’s free.  


This is the twelfth article in a series I am writing for the JEANS section of 'The Nation'.  The series is for children. Adults consider yourselves warned...you might re-discover a child within you! 

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On living with and without the state

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The role of the state in the amorphous and varied activity, process and objective called ‘development’ has been the subject of many a doctoral dissertation.  The literature on the subject would fill quite a large library, in fact.  States are sometimes ‘interventionist’; they have an overbearing presence in the affairs of a country, especially the economy.  Some argue that states should play the role of facilitator and regulator (read ‘keep out of our hair’; ‘our’ referring to capital interests). 

States make their presence felt through tax regimes, regulatory mechanisms and relevant enforcement authorities, the law etc.  Some may consider states to be a necessary nuisance; a pain in the whatever because no one likes rules and regulations but a useful player in keeping out anarchy.  Good to complain about. 

Human beings are strange creatures.  They want to be pampered and they want something to complain about too; seldom content but frequently agitated and unfulfilled, want to take but hate to give, will talk for hours about rights but remain silent on responsibilities. 

I’ve written about what an ungrateful bunch of citizens we are for the most part.  This is not to say that states are perfect or that governments are made of principled men and women; they are not.  On the other hand, a citizenry that is pampered from womb to grave must be possessed by a strange ingratitude to want and demand as it does so frequently. 

States are not perfect, let me repeat. Governments are about people with vested interests. The architecture of the state is more or less designed to serve the interests of the more powerful sections of society.  Those who rebel against the welfare state are often silent about the fact that states typically serve capital interests and indeed to an extent that makes amounts allocated to education, healthcare etc for the poor look like a pittance. 

I have begun to wonder why we tend to confuse ‘state’ with ‘saviour’.  It is not as though some people sat down one day and designed a foolproof state to stand the test of time.  It is a flawed edifice because architect, engineer, resident and renovator are all frail human beings.  What this means is that there are things where we can wait on the state only at our own peril. 

Sometimes a tough, responsible and uncompromising consumer protection movement can force institutions and officials to deliver (as per job description) on the legitimate expectations of consumers and taxpayers.  Sometimes it is not enough.  We can complain about the inefficiencies of the Health Department and the various local government authorities whose responsibilities include effective and sustainable disposal of waste and the maintenance of proper drainage systems, but if we do nothing ourselves we up the risk of dying of diseases such as dengue.  

We can’t wait on the state. We can’t expect consumer protection organizations to fall from the sky either.  Organizing is not easy; takes time, effort, sacrifice and a lot of disappointments.  On the other hand, we can do the small thing; like we all did when the entire country was facing a serious dengue threat.  A lot of people became aware of the threat thanks to the efforts of the various state institutions including the media, but dealing with the threat required citizens to take some initiative. 

What is necessary in the case of dealing with communicable diseases need not be put in cold story in other situations.  If we can be extra-responsible when there is a serious public health situation, we can be mildly responsible in other situations too, can’t we?  The state cannot force the people not to use polythene or reuse and recycle.  Ordinary citizens can do all that and also do educate themselves about basic conservation behaviour such as switching off unnecessary lights, repairing a leaking faucet etc. 

A spoilt citizenry can only spoil the nation and a spoilt citizenry cannot demand that a Government remain squeaky clean.  We can demand that governments design policies that ensure national food security, but if we don’t use whatever space we have to plant some chillies, gotukola, capsicum, brinjals etc., then were are being hypocritical, aren’t we?   How can be bad-mouth the municipal council for being inefficient in disposing garbage if we are not conscious of how much unnecessary garbage we produce by our ignorance and carelessness? 

I remember visiting a friend in the ColomboNationalHospital a couple of years ago.  My doctor friend had a task: to direct patients referred to Colombofrom hospitals in various parts of the country to various wards as per their most serious complaint.  It was around 9.30 pm and there wasn’t exactly a rush of patients for him to handle.  At one point however there was a bit of excitement, or let’s say a sense of urgency.  A young woman was wheeled in.  She had attempted to commit suicide by swallowing sleeping pills. She was conscious but in great physical distress. 

My friend was not sympathetic.  He told the patient that the next time she wants to kill herself to take enough sleeping tablets because to save her life now an enormous amount of money will have to be spent by the state, money which could have been used to prevent diseases and cure those who have fallen ill for no fault of theirs. 

I asked him whether it was right to blast a patient like that.  He said ‘she will survive but I am furious because we are not a rich country and we have to use our resources carefully’. 

The bottom line: are we responsible citizens?  What kind of polluting signature do we leave on this earth by the way we live, the things we do, our vocation etc?  What are we robbing from our children when we choose to do this instead of that?  Should we defer to the state because we pay taxes and rates and leave it at that? 

Let’s face it, states are imperfect.  We can lament, we can scream or we can do something about correcting the flaws of the state. In the very least we can say ‘screw the state, let’s just live’. Well, ‘live more responsibly’ would be the better option.      

*This was first published in 'The Daily News' on December 19, 2009.  The points are still valid, I believe. 



Malinda Seneviratne is the Editor-in-Chief of 'The Nation' and can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com.

Some games don’t get thrown, Sidath taught me

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In June 1981 I threw a game.  That’s in chess.  This was long before match-fixing and spot-fixing entered sports vocabulary. In chess circles it was called ‘cooking’, i.e. predetermining the outcome of a game. It happened between players, one helping the other to qualify to play at a higher level, secure a ‘board prize’ (in the event of a team championship) or, in recent times, to secure an international rating or a title norm (for International Master or International Grandmaster, for example). 

Teams ‘threw’ games too.  In the case of strong regionalism, teams that didn’t have a chance of winning a prize, would in some instances give free points (deliberately lose) to another from the same town or province.  Arbitration has got tighter but is not fool proof. Even today, games are thrown.

Back then it was all innocent.  It was the final round of that year’s Major Championship, held at NalandaCollege, Colombo.  A certain number would qualify to play in the Premier Division and vie for the National Title.  I was out of the reckoning. My opponent, Sidat Dharmaratne, then just 14 years old, had to beat me to qualify.  We had played for about 3 hours. He was a Nalandian, I a Royalist. These distinctions didn’t count. We were friends. Close friends. He leaned over and said ‘Malinda, mata aasai premier eke gahanna (Malinda, I would love to play in the Premier Division). It would have been his first ‘premier’. At that stage, things were equal on the board and he would have had to sweat hard to win.  He was the talented player, but I was not a rabbit.  I doubt he would have won.  I thought for a few seconds and resigned. 

My coach, Arjuna Parakrama, who happened to be around, asked me what happened. I told him. He gave me a thundering lecture.  He pointed out that by ‘cooking’, I was denying the best possible overall result and had indeed denied the opportunity to someone who was even at that moment playing his heart out.  That was the last game I ‘threw’ and it is an example I’ve used to condemn ‘throwing’ in all my chess coaching years. Sidat was young. I was too.  That was almost 30 years ago.  We’ve both grown up quite a bit since. 

We never crossed swords over the chess board after that, although we both played in the premier at different times in the years that followed.  Sidat remained a talent that never reached potential and I developed into a better coach than a player. For a while. We went our ways.

Our orbits crossed a few years ago when we were both elected to the Chess Federation, Sidat as Secretary and I as his Assistant.  We did our work, had our arguments and resolutions. We got by.  Friends then, friends in the Federation and friends after he chose to leave.  We spoke once about that game in 1980.  He remembered it well. He too had learnt the lesson that Arjuna had to teach me.  He told me something I did not know. 

‘The person who lost out in that “cooking” was my older brother Samath,’ he told me. Samath, now a doctor, was my teammate at Royal.  He had won his final game and would have gone through had I not thrown my game.  He never breathed a word to me, his teammate in the school chess team.  It was a different time, I suppose. 

Sidat and I had interesting conversations and not just those related to chess.  There was no give-and-take between us. Just sharing.  And he shared with me something that I have since then passed on to many young chess players I’ve come to know through my work in the Federation. It is a life-lesson in fact.

‘When I sit at the chess board, Malinda, I wade into the 64 squares and remain there.’  Key ideas: a) 64 squares, b) remaining there.  It was a tip about comprehensiveness, the need to consider all things, to see the whole and not just as an aggregate of parts.  It was a tip about the need to focus, not to let oneself be distracted by anything outside of the 64 squares, including but not limited to the results of previous games, the possibilities generated or limited by a win, a draw or loss as the case may be, reputation of opponent, what’s happening at the next table etc.  It is a chess rule that is applicable across the board of life and living. 

I never asked for reward for I never felt I had ‘given’.  We just shook hands that day, signed the score-sheet and informed the tournament director of the result.  He went on to play in the ‘premier’ and did quite well. I got a tongue-lashing.  I didn’t complain, didn’t blame anyone.  He taught me a lesson almost thirty years later. He was not teaching. He was not ‘giving’. He shared.  Was, is and always will be a brother. 

Life, some might say, was not kind to Sidat but I am sure he’s not complaining.  My brother is not in the best of health but he’s wise enough about the eternal verities. I am not as versed as he is about these things, but he would not find fault if I wished him a relatively less turbulent journey through sansara and in this lifetime a quick recovery from whatever ailment torments his body. 

Some games, don’t get thrown, Sidat. You know this.  I believe I’ve not been a poor student.

This was first published in the 'Daily News' on December 16, 2010. I remember taking a copy of the paper which carried the article to the hospital.  I couldn't recognize Sidat, but he recognized me. He found it amusing.  We spoke for some time.  He told me about how he had cleaned the toilets: 'it's a matter of throwing 10 buckets of water, no big deal.' And with respect to his condition, he said 'from one body-residence to another, nothing more.' That was the last time I saw Sidat.  I wrote about him a couple of weeks later.  The title was 'It rained upstream this morning'


Malinda Seneviratne is the Editor-in-Chief of 'The Nation' and can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com

Got to be ready for those setbacks

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Pic by Rukshan Abeywansha
You might have come across this famous quote which, like all quotes, is often used out of context: the revolution is not a tea party.  That’s Mao Zedong.  Whether you’ve heard that or not, if you’ve ventured out of virtual space and took your radicalism into the real world, it’s a reality that you would quickly encounter.

Things are not offered on a silver platter, as they say, and this is something you know.  In fact there’s very little that the enemy gifts the rebel.  Most times, the rebel has to fight hard to secure some small gain.  And sometimes what is gained has to be conceded with interest. 

This is not unusual when there is a power mismatch.  Naturally, the more powerful can not only correct errors quickly and effectively but can turn your errors or weaknesses into gaping holes.  So there will be bad days, setbacks, seemingly comprehensive defeats before you get anywhere close to the planned destination. 

These defeat-moments are critical points in any struggle.  These are the moments when you think of giving up, moments when the cheering squad not only goes silent but slinks away, moments when you ask yourself ‘if no one wants it, why should I bother?’  These are the moments when you have to sum up courage and tell yourself ‘even if I am a minority of one, I will stand by what I believe, I will continue to fight.’

There’s no shame in losing ground.  There’s no shame in being wounded.  Let no one ridicule you for suffering a setback, for being tripped, for having erred and suffered on account of miscalculation.  After all, when you started out, you knew it was never going to be easy.  When you started out you didn’t have comrades.  You didn’t have a plan.  You just had an objective, a destination. You were prepared to walk.  And now you’ve fallen.  It doesn’t mean you have to remain down there forever.  You decided to fight and that’s noble.  People can demand that you show the blueprint that will deliver victory but that’s unfair. 

There was a man who lived some years ago in the land now called India.  He was born to a Royal Household.  He had every comfort.  He was not in want.  And yet, one day, he realized that all was not right.  There was poverty, disease, death, suffering and sorrow unlike anything he had ever imagined.  There was talk of war.  He knew how to fight the conventional fight.  He did not want to.  He wanted to find answers to questions.  He left all royal comforts behind, left his wife and their new born child. 

Along the way he was befriended by a set of fellow-travelers.  They looked to him as someone destined to unravel all the secrets of the universe.  And yet, at one point, they all abandoned him.  They felt he had strayed from the path.  He was, finally, all alone, forced to encounter and overcome the ultimate enemy, himself or rather the enemy within, for that which we object to has a way of becoming resident within ourselves.  We don’t want to believe this, so we focus on the external manifestation of that which we object to, oblivious to the fact that it thrives in our minds, our thoughts, actions and other life practices.  But the point here is that he was left alone.  It did not demoralize him.  It did not deter him.  His resolve did not diminish.  Ultimately he achieved his objective, the Buddha did. 

Defeat-moment is a time for self-reflection.  It is a moment to re-assess.  It is for the most part an alone-moment which by that very fact makes for sober consideration of the path you’ve walked on, the pathways un-taken and the tomorrows that appear dismal beyond belief. 

This is the time to ask yourself some serious questions.  Did I believe it would be easy?  Did I think there were shortcuts to the victory post?  Did I judge friend and foe accurately enough?  Was I naïve?  Do I want to badly enough? 

If you get to the last question above and come up with the answer ‘yes’ then you’ve won half the battle.  The battle of getting up from wherever you’ve fallen, that is.  The other, longer battle can wait.  You have to pick yourself up.  If you can convince yourself that you’ve done your best given knowledge and resources, then you can convince yourself that you can do better in the next round because you know more and you have a better understanding of what you can count on and what you cannot trust. 

You shouldn’t dwell too much on possible setbacks because that’s a drag of course.  Just know that they happen.  Part of the story.  Up to you to make them turn you back.  Up to you to use them as prop to get up and move forward. 


 This is the twelfth in a series of articles on rebels and rebellion written for the FREE section of 'The Nation'.  'FREE' is dedicated to youth and youthfulness.

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Mahinda, Maithripala and the Forgotten Voter

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Pic courtesy www.paths2people.com
Election Day is less than three weeks away.   Campaigns are gathering intensity.  Candidates and their supporters are falling over each other promising the sun, moon, stars and whatever else they think could please the voter.  They all talk about a clean society and don’t seem to mind the dirty friends that surround them.  They talk of a new political culture even as they pour invective on their respective opponents.  They’ve all become blind to their own flaws.  It’s election season and this is Sri Lanka with its distinct political culture.  Elections as usual. 

Those who have lived through elections, through promises and their breaking, regimes and regime-change, know a lot about promises.  They know of manifestos published and manifestos junked post-election.  They know of mandates obtained and manifestos re-read as per the convenience of the elected.   They know of representation promised and representation forgotten. 

All this is enough to confuse if not give up on this wonderfully sounding thing called ‘participatory democracy’.  But it is not just the older voter with experience of varied hoodwinking by many that is skeptical.    Here’s what a 20 year old who is yet to vote at a major election tweeted a few hours ago: ‘ඡන්දේ ඉල්ලන්නෙත් ඒගොල්ලන්, ඡන්දේ දාන්නෙත් ඒගොල්ලන්, ඡන්දේ දිනන්නත් ඒගොල්ලන්.’  (It is they who as for the vote, it is they who cast the vote and they who win).  The voter is left out, in other words.  Counts, but not really, one could say.

The ‘does not count’ part of it usually begins the moment the Elections Commissioner releases the final result.  This time though, it seems to have begun long before Election Day. 

Let’s not for a moment assume that the voter is stupid.  People think.  They act.  They weight options and compare possible outcomes.  They have with them enough salt and know how to prune off the undeliverable from the promise, taking into account economic, political and cultural factors.  They play ‘Relative Merits’.   And yes, they check track records, as much to calculate ‘ability to deliver’ as to factor in ‘gratitude’ when voting. 

Still, if there’s one constant in all elections big and small over the past several decades, it is the fact that candidates (and/or their supporters) visit the voter for purposes of direct solicitation.  Even in the USA, in this day and age of tweets, shares, status updates, smart phones and close to 100% electronic connectivity no candidate will underestimate the importance of ‘knocking on doors’.  If not for anything, because the voter wants basic recognition of worth, even though he/she knows the time-tested truths of politicians, promises, the small print of manifestos and the re-reading or even junking of mandates.  

That’s what seems to be lacking in this election.  Mahinda Rajapaksa, it can be argued, has been campaigning for more than nine years.   His ‘presence’ in the voter-imagination is obvious.  Indeed, repeated reminders saying ‘Hey, I am Mahinda and I am contesting’ could actually backfire.  Regardless of all this, there seems to be something wrong in his vote-getting machinery; outside of heavily funded processions something seems to be stopping party loyalists from doing the all important knocking-on-doors exercise. 
Overconfidence, perhaps.  It could also be a case of ‘nothing new to say’ or worse, ‘hard to defend’.  Whatever the reason, Mahinda Rajapaksa seems to be focusing on addressing the collective and not the individual.  Whether this will cost him is of course another matter.  What it does say is that the most basic voter-need (that of recognition if only for a moment) is being ignored.  On the other hand, some may argue, that since he has been the most accessible national leader in remembered history and someone who people identify as being someone just like them, he has already ‘recognized’ them. 

It is the same with the Maithripala Sirisena campaign, for different reasons of course.  Someone commented on Facebook that if Sarath Fonseka was the ‘SMS President,’ Maithripala is the Web President’.  The ‘Common Candidate’ has a clear edge in virtual space.  Freshness, regime-fatigue, the President’s face being too in-your-face wherever you look and of course all the negatives of his presidency may have contributed to this state of affairs. 

Still, outside of the internet, there’s very little vote-solicitation to be seen.  Maithripala is a renegade and despite key politicians from the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) siding with him, he doesn’t have the party machinery to back him (that Mahinda Rajapaksa is not making use of it or the machine is showing lukewarm response to all entreaties is another matter of course).  Maithripala and his backers can make a lot of noise in cyberspace and on the Satanaprogram on Sirasa TV, but if nothing happens on the ground, then Mahinda Rajapaksa gets the vote by default. 

The Maithripala campaign can easily get sidetracked by mistaking large crowds at rallies as assured votes.  People attend for a variety of reasons.  Sometimes you are drawn to rallies just because you happen to be passing by.  Some people come out of curiosity. Some come because they are bored and because anything, even political rallies, is entertainment for the bored.  

This is his dilemma: When Champika Ranawaka or Ven Athureliye Rathana Thero speak, votes get fixed; when Rajitha Senaratne speaks, nothing happens; when Chandrika Kumaratunga speaks, he loses votes; when Maithripala himself or Ranil Wickremesinghe speaks, people listen and the candidate begins to be considered; the JVP’s support-without-saying-it exercise, in fact, does more for Maithripala than what the likes of Rajitha and Chandrika do. 

The campaign on the ground is yet to see a coordinated house-to-house vote-solicitation exercise launched by the constituent parties of the coalition backing Maithripala.  Doors are not getting knocked on.  And time is running out. 




Maithripala and Chandrika discuss campaign strategy

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Pic courtesy www.nation.lk
If it is rumored that former president Chandrika Kumaratunga was instrumental in getting Maithripal Sirisena to take on Mahinda Rajapaksa, the lady’s thinly disguised treatment of the candidate as though he was a serf in her ancestral estate almost turns it into fact.  If that were the case then Maithripala should be grateful.  For now.  After all, he’s earned more brand-points over the last few weeks than he has accumulated over the last 40 plus years in active politics in the SLFP.  If he loses, then he can’t exactly say ‘thank you, madam.’  He might think to himself, ‘I should have said, “thank you madam, but no”.’  But that’s all conjecture. For now. 

Right now, in a parallel universe, Maithripala goes to see Chandrika (yes, not the other way about) to discuss the status of the campaign.  Here’s the transcript of the animated discussion. 

‘Good morning Madam,’ Maithripala was habitually respectful.  He didn’t sit down until Chandrika said ‘Sit, sit…let’s talk.’

He sat. Waited. Respectfully.  Chandrika was bubbling with enthusiasm.

‘Mahinda is finished!’

‘There’s still a long way to go Madam,’  Maithripala was seasoned enough to know that it’s not over until it is over and wondered why his former boss was acting like a first time candidate for a Pradeshiya Sabha.

‘Oh! I know, I know.  But the other day I finished him off.  I took away his brag about winning the war!’

Maithripala remembering that in the press conference held to announce his presidential bid he had paid a glowing tribute to Mahinda Rajapaksa for his leadership in ridding the country of terrorism, looked at Chandrika without betraying incredulity but still showing a bit of skepticism.  It took a fraction of a moment, too quick for Chandrika to notice.  She went on. And on. And on. 
‘I said what everyone knows.  I said that I reclaimed 75% of LTTE-held areas while I was President.  I said that I never bragged about it.  I said I never put up huge cut-outs of myself or took credit for this victory.  You see Maithree, when I say I reclaimed 75% territory it sounds like I did 75% of the work and people will think Mahindaya had to do only 25%.  So he can’t make any claims about winning the war.  This is how you must to politics You must tell the truth but perhaps not the whole truth.  The balance will be added by others!’
‘But Madam, how about Alimankada?’
‘Tosh.  What’s the difference between Alimankada and Pamankada?’

‘Pooneryn, Mullaitivu?’  Maithripala couldn’t hide the incredulity now.

‘Just names.  Details.’

‘How about demoralizing the troops with your various peace carnivals, caravans etc?’

‘You see Maithree, you are new to this game.  In politics you never know how things could end.  It is good to keep options open.  So I did both.  I asked the generals to fight even as I asked Mangala and my NGO friends like Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu and Jehan Perera to make a big song and dance about how the war couldn’t be won.  If we won, I would get the credit. If we didn’t then I can say “I listened to the voice of reason!” Easy!’

‘You didn’t win.  And you didn’t get any peace either, Madam.’

‘I did my best,’ Chandrika snapped, a tad annoyed.  ‘I tried to appease.  Remember PTOMs?  Remember promising to lease out the North and East to Prabhakaran for 10 years?’

‘In other words conceding the 75% and offering three times as much?’ Maithripala was sounding a bit Presidential all of a sudden.

‘My! My! My! ගෙම්බෙක් උඩ ගිය තරමක් (Look how high a frog has jumped)!’ Chandrika said testily, but recovered enough composure to change the subject.  ‘Anyway, you must admit that I was spot on about election malpractices, huh?’ 

Maithripala didn’t reply.  He thought to himself.

‘She’s obviously forgetting the Wayamba Provincial Council.  She’s forgetting a lot of things.  She’s also forgotten that I said categorically that “computer jilmart” is not possible.  There’s obvious abuse of state resources during a campaign and that given ruling party candidates a big advantage. There’s also intimidation of people who are believed to be loyal to the opponent, but nothing serious happens to the votes, ballot boxes etc.’
Aloud, he said, ‘Madam, I think you have made your point.  You said it loud and clear.  About the war, about election malpractices, fraud and nepotism.  Madam, I think you’ve done more than we expected.  I came here to thank you from the bottom of the heart.  Madam, I think you should rest now.  Leave it to us, we can manage it from here onwards.’

‘Thanks so much Maithree,’ Chandrika beamed and added, ‘Yes, I’m exhausted.  I think I’ve done my part and now it’s all up to you.  I will rest a bit.  I want to be fully rested and ready to roll when you win.  I can’t wait to become leader of the SLFP again.  People wrote me off, but they are wrong.  Ruling this country is my birthright.  Thanks to you, I will return to power.  Then we’ll see!’

‘Of course Madam.  You will get your නිසි තැන (suitable position).’ Maithripala said.  Straight face. 

Chandrika swallowed it.  Maithripala bowed with perfect deference.  Left.


 


One day we will acquire class conciseness!

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I’ve been talking to my fellow Kolombians.  It’s almost as if they have been silent for almost five years.  Some of them, not all, talk as though they’ve taken out words they had put in some back bedroom of their plush mansion, shaken off the dust and are now re-using them.  The same words I heard when Sarath Fonseka put up what appeared to be a much more than a ‘good run’.   He ran so fast through our minds that some of us thought that he could best Usain Bolt, forget Percy Rajapaksa (yes, I’ve not given up hope that he’ll accept Kolombian membership, honorary at least). 

They are at it again.  Back then it was SF, SF, SF even though not too long before there were some Kolombians doing their darnedest to get Percy and SF to let up and give Prabhakaran a breather.  Talk about not understanding our own interests!  Anyway, now it’s all Maithree, Maithree, Maithree.  And these are folk who wouldn’t know the meaning of either ‘Maithree’ or ‘Paalanaya’ if you were to ask them. 

This Maithree business is splitting our community in two, that’s what’s bothering me most.  There are those who see only ‘elephant,’ the color green and the letters U, N and P.  It was hard enough for them to think of the swan.  To their credit they managed to make the mind-shift.  I am betting that they can do the same this time too. 

That’s one lot.  Then there’s the other kind, those who don’t mix that which ought not to be mixed, identity and business interests.  We are essentially a selfish species.  We can complain about all kinds of things even if we are benefitting from whatever that is wrong.  Like business, for example. 

We don’t have proper regulations.    There is no even playing field.  Now why should a Kolombian even worry about such anomalies when anomaly is what puts food on our plates, allow us to build mini gymnasiums at home, party until we drop and of course strut around hollering to one another in English even as we look down our nose at the next guy who is resident on the other side of Anomaly-Town?  Beats me! 

This is not only a flawed system but the flaws are structured to benefit us.   Sure, now there are walkways in godforsaken places like Biyagama and Boralesgamuwa, but you get what I mean, right?  When it comes to business, it is all about theft.  The other day I was listening to a couple of upstart ‘walkers’ around Diyatha Uyana who were talking about something called the Labor Theory of Value which some fellow called Marks and his friend Angles had come up with.  It made sense to me.  Extracting surplus value, I heard them say.  But this theft that we see today is something much better.  It’s not something that is put in small print to escape the eyes of the gullible.  It’s in-your-face simple.  All about greasing palms. 

So what?  Whatever makes the wheels turn, right?  ‘Hand over fist’ is already too old a turn of phrase.  ‘Minting money’ is boring.  I can’t come up with anything that can truly describe the process and the proceeds.  Us Kolombians have never had it this good. 

But now, some of our less knowledgeable Kolombians want to give it all up.  For what?  Regulation?  Streamlining?   Haven’t these people heard about the goose that lays the golden eggs?  Amazing!

We don’t say it all the time, but I think we should say it now.  Hanky-panky is our thing.  Underhand is also our thing.  We don’t like terrorism and political stability but we love loopholes and flawed systems.  It’s time we acquired some class conciseness.  Yes, that’s another term I picked up listening to those two Yakkos at Diyatha Uyana. 




 *Everyone takes note.  Some keep notes.  Some in diaries and journals.  Some in their minds and hears.  Some of these are shared via email or on Facebook or blog; some are not.  Among these people are Kolombians, people from Colombo who know much -- so much that they are wont to think that others don't know and can't think. This is the eleventh in a series published in 'The Nation' under the title 'Notes of an Unrepentant Kolombian'.

The many Christmases of a tropical island

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Christmas, in this island where Christians are a small minority tending towards an even smaller slice in the population pie, is celebrated as though it is the religion of the majority.  Well, at least in the major cities.  It helps when countless retail outlets use Christmas to move stuff off the shelves.  Come Christmas time, in this tropical island that has never seen a snowflake ever, store windows get dotted with cotton-wool ‘snow’, draped in red and green, along with the inevitable Santa Clause positioned inside or made ‘live’ outside. 

This year is different. No, that’s not because it is the 10thanniversary of the tragic Boxing Day tsunami that took tens of thousands of lives and rendered hundreds of thousands homeless in 2004.  The Resplendent Island, in the aftermath of the tsunami could have been re-dubbed ‘The Land of Resilience’, for today, ten years later, there’s little evidence that it was hit by waves unlike any ever witnessed.  If Christmas is a bit off-color this year, metaphorically speaking, it is because there’s an important election coming up. 

The Presidential Election will be held on January 8, 2015.  Almost five years ago there was another Presidential Election.  Just like this one that was also dubbed ‘Too Close to Call’.  The incumbent (who is running for re-election again) Mahinda Rajapaksa won in a canter on that occasion.  Everyone was surprised.  Well, not everyone.  The most surprised were those in Colombo, who backed the former Army Commander, Sarath Fonseka.  Perhaps their predictions were based on what (like-minded) friends said about personal preferences. 

This time, the contender has things going for him that Fonseka didn’t.  Regime-fatigue, drop in regime-popularity, greater levels of discontent, among other things.  And again, in Colombo for example, there’s growing excitement about the election.  It takes a big of gloss off Christmas, naturally.  The shops are there, appropriately frilled and ‘signed’, but conversations don’t drift in that direction.  It’s mostly about Mahinda, Mahinda’s cut-outs, why he should be loved or hated as the case may be, Maithripala, those in Maithree’s team and their histories, adding up numbers, making predictions etc. 

But then again, it is not that in other years people did nothing but talk about Christmas, Christmas shopping, Santa Clause, Christmas parties and gifts expected, purchased and planned to be purchased.  Christmas is all about color, but it is not just that.  

It is about Jesus Christ.  Ok, there’s controversy about the correct date of birth and the convenience of date-convergence with the Winter Solstice, the Roman midwinter festivals Saturnalia and Dies Natalis Solis Invecti.   These are trivialities where faith is concerned.  The fact remains that that Christmas is made for marketing.  Like Vesak (in recent times) or any other day held sacred by any religious community. 

And so we reflect thus:
A Christmas Advertisement
And so they went
from one store to the next
                to the next and next
all bedecked in Christmas color
melodied with Christmas cheer
the fake mistletoe, the red-nosed reindeer
and Santa too
the glitter and shine
the bells and lights,
all screaming ‘Purchase!’
all carrying the soft small print tag
‘In the name of Jesus’
(or was it the other way about?),
all laid out for them folks
armed with crisp currency notes
and easy plastic.
And they came,
they saw
they were glad too,
for they went away
duly garmented
while the raiment of the Savior
so visible all over
remained unvisited.
The eyes of the faithful
were fervent in prayer,
elsewhere.

But then again, there’s a time to shop and a time to pray.  There’s a time to indulge and a time to give.  The Christmas of glitter, deals, shopping is not for those of the Christian faith alone.  It is for everyone.  A time of good cheer, overall festivity and even merry-making.  Christmas Eve is different and so is Christmas Day.  These are the days and moments of faith and for the faithful.  This is when the words of Jesus Christ are reflected on, when the worth of penitence is reflected on, and the life of the Savior is revisited and relevant lessons drawn. 

That Christmas is in every Christian home, in every church big and small, rich with history and embellishment and every church as poor and humble  as the Savior himself. That Christmas is not at odds with the articles of faith subscribed to by those belonging to other religious communities.  And it is in that sense that Christmas can truly be as ‘national’ as any other day or moment.  That Christmas cuts through the glitter without disturbing the grandeur and festivity, it passes light over the intrusion of the political moment. 

It brings hands together.  People together. Makes the world that much more tender.  A blessing, certainly.




Noble Creatures

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Pic by Amarajeewa, Delft Island
They were born on Delft Island, they live on Delft Island and will die on Delft Island.  They can jum if they want to but they won't indulge in 'island-hopping'. No way!  Noble. Absolutely. 

Numbers are beautiful

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There was a young boy who loved to stare at the sky.  Well, not all the time.  He didn’t enjoy sky-gazing at midday on cloudless days of course, but at other times he found it to be an interesting pastime. 

One day he saw a sunset unlike any he had seen before.  There was red, orange and pink light playing on the clouds.  It was like some ancient army getting ready for battle, with colorful armor plates and splendid banners.  He was thrilled. He wanted to share the moment.  He looked around and saw a friend.  He called out to the friend and said ‘Look! It’s an amazing sunset!’ 

The friend looked.  He didn’t say anything.  There was no change in the expression on his face.  The boy asked, ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ The friend just said ‘Maybe I see beauty in other things.’

‘Such as?’ the boy asked.

‘Mathematics,’ the friend replied.

It took the boy some time to understand what his friend said.  The boy liked numbers.  He was amazed by patterns.  He enjoyed solving mathematical puzzles.  In fact thrilled as he was in solving the Rubik’s Cube, he was far more amazed by the patterns he could create thereafter.  So he understood what his friend was saying.

This is the truth about beauty.  It’s all around us.  In different forms.  Some of us like sunrises and sunsets, some find nothing more joyous that listening to birdsong.  Some enjoy the beach, some like to listen to the crash of waves on rock and some are happy enough to watch the receding wave leave a line only for it to be erased by the next wave.  There’s beauty in the smile of a child.  There’s beauty in a tear drop.  There's beauty in numbers. There are all kinds of beauty around us. 

Bookshelves can be pretty.  You might not enjoy getting wet in a storm, but you might still find beauty in the way the wind and rain blurs buildings and trees.  There’s also beauty in ‘ugly’ things.  When I say ‘ugly’ I mean things that we don’t usually call ‘beautiful’.  Like a polythene bag.  Ordinarily there’s nothing remarkable in a polythene bag.  In fact, we sometimes see these bags crumpled up and sticking to the corner of a drain.  That’s not pretty.  But then again, we’ve all seen the random polythene bag or sili-mallabeing swept around and up by the wind.  It is as though they have been given life.  Floating. Up towards the top of buildings, dipping down towards a busy intersection, swept again towards the tree line far away and then over a rooftop and out of sight. 

‘That’s beautiful,’ the little boy might say.  ‘Hmm…..not really,’ his friend might say. 

The friend might say, ‘I discover a lot of amazing things when I calculate the digital root on number plates of cars.’

‘What’s a digital root?’

‘Let’s say you get a number like KE 1864.  Add up the digits: 1+8+6+4.’
‘Ok.  That’s 19.’

‘Add those digits too: 1+9.   What do you get?’

‘Ten.’

‘Ten means 1+0; so add them up too.’

‘One’.

‘One is the digital root of the number 1864’.

‘So what’s amazing about that?’
‘Can’t you see?  You just drop the nines.  Forget them and add the remaining digits.  For example, the moment you see a “1” and an “8”, you forget those numbers.  The same with 2 and 7.  The same with 3 and 6. The same with 4 and 5.  Each pair and up to 9.  So in our original number we have to consider only 6+4.  We get 10.  And it gets prettier.  The money you see ‘1 & 9’ or ‘2 & 8’ or ‘3 and 7’ or ‘4 and 6’ or ‘5 an 5’, you can just consider it ‘1’.  Then it’s easy to calculate the digital root.’

‘I see,’ the little boy was getting interested in the game.

‘Give me a 4 digit number and I will tell you the digital root immediately,’ the friend said.

‘Take the number of that car: 7621’

‘Seven,’ the friend said immediately.

‘How did you calculate so fast?’

‘Easy, I noticed that 6+2+1 is equal to 9.  So I erased those three digits from my mind.  I am left with 7.’

‘Amazing!’ the little boy said.

‘Check this out.  Three 1’s make 3, three 2’s make 6, three 3’s make 9, three 4’s make 3 (12: 1+ 2: 3), three 5’s make 6, three 6’s make 9, three 7’s make 3, three 8’s make 6 and three 9’s make 9.  They are all multiples of 3.’

The little boy realized suddenly that there are all kinds of number games he could play just by looking at the license plate of a vehicle.  

His friend smiled and said ‘there’s so much beauty all around us; maybe there’s mathematics in cloud formations and color combinations in the sky.’

So they looked at the sky.  The colors were different. The ancient army was nowhere to be seen.  The sun was sinking behind a building far away.

‘A perfect half circle,’ the friend said. 


They smiled.   


This is the thirteenth article in a series I am writing for the JEANS section of 'The Nation'.  The series is for children. Adults consider yourselves warned...you might re-discover a child within you! 

Other articles in this series

Should Mahinda's and Maithripala's backers require an antidote to political quackery...

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The Island of December 30, 2009 reported that the Ministry of Health has decided to ‘crackdown on quacks’.  Apparently the Ministry has received over 6000 complaints about quack doctors operating in all parts of the country.  They are for the most parts, according to the report, ‘retired pharmacists, dispensers and others who have served under qualified doctors’. 

I suppose one could add to this kattadiyas and faith-healers since both categories of persons are snug within the definition of quackery: the deliberate misrepresentation of the ability of a substance or device for the prevention or treatment of disease; also applicable to persons who pretend to be able to diagnose or heal people but are unqualified and incompetent.  Where relevant certification is absent diagnosis and prescription cannot be sanctioned. 

I am intrigued by quackery because it is a term that is applicable to a lot of things.  Teaching, for example.  It is a profession and one would think that those without professional qualifications should not be allowed to teach.   One can have a degree in, say, Economics, and have a decent enough grasp of the subject matter.  Still, knowing doesn’t necessarily imply ability to impart knowledge. That takes specialized training. 

The vast majority of our teachers are not qualified (by training) the day they start ‘teaching’.  That training is typically picked up later.  This is a horrendously flawed state of affairs.  It is like allowing a second year medical student to check out patients, engage in diagnosis and prescribe a course of treatment.  Just as one would hesitate to subject oneself to examination by such an individual, so too should one hesitate to put one’s child under the tutelage of an unqualified person, especially if the child is very young. 

What would we be sanctioning in this manner?  We would be fooling ourselves that the particular teacher and indeed the entire learning process is what it is said to be because ‘ability’ has been ‘misrepresented’ to us.  If we would not suffer a quack doctor, why should we suffer a quack teacher?  And yet we just ‘grin and bear’ don’t we?  Smaller risk, is that the reason?  But is the risk really less?  Where there is no proper and professional nurturing and instruction, children can pick up all kinds of bad habits.  Their entire approach to learning, to people, the world and life could be blue-printed in an erroneous manner. Just because it is more difficult to extrapolate repercussion (compared to a medical situations where the outcome could be more clearly and quickly apparent), it is no less problematic.     

The issue is simple: if the Ministry of Health can go after quack doctors, can’t the Education Ministry streamline affairs so that children are not risked with quack teachers?  In other words, is it not possible and indeed imperative that proper training and relevant certification should precede appointment?  The Ministry of Health will go after all those who pose as ‘doctors’ but don’t have proper qualifications.  Will the Ministry of Education also institute a system where all teachers, in state schools and private schools as well as those who are in the tuition business have proper qualification?

I wish sometimes that there was a Ministry of Politics, i.e. some kind of institution that can approve or reject a person’s application to contest elections.  We can rule out the issue of ‘intelligence’ and ‘ability’ because representative democracy should be exactly that: representative.  If we are nation of morons, then there is nothing wrong in electing a moron.  On the other hand there should be some kind of benchmark, you know, a minimum set of attributes that a candidate should have. 

I know it is hard to legislate but there have been attempts, citizens’ initiatives, to make sure that decent people get elected and not self-seeking thieves.  In some countries, a group of eminent persons, thoroughly screen candidates and give them what would be equivalent to an approval rating.  Something like the following: ‘such and such a person gets a ‘thumbs-up’ and that one gets ‘two thumbs-up’ while Mr. So and So is such a sorry case that he gets two thumbs-down’. It’s a black-balling mechanism which, if it gains popularity and mass acceptance (like all decent rating systems), can help the voter when it comes to pick-and-choose time. 

We do have some rudimentary screening mechanisms such as asset declaration and checking criminal record, but there are too many loopholes. Moreover, it is all hush-hush. The voters, criminally, are left out of the relevant disclosures.  What is the result?  Proper and effective screening is replaced by a political free for all where candidates use all loopholes available to vilify one another.  In the end we get candidates and eventually elected representatives who are larger than life (or smaller as the case may be) and the public really has no clue about what to expect.

Forget the negative element of the process, isn’t it true that if electoral politics is about anything, it involves the ‘deliberate misrepresentation of the ability of a substance or device (read ‘party’ and/or ‘politician’) for the prevention or treatment of disease (read ‘societal ill’)’?  Isn’t it about naked quackery, since politics is full of persons who pretend to be able to diagnose or heal society but are unqualified and incompetent?

It is hard to legislate against these things, just as it is not easy to legislate against faith-healing nutcases who will read the riot act pertaining to ‘religious persecution’ to literally get away with murder.  In the end it comes down to our ability as a citizenry to exercise utmost vigilance, employ reason over emotion and to

This is not the first time that I am recommending this and it won’t be the last, but I am yet to find as compelling an insurance policy against quacks and quackery as the Buddha’s Charter on Free Inquiry, the Kalama Sutra.

Do not go upon what has been acquired by repeated hearing; nor upon tradition; nor upon rumour; nor upon what is in a scripture; nor upon surmise; nor upon an axiom; nor upon specious reasoning; nor upon a bias towards a notion that has been pondered over; nor upon another's seeming ability; nor upon the consideration, "The monk is our teacher." Kalamas, when you yourselves know: "These things are good; these things are not blameable; these things are praised by the wise; undertaken and observed, these things lead to benefit and happiness," enter on and abide in them.'  (Anguttara Nikaya III.65 - Kalama Sutta). 


*This article was first published in the 'Daily News' of December 31, 2009


Malinda Seneviratne is the Editor-in-Chief of 'The Nation' and can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com.

Tsunami: Field notes from the East Coast

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Pic courtesy www.alisonwright.com
It is ten years since the coastal areas of Sri Lanka were hit by the tsunami.  In the ten years that have passed, there has been much re-building and much coming-to-terms.  There was mourning, there was acceptance or closure (if you will), resilience and moving-on.  This was written for the Sunday Island of January 2, 2005, a little more than a week after the waves hit the island and after a visit to some of ravaged territories and broken communities.  It is re-posted by way of remembering the victims, celebrating the recovery and looking to a better future.

Tragedy always brings out the best in us. And the worst. This, however, is unprecedented in kind and in terms of impact. The people of Sri Lanka had never heard the word "tsunami" before December 26 and are still struggling to understand the what, how and why of the disaster.

Over the past few years we have had more than our share of natural disasters, flood following drought and drought followed by flood. Almost every year. And the people have always responded. Magnificently. True, there have been racketeers and there has been inefficiency in distribution, but the sheer volume of assistance has seen to it that people did not starve.

People may not have heard of the natural phenomenon called tsunami, but they do understand tragedy. They understand disaster and displacement, and they know what people in refugee camps go through, what their priority needs are.

Sri Lanka is not a rich country. In fact right now our economy is in shambles, with galloping inflation and little or nothing by way of a comprehensive and pragmatic strategy of recovery. And yet the people were quick to respond and to respond in proportions and ways that demonstrate rich national character.

Many Buddha statues remained untouched or rather 'unmoved' by the tsunami
All one has to do is to stand on any road that leads to any of the disaster-hit areas to get a sense of how deeply our people have felt this tragedy and how magnanimous the response has been. Just the name boards of the various organizations and their points of origin would suffice to show that communities all over the island have done their bit and more. A sense of solidarity that is hardly ever seen has emerged and this shows that this nation can afford to be hopeful, not just about recovering from this tragedy but overcoming its many fractures.

This is not like a flood, it is not like a drought, and it is not like a protracted war which produces refugees in what is comparatively a trickle. This is enormous. Thirty thousand dead, several hundred thousand homeless and the looming threat of disease surely make a stiff challenge. As many have pointed out, the trauma is personal for each of us have known someone who perished, someone who lost his/her family, home and livelihood. Far too many people from all parts of the country and all walks of life have died for the tragedy and the attendant trauma to be contained in the personal or for it to be responded to individually. This is a national tragedy. We can all chip in but the nation has to step forward, do the best it can for the survivors to pick up what’s left of their lives and move forward. Can we and if so how, are the crucial questions we have been too shocked to engage until now.

It has been a week and that’s a short time for anyone to fully recover from a disaster of this magnitude. Indeed it might take many weeks or even months before we can even begin to understand what we lost outside of countables such as number of lives, value of property etc. What we can do as of now is to identify the problem areas in the relief and recovery efforts. Travelling through parts of the South-Eastern coast over three days, certain issues came up that I believe warrant serious consideration.

The magnitude of the disaster which indicates something of the magnitude of the response required makes one thing clear; only the state has the infrastructure that is even remotely capable of streamlining the relief effort. Whether the state agencies can be coordinated effectively to meet the challenge is another question. Over the past twenty years, under the guise of restructuring, authority has been devolved in ways that make coordination a nightmare. We saw during the floods that hit Ratnapura and other areas in Sabaragamuwa, Southern Province and parts of the Western Province that it was more state employees than state agencies that rose to the occasion. This tragedy is too big for the state to manage by itself. Everyone has to chip in and many have, but the effort so far has shown that there is very little coordination in the process.

Dr. Sumudu Kumarage, the Resident Surgeon of the Ampara Hospital put it best and his observations are so perceptive and pertinent that they bear full quotation.

"We have had so many patients that I have hardly had any time to see what’s happening outside. Still, I managed to take two hours off to visit some of the refugee camps. I am well aware that this is hardly adequate to make sweeping statements, but I believe I saw enough to realize that it is essential that a needs assessment be done as quickly as possible, whatever the costs.

"There are patients I have treated who would ordinarily have been discharged from hospital and in these circumstances we need to clear the wards as quickly as is prudent to accommodate new patients. The problem is, although they are strong enough to leave hospital, they are too weak to survive in refugee camps. They can’t fight for the dry rations and food packets that are being brought to these camps and they can’t fight to go to the toilets.

"In these camps something like the law of the jungle is emerging. It is the strong, who are often the relatively better off, who get the lion share. Two distinct groups are visible. There are those whose lives were not really that much worse before the tidal wave hit them and there are those who have lived decent enough lives and therefore who find it hard to swallow their pride and ask for assistance.

"Friends call me and ask what I need. I really don’t know because I have no clue what is out there. So I asked for 50 crutches because mobility can make a difference in the refugee camps.

"We need to know what exactly is needed and in what quantities. We need to know who needs what. If these cannot be ascertained, then the whole operation is going to be extremely inefficient and resources are bound to go waste."

Wasantha Wijewardena, who works for Seva Lanka, said that racketeers come in many forms. "There are some who pose as refugees and grab whatever they can. Even some refugees take more than what they need. Whatever relief they can get is seen as capital which can be employed later on. There is also a village of really poor people which is nowhere near the coast. They have ‘hired’ a few refugee families and put up a board saying ‘Refugee Camp’. When people come in lorries and trucks they really don’t know who is deserving and who is not and that’s a question that the officials themselves are not able to answer accurately. There is a lot of waste."

Some of the refugees themselves agree. M. M. Jaleel, a resident of Sainthumaruthu, close to Kalmunai, who lost his daughter and his house, insisted that I report that no more aid is necessary. 

"We have more than enough food and we are unable to store excess dry rations. The relief has to be spaced out. In two weeks the lorries will stop coming to these areas. What then? People must understand that it will take many months or even years before we can rebuild our houses, obtain boats and begin our lives again. We will need help until then. If people all over the country give us all that the people can afford in one go, we will have too much. Much of it will be scooped off by thieves and racketeers wanting to make a quick buck. And later, there will be nothing for people would have given all they can."

What these random but probably representative stories indicate is the urgent need to do a comprehensive assessment of the damage, the victims, their general and specific problems and to streamline the relief effort based on the information thus obtained.

On the other hand, there were complaints from some that relief had not reached certain areas. Adamlebbe, a 53-year-old man who had lost many relatives in Pottuvil said, "This is the worst effected area, and there has been very little media coverage. Media coverage is essential at this stage to alert people to send assistance to the area."

When tragedy comes in this form and size, one can argue that no amount of relief is "adequate". Adamlebbe’s complaint should persuade the relevant state agencies to quickly identify the disaster-hit areas, not just by district and division but by village as well. All this has to be part of the comprehensive needs assessment exercise that Dr. Kumarage calls for.

Mischief-makers meanwhile are having a field day. L. N. Ariyaratne, is from Tissamaharama. He and gone to Dikwella, where his mother-in-law lives and where he and his family were planning to take up residence. He had gone there with his family to renovate the place and build a perimeter wall when the tsunami struck. He had managed to save himself and his wife and 4 little children had miraculously escaped as well. They had returned to Tissamaharama and two days later had gone in a truck to recover whatever was left in the house. This is his story.

"We saw other people who were, like us, taking away pieces of furniture that still remained. All of a sudden a rumour began to spread saying that a second tsunami was going to hit. People just ran. This is clearly the work of petty thieves preying on people’s fears. They wanted us to flee so they can do the picking."

In Kalmunai, thieves had nothing to pick, for entire villages had disappeared. Still, confusion always works to the advantage of the mischief-maker. How do people respond, and why do they run?
Pregnant woman

Jezeema, a 32-year-old pregnant woman who had lost some of her family said, "Are we supposed to believe or disbelieve? We saw the entire thing happen, we only just managed to escape with our lives. How are we to respond? Do you know that our children are so traumatized that they get scared even when they hear water falling from a tap?"

Clearly the damage is not merely of a material kind. There are obvious psychological issues that need to be addressed. While doctors and medicine have moved to these areas in large numbers, and I am sure they are being employed to treat the more visible of the damage on the human body, at some point the psychological wounds would also have to be treated.

A team of medical students from the University of Peradeniya were in Ampara for a couple of days, volunteering to help in whatever way they could. There are probably other teams such as this visiting other parts of the country. While their voluntarism should be appreciated, if the maximum benefit is to be derived from their expertise, their work should be coordinated by some central medical authority.

Meanwhile a Japanese Disaster Relief Team has set up camp in Sainthumaruthu to treat people in the area. This team which has a lot of experience working in disaster-hit areas the world over is obviously well aware of what to expect and are more than adequately equipped to deal with a variety of situations. The team had apparently gone to this area on the request of the government. Perhaps we could take a cue and set up similar units that can respond quickly and adequately to the medical needs arising from disaster situations.

Food, clothing, shelter and medicine are the key needs in any disaster situation. They do not comprise the "all", though.

I am haunted by the eyes I saw in the places I visited, not just of those in refugee camps, but relief workers and people who knew of someone who suffered. They choke me and they often forbid attempts at commiseration. What these lost eyes represent, to me, is the deep wound carved on the face of the nation. These eyes speak of a desolation that is no less ominous as what can be seen today where the Yala Safari Game Lodge used to be. There the sea acts like a small child who has been mischievous and pretends not to know anything about the matter. But all around one can see the magnitude of the tragedy as well as the pathos it has produced, be it in twisted motor vehicles, pieces of clothes and furniture caught in the branches of tall trees, broken walls or the indefinable muck oozing from ripped open cesspits.

Then again, in Yala, just outside the national park, in the brine-drenched grass, I also saw new born plants bold enough to put out a few flowers. I saw on the many roads we travelled on between Colombo and the South-East coastline hundreds of vehicles carrying the generosity of a people mourning with their fellow-citizens. I saw in the refugee camps little children playing children’s games. I saw the indefatigable energy of relief workers, official and unofficial, local and foreign, determined that people will recover their lives and their dignity.


Many things have to come together, obviously. Hearts, more than all, I believe. That perhaps is our comparative advantage. Let us hope that this is complemented adequately by reason. Together, these entities can and will rebuild the nation. Yes, maybe we can regain all that we lost, and a bit more as well. Hopefully, then, we can build a national monument to this thing called tsunami, which we could then say had to dismember us so we could come together again.

The R, L and H of rebellion

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In 1971 a determined set of young people sought to overthrow the then Government, secure the commanding heights of the state and establish a revolutionary social order led by workers and peasants, a Lankan version of the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’.  They failed.  In retrospect the words ‘idealists’ and ‘romantics’ are used to describe the move, dubbed as an adventure by some and as a CIA-sponsored exercise to overthrow a progressive government. 

The truth of various assertions can be debated forever of course.  Interesting as that may be, our purpose here is different.  The insurrectionists led by Rohana Wijeweera belonged to the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) of People’s Liberation Front.   They called themselves Marxists.  They were inspired as much by Lenin as by Mao.  They were referred to as ‘che-guvera kaarayo’ (i.e. a group inspired by the revolutionary Ernesto Che Guevara, who was born in Argentina, fought alongside Fidel Castro to make a revolution in Cuba, fought also in the Congo and died fighting in Bolivia). 

The men sported beards, whether it was out of choice or because they were too busy fighting to shave we don’t know.  Che and Fidel were both bearded as were many of the Cuban revolutionaries.  Whisker-solidarity, perhaps?  Che was and still is a revolutionary icon, both for deed and word.  He was known by self-styled revolutionaries and by ordinary people as well.  The tag ‘Cheguverakaarayo’ had some logic, then.  That’s where it stopped though.  In terms of method, there was very little commonality between the JVP insurrection of 1971 and the Cuban revolution of 1959.  

 And yet, a common mistake that would-be rebels make is replication.  Sure, they’ll add the qualifier ‘adjusted to local context’ to their blueprint.  You see, there’s mileage to be got from piggybacking on revolutionary icons.  ‘Sri Lanka’s Lenin,’ (or Mao, or Fidel or Ho Chi Minh or Malcolm X or Gandhi) in a different time might sound more alluring than say Ranasinghe Ramanayake,  Deshan Matthews or Guruparan Ramakrishna.  Serious rebels, on the other hand, would recognize the utility value of pinning heroic brands to berets (also brands, by the way, thanks to Che) and flags, but would go further, study theory as well as example.  And will go beyond paying lip service to icons.

There’s only so much that we can take from a rebellion that has taken place in a different place and in a different time.  Just like water does not have a constant form, political engagement never happens in identical contexts.    The circumstances are always different and moreover are constantly changing.  There are lessons to draw from but it is a big risk to use any successful revolution as a blueprint.  This is where a lot of Marxist-Leninists got it dead wrong.  Russian of 1917 was not Sri lanka of 1917 and not Sri Lanka of 2014 either.  Russia of 1917 was Russia of 1917, nothing else. 

And so, if you venture into Dehiattakandiya expecting to encounter something that Mao Zedong faced during the Chinese Revolution, you are going to be disappointed.  It will not be the Little Red Book, the Communist Manifesto or the Bolivian Diaries that will show you the pathways to the concerns of people, their anxieties, their hopes and strengths, their revolutionary readiness etc., but they themselves.  And they won’t say it in the language of your choice.  They won’t use terminology you are familiar with.   But they will tell you their story, if you are patient enough and humble enough. 

There are many ways to be a leader, many ways to be rebellious.  There’s knowledge to be gained through the study of those who came before, there’s knowledge to be shed by listening to those who fight with you and in whose name you want to fight. 

In the end, the best persons to tell you about the territories you have to fight on are those who live on the particular tract of land and who make and break it.  Local people.  ‘Land,’ here, refers not just to something geographical but the ways of doing things, the culture, ways of being and thinking, ways of believing, the no-no things that are not always said but which count and which can make the difference between success and disaster. 

There are two things to remember here.  The rebel would do well to listen.   Humility alone gives ears.  

‘R’, then, is also for replicability.  The size of the ‘R’ is determined by the ‘L’ which stands for things ‘local’.    The ‘L’ can only be ascertained with ‘H’ and that stands for ‘humility’.



 This is the thirteenth in a series of articles on rebels and rebellion written for the FREE section of 'The Nation'.  'FREE' is dedicated to youth and youthfulness.

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