Malinda Words

Supreme Court under a cloud!

Back in the day a new term entered the political lexicon of Sri Lanka: white-vanning. It was about the use of vehicles, typically white vans, to abduct certain characters that the then regime felt were unsavoury.

At times it was used to obtain information on LTTE activists and activities that could have endangered hundreds of lives, as in the case of the brother-in-law of then Senior Superintendent of Police Sarath Lugoda. The man was abducted in Kirulapona and found a few days later in some other location. Such abductions were justified then as necessary evils in the face of a ruthless terrorist organization. One recalls that former president the late J.R. Jayewardene famously said in the early days of the ‘ethnic’ conflagration, ‘in times of war the laws are silent.’

White-vanning, metaphorically speaking, was not always birthed by such ‘national security prerogatives,’ even if this was morally defensible. It was used to silence (through fear or elimination) political rivals, just like in the UNP-JVP period of terror (Bheeshanaya) of 1988-89 when ‘crushing the insurgents (or ‘the corrupt, oppressive regime’)’ was an alibi for many to bump off opponents, whether the rivalry was political or business-related. Of course, in comparison, the excesses of the previous regime are mild, but that’s no consolation either for the victims and their loved ones or democracy and civilization in general.

Now white-vanning was supposed to be a thing of the past. Indeed, there have been no killings that could even remotely be associated with the regime. Abductions, yes, but still very minor. There have been on the other hand, a readiness to unleash force to put down protests. There’s also intimidation of the media and abuse of state media institutions. These are ‘balanced’ one might argue by the passage of the Right to Information Act. If we talk relative merits, we can always be happy with the status quo, even if it degenerates a little more. The Rajapaksa years, after all weren’t rosy and neither was the time of Chandrika Kumaratunga. And then we had the JR-Premadasa years, which were positively horrendous.

But perhaps the first sign that this regime is seriously getting ready to ‘white-van’ is the concerted effort to silence public interest lawyer and presidential candidate Nagananda Kodituwakku.

Kodituwakku is a thorn in the flesh of the corrupt and the slothful. The cases he’s taken on recently in the public interest have been responded to with an unconscionable ‘look the other way’ by the judiciary. The measures taken are not illegal. You can, for example, take refuge in what could be called ‘dating,’ i.e postponing the consideration of the particular case.

Serious crimes of omission and commission such as the illegal passage of the 14th Amendment in 1988 have been opened up for debate by Kodituwakku through litigation. The case has been passed from judge to judge, which itself can imply (in the very least) an abdication of judicial responsibility.

Now here’s the time line which has led to what to me is a clear case of judicial white-vanning.

Kodituwakku files a case citing judicial corruption (SC/Writs/03/2016). Among those charged is a justice of the Supreme Court. The particular judge has had at least two run-ins with Kodituwakku, who has on February 9, 2015 requested a different bench, excluding the judge concerning the case CA/Writs/65/2015. The action, Kodituwakku has stated in the said application followed severe criticism leveled by the President of the Bar Association against the improper appointment of the said judge as the President of the Court of Appeal by then president Mahinda Rajapaksa. A different bench was duly appointed.

Subsequently, a similar submission is made before a bench presided over by the same judge on May 21, 2015 hearing the Write Application No 83/2014. The objection was on the issue of ‘losing trust and confidence’. The judge determines that the matter would be referred to the Chief Justice: “… Matter be referred to the Chief Justice for making a serious allegation of contempt. Registrar is directed to send the record before the Hon’ Chief Justice…”

The Chief Justice, in his judicial wisdom, the record indicates, has not taken the submissions of the allegedly errant judge.

The judge in question, let us note, was charged for judicial corruption on February 15, 2016 by Kodituwakku before the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery and Corruption. This was for the abuse of the office of the President of the Court of Appeal to confer favours to the former Executive President Mahinda Rajapakse. Kotituwakku argued that this was clear by the way the Writ Application (CA/Writ/434/2014) challenging the then President Rajapakse’s nomination for a third term was handled by him. The Writ Application simply disappeared after it was filed at the Court of Appeal. It was white-vanned, one might say! Anyway, that complaint prompted a formal inquiry and as of now the recording of Kodituwakku’s evidence has been completed.

Now, for the record, Kodituwakku has written to the Registrar of the Supreme Court requesting that several cases he has filed not be listed before certain judges he has mentioned by name. And now the allegedly errant judge has accused Kodituwakku of “improper, insulting, intolerable, unbecoming and contemptuous behavior’ and is moving to have his practice be suspended or that he be removed from the office of Attorney-at-Law of the Supreme Court.

Now is this a mere matter of egos or the splitting of hairs between two men, each for reasons of convenience? Theoretically it could be just that.

On the other hand, Kodituwakku’s intervention with respect to the 14th Amendment is a slap in the face of all three branches of the state — the judicial, legislative and executive. It was an amendment which was initiated by the then incumbent executive, President J.R. Jayewardena to a) bypass a draft amendment that was following established procedure, and b) allow persons defeated at a General Election to enter Parliament through the ‘National List.’ Jayewardene sent a typewritten version of HIS draft amendment along with a handwritten note to the then Chief Justice requesting determination on constitutionality. This version was not gazetted and was not placed on the Order Paper. The people’s trust was betrayed in the instant that the Chief Justice took it up for perusal. It was Jayewardene’s draft that was taken up in Parliament following the discretion of the then Speaker. In every single election held since then the 14th Amendment was referred to make room for political losers, with full complicity on the part of the particular Executive and the particular set of legislators.

In the matter currently in court, courtesy the stubborn litigant Nagananda Kodituwakku, the record shows that the judiciary has been lax or worse in moving on the illegality of the 14th Amendment.

In this context, one has to wonder when the umbrage taken by this judge is just a matter of bruised egos or objection to an unconscionable affront or whether the judge is but an instrument of a larger collective of individuals who feel threatened by the lawyer. Given the almost two decades worth of injustice meted out to the people over and above the burdening the same with patently anti-democratic and illegal legislation, given the navel-gazing by all three branches of the state on this very matter for the very same period, and given the by now clear fact that Kodituwakku has pulled the carpet from under the feet of these very same branches of the state, we have to wonder if this is a classic case of legal white-vanning. Indeed, Kodituwakku is of the opinion that the moves against him are due to his uncompromising stance vis-a-vis any person holding any public office including the judiciary particularly after steps have been taken to charge several judges for judicial corruption.

The matter has not yet been concluded in the Supreme Court. Let us not be presumptuous. Let the judges judge and consequently judged in view of the history of events, statements, interventions, sloth, negligence and ignorance. However, let us be vigilant simply because the very judge who is moving to silence Kodituwakku has been pencilled in to hear the case. If the Supreme Court does not understand the meaning of the term ‘conflict of interest,’ and if this judge does not see fit to excuse himself then his judicial ‘fitness’ needs to be questioned. At best it can be seen as an attempt to draw Kodituwakku into a fight and make him ‘prove’ unfitness, but it is more likely that it would force Kodituwakku to object and request a different bench. In short, ‘constructive postponement.’ Should we laugh or should we cry?

One thing is clear though. If Kodituwakku is subjected to legal white-vanning, “regular” white-vanning cannot be too far away.

Also read: Executive, legislative and judicial branches of the state: ALL OUT OF ORDER

Sinharatne Bandara (far right) is the kind of public servant this country needs

It is no secret that among the least respect people in Sri Lanka are politicians and police officers. Other state employees, barring perhaps the security forces, are not respected much either. Corporate entities on the other hand, among whom are the biggest crooks, embezzlers and wheeler-dealers, appear to be a rarified lot, perhaps because of the way they are cocooned and remain distanced from the public eye.

What’s strange about this lack of respect is that it is a mind-thing. When encountering arrogance, ignorance, sloth, incompetence and requests for bribes, the citizen rarely objects. There is then a culture of resignation and consequently submission. It is a culture that entrenches wrongdoing, emboldens the wrongdoer. The hassle of it all and of course the low returns or even overall losses on investment probably contribute to the silence and inaction. We suffer through it and we go home and bitch about it. That’s about it.

Then again, there are exceptions. There are people who stand up, people who say ‘no’ or ‘no way!’ Consider the following story of a man called M.W.S. Bandara who worked at the Provincial Road Development Authority, North Central Province, posted in social media by his son Pandula Nayana Bandara. The original was in Sinhala and was titled ‘බෑ ඩෝ’ which could be translated as ‘No can do!’ or ‘Forget it!’ (if one were polite) or ‘Buzz off buster’ or worse!

M.W.S. Bandara worked at the Provincial Road Development Authority, North Central Province. He was the former General Manager. 1998. A provincial council minister had asked him to give a contract to a henchman. ‘No can do’ he said. His car was smashed up.

2001. The same minister pressurized him to approve tenders submitted by his henchman. ‘No can do’ he said. He was fired. He was vilified as a thief. He went to court. He was reinstated 11 years later along with compensation in 2012.

2012. Pressure was brought on him to sign a document approving a forged bill for Rs 1.4 billion. There were daily calls. A lot of pressure. Threats. ‘No can do,’ he said. A druggie of the area was employed to throw dirt in his face.

2015. Once again pressure was applied to sign documents for this same forged bill stating an amount of Rs 1.4 billion. He explained why it was not possible to pay the amount. He made sure that even a successor would not be able to approve this. He was made to retire at 57 although he was entitled to stay on until 60. He filed a case and it is still being heard. He will win it along with compensation.

This is how you say ‘no can do’ to politicians who want you to bend or break the rules. All you need is a backbone.

Yes, yes, I’m saying all this for the information of the dude who is acting like Veerappan these days.

That’s ma DAD!

This post was obviously promoted by the sil redi case where two high ranking officials were found guilty of violating established procedure, abuse of authority and irresponsible behavior in the management of public funds, among other things. The example demonstrates that being firm, honest, disciplined and responsible could involve high personal cost. Clearly it indicates that the overall institutional structure and the rules pertaining to them are too weak to protect honest public servants. Consequently they empower the crooked politician and disempower the people.

Clearly the citizens are also complicit in all this, as mentioned above. Perhaps, for this reason, it is also incumbent on the citizen to reflect on citizenship, the rights therein and the related responsibilities even as collective action is plotted to enact more robust laws and put in place mechanisms that inhibit those inclined to abuse a flawed system. In other words, just as we need more people like Mr. Bandara in the public service, we also need more citizens like him who in their everyday object to the objectionable even as they are grateful for the professionalism and courage of the Bandaras of this country.

Here’s an example.

On the 31st of August a convoy of vehicles, accompanying a VIP obviously, was causing a lot of unease on the Colombo-Kandy road. There had been six vehicles including an ambulance, a back-up vehicles and several Defenders which were probably part of the security detail for the particular VIP. Now there are no laws to state that ordinary traffic should make way for any VIP. There’s courtesy at times and there’s submission to directives of the Traffic Police at other times. We should mention that such ‘movements’ and the inconvenience caused to the general public were strongly objected to by those who promised to do away with all that on January 8, 2015. On this day, like other days and occasions, the ordinary citizenry made way for the arrogant politician. All, except one. He did not budge.

Finally, close to the restaurant called ‘Avanhala’ in Warakapola, this individual thought ‘enough is enough’. Mahesha Thirimanne stopped his vehicle in the middle of the road, got out and spoke his mind. What he told those in the back up vehicles in Sinhala can be translated thus:

“You have no legal right to inconvenience me or anyone else in this way. Remember that if your boss and others like him had actually done their job over the past 70 years neither you nor I would have had to deal with a traffic problem. All you can do is shoot me, but remember that it’s the taxpayers’ money that went to purchase your vehicle, we pay for the fuel, we pay your salaries, we pay for your uniforms, even your gun and the bullets are purchased by our money.”

Perhaps the recipients of this tirade were too shocked to respond. Perhaps as of now (but perhaps not so in time to come) their bosses and the government are too weak and/or unstable for arrogance to have rubbed off on them. Anyway, they were silent. No, they were silenced. They were silenced by a citizen who knew his rights and responsibilities, and had the courage to say “no.”

I submit that in the absence of the political will (for obvious reasons of protecting self-interest), it is countless acts of courage such as these are what will create the culture necessary to obtain a change for the better. This is not to say that courtesy is out of order or that we need to be disrespectful; by all means, but only where such is deserved. One recalls the relevant line of the relevant stanza from the Maha Mangala Sutta: පූජාච පූජ නීයානං — ඒතං මංගල මුත්තමං (Pūjā ca pūjanīyānam — etam mangala muttamam or “[to] honour those who are worthy of honour; this is [a] blessing supreme”) and of course the recommendation of giving those unworthy of such honour a wide berth.

When the principle is adhered to, then, the honorable public servant and the public service are strengthened, the errant politician is made wary and there is hope for a better tomorrow for both citizen and nation.

The proposition is simple, really: we can either be a Bandara or a Thirimanne, or we can continue to be short-changed, insulted and humiliated by the arrogant and crooked.

The Mahanayaka of the Malwatte Chapter, the Most Venerable Tibbotuwawe Sri Siddhartha Sumangala Thera has made an interesting pronouncement. Referring to the fact that President Maithripala Sirisena and Prime Minister Ranil Wickremesinghe had said the proposed new Constitution would safeguard the country’s unitary status and the pre-eminent place afforded to Buddhism, the prelate states, “When the two leaders ruling the country have given such an assurance there is no point in questioning about its validity.”

Let us state at the outset, that the issue of whether or not devolution or the dismantling of the unitary character of the state is prudent is of secondary importance to this article. The focus is believability; it is about trust and therefore a trust-deficit and consequently the attempt to hoodwink the general public.

It appears that the learned Mahanayaka Thero has for a moment forgotten the basic tenets of the Buddha’s Charter on Free Inquiry, the Kalama Sutta. This is what the Buddha proposed to the Kalamas:

"Come, Kalamas. Do not go upon what has been acquired by repeated hearing; nor upon tradition; nor upon rumor; 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 blamable; these things are praised by the wise; undertaken and observed, these things lead to benefit and happiness,' enter on and abide in them.”

In this instance the Mahanayaka Thero has erred on the side of trust. We shall return to this matter later. For now, let us consider the constitutional changes sought by the Yahapalana Government and the manner in which it has proceeded.

Let’s begin with the proposals for constitutional reform. What we have today is not a draft amendment but a concept, sorry, 9 concepts — the report of the Steering Committee of the Constitutional Assembly and the 8 observations by political parties. The United National Party, by default has agreed with the report while others have, in their submissions, expressed disagreement on various sections of the report. The JVP, for reasons best known to it, has submitted a two-page set of observations which seems light considering the weight of changes envisaged in the report. The Sri Lanka Freedom Party, the Joint Opposition and the Jathika Hela Urumaya have been strong in their objections. In other words, it is not a ‘done deal,’ yet.

The regime is navel-gazing on the matter of coming up with a solid document that incorporates all observations or else goes ahead with what should be called the UNP Proposal. As such it only feeds suspicion and rumor-mongers. It could do better, but then again, yahapalana-incompetence seems to be a shackle that is hard to shed.

Let’s consider the UNP Proposal. With respect to the issues of Buddhism and the unitary status, as has been pointed out, if these matters are to be ‘untouched’ as the President and Prime Minister appear to have impressed on the venerable prelate, then no alteration in the current wording is warranted. Moreover, the ‘status quo’ should not be touched through caveats on any relevant matter including power-devolution.

With respect to the status of Buddhism, the so-called privileges supposedly entrenched in Article 9 are negated in effect by Articles 10 and 14(1)(e). A reformulation offered as an option by the Steering Committee of the Constitutional Assembly reads as follows: "Sri Lanka shall give to Buddhism the foremost place and accordingly it shall be the duty of the State to protect and foster the Buddha Sasana, while assuring to all religions the rights granted by Article 10 and 14(1)(e).” A wordy re-statement essentially. In essence the arbitrary deletion in word and deed of the relevant clause of the Kandyan Convention remains, despite all the rhetoric of this being a country where there is a ‘Buddhist hegemony.’ At least, in this case, there’s no deception. It’s in the machinations involving the nature of the state where we see the Yahapalana Regime trying to pull wool over the eyes of the majority community.

A nation is ‘unitary’ or ‘federal’ or ‘a confederacy’ not on the label used but on the simple fact (or otherwise) of where legislative power resides. In Sri Lanka’s case, it is Articles 4(a) and 76(1) which give the state a unitary character. It is these very articles that the Yahapalana Government is set to butcher. The moment legislative power of any kind is devolved to the provincial councils, for example, the state ceases to be unitary in character, in procedure and in effect.

One must hope that the Most Venerable Tibbotuwawe Sri Siddhartha Sumangala Thera would at least in future read such drafts with perhaps the assistance of relevant experts before offering blank cheques to the regime. With respect to the Charter of Free Inquiry alluded to above, perhaps the Thero focused on the clause ‘these things are praised by the wise.’ As of now the only persons praised are the President and the Prime Minister.

Does the Venerable Thero believe that presidents and prime ministers are trustworthy on account of the offices they hold? Has the Venerable Thero considered the track record of all the presidents and prime ministers since Independence? Were they democrats? Did they not abuse power? Were they not guilty of constitutional hanky-panky? J.R. Jayewardene was the Grandmaster of constitutional hanky-panky. Ranasinghe Premadasa and D.B. Wijethunga didn't (have to) engage in constitutional tinkering, Chandrika Kumaratunga tried and failed, and Mahinda Rajapaksa came up with the patently anti-democratic and self-serving 18th Amendment. As for the prime ministers, most of them placed high value on political expediency. Ranil Wickremesinghe is included in the sorry-column in this regard considering his role in the passage of the 13th Amendment and machinations during his tenure from 2001-2004.

As for the two individuals referenced, are they wise? Are they honest? Are they trustworthy? The President’s wisdom can be gauged by the nepotism, incompetence, abuse of resources and political chicanery he has excelled in. As for the Prime Minister, the appointment and defense of Arjuna Mahendran says all that needs to be said about his wisdom. Moreover, this regime has established beyond any shadow of doubt that the will of the people is not its concern. The continued postponement of elections with vague reasons offered for the same prove that the regime either does not give a hoot for the opinions of the voters or is reluctant to go before them for endorsement fearing summary dismissal.

The Most Venerable Tibbotuwawe Sri Siddhartha Sumangala Thera’s trust, therefore, is patently misplaced. Unfortunately. Until such time that the President and Prime Minister back their claims regarding the ‘unitary status’ with a clear affirmation of the same by rejecting proposals to devolve legislative power, it is only prudent to treat flippant assurances as they should be, i.e. with more than a pinch of salt.

If on the other hand, the regime comes clean and the President and Prime Minister clearly states ‘our intention is dismantle the unitary state in favor of a federal or confederal arrangement or even a division of the country,’ then the good Thero can legitimately place his trust on them and then, if he so chooses, in the Thero’s wisdon, support their proposals. The Thero also has the option of rejecting them because the Thero wants clauses relating to Buddhism and the nature of the state left intact.

As things stand, however, the trust-deficit with respect to the regime in general and the President and Prime Minister in particular, is overwhelming. The wisdom, consequently, of the Most Venerable Tibbotuwawe Sri Siddhartha Sumangala Thera, needs to be questioned, we offer most respectfully.

Email: malindasene@gmail.com. Twitter: malindasene.

John Hector Dhanapala never taught me. I knew him first as the father of my classmate and best friend, Rajitha. I knew him also as the brother of a far more commanding teacher, Donald Dhanapala, who taught at Royal Junior School.

Mr Dhanapala never taught me, but for what must have been a year but felt like several years, I saw him almost everyday, Monday through Friday. This is how it happened.

Back then while Royal Junior School finished at 1.30 pm, Royal College went on until 3 or 3.30 pm. We lived down Pedris Road in a tiny, one-bedroom flat which was rented out just so the two-mile radius criteria would be fulfilled when admission was sought for my older brother Arjuna and I. This, although our father was an Old Boy of the school.

My brother and I walked home after school. By 1.40 we would be having lunch. Rajitha, on the other hand, would trudge to Royal College and stay in the staff room until his father finished his work.

Somewhere in the year 1973 when Rajitha and I were in Mrs C Liyanagama’s class (3A). My mother, who also taught at Royal College, apparently, had noticed this eight year old boy sitting in a chair that probably could have held three boys his size. She had noticed him nodding off to sleep day after day. She must have inquired or may have figured out that Rajitha’s father was John Hector Dhanapala, a fellow member of the tutorial staff.

My mother had many sons (and quite a few daughters too) during her long tenure as a teacher. Knowing her, she would have seen in Rajitha either myself or my brother. Anyway, she had suggested to Mr Dhanapala that Rajitha could stay at our place, have lunch and wait until his father could pick him up. I don’t know if she knew at that point that Rajitha and I were classmates.

Anyway, one fine day, Rajitha and I came home together, accompanied of course by our brother. Those were good days. Lunch was followed by cricket. We played for what seemed (and is still remembered) like many hours, but of course it couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half at most. Mr Dhanapala would come to pick up his son.

He was quiet. He hardly spoke. Probably nothing more than a greeting. I can’t remember too much of that time anyway, but I do remember him being quiet.

He was quiet in later years when we moved to Pamankada and I would go over to ‘College’ to go home with my mother. If I remember right, this was in 1975 or 1976, when school finished at 1.oo pm for us and we had half an hour to kill. My brother and I would walk to College along with the children of other teachers. There was Mrs Weerasiri’s sons, Aruna and Kalana, Mr Weerasinghe’s (BAWA’s) son, Dulcie Wijesinha’s son Saman and I think Mrs Jayatilleka’s younger son (who tragically committed suicide a few years later over a stupid rebuke). We walked up Racecourse Avenue (now, Rajakeeya Mawatha) and jump over the wall (The Vice Principal, Christie ‘Kataya’ Gunasekara, Mr Nanayakkara (Bus Nana) and I think Mr Wariyapola caught us on one occasion, but that’s another story). There was enough time for a quick game of cricket in the corridor between the science lab and where the tennis courts now are. There were times I would stray into the staff room. That’s when I would on occasion meet Mr Dhanapala.

He didn’t speak much. He smiled.

He was quiet in 1977 when Rajitha and I (along with Ruvinda Gunawardena) crossed over to Royal College (as permitted by a special provision for teachers’ children). The three of us were enrolled on the same day and in the same class (Mr Sawaad’s class, 7F). Ruwinda’s mother (whose name I cannot remember) was a tall lady. Her presence was felt. Mr Dhanapala, quiet and self-effacing, was less conspicuous.

Thereafter, until he retired in 1980, there were many times when I ran into him. I would politely say ‘Good morning, Sir’ and he would softly return the greeting.

I never had a conversation with Mr Dhanapala that I can remember. But I remember him as a decent and refined personality. He never taught me, but Rajitha says he taught Christianity and Economics (English Medium). I don’t know if he was strict in class, but I do know he was a good teacher. After leaving Royal in 1980 he took up a teaching post in Pakistan. He taught there for more than 25 years. Rajitha says that his father had once ‘retired’ and had spent 4-5 years back in Sri Lanka, but his employers had convinced him to return. He must have been a very special teacher.

A few years after we left school I ran into Rajitha at the Big Match. I told him that he (Rajitha) was looking more and more like his father: “උඹ උඹේ තාත්ත වගේ වේගෙන එනවා.” Rajitha responded immediately, “උඹ උඹේ අම්ම වගේ වේගෙන එනවා!” We both laughed. We were like that, brothers from different mothers and fathers.

I met Mr Dhanapala on two occasions after he left Royal. The first was at the Mercantile Cricket Association grounds in 2012. He had come to watch his grandson, Thiran, play in an Under 15 match. I had gone to meet the father of a boy playing in the opposing team. I saw Rajitha and he said that Mr Dhanapala was also there. He was eminently recognizable, despite the years. The smile, that’s it. And the kindness of gaze. And when he spoke, he took me back to 1973, a different century and almost a different lifetime. He spoke softly. He spoke little. He said a lot. He spoke about his time in Pakistan. He spoke about Thiran, with measured pride. Looking back, he seemed to have resolved to treat the vicissitudes of life with equanimity. Always calm, seldom agitated: that’s how I pictured him in the everyday of his life that I had not witnessed.

I saw him last at the Royal-Thomian. He was in the enclosure reserved for the families of the players. We spoke about the match. We spoke about Thiran. He told me that he enjoyed watching the boy play. He was proud. And again, it was measured pride. Right now, as I write, I have this sense that he would have hid his disappointments (if indeed that was what he felt) way back in 1984 when his son, my friend Rajitha, was denied a place in the First XI that played in that year’s Royal-Thomian.

John Hector Dhanapala died almost two years ago, on January 2, 2016. He did not get to see his grandson and his teammates complete an improbable, come-from-behind win over St. Thomas'. That would not be something he would have dwelt on. He wasn't a man who appeared to have any regrets. He was 83 years old. Perhaps one day, those who were privileged to have been taught by him, will write the stories of his teaching. I saw him from a distance. A quiet, soft-spoken gentleman who clearly tread so soft on this earth that the marks he left are untraceable. He scripted, most probably, in texts that are not easy to transliterate. He did not burden the earth, he enriched it, I am now certain.

May he rest in pace.

She had been ‘Akka’ to me because everyone called her Akka (or ‘Older Sister) since she was the eldest in the family. Her mother had been ‘Amma’ (‘Mother’) to me because that’s what everyone in the household, including her husband called her. Later she became Ammi (‘Mother) and her mother became ‘Aththamma’ (‘Grandmother’) probably due to change of residence, the ingraining of term-propriety and growing up.

I do not recall the infancy of address-confusion, but the stories of that confusion were told and re-told with much mirth by the particular story-teller on numerous occasions over several decades that it comes close to ‘first memory’.

Aunty Joyce’s Montessori. I attended it when it was located on Charles Circus and then at the intersection of Charles Drive and Alfred Place. On one occasion, on the way home, I had a fight with her. ‘Her’ as in my mother, Indrani Seneviratne, then as now ‘Ammi’ to me. I can’t remember what it was all about. It happened near a house which had a hedge of ගඳපාන (Lantana Camara). I loved that hedge. I remember picking flowers on many occasions. Her aunt, Daisy Dondanwala, who had been married to her uncle Dr Jayampathy Yatawara and was either divorced or separated, lived in a small flat on the opposite side of the road. For some reason, we went to visit her. I was upset and Naya Aththamma (because she baked all kinds of things and these included strips of bread shaped like snakes with red or green eyes) as we called, her noticed. She tried to calm me down but failed. I left. But in my anger, I left my school bag on the side of the road as protest. The ‘school bag’ was a suitcase, a tiny one that had only enough room to hold a few sandwiches. Ammi found out later and went looking for it. It was gone. I was upset, I remember. She did not chide me. I remember.

I remember the last day at Aunty Joye’s Montessori. She came with a camera and took pictures. One picture with two of my teachers and one with my friends, among whom I remember Bradley Umamboowe (we called him Mahinda) and Sheran Wanigasekera, who lived next door. She wanted me to have memories, I realize now.

I remember mornings in the early years at Royal Junior School. She had all the clothes washed, ironed and neatly arranged on the bed. The shoes were always polished. She washed her three children and dressed us up. She took us to school and then took the 109 to Wattala (she taught at Wattala Convent before getting a transfer to Royal College in 1971, after my brother and I had been enrolled at Royal Junior School.

She carried me. When I was almost eight and had a few bones broken in my right foot, she carried me to the hospital. A year later when I was down with Hepatitis, she carried me for blood tests and to see Dr. Dharmawansa at Durdans Hospital. She put me down outside his consultation room and went to the Record Room to collect the family card, B 32. She carried me back. She carried me throughout her life. She carried many people. She carried every single person who came to her for help or who she felt needed her help.

She complained in later years, when I was at Royal College, that it was embarrassing to go to the staff room because teachers would complain about me. I was glad she was there. She forgot on certain occasions that I was a student as well her her son. When I was a prefect she once blasted me in front of a bunch of younger students. I remember telling her that I think it was wrong of her to do so because I had a role in disciplining errant students and that she had compromised my ability to do so. I remember calling her ‘madam’ on that occasion. She just said ‘I am sorry.’ I am sorry too, now.

She confused son and student or maybe she did not, for all her students at Royal were ‘sons’ to her. They would agree. She was after all ‘The Grand Old Lady of Royal College’ as her student and my batchmate Mohammed Adamally said at her funeral.

She was there for me. Quietly. She rejoiced in the various triumphs of her children but didn’t always show it. Such sentiments she apparently shared with her favorite student, Arjuna Parakrama. That’s what he said at her funeral.

She was there for me even when I was a rascal. I remember deciding I had had enough of Mrs Lakshmi Jeganathan’s Speech and Drama Class. This was when I was in Grade 10. Aunty Lakshmi was one of the biggest influences in my life, but she was a tough teacher and I couldn’t take that toughness. I didn’t have the courage to tell Ammi. So on Saturdays I would leave the house pretending to be going for her class but in reality going over to my aunt’s house and staying there until it was time to come home (after the class, which I didn’t attend). Aunty Lakshmi and Ammi were great friends. Looking back I am sure there would have been a telephone conversation about my absence. Looking back, Ammi would have made some excuse. She never asked me though. Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass me. She was like that. Quiet in certain ways, even though she could be loud and unforgiving in others.

She feared for her children. She gave us all the freedom we needed and did her best to protect us from all the storms we invited into our lives. In February 1992, when I was arrested and held at the Wadduwa Police Station, she would visit with food and smiles. She gave a thumbs up sign to all my political associates arrested with me. One night, months later, when I observed there was too many dishes to go with the rice, my father said ‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew that during the three weeks you were in jail we didn’t cook food in this house — Ammi came home from Wadduwa one day and just fell on the floor and wept.’ I remember now. And it makes me cry.

In later years, she and I didn’t get along too well. She was stubborn and so was I. She had taught me (as she had taught her students) to stand up for what I believed. During one argument she said ‘Malinda, never ever have you taken my side!’ I responded, I remember, ‘I’ve always taken the side I believed was right.’ She didn’t say anything, but later she had told my wife Samadanie, ‘whatever said and done, Malinda stands for what he believes.’ She was proud, I feel, but didn’t show it much.

She was hard on herself and soft on others. She collected things. My sister was amazed to find that Ammi had saved every little piece of paper she had come across where she, Nangi, had written something. She had all our various certificates in separate files. She had kept my prefect’s badge safe. She took the petals of a bouquet of roses that were given to me upon graduation from Harvard University, dried them, and made a beautiful heart out of them. She did things like that. Things of the heart. For all her sons. And all her daughters.

It’s eight years since she passed away at the Jayawardenapura Hospital. I remember that evening. Her friend and former colleague at Ladies’ College, Chula, called me and said that Ammi had collapsed in her car. They were going to her place in Thalawatugoda. I later learned that a few moments before that she was on Chula’s phone talking to someone and trying to sort out a problem. I told Chula to take her to hospital and rushed there.

She was on a bed. I touched her forehead and arranged her hair. She looked at me. Then she closed her eyes. She never opened them again.

It’s quiet here. Sooriya Village. It’s late evening. Eight years ago, around this time, I had my last conversation with her. I don’t know what I said and I don’t know what she said. We talked with gaze. I saw the eyes that had watched over me and looked through me.

A year after she passed away, on the way back from Kataragama, my older daughter threw a tantrum. She was seven then. She was impossible. In desperation, I stopped the vehicle and told her, ‘either you stop this or else you drive!’ She went quiet. Then she said ‘I want my Aththammi.’ I cried then. And I cry now.

She's taller now:

too tall to hold

to cuddle too old;

queen you were

and she princess

then as now,

and you

are as you were

in your distance and proximity

words and words not said;

your children, all of them,

are safe

in a cradling that endures

the mortality of passing.

*On behalf of all her children

In 1988, not too long before the United National Party was to lose the five-sixths Parliamentary majority it enjoyed (and therefore more than the two-thirds required to amend the constitution, barring of course those which required in addition a referendum) courtesy the anti-democratic referendum of 1982 which too was marred by massive fraud, J.R. Jayewardena indulged in a classic piece of constitutional skullduggery: the 14th Amendment

In that instance, established procedure such as publishing in the gazette the draft amendment and placing it on the order paper were subverted. The draft of the Parliamentary Select Committee was dumped in the proverbial waste paper basket. JR sent a hand-written note to the then Chief Justice along with the version that he, JR, had drafted, requesting a comment on constitutionality. The CJ, for his part, sent it back with an ‘ok’ when in fact he should gave tossed it out or, if he wanted to be polite, requested JR to follow the procedure.

The then Speaker, in his wisdom, picked JR’s amendment and certified it, ignoring the Select Committee approved 14th amendment that was referred to the committee of the whole parliament that passed it. And that’s how we got the 14th Amendment which among other things allowed party leaders to bring through the National List those candidates rejected at the polls.

Almost thirty years later, we have the current Speaker doing pretty much the same thing, this time with the passage of a Bill titled Provincial Council Elections Amendment Bill after the 20th amendment to the Constitution that brought in to postpone the provincial council elections was rejected by the Supreme Court.

The Provincial Council Elections Amendment Bill published in the gazette did contain no violative provisions and hence it was not challenged by the concerned citizens. But at the committee stage the Bill published in the Gazette was completely abandoned and a whole lot of amendments were brought in to the provincial council election law at the committee stage effectively postponing the provincial council elections, completely disregarding the parliamentary standing orders and the relevant provisions of the Constitution (Article 78) denying the citizens any right to challenge them.

The law enacted by the fraudulent means was challenged in the Supreme Court by former Chief Justice Sarath N Silva and by public interest lawyer and 2020 Presidential Candidate Nagananda Kodituwakku.

The latter states “it is apparent that at the 3rd Reading, the Original Bill passed at the Second Reading has been totally disregarded with a completely new set of provisions ‘smuggled in’ at the Committee Stage. Therefore, the Bill passed at the 3rd Reading is not the Bill passed at the Second Reading as recorded in page 398 of the Parliamentary proceedings.” He further argues that this wrongful act amounts to total disregard of the lawmaking process and negation of the Rule of law established by the Constitution and the Parliamentary Standing Orders.”

Even a cursory reading of the relevant standing orders (50-53) would indicate that the Speaker is in violation of the Constitution. In particular, Standing Order 52 and 53 expressly state that the bill has to be submitted to a Committee either nominated by the Speaker or else is a Standing Committee.

Interestingly, Sanjay Rajaratnam, appearing on behalf of the Attorney General, has claimed, citing Article 80 (Once the Speaker certifies a bill, the Supreme Court has no jurisdiction) and Article 124 (which speaks to limitations of the Supreme Court with respect to the validity of bills and legislative process), that the Speaker was not out of order.

However, it is strange that the Attorney General appears to be ignorant of a case law (landmark case, ‘Land Reform Commission Vs Grand Central of 1981), as detailed in the relevant Sri Lanka Law Report p 148), which speaks to the role of the Attorney General.

“Unlike in Britain where the Queen is Sovereign, in the Republic of Sri Lanka, sovereignty is in the people in terms of Article 3 of the Constitution, and therefore the Attorney General represents and acts for the people in the Republic of Sri Lanka.”

Article 77 details the Attorney General’s responsibilities with regard to published bills. Note, Article 77(2) : “If the Attorney-General is of the opinion that a Bill contravenes any of the requirements of paragraphs (1) and (2) of Article 82 or that any provision in a Bill cannot be validly passed except by the special majority prescribed by the Constitution, he shall communicate such opinion to the President: Provided that in the case of an amendment proposed to a Bill in Parliament, the Attorney-General shall communicate his opinion to the Speaker at the stage when the Bill is ready to be put to Parliament for its acceptance.”

But what does Article 82 (1 and 2) say? They refer to the amendment or repeal of the Constitution and read as follows:

82. (1) No Bill for the amendment of any provision of the Constitution shall be placed on the Order Paper of Parliament, unless the provision to be repealed, altered or added, and consequential amendments, if any, are expressly specified in the Bill and is described in the long title thereof as being an Act for the amendment of the Constitution.

(2) No Bill for the repeal of the Constitution shall be placed on the Order Paper of Parliament unless the Bill contains provisions replacing the Constitution and is described in the long title thereof as being an Act for the repeal and replacement of the Constitution.

The version submitted at the 3rd Reading, as Kodituwakku points out, was not on the Order Paper. It was incumbent on the part of the Attorney General, as per responsibilities detailed above with respect to the people, to point all this out at the relevant stage of the process. In other words, the Attorney General could have insisted that the procedure adopted at the third reading was out of order. Since Article 78(2) clearly states that “The passing of a Bill or a resolution by Parliament shall be in accordance with the Constitution and the Standing Orders of Parliament.” This safeguard has been subverted in this process. Instead, the Attorney General comes out to defend an act by the Speaker, which the Attorney General appears to have sanctioned either illegally (that is deceitfully) or through negligence.

The Court has not ruled and let’s not be presumptuous about ruling. However, if the Attorney General’s point stands, what it means is that a dangerous precedent has been created whereby judicial review of proposed legislation is disallowed ab initio.

What this means is that we can have a situation where any bill that subverts the sovereignty of the people can be passed by a Parliament made quiescent by party loyalty and other constitutional devices such as the likelihood of expulsion with the obviously dire consequences, simply because the Attorney General can look the other way and the Court could be silenced by the principle of precedent.

We could have, for example, indefinite postponement of elections, we can have Parliament deciding to extend its life, and we can have Parliament deciding to elect the President.

What then of sovereignty, one must ask. The only option is to demand empowering the judiciary with judicial review of any legislation that is inconsistent with the rule of law and the Constitution.

Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer. Email: malindasenevi@gmail.com. Twitter: malindasene

Another AG carving a career path?

Those supporters of the Yahapalana Regime whose apologies have diminished to the point they take refuge in what I call the ‘At Least Thesis’ in the now tired game of comparison, have rightfully found some fuel in the recent assertiveness of the Attorney General’s Department. The reference is of course to the uncompromising positions taken by Additional Solicitor General Dappula De Livera and Deputy Solicitor General Milinda Gunathilaka in questioning witnesses before the Presidential Commission of Inquiry (PCoI) into the Central Bank bond issue scam.

What’s missing in the adoration is something, anything, on the highly irregular operations of the Attorney General himself. So when it comes down to it, the obvious courage, conviction and argumentative skill of subordinates have been deployed selectively, i.e. to attack a man who has by his own actions and words implicated himself. That’s Ravi Karunanayake.

The Attorney General, Jayantha Jayasuriya, stands accused of not just being negligent of responsibilities with respect to protecting the sovereign rights of the citizen but aiding and abetting an executive and legislative move to rob those very rights.

The issue at hand is the Provincial Councils Elections (Amendment) Bill, where Parliament enacted a law using an observation issued to the Speaker by the Attorney General.

The Bill, as has been argued both in petitions challenging its constitutionality and in newspaper comment, sought to bypass a ruling of the Supreme Court and moreover violated established Parliamentary Procedure that clearly violated provisions to safeguard the people’s sovereignty. The text that was voted on was smuggled in at the 3rd reading and contains provisions that were not in the original bill. Moreover the smuggled version was not on the Order Paper and was not submitted to an Standing Committee or a Committee convened by the Speaker.

What is appalling about the entire affair is the opinion expressed by the Attorney General. To support what has to be considered the will of the Government that sought to pass the bill in the first place, Jayasuriya has quoted Erskine May, the well-known authority on parliamentary practice. He claims that Erskine May had stated on page 547 of the 24th edition of his oft-quoted book ‘Parliamentary Practice’ “as in other matters of order, the admissibility of an amendment can ultimately be decided only by the House itself, there being no authority which can in advance rule an amendment out of order.”

The statement has at least a couple of riders. The first is ‘ultimately’ which implies that decision has to be preceded by deliberations which may include opinions from outside the House. The very fact that Jayasuriya was called upon to comment supports this thesis (as per functions detailed in Article 77 of the Constitution). The last part itself is open to multiple interpretation, i.e. the caveat regarding advance ruling. The ‘authority’ that can submit such a ruling is the Constitution and safeguards therein.

The submission of former Chief Justice Sarath N Silva to the Supreme Court on this matter reveals two important facts. First, the quote used by Jayasuriya is NOT ON THE QUOTED PAGE. Second, as pointed out by Silva, Jayasuriya has (deliberately?) omitted the relevant caveats that May himself has couched the quoted statement in.

In particular Jayasuriya has ignored the condition that amendments bought at any stage of the process should be within the framework of the original text and be relevant to the objectives therein. The original bill was about women’s representation but the amendments brought in late were irrelevant to this. It is strange indeed that Jayasuriya seems to have missed this.

Since he has quoted an authority, let us submit a rider imposed by another. Sir George John Bourinot, following May, opines that ‘The law on the relevancy of amendments seems now to be that if they are on the same subject-matter with the original motion, they are admissible, but not when foreign thereto.’

As such, either the Attorney General is ignorant or mischievous, the evidence pointing to the latter rather than the former. At the end of the day the Speaker has been misled.

The matter is in court. We can say ‘let the court decide,’ but let us interject a few observations about law-making in this country, in particular the strange behavior of those who held the office of Attorney General and Chief Justice.

Although it is common for lawyers to obtain from British parliamentary traditions and British legal system in general, there has been a scandalous reluctance to note the difference between Britain and Sri Lanka with respect to the separation of the Attorney General’s Department from the Courts. In Sri Lanka, unlike in Britain, senior members of the AG’s Department are ‘positioned’ in the courts, especially the Supreme Court. Not surprisingly, those positioned thus are elevated to the post of Chief Justice. There have been cases where lawyers are elevated to the post of Attorney General and thereafter quickly shifted to the Supreme Court and then the position of Chief Justice.

It is a well-established career path, one might say, but one which carries the requirement of affirming (as per Article 77) proposals for constitutional tinkering submitted by the executive. If the careers of judges in the Supreme Court are examined alongside the rulings they’ve made while in the Department and later as judges, an argument would probably arise for the separation of the two services, both which carry responsibility to the people.

For now, this ‘history’ casts a shadow on every person appointed as Attorney General in terms of the well known dictum ‘justice should not only be done but seem to be done.’ If the case at hand raises suspicion, then among other things this history should to be blamed. Over and above all of this, the negligence of Attorney General Jayasuriya points to scandalous deceiving of the Speaker and demonstrates an unwillingness on his part to represent and act for the people in the Republic of Sri Lanka.

Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer. Email: malindasenevi@gmail.com

ශ්‍රී ලංකාවට මෑත කාලයේ වැළඳුනු බරපතල දේශපාලන ලෙඩක් මේ අමතක වීම. දුමින්ද සිල්වාට මුලින්ම හැදුන මේ ලෙඩේ පස්සේ ජෝන් අමරතුංගට ද ඒ ලෙඩේ ම හදුනා. අමතක වීම විහිළුවක් හැටියට ජනගත වුනේ එහෙමයි. විහිළුවෙන් තහළුවෙන් වැහුන සහ වහගන්න බරපතල රෝග තියෙනවා. උදාහරණ ලෙස තක්කඩිකම, දූෂණය, වංචාව, ඥාති සංග්‍රහය වගේම රාජ්‍ය දේපළ අවභාවිතය. හිනාවෙලා හිනාවෙලා ඇති වුනාට පස්සේ හිනාව නතර වෙනවා. එත් තක්කඩිකම් නවතින්නේ නැහැ. දුමින්ද ඉලක්ක වෙද්දී වෙන අය මැරකම් කරනවා. ජෝන් බයිට් වන අතරේ වෙන ඇමතිවරු ගොන්කම් කරනවා. ඒවා කාටවත් පෙන්නේ නැහැ. ඒවා කරන අය දුමින්දලට ජෝන්ලට හිනා වෙන අයට හිනාවෙනවා ඇති.

දුමින්ද ගේ නැත්තම් ජෝන් ගේ අමතක වීම විහිළු සහගතයි, කතා දෙකක් නැහැ. චතුරගේ 'මතක් වීම'ත් ඒ තරම්ම විහිළු සහගතයි. ඒ හැම ජෝක් එකකටම අපි හිනාවෙනවා. හයියෙන්ම හිනා වෙනවා. කොච්චර හයියෙන් හිනාවෙනවද කිව්වොත් මේ තක්කඩිකම් කරන අය අපට හිනා වෙන බව අපට පෙනෙන්නේ නැහැ.

අමතක වීමේ ලෙඩේ මේ විදිහට මගේ යාලුවෙක් නිර්වචනය කෙරුව: "කලින් ආණ්ඩුව එලෙව්වේ ඇයි කියන එක ඒ අයට අමතක වෙලා. තමන්ව බලයට පත්කෙරුවේ ඇයි කියන එක මේ ආණ්ඩුවට අමතක වෙලා.

මේ නිර්වචනය ඉදිරිපත් කරපු ටෙඩී අමරසේකරට ත් අමතක වුන දෙයක් තියෙනවා. ඌණපූරණය මෙහෙමයි: ජනතාවට අමතක වෙන දෙයකුත් තියෙනවා -- ඒ තමයි තමන් බලයට පත්කරන දේශපාලකයෝ වගේම දේශපාලන පක්ෂ බලයට පත් වුනාට පස්සේ තමන්ව, ඒ කියන්නේ ජනතාව, අමතක කරන බව.

මෙතෙන්දි අරය මෙයාට වඩා හොඳයි, නැත්තම් අර පක්ෂේ මේ පක්ෂෙට වැඩිය හොඳයි වගේ කතන්දර අතරේ පැටලෙන සහ පටලවගන්න අය වෙන අයට වඩා පහසුවෙන් සහ ඉක්මනින් ඔය අමතක වීමේ ලෙඩේට ගොදුරු වෙනවා,

මේ යහපාලන ආණ්ඩුව ගන්න. මෙතන තියෙන්නේ යහපාලකයින්ට යහපාලනය අමතක වීම ම නෙවෙයි. ප්‍රශ්නේ මේකයි: යහපාලකයින් යහපාලනය කියන්නේ මොකද්ද කිඅල දැනගෙන හිටියද කියන එකයි. ආණ්ඩුවට 'යහ'තේරෙන්නෙත් නැහැ, 'පාලනය'තේරෙන්නෙත් නැහැ. යහපාලනය ගැන බලාපොරොත්තු තියාගත්ත (ඒ කියන්නේ යහපාලකයින් ඇත්තටම යහපාලනයක් ඇති කරයි කියල හිතපු) අය 'ඒ කාලෙත් මෙහෙම වුනානේ'කියන ගැලවිජ්ජාව වේගයෙන් වැළඳ ගන්න තැනට තල්ලු වුනා. එයාලට යහපාලන සිහින අමතක වෙලා වගේ. නැත්තම් අමතක කරන්න සිද්ද වුනා වගේ.

යහපාලන ආණ්ඩුව ලිස්සද්දී, වැටෙද්දී, නාගනිද්දී ආණ්ඩුවට විරුද්ධ සමහර අය, විශේෂයෙන්ම හිටපු පාලකයින්ට හිතවත් අය, අහන ප්‍රශ්නයක් තියෙනවා: 'වෙනස සැපද?' 'වෙනසක්'පොරොන්දු වුන සහ බලාපොරොත්තු වුන අය කෝචෝක් කරන්නේ එහෙමයි. ඒ විදිහට ප්‍රශ්න නගන අයටත් අමතක වෙන ලෙඩේ හැදිලා වගේ. එහෙම නැත්තම් ඒ ප්‍රශ්නය තුල නොදැනුවත්වම තමන්ගේ දේශපාලන තක්කඩිකම් ගැබ් වෙලා තියෙන බව තේරෙන්නේ නැතුව ඇති. තක්කඩිකම්, මැරකම්, හොරකම්, වංචා, දූෂණ, රාජ්‍ය දේපල අවභාවිතය වැනි දේවල් ඒ කාලෙ වගේ දැනුත් සිද්ද වෙනවා නම් 'වෙනසක්'ගැන කතා කරන්න බැහැනේ. වෙනසක් ඇති වෙලා නැත්තම් වෙනස සැපද දුකද කියල අහන එකේ තේරුමක් නැහැ. ඒත් ආණ්ඩුවටත්, ආණ්ඩුවට පක්ෂ අයටත්, ආණ්ඩු විරෝධීන්ටත් ඔය වගේ දේවල් තම තමන්ගෙන් අහන්න උවමනාවක් නැහැ නැත්තම් අහන්න අමතක වෙනවා.

අමතක වීම ඔතෙන්ට සීමා වෙලා නැහැ. මාක්ස්වාදීන් බොහෝ දෙනෙක්ට 'පන්තිය'අමතක වෙලා. ඒ කියන්නේ තමන්ගේ පන්තිය විතරක් නෙවෙයි, 'පන්තිය'කියන කාරණය අමතක වෙලා. වාමාංශික බැජ් එකට මොකද්දෝ උපාදානයක් තියෙන නිසා හෝ එක ෆැෂන් සිම්බල් එකක් කියල හිතන නිසා 'අරගල ලයිසන්'එක බේරගන්න වගේ එක එක ප්‍රොජෙක්ට් හදා ගෙන 'අරගල'කියල හිතන එක එක දේවල් කරනවා. ධනවාදය ට එරෙහිව වැලි කැටයක් වත් ගහන්නේ නැහැ. අවශ්‍ය නැතුව ඇති. නැත්තම් ඒ ප්‍රොජෙක්ට් එක අතහැරලා ඇති. එහෙමත් නැත්තම් අමතක වෙලා ඇති.

ජාතිය ඔලුව උද තියාගෙන කොඩි වන්න, අතපය දිග හරින, යටිගිරියෙන් කෑගහන අය ට ජාතිය කියන්නේ මොකද්ද කියල තමන්ගෙන්ම අහන්න අමතක වෙලා වගේ. වික්ටෝරියානු සංස්කෘතිය 'සිංහල බෞද්ධකම'කියල දැඩිව විශ්වාස කරන මේ අයගේ වචනයේ සහ ක්‍රියාවේ ගැබ් ව ඇති සිංහලකම සහ බෞද්ධකම අල්පයි කියල වෙලාවකට හිතෙනවා. දෙමළ ජාතිකවාදීන්ටත් මේ වගේ ලෙඩක් තියෙන බව පෙනෙනවා. 'අපේකම'නැත්තම් 'ජාතිය'ආරක්ෂා කරන්න නම් මේ වගේ දේවල් වල සැබෑ අර්ථය තේරුම් ගන්න ඕන. ඒත් ඒක අමාරු වැඩක්. හරියට වාමාංශිකයින් ධනවාදය පරාජය කරනවා වගේ දෙයක්. ඉතින් ඒ කාරණය අමතක කරලා ඒ වෙනුවට මොකෙක් හරි හතුරෙක් 'හඳුනාගෙන'ඒ හතුරට හිටු කියල නෙලනවා.

කපුගේ ගේ සිංදුවක පදයක් මතක් වෙනවා -- 'අපි අසරණ වෙලා වගේ හිතට දැනෙනවා, බුදුහාමුදුරුවනේ.' මෙහෙම කිව්වොත් වඩා හොඳයි කියල හිතෙනවා 'අපට අප අමතක වෙලා වගේ හිතට දැනෙනවා.' පොඩි අවුලක් තියෙනවා, මොකද හිතට දැනෙනවා නම් මතක් කර ගන්න මහන්සි වෙන්න ඕන නේ. එහෙම එකක් නම් පේන්නේ නැහැ.

මාක්ස්වාදීන් මාක්ස් හඳුනන්නේ නැහැ. පශ්චාත් මාක්ස්වාදීන් මෙන්ම පශ්චාත් නූතනවාදීන් අදාළ ග්‍රන්ථ කියවන්නේ නැහැ. කොහෙන් හරි අහුලගත්ත නැත්තම් 'අරයා මෙහෙම කිව්වා,''මෙයා මෙහෙම කිව්වා'වගේ කතන්දර කියන අයගේ ලොකු කතා වමාරන එක 'අධ්‍යයනය'කියල හිතනවා මිසක් මුල් කෘති කියවන්නේ නැහැ. අමාරුයි නේ. ඒ නිසා ඒ අනිවාර්ය අභ්‍යාසය අමතක කරලා දානවා. සටන්පාඨ වලින් ගොඩ යන්න බලනවා. දෝංකාර මන්දිරවල නම් ගොඩ යනවා. මහපොළොවේ වෙනසක් ඇතිවෙන්නේ නැහැ.

ඇත්තටම අමතක වෙනවද, නැත්තම් අමතක කිරීම නිර්වින්දකයක් ද? විවේචනය පහසු වුනත් ස්වයංවිවේචනය අපහසුයි. ඒ නිසාද මේ 'තෝරලා බේරලා අමතක කරන'උපක්‍රමය මේ තරම් සුලභ? අන්තිමට හිනාවෙන්නේ කවුද? අපි හමොමද, නැත්තම් මේ සියලු අමතකවීම් වල ආධාරයෙන් තක්කඩිකම් කරන කොටස් ද?

මතට තිත කෙසේ වෙතත් මතකයට තිත තියන්න පුදුම වෙහෙසක් ගන්න දේශපාලන සමාජයක අපි ජීවත් වෙන්නේ. 'වසන්තය අත ලඟයි'කියන අය අමතකකිරීම් ජාලයක පැටලිලා කියල වෙලාවකට හිතෙනවා. අමතක වීම සහ අමතක කිරීම ඉතුරු කරන්නේ ගහක් කොලක් නැති නිසරු බිමක්. ඒ පොලොවට නිල්ල ගෙනෙන එකම වැස්ස මතක් කිරීමයි.

කොහෙන්ද ආවේ, කොහෙද ඉන්නේ, කොහාට යන්න කියලද පටන්ගත්තේ, කොහෙටද ඇවිත් ඉන්නේ වගේ දේවල් අපි අපෙන්ම ඇහුවොත් හොඳයි කියල හිතෙනවා. ඒ වගේ ප්‍රශ්න අහන්න මතක් වෙන්නේ කලාතුරකින්.

Teddy Ameresekere offers a pithy and pertinent elaboration of the meaning of dementia: ‘The former regime has forgotten why they were chased out and the present can’t remember why they were elected.’

Those who believed or were hopeful that the yahapalanists would bring about ‘change’ are largely silent. Some have resolved to dwell on small gains and talk about better times to come. The more honest criticize the Government, urging it to do better. In Sinhala they say that’s like believing one can obtain feathers from tortoises.

As for those who are against this Government, they ask tongue-in-cheek, ‘වෙනස සැපද?’ (is the change pleasing?). Implies is that ‘change’ was for the worse and not better. This, however, is not true.

The 19th Amendment was a joke. The Right to information Act was not. That was an important ‘honeymoon period dividend’. However, if you are talking about corruption, embezzlement abuse of state resources, infringement on the freedom of expression, use of police brutality, suppression of democratic rights, crippling of the judiciary, legislative subterfuge, abuse of power and authority and so on, then there’s no ‘venasa’.

The ‘achievements’ of this Government in close to just three years is appalling and alarming. It’s almost like a repeat of the previous regime, but fast-tracked.

Teddy is both write and wrong, and moreover his observation, classic though it is, is incomplete. Simply, the ‘why’ of it is irrelevant to politicians. In the first case, the defeated will attribute defeat to reasons other than those Teddy probably thought of — deficiencies (which the yahapalanists, Teddy believes, were serious about correcting). In the latter case, clearly rhetoric exceeded intention by quite a margin.

This does not mean that there’s been no ‘forgetting,’ however, and that’s the missing part in Teddy’s claim: ‘The people forget that those who they elect forget those who elected them.’

We have always elected ‘known devils.’ Only the utterly innocent and the fiercely loyal would believe the parties they’ve helped bring to power were angels. Some might think ‘relatively better’ and might even say it if they were honest. For the most part we’ve pressed the ‘default button.’

This is true of the ‘Yahapalana Option’ as well. That ‘move’ was led by individuals such as Chandrika Kumaratunga, Ranil Wickremesinghe and Rajitha Senaratne, none of whom are angels or seen as such. And then there is Maithripala Sirisena, a senior member of the previous regime. The Premadasa Excuse (‘I was nothing more than a peon’) doesn’t really hold.

So, what this all means, is that the people either knew and didn’t care or they forget easily. They forgot the track records of those they voted for and they forget that you can’t get feathers from tortoises.

And it’s not just about elections, electing and the elected. Those determined to protect or spread a doctrine (be it Buddhism, Islam, Christianity or Marxism) appear to have forgotten the basic tenets relevant to their preferences. Substance is readily (and even consciously?) subsumed by label. And so we can ask those who style themselves as defenders of the Sinhala Buddhists what their ‘Sinhalaness’ is and what kind of ‘Buddhism’ do they obtain from to justify word and action. We can ask similar questions from evangelical zealots peddling their version of ‘Christianity’ and from those espousing ‘Radical Islam’. We can ask why Marxists and Leftists in general don’t talk of class and are so reluctant to criticize capitalism (leave alone taking it head on!). Marxists might wonder why workers lack working class consciousness. Some might ask if the bourgeoisie knows its class interest. And some might remember the following paragraph in the Communist Manifesto:

“The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honoured and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage labourers.… All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober sense, his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.”

Well, one must question the claim of compulsion considering all the forgetting, real or feigned, alluded to above. Perhaps, one can interject, that it is ‘sober sense’ that produces the dementia that Teddy refers to. Perhaps it is an acquired or imposed sense of helplessness that makes people appear to be slothful in analysis and decision, to deliberately forget, if you will.

True reasons and confessions notwithstanding we have come to or pushed towards a state of ‘making do’ or appear to have arrived at that unhappy place.

On the other hand, since we are taking from Marx and Engles here, just as we are conditioned by circumstances, we can shape the circumstances as well.

We have hit a wall and we hit it a long time ago ladies and gentlemen. And we keep banging our heads against it. Perhaps it is time to look for ways around it. That wall could be many things or be made of many things, but a key element of it is the party system as we have it in this country and a political culture of self-delusion come election time pushing us to opt for ‘default’ and to think politics begin with the announcement of an election and ends with the declaration of winner(s).

It is time to start remembering. Let us remember that the villains who ruled and rule exchanging places and visiting cards as per changed circumstances are not interested in remembering the people in any serious manner. They don’t represent and are not interested in representing the citizenry.

Let us remember to forget, then. Let us remember to forget these usurpers of franchise and desecraters of sovereignty. Let us remember that recovery of such things is our business. Let’s get serious about our business. Let’s forget those who arrogantly and with intention of deceit wear the messiah badge are essentially (as history has shown) are not interested in leading the masses to any ‘promised land’ of any kind of verdancy.

Let us shed our various dementias. Let us opt out.

Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer. Email: malindasenevir@gmail.com.

A tribute to Sybil Wettasinghe on her 90th birthday

Fifteen years ago, after interviewing this grand old lady who is forever young, I called my wife and said, "parana yaluvek hambuna"(I met an old friend). “Sybil,” I added. She was thrilled. Neither of us had met her before. Years later, we would, along with our two daughters, but she was nevertheless ‘an old friend,’ a part of our growing up and a part of the growing up of our daughters.

And we are not alone. She’s been the aunt thousands have never met but who nevertheless were touched by her. She’s given us all joy and laughter, magic and nostalgia. Most important, she breathes life into that creature called ‘Child Within’ that everything in life seems determined to destroy.

It had been the then Head Master of Royal Primary, H.D. Sugathapala, who first commissioned her to illustrate ‘Nava Maga Standard 5 Reader’ after seeing some of her drawings at an exhibiton at the Art Gallery submitted by her father. Martin Wickramasinghe had recognized her potential and this paved the way for a job at Lankadeepa. Then she got to illustrate folk poems every staurday and still later to illustrate Sooty Banda’s articles and short stories for ‘The Times.’ She subsequently joined Lake House where she got to illustrate an entire page.

The editor of ‘Janatha,’ Denzil Peiris, having discovered that Sybil had a penchent for story-telling following a chance opportunity courtesy a co-worker falling ill, got her to write. She wrote ‘Kuda Hora’ (Umbrella Thief), a story that has since been published in 13 countries.

She’s come a long way since then. One could also say, she’s not moved, that she’s been where she was and who she was through all these years. Her story is not an article. It is a book and the part of it that she wrote (until the mid-nineties) won her the Gratiaen Award in 1995 (‘The Child in me’). Her story is a thesis. It is a history of literature for children, a handbook for the aspiring writer and illustrator and a trace of the nation’s cultural sensibility.

How can a single story delight children across time? How can a single story-teller continue to delight an individual with ‘children’s stories’ long after that individual has moved from child to adult? It has to be someone who is in touch with the earth, its creatures and processes, someone who knows intimately the secrets of the sensibilities of her social context, is rooted in cultural soils and can at will stretch out arms and embrace the universe. That’s Sybil.

How can someone write what is in word and illustration quintessentially ‘Sinhala’ and yet have it resonate in someone to whom ‘Sinhala’ and ‘Sri Lanka’ are absolutely foreign? Such a person must know intimately the secrets of the human condition and its most salient commonalities. That’s also Sybil.

Sybil described, describes and will continue to describe the world is ways that are unforgettable. She informed, informs and will continue to inform that there’s so much delight to be obtained from ordinary things. She has given the humble a form and opened eyes to recognize it in ourselves and our fellow creatures.

"When I was a child, the world around me seemed a more fresh, nicer and a more beautiful place. This is why my childhood, in my rustic village home, seems to me, a long, beautiful dream. Then people semed to live as warmhearted human beings giving out love and affection, caring for one another with a kindred togetherness. Enchanting recollections from those days keep pouring out of my heart, mingled with love towards all those lovable country folk.”

That’s a nostalgic statement anyone can make. Sybil Wettasinghe doesn’t stop there whereas most would. She adds this: “It is an experience too precious to be kept within me.”

There are those among us who want to share. And then there are those who can. Sybil Wettasinghe falls into the latter category.

She is or rather her work is probably among ‘earliest memories’ for thousands of people. Her words don’t age. Her illustrations don’t fade.

The last time I visited her she took me to her ‘work station.’ Her drawing book was full of ink marks. There were names, numbers and notes, all laid out neatly.

She loves this room. She loves the way the sunlight streams into the room in the evening. She said something which was simple, profound and unforgettable, much like most of her work: ‘When I am alone I become my friend and I feel so beautiful!’

At 90 she is still as full of wonderment as she had been when she was “a child and the world seemed more fresh, nicer and a more beautiful place.”

She wrote and illustrated children’s stories. In doing so she showed pathways to childhood and wonderment that are not forbidden to anyone, regardless of age, location or cultural histories. She keeps the world young and that perhaps is the secret of her enduring youthfulness.

I was gifted two books last week: 'Hithopadeshaya nokee kavi'(Poetry not found in the Hithopadesha) and 'Digu patu manpeth' (Long and narrow pathways). The first, a maiden collection of verse by veteran Divaina journalist Chandrasiri Dodangoda and the other a verse-illustration 'mix' (musuwa) by well known poet Thanjuja Dharmapala and equally well-known illustrator/artist, Shantha K. Herrath. They were gifted by Shantha, who had illustrated both collections and designed the book covers. They were not given for review as is usually the case with book-gifts from authors/publishers.

This is not a review of either or both but a few words would not be out of place. First, Dodangoda, my friend and former colleague, a soft-spoken, lovely individual: he has written a wonderful introduction titled Kaviyeku novoo kaviyekuge satahana (A note from a poet who is not one). Brutally honest with himself, 'Dodan' admits that he always wanted to be a poet but that's what had eluded him all his life. He therefore submits the book to the reader with trepidation. He ends his note with this beautiful thought:

'Long years ago, when still a child, I wrote my first poem. It was for my little sister, who had died. Although I no longer even remember her face, at this moment when I publish a book of poetry, I remember my little sister.'

That 'Dodan' couldn't really turn this or any of the poignant thoughts that touch his sensibilities into verse is not a tragedy. It is not his genre, that's all. He has strived, yes, and this needs to be appreciated. He has been honest about it and this too needs to be saluted. He has got his rhyme right, the elisamaya is perfect, but rhyme doesn't necessarily give rhythm and words in neat lines do not necessarily constitute poetry. Now had he taken those thoughts and wrote some essays, they would have been excellent, I feel. Instead, we have Shantha's illustrations appearing to be, by default, the poetry that Dodan's 'poetry' is not.

The Thanuja- Shantha combination on the other hand was exquisite. I know that it is hard to write poetry as comment on a line-drawing, especially not on something conjured up by Shantha. What would have happened was the reverse. And yet, this is not 'illustration'. Shantha is not rendering into art something that has been expressed in words, but is commenting on it and in the process elevating and/or giving fresh and new meaning. The overall effect is extremely potent.

Let me give one example.

"වෙනදාට අහස බැලූ මල් පෙති
මල පර වූ දා පටන්
බලන්නේ ම
පොළොව දෙස .."

The flower that looks upon sky

from the first moment of wilting

looks (forlornly) at the earth.

The word 'forlorn' or derivative thereof is absent in the verse, but it captured in illustration in a manner that persuades the reading gaze to consider all the universes projected by the relevant metaphors.

This essay is not a review. The books urged me to write about something else. Illustrations. Shantha K. Herrath's illustrations. Shantha, like 'Dodan' was a former colleague at Upali Newspapers Ltd. I knew him through his illustrations. He gave that newspaper a shape, an identity and it didn't matter that I did not notice his signature or knew his name. That took some time to learn; readers don't notice bylines, after all. It was after I joined the Sunday Island that I was accorded a full view of the man's artistic versatility. I saw his cartoons. I saw him 'do' layouts. I saw his illustrations, how he made stories jump out of the copy or added a subtle enhancing element that did not intrude.

In an early interview (I believe in 2002) to promote an exhibition of his work, Shantha told me he considered himself a student and that his exhibition a learning-process. As 'illustrator' the tag he got was 'applied artist'. That would flow from a restricted definition, I believe. Graphics, cartoons, visual art, commercial art, installation and illustration are all different genres within the larger canvass that's called 'art' and those who could be called true connoisseurs would not belittle one over the other for it would be akin to saying that oil paintings are always superior to acrylic, colour to black and white, impressionist to cubism etc. The superior item stands out of medium and other 'frames'.

I wanted to see more. Shantha obliged. When I visited his home in Pannipitiya a few days ago, Shantha said he had designed more than 300 book covers over the past twenty years. The quality of reproduction and the dulling effect of time had taken inevitable toll, but not so much that one could not recognize that illustration was not just translation into line, space and colour a capture-all titled made of a few words.

It was more. And it had the creative strength and expressive weight to stand on its own outside the confines of 'Cover'. If, for example, one took the cover-illustration of Monica Ruwanpathirana's 'Angulimaalage sihinaya' (Angulimala's Dream), it has so many expressive elements, line-space blends and a many-dimensionality that would warrant comment by someone far more competent than I in the matter of art appraisal.

This is true of many of his book covers as well as the illustrations he has produced for individual poems in some of the books he showed me. The book covers do the work they are required to do; they jump at us saying 'purchase!' The illustrations within do something else: 'read me too' they say, the emphasis being on the last word. I went through Dodan's book pretty fast. I floated through the Thanuja-Shantha collaboration. I returned to Dodan's book and did not see a single word in the text; but read a universe in the black and white communications inserted by Shantha. I even felt, for a moment, that I understood art. Finally.

I had more than a dozen books to look at. I haven't had time to read them. I looked at the covers. They compel me to read them all. The early illustrations, like those sketched for poems written by Yamuna Malini Perera (her 'Nayata gath saajjaya' or 'Party on rent') indicate the promise of Shantha's 'experimentation' with the genre but suffer from terrible reproduction.

The illustrations in Ashoka Weerasinghe's 'Abhinikmanata Pera' (Before the departure) are bold and confident and indicate a maturing. His sketches for Buddhadasa Galappaththi's 'Nim nethi thunyama' to my mind, salvage what is not the poet's best effort. The illustrations for a book titled 'The Valley Below' (English translations of selected poems by the same poet) illustrate Shantha's relentless fascination with exploration. He's not being. He is becoming. There's movement from the original Sinhala to the transliterated English.

We are living in a world where word is not enough, some feel. There has to be image. On the other hand, we do know that some, for example, Mahagama Sekera, Simon Navagaththegama, Jayatillaka Kammellaweera and Ariyawansa Ranaweera, painted and photographed with words, such was their mastery over language. We know that there are others, like Dodangoda who can paint with words, but only when employed to produce prose and that when they try poetry, they need a Shantha K Herrath to rescue them. Then we come across a book like 'Digu patu manpeth' and we know it's not always about this or that, black or white, but blend is possible and that neither white nor black is lost is each enhanced in juxtaposition and in union. In this book, there is flourish, but not the kind of finality that makes one read/gaze and close the thought-book, but a soft brush stroke that coaxes us to reflect, on word, line and other things too.

Some day, some student of art, will no doubt go through the Divaina archives and also the other newspapers Shantha was associated with, The Island, Mawbima and now Lakbima, and trace the development of his line drawings. Theses might be written too. Someone will say something more conclusive than I could ever say about his versatility. He has already made a mark. He's busy honing it, I can see.

[First published in the Sunday Observer, July 25, 2010]

See also

‘It is another disease you do not have in Moscow: hunger,’ Doctor Zhivago is made to say in the excellent screen adaptation of Boris Pasternak’s classic novel. Zhivago, who has just been told that officially there was no tuberculosis in the city, as decreed by the Soviet Government, makes this wry observation upon examining a sick child.

A lot of things don’t exist, ‘officially’ speaking. Poverty, for example. And of course its usual accomplices, hunger, malnutrition, stunting among children, an increasing school-dropout rate, unemployment and underemployment, increased incidence of crime and environmental degradation. Likewise, inefficiency is seldom acknowledged as an endemic and serious malady in state institutions. Corruption is often treated the same way. They are referred to, of course, but typically get summarily swept under the proverbial carpet.

Officially, things are great. The cricket team is covering itself in glory, the LTTE is on the run both here and abroad, opposition MPs are siding with the ruling party indicating governance-confidence, trade union unrest swiftly dealt with and economic growth is making people starry-eyed. Unofficially, the man or woman in the street will tell you, things are bad.

A doctor’s report on the health of the state would read like this: the government is in reactive mode; has no perceivable plan to resolve the issue of terrorism or the ‘ethnic-issue’ to the extent that it is believed to exist, either through negotiation or militarily liquidating the LTTE; shows no sign of pursuing the project called Good Governance by way of rectifying or compensating for the flaws of the 17th Amendment; lacks a cogent and sustainable development strategy; is faced with a widening gap between rhetoric and practice and is facing a rising tide of discontent from all quarters.

Let us leave aside the tough issues, those anto-jata, bahee-jata ones. The man or woman in the street will tell us that the primary issue is getting food on the table; in a word, inflation. The President knows that the stomach is a tough customer and more irksome than, say, Prabhakaran. This is probably why he came up with the Budget Shop idea. One shop, in Rajagiriya, opened with much pomp and speeches. Just one. Just not enough.

There is, of course, nothing startling about providing essentials at wholesale prices. This was what the CWE and the MPCSs were all about. It was not about one ‘budget shop’ but an island-wide network of budget shops; a simple, replicable, time-tested idea that has worked in other countries but didn’t work here. That is not correct, actually. In Sri Lanka they were not allowed to work. In short, the politician subverted the cooperative.

The world talks about the state or public sector and the private sector as though nothing can exist outside these domains. ‘Cooperatives,’ however do not belong to either category. The dominant development paradigms talk of private property and public property but forget common property. The experts tell us about state enterprise and private enterprise but say nothing about social enterprise. They will not tell us that cooperatives work and work better for communities under certain circumstances, that there is greater efficiency, transparency and accountability in such models.

The average householder has a problem. He/she cannot balance the budget. The welfarist will tell us that the state must intervene. The neo-liberal will whisper ‘let the free market handle it.’ The former is about patronage, the latter about profit. In both cases, a lot slips through the fingers. In human terms, there will always be those who will be left behind, either because they wear the wrong political colour or because the structures are not compatible with the term ‘all-inclusive.’ Where do they go? Those in and around Rajagiriya have the Budget Shop. There are millions of others. We ask again, ‘where can they go?’

It is in this context that the ‘Multi-Purpose Cooperative Society’ appears as a viable proposition. It is an idea that fits in well with the latest development theories of participation, distribution, access, transparency and accountability if properly constituted. The problem with your local MPCS is that Co-operative Societies Law No. 5 of 1972, its amendment in 1992 and the interjections of the 13th Amendment do not include protection from political interference. Recommendations offered by a commission appointed to investigate the problems of the cooperative sector are gathering dust.

Admittedly, revisiting the legislative enactments pertaining to cooperatives and instituting appropriate amendments will not resolve all the swept-under-the-carpet problems. Such intervention, on the other hand, can help establish a distribution network that cushions the consumer from inflation. A strong cooperative sector will have additional benefits for local communities and local economies and, as current development theory argues, has an important role to play for those who do not find it easy either to supply to the market or demand from it.

Governments and elected officials have the privilege to deny and the power to ensure that denial is effective in the farthest corners of the island. There is, however, a thing called the household stomach. It is less amenable to digest the lie than is the mind. It will not be denied. Pastenak’s Moscow is still another country and far away from your average household. We can get there fast, though. The way things are going, that Moscow, like it or not, might well be well on its way to Sri Lanka. Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to say that it could make a pincer-like assault on the comfort zone called ‘the middle class’ sometime in the not-too-far-away future.

It is the time not for sexy ideas, but workable ones. A reconsideration of a simple and effective device such as the MPCS with its obvious flaws corrected through appropriate amendment of the laws, cannot harm, we humbly submit.

['The Nation' editorial, July 30, 2006]

The term ‘devolution’ has an interesting Sinhala translation that makes for word play:

බලය බෙදීම (balaya-bedeema, literally ‘dividing power’). Now bedeema in Sinhala can refer to division as well as distribution. Hence the caustic observation on the current crisis pertaining to fuel distribution, “බලය බෙදන්න ඉස්සෙල්ල තෙල් ටික බෙදන්න (before you distribute/devolve power, distribute fuel!” There’s a more cynical version of this: “ තෙල් බෙදන්න බැරි අය බලය බෙදන්න කතා කරන එක විහිළුවක් (It is funny when those who cannot distribute fuel talk of distributing/devolving power).”

Jokes and wordplay aside, we should not make mountains out of molehills nor reduce mountains to molehills either for that matter. Fuel shortages are not uncommon. What’s strange however is the fact that a government that is supposedly corporate-friendly and is, as were previous governments since 1977, thick-as-thieves with the corporate sector (not just on account of the Bond Scam) appears ignorant of basic capitalist notions such as risk-aversion, buffer stocks and insurance.

There’s a communications deficit as well. The truth was not revealed. The nature of the problem was not communicated. Measures to arrest the artificial spike in demand due to rumours (again fed by official silence) came late and, again, weren’t communicated effectively. There’s navel gazing and passing the blame buck around. Adds up to gross incompetence and irresponsibility.

Still, it’s not the end of the world and hardly something big enough to bring down a regime. If things stabilize, it would be little more than a hiccup in the overall flow of the political process. At the end it might prove to be what it truly is — another one of those ‘crises’ typical of capitalism, manageable, forgettable and forgotten until the next one comes along.

In other words, nothing more and nothing less than a distraction. Distraction from what, though?

There’s the budget, due to be read this week. No one’s talking about it. There’s constitutional reform, talked of as the crucial exercise that would, according to its backers, deliver reconciliation, slay all the ghosts of the past and finally enable the country to move forward. No one’s talking about it. There’s also the Central Bank Bond Scam, the investigations and the all-important testimony of the Prime Minister. No one’s talking about it.

The petrol scarcity cannot be called a deliberate construct of a government desperate to distract the public from the important issues mentioned above. It helps, though.

The government is muddling along with constitutional reform, this is clear. The government is muddling along with the Central Bank Bond Scam, this is clear. Whether or not Mangala Samaraweera will muddle through with his ‘Mangala Budget’ we are yet to see. The term ‘muddling through’ might indicate ‘with difficulty’ and that would be a positive.

On the other hand, considering all factors, ‘muddling through’ may be the best option for the regime. This happens when people promise what they cannot or do not want to deliver and therefore have to ‘make a show’ of delivery so that at some point, after much huffing and puffing, something small can result and celebrated as a massive victory for the people, for democracy. To be fair, the Right to Information Act was not a small victory, it is big. Put that in bold type and upper case.

How about electoral reform then? How about the Attorney General misleading the Speaker, who later all but acknowledged he was hoodwinked and expressed hope that the Supreme Court would rectify matters? In April 2015, Maithripala Sirisena thundered from an SLFP platform that the 20th Amendment would be tabled, debated and passed. The Maithripala-Ranil regime has muddled along on this electoral reform track with nothing to show so far. The Elections Commissioner himself has expressed grave concerns about the postponement of local government elections. A government that is scared to test the pulse of the voter through an election at the grassroots does not have the moral authority to talk about protecting/enhancing democracy.

Muddling is also evident in constitutional reform pertaining to reconciliation. It began with a steering committee made of federalists engaged in an exercise designed to deliver a predetermined outcome rather than a dispassionate assessment of points of view producing a debate-wrought result. Naturally, the ‘interim report’ is federalist in substance. The state media is promoting this report and is conspicuously silent on the other 8 reports submitted by way of comment by interested parties including the Sri Lanka Freedom Party and the Joint Opposition. One cannot help but wonder if this trashable-document was submitted just so it would be trashed as deserved so that certain communities can blame the outcome on the intransigence of the majority community instead of naming the true culprit: a pernicious regime lacking political will of any kind on any subject except political survival.

And then there’s the Bond Scam. As has been pointed out, an old woman who ‘robbed’ 3 magoes from a fruit-laden tree was fined and imprisoned whereas those who abused office, cost the Treasury and made billions, are being treated with kids’ gloves.

The petrol crisis will pass, no doubt. Perhaps another crisis will be manufactured or else will pop up as is inevitable. They may distract. The bond scam issue will not go away. Constitutional-tinkering by federalists, with federalists and for fedaralists will not go unnoticed.

The duplicity, incompetence, arrogance and anti-people character of this regime will not be hidden. It’s too sore a thumb. It’s sticking out. It is unmistakable. It can and will be named. It may even be shamed.

Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer. malindasenevi@gmail.com. www.malindawords.blogspot.com

He was the uncrowned king of our profession. For breadth of knowledge on a myriad of subjects, keenness of perception, genius in articulation, versatility (he wrote with equal skill in both Sinhala and English), self-effacing demeanor, soft ways even in hard expression, fidelity to principles and an overall life practice that eschewed personal gain, Ajith Samaranayake was unmatched.

Ajith has been profiled elsewhere in The Nation and so we shall skip the biographical details save to mention that he was not one to roll out his curriculum vitae at every opportunity. Much of what he has been and done will no doubt be revealed now, as is often the case with such people.

He once remarked that those who read newspapers are apt to believe that journalists are the best people on earth, pure at heart and utterly selfless. He pointed out that those who work in newspapers know that this is a scandalous lie.

Ajith was an exception. In a profession where petty-mindedness, propensity to sell oneself cheap, sycophancy and other things no one can be proud of abound, Ajith was in many ways an anomaly.

He was in fact, an adornment that served to hide a lot of ugliness. There would naturally be those who disagreed with him ideologically, but no one will dispute the fact that Ajith Samaranayake single-handedly redeemed our profession, true to his one time alias, Aravinda, a lotus rooted in mediocre-mud but blooms resplendent about the water.

He acquainted himself with the key figures of our time, the ideologues, the artistes, the professionals and didn’t treat with less respect the ordinary men and women he would meet. He was ‘left’ ideologically and the humanitarian roots of the Marxist school were very apparent in his approach to subject; personality, event and metaphor. Some would argue no doubt, so too the theoretical flaws and general unease of theory with reality. To his credit he had the patience to suffer those of different ideological persuasion and articulate his position with clarity, logic and a creativity that was rare among his contemporaries.

He stood, sometimes, with people on the basis of agreement with stated ideological position, even when position was more dependent on benefits that accrue rather than conviction. This was Ajith’s innocence. He, on the other hand, never profited and never sought to either.

As was pointed out by Charitha Herath, consultant to the Media Ministry, recently, Ajith, in character, persuasion and other things, belongs to a tragic group of exceptionally talented people, among whom were the likes of Simon Navagaththegama, Newton Gunasinghe and Gunadasa Kapuge. They chose to live life in a particular way and exercised choice in the manner of death as well. They may or may not have known their true worth but were not seekers of accolade or material benefit. Perhaps we were collectively not worthy to benefit from Ajith’s genius.

His pen was less prolific in his last years but he was still very present in the relevant fora. No one ever stopped him, regardless of ideological difference. Simply, he spoke his views and was never a purchased mouthpiece for anyone.

Ajith Samaranayake enriched us. He leaves us impoverished. And even naked, one might add. That perhaps might not be a bad thing, all factors considered.

Yesterday the journalist fraternity bade goodnight to its prince, to the person most eminently qualified to carry the title ‘uncommonly common man’. He would not want lament but perhaps would be agreeable to raising a toast to a time that has passed and a time those who are yet to arrive might have reason to celebrate.

Cheers Ajith!

[This was 'The Nation' editorial of November 26, 2006}

No, this is not about President Maithripala Sirisena's private life. This was the editorial I wrote for 'The Nation' (June 11, 2006).

Standing ground in the rain during Independence Day Celebrations is easy....they weathered much more over many years

There is nothing more unhappy for a nation and its front line defender, the soldier, than a war. Both nation and soldier would rather not fight but that, unhappily, is not a choice for a people who are not willing to surrender to invasion.

It is said, and not without cause, that no one loves war less than a soldier. This is why the likes of Wilfred Owen wrote about the pathos and futility of war. ‘What passing bells for those who die as cattle?’ they ask. And answer: ‘only the monstrous anger of the guns, only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle can patter out their hasty orisons’.

War is not a happy thing and no one knows its unhappiness more than the warrior. This is something that the civilian understands only marginally even if he or she is a direct recipient of war-related loss. But even those who are fortunate to be distant to these horrors do understand something and this is why we celebrate the soldier on the seventh day of June, National War Heroes’ Day.

On such commemorative days we may pause to reflect on the ethic of sacrifice, notions of patriotism, the valour and commitment of the young men and women out there on the outskirts of the earthly hell that is made of landmines, snipers, suicide bombers, RPGs and other terrible instruments of death. And then, more likely than not, we push it all into a little room at the back of our minds reserved for uncomfortable, disconcerting things.

The true test of appreciation is not what we do on June the Seventh. It is how we think about the soldier and how we respond to the realities that erupt in the war zone, which as we know is not limited to the North and East, not just on this day but every day of the year as we live our relatively happier and more comfortable lives.

Are we capable of or even prepared to put ourselves in the shoes of the unknown soldier, whether he or she is in a bunker (facing sudden attack), in thick jungle (a possible victim of anti-personnel mines and sniper fire), in a patrolling vehicle (target of a claymore mine) or providing security to a VIP (and so the inevitable target of a suicide bomber)?

When a soldier stops us at a security check point, do we curse under our breath for the inconvenience or do we thank the man for doing his best to ensure our security and that of the country? Do we, at such moments, even while conceding that there is no such thing as a comprehensive, all-holes-barred security net (think 9/11 or 7/7), acknowledge that if these men and women were not there the chances of terrorist infiltration and the magnitude of the subsequent attack would be a hundred times greater? Do we murmur a prayer for their safety? Do we feel a pang of shame for not having the guts to do what they do, day in and day out or for having the privilege not to have to do so?

Jayatillake Bandara of ‘sadhu jana rava’ fame is fond of relating a story about a soldier who was loading the bodies of some LTTE cadres killed in a confrontation with the army. Upon seeing one body, that of a girl clearly in her early teens, he had said ‘ane pau.’ There was sympathy there, there was humanity. Wilfred Owen, we must not forget, wrote the poem ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth’ for the enemy soldier, but edited it with the help of his friend Siegfried Sassoon to make it universal.

And yet, Private Sirisena is not invincible. Neither is he a saint. He slips, he errs, and on occasion he succumbs to the dictates of the lowest regions of his sensibilities. He forgets that he has to protect all citizens irrespective of difference. He forgets that he has to exercise a kind of patience that would challenge even the stoutest heart. And we forget too.

We forget that had we been in his shoes on such occasions, we may be persuaded to do the same, to make the same mistakes, to be less of a human being. War is an unhappy thing where men and women carry out orders that inevitably result in death and destruction. It is unfair to expect that they come out of it without scars, physical and otherwise. It is only fair that we empathise. This does not amount to giving him a blank cheque. We trust and honour him, but we expect him to act with civility and responsibility in carrying out his duties.

This afternoon, you may encounter Private Sirisena on your way to the market or as you return from a party. Private Sirisena may make you a tad late for an important meeting. He may cause you much discomfort as he frisks you when entering a government office. But will you take umbrage if we ask you to tell yourself, ‘Private Sirisena may not be here tomorrow but it is more than likely that I will pass this way again, and in some small way, the reason I am here, the reason my children have me or I have my lover is because he is prepared to go and I am not’?

Footprints fascinate me. They speak of journeys and personalities. They speak of histories, made and obliterated.

A few days ago, on the hot sands just beyond the Muhudu Maha Viharaya where legend has it that the princess Vihara Maha Devi disembarked after being put out to sea and probable death by her father, King Kelanitissa, on account of having committed the cardinal sin of murdering a bikkhu and consequently invoking the anger of the gods who unleashed mayhem upon his kingdom. That story has many interpretations which we need not discuss here. In any event the vessel carrying the princess is supposed to have come ashore at this place, now believed to be the ‘Kirinde’ of the Mahawamsa.

I did not see any footprints. Just the sand dunes that protected the historical site from the tsunami. Soft lines mimicking the waves, drawn intricately by movement of wind. Hot sands that burnt.

I wanted to write about the footprints that time has erased, those of the princess, about the tiny feet of a child who must have been traumatized. The tiny feet that grew with time and the paths they walked later, as Queen and Queen Mother. As wife of Kavantissa, among most accomplished political strategists, and as mother of Dutugemunu, the errant but eventually victorious benefactor of Kavantissa’s foresight. As heroine in her own right.

I wanted to write about Ven. Katharagama Sirirathana, the Chief (and sole) incumbent of the Magul Maha Vihara, resisting encroachment by Muslim residents and neglected so thoroughly by a nation and a community that he could say with a wry smile ‘On April 14th, a day when kiribath is cooked in all corners of the country, I could only eat bread’. I wanted to write about his footprints and his soles. About the textural signature of invading feet. About the solitude of a solitary and unarmed warrior.

I wanted to write about the footprints of those who did not arrive and those who never left. I even wanted to write about the sands, the shifting, enveloping, erasing sands, harsh, burning sands at noon, about the cool water-brushed, sunset-laden sands at twilight. I am sure I could have come up with a decent enough piece about these things, but I cannot.

I cannot because a few hours ago I saw a picture of a father carrying a child. A dead child. A murdered child. And I want to write about that child, unnamed as yet, an anonymous entity to all except family and neighbour, anonymous in life but so articulate in death. A child whose photograph I do not have the heart to illustrate this article with.

I do not know the name of that child and the fact makes me cry. I cry because I don’t know where he has left his footprint. I don’t know the name of the universe his imagination would have let him explore. I don’t know what unthinking sands erased the tiny footprints of his exploration. I don’t know where he may have walked and what other footprints may have been companion to his as he went from child to youth to middle-aged, old and child again.

If it were possible, I would take the sands he walked on, real and imagined, literary and metaphorical, and I would put it all in a vial made of dream and sunset, laughter and pain, birdsong and butterfly wings, wind and pollen, and I would call it ‘hope’. Or maybe ‘love.’

It is not possible.

A footprint has been erased and time had nothing to do with it. And I think I will have trouble walking home. I will not be able to look at my two little girls. There is no blood on my hands. There is sand.

[Published in 'The Nation,' June 18, 2006]

Former World Chess Champion Anatoly Karpov once wrote a book titled Chess if my life. Viktor Korchnoi who challenged him twice and lost (in Baguio City, ] 1978 and in Meran, 1981) also wrote a biography with the same title. Most top chess players if asked what their life is all about may very well say “chess”.

That’s the way with professionals. Their lives are made of what they do. It consumes them, it gives life-breath, it empowers, generates meaning and reason to live. One can ask about childhood, adolescence, youth, middle-age and old age. One can ask about family, neighborhood and country. One can ask other things.

All things considered, one would probably conclude that such things are incidental. Good for the historian and perhaps a sociologist or anthropologist who wants to read the particular times and landscapes through the individual, but for the person concerned, if he/she is willing to talk, its just about the work.

When I saw Kitty Ritig at work I didn’t know if art was her life. All I knew was that she had meticulously conjured a perahera in the heart of one of Colombos older residential areas, Thimbirigasyaya; to be precise at a quaint restaurant on Skelton Road called Sooriya Village that is officially dedicated to art and artists of all kinds.

I saw her diligently working on a panel skirting the central part of the restaurant, interrupted by only the ornate doors of wood and glass. The panel, around five feet above the floor and maybe eight inches wide, was not there a year ago. The panel, made of wood recycled from a garage which was turned into a studio, had been put up with the idea of depicting icons in the music industry and their greatest hits. Sanchitha Wickramasooriya, the proprietor, had later decided that they should go for something more creative, something that draws from tradition but is more contemporary following the general theme of connecting past to future. And so they found a connector. Kitty Ritig.

Kitty Ritig is not high on life history. She is high on art. So lets pass on history irrelevant to art. This, then, is her Art Story.

It begins with her grandmother who was and is headstrong and independent. She was a watercolor artist in 1950s. Kitty speaks glowingly of her.

“My grandmother was an amazing teacher. She used recycling and upcycling to spark creativity in me. She taught me to paint, collage and sculpt. She had a massive collection of fairytales, folk tales and mythical legends. She painted a vibrant and fantastic world in my head from these stories. I think as a result of all this I saw a different world even in ordinary life.”

Later there had been other influences. Osho, for example. She had begun reading Osho while still in school. The lifestyle and paintings of the hermit painter Rajhu was another big influence at this stage of her life.

“Then there was a time of uncertainty whether to select painting as a career or to settle for something far more secure by way of assured income. Yet the fantastic world that my grandmother had laid foundation within me would not let me settle, but always led me to art adventures.”

In this artistic journey, one of the turning points was the period she worked as a gallery assistant at Saatchi Gallery, Chelsea, London. Exposure to contemporary art and artists from all around the world had rejuvenated the artist within her.

“Even though I practiced as an artist all my life, my art education was informal until this time. So when I came to Sri Lanka I pursued other career paths. However, at some point I came to identify that my ikigai or ‘reason for being’ was art. And so I decided to withdraw from the world and inhabit my ikigai. My husband and my religious beliefs were my biggest influences during this period.”

Her first formal art education was at the Vibhavi Academy of Fine Arts where she studied drawing and painting and started reading art history. At the same time she completed her degree at Sri Jayawardanapura University, reading English, English Literature and Methodology as writing had also been one of her earlier passions.

“I did not settle for a certain medium but experimented with many traditional such as charcoal, oils, watercolors, collage, acrylic and ink as well as with digital applications such as Photoshop and Illustrator.”

Thereafter she came out, so to speak. She came back to the 'world' in the form of art. It began with Open Brain, a biweekly event organized by Stagelessarts.com. This, she says, was her first informal exhibition. Since then she has been working as a freelance artist on various collaborative projects and commissioned works. Later she joined AMDT (Academy of Multimedia Design and Technology) Colombo as a lecturer in drawing and illustration and presently, she is studying Art History for her Masters Degree in Fine Arts at University of Kelaniya.

Kitty spoke about her work at Sooriya Village. “It was Sanchitha’s idea. He wanted Sri Lankan traditional art styles to be the main inspiration. I did my research before planning the painting. The transition from Central Kandyan School to the Southern School fascinated me. Today commercial artworks are critiqued through the lenses of European Academic Art Styles. But in the past we had these art schools which celebrated freedom and beauty while borrowing, merging and rising against stagnation."

“As an artist in Sri Lanka I find it is interesting to hybrid long- 'taken for granted' Sri Lankan concepts/legends/ideas with nowadays popular art genres/mediums. This is a long road. I have only just started walking and I hope to keep walking in the years to come.”

Kitty Ritig hasn’t exhibited her work. Yet. She has her masks and her camouflages, but her work is out there for anyone to see, admire, critique and be inspired by. She’s on instagram as @kittyritig and her Facebook page as Kitty Ritig.

She is currently based in Colombo where she lives with her husband. She believes in God and continues the sustainable lifestyle introduced by her grandmother.

“I am blessed to have good friends and not one but two families who embrace my artistic weirdness; my own family and my husband’s."

She has created an identity that makes it hard for anyone to categorize or put her in a box. Kitty, after all, is pretty nondescriptive and Ritig could place her all over the world map, everywhere and nowhere in particular.

No matter. Paintings speak for themselves and that’s what counts, she would probably say. The discipline that is necessary is apparent in the work itself. Even someone who is not really a student of this art form would immediately note the skill of the artist and her ability to express herself.

The blend is not just of colors and/or medium, but of metaphor. It tells many stories, and theres something you can take with you after a gaze-brush on the canvas. If this is just a beginning, relatively speaking, one can hope for more delight, more insight and a richer gaze-experience in the coming years.

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