Vandal No. 17 won’t get my vote

I saw a police officer this morning (September 1, 2011) trying to peel off some posters from a wall.  This was in Pamankade, between the Pamankade Bridge and the Eros Cinema Hall.  I was on my way to see my father, who lives down a lane nearby.  I don’t know if removing posters from a private wall is part of policing. Even if it was not, I felt there was some civic consciousness at work right there. 

It was clearly part of someone’s election campaign.  The line was a tease: ‘Kawda me anka 17?’ (Who is this No. 17?).  It would probably be followed by another poster with the name and face of candidate accompanying the number ‘17’.  It’s an old trick, used famously and perhaps even effectively by the late Ranasinghe Premadasa in 1988.  His teaser campaign read, ‘Me kawda, monavada karanne?’  (Who is this and what is [he] doing?’  It was followed by the inevitable braggadocio that is such a disgusting part of politics; the ‘I did this, that and the other’ kind of forward-chested strutting.  It prompted Richard De Soyza to write a play with the same line as title.  He was abducted and killed by one of the many state-sponsored vigilante groups that roamed the country around that time. 

Back in the late eighties, through the nineties and into the first years of the new millennium, ‘postering’ was largely tolerated.  This was before ‘other media’ such as the internet entered the political equation.  There was only state-run television and state-run radio stations.  Squalor was a veritable signature of the capital.  A few thousands posters on the many walls in the city was hardly worthy of comment. 

This is 2011, though.  Today, even without the controlling power of an Independent Elections Commission, it is safe to say that things have got better.  Not perfect, but better.  This is 2011 and there is less tolerance of poster boys and girls.  This is 2011 and Colombo is more beautiful that I can ever remember it being.  This is 2011 and I didn’t expect to see a candidate for the Colombo Municipal Council showing he’s dumb enough to think that indulging in visual pollution would help convince voters that he has what it takes to sort out, say, the garbage disposal problem or that he is likely to maintain cleanliness and order in the city. 

The particular poster came with a betel leaf, the party symbol of the United People’s Freedom Alliance (UPFA), and after the leader of that coalition, President Mahinda Rajapaksa himself had told all candidates to desist from ‘postering’.  No one will deny that the President’s brother, Defence Secretary Gotabhaya Rajapaksa, is doing an exceptional job in conjunction with the Urban Development Authority of beautifying and keeping the city clean.  No one will disagree that if people who dump garbage in other people’s backyards or driveways are taken to task that it is logical that action be taken against polluting politicians, regardless of party affiliation.  If the relevant authorities don’t do it, then the voter can and must.

I can’t imagine that our No. 17 is an idiot.   I imagine that Vandal No. 17 imagines that the voter is an idiot.  I imagine that No. 17 is gambling that extra visibility would be a marginal benefit that outweighs the marginal cost of invoking the ire of those who object to this kind of vandalism.  The time will come for the people of Colombo to show No 17 that this kind of gambling is outdated.   

I took the time to find out who this No. 17 is but name and party affiliation have ceased to matter.  What should matter is that No. 17 is a my-face-in-you-face kind of vandal who is playing the voter for a sucker.  No. 17 will not get my vote.   Neither will Nos 1, 8, 10, 21 etc if these individuals demonstrate over the next few weeks that they are no better than No. 17.  And that holds for any political party or independent group contesting the election for the CMC.

We can no longer afford to remain an indulgent voting population.  There’s a demand-supply principle that’s in operation here.  If we didn’t tolerate vandals, they wouldn’t be vandalizing our neighbourhoods.  There’s complicity on the part of the voter.  This we need to recognize. 

I know it’s not just about demonstrating a particular attitude towards vandalism, but before we show preference to this candidate or that, we must assess the individual on all counts.  This is basic, though.  If you can’t leave walls alone, there’s no reason to believe you won’t jump over them if you are so inclined.  That’s why No. 17 will not get my vote.  Each and every candidate must pass the basic test of whether or not he/she is given to vandalism.  No. 17 is out, as far as I am concerned. If No. 9 starts vandalizing my neighbour’s walls, then No. 9 will not get my vote either.  If, on the other hand, No. 9 steers clear of these walls, he/she will have passed the first test and will remain in contention for a preference vote.    

The policemen showed the way.  Well, he showed one way.  The voters must take the vandals off the walls, just as the good police officer did.  They must take the vandals out of the equation too.   

 [Courtesy, Daily News, September 3, 2011]

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Cpl H.R. Ratnayake won the war for us

He is known.  To family, friends and comrades-at-arms. And fellow inmates at Ranaviru Sevana.  Corporal H.R. Ratnayake hails from Dambemeda, a village located between Ratnapura and Embilipitiya.  He joined the Army on the 17^th of May, 1995.  He put his life on line for country and fellow citizen. 

I don’t know his battle-field story.I don’t know what he left behind when he joined the Army.  I don’t know what he acquired in addition to salary.  I don’t know of the rigors of training.  I know nothing of the thoughts that crossed his mind, his hopes or his fears, the bruises and the bleeding, the trials that make up battle-field experience, the heroics and his grief of losing friend and comrade. 

All I know is that his entire world went black three years later.  He was rendered totally blind by a blast on the Pranthan-Mullaitivu Road at approximately 1.00 am on the 29^th of November, 1998.  I know that a few days ago, Cpl Ratnayake won the National Chess Championship for the Visually Handicapped. 

He was introduced to the game by the ‘Anda Jana Seva Mandalaya’, the authority dedicated to serving the visually handicapped, through the good offices of the Ranaviru Sevana.  This was in the year 2000.  His teacher was Mr. Sumanapala, who was a civilian blind from birth. 

Now there are those who play blindfold chess.  They are not visually challenged in any way.  They’ve played long enough, studied thousands upon thousands of position and are therefore able to visualize the 64 squares and the potential for magic therein without any difficulty.  It is different when your first encounter with the game is through touch.  In fact, thinking about it, I feel it is impossible for someone who ‘sees’ to understand how easy or difficult it is for someone who does not. 

Cpl Ratnayake picked up the game.  It captured his imagination.  He spent hours playing and learning.  He became reasonably good at chess.  He even went to India in 2003 to participate in a 16-nation tournament, winning 4 out of the 7 games he played. 

I didn’t know of Cpl Ratnayake until a few months ago.  I didn’t know that there were many blind servicemen who played chess.  Not until a close friend of mine took me to Ranaviru Sevana to show me the amazing lives led by those who have given so much and incapacitated themselves just so we can all live limbed, seeing, hearing, fear-free lives.  It was humbling and empowering to learn about how they overcame injury, trauma and the shattering of life-dreams.  Each serviceman at the facility has an epic story.  Each story would evoke admiration, each inspire the nation to be more determined in efforts to validate, again and again, the sacrifices made by the particular individual and of course those of the thousands who have gone forever from this land and from collective memory. 

A few days before the tournament, Cpl. Ratnayake called me to clarify something.  A few days later, my friend called me.  She was excited and said that two young men from the Ranaviru Sevana, Ratnayake and Upul Indrajit had made it to the Semi-Finals.  She wanted me to talk to them.  I didn’t have much to say except a simple elaboration of ‘All the best’.  That evening, Cpl Ratnayake called me to share with me the joy of having won the event.  Indrajit finished 4^th, courtesy a mis-application of rules pertaining to time controls.  Major Dushyantha Yapa, a live wire at the Ranaviru Sevana who had helped whip up enthusiasm for the game, had lost at an earlier stage of the tournament. I am sure they shared Ratnayake’s joy. 

Cpl Ratnayake, by the way, is a 3 time National Draughts Champion (among the visually handicapped).  Speaking strictly for me, I just cannot imagine the effort and commitment that this young man must have expended to learn these games, practice, develop techniques and play well enough to emerge as champion.  I can only assume that it is this same commitment that helped this nation prevail over the world’s most ruthless terrorist outfit and that this is exactly what will help stop those who harbour insidious designs on our resources, labour, cultural preferences etc. 

The nation knows the leaders, appreciates the sacrifice, sweat and blood shed and so on.  The political leadership too.  It is easy to celebrate the collective and necessary too.   We are, nevertheless, indebted to each and every man and woman who laboured one way or another to bring us the peace and create the fear-free environment we enjoy today.  Cpl Ratnayake is one among many, yes, but let’s raise a cheer to this remarkable young man, who exemplifies those qualities that saw us through our darkest days and will save us in the future too, as they saved our ancestors and a civilization from all kinds of marauders in all kinds of disguises. 

You’ve made your wife Surangani and your 6 year old child proud of you.  All the rest of us are too. And so, Cpl Ratnayake, Sir, take a bow.  And may the 64 squares conjure more magic than meets the naked eye of us lesser mortals.   

[Courtesy, Daily News, September 2, 2011]

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So will you vote for a polluter?

Mohanlal Grero, it is reported, was upset about the impending elections for the Dehiwala-Galkissa Municipal Council.  He wanted the United National Party to keep the issue of who would be mayor open in the event of the party emerging victorious.  In other words, he was opposed to the idea of a ‘Mayor/Mayoress Designate’.   He had threatened to quit as Party Organizer if his demands were not met.  Now he says that four out of five demands have been met and the quit-threat would not be revisited until after the election was over.



Richard Pathirana and Amarasiri Dodangoda are no more, but the polluting culture they like thousands of others helped perpetuate lives on



Notably, the party leadership had not backed down on the key contention, merely assuring the aggrieved Ratmalana Organizer of the party that the Mayor Designate, if elected, would not harm the interests of the Ratmalana voters.   It is reported that this ‘successful’ conclusion of discussions was met with wild cheering and firecrackers. 

Meanwhile, most of the good ladies and gentlemen of all parties contesting the election, have demonstrated their commitment to the city whose operations they hope to oversee.  They’ve plastered the walls of private and public properties with posters.  The electorate wakes to a set of faces and a few hours later gets to see another bunch of mug shots.  Come evening, these are duly replaced by yet another bunch of Good Samaritans who believe the citizens owe them something. 

This is not new.  Elections are made of posters.  Thousands upon thousands of trees have to be cut to make the paper that is used for posters.  Some of the candidates even have the gumption to promise the voter a clean environment in the event they get elected.  Not just in Dehiwala-Galkissa, of course. 

These are local government elections.  The key word is ‘local’.  Only those who are resident in the relevant geography can contest.  If a resident needs a poster to tell his neighbours that he/she is contesting, then he/she must have been pretty much absent from the community and therefore cannot claim to know what the issues are or have solutions for the problems requiring immediate attention.  If a candidate must necessarily indulge in pollution to win some votes so that he/she can arrest pollution (for example), then that candidate is not deserving of your vote.  Also, if that candidate wins, then the voters should not complain if they find that their waste disposal problem remains unaddressed, if their children die of Dengue and other diseases that pollution and squalor help spread. 

The Colombo Municipal area has been spared all that.  So far.  Perhaps this is because the ongoing city beautification process has made people see that a clean city is not as Utopian as was thought to be and politicians, consequently, don’t want to rub the voter the wrong way with posters, cut-outs and other campaign paraphernalia.  They don’t want, perhaps, to be identified as eye-sore producers and promoters.

If this is possible in Colombo, then it is not impossible elsewhere.  It is easy to blame the candidates, but we must understand that there is a demand-supply principle in operation in the matter of electioneering.  Champika Ranawaka and Udaya Gammanpila ran effective poster-free campaigns at the General Election and Provincial Council Election respectively and were among those who polled the most preferential votes.  They were exceptions, however.    Duminda Silva won handsomely in Colombo at the General Election, even though it seemed he would not spare a single wall or lamppost.  Wimal Weerawansa was as poster-fixated.  They finished on top.  Those who finished first in all districts were similarly poster inclined.  Polluters all, yes, but we must not forget that they were rewarded nevertheless. 

It would be nice if residents came out and said, ‘poster boys and girls will not get my vote’, but people are risk-averse (as they ought to be!).   You don’t have to shout about it though.  There’s generally one or two people who either out of choice or circumstances (lack of campaign cash, for example) leave walls alone.  Every party has a few I-shall-not-pollute candidates.   If the party of choice has no one like that then it is probably time to question the worth of supporting that particular party.  It is far better to spoil your vote or at least stay at home on election day. 

As for Mohanlal Grero and the UNP, they seem to have missed the bus. It’s not about whether Sunethra Ranasinghe is good or bad.  Well, I suppose it’s important for them.  There are more pressing issues and they are all pasted on the walls.  Strange they didn’t have the eyes to see.

[Courtesy, Daily News, September 1, 2011]

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Ocean transcripts speak to me...

Over twenty years ago, one night in August, my friend Mahendra ‘Patta’ Silva and I took a walk by the sea.  I think it was from Bambalapitiya to Wellawatte, along the railway track.  He told me that the sea always calms and explained why.  He said that each human being is calmed by a particular combination of sounds, tones if you will.  The sea contains the entire range, he said, and therefore is able to pick that particular node of sensitivity to the extent necessary for subduing all agitation. 

I like sea-sounds.  In fact I like all sea-things: boats, waves, spray, sand, lines written in the sand by wave-end, shells, colour variation, sea-sky lines and the poetry of colour-agitation at sunset, curve of bay and the stories swept before nostril and sensibility by the wind.  Passing Galle Face Green towards the Continental Hotel in a speeding three-wheeler, the brine heavy breeze told of things ancient and new, kindling memories of places and people marked by encounters  that rolled into life’s footnotes and forgotten transcripts of being. 

I remembered Mahendra and his theory on my way back, again in a 3 wheeler, passing Galle Face Green, not ten minutes later.  I had just been abused in raw filth by a security guard because I hadn’t seen a ‘squad car’ as I crossed the street.   He was followed by a less abusive but equally agitated police officer who insisted that I go far away if I wanted to make a call (I was texting the person I was going to meet). 

About turn. 

I hammered out a few agitated text messages to my friend who wanted me to identify the abuser explaining to him that it’s the bosses who are to blame; that it was my fault was coming in a 3 wheeler (which the security guards might not have noticed anyway), wearing sandals and with shirt hanging out; that abuse is what people who look like me get, have got and will get in the future; and that those who ‘belong’ are probably uncouth, ill-bred thugs who come in flashy vehicles wearing tie and coat. 

It was wonderful to get the elemental backing of things associated with the sea at that point.  I found myself transported to that time of sea-theory and the sharing of stories, of a terrible time to live in and the bliss of love-encounter that ‘irrelevanced’ all terror.  Un-agitated.  I remembered beach histories, from childhood to parenthood; sandcastles and sand temples re-crafted into sand mounds which were dissolved by wave-lap into nothing, by and by.  And how these timeless tales of wave and sand were interrupted by a roar that robbed a child’s smile and left a soaked soft toy clothed in sand granule.

When writing time came around, I was surfing sea-ridden memories.  And like a child digging deep into wet sand, my heart fingers excavated from another August a transcript that makes no sense now but said it all a long time ago.

August dimensionality

The time: after sunset.

Place: nondescript beach on the Western Coast.

There are lights on the sea,

Christmas Islands

somewhere where black sea meets black sky

and on this August night

the Indian Ocean looked so small

and the sky

just big enough for a scorpion

and a hunter:

Small, all things considered.

And far away in this same land without sorrow

serendipity, I learnt,

has been legislated out,

forbidden.

No, no….not forbidden,

Irrelevanced.

the universe of love

stands at the gate,

detained on account of an illegal passport,

expired. 

And when the dimensions of propriety

fall from an exquisite sky

as garland and noose,

when child is made knife

to stab again and again

when the allowed breath

is a poisonous gas

designed to suffocate,

when hands outstretched in innocence

are cut forthwith,

there is little to be said,

for it is after sunset now

and there’s a say-it-all sign

on a nondescript beach on the Western Coast;

it was planted by a midget sea, I am told:

BE SILENT.

The sea has a way of taking care of her many children.  With a wave and a soft swish of wind, turning tear heavy eye into wonderment birthing smile. To this day I have not tested Mahendra’s oceanic theory.  Neither have I heard anyone else echo what could be one of the most precious texts pertaining to the sacred.  Maybe we are blessed to live in an island.  Speaking strictly for myself, I am grateful that the sea works for me. 

[Courtesy, Daily News, August 31, 2011]

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I remembered Mr. Upali Munasinghe

I’ve communicated for some time now with Anura Buthpitiya, an ex-Naval Officer now working overseas.  A voracious reader on all subjects, he finds time to read what I write too and even comment occasionally.  I met him for the first time a few days ago at his residence in Athurugiriya.  He had invited a couple of old friends, Priyantha Weerasinghe and Vajira Kasturiarachchi, who had been with him at Ananda College from Grade 3 or 4.  There was a lot to talk about and much reminiscing too.

Among the topics that came up was the switch to Sinhala.  They were the first ‘swabhasha’ batch of students, apparently.  The conversation meandered to teachers.  One Mr. Thanabalasingham was mentioned.  ‘One of the best English teachers,’ Anura said.  Teaching skills as well as commitment to vocation was mentioned.  Reminded them of another teacher:  C.M. Weeraratne, who had been the Vice Principal at Ananda.

‘One of the best Maths teachers!’ Anura opined.

‘What do you mean “one of the best”?  He was The Best!’ Priyantha interjected. 

We spoke about teachers and how they are remembered.  And how they are forgotten.  I observed that people tend to attribute success to a lot of things but remember teachers last.

‘That’s wrong, we owe everything to teachers!’ 

It was late, so I left.  All the way back from Athurugiriya to Mattegoda, I thought of teachers and among my teachers, the one who made mathematics fascinating for me.  Upali Munasinghe. 

He was my Grade 8 class teacher.  He was also the Master-in-Charge of Under 13 cricket.  He lived in a place called Gonaduwa.  There weren’t many buses going that way during those days in the late seventies.  If he got late after cricket practices, ‘Upali Sir’ would get off at Pamankada and stay at our place. 

The man loved to teach.  He would tutor us (my brother and I to begin with and later our sister).  The previous year (Grade 7) I had scored 17 and 42 at the Mid-Year and Year-End exams respectively.  He turned things around.  In school, he taught us from scratch, ensuring that those who had for whatever reason lagged behind were able to catch up and follow the lessons as they got more complex.  It was very simple because he started from the simplest examples and gradually worked towards the more difficult exercises, making sure that everyone was on the same page.  My performance, like those of my fellow students and my siblings improved remarkably, so much so that I was fooled into thinking that ‘Mathematics’ was made for me and vice versa. 

At the age of 15, I was not in a position to figure out what would sustain my interest.  It took me a year into the A/L to realize that as much as I liked numbers, I liked literature and social sciences more.  It was however thanks to Mr. Munasinghe that I remained in the Mathematics stream for the A/Ls and in the following year, when I switched to ‘Arts’, retained Pure Mathematics as a subject.  It is because of him that I opted to take Pure Mathematics as a ‘Main Subject’ in my first year in the Arts Faculty, University of Peradeniya.

That was not the time to think about extra exams, but he got my brother and I to sit for the ‘Old O/L’ exam (Pure Mathematics).  We both got distinctions and that’s because of his effort, mostly.  It was fun and neither of us complained.  Neither were we upset about the encroachment into ‘free time’ which could be spent flying kites or playing cricket and French cricket. 

Upali Munasinghe was single.  He opted to remain so, because he was devoted to his mother, whom he looked after until she passed, I believe in her late eighties or early nineties.  By that time he was past marrying age.  He was devoted to his vocation, like Mr. Weeraratne, I am sure.  He just wanted his students to do well. 

It was the same in the cricket field.  Back then there were no assigned coaches.  The senior boys helped.  Upali Sir knew enough cricket to handle the coaching at that level.  He attended every practice session of all three teams he was in charge of.  That was a tragic year.  One of the most talented cricketers, Harith Nanayakkara, who played in the Under 15 ‘A’ team at the age of 11 and was the automatic choice for the captaincy of the Under 13 ‘A’ Team, was hit by a vehicle when he was crossing the road, returning after the first match of the season.  Harith had been a step ahead of Upali Sir.  He had seen it all.  The boy spent a few days in the Intensive Care Unit and succumbed to his injuries. 

I still remember Upali Sir addressing the ‘B’ team just before the toss of their first match.  He reminded us that it was the first match following Harith’s tragic death.  It was the first time I saw a teacher cry.  It shook me all the more because Upali Sir was not one who wore his emotions on his face.  He was strict.  Although he was a close family friend since he stayed at our place quite often and was a colleague of our mother, who also taught in the same school, Upali Sir didn’t treat us differently.  We were all students. All children.  I was too young then, however, to understand what those tears meant and why he choked over the words.  I am old enough now to understand how soft this man who looked so stern that students fell silent whenever he appeared anywhere, in the school corridors or in the playing field. 

Years later, as is always the case with special teachers, he became friend.  Even though he was such a huge influence and therefore a giant, he treated me as an equal.  I had no hesitation in inviting him to sign as witness when I got married. 

He died a few years ago, in Gonaduwa, as he was about to take medicine for a heart condition.  It had been a matter of a few seconds.  A simple man. Few wants.  Gave so much and asked for nothing in return.  Always, always neatly dressed.  A no-nonsense teacher who, simply by doing his job and being an exemplary human being, made the world a little better. At least for me. 

We all know of an Upali Munasinghe.  A Mr. Thanabalasingham and a Mr. Weeraratne.   Let us take a moment.  Let us honour them with a moment’s silence.  Let us be better than we are, by way of making tribute meaningful. 

[Courtesy, Daily News, August 30, 2011]

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Heroes and villains of Indian Nationalism: Anna Hazare OUT, Arundhati Roy IN

Anna Hazare is out of order.  So says, Arundhati Roy.  We better believe her, for she’s clearly the voice of India’s oppressed, marginalized, hoodwinked, humiliated, insulted and in other ways made to feel they are lesser human beings.  Roy knows all and is a saint in the making, apparently. 

Writing for ‘The Hindu’ (‘I’d rather not be Anna’), Roy blasts the 74 year old activist fasting to get legislation passed to counter rampant corruption in India, for seeking to overthrow the Indian State in ways and for purposes she finds unpalatable.  The main problem with ‘Annaji’ is that his is a ‘top-down movement’, made up of ‘an army of largely urban and certainly better off people’. 

Hazare’s mechanism to counter corruption, the ‘Jan Lokpal Bill’, according to Roy is draconian and would (horror of horrors!) ‘police everyone from the Prime Minister, the judiciary, members of Parliament right down to the lowest government official’ and would necessitate a massive bureaucracy with thousands of employees.  That would make for two Indian oligarchies instead of just one, Roy claims.  

The crux of Roy’s argument is that structural inequality has to be dealt with in the first instance and therefore Hazare’s proposition will not work.  She knows best, of course.
 

Now Anna Hazare’s this-time fast is not his first.  Neither is he the only ‘faster’ in India.  Roy objects to the spectacle that his fast has become and notes that other (better?) fasters (for more worthy causes with less media attention and ragged instead of frilled) have got marginalized as a result. 

The way I see it, for anything to be ‘ok’ for Roy, it has to be small-scale, and localized.  Like Irom Sharmila’s 10-year fast against impunity for soldiers in Manipur to kill on suspicion or the relay fast by villagers in Koodankulam protesting a nuclear power plant or those opposing police and mining mafias in Jagtsinghpur, Kalinganagar, Niyamgiri, Bastar or Jaiapur, or the objections of those displaced by dams in the Narmada valley or countless other protests, organizations and movements struggling for voice and decision but not exactly interested in bringing down the Indian State. 

Not that Anna wants to facilitate a break up of India, of course.  Roy doesn’t think he’s revolutionary and I am not sure Roy wants revolution either.  Her anxiety boils down to palpable horror at the possibility that Anna’s theatrics might give rise to large scale meltdown of the colonial construct called ‘India’ into its constituent parts or worse into the kind of lawlessness and anarchy that would do away with political stability.  The localized struggles she champions might get swept away and, who knows, she might not have anything to write about thereafter, dare we say? 

Anna is out of order because he has not partnered or endorsed or tagged along with Roy’s pet causes. There’s a simple lesson here: if you haven’t stood up for all oppressed peoples at all times, if you haven’t protested each and every injustice, then you have to shut up and stay at home; you can’t protest, you can’t fast, you can’t demand!  And, if you’ve ever supported some shady character (as Roy says Anna has), then you don’t have any moral right to talk about wrongdoing. ‘Protestology for saints’ is what Roy seems to be proposing, even though Roy has not been averse to playing sucker to the propaganda of terrorists and their sympathizers.  Anna, on the other hand, has had bad friends and taken up ‘wrong’ positions.  He’s rubbed Roy the wrong way and he must pay by suffering withering attacks by the Mother of Righteousness, right? 

Now let’s assume that Anna’s Jan Lok Pal Bill is a piece of rubbish.  Has Roy come up with an alternative (apart from screaming for structural change)?   She complains that Anna’s blueprint leaves out corporations, the media and NGOs.  Well, would she say ‘hurray’ and join a possible fast-relay if Anna faints if these entities are included?   It’s easy to say ‘Structural Changes’ before anything and then dabble in localized protests and be self-righteous about it. The issue is not about Anna getting things right, but that his fast is fast-tracking people in power to recognizing that things are in pretty bad shape. 

The problem is not that people are saying ‘Anna is India; India is Anna’. Roy finds this insufferable and for good reason, i.e. iconizing tends to prop demagoguery and robbing agency from the people.  There could be a bad reason to object too: no one is saying ‘Arundhati is India, India is Arundhati’.  I hope that’s not the primary reason for her rant. 

Anna is no Gandhi (and Gandhi certainly was not the saint the West and the Indian Right made him out to be) but that’s not important.  Anna’s threat is to the idea of India and not about the number of oligarchies that makes up that fiction.  What’s one more oligarchy, anyway? 

I think, deep down, Arundhati Roy is a strong and uncompromising Indian Nationalist.  If she’s so into the subaltern, the downtrodden and the like, then I think she ought to suggest anarchy for a while. 

By her own admission, India is no democracy but a hodge-podge system made for criminals and millionaire politicians.  India is being carved up for suzerainty, she wails.  That’s good, I would think.  The localized protests won’t have to contend with an overarching state, but do the one-on-one with a localized suzerainty.  If not for anything else, for more manageable struggles with improved chances of success, surely?  Or is the lady feeling ‘left out’?  Indeed, is it that the Indian Left has finally had to face the reality that it’s been left behind, along with its pin up boys and girls in the rent-a-pen-for-cause business? 

Yes, Anna Hazare is out of order. Arundathi Roy should know.  She’s not out of order, though.  She is ‘In Order’ and proving to be a loyal foot soldier of ‘The Order’ too, in the battles that count.  An Indian Nationalist.  An exemplary one!  Hurray!

[Courtesy, Sunday Island, August 28, 2011]

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The world hasn’t moved much since Dag Hammarskjöld was taken out

On September 18, 1961, a Swedish diplomat, economist and author was killed when the airplane he was travelling in was shot down over Northern Rhodesia, now Zambia.  ‘Killed’ is the word used by Harry Truman:  ‘Dag Hammarskjöld was on the point of getting something done when they killed him; notice that I said, “When they killed him”. Dag Hjalmar Agne Carl Hammarskjöld at the time was the Secretary General of the United Nations.  The murder was covered up by British colonial authorities. 
   

Research by Goran Bjorkdahl a Swedish aid worker, has clearly implicated British and US authorities in what was brushed aside as a plane crash, but now appears to have been a cleverly and comprehensively orchestrated assassination.  The US and Britain were at the time livid that Hammarskjöld ordered UN intervention on behalf of the Congolese government against a rebellion backed by Western mining companies and mercenaries in the mineral-rich Katanga region. He was a strong advocate of decolonization and was on the verge of being re-elected on the back of widespread support from developing nations.   

The only survivor of the crash, Harold Julian, was allowed to die in a poorly equipped local hospital.  Before he died, Sergeant Julian told police he had seen sparks in the sky and an explosion before the crash.

What’s the relevance, though?  It’s simple.  This is typical of how the US and Britain operate.  It’s not about democracy or concern for civilians. It’s about propping friendly thugs committed to protecting commercial interests.  

The White House has (naturally) condemned the release of over 90,000 secret US military documents about operations in Afghanistan by Wikileaks which detail covert action against the Taliban, unreported civilian killings and torture.  Thousands of civilians have been killed in these operations.  All ‘collateral’, none accounted for, and no apologies or change of policy.  It’s called, in watered-down language of course, ‘incoherent process in dealing with civilian casualties’ And these are the people who went to war against Gaddafi for attacking (yes!) ‘civilians’.

To recap the Libyan case, the US and Britain wrangled a resolution from the UN Security Council to set up a no-fly zone, quickly brushed aside the limiting clauses of that resolution and waged open war on Libyan security forces, killing civilians, bombing residential areas and committing all manner of crimes against humanity.  Chief of the US Navy, Gary Roughead has admitted that US forces ‘had already taken up positions against Libya’ way back in March, indicating that the operation was planned and had little to do with Gaddafi or his tyrannical ways (which of course can be forgiven considering the leeway given to worse tyrants who are useful to Washington). It was about taking control of oil, ensuring the safety of Israel, preventing the liberation of the Arab world, hindering African unity and setting up NATO as the watchdog of Africa.  Business as usual, folks!

Then there’s Iraq.  It’s now revealed that Donald Rumsfeld, George W. Bush’s Secretary of Defence, lied to Congress about atrocities committed by US forces, including the horrendous torture chambers in Abu Ghraib.   Tony Blair is being hauled over the coals these days.  David Miliband should be shackled to the former Prime Minister for being so blind to what happened under his very nose while happily purchasing lies provided by voters who were upset that their best loved terrorist, Velupillai Prabhakaran was bested by a Sri Lankan citizenry that refused to play ball in a London-authored script. 

Conspiracy theory, did someone say?  Here’s some ‘conspiracy’ for those who remain credulous.  Wesley Clark, the supreme commander of NATO forces in Europe between 1997 and 2001, who supervised the bombings in Yugoslavia was candid: ‘In 2001, at the Pentagon, a general told me: I just received a classified memo from the Secretary of Defence; we will take seven countries in five years, starting with Iraq, then Syria, Lebanon, Somalia, Sudan and finally, Iran.’   There seems to be a delay, but the objectives remain. To be taken. One by one. 

This is why when Barack Obama, his civil servants and happily half-blind loyalists in the media try to make out that the USA is the beacon of global peace and goodness, it is hard to keep a straight face.  The only difference between him and his predecessor is that Bush’s wars appeared to be crusades of some dumb white people while Obama’s have the veneer of ‘goodness’, liberation struggles on behalf of poor, weak, oppressed people led by decent, intelligent, sophisticated, modern leaders.  Results?  Same!  I would pick a Bush over an Obama any day because nudity has its virtues and disguise nauseates.

As for the media, it would have us believe that it is ok for good people (so defined) to bomb, kill, invade, slaughter entire villagers, rob oil and resources, give legitimacy to terrorists dressed as rebels, arm them, give logistical military support and even lead them against other sections of the same population etc., while the bad folks (so defined) can be bombed and subjected to summary execution along with any poor suckers who happen to be around when bombs are dropped or bullets sprayed.

Dag Hammarskjöld was assassinated 50 years ago.  George Bush (Snr) talked about a New World Order, twenty years ago.  Half a century after the first and two decades after the first invasion of Iraq, there’s nothing new in the New World Odour.  ‘Same old shit,’ as someone observed during a protest in Boston in the first days of that adventure. 

And people actually wonder why most people in most countries in the world, responded to the 9/11 attacks (and this was before questions were asked about it being an inside job) with sympathy for victims followed by a telling, ‘but still….!’  I can only imagine how loud the cheering will be when it all bursts as it must according to the primordial principles first articulated by Siddhartha Gauthama, the Buddha, some 2,500 years ago: ‘all things are impermanent; they are born, decay and perish’.  I am no clairvoyant, but I think I will live to see the day and when it comes I will meditate on the millions who had to die to please this grotesque affront to human civilization. 

[Courtesy, The Nation, August 28, 2011] 

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Let’s not be lazy on grievance or resolution

There was a time when ‘talks’ with the LTTE were touted, vociferously too, as the one and only way of combatting terrorism.  There was a time when the champions of the 13^th  Amendment (principally the Old Left, various self-styled Left ‘Intellectuals’ and civil society activists – so-called- who were almost all anti-Buddhist) argued that power devolution will result in alternatives to the LTTE emerging from the Tamil community, thereby isolating the terrorists. 

Now that all this has been proven to be just bunkum, the question that remains is whether or not power devolution resolves grievances of the Tamils in Sri Lanka, and here we are talking of grievances that can be proven and not those based on myths (e.g. traditional homelands) or aspirations dressed up as grievances.   

If all or the vast majority of Tamils lived in the North and East, if all or most of the North and East were geographically made of predominantly Tamil residents, if being in the North and East (as opposed to say Uva or Wayamba) meant special deprivations to the inhabitants, then even if traditional homeland claims had some substance (for example in historical account or archaeological tract), then of course ‘devolution’ makes perfect sense.  Indeed, if all this were true, then Rajpal Abeynayake’s reference to Aceh (even though the entire exercise was about resource extraction and not self-determination by the inhabitants) makes sense (see his piece in the Sunday Lakbima News of August 21, 2011: ‘New seeds of conflict, Yale variety’), even though he is way off the mark regarding the Chittagong Hill Tracts, what happened there and what is still happening there.   The problem is that it just doesn’t add up on any of these counts. 

What remains then is a debunked theory that serves only third rate Tamil politicians whose only remaining card is communalism.  None of them are ready to come out and say that the ‘traditional homeland’ claim has no base in history.  None of them will say that Prabhakaran and the LTTE caused more harm to Tamil people and their aspirations than Sinhalese ever did, except of course Douglas Devananda who has quickly moved into Prabhakaran’s thug shoes. 

What remains is a threat.  Earlier Tamil chauvinism could say ‘we have guns, so empty your pockets!’   Tamil chauvinism, since it finds itself in reduced circumstances, now says, ‘we can take up guns again, so empty your pockets!’  Only those who want to pass on communalist headaches to the next generation or a few generations down the line would say ‘let’s devolve,’ believing erroneously that that would be that.  Forgotten is that Tamil chauvinism readied itself for a the long haul of a land-grabbing exercise, a ‘vision’ that is clearly captured by the S.J.V Chelvanayakam Thesis ‘Little now, more later’.  Getting Eelam boundaries ‘fixed’ by way of the 13^th (this time by agreement whereas in 1987 it was the outcome of arm-twisting) would be no small victory after the grand designs of Prabhakaran were sunk (at great cost, mind you). 

As I have pointed out in numerous commentaries (in particular ‘Power-sharing yes; devolution, no’, in the Daily News of June 8, 2011 -- http://www.dailynews.lk/2011/06/08/fea02.asp), ‘power sharing’ and ‘power devolution’ are not the same thing.  One can have the former without the latter and whereas the former is necessary given the preponderance of power with the politician vis-à-vis the citizen, the latter does not necessarily offer the citizen a better deal. 

Most importantly, the current demarcations (pertaining to provinces) are utterly arbitrary and damningly make for wide disparities in resources.  You can’t have the cake and eat it.  If you want devolution, then you’ll have to manage as best you can and cannot demand resource rich provinces to toss out surpluses to develop the resource poor.  That would have to be done by the centre and no centre in a devolved structure can take from one province to develop another.  

What we are seeing is the argument of the weary, the give-them-something-and-be-done-with-it kind of logic which is clearly irresponsible and blind to the outcomes, which have to be calculated in terms of the relevant histories, whipping up communal sentiment included. 

If devolution results in averting conflict, bloodshed, grief and human suffering, yes it needs to be considered.  In Sri Lanka’s case, however, the whines were based on indefensible claims and the grievances were common to many but could be dressed in the convenient colours of communalism for greater effect.  Averting conflict, bloodshed, grief and human suffering is good. 

‘The Way’ to that lovely place cannot contain a pandering to fictions.  What is necessary is to obtain the full dimensions of grievance and match these against proposed ‘solution’.  As things stand (and this includes demographic realities as well as the gross dishonesty in claims made regarding histories and of course the arbitrary nature of lines drawn to demarcate provinces) devolution of power fails the test, even if one were to put aside the history of Tamil chauvinism a la the Chelvanayakam Thesis. 

As things stand we are just seeing a lot of grandstanding by the TNA and other affiliated and non-affiliated separatists, and by a Government that is refusing to cut to the political chase by calling out the lie on grievances.  That’s what politicians do.  We don’t have to follow suit.  We have suffered too much to continue to dodge issues or be lazy about grievance and resolution. 

[Courtesy, Sunday Lakbima News, August 28, 2011]

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