Remembering Richard and forgetting Ranjithan

There were some 60,000 people killed in what is clearly the bloodiest period in post-Independence Sri Lanka, 1988-1990. Our roadsides were turned into crematoriums, our rivers, canals and such into cemeteries. I remember a day in June 1988, in Bingiriya. I remember distinctly thinking this thought: ‘I can’t do anything to stop this!’ ‘This’, then, was an inevitable hurtling of an entire nation over the edge of sanity and into an abyss made of fire and bullets, the order to assassinate and the screams of the dying. Almost twenty two years later, I have a question for everyone reading this: can you name one person who perished during that time?

I am sure that more than 90% of those who grew up speaking English and who live in Colombo (and close to 100% of those in Colombo 3 and 7), if they can come up with any name, it would be that of Richard de Zoysa. That’s one out of over 60,000 victims. Some might remember Nandalal Fernando, Harsha Abeywardena, and Stanley Wijesundera. Those who have had any association with left politics would remember Vijaya Kumaratunga, L.W. Panditha, Devabandara Senanayake, Dharmasiri, A. Jayantha, Chandrawimala and others killed by the JVP. Still, I am willing to bet that if asked to name one person who was killed during that time, nine out of 10 would say ‘Richard de Zoysa’ and that if asked to name a victim who was known, very, very few would speak up.

Is it something to do with the fact that Richard de Zoysa was an exceptional individual? He was certainly a ‘personality’, a public figure inasmuch as any non-politician could be one. He was a poet, a theatre man, a personality in literary circles. A talented and to some an exceptional one too. Richard didn’t fall from the sky. He was born of a woman’s womb, he grew up, went to school, had fun, got his knees bruised etc. He had friends. He had feelings, I am sure. Fears too. Desires. He breathed, he ate, he drank, he sweated, had a pulse etc etc. If you pricked him, he would bleed. When tortured, he would have cried out in pain.

And what of those other 59,999 plus people? Well, they would have been differently talented. They couldn’t have fallen from the sky. They too would have been held in wombs, birthed by mothers, taken care of, sent to school, formed friendships, learnt lessons; they also would have entertained dreams, felt things, breathed, loved, sweated, pulsated etc. If you pricked them, as the bard said, they too would have bled, they would have cried out in pain too when tortured. Their last moment would not have been any different to that of Richard’s in that they too would have released one last sigh as exclamation mark and as question. There are some 60,000 plus question marks and an equal number of exclamation marks, but how is it that we remember and name one but not the 59,000 plus others?

Who has heard of Senadheera from Kurunegala, a teacher and who of Dassanayake from Matale, born with a congenital defect in an eye that made it impossible for him to hide behind a disguise? Dassanayake knew his time was coming and he refused to escape: ‘I have brought too many people into this to leave now,’ he said. He was drawn and quartered, literally, and his body parts hung from a tree in Katugastota. His question/exclamation marks don’t have identity tags. Neither did those of Lalith from Kuliyapitiya, the medical student Atapattu, and countless others, including Thrimavitharana of the Colombo Medical Faculty who had nails driven into his skull, who was tied to the back of a jeep and dragged along a gravel road.

There was a massive crowd attending Thrimavitharana’s funeral. How many remember his name today? This I am asking from the comfortable and comfortably complaining, whining, dining, self-righteous people who think that ability to speak English is a sign of wisdom and a right to be snooty and condescending. Do you remember Thrimavitharana? Richard was special, yes. Talented, yes. Wasn’t Ranjithan Gunaratnam special? Was he not talented? Have you heard that name? Do you know who he was? Do you know what kinds of skills he possessed?

People who had never met Richard know of him. I have never met Ranjithan, I know of him though. He was an engineering student at Peradeniya. Born to humble, dignified and utterly civilized parents who lived in Kegalle, Ranjithan was highly conversant in all three languages. He was a poet. An artist. An orator. He was well read by all accounts, a good friend, a man of immense capacity and endowed with indefatigable energy. Arrested. Tortured. Killed. Each time I look into his mother’s eyes, I see how special each person who died was to those who knew and loved them. But Ranjithan was not Richard. He was not ‘English’. He was Tamil. He was Sinhala. He was Hindu and Buddhist. He was not ‘city’. He was ‘city and village’. His name is not remembered. Why not?

There is, I believe, a politics to remembrance. Sepulchers are not innocent. Commemoration is vile. There is erasing and ‘oblivioning’ in the matter of selective commemoration. No, I am not saying that Richard should not be remembered. I am merely asking myself and you, ‘why do we remember Richard and why have we forgotten Ranjithan, if we ever knew of him that is?’

During the UNP-JVP bheeshanaya of 1988-1990 democracy was bruised and tortured. Our sensibilities were lacerated. We acquired a certain degree of immunity to violence and crime. Death by violent means became something like pickpocketing; a few raised eyebrows, some political mileage for some, sweeping under carpets and years of forgetting. We lost something else. And this is why we can’t dwell in 1989-1990, however sad we are and however much we need to celebrate the lives of those who are not around today. There’s one thing that few acknowledge or even remember today when thinking about Richard or Ranjithan, or any of the other 59,998 plus people. That thing is called HR. Human Resources.

I told this to Werawellalage Premasiri, born Kumarigama, Ampara, my batchmate at Peradeniya, former lecturer in Political Science and now a public servant. I said ‘Aliya, (that was his ‘card’ at campus) me rate maanva sampath pilibandava deventha prashnayak thiyenava’ (there is a huge human resource problem in this country). He answered quietly: mama dannava; ape rate maanava sampath bheeshanaya kaale athurudahan karala demma (the human resources of our country were liquidated during the bheeshanaya).

We lost the best we had, didn’t we? Not all those who died were guilty of wrong doing and even if they were extra-judicial killing was the wrong way to go about sorting out the problem (those who howl about human rights violations were silent back then and those who call for truth commissions and such are conspicuously silent about such mechanisms for that particular blood-letting). I have no doubt about this: we lost our spirit, the cream, the most talented, the young people most endowed with attributes such as integrity, sacrifice, energy and ingenuity.

There were many Richards among them, but they didn’t write in English. They did not get published, they did not have the Lionel Wendt to perform in. They were born to humble parents, raised their voices against injustice and were slaughtered for this crime.

Let us remember them all. Let us remember that if we are struggling today on account of a serious lack of human resources, there are people responsible for this. Let us also remember that the conflict in the North and East saw a similar though less voluminous ‘evacuation’ (since it dragged across several generations). Let us remember that languishing in harsh circumstances in these regions and in the rehabilitation camps are young Tamil people who too are endowed with the same kinds of attributes. Let us remember that there are Richard de Zoysas among them; only, they do not write in English, have not got published and have not played at the Lionel Wendt. They must be allowed to do so.

So when we remember Richard, let us remember these others who didn’t/don’t have a Christian name, were/are quite un-English, but were/are no less talented, no less human.

msenevira@gmail.com


*First published in the Sunday Island in February 2010.

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Because my days are numbered…

Years ago, at a preliminary round of a junior best-speaker contest, Suresh De Mel spoke of his ambition. He wanted to be an accountant.  The reason was ‘fascination with numbers’.  He went on to enter university after studying in the Mathematics stream and later re-invented himself as an economist. He was and I believe still is teaching in the Economics Department at Peradeniya.

Numbers are fascinating things.  I have written this before; i.e. how my friend Ravi Arulnandy, when invited to watch a sunset from the Sports School of the Ministry at Independence Square, watched for a few seconds and muttered ‘I see beauty in other things.’ When asked to elaborate, he said ‘numbers’.  I suppose in any society there are number-fascinated individuals. They become mathematicians, accountants, engineers, economists, statisticians and others whose lives are made of numbers and equations. 

I like numbers. Always did.  I liked numbers so much that I believed at the age of 15 that I could not like anything more. So I opted to enter the maths-stream for my A/Ls.  It took me a year to realize that I liked other things more.  My mother, in her greater wisdom, told me to do the exam once and then switch to arts.  I passed, barely, but well enough to qualify for admission to read for a degree in the physical sciences, but fortunately or unfortunately had already decided to sit for the A/Ls the next year in arts.  So I entered the Arts Faculty, Peradeniya.  The interest in Mathematics did not subside, for I selected Pure Mathematics as a ‘Main Subject’ for the General Arts Qualifying Exam. It was a lonely time since I was the only student and unlike parallel students in Science Faculty (who had to sit the same paper) did not have access to the bright-sparks who would complete the tutorials and then tutor their fellow-students. 

I still like numbers.  Last night I wondered what the source of this interest was.  Several hours later, I don’t have a clear answer.  The exercise, however, yielded some unforgettable teachers. 

Being a second child helped, I think.  No one asked me to learn the multiplication tables.  No one asked much about anything, come to think of it.  I am not sure if that was good or bad.  I learnt the multiplication tables and began to see patterns. I picked up a lot of short cuts, not because I wanted to but because I was lazy and preferred play to study.  I just wanted to get books and school out of the way as quickly as possible. Everyday.  I went to school because ‘school’ meant ‘interval’. 

I still remember, though, how I learnt the multiplication tables.  I walked to the particular set of numbers.  If it was the 7-times table that I was working on, I would take one step and think ‘seven’ and would not keep the next unless I got ‘14’ right.  It was like that going up staircases and coming down, even if I was in a rush.  ‘Rush’ forced me to think quickly.  It must have been some variant of the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  In later years I would try to calculate the digital root of number places, especially before we got ‘English Numbers’ and other such games. I’ve led a pretty boring life, I know.

Mrs. Rajapaksa and Mrs. Chandraratne (Grade 1 and 2 respectively) must have taught me to write numbers.  I owe them. Mrs. C. Liyanagama was a meticulously neat teacher. Grade 3. She made numbers look like beautiful pictures. I owe her.  Mrs. Palihawadana (Grade 4) was interested in speed. I owe her. Mrs. Tillakaratne (Grade 5) was obsessed with her class producing the best results at the Scholarship Exam. She succeeded. I owe her.  Mr. George Liyanage was strict. Too strict.  Terrified me. I floundered. Lost all interest in Mathematics.  I owe him too for I learnt how not to teach.  Mr. Cooray (Grade 7) had no chance, for by that time I had given up on Mathematics as well as education.  I got 17 in the mid-year test.  Mrs. Sita Weerasooriya who had marked the year-end papers of that class for some reason, and knowing I was the son of a fellow-teacher, checked my score. She was horrified to find I had scored ‘only’ 42. I remember grinning and telling her ‘Madam, that’s very good, I got just 17 in the mid-year test’. 

Mr. Upali Munasinghe changed it all.  He taught as though he was teaching a Grade 1 student.  Two years plus extra lessons at home (he used to stay with us on cricket-practice days; he was master-in-charge, Under 13 cricket) revived an interest and turned it into a fascination.  Mr. Nelson Fernando (Grade 10) had his own methods and was a very effective teacher. He ironed out the crumpled corners of the mind.  As did Mr. Appuhamy, a teacher at St. Anne’s, Kurunegala, who taught my brother and I when we spent our school vacations at our grandparents’ house in Malkaduwawa.  I am indebted beyond words to all three.

Mr. Dayaratne (Pure and Applied Maths) turned a sagging interest in the A/L exam into a more committed exercise that produced a ‘C’ out of a sure ‘F’.  Mrs. Munasinghe (tuition teacher) turned that ‘C’ into a ‘B’ the following year (I took Pure Mathematics along with 3 Arts subjects).  I owe them both for helping me enter university. My last formal mathematics teacher was Mr. Kasturiarachchi, who had just graduated from the Peradeniya Science Faculty and taught me GAQ Mathematics.  I tortured him because classes were at 1.30 every day of the week and he had to come all the way to Polgolla from Peradeniya and invariably teach a drowsy student whose fascination with numbers was considerably deadened by fascination with other things.  I owe him.

And now, totally out of ‘mathematics’, I am taught by my two little girls, 10 and 7 years of age. They teach me how to help them. I owe them too. 

My days are now numbered, I know this. I need to say my thank-yous  before it is too late.  And in these words of gratitude for making numbers please me in so many ways, I am tormented by one lack: the inability to quantify my thanks.  My older daughter asked me what ‘infinity’ is. I went into the etymology of the word. She was fascinated.  Some things are unquantifiable. That’s my last ‘mathematics’ lesson and everyone mentioned above contributed to this ‘learning’.  Mr. Munasinghe is no more.  So too Mr. Appuhamy. I’ve lost the addresses of all the others mentioned.  Makes me sad. 

msenevira@gmail.com

First published in February 2011 in the 'Daily News'

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What if there’s a law saying you should eat your own trash?

Courtesy ft.lk

Beauty is context bound, this everyone knows.  Depends on angle. Lighting.  Mood. Things like that.  It is made of particular configurations of elements.  Take one contributing factor out and that which was thought to be beautiful would appear plain.  We can of course compensate with memory and still say ‘beautiful’ but that’s a life-trick and self-delusion. 

I am thinking of what the wind does.  What happens in the air. Up in the sky.  Treetops swaying. Music of leaf. The moving poetry of cloud formation. Colours at dawn. Sunset colours. Birds. In formation. Swoop of a Kingfisher.  And a polythene bag, a silisili malla that is.  

I’ve seen, like I am sure most people have, polythene bags blowing about.  It speaks of freedom to me.  Being crazy. Out of control.  ‘Un-equationable’.  Just a flimsy piece of something floating around without definite trajectory, without destination or direction.  It gets caught in a tree, stays there or is pulled away by a gust of wind, lift suddenly, floats down as though it is landing-time and then when you expect the show to be done takes off again.  You don’t want it to stop. 

I can watch kites for hours. I could watch the polythene bag dance for hours too, if that’s how long the show is going to take.  These are windy days.  I could, I suppose, initiate a polythene bag dance. It is so random that if one bag doesn’t take off, I could toss another one with a wish and a whistle.  And another. And another. Until one of them obliges.  Should I, though?

It is one thing to enjoy the spectacle produced by the chance union of polythene bag and wind and quite another to play marriage-broker.  It’s not about the wind, but of the polythene.  The dance is beautiful to watch, but it remains chance configuration of element, one out of a million in which the polythene factor can figure whereas most other elemental soups featuring this ingredient would be indigestible. 

Go to the nearest supermarket and try this out.  There would be a mini pharmacy. Ask for a box of tablets to alleviate aches and pains (yes, I am leaving brand name out here). Chances are the person at the counter will put the box in a tiny polythene bag.  Try it in different shops, with different products of varying sizes and bulk.  Most times, the well-packed article (this is the age of packaging; that’s more than half the cost and an important element of marketing) will be ‘re-packed’ as it were in a polythene bag. Most times if you say you don’t want the bag, the person at the counter will give you a strange look. If you whisper, ‘polythene’, some would nod and smile.  Some would not. If you say one more sentence indicating the harm that polythene does to the environment, even they would understand. 

It is not a question of not having the necessary information or being ignorant.  Habit, I think.  Convenience breeds sloth.  We are lazy.  But if we ask ourselves each time we pick up something from a shop and it is tossed into a polythene bag whether we really need it, 9 times out of 10 the answer would be ‘no’.  We’ve made it too easy for ourselves.  When we do something we really should not do or could very well avoid, we still do it because there’s no pain of punishment, no moral standard or ethical imperative providing guidance.  The polythene bag can be tossed into the garbage.  It quickly becomes ‘someone else’s problem’.  Not really, because these things come around to haunt us or our children. ‘But that’s later, buddy’ is an easily available dismissal isn’t it? 

I know it is not convenient for people to go around with a wicker basket all the time, just in case you need to rush into a shop to buy some biscuits or sugar.  We could do that, however, on occasions when we go shopping.  We know, in such situations, that we will be purchasing and that whatever we buy is more than likely to be thrust into a polythene bag and given to us. Repackaged.  We have a problem in disposing the packaging but we happily add to the problem.  The reason is simple. We can’t dispose the polythene, but can displace both polythene and problem.  Temporarily.  The repercussions will come sooner or later but we can’t really trace it back to error and callousness on our part.  We will not feel guilty. 

Here’s a mechanism that might help us be more responsible. Imagine that there’s a law which says ‘deal with your own trash’. You will immediately wonder what you are going to do with the polythene.  You will have to collect and sell it to a recycling outfit.  You will most definitely ‘reduce’.  You will think about ‘recycling’.  You will ‘re-use’.   

You can’t toss them into the wind with love and prayer really because sooner or later your neighbour is going to get upset.  And if you are a decent human being, you yourself will be upset.  There are other things to wrap with love and send off with prayer. Not polythene. 

msenevira@gmail.com

*First published in the Daily News, August 5, 2010

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Things lost in the matter of winning and losing

History is written by the winners, this is well known.  In other words, chronicling is an exercise that is framed by power realities.  Those who win and those who wield power frequently bend the story in ways that glorify them.  It is the exceptional historian that would paint things in colours closest to the truth and resist embellishment as well as footnoting or even blanking out.  The author of the Mahawansa, or the Great Chronicle, is an exception. 

Today, the business of reporting is exactly that; a business. Those who have power are able to frill as well as well as ignore and thereby offer versions that appear to be true but in fact are a fair distance from accurate reportage.  

On the other hand, even the most meticulous chronicler tends to conflate nation or collective with personality and regime, with scarce mention of the complexities contained within broad categories.  Wars are won and lost by leaders and nations, not soldiers and populations. 

In Sri Lanka, naturally, it is the political and military leadership that won the major share of accolades for ending a 30 year struggle.  The troops and many who contributed in non-military ways were duly recognized. Some were honoured with word. Some were rewarded materially, with medal, promotion, house and diplomatic position.  In time, these names will fade and only the names of the political and military leadership will be remembered.  Unavoidable.  Few apart from immediate family and other loved one will remember the dead of the defeated, the names of the leaders being the exception. 

There was heroism.  It is however not the preserve of the victor.  There are those who fight valiantly and die or are maimed on all sides of every conflict.  There are courageous people in lost causes too.  History generally tends to un-note them or else frame courage or heroism in political terms, i.e. mentioning the ‘treacherous’ nature of the cause and leadership on behalf of whom that heroism found expression.

It is easy to pin ‘lunatic’ on a suicide bomber, for example.  An individual ready to die for a cause is certainly not ‘normal’ in that your average citizen would just not put his or her hand up to die, even if there was identification with the cause or the objective.  ‘Brainwashed’ is an easy tag too and perhaps not undeserving either.  Still.

When I think that 100,000 people died over the last 30 years, that 60,000 did between 1988 and 1999 and that another 20,000 perished in 1971, I feel we have not won anything but in fact lost too much.  Even if we assume that just one percent of this number (1,800) were endowed with courage, discipline and other skills, that’s a massive blow to the overall human resources of a nation of our size. 

But apart from all this, I am wondering who would ever chronicle the little acts of courage, heroism and humanity that went beyond political and ideological commitment from among those who lost, the vanquished.  I remember that even today, among the most memorable moments of the Olympic Games is the determined run by the Sri Lankan running the marathon, even though he was placed last by several laps.  That was in 1960, the Tokyo Games.  He lost.  Vanquished.  And yet, Ranatunga Karunaranda’s example continues to inspire.  So too the image of Derek Redmond, limping to complete the race after pulling his hamstring in the 400m race in Barcelona. 

We learn not just from the heroics of the winners, but the courage of those who lost.  They all add colour and beauty to the rocky, flawed, tragic and nevertheless remarkable human story, that tapestry we all weave thread into, whether we like it or not. 

I don’t know their identities.  I might never know their stories.  Perhaps all I will have is the fact that they did exist and must have done something that made someone remember with thanksgiving, even if that someone also perished in the losing cause. 

Seven years ago, I asked a question: ‘If the shattered pieces of a human bomb were put together, would we recover a trophy called Triumph or a nondescript shell called Pathos?’

Seven years later, I don’t have a satisfactory answer.  Perhaps I am a fool to ponder over questions such as this.  All I know is that I feel there’s something missing in the story and that knowing might not hurt, but in fact empower and heal.  I am willing to compile, if you are willing to tell.  That’s all I need to say about things lost in the matter of winning and losing, as of now.

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‘Gaza’ and its many WTF moments

Over 200 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces over the past ten days.  Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has vowed to continue ‘Operation Protective Edge’.  The UN’s top human rights official, Navi Pillay says that the Israeli action ‘may violate international laws prohibiting the targeting of civilians’; key word ‘may’.  When over half the dead are civilians, when residential areas are deliberately targeted, when Israel itself asks some 100,000 civilians to leave the area implying (rather late in the day) that Netanyahu knows who was going to die and who did die, Pillay’s ‘may’ is funny (if it weren’t scandalous). 

Now Netanyahu is a ‘hawk’ who will not be called that by the Western media that is so liberal in the use of that word and/or equivalents in describing those who are not friends with Washington. So when he says ‘no international pressure will prevent us from acting with all power,’ we know he means it.  We also know that he can count on Washington to back him to the hilt. 

All this is about ‘retaliation’; Israel ‘returning fire’.  If we go to the first stone thrown then we have to go back to the many wrongs done to Palestine from the creation of Isreal.  Let’s leave that aside.  What’s happening is but a re-enactment of Arab-Jew antagonisms. We’ve seen this play many times before.  The only difference is that the dead are new. Naturally so, because those who played part and fell victim are not resurrectable. 

If we want to shrink ‘relevant time’ to the first act of aggression and from there to the last sigh of the last person to die, Arab or Jew’, we can conclude that this is a tragedy. No prizes for that. Outside of non-partisan condemnation, lamentation of the body blows on humanity and such, commenting is warranted on how all this is being read the world over.  Let’s start with the USA.

Phillip Gordon, the White House Mideast Chief has asked, ‘How can Israel have peace if it’s unwilling to delineate a border, end the occupation?’ There’s a lot more he can say, including comment on Washington’s long complicity in Israel’s considerable track record of perpetrating crimes against humanity, but this is better than nothing because the ‘something’ that does come from other parts of Washington is appalling. 

US State Department spokesperson Jen Psaki says ‘No country should be expected to stand by while rocket attacks from a terrorist organization are launching into their country and impacting innocent civilian lives’.  The US military is the biggest terrorist outfit around and Psaki’s logic, if applied to Afghanistan (where in the midst of the tragedy unfolding in Gaza more civilians were killed in US attacks than were by Hamas in the ‘trigger’ that provoked Israel’s current onslaught on Palestinian civilians) would force Psaki to call for a counter-attack on her own country.  More important here is the fact that there’s no condemnation of Israel’s action.  It is then a green light and amounts to saying ‘do what you like by any means necessary’.  In other words Psaki is essentially eating Washington’s words about human rights, democracy, peace and justice to the point that ought to cause severe indigestion. 

British Prime Minister David Cameron, Washington’s assured echo, naturally echoed. A statement from his office declared that he ‘strongly condemned the appalling attacks being carried out by Hamas against Israeli civilians’ and stressed ‘Israel’s right to defend itself from them’.  Defense, in Cameron’s book, includes indiscriminate fire, bombing and killing civilians, and dismissal of all that as necessary (not even unfortunate) collateral. 

The best comes from UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon: ‘Rocket attacks from Gaza are unacceptable’.  He urges Israel to exercise maximum restraint (Netanyahu obviously doesn’t hear Ki-moon and Ki-moon for his part doesn’t seem to worry too much on this count either).  This, however, is priceless: ‘I condemn the rising number of civilian lives lost in Gaza’.  One can lament the losses of course; condemnation has to be reserved for a deliberate act, not an outcome.  He does not condemn Israel.  He urges restraint.  Tells. 

Arab League General-Secretary Nabil al Arabi wants the UN Security Council to ‘adopt measures to stop Israeli aggression against the Gaza Strip’. Talk about barking up the wrong tree. The US will veto anything that goes against what Israel wants to do and Washington has signaled as much in its missives on the issue.  

The Arab League does not see Arab aggression and thereby forfeits the right to whine.   Statements from countries like Iran, likewise, sound hollow because they focus on the Israel side of the aggression equation.

Egypt, now more of Washington’s pawn than when under Hosni Mubarak, has to be wishy-washy and was.  The country’s foreign minister said ‘Egypt condemns these hostilities, which led to the killing and injury of tens of Palestinians,’ and called on Israeli to stop ‘all collective punishment.’  No condemnation of Israel, note. 

Eamon Gilmore, Foreign Minister of Ireland has an interesting take: ‘I condemn unreservedly the indiscriminate firing of rockets into Israel which pose such a grave threat to the population. I equally condemn the mounting civilian casualties, including reportedly women and children, resulting from Israeli air strikes against Gaza.’  Again we see the strange condemnation of outcome and not action, Ban Ki-moon like).’  Ireland, with its 50-50 blame-apportionment does slightly better than Washington, which applauds the Israeli position.   

Germany conveniently wants to start with the firing of rockets into Israel, ignoring that country’s endless aggression on the people of Palestine.  Germany believes that a military confrontation must be averted.  Perhaps the news has not gone through to Berlin.  Rather late in the day to ‘avert’, what? 

Scotland is the voice of reason here.  Scotland calls on both sides to ‘de-escalate’ and offers help to civilians. Scotland puts Cameron and Barack Obama to shame, thereby. 

Nicolas Maduro President of Venezuela condemns Israel, inserting the term ‘disproportionate military response’ that others have missed.  However, Madura’s reference to the legality of Israel and the ‘heroism’ of Palestinians clearly shows that grief is politically frames, just like lamentation and salutation of one or the other parties are ‘contexted’ by the political prerogatives of the USA, UK, Egypt and Russia, for instance.

Russia’s Vladimir Putin appears to be concurring with Washington on this issue.  Putin is certainly nothing like Washington’s pup Cameron.  The motive here could be a general antipathy to people of the Islamic faith, after all Putin is as invested in ‘our ways’ as France with its anti-burqa laws is. 

And so we have it.  World leaders really don’t care about victims.  They don’t really lose any sleep over catastrophe or impending tragedy.  They are mouthing tired quotes from political scripts so old that it is dead boring to listen to them.  They might as well come up with a guidebook for the world on a wide range of topics including possible scenarios so that we won’t have to listen to them or look for their respective ‘takes’ on places like ‘Gaza’. 

Hypocrisy is not the preserve of world leaders, political commentators and prominent media outfits, though.  Right here in Sri Lanka we’ve seen ardent howlers at intolerance and violence, going silent on Israel, the ‘silent’ being mostly dollar-dependent NGO types. Others applauding Israel or else blaming Hamas include ardent BBS supporters and Islamophobes.  A facebook ‘status update’ speaks to this issue.

‘It's a WTF moment for me when I see people who never saw "both sides of the story" a couple of weeks ago during the incident at Aluthgama, now suddenly want us to look at "both side of the story" when Jews bomb Palestine cities killing innocent people including children who have nothing to do with the shit!! How come "both sides" that did not exist then, suddenly appear when you want to cover-up the atrocities of the god’s children!! WTF indeed. Bloody Hypocrites.’

Interestingly, those who refused to see a non-Muslim side of ‘Aluthgama’ are refusing to say a word about the Hamas side of the aggression equation. 

So there we have it.  This world might as well be called ‘Hypocrisy Unlimited’.  The more people talk, the more they shed their disguises and reveal their true selves.  That’s one positive that comes from tragedies.  Small consolation though.  

    

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GO-NGO pots and kettles

The Government has taken some tentative steps to keep NGOs in check.  Although the big-names in the NGO fraternity have howled in protest, a careful reading of the directive issued by the NGO Secretariat clearly indicates that there’s been little more than reiteration of existing caveats pertaining to NGO activity.  Moreover, those with the shrillest objections do not even belong to NGOs that currently come under the purview of the Secretariat.  Only some 1400 NGOs are registered with the Secretariat while many times that number registered under the Company Act as well as other legal mechanisms for registration. 

The Government’s position is that NGOs cannot exceed mandates.  That’s fair enough.  The Secretariat states that the NGO Act will be amended to bring other outfits registered variously but not with the Secretariat under its purview.   Nothing wrong in that either.  Simply, if NGOs are required to submit activity plans for the year which can help the Secretariat monitor if mandates are not exceeded, ‘NGO-companies’ will not have to submit to similar scrutiny. 

NGOs as well as the Opposition have objected to the Secretariat being housed within the Defence Ministry.  Why they remained silent until this ‘crack down’ is a mystery, but nevertheless they do have a point.  The only defense for the government is the fact that some NGOs have operated in ways that have raised serious questions about compromising national security, both during the time the LTTE existed militarily and after May 2009 too.  That however is not reason enough to have in place a blanket and high-handed policy on monitoring all NGOs.

No country can be faulted for taking precautions against elements that can compromise a hard won peace.  On the other hand one can easily go overboard with precaution.  Indeed it is a fine line between protecting country and safeguarding regime-interest.  That line is currently blurred and this blurring gives credence to some of the arguments against control. Not all objectors have the moral authority to cry foul however, given track records of aiding and abetting terrorism as well as complicity in well known destabilization efforts initiated by foreign governments. 

What we are seeing from the side of the Government is what can be called early signs of direct control over the NGO sector.  A statement about monitoring, reiteration of existing rules and expression of intent in corralling all NGOs under one monitoring authority can be described as ‘long overdue’.  Indeed, many discussions on the NGO sector have called for that kind of streamlining.  NGOs have not helped their cause by acting as though the ‘non’ part of the acronym is equivalent to ‘anti’ and as such they are blessed with impunity, are above the law and entitled to do the ‘as we please’.  The current monitoring regime, some will argue, is rudimentary, full of holes and inadequate in ensuring that entities largely dependent on foreign funds and therefore beholden to uphold donor-agenda do not act in ways detriment to the national interest, including political stability and national security. 

For all this, the most compelling argument against the current moves by the Government is the moral objection: a government and an institutional arrangement that thumbs its metaphorical nose at ‘mandate’ has no moral authority to demand that anyone, NGOs included, stick within mandate-parameters. 

So we left with two entities, the apparatus of Governmental Organizations and that of the Non-Governmental Organizations, endowed with the right to point self-righteous fingers at each other.  Ironically, each accuses the other of being bad boys and girls when it comes to governance including transparency, accountability and flouting or circumventing established rules and procedures.  Both are recipients of ‘donor-dollars’ (or Euros or Yuan or whatever), both adept at double-speak, selective objection, shameless politicking and peopled with unscrupulous racketeers.  It’s all black.  It’s all about pots and kettles. 

Indeed, we can conclude that strange as it may be, the two entities depend on each other.  If one were to correct itself the other would have to close up shop or at least have certain shops closed (like say the ‘Monitoring Unit’ if such exists within the NGO Secretariat).  It is hard to imagine that NGO bigwigs would welcome that kind of eventuality with wild applause.

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Ven Maduluwawe Sobitha Thera expresses remorse

Wimal Weerawansa, the ardent defender of the regime, staunch nationalist, anti-imperialist and in fact the jaathiye panchaayudaya (self-proclaimed) had come.  He had seen, he had chit-chatted, he had posed for photographs and he had left.  Ven Maduluwawe Sobitha Thera blessed them all with the customary ‘suwapath wethva’ and went into his bedroom.  It had been an animated conversation.  They had talked of the Executive Presidency and other constitutional matters. They had discussed the state of the country.  They had exchanged pleasantries.  The venerable thero was exhausted.  He reclined in an easy chair and reflected.  He thought.

‘What was that all about?  Why on earth did I agree to meet Wimal?  What was I trying to achieve?  What was his objective?

‘I met him in my capacity as the Convener of the Movement for a Just Society, this is true, but to what end?  Wimal is Wimal.  A good orator.  An excellent communicator.   He knows all about brands, brand building and brand positioning.  I was in the photographs that made it to the newspapers.  So what?  I am not the one getting the political mileage.  I am not the one who is getting brand exposure.

‘I should have known better.  After all I know Wimal.  I know his history. I know of his hunger-strike.  I know the threats and withdrawal of threats.  After each feigned disagreement with the President, Wimal comes out strong defending the regime.  The last line of every episode has been the same.  He says that he will not allow the regime to be defeated.  Aanduwa wattanna denne nehe. 

‘Maybe I am getting old.  If I had any doubts, all the hue and cry about Cyril Ramaphosa’s visit should have laid them to rest.  One would have thought that Wimal would have suffered a coronary if Ramaphosa ever came.  Well, he has come now.  Wimal has not announced a hunger strike. He has not even done a Palitha Thevarapperuma, threatening to resign knowing well that Mahinda would bail him out at the last moment.  Someone said that Ramaphosa was but a tourist and that seems to have been enough for Wimal.

‘Wimal has words.  Had he been in the opposition he would have creamed whoever said that Ramaphosa was a tourist.  Actually I wish there was someone like Wimal in the opposition.  They just have voice-cut politicians.  Sloth is their middle name.  Now Wimal, had he been in the opposition, would have asked the Government if the TNA was a bunch of wild elephants roaming around in Wilpattu. He would have asked the Government if the TNA’s offices was some culturally and historically significant archaeological site.  He would have asked why Ramaphosa has not included Sigiriya, Dambulla and Kandy in his itinerary.  He didn’t do that. He remained silent.

‘So what was this visit all about?  Wimal doesn’t want regime-change. He does not want Mahinda ousted.  He is not interested in a just society because he doesn’t have the eyes to see all the injustice happening around him and even if he did his biting wit does not bend this way and that to twist a phrase and deliver scathing criticism. 

‘This was not a visit to pay respects. It was not to obtain blessings.  Maybe I should just treat it all with equanimity.  I was tricked, this is true.  But I cannot, as a bikkhu, turn away anyone, even Wimal.  And in any case, I have spent hours and hours with people as dodgy as Wimal or worse.  Yes, that’s it.  I will take that line.  It’s all I can salvage after being turned into a pawn in one of Wimal’s many publicity chess games.’

*All this in a parallel universe, of course. 

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The accidental tourist Ramaphosa and other tidbits

Ramaphosa the Accidental Tourist

The opposition frequently claims that the number trotted out by the Government with respect to tourist arrivals are highly inflated.  Every visit, even by Sri Lankans working abroad who take a break to spend time with their families, the opposition claims.  We don't know the truth, but this particular arrival has to go as 'tourist'.  The controversial (and notorious, according to some) Cyril Ramaphosa, South African Deputy President, is not here to mediate, facilitate or engage in any political work of any kind.  He's here as a tourist.  We are sure he has a tourist visa.  And we are sure he's meeting the TNA because the TNA office is a tourist destination.  

The Govt pot and the NGO kettle

The decision to make NGOs stick to their mandate has provoked a howl of protests from the would-be 'victims'.  What this means is that a) NGOs have exceeded their mandates and b) want this state of affairs to continue.  In short they wish to remain unregulated. A law unto themselves.  Strange, since these are the same people who beat their chests and claim that politicians take the law into their hands.  On the other hand, how can a government that doesn't give a hoot about rules and regulations, never mind mandates, demand that NGOs (or anyone else) play by the rules?

Jagath Balasuriya as IGP

Minister of National Heritage Jagath Balasuriya has vowed to crack down on nidan horu, i.e. those who pillage archaeological sites in search of buried treasure and artifacts, by using satellite technology.  Brilliant.  Now the same technology could be used to catch pickpockets, burglars, murderers, those who pilfer the public kitty and so on, surely? So the question is, when is the brilliant Prof Balasuriya going to be made the Inspector General of Police so that his knowledge can be put to even better use?

The Thevarapperuma Drama

Palitha Thevarapperuma, unwittingly, has propounded a new political theory.  It is almost like a corollary to a political theory dreamed up by the inimitable Wimal Weerawansa. Wimal went on a hunger strike and get out of jail, so to speak, when President Rajapaksa 'persuaded' him to stop it.  Thevarapperuma has done the same.  Threatened to resign, wrote a resignation letter, took it to the party leader and the party leader (duly?) refused to accept the letter.  Wimal and Palitha both made noises, gave ultimatums and at the end of the day, didn't have to sacrifice anything.  It's a win-win situation for all concerned.  Prediction: there'll be more 'heroes' in the coming months, Palitha-like and Wimal-like. 

Ranil's love for the people

Ranil Wickremesinghe wants everyone to rally around the UNP to help him form a government that works for the well being of the general public.  Well, they say charity begins at home.  Could Mr Wickremesinghe conduct an opinion poll to find out if the well being of the party's rank and file has been adequately served during his tenure as party leader?

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