Of days gone by and days yet to arrive

There are many ways to trace one’s journey from the point of birth to the point of deliberation, i.e. the ‘now’ of reflection.  You can count your blessings. You can count the times you tripped. You can mark them separately or together on a time line. You can see life as knife-set or tidbits, yearnings or fishnets, what-ifs or so-whats, the love that was lost in loving and the life misplaced by living. Things like that.

And then you can turn around and imagine futures.  The years left can also be segmented, in terms of career path, income level, the changing face of household (babied households, teenaged ones, their youth and your aging, infirmity and dependency and then lapse into the unimaginable incomprehensibilities that only others fall victim to and consequently suffer). 

How do you read the past?  Do you think of the number of years, the number of certificates, the number of residences, number of countries visited, number of people you’ve helped and the ones that helped you, the number of times you felt you ought to have done or said that something which didn’t get done or said at the time?  And the future…will it be chartered in terms of bank-balance extrapolation, portfolio value, the number of classmates who you believe would pass on before your turn arrives or the sins you haven’t quite been able to forgive yourself for committing?

Or would you prefer to do it with names?  The names of the places you’ve visited, titles of books that inspired you, favourite authors, unforgettable personalities you’ve encountered, those who gave without asking, those who took when they thought you weren’t looking?  And would you chart future in the same manner, i.e. in terms of names, places and people, titles and taglines, brands and pay-off lines, certificates and obituaries, quotable quotes and the thinks that you are determined never to say? 

Would you do it all, this business of back and forth, reviewing past and charting future, in images?  Would you do it by joining the dots of things and people seen, events witnessed, other peoples’ representations in sketch, painting, collage, sculpture, photograph and installation of event, personality, metaphor, memory, dream and horror? 

Would you prefer to store the avenues of recall and the pathways into the horizon in different formats, some as number, some as word, some as image? Would you arrange them in terms of colour, as textures, fragrance-sets, and the heart-rates they produced?  Would you hire a professional archivist?  Would you tear your hair because these things defy ordering? Would you mix it all in tremendous sweep of mind and madness, like a child playing in a heal of dried leaves, let it all fall in whatever way moment and wind and insanity decrees? Would you weep then, or smile? 

I don’t know, to be honest, how I would do it all.  But my friend ErrolAlphonso sent me a wonderful quote yesterday. Woody Allen.  ‘Why are our days numbered and not, say, lettered?’

Got me thinking.  I believe there’s very little in this world that compels one to remember in ordered ways, very few reasons to plan meticulously and too far into the future.  There’s a caressing called for that lies between the insanity of perfect recording/blueprinting and the insanity of w-t-f irresponsibility. 

I think our days are numbered. They are lettered too, although we don’t say it. They are also imaged. 

Our days, come to think of it, more than all this, are silenced.  This we don’t like to acknowledge or be reminded of. 

Note: This was first published four years ago.  Errol has since passed on.  

msenevira@gmail.com

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Can you take Shamila to see Rukshan?

She looked lovely that night as she smiled when receiving an award.  She is seldom without a smile, and her friends know this.   An ‘award-smile’ one expects to be slightly more radiant.  That slightly-more was there.  One might put it down to pride.  Not put-off pride but genuine gladness at the recognition; the kind that no one would grudge.   All natural, one might add.   If there was a touch of sorrow, she didn’t show it.  Again, few in the audience if at all would have found such a trace to be out of place. 

She looked lovely or let’s say lovelier for reasons that had nothing to do with appearance.  It had everything to do with circumstances, conditions that contained her, were relevant to everyone who knew those circumstances and indeed everyone in the audience because it was, well, an award.  An award for excellence in journalism.  In  this instance, the Best Photojournalist of the Year.  She was not the recipient. She was ‘proxy’ and that’s the worst word one could use to describe this lady. 

Shamila Abeywansha received the award on behalf of her husband Rukshan, a photojournalist at ‘The Nation’.  She had to walk up to the stage and accept the award because Rukshan could not.  His story is no longer news, but his everyday inabilities (‘not news’ though they are to his wife and loved ones) make their everyday lead story.  It does not grow stale.

Rukshan, to almost everyone who knows him, is the heartbeat of this country.  Rukshan suffered terrible injuries in an accident.  That was more than two months ago.  He has courage, this boy.  He is conscious of his condition and he is determined to get on his feet one day.  The prognosis is not exactly hopeful.  Impact on lungs has rendered him vulnerable to respiratory ailments.  He’s already suffered bouts of Pneumonia.  He fights all that with the assistance of numerous machines.  There are costs for every little thing.  They all add up to amounts that render everyone helpless.  There is paralysis all round. 

And yet, that night, Shamila Abeywansha walked up as though it was her husband Rukshan who was going to receive the award.  Happy.  Full of smiles.  Just like any other award recipient.  And that’s why she looked lovelier than at any other time.  She was, after all, receiving an award that has no meaning to her or Rukshan or their children, given the circumstances.  She smiled.  She showed much grace that night. 

The following morning, she woke to the same headline she had woken to for more than a month.  Today, more than a month later, it’s same lead story with the same headline. 

‘Rukshan lives on the other side of a mountain’. 

That’s the Rukshan we know, love and want among us again.  There’s no way around it, Shamila needs to climb to the other side to see him.  Every step costs.  She cannot stop – not to rest, not to breathe.  And she has to do all this while carrying a 3 year old boy and a little girl just 10 months old.  And attending awards ceremonies which offer rewards that mean little to her. 

And so, that night, that award, the applause and every other news story, photo-essay and brilliant interview or column have all ceased to matter.  What matters is that there’s a beautiful man waiting for all of us but especially for his family on the other side of a mountain. 

On that side of the mountain there are no awards ceremonies.  On that side there are no recurrent lead stories.  On that other side there’s a beautiful woman.  She wears a smile none of us have ever seen.    That’s beauty worth going a long way to see.   If there’s one thing and only one thing left to say, I would say it in the softest tone possible, with utmost respect and sincerity:  ‘let’s take Shamila and her two children to that other side for she cannot do it on her own.’

Rukshan underwent life-saving surgery on his spine.  He recovered enough to be moved from Central Hospital to the Colombo National Hospital.  However, subsequent complications due to weak lungs forced the family to take him back.  He’s currently in the Intensive Care Unit, Central Hospital.  His friends and family, along with very generous support from the President’s Fund, paid off the hospital bill of over 3.7 million rupees the time he was at the Central Hospital.  Currently, there’s Rs 900,000 to be paid (and counting!).  He is doing better, but requires further treatment before he can be moved to a rehabilitation facility.  Every rupee counts.  Please donate whatever you can to: N.N. Abeywansha, Bank of Ceylon, Borella Branch, Acct No 71934217.  Email me if you have any questions:msenevira@gmail.com. For SWIFT Code for overseas tranfers: BCEYLKLX.

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The UNP must bridge the democracy-deficit

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, in his celebrated novel ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ describes the signing of an agreement between two warring parties, the liberals and conservatives.  Colonel Aureliano Buendia, rebel leader, is surrounded by his lawyers.  The draft document is not a give-and-take agreement, but an absolute surrender. The fact is pointed out to him: ‘But Colonel, if we agree to all this, it means that all these years we have been fighting against the general sentiments of the people!’ 

The Colonel’s response is a classic that holds for all politics, everywhere and across history.  ‘No, what it means is that from now on we will be fighting for power’. 

This is the truth.  Politics is about power. Rhetoric is frill.  Objection on grounds of morality, unconstitutionality, illegality etc., with chest-beating words such as good governance, democracy, accountability and transparency, amounts to ‘necessary drivel’.  Typically and for understandable reasons the shrill voices are to be found in opposition ranks.  Given a constitution that was deliberately and heavily skewed in favor of the party in power (a document authored by persons who never thought the UNP would be defeated), which provides ample space for power-abuse and which has a scripted and debilitating effect on the opposition, that’s where dismay tends to take up residence.

Looking back at the history of party politics, it’s a well known truism that the opposition whines about systems and system-abuse but if and when tables are turned revel in the very same anomalies they once objected to.  This, however, does not automatically disqualify critique.  Even if it is about power, the opposition has the burden of articulating objections.  That alone will not win elections given the very system-anomalies that constitute a massive handicap, but it is something that has to be done.  To go with the Buendia quote, what happened was an acknowledgment of reality.  The ‘liberals’ didn’t tell their followers, ‘drop illusions, this is about power and nothing else.’ 

But if you want power this side of a revolution even in the context of a draconian constitution where democracy is the larger frame then those words are important.  Sure, one can win elections without mentioning once terms such as accountability and transparency or terms such as rule of law and good governance; ‘we won the war for you’ after all was a slogan that worked simply because it articulated an acknowledged fact and played on a population ready to reward.  However, when fighting a track record which is at worst a mix of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ there are no ready taglines that can swing an electorate, even if ‘bad’ is generally seen as tending towards ‘worse’.    You can and must point out the transgressions one by one but in doing so you will be promising better.  That’s where believability can end and worse sink the opposition. 

It is naturally for those in power to manufacture divisions where there are none and exaggerate enmities that do exist.  The problem for the UNP right now is that no one has to manufacture such divisions for they are out in the public.  The pettiness, more than anything else, gives the proverbial ‘known devil’ a massive edge in elections.   But let’s assume that this is not the case.  Let’s assume that what actually exists in the UNP is ideological disagreement or contention about strategy.  Let’s assume that the likes of Sajith Premadasa and Ravi Karunanayake are not looking for personal gain. 

Even if all this is assumed there is a massive believability deficit on account of several realities. First, there is the UNP constitution, which makes the ‘draconian’ JRJ constitution the entire country is saddled with look quite democratic.  Then there is the issue of transparency.  Today we have a member of the UNP’s ‘Leadership Council’, Tissa Attanayake, powwowing with Sajith Premadasa to negotiate the latter’s re-entry into the higher echelons of power within the party.  Premadasa wants the No 2 slot.  Premadasa also wants the Leadership Council abolished. 

Now Attanayake is essentially negotiating away the very Council he is a member of without any by-your-leave and this with a man who did everything possible to prevent the party from establishing this very council.  That’s reneging of the worst kind.  And it’s all hush-hush.  One can concede that certain moves have to be low-key affairs for practical reasons, but this is the party’s General Secretary we are talking about.  Where is the answerability here? Where is the notion of collective responsibility?  What of solidarity?  What worth should one attach in these circumstances to the rhetoric of accountability and transparency?   How can the UNP fault the Government for its many ‘lacks’ in this regard if within its limited scope of operation the party doesn’t appear to take such notions seriously?

Ideally, what one wants to implement for the larger polity one must establish in one’s own party.  Democracy is as much about rehearsing the ideal as about correct flaws and establishing the building blocks.  We don’t see that in the UNP right now.  It all adds to the handicap. 

We could negate all that in terms of the Buendia Principle, if one may call it that.  What is damning though is the fact that it is this very flippancy that is working against the UNP in all efforts to develop a common front.  First, it stands to reason, one must have party unity.  A united UNP can make a better pitch for a common opposition front.  The preference for cloak-dagger politicking within the party is therefore a distraction the UNP can ill afford. 

For practical reasons, it is too much to expect the UNP’s leader and/or the party rank and file to move and move quickly to democratize the organization starting with a revamping of the constitution.  Obtaining transparency and accountability in a limited manner, however, is not asking for the moon. It is asking for the little something that party loyalists can chew on and would-be voters can cling to when it comes to the moment of picking lesser-evil.  Right now, the UNP is not giving itself a ghost of a chance and it is futile in blaming the Government for this state of affairs. 

It is better, all things considered, to just say ‘we are in this for power,’ with a prayer to Garcia Marquez.

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Who’s afraid of Mahinda Rajapaksa?

There’s going to be an election in a few weeks time.   On the face of it yet another provincial council election in the now to-be-expected staggered format that gives the ruling party an inside edge should not excite anyone.  On the other hand, the Uva PC election is being held amid widespread speculation that it will be followed by a snap presidential election.  A strong showing in Uva would give the opposition a much needed fillip even if it ends on the losing side whereas yet another one-sided affair would spell doom for whoever that is chosen as the principal candidate of the opposition in a presidential election. 

Perhaps this is why there seems to be more election-heat in Uva (unlike say, Wayamba).  Intra-party scuffles have for a change given way to inter-party clashes.  Perhaps also, this is why ‘hot’ as Uva is, there is as much talk of that campaign as there is speculation and machinations with respect to ‘a common opposition candidate’. 

All this was expected, though.  It was anyway hard to believe that President Mahinda Rajapaksa would stay his full term.   First, he is not getting any younger. Secondly, with each passing day regime-fatigue becomes more of a factor that plays again re-election aspirations.  Thirdly, there is a thing called ‘opportune moment’.   There is a lot to gain by calling for an early election, say, at a time when the opposition is in disarray or is demoralized by a defeat. 

The scrambling in the opposition camp to come up with a name that everyone can support itself indicates strong conviction that there will be an early presidential election, i.e. long before the due date of 2016.  It is in this context that the remarks of former Chief Justice Saran N Silva regarding Mahinda Rajapaksa’s eligibility needs to be understood. 

According to Saratn N Silva’s reading of the constitution, President Rajapaksa cannot re-contest due to what he contends is flawed wording in the 18^th Amendment.   The thing about interpretation is that there can be more than one.  Laws themselves can be changed and regimes are notorious for using parliamentary majorities to pass partisan legislation.  We saw this at the tail end of the eighties when the UNP was about to lose its two-thirds majority.  Courtesy Sarath N Silva, ironically, ruling parties can always obtain the two-thirds majority required for constitutional amendment.  That’s considerable political edge. 

Even if the ruling party does not avail itself of these benefits, final determination comes from the Supreme Court and according to opposition voices including that of the former Chief Justice it’s a naduth-haamuduruwange-baduth-haamuduruwange state of affairs.  

In all these machinations, claims and legal arguments one thing stands out: picking a ‘common candidate’ is less important for the opposition than making sure that the ‘chosen one’ will not have to confront Mahinda Rajapaksa.  Even his most vociferous critic will admit that he is Mr Impossible To Beat, and not just because of the massive advantage that the constitution as well as political realities confer on the incumbent.  

The troubling truth for the opposition is that in the business of choosing lesser evils, the President has far greater appeal than any of the names being floated as possible challenger.  All the more reason, naturally, to do whatever is necessary to get his name off the ballot. 

There are two perceptions that are commonly expressed, even by the President’s detractors.  First, that although regime-approval is low and people are not happy with the Government, they will still vote for the betel leaf.  

One often hears frustrated voices in the opposition cursing the people for being stupid, especially in the aftermath of electoral defeat.  Secondly, there is grudging acknowledgement of the President’s popularity: oya yaka kohomahari dinanava (this devil will win somehow).  This acceptance is not about hook-or-crook scenarios but the fact that unpopular as the government is and despised as most ministers are, the President is still seen as an ‘ape manussaya’ (our man).  

What this means is that the opposition’s failure is of a magnitude greater that whatever general popularity slippage detracts from the President’s overall persona.  In this context even if the opposition were to get its act together (a tall order in itself) the outcome will not subvert the script.  

This is why interventions such as Sarath N Silva’s, sadly, are crucial for the opposition.  What it means is that the opposition has been in arm-chair mode for far too long.  The opposition has to understand that voice-cut politics won’t deliver anything. 

In this context, what the former Chief Justice’s intervention and the vociferous cheers thereafter really amounts to is a confession from the overall opposition: ‘We are scared to run against Mahinda Rajapaksa’.   It indicates that there’s a lot more work to be done among the people and that they’ve started rather late in the day.  Better late than never, though, is something to cling on to. 

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Buckets strike back!

Enough is enough.  Ever since some idiot decided to invent me, I’ve never had it easy.  I never got to choose what goes in me.  I’ve been used, sure, in civilized societies, to draw water.  That’s an across-the-globe thing.  Maybe they should have named me water bucket and made some law to prohibit buckets from being used to collect anything but water.  Well, maybe grain and maybe leaves.  That’s it. 

What is it with humans, really?  They have the nerve to come up with something called ‘the bucket list’.  I have been tagged to a must-do-before-death list.  Why?  Because when someone dies they say he/she has ‘kicked the bucket’!  Kicked life, now that makes sense, but why a bucket?  What has a bucket got to do with death and dying?  I’ve been kicked around lot over the years but I challenge anyone to show any proof that kicking me caused anything but a dent in my sides. Kick the bucket, my foot!  It’s an insult that’s even worse than using me to carry human excreta during those long centuries when some cultures couldn’t get a hang on what goes out of their orifices. 

Now they’ve got me entangled in a bizarre thing called the Ice Bucket Challenge.  Look, I am ok with ice. I am ok with challenges.  But what’s the big deal about idiots filling me up with ice or ice water or anything for that matter and emptying it over their stupid heads?  Most of them don’t know elementary physics.  Many can’t even lift me up once filled.    They all hurt me, and for having done what wrong, I ask you! 

Are these creatures so dumb that they’ve forgotten the basic thing about charity?  Well, not the ‘basic thing’, which is ‘charity is the privilege of the wealthy’, but the second basic thing: it’s about dishing out money, writing a check, offering services free of charge, helping out the needy or whatever that needs to be done that one is ready to do without costing the recipient.  Why drag buckets into it?

Today every other attention-deficient nutcase is picking me up to look like a prized idiot.  I am being ‘idiotized’ by association.  I tell you, I will not have it.  Ok, there’s an up side to this bucket downing business, I must admit.  The vast majority of bucket-challenge morons don’t have a clue about the cause.   They know how to take selfies and they know how to post these on facebook but they don’t even bother to find out what ALS stands for.  It could be All Losers Syndicated.  It could be Arrogant Little Sinners.    But they are falling over themselves, kicking many buckets around and dousing themselves in cold water.  Man, if it was known that people were that gullible, the capitalist class would be making a killing.  Hey, wait a minute, they ARE making a killing.  No wonder!

The Great Bucket above must see all this.  Maybe it is time for a deluge…bucketfuls if you like.  Not water.  Not ice.  Brain cells!  The mediocrity of this world is killing me. Help, dear Father of All Buckets, have pity on thy children.  They do not deserve this unholy relationship you’ve forged for them with this species called ‘humans’.  Liberate us.  If you can’t, we might as well commit mass suicide.  Kick the humans, we ought to call it. 

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The Bala Tampoe story

Pic by Kannan Arunasalam, courtesy 'I Am Project'  

Veteran trade union leader and General Secretary of Ceylon Mercantile, Industrial and General Workers Union Bala Tampoe passed away in Colombo at the age of 92 today.  I interviewed 'Comrade Bala' for the Sunday Island 13 years ago.  That interview (published on April 8, 2001) is reproduced here by way of tribute to a colorful and evergreen red, so to speak, in labor politics in Sri Lanka.

Marx said somewhere that men make history but not in the circumstances of their choosing. This is fundamentally a thesis about the dialectic character of structure and agency. For the most part, it seems, human beings are overwhelmed by the conditions they find themselves in, and allow themselves to be carried by the tide of seemingly inexorable processes. Still, the world is not without heroes and heroism, for there are those who challenge and radically alter contours of engagement in the social. In the process, inevitably, they succeed in redefining who they are, often in opposition to the cultural code dictated by genealogy and blood line. Such a man is Phillips Balendra Tampoe, or 
"Comrade Bala" to thousands of trade union activists the world over.

Having held the post of General Secretary of the Ceylon Mercantile, Industrial and General Workers Union (CMU) for over 50 years (itself a record and testimony to the faith that workers of several generations have had in the man), Bala has clearly carved a niche for himself in the history of the trade union movement in this country. Of course, he would be the first to play down the distinction that his service deserves. The people, on the other hand, do hold the prerogative of paying tribute and if any one is deserving of praise for sacrifice and commitment in the long, hard struggles of the oppressed, Comrade Bala certainly qualifies without reservation.

Sure, there will be the die-hard Trotskyites who will quote Lenin selectively and chastise the man on account of "trade unionism inevitably leads to a negotiation of the terms of exploitation".

But theirs is the business of splitting hairs over sore ideological points. The people do not have to (and in most cases cannot) wait for the "Permanent Revolution" in order to obtain a wage that is half way decent. In any case, Bala’s political life stretched the boundaries of trade unionism in this country, and moreover often spilled out of it as he passionately embraced issues that were hardly the concerns of workers.

Bala claims that fundamentally he’s a humanist and that all his life he first considered people as human beings, then as workers and finally as members of the union. "That’s the way we come and that’s the way we ought to approach life. This is the fundamental teaching of the union and I believe this is why we have been successful and achieved what we have".

In terms of name recognition, Bala Tampoe and the CMU have enjoyed pre-eminence in the eyes of anyone interested in left politics and especially trade unionism in this country. We decided to take Comrade Bala along memory lane, to find out where he came from and discover the particular circumstances that propelled him on a life long journey with the working class.

He was born in 1922 and was named Balendra Tampoe-Phillips. His father, Francis Tampoe Phillips was a coconut planter in Jaffna who later served in the British imperial government in India as an excise officer. His mother, who was to have a large influence on his life, Beatrice, was born in Kurunegala and was the daughter of Mudaliyar Savarimuttu the former Chief Post Master.

Bala was born in Negombo and had his early education at Newstead. He was eight when his father took up a position in the Madras Presidency. At that time, the colonial government had a quota system to admit non Anglo-Indians to schools and young Bala had to be educated at home for several years before he was admitted to Bishop Cotton School.

"Actually I was admitted to a school before, but that was because my mother had put down my name as B. T. Phillips. I was very excited at finally being able to go to school, but when the headmaster saw me he said ‘there has been some mistake,’ and pointed out that the quota system had already been filled. This is why my mother asked me to change my name when I returned to Sri Lanka and joined Royal College, and I fully agreed with her."

Reminiscing about his family, Bala said that they belonged to the Jaffna aristocracy and that there were even claims that they were connected to Sankili, the last Tamil king of Jaffna. Their ancestral home was located opposite the palace at Nallur and was called "Sangili Thoppe" or Sangili’s Garden. He admits therefore that he was an aristocrat by blood and laughingly said that he was often referred to as "The Czar of the City Clerks".

"My great great grandfather was the first Hindu to convert to Christianity in Jaffna. ‘Phillips’ was the name of the man who sponsored the evangelical mission and that’s how I ended up with that name."
He recalled that his father always carried the arrogance that came with his aristocratic lineage. "He used to ride horses and even when he went somewhere by car, he carried his whip with him. If the road was blocked by cattle or people, he would toot his horn several times and after passing the place, would stop, take out his whip and lash out at the herdsman or whoever was blocking his path, much like the aristocracy in Jaffna."

His mother, apparently was very different. She was an admirer of Gandhi, Nehru and the Indian nationalist movement. He remembered how his father, on April Fool’s Day in 1930 or 1931 sent a message home saying that Gandhi and Nehru had been released from prison. His mother had been overjoyed and her husband had had a hearty laugh at her expense. She would frequently get into arguments with her husband, who was in every sense of the word a creature of the British Raj. 

"Sometimes he would beat her. I admired my mother very much and identified with her. That was the beginning of me identifying myself with the oppressed."

I put to him that Freudians would love this story. He said "Why not? I have read Freud and have done my own self-analysis. I believe that these things had a lot to do with who I am and what I did."
At Royal College, Bala became friends with Danister Gunatilleke, the younger brother of Vivienne Goonewardene and it was with him that he cut his political teeth, joining the Suriya Mal Movement in 1935. In 1939, having passed the Senior School Certificate Examination, Bala entered the University of Ceylon and also won a Cambridge Studentship for having come third in the island at the exam. Although he had studied chemistry, physics and double maths, Prof. Sunderalingam, a personal friend of the family and the man who had sponsored his education at Royal, had persuaded him to study botany because "botany carried more weightage in marks for the civil service exam".

Prof. Gulasekeram, the then registrar of the university had been angry at this decision and had come home to convince him of his folly. Bala had coolly told him that if he can guarantee his career, then he would gladly switch again.

"He looked at me and told my parents ‘that’s Phillips’ Rangi talking, meaning the hauteur of the Phillips, probably referring to my ancestry."

The university years coincided with the second world war and Bala soon found himself in the thick of the anti-war movement. He had joined the LSSP in 1941 and had been put in a "special unit" along with Dicky Attygalle, the son of Dr. J. W. Attygalle. Dicky had recruited him to the party, in fact. The LSSP had decided to free its leaders who were being held in Bogambara just before the famous Japanese air raid in 1942, and it was Bala, with an assumed identity of Kuruppu, who carried the secret message to NM and co. He had also taken steps to provide a safe house for the escapees in Anuradhapura, prior to their departure to India via Velivettiturai.

Back in Colombo, Dicky and Bala had organised the distribution of anti-war propaganda among British troops stationed in Colombo.

"Dicky, who was an English Honours student, wrote a fantastic pamphlet, which talked about the ‘rising sun of Japan and the setting sun of Churchill’. We had won over three British soldiers, who undertook to distribute the pamphlet in the canteens of the army. I paid some street urchins 50 cents to distribute the document in the cinemas which were mainly patronised by British service personnel.
"It had a huge impact. The commanding officer had threatened action against anyone found with the pamphlet on his or her person. In fact, Tomlinson’s book titled ‘The Most Dangerous Moment’ (i.e. the threatened invasion of Ceylon by the Japanese fleet for which the British was not prepared), carried a copy of that pamphlet."

The war years were not without humour and romance for Bala. He remembered becoming friendly with a British woman in the army, who was stationed in Kandy. Jeanne Gillott, the daughter of a captain in the British Navy, had been a head strong woman, who defied colonial custom and thought nothing of going with Bala to the cinema or dancing with him. Bala of course never stood up for the British Anthem, and Jeanne had followed suit. Bala had to ask her to stand up because there were too many British soldiers in the theatre.

"One day we were walking outside the Queen’s Hotel and we saw two naval officers coming in the opposite direction. She asked me not to say anything if any remarks were passed. True enough, as they passed us, one of them said ‘Where are you going with THAT?’ ‘That’ was me!"

On another occasion, he had been doing the ‘excuse-me dance’ with her where one’s partner can be taken by any man who only needed to say ‘excuse me’ to take her from you. Bala was duly ‘excused’ and the person who took over Jeanne had made some disparaging remark about Bala and the ‘natives’ to which she had replied ‘Some of them have been to Cambridge and Oxford and speak better English than you or I!" When the war ended she had been posted to Delhi.

Bala got his Botany Honours degree from Colombo in 1943 as well as a degree from London (as an external student) in 1944 and was appointed as a lecturer in Botany and Horticulture at the school of agriculture in Peradeniya. He secretly lectured clerks belonging to the Government Clerical Services Union (GCSU) and lost his job over his role in the strike of 1947. On February 1st, 1948, he broke away from A. E. Goonasingha and was elected as the General Secretary of the CMU a post he has held for 53 years now. He took his oaths as a lawyer in 1953 and has represented countless workers and activists since.

Bala, a member of the politburo of the LSSP, resigned, along with others like Edmund Samarakkody who formed the LSSP-R (that’s ‘revolutionary’) claiming that the LSSP was taking the revisionist road, in 1964. Bala had his own faction, the Revolutionary LSSP. Bala, it can be argued, was cut out more for trade unionism than party politics.

He has dedicated his life to the union and helped it grow to over 20,000 members in 125 commercial, engineering and industrial establishments. The CMU has played and continues to play an important role in the trade union movement, not only in regard to matters affecting its own members, but in regard to socio-economic and political issues affecting working people and the country in general. It has also been in the forefront of mass actions in defence of human and democratic rights, especially during prolonged periods of "Emergency Rule".

A member of a team from the World Bank had once asked Bala what the CMU was doing at Eppawala since there were no workers issues there, and Bala had responded "We are human beings first, and that is reason enough!"

His first marriage in 1950 to Nancy Kotalawala, a Montessori teacher from Passara who had studied under Madame Montessori, had ended in 1957. He married May Wickramasuriya, a comrade in the CMU in 1966. Just before she died, someone had suggested that Bala’s autobiography should be written, and Bala had suggested that it was May’s that is more important, considering all she had done for the trade union movement. May, of course, has disagreed "No, your story should be told, especially what you did for the JVP."

When Rohana Wijeweera was released, he had come straight to the CMU headquarters saying "We want to thank Comrade Bala and the CMU for all they have done; they were the only people who were consistent in their support while in prison."

"They were not terrorists back in 1971, and the court agreed with my arguments in this regard. The late eighties was a different story altogether. By that time they were engaging in unadulterated terrorist activity."

Almost 80, Bala Tampoe has not lost any of his fire. He is both feared and respected by the employers and loved by the employees. He is recognised as a giant in the trade union movement both in Sri Lanka and elsewhere. Perhaps the photographs says it all.

The photograph, published in the Dawasa, shows the man in full flight at Galle Face Green, clutching the Hansard in his left hand, pointing his finger at the Parliament, screaming that the real parliament of the people lay outside that building. Felix Dias Bandaranaike had to resign and the newspaper had carried this picture next to one of Felix on his way to hand his letter of resignation.
More power to you Comrade Bala, and may your tribe increase. This country can do more with people like you!

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We don't need another hero

Yes, that’s from Tina Turner’s song from the 1985 film Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, written by Terry Britten and Graham Lyle. The line came to me, strangely, after I had just told a set of schoolchildren that we don’t need to look beyond our shores to find heroes (if indeed we needed any, I should have added).

The line is nice and echoes another from Brecht’s ‘Galileo’ (again from beyond our shores): ‘Unhappy is the land that needs a hero’ (and not ‘a land that has not hero’). We don’t need another hero and we don’t need to know the way home (the song goes) for we already have our heroes (or are our own heroes) and we are already home.

I was telling those children about Marion Jones. They knew of her (well, most of them did). They knew of Usain Bolt (their general knowledge was above average, they would think). They knew of Tiger Woods. Susanthika Jayasinghe they had heard of. They hadn’t heard of a man called Ranatunga Karunananda.

Those who unwittingly inhabit others’ versions of their realities might find Karunananda in a different way, I realized. If they scanned world cinema, the greatest or the most entertaining flicks, they might come across Ron Ichikawa’s ‘Tokyo Olympiad’ (Tokyo Orimpikku).

They would no doubt be amazed to learn that a man who came last in the 10,000m race was also featured among the winners, including the incredible Ethiopian, Abebe Bikila who was the first Black African to win an Olympic gold medal and the first to win the marathon twice in a row.

Karunananda didn’t compete in the marathon. He was placed 47th out of 52 in the 5000m race and started the 10,000 with a bad cold and a considerably weakened body. This was in 1964, when athletes didn’t chicken out if they were less than 100 percent fit, a time when athletes were not pampered with sponsorships, employment, vehicles, houses and other gifts. Karunananda competed because he wanted his little daughter to be happy that he competed, from start to finish. He came last. He could have stopped at any point, it would not have changed anything. He didn’t. He was with the leaders when Billy Mills of the USA breasted the tape. That’s because he had been lapped four times by that time.

When he continued, it surprised the spectators. When he came around they jeered. When he came around a second time, there was silence. And then there was cheering. Wild applause. He finished the race to a standing ovation that exceeded the salutation that the spectators gave Mills. Mills is reported to have said that the gold should have gone to Karunananda. Days after the race he still received gifts from sympathetic Japanese. One housewife wrote, ‘I saw you on TV, running all alone and I could not keep back my tears’. 

He was the original ‘Marathon Karu’ (the subsequent Marathon Karu, better known, died with Jeyaraj Fernandopulle in a suicide attack). The Japanese remember. His story is related to schoolchildren to teach the virtue of determination and the triumph of the human spirit. Karu was offered a job in Japan. A few days before he was to leave Sri Lanka, he died. Some say he died in an accident. Some say he was murdered. Some say he just disappeared.

Years later a Japanese television crew arrived in Sri Lanka to do a documentary on this incredible man. No one knew him. They had been taken to the then ‘Marathon Karu’ by mistake and he had helped the Japanese find the man’s family.

Karu’s wife had lost her mind when her husband ‘died’.

The family was literally on the street until a kind relative had offered to take care of the children. The Japanese TV crew found Karu’s son, a teacher. He too had a story.

One day some schoolchildren had been playing around a bonfire; the leaves in the school premises had been swept and set fire to. One little child had tripped and got thrown into the fire.

The others watched helplessly as her clothes caught fire. Karu’s son, it was reported, had jumped into the fire and saved the child. How and why had he risked his life? He had a simple answer: ‘I have a little girl about the same age.’

Tina Turner’s song has these lines: ‘So what do we do with our lives? We leave only a mark. Will our story shine like a light or end in the dark?’ People leave marks, some more prominent than others. Some shine like a light, some end in the dark. Those who see, are privileged and those who don’t are poorer for that un-knowing.

It was tough relating this story to a hall full of students, ages ranging from 12 to 19. I had to gulp in a lot of air to hold back my tears. I managed to smile at the end, though.

‘We don’t have to look beyond our shores,’ I told them. ‘We are a nation blessed with our own heroes.’ There’s one in every body in fact. We don’t have to remember anyone, we don’t need any heroes, but if we want to remember men and women who stood taller than the multitude, then let’s spare a thought for Ranatunga Karunananda. 

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

msenevira@gmail.com

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By way of tribute to Sam Wijesinghe

Pic courtesy Sunday Observer

Sam Wijesinghe, former Secretary General of Parliament, passed away last night at the age of 93.  I interviewed him about 12 years ago but sadly don't have the transcript.  I can't find it on the web either.  But in April 2004, when there was a lot of excitement over the election of the Speaker, Editor of the Sunday Island Manik de Silva asked me to talk with Sam Wijesinghe about 'close elections'.  I was at the Sunday Island at the time. In fact, since I left at the end of April 2004, this is probably the last interview I did.  I reproduce it below by way of tribute to a much-respected civil servant.   

The rumpus reviewed

Sam Wijesinha, who was Secretary General of Parliament for 18 years and was ombudsman for another 10, is widely recognized as an authority on parliamentary tradition and procedure. On April 22, when the marathon vote for speaker was taken, he was watching the entire process from the public gallery. He had much to say about what happened and about close votes in law-making assemblies such as the parliament, not just in recent times, but as far back as 1864. When such an authority speaks, one listens. This is what the Sunday Island recorded.

The election of speaker is essentially a trial of strength. The government wants their candidate to win and the opposition hopes he won’t.

In 1936, at a time when the terms "government" and "opposition" did not exist, the National Congress nominated Francis de Zoysa, a King’s Counsel, outstanding lawyer and prominent figure in the Congress for the speaker’s post. Although there was no opposition, Phillip Gunawardena and N.M. Perera thought they would challenge the old order and put forward an extremely experienced politician as their candidate. Vaityalingam Doraisamy had represented the Northern Province in the legislative assembly in the 20s. There was a third candidate. Charles Batuwanthudawe, another Congress stalwart and a State Council Minister in 1931.

In the first ballot Batuwanthudawe came third, but neither of the other candidates could secure more than 50%. The second vote was a contest between the other two and each got 29 out of a possible 58 votes. In the 3rd poll, Doraisamy got 30 and Zoysa 28. It was revealed later that Mr. Abeygunasekera (Nuwara Eliya), who was seated close to the Marxist twins, was politely but forcibly persuaded to vote for their candidate. Doraisamy was speaker for 12 years and received a knighthood in the process. He was popular and his impartiality is legendary.

The next contest resulting in defeat was in March 1960, when Dudley was asked to form a minority government with a bare 40 out of a total of 100 MPs. The UNP candidate for speaker was Sir Albert F Peiris. He was defeated by T.B. Subasinghe.

Generally the defeat of a government candidate at the very first trial of strength is an indication of the relative strength of the parties and so it is in this case. Regardless of the optimism expressed before the election, the final result is a warning to the government that their programme of new laws may not be as successful as they hoped.

The speaker is expected to hold the scales even and be impartial in any question that arises. Generally, speakers have acted fairly, leaving little room for accusations of partisanship. Being human, they also make mistakes.

Thursday’s election began calmly. The ballot papers were distributed and the MPs were told to write the name of the candidate their prefer out of the two whose names were proposed and seconded. But as some walked out with the ballot papers, points of order were raised and there was pandemonium for more than 45 minutes. Members were shouting at each other and behaving in a very boisterous way. It was impossible to see any order.

There are many criticisms, but if one reflects calmly on the exhibition of very poor behaviour, one concludes that this is a very fine indication of the lack of discipline in the whole country. We are not a nation used to listening. We talk without allowing someone else to say something. If this is not stopped in schools and houses, we will never be a nation of polite listeners. The representatives of the people represent them in their very shortfall of good manners.

Of the vote itself, it is difficult to understand the order in which members were called upon to vote. It looked like the government went first. I think it was unfair. They should have been called to vote, as is normally done, according to alphabetical order (of one of the three languages).

Some members of the government side who came up to vote started showing their ballot paper, like a prize winner shows a trophy that has been won. This conduct gathered momentum as voting went on. But no one had the courage to say this should stop, it being a secret ballot, even though I doubt that people could see what was written, given the distance.

During the first ballot, which took well over two hours, there was comparatively good behaviour from both sides. When the result was announced and it was a tie, lot of people didn’t realize that according to procedures, you must have a second ballot.

Remarks were cast at the monks who walked out with their ballot papers. It was presumed that the two who decided to vote (sitting with the government and later with the other monks) voted for the government side.

During the second ballot, disorder burst out. Allegations and counter-allegations were being flung around and the conduct became so boisterous that the second vote had to be stopped.

The Secretary General, clearly exhausted, walked away. Most of the members went out, presumably for lunch and came back for the third fight, during which the monks who had not voted, voted, a decision made to counter the two who broke ranks. This effectively nullified the effect of the monks’ votes for one side. I believe the decision of the two monks who decided to vote on the third ballot was not so much to be partisan but negate the advantages that resulted from the conduct of the 2 who had broken ranks.

Ultimately the opposition candidate emerged winner by a single vote. The result was accepted by the house. It was well after 7.00 p.m. when they departed.

The occasion was not, as anarchic as made out by a large number of television exposures. The boisterous period was comparatively short, compared with the almost 10 hours of proceedings in the house. We can look forward to peaceful parliamentary activity especially now since the relative strengths of the two sides is fairly well established. There is nothing to say that the presence of a speaker from the opposition will invariably make government impossible. In England, Betty Boothroyd was elected by the conservatives because she was doing an excellent job as speaker.

With regard to the numbers, of votes, seats and percentages, let us remember that in 1956, the UNP got over 800,000 votes but secured only 8 seats whereas the MEP, with approximately a million votes got 60. Each UNP seat was worth 89,000 votes and each MEP one 17,500!

In 1970 the UNP polled 19 lakhs and got 17 seats while the others polled just 18 lakhs for 91 seats. In this case, the UNP had to get 111,500 votes per seat while the others had to poll only 20,250 per seat.

In 1977, the UNP with 32 lakhs, won 140 seats, while the SLFP got only 8 for the 12 lakhs they polled. One seat was secured for every 23,000 votes polled by the UNP and in the case of the opposition, they had to poll 148,000 per seat.

Therefore too much should not be made of the 700,000 votes the Alliance got over the UNP.

In retrospect, what JR Jayewardene wanted to do with the 1978 constitution is to ensure that people get a fair number of seats for votes polled in the entire country. The present parliament has 166 Sinhalese, 37 Tamils, 21 Muslims and 1 Parsee. The minorities add up to 59, which is 26%. The problem is that for other reasons the 1978 constitution is unworkable. It was geared for JR.

It is not only the election of the speaker that has resulted in tight votes. In 1964, there were three votes for amendment of the vote of thanks on the throne speech. The first two were defeated but the third was carried 74-73, a margin of a single vote. The exercise was essentially a vote of confidence and the government lost. Although the government could carry on, Mrs. Bandaranaike said, "No, I lost. I must go."

Interestingly, exactly a century earlier, an amendment vote was carried through by the same margin. The session of the legislative council was opened by Major General O’Brien, who was Acting Governor.

The vote on the first amendment proposed was lost, but the second amendment was carried 6 votes to 5. Five of these six were locals and the sixth, Thompson, voted with them because the Public Works Department was charged with incompetence, and Thompson’s son happened to be an engineer in the PWD! Interestingly also, it was S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike’s ancestor, James D’Alwis who had maneuvered the vote this way.

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Uva is for vandals (and other tidbits)

Uva is for vandals?

Party offices in the Uva Province are being attacked by ‘unknown’ thugs.  The ‘know’ part of it (which the Police seems to be clueless about) can be figured out when one notes the fact that the targets are UNP and JVP.  Should we say ‘Uva is for Vandals’?  Or is vandalism a new name for election campaign?  Are the people required to vote for the most ferocious vandal of them all?

Lalkantha buckets Hirunika

In campus parlance ‘bucketing’ refers to one or more persons tossing a bucketful of water, indul wathura or even something more disgusting on someone else.    It is a mark of celebration and it can also be punishment for perceived wrongdoing.  There’s a whole sociological treatise waiting to be written on the subject.  In the past few days buckets have been associated with ice and ALS.  Let’s not get into that. Anyway, Hirunika Premachandra had issued an ice-bucket challenge to JVP’s Lalkantha.  Lalkantha apparently has tossed the bucket back.  ‘The only challenge I am interested in is overthrowing the government,’ he said.   Talk about dampening enthusiasm.  We think, however, that Lalkantha scored.  Big.

The beautiful Indian

If there’s an Ugly American, there has to be a Beautiful American too. The same goes for ugly and beautiful Indians (and Germans, Norwegians, Uzbeks, Sri Lankans and Rwandans too).  There are no prizes for naming the current ‘Ugly Indian’ but if one were asked to name the Beautiful Indian, it has to be Avdhash Kaushal, the Indian social worker who has been appointed to the panel advising the Presidential Commission on Missing Persons and War Crimes.  Avdhash has said that India must respect Lanka’s sovereignty.  He has asked the correct question: ‘How would India feel if Sri Lanka calls on Indian separatists?’ 

Suresh a permanent leader-in-waiting?

Suresh Premachandran, the firebrand, not-so-young but still young enough TNA firebrand, has been vocal, aggressive and has tried to be more Tamil than Prabhakaran himself.  ‘Tamil Nationalist,’ that is.  And yet, for all his efforts, it looks like the old guard has closed ranks.  End result?  Well, Mavai Senathirajah is now tipped to succeed the longstanding party leader R Sampanthan as TNA leader.  But Suresh is not one to take anything lying down, a little bird tells us.  For now, though, looks like he’s been dumped.  Poor Suresh.  

Humble pie for Sajith?

The man wanted to oust Ranil Wickremesinghe.  After each electoral setback, it was the norm for Sajitha Premadasa to launch a fresh campaign to get rid of the leader.  He should get an A for Effort.  At the end of the day, however, he has failed.  A for Effort is useless in politics if one gets F at the term-end report.  He failed.  Now it seems that he has decided to drop can’t-be-done things.  He’s going for No 2.  Hold it!  He WAS the Deputy Leader not too long ago, right?  So what’s the joy in regaining the No 2 spot?  Consolation Prize?

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