Dear Rebel, P is (also) for Proportion

Pic by Rukshan Abeywansha

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

More than twenty years ago some undergraduates staged a protest.  This was at the University of Peradeniya.   It was not a major issue but for some reason the student leaders were not able to sort it out with the university authorities through discussion.  The students protested. 

It didn’t seem to have any effect.  Suddenly a first year student got up and said that he will launch a fast unto death.  Some of the senior students calmed him down.  They told him that if such a course of action was chosen for an issue that was relatively trivial, they would have to take the Vice Chancellor hostage if there was a more serious matter to deal with. 

Not too many years before that, i.e. during the turbulence at the end of the eighties, at a meeting of second year students of the same faculty, someone suggested that the entire batch must boycott lectures.  The reason, they said, was that a fellow student of the same batch had been arrested. It was a time when the student leaders wanted the universities closed or at least the academic work disrupted.  Everyone knew this.  Some were brave enough to object to the business of boycotting lectures at the drop of a hat. 

That arrest had taken place a few months earlier and so someone pointed out that it was strange that the proposal had been voiced so late.  Another objected in a different way.

‘There was a time when all the universities would boycott lectures if one student had been arrested.  Later, only the particular university that the arrested student belonged to would boycott.  Then just the particular faculty.  Now you want the batch to boycott.  Next would you want just the roommate to “strike”?’

The criticism was about the direction in which a protest should move.  It was also about something else, something that is relevant to the first case detailed above.  Proportion. 

Dimensions matter.  All the time.  And if you are a rebel you have to be twice as more particular about the length, breadth and depth of things than other political animals, simply because you are by definition on the weaker side of the equation (if you were not, you would have the power to eliminate the cause of your agitation).  Your error gets amplified; that of the enemy can be subdued. 

This doesn’t mean you should not make grand claims of course.  There’s nothing wrong in stating objective.  You are not in this to lose.  You want to win.  You are convinced you can win.  So you go ahead to describe what victory will look like.  Through it all, you have to keep in mind that you are not yet there.  There is distance to be covered, still.  The getting there is never easy. 

Once a self-proclaimed set of revolutionaries put up posters all over the island vowing to kill 10 (or was it 20) members of a soldier’s family for every ‘revolutionary’ killed.  That was the beginning of the end.   The Army, which didn’t seem at all enthusiastic about crushing the insurrection, got very serious about things. 

That was an extreme example of course.  But in general, proportions matter.  Size matters.  You need to know the size of the enemy and also the sizes of its constituent parts so that you can identify its weaker elements and attack them.  You need to know your size too.  There’s often a gap between pledge to act and action itself. 

Not too long ago, some brave young people wanted to replicate the ‘Arab Spring’ in Sri Lanka. They called it ‘Colombo Spring’.  They probably believed all the lies people said about social media playing a key role in the ‘Arab Spring’.  So they took the matter on Facebook.  Lots of ‘likes’ and ‘shares’.  Lots of ‘I will attend’.  No one turned up. 

So make a lot of noise.  It’s good to be heard.  But remember if you make too much noise or rather the noise is way out of proportion to numbers and will, you will find deliverability a big problem.  ‘Big on talk,’ people will sneer.  Worse, the ‘comrades’ will lose faith in the leaders and in themselves.  It’s good to have vision, but one must remember that most things get tested on the ground.  ‘The Ground’ is made of dimensions.  There are proportions.  They matter. 

Previous articles in this series

Dear Rebel, have you got the e-factor out of the way?

Have you carefully considered the f-word?

It is so easy to name the enemy, right?

The p-word cuts both ways

Cards get reflected in eyes, did you know?

It's all about timing

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Rohana Wijeweera’s fading political signature

He still makes it to the 'May Day Stage'.  Barely.

Twenty five years ago a man was killed.  He was one of some 60,000 who had been killed in those gruesome days of the late eighties.  It is reported that he had been tortured and shot.  It is reported that he was still alive when he was tossed into the incinerator at the General Cemetery, Borella.  This was at the tail end of the second insurrection launched by the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP). 

By this time, most of the key leaders had been eliminated.  The rank and file was decimated along with hundred of suspected supporters.  It was a time of abduction and torture, proxy arrests and trigger-happy vigilante groups, assassination of political figures, academics and journalists, and summary execution.  It was a time of courage and foolhardiness; a time when acts of terrorism by self-styled ‘revolutionaries’ was met by acts of terrorism by the State.  It was a time of anarchy which effectively ended with that particular murder.    

Rohana Wijeweera, hero for some and villain for many, left a signature on the political landscape of post-independence Sri Lanka.  There is the fact of masterminding two (failed) insurrectionary assaults on the state.  The JVP, as Dr Gamini Samaranayake has argued, also demonstrated that armed insurrection was an option and that the state was not ready.  It’s a lesson that no one learned better than the LTTE. A lesson that was never learned was this: the state, over time, corrects for deficiency and prevails unless there’s a mass uprising that complements or there is pernicious outside intervention by forces far superior.  The last ‘combine’ does not deliver revolution but further subjugation (e.g. Arab Spring). 

‘Rohana Wijeweera’ is a doctoral dissertation waiting to be written, a novel that could be an adventure story, a horror story or even a comedy.  Such was his historical presence from the late sixties to the late eighties.  And yet, he has not inspired ‘rebels’ who came later in the way their preferred heroes such as Che Guevara or José Martí have.  This could be because of the kind of rebel he was.

He could deliver a stirring speech which could excite sections of the youth made more of heart than mind.  He was not endowed with a great intellect but was nevertheless a good strategist – knew to pick the slogan of the moment.  He was never in battle fatigues, so to speak.  He had nothing of the courage and sense of sacrifice the men he led possessed.  In 1971 he was essentially an adventurist.  In 88-89 he showed signs of megalomania.  Such men don’t inspire. 

The post-Wijeweera JVP does little more than acknowledge a political presence.  In rhetoric, ideological assertion and practice, the present set of leaders have effectively distanced themselves from the man, his methods and even his vision.  They have all but abandoned the class project which Wijeweera the Populist at least paid lip service to and even convinced many young people it was everything to the JVP. 

Twenty five years later, the party still has the Wijeweera signature.  Red.  The Bell symbol.  Great May Day shows.  Poster-boys.  A university presence large enough to play spoiler on occasion.   An ability to show a strong commitment to discipline.  The thrust however, in circumstances that gradually declined after the 2004 ‘peak’ of some 40 MPs, has been about saving face.  They still have a fixation with the streets but it’s something that seems more of a throwback to a romantic time than anything else.  They have union strength.  Just can’t seem to put it all together.  It could be put down to ideological confusion, intellectual poverty or dismissal by the population in general or a combination of these.  

There were ‘highs’ no doubt.  The JVP pushed through the 17^th Amendment.  The JVP helped Mahinda Rajapaksa become President, in hindsight a necessary (though not sufficient) condition for eliminating the LTTE.  But then again, they suffered the same fate that befell the ‘Old Left’.  The stronger coalition partner remained unmoved by demands and the weaker had to split.   

There was always a cloak-n-dagger faction, apparently.  There was also the nationalist faction that was not impressed with the JVP’s Marxist pretensions.  Both factions went their separate ways.  What was left is committed to mainstream democratic politics, good for a few parliamentary seats and for putting up posters in regime-change adventures but not much else.

Rohana Wijeweera is no more.  He left a trail of blood.  His JVP could destabilize. For a while.  The JVP that came after has had its ups and downs, threatened to score a couple of times but was either tackled or dropped the ball.  They are mild when it comes to political engagement.  No strong arm tactics except where they have some degree of power (the universities).  They’ve put to shame their colleagues from other parties when it comes to parliamentary conduct.   Overall a plus score that eluded the founder. 

If the JVP is still politically relevant it is not because of Rohana Wijeweera but in spite of him.  That says a lot about the political legacy and of course the historical significance of the man.  Dead and rarely lamented.  Irrelevant, someone might add. 

 

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It is cool to slosh around

‘I can’t stand seeing paddy fields like this!’ a 13 year old girl blurts out.  The said paddy field had probably been ploughed a day or two previously.  Ploughed but not evened out for transplanting.  The soil was upturned.  There had been a lot of rain and so it was all a mess of earthy lumps.  All muddy.  One would describe it as ‘dreary’.

Her father, who for whatever reason was fascinated by the entire process of rice production including the transformation in color, tried to turn ‘dreary’ into something positive, said ‘You know there’s beauty in all the stages from ploughing to…’

She didn’t let him finish:  ‘No Appachchi, you don’t understand…when I see paddy fields like this I just want to jump in, shoes and all, and just slosh around!’ 

It’s something any child will understand.  Adults tend to forget such joys.  Mud and puddles are fun things.  It’s lovely to splash around.  It’s as lovely when one’s bare feet sink into the cool mud.  Of course you have to clean up later, but then again the wonderful thing about ‘later’ is that it is certainly not ‘right now’. 

The little girl has sloshed around in mud enough, with and without shoes -- enough to know the joy of feeling the earth beneath her feet, whether it is muddy or not.  Sure, it’s not fun when you are walking on a patch of pebbles barefoot.  You can cut your feet.  You can step on an odd-shaped stone and sprain your ankle.  That’s no fun.  But then again you can pick and choose where you want to keep your feet.  You can pick and choose when not to venture out barefoot unless of course it is absolutely necessary that you do so. 

Think of grass.  It’s cool, especially when it has rained.  Grass by the road on hot days is certainly kinder on your feet than the road itself.  Think of the beach.  There’s hot sand that burns and then there’s the mushy, cool sections you can dig your feet and toes into because the waves keep it wet.  Even roads that you would not want to step on without footwear at noon have a special texture during and after it rains.  The cement floor feels nice and cool too, at certain times of the day, but only if we take off our slippers, sandals or shoes. 

Not all terrain invites us to toss aside our shoes and take a walk.  But we can always find a bit of earth that will not hurt or burn but instead cool and heal.  The earth is not made of sand, pebbles, grass, weeds, concrete and tar.  It is made of heat and coolness.  Some places are warm.  Some are hot.  Some are cool.  Some parts are hard and some are soft.  We can bounce along on certain surfaces or, like the little girl said, sink our feet in and slosh around on other surfaces.  We won’t know these things if we are scared to kick off our shoes now and then, however.

Several years ago, in a small village called Walgama, not too far from a town called Rambukkana, a bunch of children were playing near a tract of paddy fields.  There was a rock about 100 meters from where they were. A little girl, about 5 years old, walked along the path that skirted the paddy fields towards the rock.  When she was about half way there, her older sister, the same girl who was agitated seeing the ploughed paddy field, felt an urge to somehow beat her kid sister to the rock.  She knew she couldn’t catch up if she took the same route.  She had to cut across the paddy fields.  The fields had been ploughed and readied for sowing or planting.  The niyaras or bunds that separated each liyadda or plot were all repaired and freshly coated with mud neatly leveled.  In a few days it would be rock hard, but at that point it was made for slipping and sliding.  She would have known the risks.  She just ran. Like the wind.  She didn’t make it to the rock before her sister did, but she didn’t slip, slide or fall either.   She must have known something about how mud feels on the soles. 

It’s good to feel the earth beneath your feet.  The earth has so much to teach us.  But we must be properly dressed if we are to learn the lessons.  Sometimes ‘dressing’ means you have to take off your shoes.  Like when you enter a place of worship.  The gods take care of you if you are respectful and have faith in them.  The earth does too. 

Other articles in this series:

How would you paint the sky?

The happiest days of our lives

You can fly if you want to

Pebbles are amazing things

You can compose your own music

So what do you want to do with the rain?

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When the 'boys' of '83 and '89 turned on the freshness

TEAM 83 with their die-hard fans

They were the oldest among the Old Boys of Royal College who had gathered at the CR&FC grounds.  They had gathered to play rugby.  That’s six-a-side rugby.  Inter-batch.  Organized by the Group of ’91.  Three categories: Over 40, Between 30 and 40, and Below 30.  The members of the Group of 83 or ’83 Batch’ will be hitting 50 next year.  Just being there, even if only as spectators, would have been creditable, many would argue.

They didn’t come to watch, though.  They came to play.  They came to win.  Now that’s something.  Sure, they wouldn’t have to play the batch that had just left school, but competing against men who had just turned forty was no easy task. 

Sampath Agalawatte --
hasn't lost a move since 1984

They were short of a couple of players.  Maheel Kuragama and Sisila Indraratne had in previous years helped the team secure 11 out of 12 titles on offer. They had the skill and the speed.  And the heart.  Just like the other ‘regulars’, led by the Bradby-winning skipper of 1984 Sampath Agalawatte, Ajith ‘Hard As Nails’ Weeratunga (this year’s captain), Hiran Doranegama (better known in rowing circles), Krishan George (former basketball captain of Sri Lanka, winger in ’84 and also the anchor of the 4x800 relay that won at the Public Schools Athletics Meet the same year) and Aruna Jayasekera (rugby referee and easily the fastest in the team).  Jayantha and Hiran’s older brother Kamal made up the ‘six’.  Kamal was several years senior and therefore an ‘import,’ but no one complained.  How could they when age is seen as handicap and not unfair edge? 

INTENSITY (Aruna Jayasekera)

So they took the field, these old men, on a balmy Saturday afternoon.  They were drawn to play the Batch of ’93.  That’s a ten year gap.  They were nothing like they had been 30 years ago, but were still quite fast.  ‘Agale’ had lost nothing of his moves as the play-making skipper of ’84.  He sold dummies as easily as he always had, made a break, score and earn a semi-final spot.  The organizers announced, ‘We have a surprise result – the 84 Batch beat the 93 Batch’.   

The Semi-Final was against the 87 Batch.  The younger ‘boys’ were 1 short and requested that the 83 Batch play one short as well.  Granted.  It’s all about the spirit of the event, after all.   It was a keen contest right up to the end when Ajith made a break on the right wing and ‘scored’.  Technically, he didn’t, he went past the goal area.  The 87 ‘men’ said ‘It’s a try’.  All about the spirit of the game.   After all, they were playing against the oldest men on the ground in fading light. 

TEAM 89  Worthy Opponents, worthy joint champs

The toughest was the final.  The 89 Batch was led by Roshan Noah and included Sri Lanka colorsman Alfred Hensman.  Agale, who picked up a hamstring injury in the first game, played only a few minutes.   Both teams threatened at times only to be foiled by good defense from the faster men on the ground.  Ajith probably had the best chance but was ‘touched’ (‘barely,’ he later conceded) just before ‘scoring’.  Disallowed, correctly. 

The game went into extra time but neither side could score.  ‘Toss of coin,’ the organizers said.  ‘Let’s share it,’ both teams agreed that a toss would not do justice to a contest between equally matched teams that played their hearts out in the dark, fighting age, fitness and fatigue.  And so they were declared ‘Joint Champs’. 

Just before the first game a team photo was taken.  The 83 Batch standing in front of a ‘Lemonade’ hoarding that had the following legend:  ‘Turn on the freshness’.  They certainly did.  As did the Group of 89, most worthy joint-champions.  As did the 87 Batch, sportsmen to the core.  And of course the 93 Batch, who were certainly no ‘passengers’ or were just making up the numbers.  They were all quite young that evening.  Thanks also due to the 91 Batch for enabling youthful freshness.  The old men, however, were the youngest.  They turned on unbelievable volumes of freshness.  Take a bow, the Batch of 83.   

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Conversations with Sarath N Silva

These are moving-around days.  There’s talk of people crossing party lines.  There are people plotting regime-change.  There are people getting ready to counter such moves.  People are talking to people.  We have the Constitution Abolishers.  We have the Constitution Amenders.  Then there are people trying to cobble together parties and other political groups as well as prominent personalities in a grand coalition that would support a ‘Common Candidate from the Opposition’.  These same people are also busy trying to find a ‘Common Candidate’.

These are talking days.  Some people are smelling blood.  Others smell something else, but thinking it has to be blood, are salivating.  Still others are not taking chances and are focusing on closing ranks.  They are keeping partners under check even as they try to woo key members of the other side.  Others are watching.  Some are listening. 

Even the biggest talkers must have a breather.  During a break in a long discussion that had already taken half a day, a man called Sarath N Silva found himself in a parallel universe called ‘Humility’.  He was not alone.   Those present had been discussing the Constitution, its inherent ills, its significant positives and the virtues of amending or abrogating the same.  But in this calmer and less loquacious place, no one wanted to ‘continue the conversation over a cup of tea or coffee’ as one of the key organizers had suggested.  They spoke of other things. 

‘Why did you do it, Sir?’ a green-eyed MP from the Opposition asked the ex Chief Justice. 

Before the man could respond, a man red-eyed from sleep-lack on account of thinking too much about a blunder made in 2005 blurted out, ‘he always played politics!’ 

‘Yes, first with the lady and then with the gent!’ murmured the head of an NGO currently under a massive cloud due to allegations of fraud.

‘Come, come, let us not quarrel here…we have to focus on the objective and we have to put aside our differences.  We can’t afford to dwell on the past.  We must look to the future.’  That was a bikkhu who some thought might be The Answer but others felt could only be a weaker SF.

‘But we are on a break right now,’ the green-eyed one protested.

‘I’ve already said that I was in error.  What more do you want?’ 

‘In error?  Are you serious?  You’ve not only ensured that the Opposition gets weaker by the day but made sure that whoever wins can turn a wafer-thin majority into a two-thirds majority!’

‘Oh that?  I thought you were talking about Helping Hambantota!’ the ex-judge said.

‘That’s history.  I am talking about people crossing over and how the ruling you gave facilitated it.’

‘Yes, yes.  So what was your question again?’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘Well, our rathu sahodaraya, was correct.  Deep down I am a political animal.  Like anyone else.’

‘Oh no.  Don’t flatter yourself.  There have been many CJs who remained untouched by the dirty and crass of politics.’

‘Good for them.  I am a connoisseur of this thing called “The Art of the Possible”.  I did my bit. Indeed that’s what I am doing now too.  People objected when I determined when Chandrika’s term ends.  People objected to the Helping Hambantota decision.  People even objected to my ruling on MPs crossing over.  Look around you.  Most, if not all of these objectors, have either benefited from my decisions or else have become fond of obtaining my advice.  You people should know that there are no permanent enemies of friends.    It’s the same for political positions.’

‘But we expect more from someone like you, Sir!’

‘I didn’t flatter myself, so why are you trying to make out that I ought to behave in a way that is flatter-worthy?’ Silva raised the obvious question.

‘It’s this.  We are confused.  We don’t know who is who.  He or she who is with the Government today may be with us tomorrow, but it’s more likely that the person who we call comrade and with who we plot and plan to oust the regime will be on their side the day after.  We just can’t trust anyone.  It’s ok being in the opposition.  If we have to wait for six years, we will.  But there has to be some basic kind of predictability.  You’ve done away with that!’

‘Son, let me tell you a secret.  People think and I let them think that for all my expertise on constitutions and separation of power, and indeed my self-proclaimed deep study of the scriptures, I remain a creature fascinated by the political.’

‘Go on..’

‘It’s a cover!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I did all that and do all that I do now because I am at the core a very lonely person leading a humorless life.  I did all that and do all that I do now because I need some entertainment!  Your agitation amuses me.  As for your confusion, what do you think I am laughing off as I roll on the floor when I get home?’

‘Break over!’ the bikkhus said.

‘Ehey haamuduruwane,’ the others said in unison.  Sarath N Silva was grinning.  The others were not.  

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Kolombians own the bourse, alright?

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

Small people talk about people.  Bigger people talk about events.  Great people discuss ideas.  The greatest don’t talk – they do.  This is ancient wisdom.  This small-big-bigger-biggest concept can be applied to other things. 

The poor bet on lottery tickets.  The not-as-poor bet on horses and dogs.  The rich go to casinos, bet on cards and at roulette tables.  The super rich play the share market.   Note how the chances of winning increases the richer you are!  At the poor-end you get lottery vendors. They are in the hope-retailing business.  People can and do lose at the rich-end of course, but if you keep your head you can always break even.   Then there’s the share market.  If you have the bucks and you have a head, you are through.  You are laughing.  Those who have bucks but let greed discolor judgment can lose.  By and large at the end of the day the big boys are still at the crease, making a lot of runs. 

 Sri Lanka is a small country.  Everyone knows everyone, almost.  When it comes to the business community, we are just a handful of people – those who count, that is.  And most of us are Kolombians.  We club together.  Our kids date each other.  There’s a lot of wealthy-marrying-wealthy in our tribe.  We basically know who owns what and who wants to do what with what they have.  We have what could be called a healthy rivalry going among ourselves. 

Sure there are ups and downs.  When it is ‘up’, we laugh.  When it’s ‘down’ we blame the Government for failing to streamline the Colombo Stock Exchange.  We complain that the rules and regulations are tweaked to help the stooges.  We have enough economists, financial experts and even politicians in the Opposition who not only have shares but can talk shares.  They raise a hue and cry.  They won’t say ‘We are Kolombians’ of course.  When it is ‘up,’ as we said, we make do our thing, make our bucks and we don’t even have to laugh all the way to the bank thanks to enhanced technology that allows us to point-click our way to places way beyond the reach of the riff-raff. 

There is of course the unpalatable.  There are some baiyas who have become big shots of late.  They have the inside track so to speak.  They’ve risen and how!  They’ve even purchased large swathes of the best real estate in our traditional homeland.  It’s quite insufferable.  It would be nice if they joined the club and gradually become Kolombians in their own right. Over a few generations, let me add, for we can’t give membership to just anyone, especially some yakkos who have the gumption to sneer at us.  The problem is that they think they actually own the club and that they can give themselves membership and worse even strut around as though they are elected representatives of the exclusive Kolombian Collective.

We want them out and we shall hoof them out.  Sooner or later.  Our bloodlines must remain pure. 

But until then, we are not exactly scrambling for crumbs in some dingy back bedroom of a slum, mind you.  As I said, we are the big boys and girls in this business.  We have the inside track.  Others might make a run but we are the biggest winners when it’s ‘up’ and when it’s ‘down’ we can sit the bad times out without going under.  That’s the lovely thing about being Kolombians.  The country may go to the baiyas for some time, but you won’t catch us losing out.  

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Becoming ‘a country that was’

‘There was a country’ is Chinua Achabe’s personal history of Biafra.  It is a personal story of a collective history, of a violent past that rolled into a political present.  It is a memoir.  Historical account.  Literature.  It is not an uncommon story. 

The world is full of violence.  There’s war.  There is insurrection.  And the ‘collateral’.  That’s how it is and how it has been for centuries upon centuries, which of course is no reason not to recoil in horror, not to object and not to seek ways of creating a better world, a better country, better communities and less violent lifestyles.

We all have countries we’ve lived in, or countries that were, let us say.  Some of those ‘past tense places’ are remembered with nostalgia and some recollected with a grudging gratitude for the present-countries we inhabit. We are never ecstatic about where we are, what we do and who we are, even though we are not given to lamenting these things 24/7.   

So there are countries we love to inhabit and countries which we are dying to leave.  One thing is certain, though.  A country without people is not a country but a colored piece in a map.  Named or unnamed, it is not a country, not a nation.  And if a large number of people find push more compelling than pull, then the countries they inhabit are in danger of becoming pieces of land not deserving the tag ‘nation’, unworthy of name. 

A recent survey of youth conducted by an experienced Sociologist has revealed that 50% of the young men and women in Sri Lanka want to leave the country, for one reason or another.  This is not unnatural.  The young want to see the world.  It’s a youthful urge that is not country-specific.  The young want to explore; they are endowed with a thing called curiosity.  And in these internet days where you can access sights and sounds in the most faraway of places, it is natural to want to find places that draw you and visit them to obtain better flavor. 

The more disturbing statistic is that 30% of the youth want to leave and not come back.  That number is valid across all identity categories.  In other words, it cannot be explained by referring to some ethnic or religious angst.  There could be common economic factors that make people want to leave, but Sri Lanka is a middle income country and even though fraught with disparities it is certainly not a land without opportunity.  It is, moreover, a country in a post-conflict situation that has done far better than most countries emerging from wars that dragged for decades. 

‘Yearning for greener pastures’, then, does not explain this urge, for there have always been and there always been pastures that are greened in richer hue, not to mention that if Sri Lanka was green-less for a quarter of a century, it is comparatively a veritable ‘nilla pirunu ratak’ today, lush in many ways, give or take a few drought-ridden weeks or a few too-much-blue days of rain.  

Something is not right.  Only those who don’t have a strong enough hold on that thing called ‘belonging’ can say ‘want to go, don’t want to come back’.  The don’t-want-to-return thinking implies a pull-push product that outweighs the tugs to home, family, parents and land.  That’s a kind of alienation in aggregates that make ‘nation’ untenable, for although not everyone will leave, those who remain are essentially not at peace with where they are, what they do and most crucially, who they are. 

There’s something seriously wrong here.  Economic factors are only part of the story.  There must be, deep down, some cultural unease at work.  It is also likely that there is widespread sense of displacement, internal displacement, from nation, economy, political structures, family and home, and of course self.  It is a question of belonging and meaningful citizenship.  It requires investigation. 

Or else, someday, the Achabes of Sri Lanka will write their own country-story.  In the past tense.

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Mr Zeid’s integrity gripe

The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein is upset with the Government of Sri Lanka. He said, ‘The Government has refused point blank to cooperate with the investigation (into allegations of human rights violations in the last phase of the war); such refusal does not undermine the integrity of an investigation set up by the Council – instead it raises concerns about the integrity of the government in question.’  He then asks, ‘Why would governments with nothing to hide go to such extraordinary lengths to sabotage an impartial international investigation?’

What he has not mentioned (why not?) is that the Government has explained ad nauseam its position on the matter detailing the lack of consistency, impartiality, rigor and integrity on the part of his office and especially his predecessor, Navi Pillay.  He is correct though when he says such refusals don’t undermine the integrity of the said investigation.  It is not the refusal that questions integrity but the pathetic track record of his office, especially with respect to its dealings with Sri Lanka.    

This was abundantly apparent in the collusion of his office with the inglorious machinations of the United States of America to insult, humiliate and in other ways harass Sri Lanka in multiple sessions of the UNHRC.  The US Embassy in Colombo as well as senior diplomats representing countries that have consistently sided with the USA in these moves have been interfering in the internal affairs of Sri Lanka for years and especially in what can only be called ‘the manufacturing of “evidence” to support a conclusion that has been desired’.  

Sri Lanka has every right to object.  Sri Lanka has every right to question Zeid’s integrity when his office, so ready to unleash invective on Sri Lanka, indulges in scandalous navel-gazing when certain countries have rejected the commissioning of similar processes against them.  In the case of Israel, for example, the UNHRC has to contend with irrefutable evidence whereas in Sri Lanka’s case, Zeid is working with vague allegations made by persons of dubious repute citing equally compromised ‘witnesses’. 

This is why his last question is ridiculous.  He asks, let us repeat, ‘Why would governments with nothing to hide go to such extraordinary lengths to sabotage an impartial international investigation?’  The issue is, Mr Zeid, the absolute lack of integrity on your part and that of your office.  Simple.  If you have any doubts, try answering the following questions.

Why has your office not questioned the investigating team about ‘evidence forms’ getting into the hands of terrorists?  Does it not bother you that signatures have been collected on unfilled forms?

If the Government did nothing about such activity then indeed it would be supporting ‘interference’ in the UNHRC investigation, compromised though that process is.  Mr Zeid should be applauding the Government for acting swiftly on this issue and bringing to light something that clearly indicates that the entire investigative process has been compromised beyond rectification.

 

Mr Zeid dismisses the entire matter by saying that his team is equipped to detect fraud.  Collusion in fraud and a track record of selective targeting on the part of his office doesn’t really give credence to the claim, but let’s go along with it.  He ought to be concerned by the fact that some people are actively engaged in a massive fabricating exercise.  Worse, the agent of fabrication in this instance has had close relationships with certain diplomats in Colombo as well the Tamil National Alliance, the principal Sri Lankan political entity that had been supporting the patently flawed UNHRC exercise. 

It has to be mentioned that what holds for Mr Zeid holds for the Sri Lankan Government as well. If track-record is what we are going by then there is an integrity deficit on the part of the Government as well, not on the issues that bug Mr Zeid but things like the due process of the law.  There are murders (e.g. Lasantha Wickramatunga) that are yet to be concluded.  There are crimes that are solved within hours and others where there is clear foot-dragging on the part of investigating authorities.  Integrity is not something that can be claimed in part.  It's something you have or you don't have.  You cannot say for example, 'I can boast of 70% integrity but Mr Zeid's score is just 15%' and on that argument claim moral high ground.  

We have the right to take issue with both parties here.  Nevertheless, on this particular issue, it is clear that it is Mr Zeid who has got egg on his face.   Integrity is the issue in contention here.  It would be much simpler and so much more honest if Mr Zeid came out with the truth.  All he has to do is to put the following in Diplospeak: ‘We have, for reasons we don’t have to state but which you all know, decided on the conclusion that is convenient to our purposes, we are in the process of manufacturing evidence to support this and so Sri Lanka can go fly a kite!’

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

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