An anthem for Private Sirisena

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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We lost a prince 11 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers Ajith!

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

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FUELING DISCONTENT: Yahapalana-muddling rises above shortage-distractions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Towards a country called ‘cooperatives’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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On Shantha K. Herath's poetic 'Lakuna' in Sinhala literature

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

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

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

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

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

Let me give one example.

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

The flower that looks upon sky

from the first moment of wilting

looks (forlornly) at the earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Swarna Mallawarachchi: A moving mirror reflecting who we are

"At the beginning of her career she may have been rather tentative in her style of creating character, but with maturity she has developed an intensity and passion which no other actress can equal. She is sharp, incisive and succeeds in creating very strong characters. Personally I feel sorry we have never worked in a film together." Such a character certificate, so to speak, from no less a personality in the film industry than Lester James Peiris would indeed provoke the question, "well, what more is there to say?" The point is, that there is also a real, live woman who lives outside of the many colourful and striking characters she has portrayed on the silver screen, and this woman also has things to say.

Actors and actresses are often remembered for one or two particularly powerful or memorable roles they have played. Omar Shariff, for example, was brilliancy personified as Yuri in Doctor Zhivago. Few people remember his other films. But Swarna Mallawarachchi is different. She has not acted in a "countless" number of films, but most of the 50 or so that she has, have emerged as landmark creations in Sinhala film not least of all because of the skills of this remarkable actress.

Swarna, brushed me off immediately when I started mumbling about doing a biographical sketch to start things off: "That is a story that has been written many, many times. I’d rather talk about cinema than my personal life".

Her first foray into the cinematic world was in sath samudura, way back in 1966. Apparently she had responded to an advertisement while still an Advanced Level student, because "I just wanted to meet Siri Gunasinghe, who was the director". Having started in that unplanned, almost random way, Swarna quickly rose to stardom in the film world.

She has never had any formal training in the field. "It is probably a sansara purudda that I have carried over to this life," said Swarna, who is a firm believer in rebirth and is a keen student of Buddhist philosophy. Sensitivity to the human condition in her case would have been nurtured to a large extent by the fact that she was an avid reader from early days. "I was a voracious reader of Russian literature. I also enjoy reading biographies. Since of late I have taken to reading books on philosophy and have developed a considerable interest in Astrology." Indeed her living room contained many books on these subjects and on the table was a biography of Indira Gandhi.

I remember Swarna performing in the Peradeniya open air theatre during the "Wala Festival" in either 1986 or 1987. The play was makarakshaya, directed by Dharmasiri Bandaranayake. Half way during the play someone from the audience remarked, "Ah, suddi, umba avada?" It was loud enough for the entire audience to hear. The faintest of smiles appeared on Swarna’s face, almost as if in acknowledgement, but she carried on without missing a step. That she was a professional of the highest order was quite apparent, for not everyone is able to come unscathed from the biting wit that "wala" hecklers are capable of.

Suddilage Kathawa was of course something else. Written by Siman Nawagattegama who is among the foremost exponents of the Sinhala language and directed by one of the most courageous film makers in the country, Dharmasiri Bandaranayake, it is a masterpiece that shows that human drama in all its turbulence can be portrayed without succumbing to the easy temptation to lacerate the sensibilities of the audience beyond repair. That delicate aesthetic balance is most expertly obtained by Swarna’s ability to deliver just the right mix of passion, reflection and sensitivity to character and situation. In fact I believe this is evident in all her major cinematic efforts and is what makes her the mature artist she is.

It is the work of the biographer to go into each and every film that Swarna has acted in, measure, one way or the other, their relative merits, and separate the exceptional performances from the many high quality ones that the film-going public were privileged to see. I am sure all those who were enthralled by the many striking roles she played over the past thirty plus years would have their favourites.

Swarna herself couldn’t pick anything that could be described as her "most memorable portrayal". She just said that she was fortunate to have worked for skilled directors and high quality screen plays. In fact she had acted in the film debuts of highly acclaimed directors such as Dharmasiri Bandaranayake, Sathischandra Edirisinghe, Ashoka Handagama and Dharmasena Pathiraja, in addition to working with people like Sunethra Peiris, Vasantha Obeysekera, Tissa Abeysekera, and most recently with Prasanna Vithanage, starring in Anantha Rathriya, which has just been released.
Fifty films is a small number of films for someone with her talent, especially in a world where people with half the skill notches up something close to that number in less than 10 years, counting in countless teledramas and telefilms. Swarna, it seems, has been more discerning.

First of all, according to her, she prefers cinema to TV. "We work hard to make a film, and the least we can receive by way of acknowledgement is for the viewer to give full attention to the cinematic production, without being distracted by commercials, telephone calls etc. This is not to take anything away from teledramas and telefilms. It is a different form and not one that I am particularly keen on, that’s all."

Swarna has also been very selective, it seems, in choosing her roles. Laleen Jayamanne, in an article titled "Hunger for images: myths of femininity in Sri Lankan cinema (1947-1989)" published in the South Asian Bulletin perhaps says it best. "Swarna Mallawarachchi brings something qualitatively new; a set of visual traits and possibilities (narrative, emotional) that renders the bad/good girl opposition an untenable myth". This is true. Sinhala cinema suffers from a seriously flawed characterisation of the woman.

She is either the paragon of virtue or a slut; a silently suffering weakling or a veritable virago. In most cases she is a one-dimensional creature who is far removed from anyone we would encounter in our lives. It is only an exceptional director who has a good script to work with that can transcend these mythological dichotomies, and only a highly skilled and observant, reflective actress that can lift such characters to identifiable, real, live persons. Furthermore she has been successful in exuding a poignant dignity that moves subtly through stories that refuse facile resolution.

So what does this woman who has, more than anyone else, helped show the latent or apparent agency is the female, think about feminism? "Those who are clamouring for women’s emancipation, in my view, are those who have lost their freedom by running after western models. I firmly believe in a feminism that is fundamentally based on motherhood." I asked her if it is not true that in the family institution there are only two characters, Nona Hami and Peduru (the wife and husband in Dharmasiri Bandaranayake’s bava duka) and that those who deny this are but engaging in self-delusion. She agreed and laughingly said, "Actually Jackson (Anthony) claims that he is Peduru in his household". On a more serious note, she concurred that women are endowed with more agency than is usually acknowledged.

Acting is not all that she has done. She spent around six years in London and in Australia raising speculation that she was done with Sinhala cinema. Swarna admitted that she had not planned to continue with her acting career, but she had done one film when she returned in 1977, planning to "retire" afterwards. It is our good fortune that she did not, for since then she gave us many memorable characters, for the portrayal of which she won many awards. Even now she does have a life outside the world of film and film-making. Apart from being mother and homemaker, Swarna also runs a boutique for exclusive Indian garments called Crescat Boulevard.

I put to her that some of our young directors ruin potentially good scripts by trying to write in totally in appropriate dance sequences that are but cheap imitations of stuff culled from Indian commercial films. "Yes, and they just can’t do it. For several reasons. For one, the film industry in India is financially very strong. They can afford to train people for such sequences over a long period of time. More importantly, there is a strong focus on the arts among the general public in India. You wake up in the morning in any city and you will hear music, children practising an instrument or doing voice exercises. We don’t have that. In fact an Indian friend of mine once told me that we lack cultural identity in dress. This is true not just of our clothes, but in almost every aspect of our lives. We can’t become Americans and also remain who we fundamentally are."

Swarna also pointed out that films no longer came under ‘family entertainment’. "People just can’t afford to go to the cinema. There are no longer 9.30 shows, and those who can’t afford to have a car have transportation problems. It is no wonder that the general public have started leaving the cinema, so to speak. And then there is this ‘Adults Only’ tag. I think that many of my earlier films that were deemed to be suitable only for adults should be shown again, taking off that tag because compared to the violence and sexual depiction in present day films those were quite benign."

Commenting on her latest film she said, "Anantha rathriya might very well be my last film, actually. And if this is the case, it would be an appropriate end to my acting career because I believe that this is one of my best performances". I am not a film critic and I don’t wish to spoil things for the potential film-goer by writing a "trailer" about the film. I will say this, though. It is a piece of work where Swarna has brought all her many years of experience and her exceptional acting talent into play. Prasanna Vithanage is a director of the new wave of film makers in Sri Lanka who is gifted with a keen editorial eye, something that Swarna believes is very important. He has been privileged, I believe, to have Swarna play the lead female role in the film, for she is probably one of the most competent artistes we have in the matter of examining fundamental human values of duty, responsibility and moral obligation.

Talking of responsibility, and especially in the context of a society that is undergoing social and economic transformations that are worrisome, Swarna pointed out that unfortunately the state of our film industry is in such poor shape that it is becoming increasingly difficult for producers to take on high quality film projects. "The film industry in Sri Lanka is not like the one in India. In India the work of the director is done once the film is made. The marketing and distribution is handled by other people. It is different here. For example, Prasanna Vithanage is running around trying to market anantha rathriya. Dharmasiri is still in the negative with bava duka and bava karma. When they have been squeezed like a lime, isn’t it natural for directors to think twice before undertaking such ventures?"

Still, she was hopeful that things would change now that Tissa Abeysekera is the new Chairman of the Film Corporation. "Since he took over we have been getting good English films and apparently he is trying to arrange things to help bring out a select number of good films every year.

More than thirty years in the industry has seen her win countless best actress awards. In addition she was honoured with the National Award of Kala Suri in 1993, and cited as the Zonta Woman of Achievement in 1992. Through all this, Swarna has remained one of the more down-to-earth and approachable personalities in that unfortunately unreal world of stardom. And this is probably why she is the respected and highly loved actress she is.

I believe that I would be voicing the wishes of the vast majority of film-goers when I express hope that the inevitable decision to put a full stop to her ability to create and project complex human emotions with tremendous evocative impact is postponed indefinitely. And this, for the simple reason that we are starved and hungry for images that project both our lived reality and more importantly a gaze towards the horizon of the universe of possibility. In short, hope.

[based on an interview and published in the Sunday Island in 2001]

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The Mangala-Sumanthiran bluff on secularism

Mangala Samaraweera, in supporting the report submitted by the Steering Committee on constitutional reform, called for a constitution that ‘will help our nation put its past behind for good and move forward with renewed hope.’  On the face of it, this is a positive statement.  

Mangala’s speech also alluded to the Sathara Brahma Viharana or the four divine abodes, metta, mudita, karuna and upekkha (oving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy and equanimity).  

There’s been a lot of allusions to the Buddha’s docrtine of late.  M.A. Sumanthiran (TNA) has argued for the repealing of Article 9 of the constitution which states “The Republic of Sri Lanka shall give to Buddhism the foremost place and accordingly it shall be the duty of the State to protect and foster the Buddha Sasana, while assuring to all religions the rights granted by Articles 10 and 14(1)(e).” 

He has rightfully stated that he, not being a Buddhist, ‘cannot be told that I [he] am [is] second class in this country.  He argues further that support for Article 9 is ‘an indefensible position for the Buddhists to take.’  

It is telling that Sumanthiran is silent about Articles 10 and 14 (1)(e) while make Article 9 nonsensical.  That said, if Article 9 is ineffective, it should go or else Articles 10 and 14 (1)(e) should go.  A third alternative would be to reformulate these articles to make Article 9 effective.  

The inconsistency with Buddhist philosophy would remain, however.   The politics of this whole story ties up with Mangala’s dump-history call.  It is not innocent and neither is it progressive. 

First of all, history, whether we like it or not, bears upon the present and future.  Constitutions have not, do not and will not fall from the sky.  Societies and cultures are wrought over time.  They are not cast in stone of course and are necessarily altered over time, for better or worse.  

Dumping history is mischievous because the past has seen violent and bloody persecution which cannot and should not be forgotten.   One notes that neither Samaraweera or his political friends have clean histories and neither are they ready to do the forgive-and-forget of past wrongs perpetrated by political opponents.  They are right in the middle of a revenge game, as were their predecessors.  

More seriously, Sumanthiran is a Christian, and his religious community has had it good for centuries at the expense of Buddhists and Hindus.  Asking Buddhists to act as though they have achieved one of the four levels of enlightenment is a a bit much, especially when it is a call made by someone who cannot claim to be adhering to the Christian doctrine to the letter.  

Sumanthiran, for example, could read Matthew 5:39: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you not to resist an evil person. If someone slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also; if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well.”  

If, then, the Sinhalese and Buddhists have done him or his community (Tamils and Christian) wrong, he should grin and bear.  He could also read further and encounter Matthew 10.34 (or read back and find the many examples where violence is advocated in the Old Testament): “Do not assume that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” He could use this to call for armed insurrection or justify it, as his party and its constituent political groups did for many years.  

If you think Sumanthiran is a babe in the woods, consider the following section of the speech he made at the 14th ITAK Convention: 

“We remember the Tamil youth who sacrificed their lives in armed struggle, which they resorted to on the failure of their peaceful struggle for the political rights and freedoms of their people.” 

So if you want to dump the past, it either means that you find history uncomfortable due to the complicity of your faither or its adherents in genocide and ethnic cleansing or you really don’t have much of a past to talk about.  

There are other pernicious subtexts to this dump-history theory.  The advocates don’t want history dumped, but want only certain parts of it dumped, in this instance the ‘Buddhist’ part of it. 

If you want to put the past behind, you have to acknowledge that this past included Tamil chauvinism in the form of the Vadukkoddai (Batakotte) Resolution, the twisting of myth into history, fiction into fact, the use of lines arbitrarily drawn by the British as borders of so-called ‘Historical Homelands’ and the attendent attempt of land-theft.  

Is Sumanthiran or Mangala talking about this past?  Are they demanding that fiction was a key element of this past, that it should be called as such, that it should therefore be dumped and along with it the whole devolution-thesis (for reconciliation, equality, respect etc) should be scrapped?  No, they are not saying all this.  They are not advocating accordingly either.  

If Sumanthiran and Mangala want ‘change’ and want to dump the past and ‘move forward’ then all legislation at odds with notions of ‘equality’ or which supersede general laws pertaining to freedoms should go.  

Why is it that Sumanthiran and Mangala are silent on the Muslim Marriage Laws, the Thesavalamai Law and the Kandyan Marriage Laws?  Why don’t they visit Article 12 of the Constitution (which speaks of the Right to Equality)?  How is it that these individuals, who argue for a secular state, do not see that the state IS religious and not on account of Article 9 [which, as we said, is negated by Articles 10 and 14 (1) (e)]?  Why do they not speak a word about religious holidays?  Why don’t they note that ‘Buddhist holidays’ were reduced from 49 to 13, while there are 54 Christian holidays, 3  Hindu holidays (sadly, one might add, given all that’s being said about equality), and 3 Muslim holidays supplemented by the equivalent of 13 work days (for Friday prayers) as well as lenghty leave options (four months and ten days for Muslim women in the event of the husband dying and three months in the event of a divorce)?  

These come under ‘customary law’.  However, custom, by definition is about history.  It is about the past.  It affirms culture and religion.  If you want to dump the past, you can’t keep these things intact.  But Sumanthiran and Mangala are quiet about such things. Why?

Why?  Because they are not innocent.  Because their intentions are not pure.  Because they are playing selective-politics with the past, present and future.  

For those who love to bash Buddhists, often quoting the Buddha, let me recommend that they try a bit of self-reflection, you know, ‘be a bit Buddhist yourself’ kind of exercise.  Check the material your walls are made of.  The chances are they are made of glass.

So, to conclude, let’s go secular.  Let’s go the whole hog.  No more religious holidays.  No more Poya days.  No special hours off work for prayers.  No Christmas.  Let the ‘weekend’ be shifted to any two consecutive days barring Sunday and Friday.  And let there be no state subsidies for any religious schools including pirivenas.  

And while they thus reflect, let them also note that in officially non-secular states and even in many ‘secular’ states, particularly those that have Christian or Muslim majorities, there are no holidays for other faiths.  Let them note, also, that perhaps it is the Buddhist character of this society that has permitted the religious freedoms even to the point of privileging other religious communities. 

Sumanthiran states, “a Constitution that gives a particular religion the foremost place cannot be a Constitution that treats all of its citizens as equals.”  He is correct.  Let him apply this logic to every letter of the 1978 Constitution and it’s 19 Amendments.  He could do the relevant perusing with his ardent fellow-traveler in the matter of constitutional reform, Mangala Samaraweera.

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