O Religion, thou comest in many garbs!

More than a decade ago the late Prof Nalin De Silva launched a book titled ‘batahira vidyaava, aasanik saha deviyo (Western science, arsenic and god).’ The late Prof Carlo Fonseka spoke at the launch held at the J R Jayewardene Centre. The inevitable happened. The two, who respected each other at some level, quarreled. Academically of course. I had left by that time, but not before I offered my comments.

I can’t remember how I ‘read’ the word ‘Western’ but I did dwell on science, arsenic and religion, observing that those who pooh-pooh Nalin’s takes on the god Natha (believed to be an incarnation of the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara, again believed to be the future Buddha Maitriya) do treat the West and Western Science in close-to-divine terms.

God is omnipresent, so believe theists. And omnipresence means everywhere, even places unheard of and hidden, places one does not associate with religion and divinity, in your home, your washroom, in brothels and taverns, all over a cemetery, up in the sky and deep underground. In parliament too. God is the speaker, the prime minister, the president, the prisoner, the jailer, the hangman, the hangman’s rope, the speaker’s chair, the president’s seal and the state. God is, or ‘is in’ let’s interject. So too the devil, one might add.

 Well, we have people who religiously advocate the separation of ‘church’ and ‘state’. Those are Western terms of course, but translated, so to speak, into Sri Lankan speak they are essentially used to rant and rave against Article 9 of the Constitution (never mind that Articles 10 and 14 effectively negate it).  Fine. All three could be done away and we can thereby obtain a clean slate, sorry, state.

There are a few niggles that need to be sorted out of course: the Kandyan Marriage and Divorce Act, the Muslim Marriage and Divorce Act and the Thesavalamai Law for example, for when you dump one identity marker you have to do away with them all. And of course religious holidays. No Poya holidays, no extra holiday for Vesak, no Thai Pongal, no Maha Sivarathri, no Deepavali, no Good Friday, no Christmas, no Avurudu, no Eid al-Fitr, no Eid-al-Adha, no Milad an-Nabi, no short-Fridays to go to mosque, no special leave during fasting, and no additional leave for widows belonging to particular religious communities. And Sunday, hitherto a religious holiday, will no longer be so.

Take them all out and check the state. Is it now atheist? Is it religion-free?  


What is religion, though? It is all about belief. Strong and even fanatical belief, to be precise. Where do we find such things? I can think of churches. That’s obvious. Religious communities. Again, obvious. But how about political parties? Parliaments? In the corporate sector? People worship power. They worship money and profit. They would kill for any of these things. The truth is there are ‘articles of faith’ everywhere. Ideologies are more religious than anything else.

There are ‘gods’ and ‘demons’ defined as such by convictions that have nothing to do with anything spiritual. Villainy abounds and therefore so too villains, as defined by the self-proclaimed virtuous of course. We get know-alls. Many. And that’s omniscience of a kind. Godly. There are people who believe they are invincible. Omnipotent. Godly.  

Religions abound. Religiousness is everywhere. Try separating them from that which is believed to be atheistic!

And one fine day
at twilight
under a threshold 
drenched in primordial spray
neither wet nor dry 
a chronic schizophrenic 
half asleep and half awake
tossed a coin:
on one side it said 'good'
and on the other, 'evil'
and the I 
that turned into I and I
a sacred covenant signed.

'We shall be one or the other
and we shall in duality
reinforce 
this love,' said I
and I added, 'and this hate';
'yes,' I replied 
'in the pot-kettle game 
shall I affirm myself'.

And I sealed it with a kiss:
'and thus shall we thrive
through sickness and health
good times and bad,
richer or poorer,
for better or worse,
to love and to honor
forever and ever
amen!'

Dichotomies suck, don’t they? 

 

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Carlo Fonseka and dust that illuminated our lives

There’s dust in the universe that come together in ways no one really knows. This dust interacts with other dust particles, is transformed for a fraction of time in a universal clock of whose dimensions are known only in their enormity. We choose lifetime as a unit for manageable purposes and in such dimensions we can find coherence. And integrity. We call it a person. A personality. They are born, they decay, they perish. And the dust that they are scatters across the universe in ways we really cannot predict. 

That’s Carlo we are talking about. Carlo Fonseka. 

I first met him when he was visiting his son, my friend and housemate, Suranga, in Boston. This was in the Summer of 1991. I took him to see John Kenneth Galbraith, then Emeritus Professor of Economics and considered a leading figure in 20th century liberalism.  I was a mere spectator at that brief meeting where Uncle Carlo spoke one of Galbraith’s books. He had read it and had written to Galbraith about it. Uncle Carlo also admired another Harvard don, E.O. Wilson, a pioneering theorist who held there was a genetic basis for social behavior.  

Uncle Carlo was a physician and a teacher. A Marxist. A rationalist. He liked things pinned down based on that which was tangible. Naturally he wasn’t impressed when I told him that the Sociology Department at Harvard seemed to think that everything could be reduced to numbers. He responded, ‘in that case you would end up as a wooly-headed sociologist’. I didn’t end up as a sociologist, wooly or otherwise, but years later I told my postgraduate committee in the Development Sociology Department at Cornell University that I find it hard to distinguish sociology from literature and philosophy. I should have told him about that exchange. I’m sure he would have laughed.

Uncle Carlo spoke about his nephew Vijaya Kumaratunga over a cup of coffee at the Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. With passion and sorrow. He dismissed the notion of ‘historical inevitability,’ pointing out that the Bolsheviks let Finland go by a majority of a single vote. He was dismissive of Christian beliefs too: ‘Rising from the dead, immaculate conception…I mean, that’s medieval isn’t it?’ Such sentiments he did not express in public to my knowledge. He recited for me, however, a long ballad on the logic of opposing capitalism which was based on the Buddha’s fire sermon. Apparently, that was an integral part of speeches he made during election campaigns for the Lanka Sama Samaja Party.  

He reveled talking about his lyrics, mentioning in particular a buduguna song he had penned for Pundit Amaradeva. He recalled the line ‘thanhaave doshaa’ (the folly of greed) and told me how had queried the maestro about his (Amaradeva’s) decision to repeat the line. Amaradeva had pointed out that the point can be driven home through emphasis, dragging the second word the second time. He was excited at being taught something salient. He was humble. 

In later years, we had a brief exchange on the pages of the Sunday Island during the heady days of the Ceasefire Agreement between the then Government and the LTTE. Carlo, as per his convictions and his vision for Sri Lanka was all for devolution of power, never mind that geographical, historic, economical, demographic and archaeological factors rebelled against such formulation. He said at the time that it was the moment that the Sinhalese could be magnanimous. 

He was magnanimous most of the time. He was not when it came to beliefs he held close to his heart. He drew from a larger picture, but of course one which was a product of subjectivity. He was dismissive of ideological opponents. Interjecting in a debate in ‘The Island’ between Dayan Jayatilleka and myself, Uncle Carlo while referring to me in fond terms, gave Dayan 10/10 and gave me 0/10. Carlo was in agreement with Dayan, ideologically, again on the subject of devolution. I understood. My father joined this battle, despite my objection (‘I am a citizen, I have the right,’ he said) and the move was read as me getting ‘papa to come to my defense’ (as Dayan put it, I believe). That quote has made the rounds. 

He knew my father who at one point shared his ideological preferences. ‘I was attracted to the LSSP due to its intellectualism and I am sure so was your father,’ he told me in Boston. I respected him for all of this, his age, his commitment to the truths he believed in and most of all his largely tender ways of engagement even when it was laced with political repartee.  

I still recall meeting him in the office of Prabath Sahabandu, batchmate from Peradeniya University and then the Deputy Editor of ‘The Island’. Uncle Carlo recognized me, smiled, and said ‘I read your articles for style, not substance!’‘Those whose articles you read for substance no longer talk about class, but I do,’ I offered. He said ‘I know and I appreciate.’ 

He was kind. A few years ago when he was in charge of the Medical Council, I went to see him with a set of poetry collections. He wrote me a short letter, summing up his sentiments which happened to be quite generous. 

He loved defending the truths he believed. On one occasion we both had to speak at the launch of Nalin De Silva’s book ‘Batahira Vidyaava Deviyo Aasanik’ (The West, Science, God and Arsenic). I had to leave before Uncle Carlo spoke. I was told that Nalin had requested him not to touch on a particular chapter. Naturally, that’s exactly what he did. Naturally, too, Nalin had responded.  There must be innumerable anecdotes that indicate his zest for debate. Innumerable anecdotes about his humanity too. And of course innumerable anecdotes about glaring contradictions when it came to certain choices, political and personal, which of course he would defend with zeal if he had to do so.  

It is not easy to write about such a man, such a unique configuration of dust particles, especially since our interactions were random and brief. There is perhaps one conversation which, to me, marked Uncle Carlo’s politics, philosophical bent, other factors which informed his engagement in all matters ideological and political, and of course his commerce with fellow creatures. 

It was at the Borella Kanatte. I can’t remember who had died. I saw him and as was always the case, went up and said ‘hello.’  

‘I read your piece about that boy who stabbed that girl in Kiriella.  I read it three times trying to find a contradiction or something that was wrong. I couldn’t. It would have taken me three hours to write something like that and I’m sure you just wrote it in one go.’

‘Maybe that’s because you are trapped in a Cartesian frame,’ I suggested.

‘What to do, I’m a doctor!’

‘I know. That’s probably useful in medicine, but not in life.’

He laughed. We parted. 

And now his constituent particles have reconfigured. That which he has become is unrecognizable. That which he was is scattered to the extent possible given his last wishes. That which he left behind, by and by, will be forgotten or disfigured and misrepresented. Something, though, will remain in everything and everyone he touched one way or another. 

What can one say to one who believed what Uncle Carlo did about life, death and things that remain and things that will disappear? Nothing. To ourselves and each other, we can say things.  And we will, until we too disappear in the verity of transformation. He was a speck of dust but one which was inimitable and unmistakable. A speck of dust that nevertheless dwarfed many of us. This too we will remember.   

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Re-classing the national discourse*

Pic courtesy w3lanka.com

These are days when there is a lot of talk about media rights and the freedom of expression. There is talk of resolving the alleged ‘ethnic’ conflict, about redressing minority grievances and addressing legitimate aspirations. Through the three decades of the conflict, the political upheavals, regime changes and ideological shifts, the ups and downs of the political fortunes of one community or another, one factor has received scant attention in political commentary, or else has been tainted so much with the ethnic brush of political comment to render it invisible. Class. Let me be more concrete. ‘The poor’.

Sure, we have the trade unions with their grievances, their agitation, their threats and even acts of sabotage. We have the JVP saluting old Marxist-Leninist slogans and student activists spouting venom about the capitalist class and of course Kumar David and Wickramabahu Karunaratne alluding to capitalism and its ills. All this is peripheral in the broader political discourse.

Let’s face it: we are more concerned with issues of democracy, level playing fields for communities, structures that yield better governance as more appropriate representation, more transparency and accountability. I mentioned this on two occasions to two people, Prof. Carlo Fonseka and Jayantha Seneviratne, the former a long-time member of the LSSP and the latter who made a career for a while out of marketing Chandrika’s infamous ‘political package’.

I told Prof Carlo that all the self-labelled leftists in the rush to embrace minoritarian politics and other social causes (and thereby extend the validity of the ‘leftist’ tag) had happily abandoned ‘class’ but that I still critique capitalism (even though these leftists call me all kinds of nasty names such as ‘Sinhala Buddhist chauvinist’, ‘extremist’ and ‘war monger’). Prof. Carlo smiled and said, ‘yes, and I appreciate’.

Jayantha, when I put it to him that the leftists are operating as though class does not matter, said ‘it doesn’t’.

Doesn’t it though? Ranil Wickremesinghe has said that there is no king, but that under a UNP government everyone would be king. Silly. Kings are kings because there are subjects. The rich are rich because the poor exist. And vice versa of course. The same goes for the powerful and the powerless. Even in the neo-liberal formulations there is ‘labour’ (they fight shy of using ‘class’). I have myself tended to footnote the class factor in my commentaries and I now admit that while a certain privileging of issues is inevitable this does not justify the neglect of a factor as important as ‘class distinction’.

I was alerted to this when I received an email from Amsterdam a little over a month ago. My friend underlined the class-thread that is distinct (though ignored) in the overall fabric called social process. He cited a couple of examples.  

"The common struggle for citizenship rights and dignity for all will help everyone especially the poor. As it is, the notion of citizenship rights in Lanka is a joke. The police torture suspects if they are poor, Sinhala or Tamil. The first falsely accused torture victim I encountered was a slum Tamil Catholic girl. The accusers were rich well connected Sinhalese Catholics. The IP (crimes) who arrested her was a Muslim. His fellow-torturer was Sinhala Buddhist sergeant. In my second big case the victim was a 30 year old Buddhist woman illegally arrested kept overnight and tortured by pushing a water hose inside her vagina. She was an SLFP Samurdhi worker. (this was after the UNP won the 2001 election). The Catholic (NGO) SEDEC in Kandy (affiliated to AHRC, Hong Kong) came forward on their own to provide legal assistance for a HR case. Suddenly SEDEC dropped the case and the lawyer provided by AHRC did not turn up in court. Later it came out that the brother of the priest in charge of SEDEC, Kandy was an high profile UNP-er from Kegalle and the case was an embarrassment because the UNP Minister of Women’s Affairs was from Wariyapola and the abduction took place on Women’s Day.  

What sense of citizenship and of rights accruing from them do even the ordinary Sinhala poor and powerless have? What does carrying a Lankan passport mean to all those women of all ethnicities toiling in the Middle East?  

I am convinced that there are a million similar stories that never get articulated, talked about and congeal into political projects. Just consider this for example: it was the poor who fought the LTTE, it was they who lost their limbs, lost their lives. During the last three years, people had to tighten their belts. In the national interest, they were told. Who really tightened their belts? The super rich? No. The poor.

The same with the LTTE cadres. The rich were living it up abroad, goading their poorer brethren to fight. And die. It is reported that some 10,000 persons living in Welfare Centres in Chundikulam have managed to leave these places without the knowledge of those running them. How did they do it? The allegation is that they bribed their way out. With what? Money! They either had the money or they had friends and family who could provide it.

Who dies during election violence? The wealthy? The powerful? No, the ‘rank-and-file’. The poor.

Quite apart from such deprivations, we have to take note of the fact that the structure of political and economic power and yes, even the structures of justice and law-enforcement, are skewed against the poor.

My friend and former colleague at the Island, C.A. Chandraprema, put it well when I ran into him last week. ‘Do you think Tissainayagam, had he been rich, would have ended up with what he got? No machang, the Tamil community would have moved heaven and earth to get him out.’ Yes, regardless of the legitimacy of detention, charge, judicial process and determination, we can’t get over the fact that J.S. Tissainayagam was not wealthy. Rs. 50,000 is peanuts for the usual NGO operative. Only a man desperately in need of money would withdraw the amount the moment it was sent into the relevant bank account.

If you are not convinced, ask yourself how it so happened that J.S. Tissainayagam got sentenced to 20 years of RI for being untruthful in what he wrote, for inciting communal disharmony (largely a subjective determination) and accepting money from a terrorist outfit, while George Master and Daya Master who were in the thick of the LTTE get released on bail. I am not convinced that this difference came from a certain refusal to ‘repent’ on the part of Tissainayagam and a willingness to cooperate on the part of Daya and George.

Tissa had an edge, though. He wrote in English. His case was taken up internationally by the Eelam Lobby as well as its cheer-boys. He still lost and I am not convinced that this was purely because he didn’t have a case. But imagine a poor Tamil (or Sinhala) boy or girl held for some petty infringement of the law or worse, was being detained on grounds of patently false accusations. I am sure there are hundreds of thousands of such cases. Do we know a single name? No. Is anyone agitating for their immediate release? No.

It is in this context that the largely abandoned struggle for meaningful citizenship rights acquires or ought to acquire privileged position in the political discourse. It will not end poverty or alter the structures of exploitation, but it will make things easier for the poor. At any rate, the issue of class and the politics that are consequent to the condition of class structure will not leave us. If we are to be a united nation, a nation that we can be proud of, then we cannot privilege certain citizenship anomalies over others. ‘Class’ is something we have to return to, especially now that the ‘ethnic’ in our politics is showing signs of dying a deserved and long overdue death.

*First published in the Sunday Island, September 13, 2009

msenevira@gmail.com.

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Carlo’s lesson

Human beings are frail. They err.  Sometime the transgressions are deliberate.  There are times also when poor judgment, lack of adequate information, deductive poverty, emotion and arrogance result in wrongdoing.  There are no safeguards against the former.  People who believe they can get away with murder will murder for the ‘getting-away’ is but after-thought of murder-decision.  If found out and charged very few would acknowledge crime. Most would look for loophole.

Of the latter type most who later realize the error of their ways would let sleeping dogs lie, so to say.  If error is pointed out, there would be many who twiddle thumbs, many who would try to pass the buck one way or the other, and many who would seek to dismiss or dismiss weight of mistake.  It is a rare breed that acknowledges in full, accepts responsibility and pleads forgiveness. 

Professor Carlo Fonseka is a rare man.  He has his detractors, those who disagree with him and who find fault with the positions he’s taken on particular issues.  One thing is clear: he is a man with a conscience.  If he makes a stand it is because he identifies with the particular cause.  If he is silent it is because he has reconciled to himself that silence is ideologically correct, socially responsible and politically appropriate.  He will, if pushed, defend the positions he takes. 

On January 19, 2013, Carlo Fonseka stepped back.  He admitted error.   Indeed, he virtually confessed that he was accessory after the fact of crucifixion. He asked for forgiveness.

The ‘crime’ was relatively mild.  All he had done was to repeat a lie, which he had honestly believed to be true, that the late Gamini Dissanayake was behind the burning of the Jaffna Library.  He did this on approximately 30 occasions in public forums, i.e. during Chandrika Kumaratunga’s presidential election campaign in 1994.  Now, with the retired police officer Edward Gunawardena establishing clearly in his memoirs ‘Memorable Tidbits include the Jaffna Library Burning’ that it was the LTTE that was responsible for this crime, Prof Fonseka had a choice to make.  He could have ignored, told himself that he had gone with what was thought to be the truth, downplayed his error or taken refuge in any number of absolving arguments.  He went public with confession.  He apologized to the Dissanayake family.  He asked Navin Dissanayake (Gamini’s son) to think of his late father and say ‘Father forgive him, for he did not know what he was doing’.   He need not have, but he did.  Rare. 

Confession does not put parts of broken things together.  Event, personality, time and metaphor pass and pass rapidly over crime-moment.  ‘Sorry’ doesn’t turn back time. It doesn’t draw back fire into matchstick.  It does not turn ash into manuscript and brick.  Remorse, however, imprisons arrogance, subverts righteous anger and makes healing possible.

At the same event, Dr. Gunadasa Amarasekera pointed out that the error resulted in another crime: false accusation.  It was not just Gamini Dissanayake who was vilified.  The state, erroneously (and deliberately) tagged ‘Sinhala Buddhist’ by the LTTE, Tamil chauvinists and others who had a gripe against Sinhalese and Buddhists, stood accused.  Errors of omission and commission did nothing to put the record straight.  No apologies so far.

Prof Fonseka has sowed the seeds of humility.  He can be emulated.  One does not have to say ‘You are right, I am wrong’, but one can say, in the very least, ‘You may be in error, but I am not error-free either’.  This country has seen a lot of violence.  Few are guilt-free.  Individuals can step up and become bigger men and women.  They can speak for themselves, for few have the right to speak for collectives. 

One can say, ‘They’re not remorseful, so why should I?’   Fear comes from possible political fallout.  Carlo Fonseka is a bigger man than he was.   Humility is rewarded.  In the very least it makes for less sleeplessness.  If you have a conscience, that is. 

['The Nation' Editorial, January 27, 2013] 

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