Coming as it did at the end of 2012, The Sri Lankan Republic at 40: Reflections on Constitutional History, Theory and Practice, is much more than two edited volumes or an extensive anthology. Rather, on close reading it seems more a living embodiment of current and critical debate at the very heart of the Sri Lankan body politic. Here are voices and perspectives from the fields of law, politics, sociology, history, gender and religion (to name a few) that speak to the reader and to each other on both the history and the power of the constitution. It navigates through the past – charting ‘the course from the liberal democratic post-colonial constitutional inheritance to the promulgation of the republic as part of the nation- and state building project’ [i]. Because the volumes give voice to scholarly and political views through specialist thematic writing and interviews, we also get a wide picture of experience and diverse viewpoints. All of the authors deserve credit and congratulations for the quality of scholarship and presentation. This review will only manage to name some of them, but holds all contributors in respect for their work.

Republic at 40 is comprised of two volumes running to 1166 pages and organised through four sections: (1) constitutional history; (2) constitutional theory; (3) constitutional practice; and (4) interviews and recollections. The parameters of these headings are broad. This results in no less than twenty-two scholarly chapters (at times frustratingly profound but also exhilaratingly insightful) and five in-depth interviews. They can be read sequentially or dipped into according to interest and elected cross-referencing. For the external observer, it is a doorway to comprehension of that which too often appears incomprehensible; the seeming dismantling of an island democracy and resurgent religious/ideological militancy that verges on ‘self-destruct’ mode. Herein emerge key historical and detailed background on the origins of the centralised unitary state; populist majoritarianism, Sinhala-Buddhist nationalism and Tamil identity/nationalism in turn, with all the ramifications of disenfranchisement and a long and bloody war. The constitutional origins are traced for fundamental rights, the growth of executive power, the use of parliamentary select committees; and judicial review – used so recently as counter force to directives including the  ‘Divineguma’ bill and the impeachment of the Chief Justice and the installation of a named successor.

Today the term ‘republic’ most generally means a system of government which derives its power from the people rather than from other foundations such as heredity or divine right. “It is impossible to establish a perpetual republic,” wrote Niccoló Machiavelli in The Discourses (1517), “because in a thousand unforeseen ways its ruin may be accomplished.” Machiavelli explains at the start of the third book of The Discourses that all worldly things have a limit to their life, and that “in the process of time [a state’s] goodness is corrupted, [and] unless something intervenes to lead it back to the mark, it of necessity kills that body. [ii] This occurs because after ten years at most men begin to corrupt, to behave with greater danger and more tumult, to transgress the laws, and to do so in a manner that makes it unsafe to punish them.” The return to the beginnings of a republic comes either by extrinsic accident or internal prudence, and the preferred Machiavellian option ought to be clear: “either good orders or good men must produce the effect” (Discourses III.1.1-6, pp.209-12).

If the legal sources in these volumes may be traced to colonial and pre-independence precedent and influence, its coverage of history nonetheless does credit to the unique and wider Sri Lankan experience and context. In his chapter ‘Republican Constitutionalism and Sinhalese Buddhist Nationalism in Sri Lanka: Towards an Ontological Account of the Sri Lankan State’, Roshan De Silva Wijeyeratne offers an account of pre-colonial influences in his exploration of ritual, belief and the ordering principles of Buddhist kingship as depicted in the Pali chronicles. While these volumes are dedicated to a subject aged forty years, it is clear that there are earlier and influential incarnations of the body politic which are brought to bear on the republic.

Udaya Gammanpila goes further in his volume-two interview, ‘The Constitutional Form of the First Republic: The Sinhala-Buddhist Perspective’ on the role of Buddhism including the ancient precedent of threefold governance; the King, the people and the Buddhist monks. On page 903 we read how distinctly the remembered model differed from Western practice: “In Western societies, the king was considered as a person who got a mandate from the almighty god to rule the country. He was supreme, very powerful and very sacred as well.” But according to the Anguttara Nikaya (he continues) the king is only the custodian and not an almighty ruler. “He has to look after the people, on behalf of the people.” From this perspective, ‘Maha Sammatha Vaadaya’ was a better approach than Western democracy, and given the history of colonial electoral laws and Sri Lankan constitutional development, Articles 9, 10 and 14 (1) (e) of the present constitution (1978) are sufficient as ‘minority-friendly’ clauses.

This particular argued case for the historical, cultural and legal accommodation of diversity is followed by the next interview, ‘The Ilankai Thamil Arusu Katchi (Federal Party) and the Post-Independence Politics of Ethnic Pluralism: Tamil Nationalism Before and After the Republic’ with R. Sampanthan. The discussion with Sampanthan offers an overview which extends from the history of the ‘fifty-fifty’ platform before the Soulbury Commission, the founding of the Federal Party and the importance of all peoples; how ‘Tamil- speaking’ as a term was inclusive of Hindus, Muslims, Christians and others as well as historical examples of jurisdiction and administration; the Thirteenth Amendment and the question of democratic rights in the absence of independent institutions. Here, alongside the other interviewees including D. Sithadthan, P.P. Devaraj and Lionel Bopage is living history and the crux of on-going concern and debate.

Bopage addresses the Sri Lankan transition from the colonial to the neo-colonial and the structural difficulties inherent in political or economic ‘independence.’ Here is a critique of both the specific Sri Lankan path to capitalism but also of the Provincial Council system from a Marxist, Leninist (with homage to Luxemburg) perspective. Here also is a closing thought that dialogue is possible to ensure the aspirations of marginalised peoples are fulfilled. A brief review such as this cannot to justice to all the expression and detail captured on these pages.

Re-examining History

And so back to the beginning of the first volume. Part I is on constitutional history, with a vivid and detailed start from Dr Nihal Jayawickrama who was himself an official participant in the 1970-72 process. Of particular interest is the first-hand account of the drafting process and degrees of participation, along with reproduced primary source material in the forms of letters and exchanges relating to provisions on concentration of power (notably the National State Assembly), the role of judicial review and the need for inclusion of fundamental rights and freedoms. He concludes with useful lessons on process and form in constitution-building. Radhika Coomaraswamy points to the crippling of the judiciary in 1972, the enshrining of the Buddhist faith as a state religion through an affirmative duty to protect and cultivate it; and dynamics concerning the Soulbury Constitution. Many held that a powerful executive would break free from the past and have the autonomy for implementing the radical reforms worthy of the new Sri Lanka. And yet here also were sown the seeds for authoritarianism.

Power-sharing was a contested area in preparations for independence from British rule, then dealt with (after extensive investigation and debate) by Section 29 of the Soulbury Constitution. At the time of independence as a dominion in 1948 Section 29, authored by Sir Ivor Jennings provided for the power of Parliament to make laws for the peace, order and good government of the island, while stipulating that: (2) No such law shall: (a) prohibit or restrict the free exercise of any religion; or (b) make persons of any community or religion liable to disabilities or restrictions to which persons of other communities or religions are not made liable; or (c) confer on persons of any community or religion any privilege or advantage which is not conferred on persons of other communities or religions; or (d) alter the constitution of any religious body except with the consent of the governing of that body. Provided that, in any case where a religious body is incorporated by law, no such alteration shall be made except at the request of the governing authority of that body. (3) Any law made in contravention of subsection (2) of this section shall, to the extent of such contravention, be void.’ Under this constitution, minorities of Ceylon had recourse to the courts and finally to the Privy Council should their rights under the covenant be violated. The Privy Council and the Crown were thus the guardians of the covenant between the Tamil and Sinhala communities.

Asanga Welikala begins his chapter with the United Front landslide victory in the general election of May 1970. The UF manifesto sought a mandate to repeal and replace the Soulbury Constitution with a new and republican one. At stake was a new entity, a free, sovereign and independent republic pledged to realise the objectives of a socialist democracy, also securing fundamental rights and freedoms for all citizens. According to Welikala, even at the time there were differing schools of thought regarding Section 29 in its procedural and substantive import. He takes us back to the rising expectations and political turmoil of wartime Asia, the context of the earlier Declaration of 1943. The Ceylon Ministers’ draft constitution was prepared for submission to the British government in the following year, with two major provisions for the protection of minorities. One was weighted electoral provision concerning parliamentary seats for the Northern and Eastern Provinces; secondly there would be constitutional prohibitions on discriminatory legislation.

We are reminded of the prevailing mood in the decolonising world – the anti-imperial nationalism and ‘complete break with all colonial institutions and appurtenances.’ Defiance and independent action as the mood of the day lent itself to a ‘naked majoritarianism’ in the making, such that the birthing of the republic also ‘was in this sense the first historical instance and demonstration of the dangers presented by populist majoritarianism to the constitutional state’ that continues to haunt Sri Lankan political and constitutional culture. And yet the drafting of the Soulbury Constitution and subsequent transfer of power went forward smoothly, without the broader popular elements of nation-building. There was no mass independence movement, no popular uprising but rather a gentlemanly agreement between elites. Furthermore, it is argued that through the technical application of ‘seemingly apolitical’ rules of legal interpretation and procedural limitations, Section 29 proved ineffective when discriminatory measures were brought in. Hence the Sinhala Only Act and reaction to it, leading to widespread protest, communal rioting and the 1958 declaration of a state of emergency. The die was cast. Through a thorough examination of Jennings’ intent and ‘manner and form’ entrenchment, as well as detailed case law and precedent, this chapter charts both autochthony and the birthing of political institutions free of constitutional control.

Benjamin Schonthal examines the Buddhist Chapter, Section 6, of the republic’s 1972 legal charter, debates, drafts and assurances. Farzana Haniffa examines the Muslims and the constitution-making process of 1970-72, with a thoughtful exploration of divided societies and governance models. She both appreciates history and articulates the multiplicity of experience of being a minority in Sri Lanka, also examining Muslim politics in the post-colonial era. Her quote from A.C.S. Hameed (MP for Akurana) of the UNP, making a representation in the Constituent Assembly, is moving: “A constitution is not written for a generation. A constitution is written for generations to come. And if a constitution is to last in the context of a South Asia country like ours, where people of various races, religions and cultures inhabit, the constitution must serve as an instrument unifying the various peoples into one – equal to one another, in no way subordinate to one another. A unified nation blended into one people breathing the air of freedom. It is with this sense of dedication that we support this motion before this assembly” (p. 243). Given the historical experience and geographical dispersal of the Muslim population, notions of pluralism resonated more than those of federalism at the birth of the republic. The persistent experience of being in the middle between adversaries, of being on the receiving end of their own expulsion and experience of riots or massacre has altered views of participation in and expectations of the state. Haniffa’s closing lines depict contemporary entrenchment of the marginalisation of minority claims.

Michael Roberts addresses the period 1231-1818, the ‘middle period’ as he calls it ‘in order to escape from European periodisation.’ His source material is rich, drawing from the literary and the epic to trace development of what is often called politicised Buddhism. His data supports the picture of cakravarti figures vested with super-human qualities, devotional and martial followers dedicated to defending valued territory. Hierarchy and kingship were crucial in defence against the Portuguese, the Dutch, the French and the English. ‘Us and Them’ cleavages in the worldview could not but be exacerbated by Western scholarship as it flowed into the equation with distinctions of Aryan and Dravidian language, or beliefs on social difference which verged on racist or certainly classist, thus underlining caste division or negative views of mixed marriage and ancestry lines. “The part-is-whole equation in the relationship between the categories ‘Sinhala’ and ‘Lanka’ has been one of the critical issues of the contemporary era.”

Then at the end of the first volume, a quiet yet riveting exploration of nested levels of agency, self-realisation and political struggle unfolds in the writing of Ambika Satkunanathan. ‘Whose Nation? Power, Agency, Gender and Tamil Nationalism’ is a chapter which challenges dominant narratives, explains gender and power issues which are not always visible, and holds up a giant mirror for readers. In these reflections we cannot but contemplate the difficulties of national projects; the distance from political declaration to personal life and from aspiration to realisation. It begins with the poem ‘Our Liberation’ by Sivaramani:

What shall we gain comrades?
What shall we gain?
We stand having lost all joy and youth
We come burdened with
Trepidation and poverty
What shall we gain?
You called it liberation
You called it independence
You said it was our race
You said it was our soil

Countries have been liberated
and gained independence
Nevertheless in many countries
the people have been beggared
Comrades will be also be
beggared when we achieve our
liberation tomorrow?

We have lost everything
However, we do not want
freedom only for a few
We do not want freedom with shackles
We shall achieve liberation only
after we shackle the animals
amongst ourselves

The analysis and wisdom in this chapter surpass its specific focus. Nation-building can bring women to the political sphere (as constitutions mention them and make declarations in their favour) but the boundaries between political and private blur amid embedded patriarchal norms and expectations. For the sphere of the republic at forty, how will women be encouraged to participate in politics given the vested interests in play, and obstacles to both participation and dissent? Satkunanathan refers to the current situation in the North, where talk of cultural decimation and the need to protect Tamil tradition is increasingly heard since the end of the war. “The resurgence of conservatism is to be expected in a community where traditional social networks and social norms have broken down and there is a general feeling the community is under siege” (p.659). The need and agenda for political rights overshadows women’s empowerment and rights. Alternative spaces are created and re-created in sites of struggle.

On Constitutional Theory

Sir Ivor Jennings and Section 29(2) appear again in these pages notably in the chapter co-authored by Cheryl Saunders and Anna Dziedzic, which gives a comparative perspective on parliamentary sovereignty and written constitutions. Here we find in full the doctrinal quandary regarding Section 29(4) on the legislative power of constitutional amendment, is this in itself the power to alter the constitution of which it is a part? The two authors concur with the view of Jayawickrama that the institution which assumed the authority to draft and adopt the new constitution also benefitted from it, a confirmation of Elster’s theory on institutional self-interest in constitution making. “The Constitution of 1972 reflected the interests and preferences of the current parliamentary majority. It would not survive the next change of government in 1977” (p.501).

Kumar David expands our theoretical horizons through revisiting The Communist Manifesto and dialectical materialism, reminding us of capital and accumulation, reproduction and production, class struggle and class relations. In identifying the relationship between the pursuit of socialism and the relative autonomy of the bourgeois democratic state, he highlights ideological challenge and practical confrontation. The capitalist economy will undermine the democratic state, through cycles of action and reaction as exemplified in Thatcher’s onslaught against the welfare state. He offers an ‘inside-outside’ view taking global changes into account, noting the relentless rise of neo-liberalism and steady erosion of the power of the old left.

An ontological account is offered by Roshan De Silva Wijeyeratne, who takes both republican constitutionalism and Sinhalese-Buddhist nationalism as his study, beginning with two enticing quotations:   “…history begins with a culture already there’ from Marshall Sahlins, Culture and Practical Reason, and  ‘..human beings must create the social and political realities on which their existence depends’ from Bruce Kapferer,  The Feast of the Sorcerer. He acknowledges the extraordinary resurgence in Sinhalese-Buddhist nationalism both as official narrative and within society since the end of the war. Given the consolidating by the state of the monopoly of force and the (in his words) existential encompassment of the Tamil people, there is little sign of constitutional reform long deliberated by liberal constitutionalists. Wijeyeratne is eloquent in his revisiting of the past and in particular the defining moment in 1972 in its revolutionary sense. The 1972 Constitution is replete with the particular cultural inheritance of Sinhalese nationalism which may be reimagined so as to distinguish underlying cosmological metaphors. This shift in analysis leads to a realisation that Tamil political rhetoric is dealt with through the means of demonisation at a deep level, possibly in a reinterpretation of ingrained ritual and worldview.

Through an examination of colonial and post-colonial modernity this chapter sets out more recent history in altered perspective. The emotive ‘restoration’ of the Buddhist state which has been invoked and popularised is open to question if the imagined Sinhalese centralised state which has existed since time immemorial is intrinsically a product of British colonial bureaucratic order from the 19^th century. But emotion and belief combine for mobilisation with violent consequences. Here is a theoretical contribution which offers a new understanding of the violence and darker side of repression and accumulation.

Constitutional Practice

The 1972 Constitution made a total break with the British Crown; Section 1 declaring a free, sovereign and independent republic. With it came Section 2 and the declaration of the unitary state meaning that from inception there would be problems with introducing any idea of semi-federal reform (Arulpragasam, chapter 18). There were improvements on the Soulbury Constitution including the section on ‘fundamental right and freedoms’ but previous safeguards on minority rights were repealed and not replaced. Both documents and frameworks had assumed the winner-take-all Westminster-type parliamentary model. This would change in 1978, and the rest, as they say, is history but also just yesterday and today and we must seriously also consider tomorrow. Arulpragasam contextualises with no less than twenty-three discussion points the historical evolution of democracy versus realpolitik in Europe and elsewhere; the problems of pluri-nations, imperial ventures, winners and losers. And this is just one chapter (p. 734).

The prevailing notion and critical problem of fundamental rights are further explored by Jayampathy Wickramaratne, who sets out precedents from the 1947 (Soulbury) Constitution for prevention of discrimination on the basis of race or religion, citing Section 29(2) (as above) which protected the free exercise of any religion and respect/non-interference with governing bodies of religious entities incorporated by law with Section 29 (3) stating that any law in contravention would be void. Here too an account of how the efficacy of written intent was tested by the circuitous practice used to disenfranchise hundreds of thousands of Indian Tamils who had voted in the 1947 general election  (as British subjects) through the legal and technical re-definition of citizenship. Through Supreme Court and Privy Court, all was proper and correct, further paving the way for the Official Language Act of 1956.

Yash Ghai writes on ‘Ethnicity, Nationalism and Pluralism’ drawing from his extensive expertise and noting the attacks and strains in recent years on the liberal state. He outlines recent Kenyan experience with a cautiously positive note in light of the changes incorporated through the new 2010 constitution. A seasoned and respected expert who took popular consultations on the new constitution to village level, Ghai is clear on the obstacles. He reminds us that a constitution cannot guarantee its own effectiveness, naming characteristics of those in power in this case: “They will do everything in their capacity to sabotage implementation. They control not only the State, but also key sectors in society: through bribery, commercial and financial empires, manipulation of ethnicity, intimidation, armed force, and more” (p.699). But herein also lies something unique for the future of Kenya, for he states significantly that the people seem to regard the constitution as their friend. Ultimately it may be this sense of ownership and determination to protect it that makes a difference.

The chapter by Nicholas Haysom on ‘Nation Building and Constitution Making in Divided Societies’ gives an overview and offers both hope and direction. While recognising restructuring in the international system and the number of racist or xenophobic incidents in Western democracies, there is also evidence that the integrating approach of the liberal democratic model has been successful in providing civil rights and opportunities to cultural minorities. Haysom identifies conditions for success: enforceable rights in a legal system that respects the rule of law; conditions of economic opportunity that allow individual upward mobility regardless of group identity (even if more in perception than reality); absence of discrimination or at least a level of cultural and religious tolerance; a national identity that allows entry to members of culturally diverse groups; and the practice of interest-based politics (p.877).

Two chapters look particularly at gender issues and constitutionalism in Sri Lankan context, one jointly written by Maithree Wickramasinghe and Chulani Kodikara and the other by Susan H. Williams. The first provides an account of women’s representation, precedents in leadership and generally low levels in women’s representation in Parliament, provincial councils and local government institutions. Useful reference is made to CEDAW and the challenges in mainstreaming gender equality. Williams expands on the vertical and horizontal application of rights, possible mechanisms and remedies. Her examination of open list proportional representation systems indicates that this approach often undermines any quota system as the rearranged order of party lists means that women are moved further down.

It was the 1978 Constitution which moved to PR and it is worth noting here that among the negative outcomes has been the weakening of the relationship between the MP and the voter. This is due to the fact that MPs no longer represent a specific electorate, but are elected to an electoral district which may contain a number of traditional electorates. It can also be argued that because candidates are now compelled to campaign throughout an electoral district with a number of traditional electorates, election campaigns under PR system have become more costly. This leads to two unintended negative consequences: candidates with the wealth and means to finance expensive campaigns have a better chance of winning; and there is more of a likelihood that they may turn to or depend on benefactors/ rich businessmen thereby making corruption an integral dimension of electioneering.

Apart from the fact that PR is often viewed outside Sri Lanka as a panacea for the shortcomings of ‘first past the post’ systems, it is important to note electoral processes in relation to the republic. The 1978 Constitution did not specifically affirm the principle of parliamentary sovereignty in the same manner as the 1972 version, but nonetheless ‘seemed implicitly to perpetrate some of the theoretical assumptions about the ultimate supremacy of Parliament” [iii].  It follows that structural constraints on election itself and how Parliament functions will play into the hands of a strong executive. Further strains will be observed in the efficacy of parliamentary select committees.

In the interview with PP Devaraj the question is asked ‘What constitutional changes need to take place to protect the interests of the Indian Tamil community?’ (Previous to the question, Devaraj also refers to the role of the Soulbury Commission in relation to the Delimitation Commission and demarcation of electorates so as to be representative of castes as well as ethnic minorities.) His reply on constitutional change is clear. First of all a constitution must refer to the component groups which constitute the country – and there is a formula as stated by the APRC Final Report, Article 1 (4); that “The People of Sri Lanka is composed of the Sinhala, Sri Lankan Tamil, Muslim, Indian Tamil, Malay, Burgher and other constituent peoples of Sri Lanka. The right of every constituent people to develop its own language, to develop and promote its culture and to preserve its history and the right to its due share of state power including the right to due representation in institutions of government shall be recognised while strengthening the common Sri Lankan identity. This shall not in any way be construed as authorising or encouraging any action which would dismember or impair, totally or in part, the territorial integrity of political unity of the Republic” (quoted on p.998). Readers will recall that the Final Report of the APRC submitted to the President in 2010 was never made public. Rather a version was published by two committee members and made available by Groundviews.

It is fitting that this text, with all its potential is cited towards the end of the second volume; that the work of the APRC group so tasked managed to reach a public audience regardless of being rendered officially invisible. For the thread running through the Republic at 40 volumes is not only the rise of a type of aggressive majoritarianism but also the quest for legitimacy in democratic forms and processes. We may ask about the gap between constitutional history, theory and practice and the wider public in Sri Lanka. What is known of the constitution or understood in the wider public domain now that the republic is forty? In life span this is not so old. What process would be needed for meaningful ownership and ‘buy-in’ to constitutional values and principles for a national project of inclusion and belonging? For inclusion and belonging with respect are so different to doctrines of sameness and domination. The publication is testimony to informed alternatives.

As a historical study and platform for discourse The Sri Lankan Republic at 40: Reflections on Constitutional History, Theory and Practice is a substantial contribution, hopefully to be circulated to libraries and made available for study. It is a massive work, with some 123 pages of bibliography to the end. There appears to be numbering repetition in the final volume (with two chapter 23s) but any reader can sympathise with the state a proof reader might be in by that time. An index would be useful for the student or researcher – perhaps for the second edition some volunteers would come forward to help compile one. But all in all, a sterling achievement.

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[i] From the Preface, by Dr. Paikiasothy Saravanamuttu, p.28

[ii] See ‘ Necessity as virtue in the thought of Machiavelli’ by Z.J. Witlich, available at: http://ase.tufts.edu/polsci/studentresearch/Necessity.pdf

[iii]  See Niran Anketell and Asanga Welikala, ‘A Systemic Crisis in Context: the Impeachment of the Chief Justice, the Independence of the Judiciary and the Rule of Law in Sri Lanka’, Centre for Policy Alternatives Policy Brief April 2013,  p.23

Lord Buddha gave different meditation objects to different people. For some, just focusing on rubbing two pieces of material against each other worked, and for some others focusing on the breath worked. On Vesak poya day, we celebrate the birth, enlightenment, and the passing away of this great teacher. In Sri Lanka, almost every Buddhist family makes a lantern, or at least buys and lights up a lantern, or an oil lamp.  One might think that this is a mundane way to celebrate Vesak. However, if we carefully use the activity of making a lantern, or the object of a lit up lantern, we can at least get a glimpse of what Buddhist meditation is all about.

In Buddhist teaching, the objective is to attain a permanent state of unconditioned still happiness. To get there, we should understand what conditioned happiness is, and why it is so volatile, mixed with sorrow. We condition our happiness by anchoring on five classes of volatile phenomena – rupa (form), vedhana (feelings), sangya (perception, or classifications of feelings), sankara (bodily, verbal, and mental structures formed by interactions), vingyana (the discriminative awareness that separates this from that) – known as five skandas. When we anchor our happiness on these transient phenomena, the happiness itself becomes transient. To attain unconditioned happiness, one has to anchor the happiness on a more solid bedrock – the transient nature itself – by meditating on the nature of these phenomena.

Vesak lanterns and oil lamps are ideal objects to reflect upon the nature of rupa at the very least. There are four transient qualities to rupa – the nature of toughness (patavi), the nature of vibration (vayo), the nature of wobbliness and flowing (apo), the nature of digestion and dissipation of energy (thejo). When one makes a lantern, one tries to make some rigid structure (patavi, sankara) out of sticks (patavi) and strings (apo), and one may even experience the nature of vibration (vayo) in the seemingly hard sticks. While shaping the sticks, or while tightening the strings, one may get a chance to experience heat due to friction of objects (thejo), or that in one’s own muscles due to combustion of matter (thejo). One may notice that all these phenomena just rise and pass away without having any credibility to anchor one’s long-term happiness or expectations. The same can be seen in oil lamps.

By looking at the finished lantern and its outer appearance, the one who made it gets a chance to penetrate through to the original material and effort that went into it to evaluate how dependable this finished structure is, and the solidity of the new name – the lantern – given to a structure (sankara), which is merely a conditioned phenomenon. One might even see the same in the dancing flame of an oil lamp. In fact if one lights up many oil lamps, one maybe surprised to notice how differently each flame flickers even in seemingly still air. Right there, one gets to see how dependable the above transient qualities of rupa are. A deeper reflection may help to see the transient nature of the rest of the five skandas.

In Maha-parinibbana sutta, Lord Buddha’s last word was – “all conditioned things are transient. Therefore, Bhikkus, strive without delay”. Therefore, let us use anything we find in the traditional objects and celebrations of Vesak to reflect upon these words, to make the observations meaningful. But Vesak or Buddhism is not about caning or forcing people to observing it in some preferential way. Whatever you do in a self driven way to notice the nature of the five skandas is a true celebration of Vesak.

Review of: Mahinde Thamai Iskole (Mahinda is the School!) by Sundara Nihathamani de Mel (Suratha Publishers, Mt Lavinia, Sri Lanka;

220 pages; LKR 600

I have never been able to understand why apparently grown Lankan men instantly turn so nostalgic — and sometimes completely incoherent — at the mere mention of their primary or secondary school.

Old school tie is evidently very strong among most of our men, often hilariously so. Thankfully women, many of who are just as loyal and grateful to their former schools, don’t descend to such immature behaviour.

As one with no emotional attachment to any of his old schools, I almost ignored Mahinde Thamai Iskole (Mahinda is the School). The book, released in mid 2012 and already into its fourth edition (wonder why?), is ostensibly a collection of its journalist-author’s reminiscences about Mahinda College, a leading boys’ school in Galle founded in 1892 as part of the Buddhist educational and cultural revival in 19th century colonial Ceylon.

Never judge a book by its cover! To my pleasant surprise, the book turns out to be much more than a potpourri of memories of a single school or a single generation. It is, without exaggeration, one of the most enjoyable Sinhala non-fiction books I have read in a long while.

Full credit goes to the author. Hailing from a literary family, Sundara Nihathamani de Mel is one of the finest writers in Sinhala journalism today. He is best known for his long-running satire column, Manige Theeruwa (Mani’s Column) which appears in Sunday Lakbima broadsheet Sinhala newspaper where, until a few weeks ago, he was chief editor (now promoted to Editorial Director).

But he is a great deal more. Sundara is probably the only bilingual journalist at the helm of a Sinhala newspaper today. In that sense, he is what my own journalism guru Gunadasa Liyanage (GuLi: 1930 – 1997) – himself a bilingual journalist, editor and author – once described as an ‘endangered species’ in Lankan journalism.

Swabhasha education, introduced on a wave of nationalism in the 1960s, has deprived us of men and women who can think and rise above their own particular race and language. Our society is poorer for it.

In fact, Sundara’s writing style is resonant of GuLi’s: simple, entertaining and highly anecdotal. Both write without any malice or ideological baggage. They are clearly attached to the personalities and events they describe, yet retain a sense of perspective. Many writers never achieve such maturity.

The book is distinctive for another reason: it is illustrated and designed by Dharshana Karunathilake, who draws perceptive cartoons in Sunday Lakbima and whose economy of words in social and political commentary is simply unsurpassable.

I first saw Dharshana in action when we were sixth grade classmates at Ananda College, Colombo, where he sometimes ‘got into trouble’ for caricaturising teachers during class. Now he makes an honest living lampooning political and social leaders.

Memory of the Nation

Sundara, who studied at Mahinda College from 1959 to 1971 (with a break during 1967-68), says his book isn’t a history of the school or an attempt at autobiography. True to form, it’s not even chronologically arranged, but that randomness holds its own charm.

What it does, brilliantly, is to offer a kaleidoscope of interesting nuggets about men and women (during co-ed days) who shared the formative years of their lives in school and are now scattered all over Sri Lanka – and beyond. Sundara chronicles these with measured pride of an old boy — but without the arrogance or insularity that most past pupils have about their school.

Some events captured in this book form an integral part of our recent history – what I see as the nation’s distributed and collective memory.

The best example is the story of what later became Sri Lanka’s national anthem. Its originator Ananda Samarakoon (1911 – 1962) was teaching music and art at Mahinda when he wrote and composed ‘Namo Namo Matha’ in October 1940. A few days later, he sang it for the first time with his students at the school’s Olctott Hall – that occasion is now marked by a commemorative plaque.

Another story is how a Mahindian cricketer performed the world’s only recorded instance of a wicketkeeper being responsible for all 10 dismissals in an innings. Teenager Welihinda Badalge Bennett achieved this feat – comprising six catches and four stumpings – while playing against Galle Cricket Club on 1 March 1953. It later earned him a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.

If these events had happened before the author’s own school years, he also relates some that he personally witnessed – or shaped. My favourite is how three 16-year-olds, including Sundara, published an innocuous school newspaper that earned the ire of education mandarins for being too forthright. In true babu style, they promptly banned its distribution. Which, in turn, made it front page news in a national political weekly…

The mighty provocation? Sundara’s hard-hitting editorial criticising the then Minister of Education I M R A Iriyagolla’s decision to phase out co-ed system in leading schools. The book reproduces that controversial piece in full, presaging the formidable writer within. (If only today’s school kids were bold enough to take on their own controversial minister…)

Nurturing Excellence

Sundara believes that Mahinda College has one of the most picturesque locations for any school in Sri Lanka. But more than its setting or buildings, the real beauty was how dedicated school teachers and principals nurtured generations of students to excel in curricular and extra-curricular activities.

That spirit of learning, caring and warmth are palpable in the pages of this book. From drama and scouting to debating and quizzing, Sundara and his contemporaries dabbled in many and varied pursuits. Behind every endeavour were teachers who worked way beyond their call of duty. At the time, it was the norm, not exception.

For those who can’t read this book in Sinhala, a rough analogy might be James Hilton’s 1934 novel Goodbye, Mr Chips. It tells the story of a much-beloved schoolmaster and his 43-year-long tenure at a British boys’ public boarding school. Except that this one is not fiction.

Indeed, the nexus isn’t that far fetched, considering that Mahinda College was built up by an extraordinary Englishman, Frank Lee Woodward (1871 – 1952), principal from 1903 to 1919. Although successive principals and teachers have added to it, the school is a living monument to this Cambridge Buddhist scholar.

A decade earlier, an American civil war veteran Colonel Henry Steel Olcott (1832 – 1907) had founded Mahinda as part of a strategy to counter British imperialism by reviving indigenous education, culture and industry.

He was head of the Theosophical Society, a spiritual and philosophical organisation which he had co-founded in New York City in 1875. Joining him in this endeavour were fellow travellers Helena Petrovna Blavatsky (1832 – 1891), a Russian aristocrat, and William Quan Judge (1851 – 1896), an Irish lawyer cum occultist.

Uncommon Revolutionaries

The trio seem an unlikely group to take on the British Empire in its heyday. But these were no ordinary people. Driven by resolve, resourcefulness and moral outrage, they set in motion historical processes that inspired both the Indian independence struggle and Ceylon’s Buddhist resurgence.

Olcott and associates were not direct political activists like the ones who later confronted the British Raj. Instead, the theosophists quietly laid the foundation for self-reliance and self-confidence by setting up quality schools, reviving local arts and crafts, and encouraging industrial production. They unleashed long-term consequences they didn’t live to see – and haven’t yet been fully assessed by history.

We have since had several generations of ‘Children of Olcott’ coming out of dozens of schools set up and run by the Theosophical Society (before certain ‘sons of the soil’ nationalised them). Sundara has produced something akin to a scrapbook about a handful of such ‘Children of Olcott’ (and Woodward) who found their own place in the Sun in the second half of the twentieth century.

As a good journalist, he has written a first draft of history. Professional historians and sociologists can take it forward.

Meanwhile, my fondness for alternate history makes me wonder where we might be today if that extraordinary Yankee had decided to ‘mind his own business’. Whenever I hear political rhetoric against ‘Americans meddling in our internal affairs’, I ask myself: what if Col Olcott never came to Ceylon or India, and instead retired to his native Orange County in New Jersey for years of spiritual reflection?

And whenever I hear vitriolic attacks against “foreign-funded NGOs” in Sri Lanka, I can’t help thinking how the Theosophical Society was exactly that! And one with a hidden agenda, too!! Somehow, an unsuspecting (or smug?) colonial administration allowed it to operate.

So just imagine: if those few do-gooding and empire-subverting white foreign theosophists didn’t meddle in Ceylonese affairs over a century ago, our recent history could have been very different. Hmm… 

Nalaka Gunawardene has survived three Lankan schools and two universities with (apparently) minimum brain damage. He now masquerades as a science writer and columnist, and blogs at: http://nalakagunawardene.com

Image courtesy Asianews.it

Erroneous political thinking and analysis obscure and obstruct the path of the political recovery of the Opposition in Sri Lanka. They can be disaggregated into six myths.

Myth 1 is that unity at all costs in the ranks of the main democratic opposition party is a necessary and sufficient condition of political success.

The reality is that as in mathematics, any number into zero is zero. If the leader or candidate of the main opposition party is an electoral liability, internal unity only suffocates rather than liberates. If internal unity within parties is an absolute condition of political success, there wouldn’t be a gruelling season of primaries in US politics aimed precisely at choosing putting the party on the right track and the candidate with the best chance of winning. France went a step further with a nationwide election for the leadership of the French Socialist party.

Myth 2 is that unity of the Opposition ranks is a necessary and sufficient condition for constituting a viable counterweight to the regime and projecting a credible alternative government.

The reality by contrast, is twofold: not only is a united opposition under an unappealing leadership and on the basis of a wrong-headed programme, an insufficient condition for victory, a disunited opposition can still cause regime change if a single one of the divided opposition proves to have the winning strategy and candidacy. Pakistan’s recent elections and the victory of Nawaz Sharif and his PML is a stark case in point.

Myth 3 is that the latent or growing economic crisis, taken together with the fulfilment of conditions one and two listed above, can defeat the regime.

The reality is that economic crises, however serious, can play themselves out an infinite variety of ways, given the intersection and interplay with and the overlay of other factors, most notably nationalism, ethnicity, religion and language. The rise of fascism in Germany against the backdrop of the Depression is of course the classic case in point.

The philosopher Louis Althusser, while noting that for Friedrich Engels the economic factor is said to be effective only ‘in the last instance’, wryly observed that nonetheless ‘the lonely hour of the last instance’ in which ‘ His Majesty the Economy’ strides forth as all other factors step back with a curtsy,  ‘never comes’. Instead he unrolls the concept, borrowed from Freudian psychoanalysis, of ‘overdetermination’; of a complex compound of unevenly developing factors exceptionally reaching a point of condensation in which however, the dominant factor is hardly ever the economic ( or to say the same thing, is almost always non/ extra-economic).

The greatest political thinker of the 20th century, Antonio Gramsci, whose concepts have had to be rediscovered and grasped by parties making a victorious breakthrough, ranging from Britain’s New Labour to Brazil’s PT, characterised the notion of an economic crisis ultimately sweeping all before it as ‘mechanistic’ thinking and an almost religious faith that sustains opposition parties in long years of adversity but does not really bring them to a position of ‘hegemony’. For hegemony to be achieved, an indispensable factor is not the economy but the ‘national–popular’ or the ‘popular–national’, and the Opposition as presently led, consistently fails that test, not only on the ‘ national’ aspect (‘can we Sinhalese / can we as Sinhalese trust him? Will he betray us?) but also the socioeconomic (does he care about us? won’t he privatise everything?).

Myth 4 is that it is not necessary to win over a majority of the majority of voters; the securing of the fullest support of the minorities would render necessary only a quarter of the majority vote, which would be almost automatically obtained due to the coming economic crisis.

The reality however, is that in conditions of a perceived existential threat such as that posed by/from Tamil Nadu, any swing of minority votes to the Opposition candidate could be compensated for by a corresponding or greater swing of an ethnic majority to the rival candidate, especially when the opposition candidate is indelibly associated in the collective memory of the overwhelming ethnic majority, with a period of national humiliation. Even without such a polarising dynamic, electoral victory is sometimes possible with strong support from a large ethnic group: the support of the Punjab was the basis of Nawaz Sharif’s victory.

Myth 5 is that a spoiler candidacy can guarantee the victory of the Opposition.

Here again, the reality is that in a presidential election, even if a breakaway pushes the race into a run-off, it is a choice of two national leaders and the question is who do we trust to be our leader in these difficult times? It is difficult to imagine that choice being the current leader of the Opposition under any circumstances; still less if he competes against the present incumbent. This negative factor cannot be transcended, however the Opposition is configured.

Myth 6 is that successful street protests are a precursor or indicator of nationwide political strength and momentum.

The truth is that public protest and social movements are of considerable importance, especially as catalysts, but even the most impressive protest constitutes but a fraction of the voting citizenry of any country; social protests do not automatically translate into political success and may prove electorally irrelevant or even generate an electoral backlash. From the protestors at Tahrir Square to those in Moscow, massive demonstrations in the recent past have not been reflected in the national political endgames. This was of course true of the dramatically romantic ‘events’ of May ’68 in Paris and the paradoxical June ’68 re-election of the Gaullists to the National Assembly, and the anti-Vietnam demonstrations in the US followed by the election of Richard Nixon. In Ceylon, the Left launched the Hartal of 1953, while the non-participating SLFP won the election of ’56. Much depends on whether the demonstrations accurately reflect the nation’s social composition (albeit in miniature), whether they fail to resonate with the broader public, or whether the protests do resonate with respect to the issues at hand but do not constitute/present an acceptable alternative leadership for the nation.

Though Egypt and Russia are superficially contrasting cases in that the former represented change and the other continuity, there are underlying factors common to both. By-passing the urban demonstrators and their dramatic manifestations, the bulk of the citizenry voted for patriotic or nationalist populists who had retained the support of the provinces and the clergy and stood for a strong nation-state.  Mohammed Morsi and Vladimir Putin were both more ‘organic’ – to use another concept from the Gramscian canon—than their rivals. Putin rescued Russia from its seemingly endless retreat as a state during the years of pro-western appeasement under Yeltsin and won the Chechen war. The first half of the last decade, the CFA-PTOMS years were Sri Lanka’s Yeltsin years and the UNP leader our Yeltsin, while Mahinda Rajapaksa is seen to have redeemed Sinhala self-respect and restored the strength of the state.

As in Egypt, Russia and Pakistan, he or she who can break through and swing the provinces can win the election in Sri Lanka. As Mervyn de Silva once wrote, the road to power through the ballot box runs through the paddy fields. The UNP has and can pull it off, but only under an ‘organic’, ‘national-popular’ leadership. It has always failed when its leadership is seen as ‘comprador’ and/or minoritarian. However much the policies of the incumbent administration run contrary to the objective interests of the Sinhalese and Buddhists, including those in the provinces, the Opposition’s current leadership is not and will never be subjectively, normatively, regarded as ‘organic’ and ‘national-popular’ as Mahinda Rajapaksa is, and certainly not more so.

Given public perception of two equally patriotic candidates (or two equally unpatriotic ones) the electorate will opt for the one who can be trusted on socioeconomic issues, which is why welfarist Labour party leader Clement Attlee who had been in the wartime coalition government, defeated Winston Churchill and Prime Minister Premadasa beat Madam Sirimavo Bandaranaike in 1988. If peaceful democratic regime change is to take place the only way it can and at the earliest time it can, namely at the Presidential and parliamentary elections scheduled for 2015-2016, the UNP and the Opposition at large, must visibly, audibly and credibly close that ‘patriotic’ gap.  No student of history can underestimate the fund of legitimacy derived from a historic military victory over a deeply hated foe in a ‘fault-line war’. No student of politics should assume that the parabola of such patriotic legitimacy is easily intercepted by an Oppositional project moving on a purely economic and governance trajectory. When I say that successful interception would take a Patriot missile, the pun is intended.  A caveat: Mahinda Rajapaksa’s appeal does not derive exclusively from patriotic achievement. Even among those who can lay claim to that achievement, he communicates more personal appeal. He comes across as resolute but affable; more personable, less dangerous.

No political formation that fails to carry with it (a) the provinces and (b) the armed forces and their families, can win an election. Without the support or benign neutrality of the latter, a level playing field may be difficult to secure. The UNP can win in the context and under conditions of an economic crunch but not if – and not as long as –it is led by someone who triggers the collective memory ‘Claymore’ of the CFA and thus generates apprehensions of the weakening of the national state, national security, the erosion of sovereignty, the bartering away of the military victory and a sell-out of the Sinhalese in the face of ‘external’ and ‘alien’ pressure, threat and imposition.

Mahinda Rajapaksa’s significant speech at the Victory Day parade this year demonstrated that he retains much of his appeal, remains the figure with the most credible narrative and discourse in the Lankan landscape. His speech also demonstrated the sources and components of that discourse: the invocation of the memory of national retreat to the brink of defeat and dismemberment, followed by resistance, recovery and victory. The narrative is encased in a larger longer chronicle of Sinhala history and the emergence of the ‘great leader-saviour’ who heads the resistance and thereby the revival. The underlying theme is national resolve, faith in the patriotism, the resilience and heroism of the people, especially the youth, to resist.

The narrative is emotive and credible, tapping into deeper wellsprings than all other available discourses. The audience is the majority of the overwhelming majority, the Sinhala families living in the provinces.

The impressive parade also has a message, whether intended or not, in the run-up to the Northern Provincial Council elections which the alphabet soup of Tamil ultranationalists in Tamil Nadu and the Diaspora need to take on board: this is what you will have standing in your way in case you are tempted to opt for an exit strategy, and there’s plenty more where they come from. These men and women, this generation, this leadership and future ones will fight any attempt from which ever quarter, at dismemberment of the island and a return to the dark days of retreat and appeasement.

That’s a discourse that’s hard to beat and can neither be negated head on nor ignored; it can only be superseded. It can only be superseded by an alternative discourse which respects and incorporates these themes and supplements them with others, rather than rejects them.

The Opposition as currently led has no credible narrative, no discourse, which has any comparable emotive power. No leadership which is embedded in the public memory and the historical narrative as having appeased the Tiger has the chance of a snowball in hell of beating a leader whose story is a stark contrast; one of victory.

Anyone who watched Mahinda Rajapaksa’s V-Day 2013 speech and thinks that whatever the material hardships, the present leader of the Opposition can come remotely close in terms of credibility and appeal, or assumes that the latter’s CFA track record can be brushed under the rug, or that this memory of national disgrace will not turn the entire Opposition electorally radioactive; anyone who thinks that the voter will entrust the leadership and future of the country to such a person over and above Mahinda Rajapaksa, is rendering the status quo a great service by refusing to identify what fundamentally needs to be rectified.

The majority of the citizens are Sinhalese; the majority of Sinhalese are patriotic or if you prefer, nationalist. They will remain especially so in the face of the combination of Tamil nationalist challenge from the Diaspora and Tamil Nadu and Western/West-based criticism of the armed forces and the war on ground of accountability. The opposition as currently led, cuts itself off from that patriotic majority of citizen-voters. It cannot compete with the incumbent on the terrain of patriotism/nationalism. That terrain must and can be shifted but it cannot be shifted beyond certain parameters outside which the current UNP leadership will always tend to fall. Not even a severe economic crisis can shift the terrain fundamentally, because what is involved is a collective perception of an existential threat. Anyone who thinks this terrain can be fundamentally altered or profitably abandoned as toxic, lacks a sense of both history and politics and how they work (not least in Eurasia and the post-colonial global South).

This is why every serious and responsible political analysis, commentary or discussion today must revolve around the elections that are on the horizon, in the middle distance. Regime change in the UNP/Opposition remains a prerequisite for democratic change in the larger polity. Without such peaceful, democratic, internally generated change, we may be unable to prevent the escalation to ‘hard options’ by powerful external actors; options which may cost us our sovereignty, security and territorial integrity; our existence as a single state and country.

Image courtesy The Telegraph

It is now 4 years after the end of the war. The way we Sri Lankans will remember the end of the war is likely to demonstrate once again how divided we are, as North and South, as Sinhalese and Tamils.

Some Tamil friends in the North told me that they will try to have some events to remember the large numbers who were killed and disappeared, despite the past threats and intimidations. “We will try to have it quietly and low profile way” was what one friend told me. It is unlikely that families of those killed, disappeared, injured, those whose land has been occupied by the military after the war, will be in the mood to celebrate. This of course should not be confused with the fact that they are indeed relieved the war is over – that they don’t need to be in bunkers, duck shells, bombs and shooting, run over dead bodies to save their own lives, try to hide from forced recruitments etc.

On the other hand, the government has announced grand celebrations in Colombo, with the annual “Victory Day Parade”. Based on last three years experiences, there is unlike to be any mourning, grieving or even remembering of Tamil civilians killed, injured through government action – although it’s possible that those killed and who suffered at the hands of the LTTE may be remembered. .

It is also now one and half years after the Presidential Commission on reconciliation (Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission – LLRC) finalized its report and handed it over to the President. In March 2012 and 2013, the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva passed resolutions on Sri Lanka, which the Sri Lankan government bitterly opposed, branding supporters as traitors. The resolutions called on the government to implement LLRC recommendations, address accountability issues and noted the ongoing human rights violations. To me, these are two of the most significant developments after the war and the both Geneva resolutions were linked to the LLRC.

Who went to LLRC and Geneva and why?

I read the LLRC report a couple of times and in 2012, I travelled across the country giving talks in towns and cities to Sinhalese, Tamils and Muslims. And I had chance to listen to and dialogue with diverse and even opposing responses – supporters and skeptics of the LLRC.

But my strongest impression of the LLRC is of the hundreds of people – mostly women – from the North and East who braved threats and intimidations and spent their meager earnings to travel a long way to tell their story to the LLRC. They were mostly mothers and wives of persons who had either disappeared or been detained. Many came clutching photos of their loved ones the came to give testimony about. There were also those who had survived the last phase of the bloody war in bunkers and running over dead bodies, had seen their family members and neighbors killed, children recruited and houses reduced to rubble. There were also those who told stories of not being able to go home as their houses and lands were occupied by the military. Many of them cried – while giving their testimony, while listening to others, when they were denied the chance to give their own testimony or were stopped abruptly by Commissioners.

Likewise, my strongest impressions from UN Human Rights Council sessions in Geneva last March are of a group of Sri Lankans who went there separately. One was a Tamil doctor, Dr. Manoharan from Trincomalee, whose son was murdered on the beach in January 2006. Another was Mrs. Sandya Ekneligoda, a mother of two teenaged boys and husband of journalist and cartoonist Prageeth Ekneligoda, who disappeared in January 2010. With her was Sithi, the mother of a Muslim boy who disappeared in Colombo. Sisters and brother of murdered government MP and politician Bharatha Lakshman Premachandra were also in Geneva telling their story.

What made them all go to the LLRC and to Geneva? To discredit the government? Earn dollars? Unlikely, as they all had bigger problems – very serious ones – about their beloved family members who had been killed or disappeared. For how many of us will discrediting the government and earning dollars be the priority if our own husbands, sons, brothers and sisters have been killed or disappeared?

I suspect they went to Geneva because despite all their efforts for many years, they had not been able to find answers and justice in Sri Lanka. Through Courts and institutions such as Police, Human Rights Commission and various Presidential Commissions of Inquiries. And they are amongst the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of Sri Lankan families who seek acknowledgment, truth and justice.

It may also be pertinent to note that in May 2009, a resolution was passed at the UN Human Rights Council that was essentially drafted by the government of Sri Lanka or those supporting it, and in favor of the government. However, since then, countries such as India, Korea, Africa and most in Latin America, have voted against the government of Sri Lanka in the subsequent resolutions in 2012 and 2013. While the language of 2012 and 2013 resolutions are very mild in relation to the ground situation, the language has become slightly stronger and critical from 2009 to 2012 and 2013. The number of countries voting against the government of Sri Lanka doubled from 2009 to 2012 and further increased in 2013.

Ground situation after war – amidst the LLRC and Geneva resolutions

Even as the UN Human Rights Council sessions in Geneva were going in March 2013 and the resolution was being negotiated, in Vavunia, in Northern Sri Lanka, the government stopped hundreds of families of disappeared persons from going to Colombo for a peaceful protest. In Colombo, a human rights lawyer was threatened.

In the two months since the Geneva resolution of 2013, a meeting of the opposition Tamil National Alliance was attacked in Killinochi and the popular northern Tamil daily newspaper, Uthayan was attacked twice in April. Businesses of Muslims were attacked. A peaceful vigil I attended in Colombo was dispersed by Police who had also threatened and arrested some of the participants.

What has been happening in the last four years after the war finished?

Positively, I remember few political prisoners being released, some people displaced people were able to go back to their own villages, fisherfolk and farmers had restarted activities. I had seen some roads in the Vanni becoming better and electricity to some areas which had never seen electricity. And some new buildings have come up in the war ravaged Northern Province, such as hospitals, schools, government offices, markets, telecommunication, banks etc.

There is less fear of being caught up in a suicide bombing, of being stopped at check points, round ups and arrests. But I have also have met who continue to live in fear – women in North who live in fear of sexual abuse. Journalists and human rights activists fear assassinations, abductions, long and repeated questioning by intelligence agencies and arrest. Those arrested for any reason fear being tortured. Religious minorities fear their traditional practices maybe curtailed and places of worship, businesses attacked. Citizens fear that the military may occupy their traditional and legally owned land. Judges, lawyers and religious clergy live in fear, due to their criticism of the government. These fears are not imaginary – very much real in the last four years after the war.

Overall, my experiences have been negative – many emails, sms messages calls I get gives me little hope to be optimistic about reconciliation, human rights and freedom. People I regularly encountered – Tamils, Sinhalese and Muslims – from all parts of the country – includes families searching for loved ones who had disappeared. Families searching for justice for loved ones killed (during war, during protests, inside prison etc.). Political prisoners and their families awaiting release or just and speedy trials. People whose land is occupied by the military. Lonely, frustrated and anxious refugees, who now live overseas after having fled in fear of their lives, leaving behind their children, wives and parents. Asylum seekers who had been deported back and detained and tortured on return. Those seeking decent houses, livelihoods, better healthcare and educational facilities. Those who would like to commemorate loved ones who had been killed and have funerals without interference of police and military. There are more.

These are amongst the Sri Lankans searching for the meaning of reconciliation, four years after the end of the war.

At a broader level, in the last four years, in presidential, parliamentary, provincial and local government bodies, the government won comprehensively in most parts of the country. But in the Tamil majority North, including the areas which saw the bloodiest last five months of the war, the government suffered heavy defeats – despite claims of having liberated the Tamils and treating them so wonderfully in the last four years. The 18^th amendment to the constitution was passed in parliament, strengthening the executive presidency by allowing the President to stay in office any number of times and taking away the independence of statutory oversight institutions established under the 17^th amendment. Militarization of the country – particularly the North – continues unabated with the military making decisions related to relief, development and running restaurants, shops, resorts, boat services etc. and also interfering in the field of education and sports. The once respected Civil service and Foreign Service are also militarized. Retired military officers are getting posted overseas as diplomats and occupy the posts of district secretary and provincial governor – some of them being suspected to have been involved in serious abuses of human rights and war crimes.

There is no serious and genuine attempt to seek a political solution to the ethnic conflict, to address root causes for the war. This government continues the deliberate violation of constitution by not implementing the 13^th amendment to the constitution, which offers the barest minimum of devolution of powers. Instead, the family rule has been consolidated – with the President appointing his brothers to power positions of the Secretary to the Ministry of Defense and Minister of Economic Development. Another brother is the speaker in the parliament and the President’s son is also a member of parliament. Several other relatives hold positions in provincial government, diplomatic missions and government corporations.

Impunity

In the face of all so many past and ongoing violations of human rights, impunity reigns supreme.

The police have often stood by watched violent and illegal acts by those suspected to be government supporters, not arresting and pursuing the prosecution of suspects, even when suspects have been handed over to them and there is clear evidence indicating who is responsible for violations and violence. On many occasions, the police themselves are responsible for atrocities.

On several occasions, when I called the hotline of the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) on urgent matters like disappeared human rights activists, peaceful protests being dispersed, they refused to take prompt action. The NHRC has also failed to condemn, address and take public positions on many of the incidents and trends described above above despite widespread availability of information and numerous complaints. They have even failed to show solidarity with victims, their families and human rights activists, and ignored numerous recommendations and appeals from human rights activists, despite claiming to be engaging with human rights activists.

Courts in Sri Lanka have also not been able to respond to the crisis or have been painstaking slow to the extent of being irrelevant – a good example being the way habeas corpus cases are delayed despite being matters of life and death.

Indeed, seeking remedies through these institutions has become a burden to victims, their families, genuinely committed lawyers and those supporting them. Many times, I have experienced, witnessed and have been told how complainants have been harassed, discredited and even threatened by these very institutions when they seek to complaint and seek redress and justice.

LLRC recommendations

All the above also indicate the government’s utter contempt for it’s own reconciliation commission’s recommendations. The LLRC advocated singing the national anthem in two languages, but this was flouted even in significant national events like the celebration of independence from British. One and half years after the LLRC’s final report was handed over to the President, no efforts have been made to implement it’s key recommendations such as organizing events to remember victims of the war, appoint a Commissioner to investigate disappearances, appoint an independent advisory committee to monitor those arrested and detained under national security laws, establish an independent institution to address grievances of all citizen, specially minorities, arising out of abuse of power, de-linking the Police from the Ministry of Defense, appointment of an advisory and monitoring body for detainees and publishing a list of detainees. No efforts seem to be made to change existing laws or frame new laws recommended by the LLRC such as to ensure right to information, criminalize disappearances and provide adequate time for judicial review of proposed legislature.

After much campaigning and pressure, the Sinhalese and Tamil versions of the LLRC’s final report has been made available – but hidden away in a government website that’s accessible to only small number of Sri Lankans.

High profile defections from the government

In the above context, it is not surprising that the government seems to have lost of some of it’s high profile defenders and supporters. The first was the former Army Commander Sarath Fonseka who went on to contest Presidential elections against President Rajapakse within months after the end of the war. Former Ambassador and Permanent Representative to the UN in Geneva, Dr. Dayan Jayatilleka is another who is very critical about the government’s post-war conduct, after being a key architect of the pro-government resolution in 2009. His partner in crime to defend the government in the face of international criticism on human rights violations, government MP and Presidential Advisor on Reconciliation, Prof. Rajeewa Wijesinghe too has been critical about the government’s approach towards reconciliation. Even the government ally Sri Lanka Muslim Congress has turned against the government on some issues, such as the recent electricity tariff hikes and it’s leader, who is also the Minister of Justice, has been openly critical of some government actions.

Even the 43^rd Chief Justice, who was impeached early this year, had given decisions favorable to the government during the earlier part of her term, before delivering verdicts that were seen as pro-devolution and against the government. The Bar Association of Sri Lanka, which had backed the government in it’s campaign against the report of the Panel of Experts of the UN Secretary General on accountability, and had been relatively silent in the face breakdown of rule of law in the country, has been openly critical of the government in recent months.

Growing resistance

There has also been growing resistance to these continuing violations and unwillingness of the government to acknowledge and address past violations. Many victims and their families went to the LLRC to tell their story, to seek acknowledgment of truth and justice. Many victims and their families are going to Geneva also to seek justice internationally if it’s not forthcoming nationally.

A good example of this is Sandya Ekneligoda, wife of journalist and cartoonist Prageeth Ekneligoda, who disappeared 2 days before the first major elections after the war. Sandya has gone to police stations, National Human Rights Commission, local Courts, wrote to the President, the First lady, Ministers, MPs, protested on streets of Colombo and worked hard with the few sympathetic journalists to keep alive the Prageeth’s case locally. But she also went to Geneva and elsewhere, to seek international support to seek information about her husband and justice.

As I mentioned at the beginning, despite threats, intimidations and sabotage by the military, some Tamils in the North are getting ready to remember their loved ones even as the government will celebrate and have a Victory Parade in Colombo. When the police tried to block the funeral of young Nimalaruban (killed in prison) being held in his hometown of Vavuniya, his mother took the fight to the Supreme Court to bring his body home and have the funeral in Vavuniya. When Jaffna University Student leaders and dissenting Muslim politician Azath Sally were arrested and detained, there were wide spreads protests in the country (supported by those outside) which led to their release. When Bodu Bala Sena (BBS), a group supported by the Secretary to the Ministry of Defense, was promoting a brand of Buddhism that seemed to marginalize religious minorities and unleashing hate speech towards them, a facebook group calling themselves Buddhists Questioning Bodu Bala Sena challenged their version of Buddhism and even organized a vigil right outside the BBS headquarters (Though the vigil was broken up by the Police, the message was communicated powerfully). Political prisoners protested inside prisons while their families and supporters protested outside. Families of those disappeared continued to agitate and again, even when a major protest by these families was stopped in it’s track by the Police, the message was communicated. Families of LTTE leaders who had surrendered to the army and disappeared filed cases in courts. People whose land is occupied by the military continue their protests and also plan to file more court cases. Lawyers and judges flexed their muscles and showed their condemnation of the attacks on the independence of the judiciary, in courts, on the streets and elsewhere. Journalists continued to demand their rights to write, speak and broadcast as well as justice for past attacks. Most recently, thousands marched in Colombo against electricity tariff hikes.

In early 2012, we also saw Tamil and Muslim activists issuing public statements, acknowledging their failures in the past to empathize with and support other communities who were victimized during decades of war and committing and calling on everyone to work towards justice for all. In the more recent past, a Tamil member of parliament from the leading Tamil party in parliament, the Tamil National Alliance (TNA), admitted that the eviction of Muslims from the North in 1990 by the LTTE, was an act of ethnic cleansing. Prominent MPs in the TNA expressed solidarity with Muslims who had been under attack recently. Muslim and Tamil women in the North have been attempting to dialogue and even issue public statements recognizing each other’s concerns and aspirations. These attempts – even if limited – to look inwards and extend solidarity and work together in a spirit of justice for all, indeed, brings fresh hopes towards reconciliation.

Justice after three decades – Latin America and elsewhere

 And there is also hope internationally. Last week, in two separate emails, I read that a serving General in Uruguay was convicted for 28 years for 1974 murder of an activist and that a former Guatemalan dictator was convicted for 80 years for genocide. Argentinean courts continued to deal with the 1976-1983 “dirty war” era crimes such as murder, enforced disappearances, torture, stealing of babies etc. – a dictator was given a 50 year sentence and several other high level military officials were given long prison sentences. Closer to home in Asia, in the last few years, a leader of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia was sentenced to life and trials for two others commenced. The International Criminal Court continued to issue indictments on individuals from several countries. In March 2013 in Geneva, even as they adopted a rather soft resolution on Sri Lanka, the UN Human Rights Council appointed a Commission of Inquiry in relation to North Korea, after extending the mandate of the previously appointed Commission of Inquiry for Syria.

Towards reconciliation, rights and freedom

There doesn’t seem to be much difference in the way the Government has reacted to the LLRC, Geneva resolution and even decisions of Sri Lanka’s highest courts – treat them with utter contempt ignore them or throw them out if the government doesn’t like them. And call their supporters traitors, terrorist sympathizers at best and at worst attack and threaten them.

If the government wants to be serious about reconciliation, perhaps the best way to start is to provide credible answers about their family members to Sri Lankans who went to Geneva two months ago – to Dr. Manoharan, Sandya Ekneligoda, Sithi, and brother and sisters of Bharatha Lakshman Premachandra. So they don’t have to go to Geneva again. And also respond to those who went before the LLRC. And thousands of others who await answers to their complaints to Police, Human Rights Commission, Courts and previous Commissions of Inquiries. And to all those protesting on variety of grievances – such as political prisoners, families of those disappeared, people whose lands are occupied by the military.

If this will start happening, then maybe we can still dream of reconciliation, rights and freedom in our lifetime. And it will help Sri Lankan citizens and the world to feel that we are a civilized country that cares about all it’s citizens, especially minorities, vulnerable persons and those with dissenting views, and where rule of law prevails.

Sandya Ekneligoda, wife of missing journalist Prageeth Ekneligoda, center,  speaks to reporters during a protest rally out side the parliament in Colombo, Sri Lanka, Thursday, Jan. 24, 2013. Relatives, colleagues and opposition activists staged a protest rally Thursday demanding that the Sri Lanka government hold proper investigation to find out what happened to Ekneligoda who went missing in January 2010. (AP Photo/Eranga Jayawardena, via Inquirer News)

The war in Sri Lanka ended on 18^th May 2009. During three decades of war, civil liberties were severely curtailed, often in an arbitrary manner, without possibilities of challenging them or seeking remedies through independent bodies. The Ministry of Defense, the military and police reigned supreme. Even judicial discretion was curtailed, with the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) compelling Judges to obey wishes of the Ministry of Defense and the police through the Attorney General’s department when it came to remanding people, bail etc. The PTA remains as a dreaded legal weapon in the hands of the government to use against it’s peaceful opponents. It was strengthened after the end of the war, incorporating provisions from the Emergency Regulations that were allowed to lapse. Asath Sally, a former Deputy Mayor of Colombo and former government politician, now a prominent critic of the government, was arrested and detained under the PTA.[1] It is widely believed that he was later released due to widespread domestic and international pressure.

The provisions of the PTA directly contradict key fundamental rights and freedoms guaranteed under the Constitution of Sri Lanka including the right to peaceful assembly protected under article 14(1) (b) of the Constitution.   The right is also protected by article 21 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), which is part of Sri Lanka’s international human rights obligations. Suppression of fundamental rights and freedoms including the freedom of expression and freedom from torture during and after the end of the war has been well documented in Sri Lanka including in a recent article I wrote to mark World Press Freedom day[2].

It is pertinent to note that although the Sri Lankan constitution and the ICCPR allows restrictions to be placed on the right to freedom of peaceful assembly, any such restrictions must be proportionate to the need, time bound and very importantly, be in conformity with the law and be subject to review by independent bodies such as the judiciary. Restrictions must remain the exception, unlike what Sri Lanka has seen for 30 years.

Through three decades, of war, peace talks, ceasefires and even after the war, freedom of peaceful assembly and other rights and freedoms have been severely curtailed by the Sri Lankan state.  It is important to note that the right to freedom of assembly is intricately linked to the enjoyment of other fundamental freedoms such as freedom of expression, freedom of association, freedom of movement etc. For example, restricting freedom of movement has been an effective way of restricting freedom of assembly and restricting freedom of assembly has been used as a means of restricting freedom of expression in Sri Lanka.

The annual government crackdown on small, peaceful, cultural and religious events to commemorate the end of the war by the Tamils in the North is amongst the indicators that the end of the war was not going to herald freedom of peaceful assembly. Families and friends of those killed and disappeared have had their freedom to assemble peacefully to mourn, grieve and observe cultural and religious rituals taken away from them, rejecting the government’s own reconciliation commission which recommended a national event to remember all the victims of war.[3]

Four years after the war, freedom of peaceful assembly remains a distant dream for Sri Lankans who are not supporters of the government. But freedom of assembly – peaceful and violent – is there for those who are supporters of the government and those supported by the government.

The Northern part of the country seems to be the worst affected in terms of suppression of the right to peaceful assembly. But incidents of suppression – including the suppression and attacks on mass protests by political parties, student groups, trade unions and civil society, as well as other peaceful events deemed anti – government have also been reported from the capital, Colombo, and other Southern and Central parts of the island. Police have arrested and dispersed peaceful protesters, sometimes violently and stood by watching when violent mobs attacked peaceful protestors including lawyers, religious clergy and students.[4] People have been stopped from attending gatherings;[5] and police have sought and obtained court orders to prevent or limit peaceful rallies and marches from taking place.[6] Police permission is sometimes outright refused for some peaceful protests.[7] Many protests and events which are deemed anti-government are subjected to surveillance by the state’s intelligence services.[8] Organizers and participants at peaceful events and protests have also been attacked before and after the events, by those alleged to be government groups and supporters.[9]

In the North and in the South, police and military have tried to block funerals that are considered to paint a negative image of the government, such as when political prisoners and opposition party supporters have were killed. They have ended up as “guarded” funerals under heavy military / police guard and surveillance.[10]A crying and angry mother was compelled to wait for weeks, and go to the Supreme Court, simply to bring the dead body of her son (who was killed in custody of the authorities) home for the last time and have the funeral rites in their own hometown.

Significant cases since May 2012 in the North and East

On November 27, 2012, students from the University of Jaffna (UoJ) who gathered peacefully at the UoJ female hostel to light lamps in commemoration of Maaveerar Naal (LTTE Heroes Day) were threatened and violently dispersed by the military. The following day, students from the UoJ staged a peaceful demonstration in protest of the harassment meted out to students on the 27th. This gathering too was brutally clamped down by the riot police, resulting in student union leaders and student activists coming under heavy surveillance by Terrorist Investigation Division (TID).^[11] The arrest and detention for several months of 4 student leaders of the UoJ, just afterwards, are believed to be linked to this incident. The students were released after heavy domestic and international pressure.

On March 5, 2013, the police blocked more than 600 persons (11 buses), comprising families of the disappeared from all parts of the North, from coming into Colombo to participate in a peaceful protest against disappearances, the following day and handover a petition about their disappeared family members to the UN. The military was also standing by when the group was detained. The families (mostly women), were forced to spend the night in Vavuniya without basic facilities, and assured by the police that they could proceed to Colombo the following morning. This assurance however was not kept, and the buses were not permitted to leave Vavuniya. According to eye witnesses, some of the bus drivers had also been threatened.[12]

By contrast, on March 6, about 1500 members of the ‘Dead and Missing Person’s Parents Front’, comprising family members of disappeared Sri Lankan armed forces and of those forcibly recruited by the LTTE, were permitted to stage a protest in Colombo without any obstruction.[13] This was an indicator that the government was willing to allow families of those disappeared to organize and join peaceful assemblies where the alleged perpetrator was the LTTE, but was not willing to allow peaceful assemblies when the alleged perpetrator was the government.

Meetings of the Tamil National Alliance, the major Tamil political party which has won all post war elections in the former war zones of the Northern Province, have been repeatedly attacked, sabotaged and shut down mid-way, mainly by those suspected to be government supporters and the military.[14] A rally which saw the attendance of diverse Tamil political parties and the Opposition Leader Ranil Wickremasinghe was also disrupted with participants being threatened.[15] People protesting about their lands being occupied by the military in the North have also been threatened and activists and lawyers supporting them from Colombo have also been questioned by authorities.

Protest organizers were also targeted in the North. In October 2012, Central Committee Member of the Frontline Socialist Party (FSP), Dimuthu Attygalle had crude oil thrown on her by two unidentified persons, after participating in several Children’s Day activities in Jaffna.^[16] Similarly in July 2012, there were two crude oil attacks on two leaders of the Tamil National Peoples’ Front (TNPF), who were involved in organizing a peaceful protest against the brutal killing of Tamil prisoner Nimalaroopan, whilst in custody.[17]All victims attributed the attacks to the government.

The military has also developed the practice of compelling people in the North seek their permission or inform them of peaceful events – whether they are meetings of community based organizations, events related to development activities such as opening of a housing scheme or social events like weddings. Most people and groups oblige due to fear, though some resist. The military has also been walking into such events even without invitation. One activist recalled how she was questioned by a police officer in Jaffna when she was speaking to a group of youth in broad daylight in an open field. The explanation given by the police was that he was suspicious and concerned because a group of young Tamil people had gathered. The police officer had then told the activist that he will drop the matter because she spoke Sinhalese.

Significant cases since May 2012 in the Capital, Colombo

“Between September 2012 and January 2013, hundreds of lawyers, backed by Sri Lanka’s 11,000-member Bar Association, participated in a series of demonstrations protesting against interference with the independence of the judiciary and to the impeachment of Chief Justice Shirani Bandaranayake in January 2013.”[18] On January 10, pole bearing goons, allegedly sent by the State, attacked peaceful protestors, again, in the presence of the police.[19] In addition, following these peaceful protests, many lawyers and civil society activists who led and participated in these peaceful protests have been threatened and fear for their safety.[20]

On April 12, 2013, a peaceful candle lit vigil organized by the Facebook group Buddhists Questioning Bodu Bala Sena (BQBBS), to be held outside the BBS Head Quarters in Colombo was dispersed by the Police. Participants were threatened and some were arrested before being released due to pressure from others.[21] Several participants reported that their identity details were recorded and asked by the Criminal Investigation Department to report for questioning. At least one person reported being questioned.

Over 1500 university students who took to the streets in Colombo to protest against the Government’s attempt to privatise Universities in August 2012, was met with tear-gas and water cannons by the police and anti-riot squads.[22] In September 2012, the Convenor of the Inter-University Students Federation (IUSF), Sanjeewa Bandara, was arrested by the police in civil following another protest held in Colombo that day.[23]

In Negombo, several human rights defenders were arrested and their equipment confiscated after a video about enforced disappearances was screened. They were released after the police was challenged about the legality of the arrest, but were questioned later [24]

Significant cases since May 2012 in the Central and Southern parts of the country

In April 2013, in Kotagala (Nuwara Eliya district in the central part of the country), a peaceful protest held by the Democratic People’s Front (DPF) was disrupted by the pro-Government Ceylon Workers Congress (CWC), resulting in DPF Party Leader incurring injuries.[25]

In August 2012, a protest conducted by the Government Medical Officers Association (GMOA) in Badulla district, also in the central part of the country, was brought to an abrupt stop by police firing tear gas at the peaceful protestors, protesting against the alleged failure by the police to arrest a driver of a van which knocked down and killed a hospital worker.[26]

Armed men suspected to be government sponsored goons killed two and injured four members of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) at a party meeting in Hediwatte, Hambantota district in the Southern province (the President’s hometown and strong-hold) in June 2012. Party members have stated that the attack “…was a direct attempt by the Government to scare the party from engaging in political activity in the district.”^[27]

Police using judiciary to ban peaceful assemblies

In early 2012, police started to approach the judiciary to obtain court orders to stop peaceful protests against the government, in Colombo[28], as well as in the North[29]. This trend continued throughout the year and till 2013. Several such incidents have been reported from Jaffna and Vavuniya in the Northern province in relation to events by political parties and Doctors, as well as in relation to a University students march from Kandy in the Central Province to the capital, Colombo.[30]

Conclusions and signs of hope

The Sri Lankan government appears to be systematically and deliberately doing everything within its power to ensure that dissent through peaceful assemblies is suppressed. And there doesn’t seem to be any independent institution that can prevent or respond to this. Funerals of those killed in controversial circumstances by alleged government supporters and cultural and religious events to commemorate those killed and disappeared have been prominent targets.

As we had noted at the beginning, and shown through several examples, the police had stood by and watched peaceful assemblies being attacked, actively participated in arresting peaceful protesters and breaking up peaceful assemblies. They had even released suspects handed over to them by citizens and failed to act despite compelling eyewitness accounts, photographs and videos.

The National Human Rights Commission has also refused to act despite such compelling evidence, and even refused to respond to urgent appeals to it’s 24 hour hotline made by peaceful protesters. They have not made any public statements nor attempted to proactively investigate many of the serious threats to peaceful assembly, despite its powers and mandate to do so.

A recent statement by Lawyers for Democracy (LfD), is a chillingly indicator of the state of freedom of peaceful assembly in Sri Lanka. After themselves experiencing attacks and police inaction on peaceful protests, the lawyers said “We are…seriously concerned with the tactics used including the use of government back armed actors to disturb peaceful rallies and demonstrations. The impunity with which these groups operate is alarming. For example…events were witnessed by the police who stood by and did nothing to prevent the goons from arriving to disrupt a planned protest rally. Such incidents are indicators of the breakdown of law and order and the threat to the democratic culture in Sri Lanka.”^[31]

Like in relation to freedom of expression, all is not lost, despite this very bleak scenario.

Yesterday, 15^th May, thousands participated at a peaceful protest in Colombo against electricity price hikes. According to one participant, government supported goons who were at the venue had been compelled to leave the area due to the huge turnout. This despite the fact that state controlled TV station ITN (Independent Television Network) had as usual, carried a mud slinging campaign against several prominent human rights activists, claiming that those protesting against electricity tariff hike were terrorists supporters.

In the last twelve months, across Sri Lanka, students have been protesting, academics have been protesting, religious clergy have been protesting, women have been protesting, journalists have been protesting, lawyers have been protesting, health workers have been protesting, workers have been protesting. Even political prisoners have been protesting from inside the prisons. In the highly militarized war zones of the Northern Province, victims of land occupation, families of political prisoners, those disappeared and killed have been daring threats, intimidations and obstructions to engage in peaceful protests. In a few days, it is likely that at least a few people will once again commemorate the end of the war in a manner that will be different from the victory parades promoted by the government, resisting threats, intimidations and sabotage as experienced in the past. Even when their demands fall on deaf ears, their struggles will keep alive hopes for democracy and rights.

Image from AsiaNews.it

The focus of  my article in the Sunday Leader of 5 May was on the need for Northern Provincial representation. It now looks as if those elections may be held in September 2013. I will elaborate on the likely consequences of representation, or the lack of it, drawing on past experience in Sri Lanka, India and the USA.

All over Sri Lanka the bulk of the Muslim population are Tamil speakers. It was so almost 100%  at every socio- economic level when the Official Language Act was enacted in 1956. But at that time the political leader ship of the Muslims were mostly Members of Parliament representing Sinhalese majority electorates. All these voted for Sinhala only, as desired by their mostly Sinhalese voters, even though they were themselves Tamil speaking.  The Muslim MP’s representing Eastern Province electorates voted against the Bill, as desired by their voters, nearly all of them Tamil speaking. In the Senate, AMA Azeez, who was not elected by Sinhalese voters, not only opposed the Bill but quit his party on this issue. One of the objectives in forming the SLMC, much later, under the leadership of Ashroff, based in the Eastern Province, was to ensure the election of Muslim MPs responsive to the wishes of the Muslim population.

In India, the Dalits / Harijan /Untouchables and Tribals have enjoyed quota reservations in political bodies and public institutions at all levels for close to a century. The practice had been that the reserved seats had been rotated from election to election with only Dalits standing for elections in the seats reserved for them.  In the 1930s, about the same time as the Donoughmore Commission in Sri Lanka, a dispute arose between the Dalit leader Dr.B.Ambedkar    and Mahatma Gandhi as to whether electorates should hitherto be purely territorial or whether Dalits should have separate electoral registers. Gandhi wanted the former, and Ambedkar the latter, but there was no dispute regarding the need for reservations. Under Gandhi’s proposal even in electorates for Dalits, the majority of the voters would be non- Dalits. Dr.Ambedkar argued that the Dalit candidates would then tailor their manifestos to suit the majority non- Dalit voters. In fact Dalit candidates seeking High Caste Hindu votes would often stand respectfully outside the house, declining any invitation to enter the house or to sit on a chair or to accept a cup of tea. Such practices helped to win High Caste votes.  Dr.Ambedkar wanted Dalit candidate to adopt radical manifestos for 100% Dalit electorates. The British Colonial Government suspended progress towards independence till this issue was solved. Gandhi started a fast to death and was close to death when Ambedkar caved in, and agreed to purely territorial electorates with both Dalit and Non-Dalit voters in exchange for increased quotas for Dalits. It is this compromise that was embodied in the Indian Constitution drafted two decades later under the Chairmanship of Dr.Ambedkar.

In the USA, Governor Wallace of Alabama, perhaps the most racist of the Southern leaders, had Presidential ambitions. His state was Black majority but he had ensured that, as in most Southern states, most of the Blacks were denied voting rights on some pretext or the other, such as illiteracy. The Whites all over the South were fearful of being swamped by Blacks if they gained voting rights. His 1962 campaign slogan was, “From the cradle of the Confederacy, this very heart of the great Anglo- Saxon Southland … Segregation now! Segregation tomorrow! Segregation forever! He bitterly and violently opposed the Voting Rights Act, but when he found that he could not stop it, he did a U-turn on many issues. He there after supported many Black causes because his vote base was now more Black than White, though he remained as racist as ever.

Hopefully the NPC elections will not only bring about changes in the administration of the Northern Province, but also compel Colombo to take into account the NPC leadership, which may be why these elections have been long delayed. The elections and their likely outcome will surely have a positive impact on the politics of Colombo and also on National Reconciliation.

Image courtesy Brisbane Times

by Laksiri Jayasuriya, University of Western Australia

Introduction

The 2010 Sri Lankan Presidential and Parliamentary elections that took place shortly after the end of a debilitating 25 year-old civil war in 2009 constitutes a watershed in Sri Lanka’s politics. Despite the unsettled conditions over the last two decades emanating from this turbulent environment created by the civil war and the seemingly intractable obstacles encountered, Sri Lanka was able to maintain some semblance of the principles and practices of a liberal democracy (Clarence 2008). However, the dramatic events more recently surrounding the end of the civil war and the emergence of a ‘culture of violence, anomie and impunity’ (Devotta 2009) have cast a heavy cloud over the future of Sri Lanka’s democratic polity.

The political order that emerged in 2005 with the Mahinda Rajapaksa-led Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) government has served to consolidate the illiberal political culture and institutions that evolved with the radical social and political transformation of the country since 1978 (Devotta 2002; Jayasuriya 2012). Notwithstanding the termination of a state of emergency after the end of the civil war (CPA 2011) the continued use of ‘Emergency Laws’ such as the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) after the end of the civil war, bears witness to the growing militarisation of civil society and hostility to political and social pluralism. (Jayasuriya 2010). The fabric of the emergency laws and institution has become normalised and continue to shape the polity

Since the 2010 national election the government has given priority to national security considerations alongside issues of sovereignty and created new centres of power whose influence on civil society has expanded extensively. This has raised serious questions as to why the military continues to be afforded police powers and are able to override normal constitutional and legal processes (Pinto-Jayawardena 2010). Although the political climate in Sri Lanka since the 1980s was engulfed in political violence associated with armed conflicts in ‘fault line wars’ (Huntington 1996), it has not eventuated in the wholesale dismantling of democratic institutions. However, more recently key features of the well-entrenched liberal political culture of several decades, such as transparency, accountability and the rule of law have been severely eroded more recently (Pinto-Jayawardena 2009).

It was against this background that the Presidential and Parliamentary national elections of 2010 were conducted after the ending of the civil war in 2009.[1] The success of the Mahinda Rajapaksa-led SLFP government at the Presidential and Parliamentary elections of 2010 has resulted in a One Party State where the dominant party with a large parliamentary majority, the SLFP, surpasses the opposition led by the United National Party (UNP). The weakened opposition gives the government of the day complete access to and control of key state institutions and resources which are used to entrench the dominant party.

Emergence of a Hybrid Regime and Militarised State

Following the 2010 national elections we witness the inauguration of a new political regime − best described as a hybrid regime − similar to that prevailing in south-east Asian countries such as Malaysia and Singapore (Wigell 2008; Rodan and Jayasuriya 2009), which were also like Sri Lanka previously British colonies. These regimes, built around a dominant party, consist of a mixture of authoritarian and democratic elements where formal democratic processes such as periodic elections combine with a strong incumbent party to limit the organisational capacity of the political opposition.

A distinctive feature of this new political culture is the organisational cohesiveness of party and state institutions that provides significant informal advantages to the dominant political party (Levitsky and Way 2010: 321), enabling it to reach deep into both the civil society and the political economy. It is now clear that the end of the civil war actually accelerated a fundamental process of state transformation leading to the emergence of a hybrid regime in what amounts to a One Party state which constitutes a significant departure from the earlier political ethos and has, grave implications for Sri Lanka’s historical engagement with democratic institutions and practices.

It is in this sense that contemporary Sri Lanka like Mahathir’s Malaysia represents a ‘hybrid regime’, that is, a mix of authoritarian and democratic elements where formal democratic processes combined with a strong incumbent party that seeks to limit the organisational capacity of the political opposition (Stark 2013). Thus, we note that although normal democratic institutions such as the legal system and the electoral process are functional and operative, they can be skilfully manipulated to maintain regime dominance. As with the Mahathir in Malaysia the Rajapaksa led SLFP government has been adroit in using state resources to weaken the opposition but more importantly through a system of patronage politics and cronyism to cater to the various constituencies within the dominant party. The extent and reach of the dominant party in seeking to limit the opposition has reinforced the Executive system of government installed in 1978 by effectively marginalising parliamentary politics.

Furthermore, in addition to the formal advantages the government enjoys there is often a tendency for the government to rely increasingly on the ‘informalisation of power’, that is, the advantages of informal power gained through personal alliances and systems of patronage. These informal powers are reinforced by a Presidential system of governance that allows the Executive head of government, the President, to directly or indirectly delegate executive powers to key members of the government and personalised networks. The delegation of power has been to members of the government, most of who happen to be personally related to the President, such the Defence Secretary, the powerful head of the defence establishment and national security. Indeed, one of the key features of the current political situation is the creation of a ‘deep state’, that is, a web of interpersonal networks, informal links, relationships and alliances, that has often trumped the operation of the ‘normal state’

The personalisation of power characteristic of the new regime, evident in the ‘personalised hegemony’ of President Mahinda Rajapaksa is highly reminiscent of the Malaysian authoritarian politics (1981-2003) under the leadership of Mahathir of the UMNO, 1981-2003 (KhooBoo Teik 2003; Guan and Nesadurai 2009). Furthermore, as in Mahathir’s Malaysia, Mahinda Rajapaksa has embraced and vigorously promoted the nationalist sentiments and ideology of Sri Lanka’s ‘bhumiputras’ (sons of the soil), the Sinhalese-Buddhists, elevating the notion of the ‘jathika chintanaya’ to near sacral status. This was made quite explicit at the 2005 Presidential Elections (Department of National Planning 2005), with the reference to the ‘Mahinda Cintanaya’, the Vision for the Nation’s Future. This was not just an electoral slogan, but a basic tenet of Mahinda Rajapaksa’s policy agenda which was incorporated as a guiding principle of public policy. Accordingly Ministers of State are required to act in accordance with the ‘Mahinda Cintanaya’ (Wijewardene 2013) and bring key state institutions and regulatory agencies, including the police and the judiciary within the ambit of the philosophy of the dominant party.

These distinctive features of the current regime draws pointed attention to the ‘personalistic character of Presidential legitimacy (Scheurmann2011) which allows the Executive to cultivate a seemingly direct and immediate relationship with the electorate via all forms of the media. As a consequence we find that these forms of presidential governance are associated with a consolidation of − to use Weberian terminology − a ‘charismatic leadership’ which often represents a quest to find a secular replacement for the magical or divine powers once attributed to monarchs (Scheurmann 2011). The consolidation of Executive power is best revealed in the current centralisation of power such that 42 Ministers with control over 94 state institutions are directly under the control of the President or one of his close family members (Wijewardene 2013).

What this also points to is the inauguration of a ‘dynastic regime’ reminiscent but different to that of the Banadaranaike’s in the 60s and 70s (Jayasuriya 2005) in that the informalisation of power, a distinctive feature of the present regime. This has greatly facilitated the virtual collapse of the system of the separation of powers between the executive, legislature and the judiciary, a characteristic feature of the earlier Westminster style of government. This new illiberal political order is perhaps most evident in the manner in which the state controls the media and more generally restricts civil society participation in open public debate. Furthermore ‘violent repression of dissent and the consolidation of power go hand in hand in Sri Lanka’ (Amnesty International 2013), and this, above all, exemplifies the manner in which the constitutional authoritarianism of the new regime has removed all constitutional checks and balances in the system of government (Coomaraswamy 1984).

Importantly a One Party state with a highly centralised and personalised Executive Presidential form of government built around informal relationships functions against the backdrop of ‘militarisation’ (Jayasuriya 2010) such that the military has an inordinate influence on the conduct of political institutions). This militarization characteristic of the Rajapaksa regime and which conferred an inordinate influence on the conduct of political institutions originates from crushing of the 1980s armed Sinhalese youth revolt and gained momentum during the civil war of the 1990s. However, it was the strengthening of the military and defence forces in the final years of the civil war that led to the ‘militarism’ under President Rajapaksa (Jayasuriya 2010). This militarisation of Sri Lanka is clearly evident in the heightened defence and military expenditure of roughly between 3% and 5% (Kelegama 2006; SIPRI 2013). This extent of military expenditure, the largest in the region except for Pakistan, has enabled a powerful military establishment to resort to the use of ‘Emergency Laws’ to subvert democratic processes on the grounds of ‘legal exceptionalism’ (Loveman 1993; Jayasuriya 2010).

In this regard, there are two main areas of concern. The first and perhaps the most serious relate to human rights abuse (Zanzi 2002) by virtue of the immunity granted to public officials in the security forces to act outside of their professional jurisdiction. The repeal of the Emergency Regulations post-2010 however, as previously noted, has done little to alleviate human rights violations such as the authorities continued use of Emergency Laws such as the PTA (CPA 2011). The other area of concern is that this militarization has in the post-civil war era witnessed a blurring of civil-military roles leading to the transformation of civil military relations. The recent military takeover of land in the North is indicative of ‘why the military-civilian relationship is problematic’ (Perera 2013b). This shows the extent to which the military has been given a free hand in many areas of national life such as fixing roads and re-modelling cities ( Economist 2013), so much so that the ‘public space is now military space’ (Lawrence 2008).

There is no doubt that the military establishment has taken centre stage as the new power elite and sought to exploit civilian interests with whom the military have entered into coalition. The time honoured democratic processes associated with the civilian control of the military establishment are no longer operative in that the military has assumed a key role in determining and shaping the implementation of national policy and decision making in many areas including the field of education, foreign relations and development. Furthermore, one of the main reasons for spreading ‘military influence is indoctrination … [so much so that] ‘leadership training for university students is now run by the army inside military camps’ (Economist 2013).

The current regime’s espousal of an avowedly ethnic, nationalist ideology also stands out, as previously noted, in its strong policy commitment to national security on the grounds of the likelihood of a return to political instability (Gordon 2013). The actions of the new regime such as a heightened defence expenditure amounting to nearly 3-5% of GDP over last decade gives a strong indication of what kind of governance will be promoted by the Rajapaksa government in the foreseeable future.

Constitutional and Social Policy Changes: Consolidating Power

Perhaps the most significant indicator of what lies ahead, comes from the far-reaching constitutional changes such as the removal of Article 31(2) and changes to Article 25 arising from the passage of the 18th Amendment to the Constitution (CPA2010). The 18th Amendment proposes to remove critical constitutional constraints on Presidential powers by a) removing the two-term limit on the tenure of the President; and b) bringing every arm of the public service, the police and the judiciary under the control of the Executive authority. At the same time, the18th Amendment makes the President nominally accountable to Parliament by providing for the President to attend Parliament In addition with this Amendment the Electoral Bribery and National Police Commission were also brought directly under the control of the President.

The passing of the 18^th Amendment, one of the first major decisions made at the commencement of Rajapaksa’s second term in 2010, was only made possible after the government secured a two-third majority by successfully negotiating the cross-over support of some members of the opposition. These proposals have been condemned by civil society organisations such as the Civil Rights Movement as an outrageous constitutional change which was rushed through Parliament without any serious public scrutiny (Wickremesinghe 2010).

More significantly, this radical change to the Constitution completely negates the 17th Amendment by making the appointment of the Constitutional Council a Presidential Executive responsibility. As a result, the statutory authority to approve the appointment of the Attorney General, which previously rested with the Constitutional Council, now rests with the Parliament subject to the approval of the President. To complicate matters this draconian piece of legislation which was unsuccessfully challenged in the Supreme Court much to the surprise of many informed observers has served to further entrenched the Executive powers of the President and seriously weakened legal accountability This decision also undermines the rule of law as it violates the concept of an independent judiciary and also that of a State Law Officer, the Attorney General (Usvatte-Aratchi2010). These decisions have clearly violated fundamental principles of public policy which originated from the days of the late colonial state and were entrenched in the post-Independence Constitution of 1948 by the Soulbury Commission Report (De Silva 1977; Cooray 1982).

The arbitrary exercise of power, in many instances unconstitutional and improper, became highly evident in the clash between the President and the former Head of the armed forces, General Sarath Fonseka. The fall out between the General and the President was a sequel to Fonseka’s entry into national politics in 2010 as the main oppositional candidate at the Presidential elections. After the convincing defeat of Fonseka at the Presidential election (Jayasuriya 2011), Fonseka was committed to trial on charges of war crimes committed by him as Army commander as well as allegations of planning a coup to overthrow the government of President Rajapaksa (Burke 2011). Following the trial of Fonseka by a War Tribunal, he was imprisoned and released only in 2013. The legal processes and procedures followed in the arrest and detention of Fonseka were considered highly irregular and in violation of the Constitution (Perera 2012). In fact, a former foreign affairs spokesperson and a onetime diplomat of the Rajapaksa government was so outraged by the impropriety of this action that he described it as ‘a perfect blunder’ (Jayatilleke 2010).

This continuing trend towards the unfettered and irregular exercise of power without any regard for due process, the principles of the rule of law or human rights was most apparent and highly visible in the impeachment crisis.[2] This relates to the impeachment charges brought against the Chief Justice (Shirani Bandararnayaka) on the grounds of misconduct. These proceedings came in the wake of a ruling given by the Chief Justice and the Supreme Court declaring an important government Bill (the Divineguma Bill) to be unconstitutional and invalid. Contrary to the expectations of the 13^th Amendment, the main objective of this Bill was to devalue the powers of the Provincial Councils and strengthen the hold of the central government in the Provinces including many Tamil areas. This was to be achieved by establishing a central authority amalgamating several provincial development agencies (Fernando 2012; Perera 2012).

Overriding a ruling of the highest court in the land, the Court of Criminal Appeal, the government proceeded to act upon the impeachment decision of Parliament and appoint a new Chief Justice (Fernandez 2013). This action of the government was deemed by many to be unconstitutional but also ‘a serious breach of the rule of law’ (Robertson 2013). Besides, it also constituted a gross interference with the independence of the judiciary (Philips 2013). Indeed, as one political analyst stated, if the judiciary cannot decide on the legality and constitutionality of laws’ passed by the legislature there is a serious crisis of legality and legitimacy of the Government (Jayatilleka 2013).

There is no doubt that what was underpinning all these highly irregular and unconstitutional actions was the need to strengthen national security singled out as the foremost policy consideration of the Rajapaksa government. Thus one of the main arguments advanced in defence of legislative action such as the 18^th Amendment and the resort to the arbitrary exercise of power was that the country needed a strong Executive along the lines of those evident among the ‘Asian Tigers’ to promote development such as Mahathir’s Malaysia (Stark 2013).

This developmental philosophy echoes the neo-liberal ideological ideology of the Jayawardena-Premadasa era (1978-94) and was clearly spelt out in the Rajapaksa government’s Election Manifesto indicating its commitment to give priority to the economic dimension by pursuing a policy of market reform conceived as a form of ‘military fiscalism’ (Venugopal 2011). However, this political rhetoric of a militarised political economy was sharply disputed by political analysts who maintained that ‘there is no economist worth his salt who will say that [a strong Executive] is absolutely essential for development to accelerate’ (Usvatte-Aracthi 2010).

There is no doubt that the new regime in advocating a distinctly neo-liberal economic ideology has been quick to embrace the ‘Singapore sling’ cocktail style capitalism (modelled on shopping malls, casinos, clean streets, tourist hotels and resorts etc.,) to facilitate the development of the country. This tourist-centric development policy has accorded high priority to infrastructure development which is clearly evident in the substantial investments in ports, highways, and railroad sectors, alongside other development projects relating to power and energy (Rajapaksa 2011). This policy strategy of the Rajapaksa government serves to highlight a growing public debt with a high component of foreign debt, losses in state owned enterprises and wasteful expenditure with a lack of accountability and increasing inequalisation (Jayasuriya 2013).

This ‘developmentalism’ represents a significant departure from the Kumaratunga policies of a ‘soft welfarism’ in the pursuit of distributional equity and social justice, 1994-2005 (Jayasuriya 2010; Sanderatne 2011a). Thus we note that the expenditure on health, education, and social services in the 2012 Budget detracts sharply from a commitment to directing economic growth towards greater equality (Sanderatne 2011b) By contrast the credo of the Rajapaksa regime, as in many Asian Tiger economies like Singapore, is framed not in terms of distributional equity but along notions of asset enhancement regarded as the key to enhancing the participation and capabilities of its citizens.

Conclusion

At first sight the social and political philosophy rationale underlying this political ideology appears to be slanted towards the Confucianist thinking which is based on the defining importance of stability, law and order, and respect for the Leader. However this respect for the Leader can also be understood in terms of a Kautilyan economic philosophy with its emphasis on the importance of material well-being as the priority of state and society (Rich 2010). It is no coincidence that this way of thinking also blends neatly with the ruthless Kautilyan real politic of this regime’s authoritarian constitutionalism. In this regard it may be relevant to draw attention to the public outcry over human rights violations such as War Crimes allegations made against the Government of Sri Lanka (GOSL) by International Observers and UN Agencies.

The Kautilyan ideological perspective is perhaps neatly illustrated by the Rajapaksa government’s emphatic rejection of the applicability of the moral and philosophical rationale underlying concepts of Human Rights entrenched in international agencies such as the United Nation’s Human Rights Council and Human Rights Watch in relation to the civil war and its aftermath. These violations and abuses of human rights have been documented by the UN in the Darusman Report on war crimes allegations (United Nations 2011); also by Weiss (2011) and more recently in the 2012 UN’s Human Rights Watch.[3]

These allegations have taken centre stage, overriding all other issues of public policy such as the growing public debt with a high component of foreign debt, and increasing inequalisation (Jayasuriya 2010;2013). In rejecting liberal political values, it was argued that these distinctly Western idea systems were totally alien to the local cultural ideology and were highly reminiscent of a discredited colonial era totally. and constituted a meddling in the internal affairs of a sovereign country. This rejection of liberal political values such as universal human rights is defended on the grounds of cultural relativism as a way of steering clear of the adoption of alien ideas reminiscent of colonialism. This standpoint, of course, can easily degenerate ‘into complicity in human rights violations’ (Scheffer 2011) and, is widely acknowledged as a ‘deep seated characteristic of authoritarian regimes all over the world’ (Scheffer 2011).

The civil war may have formally ended, but the ‘fault lines’ of the war still remain (Jayatilleke 2011). In the end, lurking in the background of the prospect of restoring democratic institutions and processes, there remain some intriguing questions relating to the peace process and reconciliation following the end of hostilities which the two main national parties failed to confront in the 2010 national elections, both Presidential and Parliamentary. These issues hardly surfaced during the elections except for motherhood statements from both sides of politics on the need for restoring peace and harmony However the appointment of the LLRC (Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission) remains to the credit of the Rajapaksa Government but its recommendations such as those bearing on land settlement policy in the war torn areas of the North and Easy remain archived and in the too hard basket (Perera 2013a).

What Sri Lanka urgently needs is a Glasnost marking a new social and political ethos based on a policy of accountability, openness and transparency, freedom , and justice. Above all Sri Lanka needs something along the lines of a ‘Charter 88’ movement committed to the goal of ‘democratic constitutionalism’ and the restoration of a free and vibrant civil society. The Charter 88 in the UK was a reaction against ‘the belligerent and confrontational style of governance’ promoted by Thatcherism (Erdos 2009). But to be effective such a movement needs to have a broad base that confronts both political and social challenges for contemporary Sri Lankan society, and a Fourth Estate capable of deconstructing and countering the official media. Future developments will indicate how a militarised political economy critically located in the interface of Asia-Pacific geopolitics will respond internationally and domestically to the challenges it confronts in the foreseeable future.

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Image courtesy ICRW

‘Are we not raped every day when we walk down the street and are leered at ? Are we not raped when we are treated as sex objects, denied our rights, oppressed in so many ways ?’

Archives of Manushi, written by Sohaila (1983)

Sri Lanka reminds one of one’s gender. To be female in a public bus is to be visually harassed (or more) and to be reminded of the persistent failures of the establishment to address those issues which are truly important. Organisations such as Sri Lanka Unites have attempted to shine a light on this issue with their Show You Care campaign. Yet, public harassment deserves attention on a larger, central government scale in a manner which considers multiple regions.

This lack of personal safety is yet another reminder of the stark inequality in this nation. The lives of bus-folk are worlds apart from those at the other end of the spectrum. The normalisation of cat-calling, hooting and jeering has meant that, while walking down a public road is a form of entertainment for those at the source, it is unsettling and frustrating for the many women who have no option. Life is an everyday struggle for the majority of society, a struggle which is acknowledged yet accepted as given. The beauty of change is not embraced and the upper classes fail to respond to their collective responsibility. The cycle continues.

Using public transport during peak hours is a nightmare. Deliberate groping, leering, and worse have become the norm. It is disturbing that this sort of behaviour is accepted and expected, only permitting it to continue. Silence is unintentional consent. This makes it difficult to distinguish between the ‘good guys’ and the ‘bad guys’. Outspoken male feminism, although it exists, is very limited. But, this, I feel, is the only way forward in a culture which tends to privilege men. There is a need to understand that these issues are not ‘women’s issues’, not only because it is not only women who are affected but also because framing them in this manner tends to criminalise the victim. There is a need for men to break through peer cultures which prevent them from acting differently. There is also a need to understand that issues of greater consequence such as rape and domestic violence are not the only concerns in this frame.

It is concerning that such issues are frequently swept under the carpet in the face of flash projects such as our newest international airport and other such physical embellishments. The current stream of real estate projects aimed at transforming the aesthetic landscape of Colombo and promising torrents of investment demonstrates the uni-polar nature of existing development efforts. Krrish Square promises a ‘new destination to life, enjoyment…’ but who for? The minority who also indulge in the other fruits of life which Colombo life has to offer. The ‘exclusivity’ of this and other projects does not bode well for a Democratic Socialist Republic. For Sri Lanka to blossom as a nation, it is the entire nation which must benefit.

It is saddening that a country which has immense potential, especially in terms of its human capital, is repeatedly wrung on ethnic lines, an issue which is being pushed to the fore continuously as other problems waltz by. The fact that it is this issue which ties Sri Lanka together with international fora speaks for itself. To be Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim or Burgher is irrelevant when it comes to addressing universal issues such as the lack of pavements on Peradeniya Road or the corruption/inaction/poor service inherent in most Municipal Council systems.  There is no doubt that Sri Lanka’s continually resurfacing ethnicity dialogue is of importance given recent events and those three decades ago; however, perhaps what can bring us together is to move on from the past and to collectively address problems faced by all.

Questioning authority is a redundant trade, and the situation has reached a ‘what’s the point?’ stage. The irony in this apathetic attitude lies in its inability to stimulate the change which would (or could) resolve issues. An equal society – by gender, income, region, ethnicity – seems a far cry to most but a lack of faith brings with it a lack of action. There is a need to rouse these demons in public discourse, a need to de-taboo and a need to open spaces of discussion for those victimised. A change in attitudes is not an easily achievable feat yet the hope for progress rests on this possibility.

Image courtesy The Guardian

On 10 May 2013, former Guatemalan dictator Efraín Ríos Montt was found guilty of genocide and crimes against humanity and sentenced to 80 years in prison. It was the first time that an ex-head of state had been convicted for genocide by a court in his or her own country. The case is of international importance, including in Sri Lanka.

President Ríos Montt had ordered the deaths of 1,771 people of the Ixil Maya ethnic group in 1982 and 1983. He was in power during the bloodiest phase of a civil war that lasted from 1960-1996, during which an estimated 200,000 were killed and 45,000 more “disappeared”. Others were raped, tortured in other ways or driven from their homes.

While mass murder and ethnic cleansing took place in the countryside, in the cities trade unionists and student leaders were seized by the security forces. The military were supposedly battling left-wing guerrillas but civilians suffered in huge numbers, sometimes at the hands of brutal paramilitary groups working alongside the armed forces.

Some Guatemalans, especially in the ruling elite, would rather have avoided the trial and glossed over past human rights abuses. But there were cheers in the courtroom in Guatemala City when Judge Jazmín Barrios read out the sentence. As 42-year-old Elena de Paz Santiago, one of those who testified, had said of the dictator, “He gave the order.” She was just 12 when she and her mother were taken to an army base and raped. The soldiers released her but she never saw her mother again.

The dead cannot be brought back to life nor can all the mental and physical scars of survivors be healed. However they have received some justice, and the message has been sent out that everyone, of whatever ethnic group or social class, deserves to be protected and treated with respect.

In South Africa, the quest for justice after apartheid ended took a different form. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission was set up which heard from the victims of human rights abuses. Some of those guilty were spared punishment if they confessed what they had done. However there too those guilty of terrible crimes, even if supposedly carried out in defence of the state, were finally held to account, and families were able to find out what had happened to their loved ones. It was an opportunity for both the violent and victims of violence to tell, and hear, the truth.

In other countries too, past abuses which have gone uncorrected still cast a shadow over the present. In Sri Lanka, between the late 1970s and early 1990s, numerous people died or had their lives shattered. The security forces and their paramilitary allies slaughtered huge numbers and abused others or drove them from their homes and livelihoods. Others suffered and sometimes died at the hands of the Tigers, other Tamil nationalist groups and the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), who used their power to violate the safety, dignity and freedom of others.

Many Sri Lankans remain in denial about the horror of those years and resist calls to unearth (sometimes literally) the evidence. Some, obviously, are fearful that what they – or those close to them – did, or failed to do, will be exposed, while others may prefer to shy away from confronting the scale of suffering. The fact that certain leading figures in the government and opposition may be implicated has added to the pressure to let the past stay buried.

However this refusal to get to grips with what happened is not only unjust to the dead, the bereaved and the traumatised but may be largely to blame for the massive violence that has taken place in twenty-first century Sri Lanka and ongoing ethnic, religious and social divisions. What is more, all civilians are at risk when the state is regarded as unaccountable to anyone, able to torture, burn and kill with impunity.

In Guatemala and beyond, the process of unearthing the past and acknowledging former wrongs is sometimes painful. But unless this is done, there is little chance of healing wounds and building a truly just and peaceful society.