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Men
and Matters by Kautilya Good God, Kauts..... You can call me Art...Arthasastra, you know.. A thousand thunders man, what’s got into you Kauts old boy? Too much of the pure water from the Scottish Highlands, last night, what..? Come off it... you ain’t daft, are you? Surely you saw Professor G.L himself wrap a red shawl on my broad.... a shawl of the purest Kashmiri silk? Kashmir.....Kashmir.... do you mind..it has been a peaceful day so far but another reference to Kashmir or Kilinochchi and I really must leave..." " Yes, what’s got into you, Kauts, old man...? So irritable and after the shawl too..? What’s wrong?" "Well we ARE Indians.... all of us, so to say, all Indians..." "Yes, the good Injuns....if I may..." "You may not.......decidedly N.O.T" " and why N..O..T..? " Because over five in every 100 Indians have a psychiatric problems..." " Who says that....another NUT?" "No, no. The answer to your question is the Indian Psychiatric Society" " Okay, one more question...why?" Well, "the biggest cause is the rapid change that is taking place around us. A hostile environment affects both people who are biologically inclined to disorders as well as those who aren’t. For the first, environment accentuates or hastens the disorders, while in the latter, it can overwhelm and cause chemical changes in the brain." Says Dr. Harish Shetty, a Mumbai psychiatrist. Mumbai ah? So, Mum’s the word. "Poverty" says Dr. Chittranjan Andrade " more to the point, I think. He is an additional professor at Nimhans Bangalore. "It includes malnutrition, weaker status of women, child labour and sexual abuse etc. And Sri Lanka? Weaker status? Not when Radhika, Kumari and other activists of the Broth...I mean Sisterhood around. Emotions recollected No, it’s not a Wordsworthian essay from emotions recollected in tranquility but a modest memoir.....the work of a competent professional who spent the first years of this stormy decade as Her Majesty’s High Commissioner in Colombo. Naturally, the ethnic conflict and the steadily escalating violence dominates John Field’s contribution to "Outlook" published by the International Foundation of Sri Lankans in Britain. Sri Lankans who knew him well, and he had many many friends, will appreciate why I choose to call it a modest essay.......it’s in character, in short. He’s no intended pundit or an expert on Sri Lankan affairs after spending four years. But let’s remember it wsa the first four years of this temptuous decade. Typically, he will go no further than "a very critical period". "Thinking about the job before arrival, I had been confident that the old relationship, built on shared experiences, over many generations could easily withstand shocks much more serious than that which has just occurred, but that would be needed to make sure that we understood Sri Lankan concerns. In this I was right: from the very beginning our reception was and never over the next four plus years did we have to worry on this point". Human rights But no relationship between the High Commissioner of a country that had ruled a small Indian Ocean can possibly remain silent on the violent conflicts which would threaten to tear "dhammadeepa" apart. Benign intervention is no arrogant intrusion. It is a moral obligation. Predictably John Field points to Northern Ireland....the longest war of it’s kind, and thus is no patronising sahab , no blimp. He mentions the battle against terrorism. Terrorism is terrorism but the solutions must be Sri Lankan, and yet the British experience has many useful lessons, he suggests..... gently The style is the man. |
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| The National Council G.Mahen P. Siriwardena, Past Vice —Chairman., CNCI The last week was momentous in that the leading trade chambers representing the private sector was able, firstly to a common agenda and secondly draw attention of both the Govt. and opposition :simply to the state of the nation. The reaction to this joint statement was swift. The main opposition party together with some leftist parties objected vehemently that it was certainly not the business of the business community to interfere in the socio-political issues of the island. This certainly is an arguable point. The Govt was quick to respond positively to the demands of the chambers that at least meeting them was important. On the other hand as said before, those opposing such an idea was unjust to label them, as one writer puts it as the ‘English speaking mudalali’s’ have no stake in the affairs of state. The point is that the private sector has been playing the key role in the country’s economy since, pre and post independence. The private sector cannot be mistaken to those engaged only in company activities either in trading or manufacture. They have, and would probably continue to play the key role in the economic affairs of the country to the greatest extent and well beyond the next millennium. The reasons are self-evident that the agricultural sector is private, and the majority of industry is in the informal . Even if only a handful of companies are engaged in indigenous industry and or that the majority are in trading still does not disqualify them from playing a vital role in the affairs of the state. On the contrary those representing the private sector aro leading figures in banking, service and trading sectors, very vital to the economic activity of this nation. The irony was that the private sector was hopelessly disorganised to make an impact in the affairs of the state since independence. The institutions and private sector organisations unfortunately were more concerned with their self-interest to openly assert their views with the govt. in power for the reasons that they were afraid of the exposure of their own misdeeds in the public eye, or loss of business. The public were told and believed that the private sector represented big companies who enjoyed privileges of big business and bigger bucks from who ever was in power. They were therefore not credible to join in a forum to assert their views in the matters of public affairs is only a historical suspicion, than fact. The criticism therefore is valid, only in myopic terms. I was myself involved in the chamber movement for over a decade, and had the first hand experience where, individual chambers in the past, could not within themselves agree on a common agenda. For example, there has not been to date a proposal from the chambers as how best to solve the country’s ethnic problem. Would they support a resolution demanding that third parry mediation is the best alternative to resolve the crisis?- would they subscribe to the view that a direct dialogue with the LTTE is sine-quo-non to end the conflict. Or would the chambers agree that the flaw in the implementation of the employment charter was that those who represented the employers were non-credible. Did the trade unions oppose the amendments for such reason. Or that the GST system of taxation was to hurt the consumer than more business houses and the chambers did nothing about it. National issues have very often been clouded by the various sectoral interests of the lobbyists. The Premadasa era was a classic example where a certain section of the business community was favoured against others; took the law into their hands and dissimated all those who dared to oppose them or their leader. The greater national issues such as the ethnic conflict in real terms was that the Tamil community was in many ways handicapped to realise their potential in the economic sector. The official language, employment in the govt. sector and discrimination among others were key elements. Above all the Tamil community enjoyed pre and post independent positions of authority and power in govt. The gradual devaluation of which accentuated the call for self-determination and Eelam. The southem politics was dominated by the arch rivalry of the main political parties. The youth rebelled twice to break the monopoly of the socio-political stronghold and may yet try to succeed. Successive govts since independence played with slogans which were detrimental to the interest of the nation’s economy, social justice and equality viz., iconalising Buddhism, declaring holidays at random, nationalising key industries or selling national assets for a song. Hypocrisy was all too transparent. Corruption, nepotism and favouritism was rampant. The country reeks in rape, murder and bloody mayhem for the want of independent law enforcement and capital punishment. The public at large, are exasperated and frustrated beyond words. They are totally helpless to do anything about it. Or perhaps walk with slogans round Lipton’s circus causing, cursed traffic jams. The chambers and the private sectors have therefore a vital role to play in the affairs of the state, to highlight these grave and serious anomalies and recommend solutions which are both pragmatic and practical. The concept of a national council is positive. Yet, to be credible and acceptable to the population at large it must be composed of not only industrialists, chamber big wigs but also farmer organisations, the intelligentsia, university academics, professionals and the clergy. Then, and only then, would a national council be meaningful and productive. May their efforts succeed for the sake of our country. |
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| From the book 'The Palm of His
Hand' by E.C.T. Candappa Raj knew what he meant but he parried Continued from yesterday
Raj was amazed at the coolness of the man. How often he must have held the wire of a fuse and waited seemingly without end, for the right moment, waited almost without breathing, stiller than a rock...for the right moment to light it...and blow up a bridge. Fr Grutzner continued: "What bothers me is that you are losing your objectivity. I told you the last time to judge judicially...not emotionally. This is a complicated affair... My advice is to stay away from the camp. Believe me, I know what I am talking about..." Bill said nothing but when he was alone, lying awake in bed, he had other insights. It was clear that whoever was trying to get at him was now trying a new strategy. They were attempting to show a link between the journalist and the Australian visitor. Attempts to tarnish Raj's image had failed. It would have been too devious, and even dangerous, to poison the Prime Minister's mind against Raj. Such a move could rebound. Now they were attempting to forge a sinister link between the journalist and the Australian visitor. The task had been made easy by Bill's incursion into the highly volatile ethnic soup. If they could pin something serious on Bill and establish that Raj had been close to him it would cast a doubt sufficiently serious for Raj to be declared a security risk. Even the Prime Minister would have to bow to such advice. Raj was convinced that Miguel was still hard at work to keep the pot of intrigue boiling. It appeared that he was quite determined to foil Raj's attempts to go, as he felt, in his place. Raj knew otherwise. He was the Prime Minister's personal choice. But then Miguel was rarely reasonable. When Raj went to collect the travel documents and information kit from the Foreign Ministry, he was met by the man who had visited him twice in hospital. "That's all fixed now. Just stay clear of trouble. And for trouble read Bill Wilberton." Raj bristled: "What do you mean?" "We have good reason to believe that he has been passing information to the press." Raj knew what he meant but he parried. "There's no law against that. Our profession is based upon people passing information to journalists. I suppose he gets some tips on interesting people, projects in the rural areas sometimes..." "Nothing as bland as that," the diplomat replied. "I mean politically sensitive information..." "Such as what?" "Such as the recent attendants' strike..." Raj bridled a bit, but kept a very cool front. "Well, nothing appeared in the papers about it..." "How would you know? You were in hospital at the time..." "Not for eye surgery," Raj snapped back. "I read all the papers, you know..." "Well, it's what did not appear that matters in this instance. He had passed information about the imminent strike...so it didn't take place. Not that it mattered to us. It was one of the left unions, one run by Philip. We don't care if he is defeated anyway. The sooner he gets out of the Cabinet the better..." "That's treason..." The diplomat smiled smoothly. "Not at all. We are on the right side. Make sure you are." He rose from his seat and gathered his packet of Ardath cigarettes. Raj turned on his heel and left without another word. They do not idle in high places, Raj reflected bitterly the following day, when he heard that Bill's visa had been cancelled. He had been given two weeks to leave. The telephone jangled on Raj's desk. He answered it. "Raj? This is Bill. They've cancelled my bloody visa. They've given me two weeks to bugger off." "Yes, I just heard.Where are you speaking from?" "Headquarters." "Stay there. I'll be over in a tick." Chapter
46 Oh, he felt hurt all right. He had come with a missionary glow, when his bright, Aussie good humour bubbled unbidden. Least I didn't end up as a lion's breakfast or a cannibal's dinner, he thought as he grinned. There'd be other times, other places. He would pack up and go before the fortnight was out. Had Pat's wedding been a day, one single day, after the time given, he would have risked an overstay. He needed desperately that final communal, inter-racial, fraternal hug before he left. He hated to leave like a licked cur, tail between his legs. He'd done nothing wrong. Far as he knew he'd done a hell of a lot of things right. The bloody bureaucrats, the bloody politicians, the bloody Marxists...to hell with the bastards, he thought. Ah, he felt better already. He had plans when he got back. And the footy! He made a special trip to see Raj on the day before he left. He had to pass the swamp behind Clarion Mansions, and he stood a while looking over the railing into the festering, two-dimensional corruption. The tall grasses and rank weeds had tell-tale perishing rags on them. They were intertwined with rusted barbed wire and broken glass. Mongrel dogs and stray cats foraged among them with overgrown rats. The stench of putrefaction hung over the scene. He moved on. It was going to be a ritual farewell. He wanted to meet Raj at his place of work, at his home, as it were. More his home than where he lived. It was also meant to be a final gesture of defiance at Miguel and all the forces he represented. Bill came in shorts as usual, freshly showered and the carroty hair glowing under the fluorescent lights, left on all day and all night in the unreal world of newspapers where the only reality was the rushing moment . He swept the whole editorial floor with one wide grin, then grasped Raj's hands in his and began: "Look mate, I want to tell you how much..." Raj sensed a speech coming up and he did not feel he could take it straight. "It's been great meeting you. I've learnt a lot from you. You've been great..." Raj cut in again."Thanks for listening to my long speeches. Most of the time you asked for it..." Bill's face looked like folding mimosa too, and his eyes were soft. He squeezed Raj's hands very hard. "Will you shut up and listen," he said. "Just remember I'll be ever grateful to you for everything you have been to me. You're a great mate. Appreciate all you did..." He squeezed his hand again, turned abruptly and left. Raj watched his athletic figure disappear round the corner. No, this is not how it should end at all, he thought. Through the understanding that had grown between the two men Raj, too, could empathise with Bill's need for a symbolic, collective warm handshake from a people whom he had come to love, even sacrificially, and who had come to love him. A few telephone calls had completed arrangements for a genial send-off party the following evening in the home of Ranatunga, one of Raj's friends. It was in a leafy suburb, part-village, part-growing township called Polhengoda. Raj then telephoned Bill and invited him and some YCW friends of Bill's choice to attend. Chapter
47 Even the calendar with a picture of the Ceylonese hill country was packed. He wanted no reminder that he was going before his time. Bill had busied his day to escape the thoughts that waited, lurking in the shadows of his mind, to trouble him. All night through the splintered shards of sleep, they crept up on him, their bloody-edged tongues articulating the one thought: They don't want you, you're a white man, they hate you, your skin is strange, your eyes are strange, your hair is strange, your speech is strange and in your peculiar strangeness they also sense in their deeply submerged, collective consciousness, the conquistadors who came to their peaceful, blessed land with a cross in one hand and the sword in the other and assailed their hills and their plains and took them, their bodies and souls into bondage, and they see that you are doing the same thing again. Bill turned over seeking rest, but the demons kept twisting his thoughts with fiery tridents. But the day spent in shopping for gifts and trinkets for his people at home, bidding a few goodbyes where he could, making a few telephone calls, having the final meal with Pat in the nearby thosai eatery, eating with his fingers and savouring, of all things, this rather seamy memory and storing it away. All the dirt and the din, and even the blatant, rude reminder that he was of low caste amused rather than hurt him. Before he returned to the headquarters, he paused to say goodbye to some of the men who worked at, or lived in, the Ganja, the opium, den. They knew him well by sight as Bill always greeted them in the most civil manner whenever he had passed them. "Ayubowan mahattaya; kohomada sepa saneepa?" "How do you do, sir. And how are you today?" This accompanied with his cheery grin had assured them of his friendship. Besides, they were called by many names, but never by sir. The men were at the entrance, beefy, bronzed men in sarong and bright shirt, and they greeted him in Sinhala, the only language they knew. Bill said to Pat: "Would you interpret for me, please? Tell them I am leaving and going back to Australia tonight." Pat did so. The men then said that they were sorry to hear that. They also wanted Bill to know that every time they saw him leave the headquarters, they put a ‘tail' on him to follow him until he was safely out of the Pettah, especially at night. They had not wanted any harm to come to the "white gentleman." Bill staggered when he heard that. What had all those demons been screaming to him in the long night? He had been able to meet and have a relationship with people on the basis of their common humanity. Neither the colour of his skin not his inability to communicate in formal language had prevented the growth of a mutual respect, esteem and love. Good heavens, they had loved him so much that they had looked after him without his ever knowing it. It was possible, then, for people to overcome prejudice by loving people as they were. Choking back tears he told Pat to thank them for their great kindness. Then he went up and shook hands with each of them and hugged them. And tears filled the eyes of these men coarsened by a cynical trade. They joined the palms of their hands in obeisance. "Buddu saranam" they said, and this young Christian worker from a strange land left with the blessings of the Buddha called upon his head by a group of society's fringe-dwellers. He walked swiftly away without turning back. And on the steps outside the headquarters the young beggar woman with her infant son, now a toddler, was seated waiting in hope. This time Bill dropped a ten rupee note into her lap and patted the youngster on his head. "I wish you well, mate," he said, knowing well that there was little hope for the mite. He told Pat to tell the woman, too, that he was leaving. And she did the most unexpected, and to Bill, a highly upsetting thing. She rose rapidly, fell at his feet and kissed his shoes. He bent and raised her by the shoulders. "Why did you ever do that, you silly woman?" he asked. Pat was grinning. "That was her way of saying goodbye and thanks. It is a mark of the highest respect given to parents, teachers, and priests." "Well, God bless you, my dear," he said and walked through the door. It only remained to go down and wait till Fr Grutzner was free. Then he realised there would not be time this evening for savouring the leisure after labour. He would be gone before the last of the stragglers had left for the night. He picked up his bags and walked down the spiral stairway. He walked through the large hall and glanced at the basketball posts and smiled with some satisfaction. (c) E. C. T. Candappa Continued on tomorrow |
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