The Perpetual Conflict (2)

Image: thuppahi.wordpress.com

Fault-lines

Perhaps it is a tragic coincidence of our time; or maybe it was inevitable given the passage of generations, that we are marking the thirty year anniversary of Black July at the same time as we are approaching a centenary of such violence since the communal riots of 1915. With the escalation of religious intolerance and communal tension in recent months resembling the events of a century ago, we are faced with a peculiar dilemma: which anniversary shall we commemorate? The commemoration of historical events may be about preserving those memories for future generations to learn from, and for its darker chapters never to be repeated. But they must also compel us to be vigilant, and pay attention to the history that is in making today. In the space of four years since the war ended, communal intolerance is spreading its deadly tentacles through the cracks in our fractured national identity. Are we an inherently violent people who are incapable of peace? Of course not! But despite the significant influence of Buddhism on our civilisation, there is no evidence that we are inherently peaceful either. Ours is not unique among the ancient civilisations of the world. We adapt to our times and react to our environment like any other and we have always had choices to make about how we do so.

Before European colonisation, our society was organised hierarchically along social classes and castes. It may have been a strange twist of fate that the civilisations of the East and the colonial project of the West had to collide on our shores in the renaissance years, but in many aspects, it was only a matter of time. When that did happen, it was inevitable that our ancient social order which organised society in a stable – but broadly oppressive – caste based social structure would face direct competition from an alternative model for social organisation based – at least in principle - on the egalitarian aspirations that the reformation has unleashed in Europe.

A successful empire needed an efficient bureaucracy. Even though we tend to think of the colonial project in Sri Lanka as a time of foreign occupation, in truth it was run mostly by Sri Lankans who carried out the will of the British Crown. The colonial government and missionary movements were expanding an education system that the British had pioneered and perfected – aimed at producing the cogs and wheels of the machinery of empire. As a result, the late 19th century saw the emergence of a distinct class of educated Sri Lankan professionals and bureaucrats who symbolised avenues for upward social mobility that had never before existed in the island. The Ceylon Civil Service and other professions saw an influx of a new band of local elites. Aspirations of social mobility would no longer be restricted to those with a birth-right.

Education in colonial Ceylon; was designed to produce an efficient bureaucracy and disciplined professionals. It was not designed to produce leaders who could inspire the masses which may challenge the empire. The products of most elite missionary schools were accused of being ‘brown sahibs’ who thought and spoke like their imperial masters and far removed from their own countrymen and women who constituted the masses. Such accusations were not unfounded; nor were they broadly unfair. Students who spoke in a native tongue was often punished for it – and such punishment was accepted by parents who was adamant that their children must learn English – if they couldn’t wholly shed their own identity and learn to be English. This philosophy was not without its detractors and peculiarly enough, its dissenters were mostly found among the foreign educators. A. G. Fraser who became Principal of Trinity College, Kandy at the turn of the twentieth century was one of those few dissenting voices. Early into his tenure at Trinity, he wrote that:

“A thorough knowledge of the mother tongue is indispensable to the culture of real thinking power. More, a college fails if it is not producing true citizens; and men who are isolated from the masses of their own people by ignorance of their language and thought can never fulfil the part of educated citizens or be true leaders of their race” 
~ Fraser of Trinity and Achimota by W. E. F Ward, Ghana University Press, 1965 (p 49)

The views articulated by Fraser and others like him were radical then, and they remain at the fringes even today. They found little traction even in the institutions they built – which had to cater to the aspiring middle class parents who send their children to them. An ‘English education’ in an elite school still offer the safest – if not the only – avenue of entry to the middle class of Sri Lanka.

The Ceylon Legislative Council which was established in 1833 was expanded in 1889 to accommodate more ‘unofficial local members’. The idea that the colonial government had even symbolic local representation even in those early years would be obscured by the fact that those local members had little to do (and even less in common) with the ‘local people’ they were meant to represent. More significantly however, those local representatives to the legislative council were chosen based on their ethnic and religious identity – giving birth to the divergent ‘communal’ ideas about what it meant to be Sri Lankan that would eventually penetrate the public conscience – if not the political discourse in our country that persist to this day. The currents of democratic politics, as they flowed through the land in subsequent decades, would entrench those communal divisions in a society that was also remained stratified by caste and class. Those divisions would eventually become the fault lines along which subsequent conflicts would erupt for the next century and more.

Neither the colonial government nor the local intelligentsia that emerged from the education system would ever actively challenge – let alone try to dismantle or undermine – the hierarchical social order of the old world that persisted. Instead, they would perpetuate it with their own elitist ambitions and by using their privileged position in society as an entitlement to high status. They would use their education to gain proximity to power centres of society rather than to serve the underprivileged masses.

The democracy we enjoy today was prematurely inherited – long before it was demanded or earned. Therefore our political values have remained feudal, allowing the existing social divisions to get further entrenched. That is why political parties in independent Sri Lanka have often been tempted to carve out constituencies along the same narrow communal lines; which the unofficial representatives to the Legislative Council had been chosen from long before, by their colonial masters. Nothing really changed except that the old order that stratified our society by notions of caste and class had been democratised. A society that had in turn been fractured along communal divisions allowed the long subjugated majority to rise up on its own. They would do so in the form of a “pancha maha balawegaya”, to impose their own cultural and religious identity on the state. They would redefine what it means to be Sri Lankan in their own image.

As Fraser had feared half a century before Sri Lanka gained her independence; very few of the English speaking, cosmopolitan elite that inherited political power in the newly independent country were able to understand – let alone empathise with – the masses that they ruled. They represented, and rose to power, on the back of a powerful middle class that dominated industry, land and enterprise. Ironically, those elites who led the nationalist movements in newly independent Ceylon, could hardly speak the language of their constituents. The republic that subsequent generations inherited had been shaped irreversibly by the communal divisions and unbridled political forces that they had unleashed for petty political gains. Even today, political parties are forced to balance those same communal interests as well as class or caste interests in the constituency; both to assume power and to retain it amidst the many conflicts that would inevitably arise along those historical fault lines.

Starting with the land reforms of the mid 1950s, the tables would turn on the dominance of the middle class. Details of the subsequent social transformation may be analysed elsewhere, but today the English speaking middle class is too weak and not found in sufficient geographic concentration outside Colombo to be politically relevant. Outside of the sports and business pages of the English media, only the local blogosphere and Internet forums bear any evidence of their ghostly existence. The leaders they vote for do not get elected and the thoughts and ideas they express – mostly in English – rarely penetrates the public discourse (and its irony is not lost on me).

The tragedy of the middle class elite in Sri Lanka is not merely that they are politically or socially irrelevant. On the contrary, middle class Sri Lankans of all communities distinguishable not so much by their communal identity but rather by their shared liberal values and progressive political outlook. The small and shrinking numbers of Tamils, Sinhalese, Muslims and Burghers of middle Sri Lanka who listen to the same kind of music, watch the same movies, read similar books and discuss very similar topics have more to do with each other than with rural cousins from their own ethnic or religious communities. Yet their ‘education’ separates them from the rest of their countrymen and women. The promises they make to never allow events such as Black July to happen again – though honest and well intentioned - are inherently unreliable; because they never understood the communal tensions and class struggles of the masses that have torn the social fabric of our country for over a century. They still remain ignorant of the dangers that A.G. Fraser had warned them about a century earlier.

The Perpetual Conflict (1)

Image: newmatilda.com

The dark clouds of history

When I look back, I do not see the black smoke rising, or the cries of hapless countrymen, women and innocent children – victims turning into victimisers, turning into victims – caught in a cycle of violence that has persisted beyond living memory. Whatever I have seen of that time and moment of our flawed history; I have seen through the eyes of others. The picture has at times blurred with their tears and at times its intensity has been sharpened by the raw emotions that still engulf those who bear them; who are still griped by what they experienced in the deepest and rarely visited corners of their souls. But I do feel the heat of those fires that were lit long ago when I was barely two years old. No longer a toddler but not yet a child, I had been born into the violence that erupted then and accompanied me well into my adulthood like a dark shadow that still tug me at my feet wherever I go. I do not know how the events of that July should be remembered, because the embers of those fires still linger in the world we inhabit.

Must we reassemble those columns of thick black smoke and smell of burning rubber and burning flesh from the collective memory of a forgetful nation? The rich and eventful lives of even the most unforgettable people are eventually summed up in a short epitaph on a gravestone – if that. And so it is that the collective suffering, shame, pain and tragedy of the events of July 1983 has been etched in the gravestone of history merely as ‘Black July’; filing away the abridged events of preceding years and months that led up to the riots in a colour-coded folder in our collective memory. The mention of “Black July” evokes images of the sooty columns of smoke that would have risen up from the burning buildings, but the term also robs our imagination of the broad spectrum of colours that were lost in those fires. It says nothing of the vibrant lives that were consumed in that violence and the subsequent war that escalated. After thirty years, can we now hope to resurrect those vivid memories? Do we seek out the victims who have since lost their conception of ‘home’; picking up the pieces of their shattered lives in different parts of the world, trapped in places that cannot contain their memories and yet unable to return to where their journey began? Perhaps we should go in search of those dark faces of men who perpetrated the most heinous crimes in our recent history. We owe it to ourselves and all those who have paid the price for their mindless acts - to ask them and their loved ones whether they are proud of what they did back in July of 1983. Will their voices betray any guilt or shame? Are they haunted by the ghosts of their victims or troubled by their inner conscience?

But with each attempt we make at reconstructing those memories, we move away from their reality towards a constructed narrative and a new conception of how those events should be remembered. Because even the most intimate memories are never pure or uncorrupted – they are born tainted by the prejudices and affections of those who bear them. All our memories are continually reshaped for as long as we hold them – carved by emotion, chipped away by our biases and infused with other memories that cohabits the neural spaces they occupy. The actual history of the past three decades can never be fully reconstructed with fractured accounts of what happened in that fateful month in 1983. We must realise that even in their totality; all those accounts may never paint an accurate picture of those long bygone events. The narrative will inevitably evolve with each subsequent retelling, and if we are lucky, it will be retold more meaningfully and in ways that are relevant to their time and place.

Three decades on, as we seek to reconstruct the narrative in a way that is relevant to our time, perhaps we need to cast our nets in deeper waters and look beyond the events of 1983. Even though the smoke towers have dissipated long since, the trail of violence perpetrated by Sri Lankans on Sri Lankans extends for at least a century; well beyond ruins of July 1983. It is imperative that we recognise that the embers of that violence continue to burn today, undermining the very foundation of our society, four years after the end of a brutal civil war. Memories of the different cycles of violence have transformed and grown feeble with time, and resurrecting their fragile recollections from a century ago is going to be a precariously difficult task. Especially on emotionally charged days and anniversaries like these, we must be cautious not to assume that the recollection of historic milestones and anniversaries is the same as learning from our history’s long and painful passage. Breaking this cursed cycle of violence that we have been born into, requires more patient analysis and introspection than the frenzy of penning a moving memorial to one of many watershed moments in history usually affords.

Having been born in the early 80s, my generation has endured a series of significantly violent events starting with the riots of July 83’ and the insurrection of 1989. The war that raged in the 80s would escalate through our teenage years in the mid 90s and a great number of us would eventually be enlisted in the military or recruited to the LTTE in subsequent years. The remaining years of much of those recruits would be left to decay in the corrosive concoction of violent memories they bear. Yet for a majority of us – including myself, and I suspect, a disproportionate number of those who read this – are likely to belong to a demographic that could afford to distance ourselves from that physical mayhem, though not from the images of war. Hence, even though our entire lives have been engulfed and defined to a large extent by the events of 1983 and their consequences, we do not have any real experience of the violence that we were born into and grew up with. We must strive harder to broaden our understanding of how war and violence has shaped our thinking and expectations. The physical violence that ended in 2009 has left mental scars that will persist in our generation and influence the decisions that will shape our country in years to come.

But our generation is not unique by any stretch of the imagination. Preceding generations – for nearly a century – have all grown up in a vortex of violence that we have so far been unable to escape since the anti-Muslim riots in 1915. Every generation since, have inflicted and endured violence and conflict to the extent that we no longer have any living memory of peace. Having endured World War in the 1930s, a newly independent Sri Lanka was unable to resist the temptation of asserting the dominance of its majority on language policy in the mid 1950s, leading to the anti-Tamil violence in 1958. The generation that followed in the 1970s fractured both the North and South of the country. The northern conflict would endure for three decades while the south that ignited in the early seventies would flare up again in the late 80s. In the mid 1990s, war would resume with greater intensity, conditioning us to accept the loss of thousands of lives within the span of hours in single battles; not as some of the greatest tragedies in the history of our country, but as facts of daily life.

Indeed, at no point in the history of our tiny island have we known what a peaceful and equitable state looks like. Therefore we still do not know what to expect of one. It should have been clear to us even as we celebrated the end of war in 2009; that our collective imagination was unable to capture the true essence of peace. Because, for over two millennia, we have only experienced the subjugation of monarchs, the exploitation of empires, the coercive power of an insecure majority and the domination of a powerful presidential state that still unleashes violence to maintain its power over unarmed citizens as well as on the rule of law.

It is ironic that we take so much pride in being heirs to an ancient and rich history. Perhaps it is that rose-tinted perception of history that inspired us to celebrate in May 2009 – filled with optimism about the prospects of peace at the end of a thirty year war. But, not everyone who set off firecrackers in the streets on that bright and unforgettable day would have really understood the prematurity of their celebrations. As we look around today, it is quite apparent that the violence has not ended with the events of May 2009 – just as much as they did not begin in July 1983.

Given the pattern of events that have persisted for over a century, it is not altogether surprising that four years since war’s end, we have allowed ourselves to loop back in time to an eerily familiar place. Where we are now is not too dissimilar from the events and collective mindset that led to the Sinhala-Muslim communal violence almost exactly a century ago. The details of those events need to be explored separately, but every generation since then have been offered unique opportunities on separate occasions, to recognise our shared identity. Each generation was invited to the high table of history, to conceive of a state (and a state of mind) that is broad enough to contain our rich diversity. But today, we stand among the ruins of our past, where each of those subsequent generations failed. May 2009 was our moment. It still is. Are we destined to falter like those before us who never understood their place in history, or will we be the generation that will be remembered for constructing a new history, and a successful alternative path to a more equitable future? But even as we reflect on that moment, the bountiful reasons we had to celebrate at the conclusion of war in 2009 are dissolving one by one, eroding away what little remains of any faith we may have had in our ability to escape this multi generational cycle of violence.

The responsibilities and burdens of history rest on our shoulders now; notwithstanding that ours is a generation that is at a greater disadvantage than any before us. If we are to succeed, we must first have the courage to reject the violence and intolerance that has conditioned us over a lifetime. We cannot afford to take the unprecedented bloodshed and rule of violence which engulfed the North and South, for granted as facts of life. The thirty years that has passed since July of 1983, is significant not only for the victims of those despicable acts of violence, but for our generation that was born into it, grew up with it and is not called to on to be the ones to prevent our country from relapsing back into the ever more familiar cycle of violence. The history of violence in Sri Lanka runs much deeper in our collective memory than we are able to recall as individuals. That is why we must now reconstruct our history not merely as Sinhalese, Buddhists, or both, but together - collectively in a space that is large and hospitable enough to accommodate all communities that make up Sri Lanka.

So far, we have been learning the wrong lessons from history. Rather than learning how to avoid making the same mistakes we have made in the past, we seem to have instead learned how to use history to inflame and repeat those mistakes more competently. Perhaps if we can understand our place in history better than previous generations were able to, we may yet hope to break the cycle that made events like those of July 1983 possible. That is not going to be easy – and the odds of history are stacked heavily against us. However, if we can understand this moment in our history, and succeed in disentangling the truth about our past and present from the myths and falsehoods that have taken root in our belief system; we will have reason to be optimistic.

Solstice

Beachline, originally uploaded by halwis.

When senses have all retreated

Into the frosty shadows of starlight
And the Earth is submerged in darkness

From ocean depth to mountain height

Only the faithful hearts keep beating

Enduring in faith, and hope’s delight

Waiting for the sun to reclaim its place

And rescue dawn from the depths of night

~

A game like no other...

 

Dear member of the 1st XV,

No doubt today is a big day. I am sure you will recount the memories you are about to create, with longing and nostalgia, for the rest of your lives. But you will only get one chance to make your mark on this day and to be touched by it. How well others remember this day and your place in it will depend not only on how exceptionally you perform on the field, but also on factors that are beyond your control. So chasten your expectations and understand that there will be twists of fate and fortuities that will play their part too. This moment you have been waiting for years; will pass much sooner than you will ever be able to grasp it – even though it may seem like an eternity to you now. Perhaps others too may remember this day and its events for years to come, and be inspired by them. I am sure the wisdom of your decisions as well as the skill and courage of your actions will give you much reason to be proud. It is not impossible – though unlikely - that this day will be remembered in ignominy if the spirit of the Bradby Shield is transgressed. Remain dignified in defeat; and be humble and gracious in victory. The quill of history is in your hands – write your story well!

This moment and this day belong to you, and it is yours to share. No other day in your life will be made more memorable for such an absurd a pursuit as chasing, driving and kicking an odd-shaped ball; nor are you likely to be cheered on by so many seen and unseen thousands for throwing yourself across a fading line and soiling your clothes. But these actions cease to be trivial when you have trained for it all of your lives, and when you do so with such astonishing skill and with selfless motivations. Every sport is made entertaining by the skill of those who play them, and made meaningful by men and women who understand their greater significance. Sport has the ability to unify a diverse group of individuals with unique skills for a common purpose. They inspire us despite our flaws to strive for perfection, test leaders and challenge their followers. Sport, when played with intensity and fairness, have the ability to galvanise and inspire anonymous crowds because they bestow glory on only the most persistent, most enduring, most determined and wise - regardless of whether you emerge victorious or not. The game you indulge in today is an apt metaphor for the ideals you must strive for and treasure in life. Immerse yourselves in the lessons this day is about to teach you; persist, when it tests your courage or your will to endure and you will emerge from it a greater man than you were when you woke up this morning.

When you put that jersey on today, regardless of whether it has blue and gold stripes or solitary bands of red and gold on your chest, think back to your childhood, right back to the moment when you first started dreaming of this day and this moment that you have finally made come true. Acknowledge and honour all those who have guided and sustained you through the years, without whom you would not be standing here. Then look around you. Many thousands who could not dare to dream of standing where you are now and hundreds more whose dreams never came true, have all come to cheer you on and to catch a glimpse of their forgotten dreams coming true in you. Among them will be a handful, who have donned those same jerseys before you; who already know, that which you are about to find out. A great crowd has gathered, but you have been chosen to occupy this moment and place in history on their behalf. You have been chosen because you have proved yourself worthy. The perseverance that has brought you here will also guide you in every step you take towards victory. You will be tested by equally worthy opponents whose determination will inspire you to push harder and further than you ever imagined you could. Be grateful to your opponents and give them the respect and honour they deserve. In the end, some will claim victory over others, for being the more determined, more brave, more disciplined, more wise and a bit lucky.

This game may be the culmination of your aspirations, hard work and resilience; of ruptured veins, broken bones, twisted joints and worn out sinews endured. It is time to rise above all that pain and hardship and take the time to feel the glory of this summit to which they have elevated you. Do not let the weight of history be a burden on your shoulders. Though this moment belongs to you, its glory is not yours to keep. You are its guardian and keeper for a day, as others have been before you. But today, you are also its master; not its slave; for you determine the fate of this moment in ways that it may never determine yours. Soon you will have to descend the mountain you have just conquered to make way at the peak for those that follow in your footsteps. It may yet seem like the greatest gamble you have ever taken, because every victory you have ever won in the past, will be hung in balance on a distant scoreboard. This crowd may only ever remember you by whether you won or lost the Bradby Shield. But let me reassure you; the weight of all that expectation is only an illusion. I can promise you there will be higher, more challenging mountains to climb, if you can bring yourself to descend this one and start all over again.

Even as you revel or languish in your exploits at sunset today, you need to wake up with new dreams and greater ambitions tomorrow. You were never fated to seek daily victories; but seek instead the joys of a life well lived. The battle for the Bradby Shield may be won or lost, but the war has just begun. No matter how your love-affair with the oval ball unfolds, you will soon be called to pursue more substantial ambitions that will have a tangible impact on you, on your loved ones and on the world. For everything you have achieved on the playing fields of Trinity and Royal; you will be called on to prove the worth of your brawn and brains in the pursuit of even more ambitious goals. There won’t be any cheering crowds or ‘papare bands’ when you are called to lead and inspire change; to transform ourselves in ways that will help make the world a more just and dignified place for everyone to live. Even as you take off your blood and sweat drenched jerseys after a hard fought game this evening, remember that greater battles lay ahead. You were merely being prepared and trained to face more glorious victories and bitterer defeats that await you in life.

So it is my wish for you, that on such a day many years from now, when the world throws back challenges that seem daunting and insurmountable; you will be able to look back and draw inspiration from this game you are about to play. The strength of your character and the true greatness of the institutions you represent today will be proven only then. As much as you are determined to be the best you can be on the field today, you will have to continue to grow in strength and maturity to preserve that determination through more difficult confrontations. The lessons you begin to learn today must continue to teach and guide you for a lifetime, so as much as you put your bodies and limbs on the line in pursuit of the next goal today, continue to give life everything you’ve got without hesitation or restraint in years to come.

This day will galvanise existing friendships and new friends will grow out of acquaintances. The best friends that share in your revels and sustain you in hardship will also not hesitate to criticise you when you go astray. You will understand true friendship by those who caution you when distracted, cheer you when disheartened, inspire and sustain you when distressed and depend on you to do the same for them as you share in some of life’s greatest moments.

Nothing else you’ve ever known in life may seem greater or worthier than what you are about to experience when you hold that beautiful Shield aloft and immerse yourselves in the rapture of the crowds below. You are all rugby stars today, but soon you will be ex-Bradby winning or losing players. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but that is the truth. But do not be disheartened, because even greater moments of wonder and fulfilment are all but a few years away. You may celebrate them in silence with a kiss or know them in the smell of a newborn child. You will soon feel the need more intensely, to define who you really are and what you really want to be; not just as a sport star, but as fathers, executives, intellectuals, salesmen, politicians, artists, professionals... or whatever means you alone can choose to give real substance and meaning to the legacy you will ultimately leave behind. I wish you all the very best!


Respice Finem!

As featured in:

Stars are overrated!

Helix Nebula
Credit: NASA, NOAO, ESA, the Hubble Helix Nebula Team, M. Meixner (STScI), and T.A. Rector (NRAO).

After a childhood spent gazing at them, way more than any other 13 year old had the patience to, I had a deep appreciation of their power to amaze and mystify. I already knew at that age how their light was old and wise for it had travelled far through the hidden recesses of the universe. I knew from experience how their magic could entice me to waste uncounted hours staring at the abyss of night – at a sky that was splattered with those tiny specs of stupefaction from horizon to horizon. Yet for all the private, silent conversations I have had with them lying on a rooftop gazing at the uncounted balls of fissioning gas, I do not understand the poets’ fascination with them. Of course I have let many a feast go cold to my mother’s utter annoyance; enticed by the silence of night and the stillness of the starlit sky than by sumptuous spreads on the dinner table. But now I wonder, even though I have followed the clichéd example of bygone poets, how could I ever compare her eyes to all the starlight in the Milky Way? Those eyes have changed me forever because now when I gaze into the night sky, I notice not the stars but the vast and engulfing emptiness of the universe that I cohabit with these mysterious eyes that fill my own emptiness with their gaze. The stars still look on from their deep recesses in the Universe, but they seem ordinary and commonplace, unlike when she looks at me, and our eyes meet, making my heart explode and my blood fission, setting off a chain reaction...