The question of extending credit to traders to maintain stocks of rice, flour and sugar came up next. They did have serious problems due to the shortened banking hours. This had to be financed. We had already extended credit to companies and firms through the Chambers of Commerce and Industry, and this was working well. The overall climate in the country was still murky and far from settled. The ready availability of food was a critical factor in relieving people of a sense of anxiety and stress, and in restoring normalcy. But here we ran the risk of some of the stocks advanced on credit not being paid for.

I informed the Minister, as well as the Cabinet Secretary Mr. G.V.P. Samarasinghe who was also a close adviser of the President, that I was going to take the risk of authorizing advances on a studied basis. The free availability of the staple commodities was vital. It would also relieve the pressure on the Co-operatives which was nearly at breaking point. The Minister approved. The Cabinet Secretary told me. “We have already lost billions, another 100 million won’t matter.”

I for my part was determined not to lose anything. We organized a rapid screening system which identified those to whom credit would be extended. Two weeks credit was extended to them. Concurrently I formed a sub unit headed by an Assistant Accountant, whose responsibility was to chase after the debtors and ensure that they paid. There was no interest charged. Among the many items reviewed at my daily meetings this item was one. The system worked. We recovered everything that was due to us except for Rs. 25,000 from a party to whom we were compelled to give credit due to intense political pressure. This pressure did not come from the Minister. He always acted properly.

President Jayewardene’s order

We had got to a point, where with great difficulty and almost round the clock work by numerous officials, the situation was substantially under control, when one morning the President rang me. “Pieris,” he said, “My security people tell me that they cannot enforce the curfew properly because large numbers of your lorries are running all over the place. Please get this stopped.” I tried to explain to him the consequences of doing so. If the thousands of wholesale and retail points could not be stocked on a continuous basis, there would not be food available. Then he would be faced with an undreamed of security situation.

The President was as usual calm and affable, but stubborn. It was obvious that some security advisors who were totally ignorant of the implications of such a decision had literally brain-washed the President. “Pieris,” the President continued after listening to me. “No, get the lorries off the road during curfew hours, otherwise my people would have to shoot them!” The latter part was said more humorously than seriously. But it was clear that he was not prepared to give his mind to the serious implications involved. I had no choice, but to say that I will pass the message down.

This was both frightening and demoralizing. I tried to get at the Minister. He was not available. It was clear that the Minister had to be briefed about the consequences of this decision and persuaded to go and meet the President. But pending this, some action had to be taken at least to create the appearance that steps were being taken to implement the decision. I sent for Austin Fernando, the Commissioner of Cooperative Development. He was not working from his office at Duke Street, but from the Head Office of the Colombo North Multi-Purpose Co-operative Society in the Pettah.

When he came, I briefed him on what had happened. He was as surprised and frustrated as I was. Only we who worked 14 hours a day. covering every detail and solving every problem that came up could see the magnitude of the blunder that was ordered to be committed. We were convinced that if the smooth flow of the operation which included the port, food store complexes, the co-operatives and the private sector dealers, was interfered with that an adverse impact would result within 24 hours. If it went on for 48 hours, there would have been a complete breakdown in food supplies leading to riots and serious civil unrest.

1983 riots

Austin and I therefore decided to play for time. We issued some desultory verbal instructions here and there, just to be able to say that we were on the job, if someone checked back. In the meantime, a search was going on for the Minister. When we finally contacted him it was early afternoon. He saw the problem at once and was appalled at the decision. He undertook to meet the President in his home at Ward Place during early evening. Eventually, the decision was rescinded and sanity prevailed.

A few days after these problems arose, Bradman Weerakoon was appointed as the Commissioner General of Essential Services. His job was to deal with any bottlenecks and exercise an overall co-ordination. As far as food was concerned he had no problem. We only provided him with the daily statistics pertaining to our efforts. All of us functioned under draconian Emergency Regulations. I was sent a set under confidential cover. I was quite surprised to find that in the maintenance of essential services – and food was one of the most essential – the regulations gave me powers to requisition buildings, vehicles and even persons!

I did not show them to anyone else, securely locked them up in my drawer and never looked at them again. It has always been my view that practically anything you want can be achieved without using power, just by a process of rational discussion and understanding. During those difficult days too, events fortified this belief of mine. I did not requisition anything.

Standards in the public service

Before I leave this subject there are a few miscellaneous matters of interest which I wish to record. Mr. Pulendiran the Food Commissioner and his wife had suffered serious loss of property and psychological trauma when their house and car were burnt down by mobs. Their house was fairly close to the Dehiwela canal bank, and the mob had originated from the shanty dwellers living there. Fortunately his house had been insured. But now they had no place to stay. They were temporarily accommodated in quarters at the Prima Bakery in Rajagiriya.

Two days after these events, he turned up for work. Even their clothes were burnt with the house. I told him to settle down and rest for a few days. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He was a public servant and the head of an important department, and he wished to discharge his responsibilities. All of us were happy to have him back. Many helped them with clothes and other requisites. The dedication of Mr. Pulendiran reflected the public service at its best.

I saw at close quarters how scores of my own officers worked during this period. There was no question of pushing or prodding. They worked punishingly long hours, very often without adequate or proper food. Many of them did not have time to eat, as was the case with me, on many a day. Sympathetic office aides kept us supplied with many cups of tea. Here again they decided when to serve the tea. There was no time for us to think about such matters. They kept a brotherly eye on us, and every time they thought we were flagging, in came the hot cups of tea which were a great restorer.

It had been my good fortune to witness this sense of public duty in many public servants. Another such was the case of my own cousin, Mr. M.B. Senanayake, who was the Senior Deputy Food Commissioner in the 1960’s. He was at the time living in a house very close to the sea at Kollupitiya. One violently stormy night a huge wave engulfed the house and they barely escaped with their lives. The garage outside was demolished by the wave and his car was in the sea with a photograph of it in the newspapers. The furniture, clothes and much else were soaked by the sea water.

Yet, with all this disruption, chaos and personal loss, he was in office at 10 a.m. to meet an Australian delegation, whilst his personal effects were being put out to dry on both sides of the public road. I remember reading Neville Jayaweera’s writing about his experience as Government Agent, Vavuniya during the time of the JVP insurgency of 1971. Many public servants had faced enormous dangers and personal loss, but kept on working and doing their duty. Some died at their posts. Criticism of the public service must be balanced by the great and lasting contributions made by it. Unfortunately, no one had done any sustained work in this area.

A conversation with a lady public servant

At the beginning of the week following, the terrible events of “Black Friday,” a senior Tamil lady public servant telephoned me and said she wished to see me to obtain some advice. I gave her an immediate appointment. When she met me she said that some of her close relations who were in London, wanted her to leave and come over immediately. She was not married. She was defiant. She felt that if she left it would be like running away. She was no coward and she did not wish to appear to be one.

“Damn it Sir,” she said. “This is my country. Why should I run away from my country?” I admired her spirit and her courage. But she was being pestered so much by her relations, she needed advice as to what to do. At that moment she was not capable of clear thought. I said that she was casting a heavy responsibility on me. Having thought about the matter, I told her that all of us had been shaken by the events of the previous Friday in particular. I had no idea whatsoever, as to what really was happening, who was behind it and what further course it would take.

Under these circumstances, my view was that personal safety came first. Therefore, I advised her to go abroad for a short period, and come back once things settled down. She thanked me and said that she would follow my advice. Thereafter she took leave of me, got up and walked towards the door. Suddenly, she turned back and walking up to me said “Sir, why can’t we send all our bloody politicians on compulsory leave for 10 years?” She was exceedingly generous. This was a time when a considerable section of intelligent and educated people belonging to all communities wished to visit far harsher punishments on our politicians of all colours, hues, groups and persuasions.

Complexities of human behaviour

The country gradually settled down and a sense of normalcy was restored. Amidst the gloom, there were shinning beacons of light. Many Sinhalese took great risks in sheltering Tamil families in their own homes. Most of the neighbourhoods did their best to protect both life and property. Down our own lane the Sinhalese, in alliance with others in adjoining lanes saw to it that not a single stone was thrown at a house. So, when our Tamil neighbours returned from their stay in a refugee camp, they had only sweeping and dusting to do.

The Sinhalese driver of the Chief Accountant Food Department Mr. Khatamuttu, risked his life in getting him and his family out of their house in Ratmalana under extremely trying and even dangerous circumstances. Such acts were numerous and widespread. Most of the acts of violence were orchestrated by squads of goons from outside. The neighbourhoods held. and the sense of community never disappeared. Human nature however is very strange. There are some people who cannot triumph over their prejudices whatever the circumstances.

A senior public servant who was helping out at the refugee camp established at Mahanama College told me that one day there was a near riot when the lunch packets were being distributed, because some who had claimed to be “high caste” Tamils vehemently objected to some deemed to be “low caste” being served first. They had also objected to some of those “low caste” being accommodated upstairs in one of the school buildings whilst some of those of “high caste” were being accommodated downstairs. He was a Sinhalese. There was a caste system operating amongst the Sinhalese, which had become much watered down over the years. This was his first exposure to the rigidities of the caste system as practiced by some Tamils.

(Excerpted from In Pursuit of Governance, autobiography of MDD Pieris) ✍️