Features
Healing the nation – A question of leadership
Deshamanya Dr P.R. Anthonis Memorial Oration
by Dr Nihal Jayawickrama
I am deeply honoured by the invitation of the Lanka-Japan Friendship Society to deliver the Deshamanya Dr P.R. Anthonis Memorial Lecture this evening. I was intrigued by the subject that was assigned to me, since a surgeon’s approach to healing a patient is usually to cut and remove a part of his or her anatomy. I wondered whether I was expected to advocate the same approach to healing the nation.
Coming, as I do, from a family of lawyers, with only one doctor of medicine produced in several generations, it was my brother who knew and worked with Dr Anthonis over many years. Dr Anthonis was one of a small group of brilliant surgeons of the 20th century that included Dr Noel Bartholomeusz and Dr M.V.P. Peries. I have had the good fortune never to have been subjected to Dr Anthonis’s scalpel, but I have had the privilege of meeting him socially, and he always treated me with the utmost kindness. To the memory of that remarkable surgeon, I dedicate my own thoughts on the subject I propose to address, with respect and affection.
‘Healing the Nation – A question of leadership’ immediately raises the question: what is expected of a political leader in a democratic society? Should the leader reflect the views, the fears and the prejudices of the electorate to which he has to return for re-election; or should he determine a path according to his own vision, his own values and his own judgment, and endeavour to lead his electorate along that path? President Jayewardene ruminated on this issue some years after he had left office and wondered how long one could go along with the wishes of the electorate.
A military leader does not have to worry about that, but a democratic leader must because the electors are his main and only support. It was difficult to be re-elected unless the leader continued to enjoy the support of those who had placed him in that position. However, he was willing to make an exception in regard to economic matters where external factors often determined what could or could not be done, however much that might displease the electorate. Incidentally, he had some sound advice for those aspiring to be leaders. Politics, he said, was a “stayers’ race”; a race where a man or woman who does not try to kick his neighbour or jump over him, but stays on till all the others disappear, wins the race. Therefore, he advised aspirants for political leadership that good health was vital: “look after your kidney, nurse your heart, eat little, don’t exercise too much, and in the end, you win the stayer’s race and you become the leader”.
Not being a politician, and not intending to be one at this stage of my life, I am free to disagree with President Jayewardene. I believe that a leader must possess a vision that he pursues with wisdom and integrity, and it is his responsibility to convince his electorate that he is on the right path. At the height of the American civil war, when things were not going well for the North, Abraham Lincoln was advised that he might need to compromise on slavery. Lincoln held firm on the issue of abolition. More recently, Nelson Mandela’s decision to be magnanimous in victory must have enraged tens of thousands of black Africans who had been subjected to oppression and brutality at the hands of the previous white apartheid regime. Yet, both Lincoln and Mandela achieved peace in their respective countries. That, in my view, was the result of leadership.
To establish the parameters for my presentation, I need to define the expression “healing the nation”. To heal is to mend, to reconcile, to rectify, or to restore. It presupposes that the nation is wounded, hurt, or broken. In this context, “the nation” must mean Ceylon or Sri Lanka. However, about a 100 years ago, Anagarika Dharmapala began writing aggressively of the “Sinhala nation”, and in course of time “Sinhala” became the equivalent of “jathiya” or “Lankika”. In 1944, the Communist Party made the first reference to the “Tamil nation”, a term that was finally affirmed in the Vaddukoddai Resolution of 1976.
In the contemporary world, this is not a matter for any real concern. For over several centuries “English” was synonymous with “British”, but today, the nation known as “Great Britain” comprises at least three nations: the English nation, the Scottish nation, and the Welsh nation. Each has a distinct language, religion and a proud culture. Scotland and Wales have their own legislative assemblies and are represented in Westminster in both the Parliament and the Cabinet. Together with Northern Ireland, these three nations constitute the United Kingdom. Similarly, the nation of Sri Lanka includes the Sinhala nation and the Tamil nation and several other communities, and it is to the break-up of that nation that I now turn.
THE BREAK-UP OF THE NATION
When did the break-up of the Sri Lankan nation occur? I would submit that it was not a single event, but a series of events that led to the nation being wounded, hurt or broken. In the first quarter of the 20th century, all the different ethnic communities stood together as Ceylonese in agitating for constitutional reform. However, with the introduction in 1931 of universal adult franchise, and with impending self-government, it was natural that minority communities would become apprehensive of majority rule. There was cause for this. The Sinhala Maha Sabha, established by S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike in 1937, was already engaged in creating a national consciousness among the Sinhalese. Meanwhile, following the election of the second State Council in 1936, the Sinhalese members, together with the European members, succeeded in electing a Board of Ministers that was exclusively Sinhalese – the so-called “Pan-Sinhalese Board of Ministers”.
The 1946 Constitution
The fears of the minority communities were set at rest by the Soulbury Commission which recommended the inclusion in the constitution of a package of safeguards. These were:Multi-member constituencies in those areas in which a substantial racial or religious minority lived.Six nominated members of the House of Representatives to represent any inadequately represented interests.
The Senate, which would serve the minorities as an instrument for impeding precipitate legislation, as well as a forum for handling inflammatory issues in a cooler atmosphere.An independent Public Service Commission which would guarantee strict impartiality in public appointments.A prohibition on Parliament from enacting any law which seeks to make persons of any community or religion liable to disabilities or restrictions to which persons of other communities or religions were not made liable, or to confer on persons of any community or religion any privilege or advantage which was not conferred on persons of other communities or religions.
The Privy Council observed that these safeguards in the 1946 Constitution represented “the solemn balance of rights between the citizens of Sri Lanka, the fundamental conditions on which they accepted the Constitution; and these are therefore unalterable”.
At the conclusion of the first general election of October 1947, D.S. Senanayake, the leader of the newly formed United National Party which secured 42 of the 95 seats, formed a 14-member Cabinet in which he included two independent Tamils elected from the northern province: C. Sittampalam from Mannar, and C. Suntheralingam from Vavuniya, and one Malay, T.B. Jayah, from Colombo. Was the formation of this multi-ethnic Cabinet an act of leadership on the part of D.S. Senanayake, designed to consolidate the multi-ethnic, multi-religious and multi-linguistic nation of Ceylon? Or was it an act of political expediency to convince the British Government that the fear that the minorities entertained of majority rule no longer existed, and that Ceylon was ready and equipped for independence? I am inclined to the view that Senanayake, during whose tenure our national flag was designed and adopted, and who steered clear of language and religious issues, truly desired to maintain the equilibrium of a multi-ethnic state.
On February 10, 1948, Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, presenting an Address of Thanks on behalf of the Senate to the Duke of Gloucester who had opened the first Parliament of Independent Ceylon, exclaimed:
“We are of many races – Europeans, Indians, Burghers, Malays, Moors, Tamils, and Sinhalese. We are of different religions – Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists. We have majorities and minorities. We have, however, been in the past, and we shall be in the future, one nation”.
As a 10-year-old Royal College scout “on duty” outside the specially constructed Assembly Hall, and where the Independence Hall now stands, I was present and saw and heard Sir Oliver express that optimistic hope, although I may not have understood much of what he said.
However, on that February day, I returned home and did two things. I made a replica of the Assembly Hall using cardboard strips and colourful chocolate paper as a substitute for the ralipallan. I also began maintaining scrap books in which I pasted the newspaper reports of that event, and thereafter of all the significant events in the country, including the regular Miss Ceylon contests.
Unfortunately, in that “one nation”, the critical events that followed Independence were often determined by political expediency. This was in sharp contrast to the policies of Lee Kuan Yew who created one of Asia’s most peaceful and prosperous nations out of what he described as “a polyglot collection of migrants from China, India, Malaysia, Indonesia and several other parts of Asia”. In barely 30 years, Sri Lanka’s political leaders caused the disintegration of a nation which at Independence had solid foundations of freedom, perhaps more than any other British colony.
Citizenship and Franchise
The new nation’s first target was 211,915 registered Indian Tamil voters. As British subjects who had been continuously resident in Ceylon for at least five years, they were eligible to vote. At the 1947 general election, apart from electing seven candidates of the Ceylon Indian Congress, they had helped to secure the victory of 15 1eft-wing opposition candidates as well. It became a matter of priority for the Government to disenfranchise the Indian Tamil population. Accordingly, Parliament enacted a package of laws which had a profoundly debilitating effect on that community.
The Citizenship Act 1948 established the principle of citizenship by descent, and not by birth, by requiring proof of birth in Ceylon of one’s father, or paternal grandfather and great-grandfather. It thereby deprived the plantation Tamils, 12 per cent or an eighth of the country’s population, of their citizenship. The Indian and Pakistani Residents (Citizenship) Act 1949 made it virtually impossible for them to obtain citizenship by registration since it required proof of uninterrupted residence in Ceylon in the previous 13 years. The Ceylon Parliamentary Elections (Amendment) Act 1949 deprived those who were not citizens of their right to vote, thereby ensuring that by the time of the next general election of 1952, the number of Indian Tamil voters in the seven plantation area constituencies was reduced from 162,212 to a mere 3,191. It became impossible for that community to secure even a single seat in Parliament.
Did the Citizenship Act discriminate against the Indian Tamil community? In my view it did. However, when section 29 of the Constitution was invoked, both the Supreme Court and the Privy Council retreated. In what bore the stamp of classic political judgments they upheld the Act on the ground that it was “a perfectly natural and legitimate function of the legislature to determine the composition of its nationals.” While that may well be so, our Constitution provided that in performing that function, Parliament must not discriminate against a particular community already resident in the country. A million people were thereby rendered stateless.
The problems created by the presence of the Indian Tamils were, of course, sensitive and emotional. Even almost 30 years later, Hector Kobbekaduwa would exclaim, with reference to the 1947 general election:
With universal franchise, the constitution makers thought that the inarticulate peasantry should have their own representatives. But unfortunately, in the hill country, the change was from clay to fire. The Peri Sunderams, the Vythialingams, Natesa Iyers and Fellows-Gordons, and later the Thondamans and Jesudasans and other political adventurers, were swept into power in our areas through the Indian votes. It was a hopeless situation for us. We screamed for justice.
Marginalizing the Tamil community
The substantial disintegration of the nation, however, occurred with a series of politically expedient measures taken by successive governments which were directed at, or had the effect of, marginalizing the Tamil community. These were political decisions that were thought to appeal to the majority of the Sinhalese electorate who believed, as the Mahawamsa claims, that the passing away of the Buddha synchronized with the founding of the Sinhala race; that Sri Lanka was a “Dhamma-dweepa”, a nation brought into being for the specific purpose of keeping alive the message of the Buddha; and had for centuries harboured a historical, yet often dormant, grievance against the Tamils for having settled in a part of this “Dhamma-dweepa”.
One of the earliest of such measures were the government initiated and funded colonization schemes, which at the time appeared to be both timely and desirable. However, they resulted in Sinhalese families from the south being settled in the sparsely populated dry zone in the eastern, north-central and northern provinces. This was viewed by the Tamil community as a diabolical attempt to dilute the Tamil presence and seriously alter the ethnic composition in those provinces. It was argued by Tamil politicians that the government should have first invited the people of the provinces where lands were being distributed to come forward as recipients. Thereafter, people from the other areas would have had their share if there was sufficient land to distribute. This policy, which altered the demographical pattern that existed at the time of Independence, was to lead to violent ethnic conflicts in the colonized areas in later years.
The division of the Sinhalese from the Tamils, commencing at a very young age, began with the implementation of the policy to replace English with Sinhala and Tamil as the medium of instruction in schools. I was fortunate to have entered the primary school before this policy was introduced, and to have had the opportunity to go through school life in the company of fellow students from all the communities and to understand and appreciate their cultures, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their idiosyncrasies. To segregate children from a very young age based on their language was to ensure a permanent division between the two communities through life, with little or no opportunity to interact and understand each other.
That division was compounded when the SLFP and the UNP changed their language policies to that of Sinhala Only as the official language, repudiating one important element of the 1946 constitutional settlement on the basis of which the minorities had agreed to subject themselves to majority rule. For generations, the government clerical service had been a popular outlet for the educated Tamil youth who did not aspire to a university education but sought a habitation and a source of income away from the arid soil of his northern home. He or she was now required to qualify in Sinhala to enter, and thereafter to progress in, the public service.
Between 1977 and 1981, Tamils secured only 4.9 per cent of the vacancies in the government clerical service as against 93.6 per cent for the Sinhalese. The plight they now faced became evident from the case of Kodeeswaran, a Tamil who had been appointed to the General Clerical Service in 1952. He had successfully moved up the salary scale from Rs.1600 to Rs.3780 per annum by regularly passing proficiency tests in Tamil. In 1962, he was denied his increment because he did not present himself for the proficiency test which was now conducted in Sinhala. Many hundreds of Tamil public servants almost certainly found themselves in the same predicament as Kodeeswaran.Kodeeswaran challenged the Official Language Act in the District Court of Colombo. Mr O.L.de Kretser, District Judge, in a carefully considered judgment observed that:
If the members of each community were able to speak, read and write the language of each of the other communities, then it is obvious that the selection of the language of one community as the Official Language could not cause any handicap to the members of the communities whose language was not chosen, however much they resented the fact that their own language was not given pride of place. But every community in Ceylon is not literate in the language of the other communities, and the selection of the language of one community must cause at least inconvenience, if not disability, to the communities who are not literate in that language.
While observing that it was a legitimate function for Parliament to decide in what language official business should be carried on, he concluded that the Act nevertheless gave advantage to one community which the other did not have. Accordingly, he held the Official Language Act to be an infringement of section 29 of the Constitution, and therefore void. Once more, the Supreme Court retreated. Chief Justice H.N.G. Fernando avoided the substantive issue and held instead that a public servant in Ceylon had no right to sue the Crown for the recovery of his wages. On appeal to the Privy Council, the Chief Justice’s judgment was declared to be wrong, and the case was returned to the Supreme Court to address the substantive issue. For some inexplicable reason, the appeal was not listed for hearing until the Official Language Act was incorporated in the 1972 Constitution.
The 1972 Constitution marked the crucial decisive stage in the disintegration of the nation. The 1946 constitutional settlement was unilaterally abrogated. The Senate, the nominated members in the House of Representatives, the Public Service Commission, and the section 29 prohibition of discriminatory legislation were all omitted in the new Constitution, along with the judicial review of legislation. Sinhala was granted constitutional status, and Tamil was described as the language of translation. The issue of federalism was not even allowed to be raised. The Federal Party withdrew from the Constituent Assembly because they believed that they were unable to influence in any effective manner the course of its proceedings.
The 1972 Constitution marked the crucial decisive stage in the disintegration of the nation. The 1946 constitutional settlement was unilaterally abrogated. The Senate, the nominated members in the House of Representatives, the Public Service Commission, and the section 29 prohibition of discriminatory legislation were all omitted in the new Constitution, along with the judicial review of legislation. Sinhala was granted constitutional status, and Tamil was described as the language of translation. The issue of federalism was not even allowed to be raised. The Federal Party withdrew from the Constituent Assembly because they believed that they were unable to influence in any effective manner the course of its proceedings.
The most untimely introduction in the 1970s of a policy of standardization in respect of university admission was perhaps the final straw. Intended to secure a more equitable distribution, language and district-wise, of the limited number of places available in universities, it resulted in a large number of Tamil students being denied admission to the universities. The effect of this policy, and the enormity of the injustice it caused to the Tamil community, raised this issue to the level of a major human rights problem.
For instance, in 1975, the admissions on a district basis into the medical faculty were 29 from Galle and 29 from Jaffna, whereas on the basis of merit only 18 had qualified from Galle as against 61 from Jaffna. Similarly, on a district basis, Galle and Jaffna each secured 20 places in the science and engineering faculties, while on the basis of merit, 24 should have entered from Galle and 56 from Jaffna. Nothing could have been more frustrating to the educated Tamil youth than his inability to enter the stream of higher education owing to standardization and be diverted away from the mainstream of life in the country. This feeling of despair and non-fulfilment contributed immensely to the emergence of a militant youth movement. The drift to separation was now both rapid and intense, and accompanied by increasing violence. On 27 July 1975, masked gunmen shot and killed 48-year-old Alfred Duraiyappah, the SLFP Mayor of Jaffna.
The Vaddukkodai Declaration
One year later, at Vaddukkodai, on 14th May 1976, the Tamil United Front, together with the Muslim United Front, declared that:
The Tamils of Ceylon, by virtue of their great language, their religion, their separate culture and heritage, their history of independent existence as a separate state over a distinct territory for several centuries until they were conquered by the armed might of the European invaders, and above all, by their will to exist as a separate entity ruling themselves in their own territory, are a nation distinct and apart from the Sinhalese.
It was indeed ironic that Dr Colvin R. de Silva, the architect of the Constitution that abrogated the 1947 constitutional settlement, should have anticipated that this would happen. Addressing Parliament twenty years earlier this is what he predicted:
Do we, does this House, do our people want two nations? Do we want a single State, or do we want two? Do we want one Ceylon, or do we want two? And above all, do we want an independent Ceylon which must necessarily be a united and single Ceylon, or two bleeding halves of Ceylon which can be gobbled up by every ravaging imperialist monster that may happen to range the Indian Ocean? If we come to the stage where, instead of parity, we, through needless insularity, get into the position of suppressing the Tamil people from the federal demand which seems to be popular amongst them at present – if we are to judge by electoral results – there may emerge separatism.
(To be continued next week)
(This is a slightly condensed version of a speech delivered in Colombo in May 2016)
Features
The Ramadan War
A Strategic Assessment of a Conflict Still Unresolved
The Unites States of America and its ally, Israel attacked Iran on 28 February, or the 10th day of the month of Ramadan. More than a month of intense fighting has passed since, and the Ramadan War has settled into a grinding, attritional struggle that defies early declarations of victory. Despite sustained U.S. and Israeli air and naval bombardment, Iran remains standing, and continues to strike back with a level of resilience that has surprised many observers. The conflict has evolved into a contest of endurance, adaptation, and strategic innovation, with each side attempting to impose costs the other cannot bear.
Iran’s response to the overwhelming airpower of its adversaries has been both simple and devastatingly effective: saturate enemy defences with swarms of inexpensive drones and older ballistic missiles, forcing them to expend costly interceptors and reveal radar positions, and then follow up with salvos of its most advanced precisionguided missiles. This layered approach has inflicted severe physical damage on Israel and has shaken its national morale. The country has endured repeated missile barrages from Iran and rocket fire from Hezbollah, straining its airdefence network and pushing its civilian population to the limits of endurance.
The United States, meanwhile, has been forced to evacuate or reduce operations at several bases in the Gulf region due to persistent Iranian drone and missile attacks. For both the U.S. and Israel, the war has become a test of strategic credibility. For Iran, by contrast, victory is defined not by territorial gains or decisive battlefield outcomes, but by survival, and by continuing to impose costs on its adversaries.
The central strategic objective for the U.S. has now crystallised: reopening the Strait of Hormuz to secure global energy flows. Ironically, the Strait was open before the war began; it is the conflict itself that has rendered it effectively closed. Air and naval power alone cannot achieve this objective. The geography of the Strait, combined with Iran’s layered defences, means that any lasting solution will require ground forces, a reality that carries enormous risks.
U.S. Strategic Options
The United States faces five broad operational options, each with significant drawbacks.
1. Seizing Kharg Island
Kharg Island handles roughly 90% of Iran’s oil exports, making it an attractive target. However, it lies only a short distance from the Iranian mainland, where entrenched Iranian forces maintain dense networks of missile batteries, drones, artillery, and coastal defences. Any attempt to seize Kharg would require first neutralising or capturing the adjacent coastline, a costly amphibious and ground operation.
Even if successful, this would not reopen the Strait of Hormuz. It would merely deprive Iran of export capacity, which is not the primary U.S. objective. At least ostensibly not; there are those who argue that the U.S. simply wants to take over Iran’s petroleum (see below).
2. Forcing the Strait of Hormuz by Naval Power
Sending U.S. naval forces directly through the Strait is theoretically possible but operationally hazardous. Iran has mined all but a narrow channel hugging its own shoreline. That channel is covered by overlapping fields of antiship missiles, drones, artillery, and coastal radar. Clearing the mines would require prolonged operations under fire. Attempting to push through without clearing them would risk catastrophic losses.
3. Capturing Qeshm, Hengam, Larak, and Hormuz Islands
These islands dominate the Iranian side of the Strait and host radar, missile, and drone installations. Capturing them would degrade Iran’s ability to close the Strait, but the islands are heavily fortified, and the surrounding waters are mined. Amphibious assaults against defended islands are among the most difficult military operations. Even success would not guarantee the Strait’s longterm security unless the mainland launch sites were also neutralised.
4. Invading Southern Iraq and Crossing into Khuzestan
This option would involve U.S. forces advancing through southern Iraq, crossing the Shatt alArab waterway, and pushing into Iran’s Khuzestan province — home to most of Iran’s oilfields. The terrain is difficult: marshes, waterways, and narrow approaches. Iranian forces occupy the high ground overlooking the plains.
While this route would allow Saudi armoured forces to participate, it would also expose U.S. and allied logistics to attacks by Iraqi Shia militias, who have already demonstrated their willingness to target U.S. assets. The political and operational risks are immense.
5. Capturing Chabahar and Advancing Along the Coast
The most strategically promising — though still costly — option is seizing the port of Chabahar in southeastern Iran and advancing roughly 660 kilometres along the coast toward Bandar Abbas. This approach offers several advantages:
· Distance from Iran’s core population centres complicates Iranian logistics.
· Chabahar’s deepwater port (16m draught)
would provide a valuable logistics hub.
· U.S. carriers could remain at safer standoff distances
, supporting operations without entering the Strait.
· The coastal route allows naval gunfire and missile support
to assist advancing ground forces.
· Local Baluchi insurgents
could provide intelligence and limited support.
· Capturing Bandar Abbas would
outflank Iran’s island defences and effectively reopen the Strait.
This option is likely to form the backbone of any U.S. ground campaign, potentially supplemented by diversionary attacks by regional partners to stretch Iranian defences.
The Limits of U.S. Superiority
The United States retains overwhelming superiority in naval power and manned airpower. But whether this advantage translates into dominance in unmanned systems or ground combat is far from certain.
The 2003 invasion of Iraq is often cited as a model of U.S. military prowess, but the comparison is misleading. Iraq in 2003 had been crippled by a decade of sanctions. Its forces lacked modern mines, antitank missiles, and effective air defences. Tank crews had little training; some could not hit targets at pointblank range. RPG teams were similarly unprepared. The U.S. enjoyed numerical superiority in the theatre and total control of the air, allowing it to isolate Iraqi units and prevent reinforcement.
Even under those favourable conditions, Iraqi forces managed to delay the U.S. advance. At one point, forward U.S. units nearly ran out of ammunition and supplies, forcing the diversion of forces intended for the assault on Baghdad to secure the lines of communication.
Iran is not Iraq in 2003. Its armed forces and industrial base have adapted to nearly half a century of sanctions. It produces its own drones, missiles, artillery, and armoured vehicles. It has built extensive underground facilities, hardened command posts, and redundant communication networks.
Moreover, the battlefield itself has changed. The RussoUkrainian war demonstrated that deep armoured penetrations – once the hallmark of U.S. doctrine – are now extremely vulnerable to drones, loitering munitions, and precision artillery. The result has been a return to attritional warfare reminiscent of the First World War, with front lines stabilising into trench networks.
Yet, as in the First World War, stalemate has been broken not by massed assaults but by small, highly trained teams infiltrating thinly held lines, identifying targets, and guiding drones and artillery onto enemy positions deep in the rear. Iran has studied these lessons closely.
Mosaic Defence and Transformational Warfare
Iran’s military doctrine has evolved significantly over the past two decades. Its “mosaic defence” decentralises command and control, ensuring that even if senior leadership is targeted, local units can continue operating autonomously. This structure proved resilient during the initial waves of U.S. and Israeli strikes.
Iran has also absorbed lessons from U.S. “shock and awe” operations. The botched U.S. invasion of Grenada in 1983 exposed weaknesses in joint operations, prompting the development of “effectsbased operations,” “rapid dominance” and the broader concept of “transformational warfare.” These doctrines (better known colloquially as “Shock and Awe”), influenced by Liddell Hart and Sun Tzu, emphasised simultaneous strikes on strategic targets to paralyse the enemy’s decisionmaking.
While the U.S. struggled to apply these concepts effectively in Iraq and Iran, Tehran has adapted them for asymmetric use. Its drone and missile campaigns have targeted not only military assets but also economic infrastructure and psychological resilience. Israel’s economy and morale have been severely tested, and the United States finds itself entangled in a conflict that offers no easy exit.
Iran has also pursued a broader strategic objective: undermining the petrodollar system that underpins U.S. financial dominance. By disrupting energy flows and encouraging alternative trading mechanisms, Iran seeks to weaken the economic foundations of U.S. power.
Will the USA Achieve Its War Aims?
The United States’ core objective appears to be securing control over global energy flows by reopening the Strait of Hormuz and limiting China’s access to Middle Eastern oil before it can transition to alternative energy sources. Whether this objective is achievable remains uncertain.
A ground campaign would be long, costly, and politically fraught. Iran’s defences are deep, layered, and adaptive. Its drone and missile capabilities have already demonstrated their ability to impose significant costs on technologically superior adversaries. Regional allies are cautious, and global support for a prolonged conflict is limited.
The United States retains overwhelming military power, but power alone does not guarantee strategic success. Iran’s strategy is simple: survive, adapt, and continue imposing costs. In asymmetric conflicts, survival itself can constitute victory.
In Frank Herbert’s Dune, the protagonist, Paul Muad’dib says “he who can destroy a thing, controls a thing.” This is the essence of Iranian strategy – they have a stranglehold on petroleum supply, and can destroy the world economy. Trump has had to loosen sanctions on both Iran’s and Russia’s oil, simply to prevent economic collapse.
The Ramadan War has already reshaped regional dynamics. Whether it reshapes global power structures will depend on how the next phase unfolds, and whether the United States is willing to pay the price required to achieve its aims.
by Vinod Moonesinghe
Features
Nayanandaya:A literary autopsy of Sri Lanka’s Middle Class
“Nayanandaya,” meaning the enchantment of indebtedness, is Surath de Mel’s latest novel. True to his reputation as a maximalist writer, de Mel traverses the labyrinth of middle-class struggles; poverty, unemployment, the quest for education, through a father’s fragile dreams. The novel unfolds around Mahela, his son, his friendships, and the fragile relationships that keep him tethered to life.
“Happiness is not a destination; it is a journey. There are no shortcuts to it. At some point, the path you thought was right will be wrong. You have to make sacrifices for it.”
These words, uttered by the protagonist Mahela to his ten-year-old son, is the silent mantra of every middle-class parent. A common urban middle-class father’s yearning for his child to climb the ladder he himself could not ascend.
A Socio-Political Mirror
Sri Lanka’s middle class remains trapped in paradox. They are educated but underemployed, salaried but indebted, socially respected yet politically invisible. Structural inequalities, economic volatility and populist politics inclusively contribute to keep them “forever middle”.
Through protagonist Mahela, who is sometimes a graphic designer, sometimes a vendor and always a failure Surath de Mel sketches the deficiencies of an education system that does not nurture skills of the students. Sri Lanka boasts about high literacy rates, yet the economy cannot absorb the thousands of graduates produced into meaningful work. Underemployment becomes the inheritance of the middle class. With political connections often the stories can be transformed. De Mel pens it in dark humour to expose these truths:
“Some notorious writer once sneered in a newspaper, ‘Give your ass to the minister, and you’ll earn the right to keep it on a bigger chair.’ Countless people waiting in ministers’ offices, pressing
their backsides to seats, carrying the weight of their own lives.”
Childhood Trauma and Its Echoes
Surath de Mel frequently weaves psychoanalysis into his fiction. In Nayanandaya, he captures the lingering shadows of childhood trauma. Mahela, scarred by a loveless and fractured youth, suffers phobic anxiety and depression, apparently with a personality disorder as an adult. His confession at the psychologist reveals it out:
“Childhood? I didn’t have one. I was fifteen when I was born.”
Here, Mahela marks his true birth not at infancy, but at the death of his parents. This statement itself reveals the childhood trauma the protagonist had gone through and the reader can attribute his subsequent psychological struggles as the cause of it.
From a Lacanian perspective, trauma is not just something that happens to a child; it is a deep break in how the child understands the world, themselves, and others. Some experiences are too painful to be put into words. Lacan calls this the Real — what cannot be fully spoken or explained. This pain does not disappear but returns later in life as anxiety, fear, or obsessive compulsive disorder.
This trauma disturbs the child’s sense of self and their place in society. When language fails to make sense of loss, the mind creates fantasies to survive. These fantasies quietly shape adult desires, relationships, and choices.
In Nayanandaya, childhood trauma of the protagonist does not stay buried — it lives on, shaping the adulthood in unseen ways. In the narrative, Mahela’s struggles are not just personal failures but the result of a past that was never given words.
Tears of Fathers – Forgotten in Sri Lankan Literature
Sri Lankan literature has long been attentive to suffering — especially rural poverty, social injustice, and the silent endurance of women and single mothers. Countless novels, poems, and songs have given voice to maternal sacrifice, female resilience, and women’s oppression.
Yet, within this rich narratives, the quiet grief of the urban middle-class father remains mostly unseen. Rarely does fiction pause to examine the emotional lives of men who shoulder responsibility without language for their pain. These masculine tears are private, swallowed by routinely and masked by humour or silence. Definitely never granted literary space.
In Nayanandaya, Surath de Mel breaks this silence. Through Mahela, he lends voice to these overlooked men — fathers whose love is expressed through sacrifice rather than speech. However, de Mel does not romanticise the tears. Rather he humanises them. He allows their vulnerabilities, anxieties, and quiet despair to surface with honesty and compassion. In doing so, Nayanandaya fills a striking gap in Sri Lankan literature, reminding us that fathers, too, carry invisible wounds.
Literary value
With Nayanandaya, Surath de Mel reaches a new pinnacle in his literary craft. His language is dense yet lyrical, enriched with similes, metaphors, irony, and a full range of literary tools deployed with confidence and control.
One of the novel’s most touching narrative choices is the personification of Mahela’s son’s soft toy, Wonie. Through personified Wonie, de Mel captures the two most touching incidents in the entire novel . This simply reveals the author’s artistic maturity, transforming a simple object into a powerful emotional conduit that anchors the novel’s tenderness amidst its despair.
At a deeper symbolic level, Mahela himself can be read as more than an individual character, but a metaphor for Sri Lanka — a nation struggling under economic hardship, clinging to impractical dreams, witnessing the migration of its people, and drifting towards a slow, painful exhaustion. His personal failures could mirror the broader decay of social and economic structures. This symbolic reading lends Nayanandaya a haunting national resonance.
Today, many write and many publish, but only a few transform language into literature that lingers in the reader’s mind long after the final page. Surath de Mel belongs to that rare few. In a literary landscape crowded with voices, he remains devoted to art rather than popularity or trend. As a scholar of Sinhala language and literature, de Mel writes with intellectual depth, dark humour, and deep human empathy.
In conclusion, Nayanandaya is not merely a story; it is social commentary, psychoanalytic reflection, and tragic poetry woven into richly textured prose. With this novel — a masterful interlacing of love, debt, and fragile dreams — Surath de Mel engraves a distinctly Dostoevskian signature into Sinhala literature.
Reviewed by Dr. Charuni Kohombange
Features
Domestic Energy Saving
Around 40 percent of the annual energy we use is consumed in domestic activities. Energy is costly, and supply is not unlimited. Unfortunately, we realize the importance of energy – saving only during the time of a crisis.
If you adopt readily affordable energy-saving strategies, you will cut down your living expenditure substantially, relieving the energy burden of the nation. Here are some tips.
Cooking:
Cooking consumes a good portion of domestic energy demand and common practices, and negligence leads to 30 – 40 percent wastage. A simple experiment revealed that the energy expenditure in boiling an egg with the usual unnecessary excess water in an open pan is nearly 50 percent higher than boiling in a closed lid pan with the minimal amount of water. In an open pan, a large quantity of heat is lost via convection currents and expulsion of water vapor, carrying excessive amounts of heat energy (latent heat of vaporisation). Still, most of us boil potatoes for prolonged intervals of time in open receptacles, failing to realise that it is faster and more efficient to boil potatoes or any other food material in a closed pan. About 30 – 40 percent of domestic cooking energy requirements can be cut down by cooking in closed-lid pans. Furthermore, food cooked in closed pans is healthier because of less mixing with air that causes food oxidation. Fat oxidation generates toxic substances. In a closed- lid utensil (not tightly closed), food is covered with a blanket of water vapor at a positive pressure, preventing entry of air and therefore food oxidation.
Overcooking is another bad habit that not only wastes energy but also degrades the nutritional value of food.
Electric kettle:
For making morning or evening tea or preparing tea to serve a visitor. Do not pour an unnecessarily large quantity of water into the electric kettle. Note that the energy needed to make 10 cups of tea is ten times that of one cup.
Electric Ovens:
Avoid the use of electric ovens as far as possible. Remember that foods cooked at higher temperatures are generally unhealthy, and even carcinogens are formed when food is fried at higher temperatures in an oven. If ever you need to bake something in an oven, limit the number of times you open the door. Use smaller ovens adequate for the purpose and not larger ones just for fashion.
Refrigerators:
Refrigerators consume lots of energy. Do not use over-capacity refrigerators just for fashion. Every time you open the fridge, more electricity is used to reset the cooling temperature. Plan your access to the appliance accordingly. Check whether the doors are properly secured and there are no leakages. Keep the fridge in a cooler location, not hit by direct sunlight and away from warmer places in the kitchen. Remember that turning off the fridge frequently will not save energy, instead it draws more energy.
Use of gas burners:
Do not use oversized utensils. Keep the lid closed as far as possible to prevent the escape of heat. Remember that excessive amounts of heat energy are carried away by a large surface-area conducting utensil. Do not open the gas vent to allow the flame to flash outside the vessel. A flame not impinging on the pan would not heat it, and gas is wasted. Ensure that the flame is blue. Frequently check whether gas vents are clogged with rust and carbon. Frequently, cooking material in the pan drops into the gas vents, and salt there corrodes the gas vents. Cleaning and washing would be necessary. Do not prolong cooking, taking time to prepare ingredients and adding them to the pan intermittently. Add ingredients at once and before switching the burner. If the preparation of a dish is prolonged to slow the cooking, use earthenware pots rather than metallic ones. An earthenware pot, being thermally less conducting retain heat.
Firewood for cooking:
Do not attempt to eliminate the use of firewood in cooking. If you are living in a village area, the exclusive use of LPG gas is an unnecessary expenditure. Large smoke-free, efficient oven designs are now available. If you are compelled to use gas, keep the option of firewood ovens, especially for prolonged cooking. Admittedly, there are locations, especially in cities, where the use of firewood is unsuited.
Hot water showers:
Before installing hot water showers, reconsider whether they are really necessary in a hot tropical climate. Go for solar water heaters, although the installation cost is high. Instant water heaters consume much less electricity compared to geysers with water tanks. Now, cheap and safe instant water heaters are available.
Lighting:
Arrange and design your residence to optimise daytime illumination until late evening. If you are constructing a new house, take this issue into account. Use LED lamps, which provide the same illumination for 85 percent less energy. In study rooms and areas that require prolonged illumination, paint the walls white. Angle – poised LED lamps with very low voltage are available. Use them for reading and studies. Routinely clean the surfaces of all lamps. Dust deposition cuts off light.
Air conditioning and ventilation:
Air conditioning consumes prohibitively large quantities of electrical energy. You can avoid air conditioning by optimising ventilation. The principle is to have air entry points (windows) in the house near the ground level and exit points (vents or windows) near the roof. Ground level is cooler, and the region near the roof is warmer. Thus, a cool air current enters the house near the ground level and hot air is drawn by the vents near the roof. The region near the ground can be rendered cooler by planting trees. Architectural designs are available to optimise this effect. You can sense the direction of air motion by holding a thin strip of paper near the windows at the ground and near the roof level. In addition to ceiling fan, install exhaust fans in the upper points of the house to remove hot air and draw cooler air through windows near the ground. Reduce the amount of sunlight hitting the roof by shading with trees. There are techniques for increasing the reflectance of the roof with paints and other designs.
Transportation:
A good portion of your budget is drained by transportation. Irrespective of who you are, use public transport if convenient and available. As much as possible, use the telephone and email to get your things done. If the officers do not comply for no valid reason, complain. Plan your trips to the town to do several things at the same time. Whenever possible, plan to share transport. Buy energy – efficient small vehicles. Routinely examine your vehicle for energy efficiency, i.e. correct tire pressure etc.
Charge electric vehicles off peak hours. Slow charging reduces heat generation in the circuit, reducing energy loss.
Energy is costly and limited in supply. Everything you do consumes energy. Be energy conscious in all your deeds. That attitude will reduce your expenditure, lessen the environmental degradation and financial burden of the nation in importing fuel.
Educating the general public is the most effective way of implementing energy-saving strategies.
By Prof. Kirthi Tennakone
(kenna@yahoo.co.uk)
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