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A Bilingual Public Sphere of Visual Art Criticism:

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SCRAP BOOK OF CHANDRAJEEWA – Part II

by Laleen Jayamanne

Shirani Rajapakse’s short piece has a delicious bit of visual analysis which brings out the playful nature of Sarath’s mati wada, that most folk of craft practices, loved instinctively by many Lankans. She says, ‘the quaint ornamental structure in the picture looks very much like a bird-house, but it’s not [….] It is a lamp stand which the designer says he was inspired to make after seeing the lamps lighted by many and placed in their gardens as a mark of respect for the gods. My friend and colleague Sarath (who I have never met or talked to), gives me the impression of being a very serious, quiet person.

Therefore, ‘playful’ is not a term I associate with his work that I have studied. But when Shirani described her doubled perception of the lamp stand also as a bird house, what came to my mind were his clay toys, the owl and the pussy cat are delightful, but I found his ornamented clay fish a bit disturbing. The fish, with one large eye has its mouth open to either breath or smile (hovering in between the two), but it’s full of fierce Pirana like large sharp teeth, bared. And whenever I re-see it, I smile again, but also see at the same time its mouth full of large murderously sharp teeth such as I have never seen in a fish.

Then I realised that Lankan mati wada must be replete with folk humour, violence and imagination, which is robust and varied in the folk ritual performance modes and masks I am familiar with. The writers understand the importance of Dankotuwa for the tile industry which gets its clay from that region when they situate Sarath in that milieu, to show how he innovates on this traditional craft by experimenting with the more durable red tile clay to make his earthenware pieces.

The late Charith Pelpola is the critic who, I think, writes most profoundly of Sarath’s red earthenware pots and of their painterly qualities, seeing in one pot the colours of nature of pealing bark, for example. He describes how colour is created through experimental firing techniques, which makes Sarath a modern artist, drawing from tradition, but also departing from it decisively, without severing that ‘nourishing umbilical cord’, as AJ might say. Charith was a wildlife photographer who preferred to spend his time in the forest and a poet, gone much too soon. His prose is delicate, nuanced. He also photographed some of these pots for the book on Sarath, Path of Visual Arts (2005), which images are a consolation in the absence of the originals.

I won’t provide more examples of the excellent critical work preserved in this volume, but hope that I have been able to arouse some curiosity in the reader to seek it out, so that new histories (in the plural), of the 90s might be written without self-interest as the main driver. And also, simply to learn the craft of interviewing and writing, so as to engage the mind of the reader with respect, imaginatively.

We academics can learn heaps from good journalists because they are very disciplined in their awareness of time (in minutes and seconds) and space (column inches)! and appear to be more careful with words than we verbose academics, enamoured of ‘Theory’, creating bubbles. Let’s burst them, they are just soap! Don’t get me wrong. Some continental schools of thought are essential for my teaching and researching film and art and many of our students at Sydney University’s Art History and Film Dept. have a voracious appetite for ideas and theories which they seek out. I saw this very thing happening during the Aragalaya thanks to the internet. That excitement requires dedicated, systematic work over years to be of use.

But it’s certainly possible to introduce Benjamin (or anyone), briefly (also mentioning that he was a German Jew writing in the context of the rise of the Nazi party), if a little home work is done first. And to begin with, when addressing people in the public sphere with a mixed audience, at the very least, it’s essential to say, for example, who ‘Walter Benjamin’ was in the context of the ‘Frankfurt school of Critical Theory’ of the mid-20th Century. At the very least, one must introduce and situate a thinker respectfully, like we say in Sinhala when we are introduced to a stranger: ‘me kaude? (Who is this?) Kage kaude? (Whose who is s/he or who is s/he connected with?) Kinde manda?’ (So, what’s s/he on about?), as first steps in intellectual public speech.

If, for example, it was noted that Benjamin was a close friend of Brecht’s and that he wrote a series of essays (Understanding Brecht), defending and explaining his novel idea of ‘Epic Theatre’ (when it was subject to criticism by the progressive German left), it would certainly have helped, for the obvious reason that Brecht is a beloved playwright in Lanka. A critic must create the conditions for open receptivity of ideas. And it is crucial when introducing any concept or idea, to do so with a degree of precision and explain why it’s useful, relevant in that particular context to understand something.

The Bourgeoise Public Sphere of the 18th Century

Before I end, let me say a few words about the derivation of the concept of ‘the public sphere’ in my title. It’s a political idea as theorised by the thinkers of the Frankfurt School of Social Research, Benjamin, Adorno and others, including Habermas who is still alive. Here’s a potted account. The public sphere is the product of the 18th Century European Enlightenment. ‘Bourgeoise’ derived from ‘Bourg’ means the city in French.

So, it’s in the urban centres of European cities that an educated professional and business middle class first emerged, well before the French Revolution separated the public sphere from the control of the Church and the State. With the creation of the press and a journal culture and leisure, conversation on art and politics flourished in coffee houses where new democratic values were discussed. But the separation of the home from the public sphere meant that most bourgeoise women were stuck at home with children, in a private domestic sphere, with domestic ‘servants’ for help. So, the public sphere was largely male even in the 19th century, with most women having very limited access to professional education until the mid-1890s.

The ‘Third Estate’ is the term for this rising middle-class in the French parliament before the revolution, and the ‘Fourth Estate’ became the free press, to express diverse opinions and ideas and news. With industrialisation and modernisation this exclusive class structure changed with mass education, literacy and mass culture. Crucially, the democratic public sphere then included the urban working classes working classes as also consumers, especially of film.

An Australian Feminist Public Sphere: 70s and 80s

I have an impression that, while there are many women speaking publicly in Sinhala on the arts in Lanka, the theoretical discourses are still wielded by a few men (I stand happily corrected here too), as I am a distant observer-participant. This was exactly the case in Australia in the 70s when we began to read what then was called ‘French Theory,’ in translation. It was the case that a few men dominated art forums and spun theory with ease, using obscurantist language, often culled freely from, for example, Jacque Derrida’s philosophy, among others.

His use of language was especially easy to parrot like a manthra. It was intimidating when this happened in Australia, though we were all studying this stuff at the University, in the late 70s and 80s. The men wrote for the art press in an obfuscating theoretical jargon. Their lack of deep contextual understanding, covered up by the jargon, didn’t stop them from speaking in public with a certain masculine bravado. Some were seduced. They created followers. Male narcissism knew no limits.

But our independent public sphere of cinema in Australia changed once some female scholars educated in France returned (having actually studied with some of the major philosophers such as Deleuze, Foucault, Lacan and others), and translated their stuff while worked in both the main stream media as journalists, film reviewers and in the University as casual lecturers, formulating new courses to study this material systematically. They began to write, using the ‘difficult French Theory’, even in the popular press, in a lively prose which made it both accessible and engaging.

They taught us by giving us tools to analyse the rhetoric of ‘male theory-speak’ to see through its tactics, which were undemocratic because mystifying. In contrast, these women used language not as a weapon of seduction and control, but as a means to make ideas accessible. We never looked back, and since then, female intellectuals in Australia, due to many other reasons as well, have become confident and publicly articulate in significant numbers.

I recount this Australian story here as a little parable for the feminist writers and speakers working in the vernacular public sphere of visual culture in Lanka. As a feminist elder I say, do not feed male narcissism of intellectuals (a bottomless well), and allow them to dumb yourself down in the process. Enjoy teaching yourself and others and speaking in public with flare and intelligence and in this way a democratic public sphere of visual culture will be nourished.

Don’t feel shy if you slip up every now and then make a fool of yourself, just get up and brush yourself like Chaplin, and do it again and again if you must, so you get practiced. I’ve been there many times. Ouch! Each time, I had the feeling I got a bit stronger. But we know we can’t do this alone, we need likeminded women and men too.

A respected Lankan academic retiring back home after a career overseas (having reinvented himself as an ‘Asian Film Specialist’ which is how I met him) gave a lecture on Derrida once, which may have been an early example of this trend of fetishizing Theory. He spun bits and pieces of ‘Derridean theory’ which didn’t make any sense to me. There were Sinhala specialist words I didn’t understand but I understood the main thrust.

This specialist (true to a dark Sri Lankan academic trait) tried to obstruct the publication of a book of mine as one of the three readers of my manuscript on The Epic Cinema of Kumar Shahani (Indiana University Press, 2015, 300 pages). His reader’s report stated that I must ‘revise and resubmit’ the text, with further research as outlined by him! Perhaps he didn’t understand my work.

But I did correct the spelling of the Pali word (‘Dhamma Dweepa’) as pointed out by him. The other two readers, one an Indian media scholar from the US and the other an English scholar of Hindi Cinema said that the manuscript was ready to go to press! I had the pleasure of formally rebutting my compatriot’s intellectually feeble report (my democratic right), which the press accepted.

I recall this nasty, intellectually indefensible act today, just a few days after Kumar Shahani (my guru and one of the great visionary film directors of India), passed away at the age of 83. His very first words to me, when I called him to say my book was out, were: ‘Is there something of yourself in it?’ I feel that my book made him happy, the only one so far on his profound and delicate oeuvre of seven films.

We didn’t talk about it. There was no need to. He took great care of me over the decade and more of researching this book, learning about India a little from him. He kept in touch with me, I sought his advice while writing my piece for the Island on Sarath’s book on Karaikkal Ammaiyar of Polonnaruwa, but my last email remained unanswered … but he is present as a shadow guiding me in what I write.

Two women critics I heard recently, speaking (in Matale and Melbourne, in Sinhala), on Manuwarna’s Whispering Mountains, were both fluent and highly sophisticated in their ability to intermesh politics, aesthetics, and also able to evoke the memory of existential dread of that era of national sate violence and shame. It was utterly moving. They made me long to see the film, which is what good criticism can do. That’s on my short list for the next life, if there is one!

To come back to Sarath – I will leave you with his response to Chamila Somirathna’s probing enquiry:

“A sculptor is always a painter but a painter cannot always be a sculptor’.

Go figure!



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Why Sri Lanka Still Has No Doppler Radar – and Who Should Be Held Accountable

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Eighteen Years of Delay:

Cyclone Ditwah has come and gone, leaving a trail of extensive damage to the country’s infrastructure, including buildings, roads, bridges, and 70% of the railway network. Thousands of hectares of farming land have been destroyed. Last but not least, nearly 1,000 people have lost their lives, and more than two million people have been displaced. The visuals uploaded to social media platforms graphically convey the widespread destruction Cyclone Ditwah has caused in our country.

The purpose of my article is to highlight, for the benefit of readers and the general public, how a project to establish a Doppler Weather Radar system, conceived in 2007, remains incomplete after 18 years. Despite multiple governments, shifting national priorities, and repeated natural disasters, the project remains incomplete.

Over the years, the National Audit Office, the Committee on Public Accounts (COPA), and several print and electronic media outlets have highlighted this failure. The last was an excellent five-minute broadcast by Maharaja Television Network on their News First broadcast in October 2024 under a series “What Happened to Sri Lanka”

The Agreement Between the Government of Sri Lanka and the World Meteorological Organisation in 2007.

The first formal attempt to establish a Doppler Radar system dates back to a Trust Fund agreement signed on 24 May 2007 between the Government of Sri Lanka (GoSL) and the World Meteorological Organisation (WMO). This agreement intended to modernize Sri Lanka’s meteorological infrastructure and bring the country on par with global early-warning standards.

The World Meteorological Organisation (WMO) is a specialized agency of the United Nations established on March 23, 1950. There are 193 member countries of the WMO, including Sri Lanka. Its primary role is to promote the establishment of a worldwide meteorological observation system and to serve as the authoritative voice on the state and behaviour of the Earth’s atmosphere, its interaction with the oceans, and the resulting climate and water resources.

According to the 2018 Performance Audit Report compiled by the National Audit Office, the GoSL entered into a trust fund agreement with the WMO to install a Doppler Radar System. The report states that USD 2,884,274 was deposited into the WMO bank account in Geneva, from which the Department of Metrology received USD 95,108 and an additional USD 113,046 in deposit interest. There is no mention as to who actually provided the funds. Based on available information, WMO does not fund projects of this magnitude.

The WMO was responsible for procuring the radar equipment, which it awarded on 18th June 2009 to an American company for USD 1,681,017. According to the audit report, a copy of the purchase contract was not available.

Monitoring the agreement’s implementation was assigned to the Ministry of Disaster Management, a signatory to the trust fund agreement. The audit report details the members of the steering committee appointed by designation to oversee the project. It consisted of personnel from the Ministry of Disaster Management, the Departments of Metrology, National Budget, External Resources and the Disaster Management Centre.

The Audit Report highlights failures in the core responsibilities that can be summarized as follows:

· Procurement irregularities—including flawed tender processes and inadequate technical evaluations.

· Poor site selection

—proposed radar sites did not meet elevation or clearance requirements.

· Civil works delays

—towers were incomplete or structurally unsuitable.

· Equipment left unused

—in some cases for years, exposing sensitive components to deterioration.

· Lack of inter-agency coordination

—between the Meteorology Department, Disaster Management Centre, and line ministries.

Some of the mistakes highlighted are incomprehensible. There is a mention that no soil test was carried out before the commencement of the construction of the tower. This led to construction halting after poor soil conditions were identified, requiring a shift of 10 to 15 meters from the original site. This resulted in further delays and cost overruns.

The equipment supplier had identified that construction work undertaken by a local contractor was not of acceptable quality for housing sensitive electronic equipment. No action had been taken to rectify these deficiencies. The audit report states, “It was observed that the delay in constructing the tower and the lack of proper quality were one of the main reasons for the failure of the project”.

In October 2012, when the supplier commenced installation, the work was soon abandoned after the vehicle carrying the heavy crane required to lift the radar equipment crashed down the mountain. The next attempt was made in October 2013, one year later. Although the equipment was installed, the system could not be operationalised because electronic connectivity was not provided (as stated in the audit report).

In 2015, following a UNOPS (United Nations Office for Project Services) inspection, it was determined that the equipment needed to be returned to the supplier because some sensitive electronic devices had been damaged due to long-term disuse, and a further 1.5 years had elapsed by 2017, when the equipment was finally returned to the supplier. In March 2018, the estimated repair cost was USD 1,095,935, which was deemed excessive, and the project was abandoned.

COPA proceedings

The Committee on Public Accounts (COPA) discussed the radar project on August 10, 2023, and several press reports state that the GOSL incurred a loss of Rs. 78 million due to the project’s failure. This, I believe, is the cost of constructing the Tower. It is mentioned that Rs. 402 million had been spent on the radar system, of which Rs. 323 million was drawn from the trust fund established with WMO. It was also highlighted that approximately Rs. 8 million worth of equipment had been stolen and that the Police and the Bribery and Corruption Commission were investigating the matter.

JICA support and project stagnation

Despite the project’s failure with WMO, the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) entered into an agreement with GOSL on June 30, 2017 to install two Doppler Radar Systems in Puttalam and Pottuvil. JICA has pledged 2.5 billion Japanese yen (LKR 3.4 billion at the time) as a grant. It was envisaged that the project would be completed in 2021.

Once again, the perennial delays that afflict the GOSL and bureaucracy have resulted in the groundbreaking ceremony being held only in December 2024. The delay is attributed to the COVID-19 pandemic and Sri Lanka’s economic crisis.

The seven-year delay between the signing of the agreement and project commencement has led to significant cost increases, forcing JICA to limit the project to installing only one Doppler Radar system in Puttalam.

Impact of the missing radar during Ditwah

As I am not a meteorologist and do not wish to make a judgment on this, I have decided to include the statement issued by JICA after the groundbreaking ceremony on December 24, 2024.

In partnership with the Department of Meteorology (DoM), JICA is spearheading the establishment of the Doppler Weather Radar Network in the Puttalam district, which can realize accurate weather observation and weather prediction based on the collected data by the radar. This initiative is a significant step in strengthening Sri Lanka’s improving its climate resilience including not only reducing risks of floods, landslides, and drought but also agriculture and fishery“.

Based on online research, a Doppler Weather Radar system is designed to observe weather systems in real time. While the technical details are complex, the system essentially provides localized, uptotheminute information on rainfall patterns, storm movements, and approaching severe weather. Countries worldwide rely on such systems to issue timely alerts for monsoons, tropical depressions, and cyclones. It is reported that India has invested in 30 Doppler radar systems, which have helped minimize the loss of life.

Without radar, Sri Lanka must rely primarily on satellite imagery and foreign meteorological centres, which cannot capture the finescale, rapidly changing weather patterns that often cause localized disasters here.

The general consensus is that, while no single system can prevent natural disasters, an operational Doppler Radar almost certainly would have strengthened Sri Lanka’s preparedness and reduced the extent of damage and loss.

Conclusion

Sri Lanka’s inability to commission a Doppler Radar system, despite nearly two decades of attempts, represents one of the most significant governance failures in the country’s disastermanagement history.

Audit findings, parliamentary oversight proceedings, and donor records all confirm the same troubling truth: Sri Lanka has spent public money, signed international agreements, received foreign assistance, and still has no operational radar. This raises a critical question: should those responsible for this prolonged failure be held legally accountable?

Now may not be the time to determine the extent to which the current government and bureaucrats failed the people. I believe an independent commission comprising foreign experts in disaster management from India and Japan should be appointed, maybe in six months, to identify failures in managing Cyclone Ditwah.

However, those who governed the country from 2007 to 2024 should be held accountable for their failures, and legal action should be pursued against the politicians and bureaucrats responsible for disaster management for their failure to implement the 2007 project with the WMO successfully.

Sri Lanka cannot afford another 18 years of delay. The time for action, transparency, and responsibility has arrived.

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of any organization or institution with which the author is affiliated).

By Sanjeewa Jayaweera

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Ramifications of Trump Corollary

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President Donald Trump speaks during a Cabinet meeting as Secretary of State Marco Rubio and Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth look on, at the White House, in Washington, Dec. 2, 2025

President Trump is expected to close the deal on the Ukraine crisis, as he may wish to concentrate his full strength on two issues: ongoing operations in Venezuela and the bolstering of Japan’s military capabilities as tensions between China and Japan over Taiwan rise. Trump can easily concede Ukraine to Putin and refocus on the Asia–Pacific and Latin America. This week, he once again spilled the beans in an interview with Politico, one of the most significant conversations ever conducted with him. When asked which country currently holds the stronger negotiating position, Trump bluntly asserted that there could be no question: it is Russia. “It’s a much bigger country. It’s a war that should’ve never happened,” he said, followed by his usual rhetoric.

Meanwhile, US allies that fail to adequately fund defence and shirk contributions to collective security will face repercussions, Secretary of War Pete Hegseth declared at the 2025 Reagan National Defense Forum in Simi Valley, California. Hegseth singled out nations such as South Korea, Israel, Poland, and Germany as “model allies” for increasing their commitments, contrasting them with those perceived as “free riders”. The message was unmistakably Trumpian: partnerships are conditional, favourable only to countries that “help themselves” before asking anything of Washington.

It is in this context that it becomes essential to examine the Trump administration’s National Security Strategy, issued last week, in order to consider how it differs from previous strategies and where it may intersect with current US military practice.

Trump’s 2025 National Security Strategy is not merely another iteration of the familiar doctrine of American primacy; it is a radical reorientation of how the United States understands itself, its sphere of influence, and its role in the world. The document begins uncompromisingly: “The purpose of foreign policy is the protection of core national interests; that is the sole focus of this strategy.” It is the bluntest opening in any American NSS since the document became a formal requirement in 1987. Whereas previous strategies—from Obama to Biden—wrapped security in the language of democracy promotion and multilateralism, Trump’s dispenses entirely with the pretence of universality. What matters are American interests, defined narrowly, almost corporately, as though the United States were a shareholder entity rather than a global hegemon.

It is here that the ghost of Senator William Fulbright quietly enters, warning in 1966 that “The arrogance of power… the belief that we are uniquely qualified to bring order to the world, is a dangerous illusion.” Fulbright’s admonition was directed at the hubris of Vietnam-era expansionism, yet it resonates with uncanny force in relation to Trump’s revived hemispheric ambitions. For despite Trump’s anti-globalist posture, his strategy asserts a unique American role in determining events across two oceans and within an entire hemisphere. The arrogance may simply be wearing a new mask.

Nowhere is this revisionist spirit more vivid than in the so-called “Trump Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine”, perhaps the most controversial American hemispheric declaration since Theodore Roosevelt’s time. The 2025 NSS states without hesitation that “The United States will reassert and enforce the Monroe Doctrine to restore American preeminence in the Western Hemisphere.” Yet unlike Roosevelt, who justified intervention as a form of pre-emptive stabilisation, Trump wraps his corollary in the language of sovereignty and anti-globalism. The hemispheric message is not simply that outside powers must stay out; it is that the United States will decide what constitutes legitimate governance in the region and deny “non-Hemispheric competitors the ability to position forces or other threatening capabilities… in our Hemisphere”.

This wording alone has far-reaching implications for Venezuela, where US forces recently seized a sanctioned supertanker as part of an escalating confrontation with the Maduro government. Maduro, emboldened by support from Russia, Iran, and China’s so-called shadow fleet, frames Trump’s enforcement actions as piracy. But for Trump, this is precisely the point: a demonstration of restored hemispheric authority. In that sense, the 2025 NSS may be the first strategic document in decades to explicitly set the stage for sustained coercive operations in Latin America. The NSS promises “a readjustment of our global military presence to address urgent threats in our Hemisphere.” “Urgent threats” is vague, but in practical military planning, vagueness functions as a permission slip. It is not difficult to see how a state accused of “narco-terrorism” or “crimes against humanity” could be fitted into the category.

The return to hemispheric dominance is paired with a targeted shift in alliance politics. Trump makes it clear that the United States is finished subsidising alliances that do not directly strengthen American security. The NSS lays out the philosophy succinctly: “The days of the United States propping up the entire world order like Atlas are over.” This is a direct repudiation of the language found in Obama’s 2015 NSS, which emphasised that American leadership was indispensable to global stability. Trump rejects that premise outright. Leadership, in his framing, is merely leverage. Allies who fail to meet burden expectations will lose access, influence, and potentially even protection. Nowhere is this more evident than in the push for extraordinary defence spending among NATO allies: “President Trump has set a new global standard with the Hague Commitment… pledging NATO countries to spend 5 percent of GDP on defence.”

In turn, US disengagement from Europe becomes easier to justify. While Trump speaks of “negotiating an expeditious cessation of hostilities in Ukraine”, it requires little sophistication to decode this as a form of managed abandonment—an informal concession that Russia’s negotiating position is stronger, as Trump told Politico. Ukraine may well become a bargaining chip in the trade-off between strategic theatres: Europe shrinks, Asia and Latin America expand. The NSS’s emphasis on Japan, Taiwan, and China is markedly sharper than in 2017.

China looms over the 2025 NSS like an obsession, mentioned over twenty times, not merely as a competitor but as a driving force shaping American policy. Every discussion of technology, alliances, or regional security is filtered through Beijing’s shadow, as if US strategy exists solely to counter China. The strategy’s relentless focus risks turning global priorities into a theatre of paranoia, where the United States reacts constantly, defined less by its own interests than by fear of what China might do next.

It is equally striking that, just nine days after Cyclone Ditwah, the US Indo-Pacific Command deployed two C130 aircraft—capable of landing at only three locations in Sri Lanka, well away from the hardest-hit areas—and orchestrated a highly choreographed media performance, enlisting local outlets and social media influencers seemingly more concerned with flaunting American boots on the ground than delivering “urgent” humanitarian aid. History shows this is not unprecedented: US forces have repeatedly arrived under the banner of humanitarian assistance—Operation Restore Hope in Somalia (1992) later escalated into full security and combat operations; interventions in Haiti during the 1990s extended into long-term peacekeeping and training missions; and Operation United Assistance in Liberia (2014) built a lasting US operational presence beyond the Ebola response.

Trump’s NSS, meanwhile, states that deterring conflict in East Asia is a “priority”, and that the United States seeks to ensure that “US technology and US standards—particularly in AI, biotech, and quantum computing—drive the world forward.” Combined with heightened expectations of Japan, which is rapidly rearming, Trump’s strategic map shows a clear preference: if Europe cannot or will not defend itself, Asia might.

What makes the 2025 NSS uniquely combustible, however, is the combination of ideological framing and operational signalling. Trump explicitly links non-interventionism, long a theme of his political base, to the Founders’ moral worldview. He writes that “Rigid adherence to non-interventionism is not possible… yet this predisposition should set a high bar for what constitutes a justified intervention.”

The Trump NSS is both a blueprint and a warning. It signals a United States abandoning the liberal internationalist project and embracing a transactional, hemispherically focussed, sovereignty-first model. It rewrites the Monroe Doctrine for an age of great-power contest, but in doing so resurrects the very logics of intervention that past presidents have regretted. And in the background, as Trump weighs the cost of Ukraine against the allure of a decisive posture in Asia and the Western Hemisphere, the world is left to wonder whether this new corollary is merely rhetorical theatre or the prelude to a new era of American coercive power. The ambiguity is deliberate, but the direction of travel is unmistakable.

[Correction: In my column last week, I incorrectly stated that India–Russia trade in FY 2024 25 was USD 18 billion; the correct figure is USD 68.7 billion, with a trade deficit of about USD 59 billion. Similarly, India recorded a goods trade surplus of around USD 41.18 billion with the US, not a deficit of USD 42 billion, with exports of USD 86.51 billion and imports of USD 45.33 billion. Total remittances to India in FY 2024 25 were roughly USD 135.46 billion, including USD 25–30 billion from the US. Apologies for the error.]

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa

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MEEZAN HADJIAR

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selfmade businessman who became one of the richest men in the Central Province

I am happy that a book about the life and contribution of Sathkorale Muhamdiramlagedara Segu Abdul Cader Hajiar Mohamed Mohideen better known as Meezan Hadjiar or Meezan Mudalali of Matale [1911—1964] written by Mohammed Fuaji -a former Principal of Zahira College Matale, has now been published by a group of his admirers and relatives. It is a timely addition to the history of Matale district and the Kandyan region which is yet to be described fully as forming a part of the modern history of our country. Coincidentally this book also marks the centenary of Meezan Hadjiars beginning of employment in Matale town which began in 1925.

Matale which was an outlier in the Kandyan Kingdom came into prominence with the growth of plantations for coffee and, after the collapse of the coffee plantations due to the ‘coffee blight’ , for other tree crops . Coffee was followed by the introduction of tea by the early British investors who faced bankruptcy and ruin if they could not quickly find a substitute beverage for coffee.They turned to tea.

The rapid opening of tea plantations in the hill country demanded a large and hardworking labour force which could not be found domestically. This led to the indenturing of Tamil labour from South India on a large scale. These helpless workers were virtually kidnapped from their native villages in India through the Kangani system and they were compelled to migrate to our hill country by the British administration .

Meezan Hadjiar

The route of these indentured workers to the higher elevations of the hill country lay through Matale and the new plantation industry developed in that region thereby dragging it into a new commercial culture and a cash economy. New opportunities were opened up for internal migration particularly for the more adventurous members of the Muslim community who had played a significant role in the Kandyan kingdom particularly as traders,transporters,medical specialists and military advisors.

Diaries of British officials like John D’oyly also show that the Kandyan Muslims were interlocutors between the Kandyan King and British officials of the Low Country as they had to move about across boundaries as traders of scarce commodities like salt, medicines and consumer articles for the Kandyans and arecanuts, gems and spices for the British. Even today there are physical traces of the ‘’Battal’’or caravans of oxen which were used by the Muslims to transport the above mentioned commodities to and from the Kandyan villages to the Low country. Another important facet was that Kandyan Muslims were located in villages close to the entrances to the hill country attesting to their mobility unlike the Kandyan villagers.

Thus Akurana, Galagedera, Kadugannawa, Hataraliyadde and Mawanella which lay in the pathways to enter the inner territory of the Kings domain were populated by ‘Kandyan Muslims’ who had the ear of the King and his high officials. The’’ Ge’’ names and the honorifics given by the King were a testament to their integration with the Sinhala polity. Meezan Hadjiars’’ Ge ‘‘name of Sathkorale Mohandiramlage denotes the mobility of the family from Sathkorale, an outlier division in the Kandyan Kingdom, and Mohandiramlage attests to the higher status in the social hierarchy which probably indicated that his forebears were honoured servants of the king.

Meezan Hadjiar [SM Mohideen] was born and bred in Kurugoda which is a small village in Akurana in Kandy district. He belonged to the family of Abdul Cader who was a patriarch and a well known religious scholar. Cader’s children began their education in the village school but at the age of 12 young Mohideen left his native village to apprentice under a relative who had a business establishment in the heart of Matale town which was growing fast due to the economic boom. It must be stated here that this form of ‘learning the ropes’ as an apprentice’was a common path to business undertaken by many of the later Sri Lankan tycoons of the pre-independence era.

But he did not remain in that position for long .When his mentor failed in his business of trading in cocoa, cardamoms, cloves and arecanuts and wanted to close up his shop young Mohideen took over and eventually made a great success of it. His enterprise succeeded because he was able to earn the trust of both his buyers and sellers. He befriended Sinhalese and Tamil producers and the business he improved beyond measure took on the name of Meezan Estates Ltd [The scales] and Mohideen soon became famous as Meezan Mudalali – perhaps the most successful businessman of his time in Matale. He expanded his business interests to urban real estate as well as tea and rubber estates. Soon he owned over 3,000 acres of tea estates making him one of the richest men in the Central Province.

With his growing influence Meezan spent generously on charitable activities including funding a water scheme for his native village of Kurugoda also serving adjoining villages like Pangollamada located in Akurana. He also gave generously to Buddhist causes in Matale together with other emerging low country businessmen like Gunasena and John Mudalali.

Matale was well known as a town in which all communities lived in harmony and tended to help each other. As a generous public figure he became strong supporter of the UNP and a personal friend of its leaders like Dudley Senanayake and Sir John Kotelawela. UNP candidates for public office-both in the Municipality and Parliament were selected in consultation with Meezan who also bankrolled them during election time. He himself became a Municipal councillor. The Aluvihares of several generations had close links with him. it was Meezan who mentored ACS Hameed – a fellow villager from Kurugoda – and took him to the highest echelons of Sri Lankan politics as Minister of Foreign Affairs. He was a supporter and financier of the UNP through thick and thin.

Though his premature death at the age 53 in 1965 saved him from the worst political witch hunts under SWRD Bandaranaike who was his personal friend it was after 1970 and the Coalition regime that Meezan’s large family were deprived of their livelihood by the taking over of all their estates. Fortunately many of his children were well educated and could hold on till relief was given by President Premadasa despite the objections of their father’s erstwhile protégé ACS Hameed who surprisingly let them down badly.

It is only fitting that we, even a hundred years later, now commemorate a great self made Sri Lankan business magnate and generous contributor to all religious and social causes of his time. His name became synonymous with enterprise in Matale – a district in which I was privileged to serve as Government Agent in the late sixties.He was a model entrepreneur and his large family have also made outstanding contributions to this country which also attest to the late Meezan Hadjiars foresight and vision of a united and prosperous Srilanka.

by SARATH AMUNUGAMA.

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