Features
Dinner with daddy: The Motwani dinner table with Kewal, Clara and two daughters
Excerpted from Chosen Ground: The Clara Motwani Saga by Goolbai Gunasekera
One thing I can say about life with my parents is that it was never dull. One parent was a school Principal and the other a Professor, and their united efforts ensured that every shining moment of the day was gainfully employed by their two daughters in learning something. This fact alone made for activity, if not for thrills or excitement.Father had a thing about dinner time conversation.
“Food digests better when we talk of soothing subjects,” he would decree, launching into a debate with Mother about the state of America’s foreign affairs. Mother, being American, and having lived out of the USA from the time of her marriage, was always up to date on what American Presidents were doing. America was the ultimate to her in just about everything, and it was a constant joy to her irreverent family to needle her on the subject whenever possible. She had a low tolerance for criticism of her motherland.
Su and I took sides indiscriminately, and a lively evening was had by all. I don’t know what all this argument did to our digestions, but obviously we flourished. Eventually my sister and I privately decided that the time had come to infuse dinner time chats with topics more to our liking. Accordingly, one night, Su led off.
“I saw a cute boy at the Barnes Place junction today,” she said brightly.
Our parents looked at her blankly. It hadn’t occurred to them that we’d ever noticed such unlikely beings as boys. We were aged thirteen and sixteen respectively, but such were the norms of the times in which we were raised.
Father slapped the table.
“Not of general interest,” he roared. “Now if Su had seen a comet passing overhead — that would be of general interest.”
“Honestly, Daddy,” I said, backing up my sibling, “our dinner conversations are so literary. Why can’t we relax?”
“I’m relaxed,” boomed Father. “Aren’t you relaxed?” he asked Mother across the table. “And what’s your problem in relaxing?”
This last was to me. Father had just read the latest Time on the Vietnam war, and was itching to get going on the subject.
“What would you two like to talk about?” Mother asked diplomatically.
Father looked frustrated, and began to fidget. Now, I’d reached the age of discretion, and hadn’t the slightest intention of revealing to my parents that Dearly Beloved (then Dearly to be Beloved) and I were having what my friends grandly termed an ‘affaire’, but which in reality was just a series of romantic phone calls usually made when everyone was out of the house. I simply smiled and let my sister carry on. She did.
“I want to know,” demanded Su, forthright to the point of lunacy, “if that cute boy I mentioned earlier can come and visit me at home. To chat about books and things,” she added hastily, seeing Father’s face begin to darken.
Mother and I watched apprehensively as his whole body seemed to swell with indignation. Mixing of the sexes was not yet allowed in the Sri Lanka of that time — and even less in sleepy Arazi, his home town, from where he had drawn his ideas on boy/girl relationships.
“Are you actually telling me you have spoken to this young ….” he paused, searching for suitable words, “this young despoiler of innocent girls, this depraved Romeo, this unethical whippersnapper, this……He was well launched.Su was not easily intimidated.
“What are you carrying on like that for?” she asked in honest bewilderment. “All my friends talk to boys at the Barnes Place corner. They cycle with us to school and then they go on to Royal … and stop kicking me, ” she added impatiently, to me.
It will be remembered that, unlike me, Su was a Bridgeteen. Following Mother’s educational theories that sisters should not attend the same school, we had been separated — though, frankly, I feel Mother might have been more concerned for the well-being of the schools rather than for the welfare of her two daughters. The vision of Su and her friends cycling up to the gates of St Bridget’s Convent in convoy, with the young stars of Royal College in attendance, quite shattered my parents.
“It’s boarding school for you, Miss,” Father roared at an indignant Su. “And don’t think I don’t mean it.”
At this point he recalled last month’s telephone bill and gave me a suspicious glare, to which I returned a perfectly bland look.
Following this incident, our parents paid Reverend Mother Superior of St. Bridget’s a visit, and if Father had had his way, one of the nuns would have been permanently stationed at an upstairs window with a telescope trained on all roads leading to the school, to ensure the future and continuing purity of the Convent’s teenage cyclists. Hearing of this exchange betwixt authority and her parents, Su groaned.
“Good grief,” she lamented. “The nuns are sleuths and bloodhounds at the best of times. They’ve got eyes at the back of their heads.”
Actually things did not turn out half as badly as she feared. One of the nuns was an American, like Mother, and she did not view the whole episode with undue alarm. She wigged Su in school.
“Enjoyed your ride to school today, my dear?” she would ask Su, when she passed in the corridor. Su would smile weakly.
“Honestly,” she fumed to me, “to think a damn dinner conversation would lead to all this. Father can carry on about world affairs all he likes. I’m not going to say one word at meal times to anyone about anything.”
Father ignored her sulks, and Su kept her vow of silence for a week. Our sire carried on his soliloquy on topics of his choosing, but the salt of his conversational meal was lacking. Without the thrust and parry of my sister’s witty questions and cheeky opinions, he found dinner time pretty damn dull. Finally, he addressed himself gruffly to his younger offspring:
“Come now, Miss Grumpy, I’ve forgiven you.”
Truth to tell, Su, who loved talking, was finding her self-imposed silence unexpectedly hard to cope with. Matters returned to normal, but Su being Su, this happy state did not long continue.
One month to the day after the previous disaster she upset the dinner equilibrium all over again.
“I want to know,” she demanded of Father, “when I can learn to ballroom dance properly.”
Mother and I froze in our seats, and watched Father turn that familiar shade of puce. He opened and shut his mouth several times.
“At thirteen?” he said in a strangled voice. It was more a statement than a question.
“At thirteen?” he bellowed again, finding his usual tonal timbre, and she wants to dance with other equally silly 13-year-olds, I suppose?”
I sat looking demure, my halo shining brightly in contrast with what I thought was Su’s less than scintillating performance. But life is so unfair. A fortnight later, my cheeky younger sister joined Frank Harrison’s School of Dancing, and went on to win the odd medal here and there too. I was speechlessly envious.
“The thing is,” she told me, “the thing is to ask Father for the impossible. Then he settles for what you really want.”
Considering Father’s views on friendship between teens of opposite sexes, he was surprisingly non-vocal when it came to marriage. Both he and Mother realized the impracticability of arranging marriages for us in India.But one story needs be told.
One day Father received an agitated letter from a wealthy Sindhi merchant who had been his playmate in the village of Arazi. The merchant’s only son (the apple of his eye) was now practicing medicine in the USA, and was refusing to marry a Sindhi girl, claiming that he was too ‘westernized’ to settle down in India with an Indian wife. He wanted to marry an American colleague – also a doctor.
“Just think, Kewal, only my foolish son would think that an American would like India,” lamented the merchant, quite forgetting that Kewal’s own wife felt quite at home in Asia.
It transpired that the wayward son would consider marrying an Indian girl if she were educated and ‘westernized’. His distraught father suddenly remembered that his boyhood friend had an American wife and also two half-American daughters. He assumed that at least one daughter must be of marriageable age, hence the letter to Father asking permission for his son to meet one of them.
Father summoned me. His success with Mother over his attempts at arranging marriages for us had so far been minimal. She had washed her hands of the whole affair, thinking Father must really be out of his mind to be doing something so uncharacteristic. Father just could not get away from Arazi influences at times. In any case, she had a pretty shrewd idea how I would react.
Clearing his throat and looking at a point over my head, Father said gruffly:
“Er, would you like to meet a nice young man when you go to University in Bombay?”
I could hardly believe my ears.
“What?”
“A doctor is looking for a wife.”
Truly, Father’s personal persuasive skills were nil. “So?”
“Well … er … would you like to meet him?”
The chance of paying Father back was too good to miss. “Daddy! Are you arranging for me to speak to a BOY?”
“Well, he is a mature and well-qualified individual. Not the sort I see hanging around near post-boxes, that your sister seems to find so exciting.”
“Daddy, are you SURE? He might have only one thing on his mind.”
(One of Father’s pet phrases at this time was: “Young men have only one thing on their minds, and that one thing is not repeatable.”)
Father knew he had to accept the wigging. He accepted our pretended shock with good grace, and told me it was entirely up to me.
In point of fact I did meet the young man in question. He took me out to dinner when I was at university in Bombay, but both of us had other romances going and marriage between us was not an option. However he has always been a convenient peg on which to hang a winning argument with my husband. During any disagreement I can always say:
“And to think I gave up a doctor for you!”
Father wrote to his friend. According to Mother, he gave his usual excuse.
“Who am I, a mere father, to know what goes on in the heads of women. Let your son marry his American. He will probably be very happy. After all – I am.”
Riot over the diet
Father’s long lecture tours distanced him from his growing family for much of the time. He was thus spared the sight and company of squealing babies, which in his eyes was all to the good. Father never learnt to carry an infant. “Squirming little creatures,” was his comment on all new borns.
Not given to panegyrics, he viewed his two daughters with a judicial eye. He seemed to regard any successes of ours as accidental and unexpected. Fortunately, Mother was the opposite. My sister Su and I grew up in an alien land, but not once did we feel anything but totally Sri Lankan. For this we had our parents to thank, for we were brought up as Sri Lankans first, and Asian/Americans as an afterthought.
Our school friends had parents who had fallen into the traditional roles of courtship and marriage. Our own parents, on the other hand, had fallen into a quite unique category. We never tired of hearing the tale. “So tell us, Daddy,” Su would say, “Tell us the story of how you proposed?”
Father loved the narrative. “What do you mean, ‘propose’?” he would ask. “Your Mother saw this superbly romantic-looking Indian and I hadn’t a chance in hell. I was at the altar before I knew it.”
Mother would sigh resignedly. She knew, and we both knew too, that the reality had been very different.
Father was 28 and Mother just 18 when they got engaged. At 19 Mother was married, and half way through her degree in Languages and Music at the University of Iowa. Just after their marriage, Father transferred from Yale in order to be near her. When the financial debacle of the Wall Street crash wiped out Father’s American bank account, it meant that our parents could not afford to live together on campus since married quarters were expensive.
Accordingly they simply pretended they were single. When Mother was awarded her degree, Father insisted that she do a Master’s in Education. “The British will go,” he predicted, “and India’s schools and colleges will need qualified Principals.”
Mother thereupon enrolled in Professor Ensign’s class and began her thesis. Professor Ensign was an avuncular type of person, and had given Father quite a lot of added correction work by way of helping him earn extra income. One morning, he called Father aside. “Kewal,” he began, “I have a young girl from Kentucky in my class who is interested in the East. I think you should meet her and tell her about India.”
Father agreed, of course, and found himself being introduced to Mother. They shook hands gravely, trying not to meet each other’s eyes. To the end of his days, Professor Ensign thought he had played Cupid. Father never enlightened him, and the story of his matchmaking success enlivened the good Professor’s dinner table for many moons after that.
Mother took me to see Professor Ensign when I was four years old, as she was back in America on furlough. He patted my head, and gave me a photograph of himself with Mother on one side of him and Father on the other. It was a picture I treasured for many years but alas, cannot trace at this moment.
“You wouldn’t be here if not for me,” he is supposed to have said to me. Mother smiled her gentle smile. “Very true,” she said, telling one of the few untruths she ever uttered.
One wonders how a bond was forged between a youngAmerican girl and an already mature Indian Doctor of Sociology. What similarities existed that resulted in this unusual yet successful partnership? Su and I would endlessly discuss the matter. Both of us expected to marry in Sri Lanka or India (which we did), and both of us wondered what it would be like if we fell in love with an American.
“You won’t have the chance,” Father told us grimly once, when Su had been foolish enough to voice her views on matrimony. “Perish the thought. You’ll marry here, and like it.”
So what was the glue that held the bond between our parents firm? Firstly, both were Theosophists. My American grandmother was so much into Theosophy that she even influenced Mother to become a vegetarian at 17. Father had been a vegetarian from birth and through Jamshed was an ardent Theosophist himself, so it does seem as though similar food habits and similar religious beliefs formed that first strong link between them. Secondly, they were both highly educated. A third factor was the difference in age between them: Father did not find it difficult to mould his young wife into his ways of thinking.
He found Su and me, his two daughters, far more of a challenge than he liked. “Where has your Mother’s gentleness gone?” he would demand, glaring at Su’s rebellious face. On principle Su objected to everything. “I’m going to eat meat the minute I marry,” she would declare. Father would blench.
“And I’ll drink, too,” she would add. He would go even paler.
“We’ve begotten a changeling,” Father would tell Mother, who would smile and tell him to bear in mind that adolescence was generally a trying time. “If those two young ingrates want to make graveyards of their stomachs, who am I, a mere Father, to stop them?” he would say plaintively, hoping Su would overhear him. “And if liquor addles their brains, it doesn’t matter. They are addled already. Curdled would be a better description,” he would add.
Father’s aversion to meat and liquor certainly led us into some strange situations. Travelling together in America had Su and me cringing in our seats at restaurants. “The steak is excellent, sir,” the waiter would say, handing Father the menu. Father felt called upon to inform the entire restaurant, of his dietary preferences.
“Not a piece of meat has ever passed my lips,” he would declare in ringing tones. “And I don’t intend to start now.”
“Perhaps a nice Dover sole, then?” the waiter would say soothingly. Father’s voice would rise several notes. “And what, pray, is the difference?” he would ask the unfortunate waiter. “They are both flesh of living creatures, are they not? Nasty bloody business, all this meat guzzling.”
Diners at other tables began to lose their appetites. Father was in full spate. “Just order, dear,” Mother would say tactfully and, truth to tell, the manager of the restaurant was by now ready to give us all a free meal just to get Father out of there. Everyone settled for omelettes and salad. Fortunately no one had yet heard of the cholesterol scare, and we must have eaten enough eggs to start a poultry farm upon our return home. Father did not think eggs violated any Brahmin laws of ethics or dietetics.
His attitude to liquor was even worse. He had dinner one night with Mr. and Mrs. Argus Tressider, American diplomats in Colombo in the 1950s. A week later, Nancy Tressider met Father again and he complimented her on her dessert.
“Oh, you liked my brandy souffle, did you?” she asked innocently, not realizing that she was virtually hitting Father in the solar plexus. He went pale, and his stomach churned. He collected Mother, and hightailed it out of there so fast she had hardly any time to make her excuses to her hostess. He went home and was sick for twenty-four hours.
“I’m poisoned, poisoned,” he groaned hollowly every few minutes. “My entire system has been polluted.” He went on a water diet of detoxification. He was a psychological mess. Nancy rang up the next day to find out how Father was getting along after his hasty exit the previous night. Mother told her the truth. “But Clara, my dear,” Nancy said, “I only used brandy flavouring for the pudding.”
Father faced our gales of glee with fortitude. He admitted shamefacedly that it was a case of mind over matter, but when the day eventually came that Su married an officer of the Indian Army and did take the occasional glass of wine, Father was genuinely upset. “Your pure bodies,” he would lament. “What a great, great pity.” I never had the courage to admit that I did likewise. “Poppycock,” Su would mutter.
But now that I am a grandmother myself, and face dietary and health problems as do we all, I wonder: did Father have a point?
Features
Role of identity in the making and breaking of West Asian peace
The West Asian peace effort continues waveringly amid uncertainties. The world could be considered as having ‘some breathing space’ currently in this tangled situation on account of a dip in oil prices but whether such relief would be of a long term nature is left to be seen.
Meanwhile, some vital ‘details’ in the peace process are continuing to hobble it. One such factor is the nuclear issue. While US President Donald Trump is on record that Iran’s purported nuclear programme from now on will be monitored by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), this assertion is being denied by the Iranian authorities who indicate that Iran will be coming under no such regime. That is, Iran will be answerable to no one with regard to its legitimate right to defend itself.
Accordingly, an early closure to the nuclear question could not be expected and the furthering of peace in the region hinges on the principal sides being of one mind on the issue. Moreover, toll-free shipping through the Strait of Hormuz is proving to be a bone of contention between the warring sides.
However, perhaps going largely unnoticed in the Middle East region are identity questions of considerable magnitude that have stood in the way of the region making some headway towards a peace settlement and which would continue to undermine such a process going forward. Identity, or a group’s self conception, is by far the most intractable of the factors in the conflict and the main sides would do well to manage it effectively before long.
US Vice President J.D. Vance, as pointed out in this column last week, fired one of the first salvos in this regard in the current peace effort. He reportedly said: ‘Regional peace and stability includes stopping the funding of “terrorist organizations” .’ He probably had in mind the Hezbollah organization which is funded and armed by Iran but, needless to say, the latter would reject this statement out of hand because it does not see the Hezbollah as terroristic in orientation.
Accordingly, the tangled issue of ‘who is a terrorist?’ would recur to hamper the West Asian peace bid. An important corollary to this matter is that Middle Eastern militants would be branding US administrations as terroristic considering the humanly costly military interventions undertaken by the latter over the decades in the world’s war zones.
It is difficult to see the main sides taking up the issue of terror and arriving at a common understanding on the problem over the next couple of months in their peace deliberations but the unresolved question could be expected to be the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’ that could even wear the sides down. Accordingly, ‘quick fixes’ to the Middle East imbroglio would need to be ruled out.
However, paring down terror to its essentials, it needs to be found that in contemporary times it is identity and issues growing out of it that keep the question alive and render it intractable. In fact the problem should be seen as igniting and sustaining a multiplicity of conflicts world wide.
So pervasive are identity questions that they are seen by some as having played a role in leading to the recent resignation of Keir Starmer as UK Prime Minister. Among other things, the latter is seen as having been incapable of managing migration related issues besides falling short in strengthening domestic social cohesion.
Identity issues came to a head in the UK in the form of the recent anti-immigrant riots in Northern Ireland. Clearly, some immigrants continue to be seen as aliens and parasitic in nature in some parts of the UK by jingoistic elements. Thus is ignited anti-foreigner violence.
That said, some of the most laudable measures for the promotion of peaceful race relations are found in the UK today. The latter’s race relations legislation could be seen as constituting a model for the rest of the world and needs to be studied and adopted by particularly the global South where identity conflicts are rampant.
Unfortunately, racial amity is not being considered a priority by the Trump administration. Under the latter immigrants are being seen by supremacist whites as the archetypal ‘Other’ who should be violently shunned. Accordingly, social cohesion in the US too is being steadily undermined and stepped-up race hate in the country shouldn’t come as a surprise.
In the West Asian region, archetypal ‘Othering’ could prove particularly pernicious and destructive. It could lead to the unraveling of the current peace talks between the adversaries and needs to be addressed by them if the negotiations are to prove productive.
For far too long the West and Israel have been viewed as archetypal enemies by Iran and its supporters. On the other hand, Palestinian militants have been habitually seen by the Far Right in the US and by hard line Israelis as sworn enemies who are best eliminated. These seemingly unresolvable divides in the Middle East could bring down the present negotiatory process.
Even if the present round of mediated negotiations between the US and Iran lead to a substantive cessation of hostilities in West Asia, the divisive mindsets of the prime antagonists, that is, the US and its ally Israel on the one side and Iran and its supportive militant groups on the other, would need to be changed for the better if enduring peace is to be given a chance. That is, mindsets would need to be transformed on both sides of the divide from mutual hostility to mutual amicability. No doubt, a long-gestation process.
It cannot be stressed enough that those mediating in this long-running conflict, themselves need to approach peace-making with unbiased minds. It needs to be realized, for example, that Israel too has been ‘hurting’ badly in this conflict over the decades to the degree to which the Palestinian side has been victimized cruelly, dispossessed and divested of dignity.
Any negotiated peaceful settlement should seek to address this persistent mindset malaise as well and turn enmity into amicability. An equitable solution that addresses the lingering grievances of both sides could lay the basis for this process of ‘Turning Spears into Ploughshares.’
‘Land and Bread’ have been at the heart of the Middle East conflict over the decades or even centuries. An equitable solution should provide these assets in equal measure for both sides. There is no getting away from the ‘Two State Solution’.
Features
Central bankers live on Short End Street; Economic planners live on Long End Street
Long End Street is not a summation of Short End Streets. Eighteen short-term crises and no long-term growth in sight!
For quite some time, there has been no agency of government dealing with long-term economic and social policy questions. Nor have universities been of any help. There has been a National Planning Department in the Ministry of Finance but we have not seen any worthwhile reports from them. M. D. H. Jayawardena, in 1956, presented in Parliament the Six-Year Programme of Investment. Soloman Bandaranaike established a National Planning Council and a Planning Department, with Princy Siriwardena as its Director. They wrote the Ten-Year Plan, better known for its readability than its depth of analysis or policy content. Ten years or so later Dudley Senanayake established a Ministry of Planning and Employment with Gamani Corea (later of high international repute) as its Permanent Secretary. The Ministry was responsible for some useful analytical work and the development of a bureaucracy responsible for plan implementation. The latter was the work of a brilliant member of the Ceylon Civil Service, Godfrey Gunatilleke, who also worked in the Ministry. The major pre-occupation of the Ministry turned out to be the annual government budget and the management of direly scarce foreign exchange, all short term considerations. They set up a bureaucratic mechanism to evaluate capital expenditure in the government budget. The Ministry won plaudits for its Foreign Exchange Budget, some analytical wok on the economy, including population projections as well as education, in both schools and universities. As the 1970s wore on, planning earned a bad press and the new government of 1971 disbanded most of that and created a Department of National Planning in the Ministry of Finance, which survives to date.
A part of the purpose of this narrative has been to bring out that, all along, government has had no outfit of economists and sociologists whose job was to study long term changes in our society and the economy and in the rest of the world and propose solutions for consideration by governments. (A brilliant exception was the work on education, that was directed by Jinapala Alles, who had graduated in chemistry and was a fast learner and was at great ease with numbers. He was also an effortless leader of a small team of self-selected competent and enthusiastic public servants.) The government depended on the Central Bank for advice on long term development of the economy. Princy Siriwardena was seconded for service in the Planning Secretariat; similarly, Gamani Corea was from the Bank. Later, he was replaced with H.A.de S. Gunasekera, likely the most brilliant economics teacher in the University of Ceylon. He taught monetary economics, essentially short term. (His favourite economist Keynes famously wrote, “In the long run we are all dead”.)
When the Ministry of Planning and Employment was established in 1965, government plundered the Central Bank to staff it: Gamani Corea, R. M. Seneviratne, N. Ramachandran, Nihal Kappagoda and G. Usvatte-aratchi. Later, W. M. Tillekeratne and A. S. Jayawardena both long term employees of the Central Bank, were appointed as the chief economist of government. Jayawardena still later became the Governor of the Bank. Several other employees of the Bank, including J. B. Kelegama, P. B. Karandawela, P. B. Jayasundera worked at high levels in successive governments and that practice continued when Mahinda Siriwardena became the Secretary to the Ministry of Finance when Anura Dissanayake became the Minister of Finance. It is mysterious that the government saw no need for specialist advisers who would identify long term economic and social problems and solutions therefor, look out for markets and technology and warn of impending pitfalls, in contrast to our mighty neighbour which had a Planning Commission that handled long term problems and a Central Bank which had learnt to handle masterly, monetary problems.
Pitambar Pant, Montek Singh Ahluwalia, Manmohan Singh, I. G. Patel and Raghu Ram Rajan were most distinguished economics policymakers and central bankers. Japan benefited greatly from the work of MITI. So did Korea from its counterpart. This is not to argue that had there been an outfit of that sort, Sri Lanka would now be rich but to warn that the Central Bank is neither equipped nor fit to fight those battles. If you scan the Central Bank Act of 2023, you will find stabilisation the most frequently recurring theme. Clause 6 reads ‘The primary object (objective?) of the Central Bank shall be to achieve and maintain domestic price stability.’ The most generous reading that the Bank may have anything to do with economic development is in Clause 6 (4) ‘In pursuing the primary object (objective?), the Central Bank shall take into account, inter alia, the stabilisation of output towards its potential level.’ Lawyers may have a field day with that and economists may beg for its meaning.
Amarananda Jayawardena was the last Governor of the Central Bank who had understood that the central bank was equipped to handle short term problems and that not always valiantly, and that it had neither the tools nor the resources to plan and engineer long term development. As Governor, he did not speak for the government on long term economic and social problems, although prior to assuming duties as Governor of the Bank, he had been the chief economist of the government. Jayawardena knew all too well the nature of the tools and the resources he had and how far he could confidently aim and shoot. It was simply silly to produce a Five-year Road Map (no matter how colourful the accompanying graphics), when a central bank mainly used transactions in the short-term financial assets market to move interest rates and the demand for money. The Bank of England, for most of the 20th century, used Commercial Paper with two ‘good names’ at its Discount Window. Short-term and long-term rates of interest, normally, behave in a predictable relationship, although occasionally, and in volatile times, that relationship may become inverted. (I am not well read on recent Fed and the Riks Bank market operations.)
The economists at the Central Bank are experts in monetary policy and are rarely knowledgeable about economic growth. An exception was S. B. D. de Silva and he found writing a half page note to the Centra Bank Bulletin (monthly) stultifying. He left the Bank quite young and continued studying economics until the very end of his life. As undergraduates they may have read on economic growth and development but as professionals in the central bank, it is unlikely that they kept working on problems in that area. They may also have learned, some time, that there has been no central bank credited with spearheading economic development in any country. Therefore, to pretend that they can advise the government on economic planning, is a hobby which they would be wise to desist from.
We did a splendid job of saving our new born children and their mothers as indicated in low infant mortality and maternal mortality rates. We scored an even more resounding victory in educating all our children. If we have any claim to any civilizing missions in the 20th century, these two stand out. Beside them, we have been mostly failures. The economy has advanced only laggardly. It has miserably failed to exploit excellent opportunities to sell in burgeoning markets, output employing a healthy and educated labour force. Japan, South Korea, China, Vietnam, south India, Ethiopia, Rwanda and several other countries, all (except Japan) late comers to the game compared to Sri Lanka, succeeded in doing just that. It is wrong to blame governments alone for poor economic growth, as many do. Most economic activity in this country is run by the private sector and leaders there have made poor use of opportunities.
When ministers of government and its employers collect bribes, private sector persons pay bribes. The markedly rapid economic growth in Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Keralam and poor growth in Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and many others in the north east are under the same central government dispensation, sharply pointing to differences in the quality of business leadership in the two groups. ‘Big business’ here run betting shops, supermarkets, hospitals, import and market household equipment, banks and insurance companies and, most ambitiously maintain construction companies. (In the widely watched IPL cricket matches 2026, Sri Lanka advertised regularly a Betting Centre!) Tourism in this country is the business of small-scale enterprises with low productivity. The ubiquitous kade with a stock-in-trade of less than one hundred thousand rupees, borrowed from a relative or a friend, is a sign of rampant unemployment and not of budding entrepreneurship. When you go to consult a doctor in a private hospital in Colombo and wait endless hours, count the number of men and women employees idling, supervised by a proportionately large number of idling supervisors. Where are the large-scale manufacturing and service companies, selling the world over, where economies of scale abound in the 21st century? So far as I recall, there has been no Initial Public Offering (IPO) of shares in the Colombo Stock Market during the last 7 years. Nor have multinational companies established here any large factories or offices.
Is the air we breathe deathly to enterprise?
by Usvatte-aratchi
Features
A Requiem for Keir Starmer rule
By the time Sir Keir Rodney Starmer resigned, polls showed that he had become the least popular Labour Prime Minister in living memory. His fall was all the more striking because his political beginnings had once suggested a very different trajectory. As a teenager in the Labour Party Young Socialists, and later as editor of the Marxist journal Socialist Alternatives, he had stood firmly on the radical left. As a human rights lawyer he opposed the illegal invasion of Iraq, earning a reputation for principle and moral clarity.
It was this early radicalism that his supporters later weaponised, presenting him as a unifying leftwing figure in the aftermath of the coup against the Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn. The right-wing of Labour, having spent years undermining Corbyn (including through a coordinated campaign that framed him, falsely, as anti-Semitic) found in Starmer a vessel through which they could reclaim the party while reassuring the membership that continuity with the Corbyn surge remained intact.
In his resignation speech, Starmer claimed to have inherited a politically, morally and financially bankrupt Labour Party. Yet the record shows that Corbyn had revived the party’s grassroots, drawing tens of thousands of new members back to a party embodying the tradition of Keir Hardie. The oligarchy closed ranks against this leftist heavyweight, using Starmer and the Labour right wing as their weapon. Starmer’s “Changed Labour” was not a renewal but a repudiation, embracing the very Thatcherite revisionism that had hollowed Labour out in the first place.
A Britain battered by decades of neoliberal restructuring formed the backdrop to Starmer’s rise. The cumulative effects of Maggie “milk-snatcher” Thatcher’s programme, deepened by Blair, Cameron, May, and Johnson, combined with the convulsions of Brexit to produce a profound economic, social, and political crisis. The Conservative Party imploded under the weight of its own contradictions. Starmer, offering managerial calm, an a Corbyn-lite manifesto, rode the wave of Tory collapse to a landslide victory.
But once in office, he revealed himself as a Blairite in sombre tones: a Thatcherite in Labour clothing. Within weeks he slashed winter fuel payments for pensioners, inaugurating a harsh antiworkingclass agenda. He embraced the Israeli government even as it carried out genocide in Gaza. The former human rights lawyer now used antiterror legislation to suppress dissent, particularly protests against the genocide. His immigration rhetoric, invoking an “island of strangers,” echoed the poisonous cadences of Enoch Powell.
Throughout his premiership he remained pofaced, showing little emotion even when forced into humiliating Uturns by public outrage. He displayed no visible sorrow at the mass killing of children in Gaza. Only at the prospect of losing office did he appear moved. He was, in the words of Saki, a man with “the soul of a meringue,” a mediocrity whose obedience to the oligarchic class and to Zionist backers embodied what Hannah Arendt called the banality of evil. His legacy – and that of the Tories who preceded him – is a nation distrustful of politicians of whatever hue, open to the pseudo-anti-elite, deception of the billionaire-backed racist far-right
His resignation leaves Britain at a crossroads – will it follow the fascistic path of Nigel Farage’s Reform Party, or will it go down the green-red road of Zach Polanski and Corbyn? Even replacing Starmer with the newly-elected Andy Burnham will only provide more-of-the-same Tory policies – Burnham went on record saying his first foreign visit as Prime Minister would be to Israel. These are the same policies that created a visceral hatred of Starmer and opened the gates for Reform’s surge.
When news of his resignation broke, a friend told this writer that the one who had engineered the exit of Jeremy Corbyn had been unable to complete two years in office. He added, ‘Rajakam kalath kalakam palade”-– even if you reign, your deeds will bear consequences.
And, so ends the Starmer era, not with the dignity of a statesman, but with the hollow thud of a project built on betrayal, opportunism, and the abandonment of the very principles he once claimed to uphold.
by Vinod Moonesinghe
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