Features
Downhill all the way
Review of Rajiva Wijesinha’s Representing Sri Lanka
S. Godage & Brothers, 2021, 189 pages, Rs. 750
By Uditha Devapriya
I met Rajiva Wijesinha for the first time, four years ago, at the Organisation of Professional Associations, in Colombo. At a seminar on English language learning and teaching there, he handed me a book he had published a few days earlier. Titled Endgames and Excursions, it was an account of his official travels, friendships, and associations. I remember promising to review it, reading it, and then laying it aside. It was an unforgivable omission, but one which I now feel was justified: I was simply not qualified for the task.
Since then, Dr Wijesinha has kept himself busy writing more books. This is his most recent. An account of his travels as a representative of the country, it makes for compelling reading. I am still not sure whether I am capable of reviewing another written work of his, but this is one I couldn’t resist reading through, poring over, and yes, writing on.
The book itself is different and unique. In his preface, Dr Wijesinha informs us that while he wrote much on his unofficial jaunts across the world, an account of his official travels, those undertaken between 2007 and 2014, was missing and thus needed. The result is a melange of anecdotes and analysis, a deconstruction of how we won the diplomatic war at Geneva and New York and how we lost it. For general readers as well as for students of international politics, diplomacy, even travel, it is at once instructive, enriching, and sobering.
Representing Sri Lanka begins somewhere in 2006, a year before the author was appointed as the head of the Sri Lankan Secretariat for Coordinating the Peace Process. Mindful of the allegations being thrown at us by Western powers, the Mahinda Rajapaksa administration had established the Secretariat with the express purpose of countering them. Among those machinations, one stood out in particular: a resolution sponsored by the British about which our then Ambassador in Geneva, Sarala Fernando, could do nothing. Dr Wijesinha compares this resolution to a “Sword of Damocles”, an insidious ploy through which Western interests could pressurise and punish us at any given moment.

By then Eelam War IV was in full swing. Staffed by political appointees, many of whom did little to merit their positions, the country’s Foreign Service desperately needed individuals who could respond to what Western governments and NGOs were saying about us. To that end, the British resolution needed to be countered and defeated.
It was with that objective in view that the Rajapaksa regime appointed two individuals who were to win the diplomatic war. Dr Wijesinha recounts how these individuals did their work well, and how they were ignominiously betrayed and let down later on.
The first of them was Dr Wijesinha himself. Commencing his jaunts in Geneva, he found himself reckoning with a wide group of NGO officials, envoys, and journalists, all of them hostile to the government. To counter them, he frequently brought up the point that the government was a democratically elected outfit fighting an armed insurrection.
In his book, he carefully distinguishes between the few who understood this and the many who did not. Yet whether arguing with those hostile to us or finding common ground with those sympathetic to us, he followed the same strategy: briefing everyone on the situation in the country. This was a strategy that Colombo would abandon later on.
However ridiculous they may have been, the allegations being thrown at us required swift responses. This Dr Wijesinha ensured, in person or through his staff. Often these allegations bordered on the absurd: at one point he recalls being asked by “the astonishingly silly young lady” Nicholas Sarkozy hired as a Deputy at the French Foreign Ministry “if we had stopped using child soldiers.” Complicating matters further, NGOs continued to be given a prominent place at international forums, undermining the democratic credentials of the State. When Dr Wijesinha managed to convince officials of granting the Sri Lankan government a bigger role at these forums, he had to incur much hostility from NGOs.
Dr Wijesinha is blunt and rather pugnacious in his descriptions of some of these NGOs; at one point he even alleges that one of their officials may have been involved in intelligence work against Sri Lanka. There are times when he lets go of all decorum and resorts to the more colourful adjectives in the dictionary: remembering the local head of one NGO outfit, for instance, he calls him a “rascal.” At other times, though, he reverts to a more diplomatic demeanour: after an altercation in Geneva with a personal friend and political foe, he visits her to rekindle their old friendship. These anecdotes blend into the larger narrative, bringing out a human interest angle to what could have been a typical diplomat’s memoir.
That it desists from turning into a conventional memoir is probably the best thing about the book. To that end Dr Wijesinha summons colourful descriptions of the places and regions he visits, from runaway hotels to historical monuments.
An intrepid traveller, he makes the best of where he is, meeting old friends and reviving old friendships. He strikes a balance between official and unofficial jaunts, keeping us transfixed to both. While these never even once transcend the bigger narrative, they provide a welcome distraction from the rigours of official duties, as much to the reader as to the author himself.
As the head of the Secretariat for Coordinating the Peace Process, Dr Wijesinha had to face considerable pressure from countries that had determined to halt the war being waged in Sri Lanka. Given the odds against us, it was nothing short of a miracle that we managed to rally up a broad resistance against the 2009 UNHRC Resolution, defeating some of the most powerful states in the world. Though he refrains from claiming credit for what happened, it is clear that Dr Wijesinha was exactly where the country needed him to be.
Yet as subsequent events would testify, the triumph was not sustained. The victory we achieved in 2009, where we managed to muster a majority against the UNHCR resolution in the aftermath of the war, deteriorated to a crippling defeat three years later, when the US sponsored and passed a resolution against us. While Dr Wijesinha strikes a deeply regretful note about the train of events that led from the one to the other, he views the whole affair as inevitable. The problem, he contends, had to do with our Foreign Service.
It was a disaster waiting to unravel. From what Dr Wijesinha recounts, we can point at five reasons for why it happened. Firstly, the J. R. Jayewardene administration had bequeathed a breed of diplomats “who thought the Cubans uncivilized and the Africans unreliable.” Dr Wijesinha expresses shock and disgust when recalling some of these officials: dining with Sri Lanka’s then representative in New York, for instance, he finds it difficult to keep back his astonishment when told, sotto voce, that the Cubans are unreliable. These diplomats made it impossible to keep to a consistent foreign policy, or for that matter any policy.

Secondly, this reinforced a reluctance to respond to Western allegations about the war, a dismal no-care attitude to which Dr Wijesinha’s proactive approach became the solitary exception. Thirdly, these trends dovetailed with what he calls a “machang culture”, whereby even NGO interests who made dubious claims about the war could call their friends in high places and complain about officials questioning their credentials.
Fourthly, and perhaps more seriously, towards the end of the second Mahinda Rajapaksa government, nepotism took hold of the Foreign Service. A direct outcome of the machang culture, it ended up turning officials into mouthpieces for insidious agendas. At this point, Dr Wijesinha minces no words in explaining how two particularly shady figures in the Service, whom the reader will recognise at once, manipulated the Foreign Minister and Attorney-General. Fifthly, this brand of nepotism had the effect of fostering a culture of helplessness and timidity among the few good individuals who stayed back.
Nothing epitomised these developments better than the removal of the man responsible for the 2009 diplomatic victory. Dr Wijesinha is justifiably nostalgic in his recollections of Dayan Jayatilleka. The second of the two protagonists in his drama, Dr Jayatilleka worked with the right people to uphold a positive image of the country. That this ploy succeeded tells us just how much the reversal of such strategies after 2009 cost the country.
In that sense, the author is right in considering Dr Jayatilleka’s removal as “the silliest thing Mahinda Rajapaksa did.” In effect, it marked the beginning of the end.
Reading through the book, one feels that the heroes of these encounters have not been given their due. Dr Wijesinha tries to rescue them from anonymity, giving them credit where credit is due and noting their contributions. Indeed, he is only too right in his view that while Sri Lanka’s diplomatic war has been praised and written about internationally, it has not got the attention it deserves locally. To be sure, the war ended somewhere in Nandikadal. But far from allowing it to rest it there, the world tried again and again to ensure that Sri Lanka’s government would be punished for ending it in defiance of their strictures. It was here that the diplomatic war became crucial, a point not many have appreciated.
Writing as a diplomat, an ex-government MP, and a liberal ideologue, Dr Wijesinha brings all these narratives together, telling us where we went wrong in the hopes of showing us what we can improve on. A liberal of the old school, he is rather incensed about how his political convictions have been co-opted by certain people in pursuit of agendas detrimental to the country’s interests. Here he underscores his dissatisfaction about how, in the Global South, liberalism has become a front for “doctrinaire neoliberalism.”
Towards the end of the book he devotes a chapter to this theme, titled “The death of liberal Sri Lanka.” It’s not a little tongue-in-cheek: he is referring not to what liberals in the country dread, namely the rise of their bête noire, the Rajapaksas, but rather the death of liberalism among liberal ranks. Dr Wijesinha is at his bitterest here, when castigating those who have turned Sri Lanka’s liberal movement into a reflection of what it used to be. While striking a personal note, he suggests that this has had and continues to have a bearing on the island’s image internationally, a point that needs to be addressed at once.
Sri Lankans can be justifiably proud of being heirs to a diplomatic tradition that won us a place in the world. Yet this is a tradition in need of those who can pass it on to the next few generations. Without those who can take it forward, the country runs the risk of losing its voice in international forums. To this end, Rajiva Wijesinha’s book highlights where we went wrong, in the hope of building up “a coherent and productive foreign policy.” Such a policy has become the need of the hour. We can no longer afford to ignore it.
The writer can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Features
‘Lord Edgware Dies’
It has been some time since I read an Agatha Christie, the plot of which I cannot remember. So, I was delighted to find on the shelves of a friend Lord Edgware Dies, which I had a vague memory of, but no certainty about who had done it.
When I read it, I found that my memory of who was probably the killer was correct, but I could not be certain and the red herrings Christie threw in were so diverting that until almost the very end I wondered if I had been wrong.
The plot is very simple. Jane Wilkinson, who is married to Lord Edgware, tells him that she is desperate for a divorce since she is in love with a very proper Anglo-Catholic peer, Lord Melton, but Edgware refuses to divorce her. She asks Poirot to talk to him, which he does, and is surprised to find that Edgware has told Jane he is prepared to give her a divorce. This was, after he had categorically refused, through a letter, which Jane said she had not received.
That night Edgware is murdered, after Jane had been to see him, or so the butler said, and also Edgware’s secretary. But Jane had been that evening at a grand dinner many miles away, where a dozen fellow guests could swear to her presence.
There was a solution however to the mystery of two Jane Wilkinsons, namely a skilful impersonator called Carlotta Adams who, in the opening chapter had impersonated Jane Wilkinson, who had also been at the performance. But when Poirot goes to see her, he finds that she had been found dead on the morning after Edgware had been killed, of an overdose. And in her bag was a gold case, with a strange inscription, that contained the drug, along with a pair of pince-nez.
Her maid said she had written a letter to her sister in America and posted it the previous night. Poirot asks Inspector Japp to get the letter, and a transcript is received from America, and in it the name of Edgware’s nephew Ronald Marsh is mentioned; he had taken Carlotta to dinner after her performance, with which the book opens, and had then set her a challenge. Japp arrests Marsh, but Poirot is not happy and asks for the original of the letter, which the sister sends him. That shows that a page is missing, and the tear is obvious, though that raises the question as to why it had not simply been cut.
Matters are further complicated by the fact that Marsh had gone in a taxi to the Edgware house, along with Edgware’s daughter Geraldine, in the interval of an opera which had previously seemed to provide them with cast iron alibis. Geraldine had gone in to fetch her pearls so that Marsh could raise money he needed, and thus had an opportunity to kill Edgware, as did Marsh, for the driver said he had got out of the taxi while waiting and gone into the house.
Marsh explained why he had gone to the house on the night of the murder as having followed Bryan Martin, an American actor, who had been in love with Jane, whom he saw go into the house with a key. But there was no one visible when he entered, and Geraldine almost immediately came down and they left together. And Martin too has become an object of suspicion to Poirot, for he had been to see him before the murders were discovered with a story of being followed by a man with a gold tooth – a story Poirot immediately realized was false when he was asked how old the man was, and was told he was young, for young people did not have gold teeth.
A heap of French money Edgware had got for a trip to Paris was missing, but since Marsh had no need for it after his cousin’s offer of help, Poirot deduces that it must have been taken by the butler, who has disappeared. Christie has stressed that he is astonishingly handsome, unusual in a butler, and Poirot notes a resemblance to Martin, so he thinks the mysterious man going into the house must have been him.
Incidentally, later Poirot assumes that Edgware’s change of mind was because he was involved in some scandal, and I believe Christie intends us to see the cause of this in his handsome butler, though this is not specified.
Meanwhile, Poirot has asked Japp to find out the provenance of the case found in Carlotta’s handbag, and it turns out to have been made in Paris, specially commissioned, and collected by a woman with pince-nez.
But then another murder occurs—that of another guest at the grand dinner, which provided Jane with her alibi. The victim is an actor who had been bemused when Jane, at a lunch, thought the Judgment of Paris referred to the city. He told Hastings he wanted to see Poirot, but was killed before he could get to the appointment. Poirot had rushed there when told about his request, but it was too late.
Meanwhile, Poirot has tried out the pince-nez on Edgware’s secretary, but she could not see through these. It was only a chance remark heard outside the theatre that led him to try them out on Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a spare pair that had been appropriated for the night of the murders.
Poirot then lays things out, having summoned Martin and told him that he probably suppressed Edgware’s letter, as he had been dropped by then and he did not want Jane to marry another. But after teasing Martin, Poirot says that Jane was in fact the murderer, and she got Carlotta to impersonate her at the dinner while she went to the house and killed her husband. After meeting Carlotta later and checking with her through a call that she had
not been rumbled, Jane had gone ahead with the murder – she put veronal into her drink and the case with veronal into the handbag. She forgot to take out the pince-nez she had used earlier to imitate an American. Carlotta had registered as the American in a hotel and Jane had gone to see her, and there they exchanged identities. After seen the letter, she made use of it by tearing off the page that referred to her, and the S of She, so that the person who had challenged Carlotta to impersonate her seemed to be a man.
There is a coda in which Jane, condemned to death, writes to Hastings, still full of pride at her ingenuity hoping she will be remembered.
Features
Desilt reservoirs, learn from our ancient irrigation systems
by Prof. O. A. Ileperuma
Silting of reservoirs is a major problem today affecting our hydropower production and irrigation systems. The main Mahaweli reservoirs are silted to a considerable extent reducing the water holding capacity of them. Due to poor soil management practices, floodwaters deposit large amounts of silt in these reservoirs. When the Polgolla reservoir was fully drained about two years back, one could see mountains of silt in the lower reaches of the reservoir. A rough estimate is that 50% of the total capacity of these reservoirs has been lost to siltation. This is a serious issue which affects not only power and agriculture but also flood control.
Our ancient irrigation systems ensured that desilting of reservoirs took place under royal decree where all users of the reservoirs were ordered to carry out desilting of reservoirs during the dry season. The clay thus collected was used in making bricks for the construction of great stupas which dot the landscape of our ancient kingdoms. This ensured that the reservoirs had their full capacity filled with water for the next cultivating season. Our ancient kings were clever enough not to construct reservoirs by blocking main rivers such as the Mahaweli. A classic example is the Minipe left canal where they tapped only the surface water of Mahaweli. Even the bigger tanks such as Nuwara Wewa and Parakrama Samudraya were fed with minor rivulets. There were also other ingenious features in the cascade irrigation systems built by the ancient kings, such as mud sluice canals and forest reservations between the reservoirs in the cascade system. These reservations helped trap silt and remove excess nutrients, which could otherwise contribute to increasing salinity as water flowed from one reservoir to another.
- Parakrama Samudraya
- Kalawewa
- Kotmale
A classic engineering marvel is the former Yoda Ela, which carries water from Kalawewa to Nuwara Wewa and Tissa Wewa. It is 87 km long although the straight distance between these points is only about 40 km. The gradient of this canal is about 10 cm per km or 6 inches per mile. Yodha Ela functions as a moving reservoir and feeds about 4,600 hectares of paddy lands. It is a winding canal with about 120 smaller reservoirs on its way. It was constructed during the reign of King Dhatusena around 459 AD and later expanded by King Parakramabahu by connecting more reservoirs to the network. Unfortunately, during the Mahaweli project our modern-day engineers constructed a concrete canal replacing the winding path of this Yoda Ela also called Jaya Ganga. This effectively removed the ability of the old Yoda Ela to remove silt and nutrients. The bank of this Ela has wet zone trees such as jak and areca nut growing well. They take up the nutrients from the flowing stream making the water suitable for irrigation later.
Ancient Mesopotamian civilisations depended on dams constructed along the two main rivers, Euphrates and Tigris. After continuous irrigation of their fields over several thousand years, salinity of the irrigated lands increased making them unsuitable for agriculture. People died due to famine and this clearly illustrates the danger of blocking main rivers for agriculture. There is scientific evidence that the salinity of paddy soils in the Mahaweli C area is increasing.
We saw the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. The sluice gates of the Kotmale Reservoir were opened, and Kandy and Peradeniya were flooded. If the reservoir had had greater storage capacity, couldn’t the opening of the gates have been delayed? This may not be an argument that modern-day engineers would readily accept, and I am not an irrigation expert. These ideas may well be naïve. But most of us tend to think of reservoirs mainly in terms of hydropower generation and irrigation, while their role in flood control receives much less attention. The question therefore deserves serious consideration. Could restoring lost reservoir capacity through desilting help improve our ability to manage extreme rainfall and reduce flood risks?
Desilting our reservoirs should be considered a national priority.
Features
Losing out to Ethiopia
Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part III
by Gomi Senadhira
In Sri Lanka, the word “Ethiopia” is often used as disparaging slang to describe individuals or areas experiencing extreme poverty, starvation, or severe economic hardship. This linguistic habit originated in the 1980s with the Western media coverage of the devastating Ethiopian famine of 1983-85. That media coverage shocked the world but also left an outdated and offensive global stereotype that the country is permanently starving. Much has changed since then. By now, with an annual growth rate of around 9%, it is the fastest-growing economy in sub-Saharan Africa. Ethiopia has also emerged as a highly competitive exporter and is challenging not only its competitors in the region but also countries like Sri Lanka. This article is on how Sri Lanka has lost ground to Ethiopia (and a few other countries) in the GCC markets for agricultural and floricultural products.
Sri Lanka – A Pioneer in the Agriculture and Floricultural Market in the GCC
As discussed in Part II of this article, by the mid-1980s Sri Lanka had established a strong foothold in the GCC’s fruit, vegetable, and floricultural market. Geographical proximity and well-established shipping and air links gave Sri Lanka a strong comparative advantage over Southeast Asian and African nations. Thailand, Vietnam, and Kenya were not even in the market. At that time, Ethiopia was experiencing (as BBC news reports described) “a biblical famine”.
The market was not very large, but it was lucrative and growing. Trade Minister Lalith Athulathmudali as well as the Chairman of the Export Development Board, Victor Santiapillai, who visited Kuwait (and the GCC countries), recognised the market potential for these products and encouraged us to continue with our work. The minister was particularly keen to further develop links between the market for these products, exporters, and his Export Production Villages (EPVs). So, it was becoming a successful case not only for export diversification but also for transferring gains from exports directly to rural households.
From Trailblazer to Tailender
As a result, even by the beginning of this century Sri Lanka had a larger market share than most of its competitors from Asia or Africa. But since then, our competitiveness has weakened significantly. The tables below provide a comparative snapshot of Sri Lanka’s performance vis-à-vis Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya and Ethiopia in the GCC market for vegetables, fruits and floricultural products. As illustrated therein, in 2001 Sri Lanka was ahead of Thailand, Kenya and Ethiopia in this small but rapidly growing market. Since then, we have fallen behind Thailand, Kenya and many other countries in that lucrative market. If this trend continues, Sri Lanka will fall behind Ethiopia within the next few years. (See Table 1)
In the GCC market for vegetables (covered in HS chapter 07), Sri Lanka was ahead of most other competitors in 2001. As illustrated in Table 1 , Sri Lanka had failed to develop this market, while Thailand, Kenya, and even Ethiopia had very efficiently increased their market shares. The GCC is a market to which Sri Lanka can supply some vegetables, like cabbages, by sea. It appears Sri Lanka had also failed to exploit this mode of supply.
We can see a similar trend in the market for fruits. Vietnam, Kenya, and Thailand have emerged as major players, while exports from Sri Lanka have staggered on slowly. In this segment, Vietnam has emerged as a leading player during the last twenty years and the GCC imports from Viet Nam have shot up from US$44 thousand in 2001 to US$346 million by 2024. In part one of these articles, I discussed the remarkable increase of jackfruit exports from Vietnam “…just $3 million in 2015 to an impressive $236.8 million in 2023” while most of our jackfruit production rots under the trees. This explains how countries develop their markets, geographically and product-wise. (See Table 2)
Sri Lanka’s performance has been weakest in the market for floricultural products (HS Chapter 06), which groups live trees, cut flowers, and ornamental foliage. When we first entered the market in the 1980s, the market was dominated by the Netherlands, and Kenya and Ethiopia were not even in the market. At that time, we identified the Gulf states as a market where Sri Lanka could have a dominant presence due to geographical proximity. Even in 2001, Sri Lanka was ahead of Kenya, Ethiopia, and Thailand. But by now, Kenya has emerged as the dominant supplier. Ethiopia is also expanding its market share and is the third-largest exporter. (See Table 3)
Missing the Wood for the Trees
In the mid-1980s, Sri Lanka first established its foothold in the GCC market. Since then, Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya, and even Ethiopia have moved well ahead of us and have become leading players. Why did we lag behind in our export diversification efforts in general and, more particularly, in the GCC market?
The reasons are very clear. After the initial attempts in the 1980s and early 1990s, Sri Lanka has not been proactively involved in identifying, developing, and promoting new products and markets, or protecting and further developing new markets already established. The focus has simply been on traditional exports: tea, coconut, cinnamon, and garments, while other products were almost ignored. In essence, we have been and continue to focus intensely on a narrow group of products and markets, and we have lost sight of the bigger picture.
(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)
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