Features
Exiled as GA to Ampara and the splendours of Gal Oya Valley
(Excerpted from Rendering Unto Caesar by Bradman Weerakoon)
I was expecting a transfer to the outstations but had not really thought it would be Ampara – one of the farthest districts to reach from Colombo and one of the least developed. When in the 1950s, on the initiative of D S Senanayake, the Gal Oya river was dammed at Inginiyagala, the American construction firm of Morrison Knudsen paid off with the country’s earned foreign exchange, and the colonists from the over-populated wet zone were brought in, the district was buzzing with activity.
Change was in the air. Even the casual visitor could scarcely fail to notice that a new world of broad roads and fine buildings was being created as well as a chain of small reservoirs with the names of both Sinhala and Tamil villages like Namal Oya, Kondewattuwan and Pannalgama. The Gal Oya Development Board in those days had a very competent leadership and plentiful resources, and had got going with a great deal of productive development.
However, when I arrived some 20 years later all that had changed. There was visible everywhere an aura of neglect and complacency. The district appeared to have slipped back into the familiar, somnolent rhythm of life that the dry zone so insidiously induces. The inevitable jungle tide, so close at hand in this most hostile of environments, seemed to have returned.
I felt that I needed to get busy very quickly, encourage the bright, young and eager-looking SLAS (Sri Lanka Administrative Service) team of assistants I had inherited and re-establish the authority of the civil administration. The task was not going to be easy because the whole area had been dominated for the past 20 years by the specially mandated and richly resourced Gal Oya Valley Development Authority.
I found that personal relationships between the GA’s administration and the Board were at a very- low ebb. After many peak-points of tension and a long tussle to assert who was the leader, the government agent, my good friend and colleague Victor Unantenna, and the Resident Manager (RM) of the GODB, Padmasiri de Silva, were not even on speaking terms. They communicated if they had to, by usually writing long and vituperative minutes to each other in the official files; and all the time this letter writing went on, they were both in the same building.
The government agent and his kachcheri had been located on the ground floor and the GODB resident manager and his staff, as perhaps befitted their perceived higher status – and it was the Board that had constructed the Secretariat – on the upper floor!
My appointment coincided with the winding-up of the Board’s activities in the Valley and I knew that soon I was going to inherit the whole of the Board’s empire. One of my first tasks was to have to engineer and carry through the transition process. This turned out to be easier than expected. Once I adopted the practice of walking upstairs into the RM’s room to discuss an issue, there was immediate reciprocity and he came down to see me. After that we got on very well together. Eventually when the Board left Ampara, I had the choice of upgrading my accommodation from the lowly B 1 residential quarters that the GA had occupied fill then, and move into the luxurious air-conditioned Resident Manager’s bungalow. This four-bedroom residence, built and furnished by the Board, commanded one of the finest views in town. It overlooked the large Ampara Tank – the source of the town’s water supply, and offered the blue Mahakandiya range of mountains as its majestic backdrop.
I was given the choice if I wished of moving two miles out of town to the GODB (Gal Oya Development Board) circuit bungalow – an eight-roomed mansion – but decided against this move because that would have kept me away from the Ampara town and access to my officials and the people. So Damayanthi and I soon moved with obvious delight to the former Resident Manager’s bungalow a few yards up the road.
My first few days in Ampara were spent trying to grasp the enormity of the tasks of civil administration at the periphery, that needed the government agent’s attention. The civil administration was symbolized by the kachcheri, a venerable institution of hoary origins. Its institution dated back to the third decade of the 19th century and the Colebrooke-Cameron reforms.
The position of government agent was manned in colonial times by young men with a good public school education and usually an Oxford Degree in classics. The career of Leonard Woolf, husband of the famous writer Virginia Woolf, illustrated the kind of path that others with a successful outlook would follow.
By the 1970s, the native breed that followed the British and were notably represented by members of the Ceylon Civil Service had almost died out. There were still some civil servants in the field but the spirit of the ‘club’ and its special elite quality now lay broken. Some were wont to say that the rot had started after the abolition of the CCS in 1963, principally on the initiative of Felix Dias Bandaranaike.
I found the work fascinatingly different from what I had done for 15 years in the prime minister’s office. Here, one was at the root of the problem. This was where it all started: the search by young men and women for employment, hunger for land, shortage of water for agriculture, schools for the children, hospitals for the sick, and the overall struggle for survival. But what encouraged me most and kept all of us active was the indomitable will of ordinary people to keep going in the face of impossible odds. The bureaucracy was, for the most part, uncaring and the political leadership partial in the distribution of its largesse.
My wife and I decided that this was a heaven-sent opportunity to indulge and enjoy ourselves in the work with the knowledge that what little you could do was being really appreciated by those
waiting for some service. One early instance of this was when, after literally hacking our way through jungle to get to a distant village on the Moneragala border, I was greeted by people who said that the agantha hamuruduruwo himself — the government agent — had not visited their particular village in living memory.
Ampara was a treasure trove of surprises. Its physical landscape was quite variegated contrary to the usual vision of the dry zone as a dreary plain of scrub jungle. It had large expanses of water as a result of the development work of the Gal Oya Board and vast stretches of paddy fields below them. If you entered the district from the west, driving down to Ampara from the great dam at Inginiyagala, you would be literally in a green valley.
Once when Dudley Senanayake was waxing eloquent in Parliament about how green the valley looked in full season, Felix is said to have baited him by asking him, “How green is your valley?” It is reported that Dudley, losing his cool, had advanced menacingly towards him muttering, “I’ll show you how green my valley is,” until he was stopped by the intervention of his friend M D Banda.
Elsewhere in Ampara the broad plain was covered with thick tropical jungle and jagged rock outcrops — silent sentinels that carried the names given to them by the early explorers who had chanced upon them in their survey work. The landscape was immortalized in the writings of R L Spittel, the Colombo surgeon who spent his spare time in researching the Veddahs — an aboriginal people of the island. In. my childhood I had devoured his books, all of which had been meticulously collected by my father.
The rock outcrops carried the most interesting names. One which I could dimly see as I looked south from my bedroom window was called `Westminster Abbey’. It lay some thirty kilometres away as one proceeded southwards from Hingurana on the Moneragala road. Another had been appropriately named ‘Friar’s Hood’, as it looked out under its jutting hood across Bintenna towards Maha Oya and to the Mahaweli ganga in the distance.
The Gal Oya Project
The heart of Ampara district was the Gal Oya Project. Although in the last 50 years the country had gigantic irrigation and power projects providing much more power and water, the Gal Oya Project
continues to have an enduring national significance. Its construction paralleled the birth of the new nation. Much of the pride of its creation came from the fact that this large multipurpose irrigation and hydropower project was done without resort to foreign borrowings.
To have finally come to Ampara as a government agent was in a sense a dream come true. I had, as a young student of Sociology at the University of Ceylon and under one of its American professors, Bryce Ryan, visited the valley to help in his research of the breakdown of traditional village structures. Our hypothesis had been that the modernizing impulses of colonization, bringing in settlers from the wet zone districts like Kegalle, Kandy and Matara would have greatly hastened the breakdown. When I arrived in 1970, twenty years later, the process was almost complete except for a very few purana villages which lay mostly at the back of the great reservoir and stubbornly maintained their traditional way of life.
In 1951, when the massive earth dam at Inginiyagala was being raised, I had stood on its height and looking west, marveled at the spread of the vast man-made lake as it engulfed the jungle. The blue foothills of Bible and the forbidding Knuckles range beyond provided a spectacular backdrop. I harboured a dream that some day I might have the chance of playing a larger part in the development of this new region which was being carved out of the larger Batticaloa district.
It was potentially productive and with its now mixed population of Sinhala, Tamil and Muslim people was representative of the multi-ethnic, plural entity that Sri Lanka was fast becoming. By a quirk of fate and on the irrational decision of the then government, I was now to serve for a while in one of the more remote districts of the country after 15 years at the centre of power. I found myself now with an opportunity of making this move towards the realization of a dream after 20 years since I had first set foot in this greenest of the country’s man-made valleys.
In 1970 the Gal Oya Development Board was still functioning actively in the area of its authority. It had been patterned in structure and function, in the wisdom of the first prime minister D S Senanayake, on the Tennesse Valley Authority of the United States. It was held that rapid and integrated development of virgin lands, needed the flexibility of a new coordinating mechanism – the veritable creation of a regional government within an existing overall national government. In 1970 the presence of the Board was yet very visible all over. In fact, other than for the function of law and order which was a subject for the National Police, all other activities within the territory and jurisdiction of the Gal Oya Board (which constituted a large part of the Ampara district ) was in the hand of that authority.
The supply of irrigation, power, drinking water, the alienation and management of land, agricultural extension services, cottage industry, some part of tertiary education (the Hardy Technical Training Institute, for example) and most functions which would normally be regarded as part of civil administration under the charge of a normal government agency were, by virtue of the Gal Oya Board Act, statutorily under the control of the Board.
Even in such aspects usually regarded as of a social and cultural nature such as the running of the local club, the maintenance of the playing fields, and the conduct of the annual religious festivals at Digawapi and the Buddangala hermitage, it was the Board’s writ that ran. Most of the buildings in Ampara town and Inginiyagala had been constructed, maintained, occupied and disposed of by the Board.
On the morning of May 11, 2025, the quiet hills of Ramboda were pierced by the wails of sirens and the cries of survivors. A Sri Lanka Transport Board (SLTB) bus, en route from Kataragama to Kurunegala via Nuwara Eliya, veered off the winding road and plunged down a deep precipice in the Garandiella area. At least 23 people lost their lives and more than 35 were injured—some critically.
The nation mourned. But this wasn’t merely an isolated accident. It was a brutal reminder of Sri Lanka’s long-standing and worsening road safety crisis––one where the poor pay the highest price, and systemic neglect continues to endanger thousands every day.
A national epidemic
According to the Central Bank of Sri Lanka’s 2023 Road Safety Report, buses and other passenger vehicles are involved in 60% of fatalities while motorcycles account for 35% of reported accidents. Though three-wheelers are often criticised in the media, they contribute to only 12% of all accidents. The focus, however, remains disproportionately on smaller vehicles—ignoring the real danger posed by larger, state-run and private buses.
The Ramboda incident reflects what transport experts and road safety advocates have long warned about: that Sri Lanka’s road accident problem is not primarily about vehicle type, but about systemic failure. And the victims—more often than not—are those who rely on public transport because they have no other choice.
One of the biggest contributors to the frequency and severity of road accidents is Sri Lanka’s crumbling infrastructure. A 2023 report by the Sri Lanka Road Development Authority (SLRDA) noted that nearly 40% of the country’s road network is in poor or very poor condition. In rural and hilly areas, this figure is likely higher. Potholes, broken shoulders, eroded markings, and inadequate lighting are all too common. In mountainous terrain like Ramboda, these conditions can be fatal.
Even worse, since 2015, road development has effectively stagnated. Although the Mahinda Rajapaksa administration was often criticised for its ambitious infrastructure drive, it left behind a network of wide, well-lit highways and urban improvements. The subsequent administrations not only failed to continue this momentum, but actively reversed course in some instances—most notably, with the cancellation of the Light Rail Transit (LRT) project in Colombo, which had been poised to modernise urban mobility and reduce congestion.
Instead of scaling up, Sri Lanka scaled down. Maintenance budgets were slashed, long-term projects shelved, and development planning took a back seat to short-term political calculations. Roads deteriorated, traffic congestion worsened, and safety standards eroded.
Dangerous drivers
Infrastructure is only part of the story. Human behaviour plays a significant role too—and Sri Lanka’s roads often mirror the lawlessness that prevails off them.
A 2022 survey by the Sri Lanka Road Safety Council revealed alarming patterns in driver behaviour: 45% of accidents involved drivers under the influence of alcohol or drugs, and 40% were attributed to speeding. These figures reflect not just recklessness, but a dangerous culture of impunity.
The legal blood alcohol limit for drivers in Sri Lanka is 0.08%, but enforcement remains lax, particularly in rural areas and during off-peak hours. There is no consistent system of random breath testing, and police checkpoints are often limited to high-profile holidays or urban areas.
The same lack of enforcement applies to speeding, tailgating, overtaking on blind corners, and ignoring traffic signals. While the law technically provides for penalties, in practice, enforcement is selective at best. Even SLTB bus drivers—tasked with transporting hundreds daily—are known for aggressive and erratic driving. The Ramboda bus is reported to have been speeding on a dangerously narrow bend, a pattern that has become disturbingly common.
Public buses, both state-run and private, are some of the most dangerous vehicles on the road today—not just due to their size, but because of operational cultures that prioritise speed over safety. Competition for passengers, poor driver training, minimal vehicle maintenance, and weak regulatory oversight have created a deadly combination.
Do they not deserve better?
Most people who travel in SLTB buses are from lower-income backgrounds. They rely on public transportation not by choice, but by necessity. A factory worker in Nuwara Eliya, a schoolteacher in Bandarawela, or a daily wage earner commuting between towns—all are bound to a public transport system that is increasingly unreliable and unsafe.
Sri Lanka’s social contract has failed its most vulnerable. The poor are expected to brave substandard buses on crumbling roads, driven by underpaid and undertrained drivers, often in hazardous weather and terrain. In many rural areas, buses are lifelines. When one crashes, it is not merely a tragedy—it’s a profound injustice.
Had the LRT system gone forward, had road maintenance been prioritised, had reckless drivers been reined in through strict enforcement, how many lives could have been saved?
Experts agree that the solution lies in a combination of infrastructure investment, driver education, and law enforcement reform. The Sri Lanka Road Safety Council has repeatedly called for mandatory road safety training, particularly for commercial drivers. Such training should cover not just traffic laws, but also defensive driving, fatigue management, and the dangers of DUI.
Enforcement, too, needs a dramatic overhaul. License suspensions, large fines, and jail time for repeat offenders must become the norm—not the exception. A centralised traffic violation database could prevent habitual offenders from slipping through the cracks.
And critically, investment in infrastructure must resume—not in flashy mega-projects for political gain, but in safe, functional, and equitable roads and transit systems. The re-introduction of the LRT or similar mass transit projects should be seriously reconsidered, especially in urban centers where congestion is growing and road space is limited.
The misunderstood three-wheeler
On the other hand, while three-wheelers are frequently vilified in public discourse and media narratives for reckless driving, the data tells a different story. According to the Central Bank’s 2023 Road Safety Report, they account for just 12% of all road accidents—a fraction compared to the 60% involving buses and other passenger vehicles, and the 35% attributed to motorcycles. Yet, disproportionate attention continues to be directed at three-wheelers, conveniently shifting focus away from the far greater risks posed by large, state-run and private buses.
What often goes unacknowledged is the essential role three-wheelers play in Sri Lanka’s transport ecosystem, particularly in remote and rural areas where reliable public transport is virtually nonexistent. For residents of small towns and isolated villages in the hill country, three-wheelers are not a luxury—they are a necessity. Affordable, nimble, and capable of navigating narrow, winding roads where buses cannot operate, these vehicles have become the primary mode of short-distance travel for countless Sri Lankans.
Even more importantly, in the aftermath of road accidents—especially in remote regions like Ramboda—it is often the three-wheeler drivers who are the first to respond. When tragedy strikes, they ferry the injured to hospitals, assist with rescue efforts, and offer immediate aid long before official emergency services arrive. This community-centered, grassroots role is rarely acknowledged in national conversations about road safety, yet it remains a vital, life-saving contribution.
Rather than treating three-wheelers as a problem to be blamed, the government should recognise their indispensable value and work towards integrating them more effectively and safely into the national transport framework. Regularising the sector through measures such as mandatory driver training programmes, periodic vehicle safety checks, and the enforcement of standardised operating licenses could improve safety without displacing an essential service. Additionally, designating official three-wheeler stands, particularly in high-risk or high-traffic areas, and incentivising drivers who maintain clean safety records would help create a safer, more accountable environment for both passengers and pedestrians.
Moving beyond the blame game
It is time for us to move beyond the tired narrative that blames specific vehicles—motorcycles, three-wheelers, or buses—for the carnage on Sri Lanka’s roads. The problem is not the mode of transport. It is the system that surrounds it.
When buses are poorly maintained, roads are not repaired, drivers are not trained, and laws are not enforced, tragedy becomes inevitable. Blaming a single vehicle type does nothing to address these root causes.
The real question is: Do we have the political will to fix this? Or will Sri Lanka continue to count the dead—accident after accident—while doing little more than issuing condolences?
The Ramboda accident was not the first. It won’t be the last. But it should be the turning point.Let this be the moment we stop pointing fingers—and start fixing the road.
(The writer is an Attorney-at-Law with over a decade of experience specializing in civil law, a former Board Member of the Office of Missing Persons, and a former Legal Director of the Central Cultural Fund. He holds an LLM in International Business Law and resides in Battaramulla, where he experiences the daily challenges of commuting to Hulftsdorp, providing him with a unique perspective on Sri Lanka’s road safety issues.)
By Sampath Perera
Though the government is moving more slowly on corruption than I would have liked, it is moving, which is more than can be said for its predecessors. I remember how sad I was when Yahapalanaya did very little, except for political advantage, about the corruption it had highlighted in the election campaign in which I had so foolishly joined; but the reason became clear with the bond scam, when the Ranil Wickremesinghe administration rose to heights of corruption that surpassed, in convoluted ingenuity, anything the Mahinda Rajapaksa government could have achieved. Thus far the present government is clean, and that will make its task much easier.
I hope then that the slow but steady progress of this government in investigation will bear fruit. But at the same time, I think it would also be good if it looked at instances when corruption was avoided. The horrors of the visa scam, in which the Controller General of Immigration seems to have connived with his political masters, suggest how important it is to also praise those civil servants who resist pressures.
With regard to the visa scam, I had thought Tiran Alles largely responsible, but perhaps I have done the man an injustice – if that were conceivable – and the fountainhead of the matter was the President. I now think this the more likely, having heard about a Civil Servant who did stand up against the political pressures brought upon him. If this government were to look into the matter, and recognise his integrity and courage, perhaps that would prompt the former Controller General of Immigration and Emigration too to come clean and turn Crown Witness, having accepted a compounded penalty for anything he might have done wrong.
It can be difficult to resist pressure. That must be understood though it is no reason to excuse such conduct. But it is therefore more essential to praise the virtuous, such as the former Secretary to the Ministry of Health, Dr Palitha Mahipala. I had heard of him earlier, and I am sorry he was removed, though I have also heard good things about his successor, so there is no reason to bring him back. But perhaps he could be entrusted with greater responsibilities, and awarded some sort of honour in encouragement of those with courage.
One of the notable things Dr Mahipala did was to resist pressure brought upon him to award a contract to Francis Maude, a British crony of the President. This was to design a supply chain management for pharmaceuticals. A system for this was already being designed by the Asian Development Bank, but when told about this the authorities had nevertheless insisted.
The then Secretary to the Prime Minister cannot absolve himself of the responsibility for having asked the Ministry of Health to prepare a stunningly expensive MoU that was quite unnecessary.
But his claim was that he had been introduced to the Britisher by a top aide of the President. This rings true for it was the President who first wished Maude upon the country. It was after all Ranil Wickremesinghe who, a year after he became President, announced that, to boost state revenue, Maude had been invited ‘to visit Sri Lanka and share his insights on sectoral reform’.
When he became a Minister under David Cameron, Maude’s responsibilities included ‘public service efficiency and transparency’. There seems to have been nothing about revenue generation, though the President’s statement claimed that ‘Sri Lanka must explore new avenues for increasing income tax revenues…He expressed concern over not only the neglect of public revenue but also the unrestricted spending of public funds on non-beneficial activities’.
He ‘called for an extensive media campaign to educate the public’ but this did not happen, doubtless because transparency went by the board, in his antics, including the demand, whoever prompted it, that Maude be to do something already done. Surely, this comes under the heading of unrestricted spending of public funds on non-beneficial activities, and it is difficult to believe that top government officials connived at promoting this while Ranil would have expressed concern had he known what they were up to.
Nothing further is recorded of Ranil’s original trumpeting of Maude’s virtues, and far from being there to provide advice on the basis of his experience in government, he seems to have been trawling for business for the firm he had set up on leaving politics, for it was with that private agency that the MoU was urged.
Thankfully, Dr Mahipala resisted pressure, and that plot came to nothing. But it should not be forgotten, and the government would do well to question those responsible for what happened, after speaking to Dr Mahipala and looking at the file.
Indeed, given the amount of corruption that can be traced to the President’s Office, it would make sense for the government to institute a Commission of Inquiry to look into what happened in that period of intensive corruption. It should be subject to judicial appeal, but I have no doubt that incisive questioning of those who ran that place would lead to enough information to institute prosecutions, and financial recompense for the abuses that occurred.
by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha
In her Cry on 25 April, Cassandra wrote this in her section on Trump’s moves to Make America Great Again – MAGA. “The latest was heard on BBC news on Wednesday 16. A fluff of a blonde White House press secretary by name of Karoline Leavitt announces that President Trump expects Harvard University to apologise to him for the continuing tolerance of anti-Semitism by the university. And that little blonde fluff adds ‘And they should.’ Didn’t Cass guffaw, but bitterly. That’s Trump vs Harvard.”
Karoline Leavitt
This young blonde has been making waves ever since, so much so that night shows in the US have spoken of her, and not well. Jimmy Kimmel arranged a dialogue between Karoline and Mark Carney, PM of Canada, when he recently visited the US. She insulted him by saying he did not know what democracy was and that Canada would benefit by becoming the 51st of the US. Carney vowed Canada was not for sale and never would be. The interview which was described in a video which I watched got hotter, Carney became cooler and Karoline rattled until she shot up and left the room. The usually noisy crowd that collects to listen to Kimmel roared – disdain.
Cass had to ferret more about her, so she went to the Internet. Born in 1997, Karoline Leavitt studied politics and communication at Saint Anselm College, which she entered on a games scholarship. She interned in the White House as an apprentice press secretary and was named a press secretary in Trump‘s first term. After Trump’s loss in 2020, she became a communications director for New York. She was the Republican candidate in the US House of Reps election for New Hampshire in 2022 but lost. She was much in Trump’s campaign against Biden’s winning and then served as a spokeswoman for MAGA Inc. In November 2024, Trump named her his White House Press Secretary, the youngest to hold this post in US history. All this seems to have gone to her blonde head!
Mosquitoes making life hell in Colombo
These pests are breeding like mad in and around Colombo and other parts of the country too. We can be tolerant of nature and its creatures, but the mosquito now is deadly. She passes on the dreaded diseases of chikungunya and dengue; the former debilitating for months after the grueling ache in bones is abated as the infection recedes. Dengue can be fatal if one’s platelet count goes below the red line.
The crux of the near pandemic of these two diseases is that infection and prevalence of the two could be greatly reduced by control of the carrier of the infection – The Mosquito. And on whom rests the responsibility of controlling the breeding of mosquitoes? On You and Me. But both of these entities are often careless, and totally non-caring about keeping their premises clean and of course eliminating all breeding spots for flying pests. Does the responsibility end there? Not upon your life! The buck moves on and lands on the public health inspectors, the garbage removers, the fumigators. Their boss who sees to them working properly is the Medical Officer of Health. And he is part of the Colombo Municipal Council that has the responsibility of looking to the health of people within the MC.
The spread of the two diseases mentioned is proof that the above persons and establishments are NOT doing the work they should be doing.
It is a proven fact that just before a change in personnel in the country, or a MC or a Pradeshiya Sabha, with a general election or local government election in the near future, most work stops in government offices or in local government establishments as the case may be. Workers get the disease of ennui; do minimum work until new bosses take over.
This definitely has happened in Colombo. Cass lives in Colombo 3. Quite frequent fumigation stopped some time ago. About two weeks ago she heard the process and smelled the fumes. Then nothing and mosquitoes breeding with the infrequent rain and no repellents or cleaning of premises. She phoned the MOH’s office on Thursday last week. Was promised fumigation. Nothing.
We are in a serious situation but no Municipal Council action. Politics is to blame here too. The SJB is trying to grab control of the Colombo MC and people are falling prey to the two diseases. All politicians shout it’s all for the people they enter politics, etc. The NPP has definitely shown concern for the public and have at least to a large extent eliminated corruption in public life. They have a woman candidate for Mayor who sure seems to be able to do a very good job. Her concern seems to be the people. But no. A power struggle goes on and its root cause: selfishness and non-caring of the good of the people. And for more than a week, the personnel from the MOH are looking on as more people suffer due to dirty surroundings.
Garbage is collected from her area on Tuesdays and Saturdays with paper, etc., on Thursdays. Tuesday 13 was a holiday but garbage was put out for collection. Not done. At noon, she phoned a supervisor of the cleaning company concerned only to ask whether the workers had a day off. Garbage was removed almost immediately. That is concern, efficiency and serving the public.
As Cass said, Colombo is in near crisis with two mosquito borne diseases mowing down people drastically. And nothing is being done by the officers who are given the responsibility of seeing to the cleanliness of the city and its suburbs.
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