Features

Que Sera Sera

Published

3 weeks ago

2025/11/16

Dilip's house when I first saw it

My memories go back almost seventy years, when, as a seven-year-old. I lived with my parents and two siblings in a provincial town. My sister had just been born. My father was unemployed and we relied on my mother’s meager salary to see us through. To make ends meet, mother even stitched all our clothes.

My school was more than a mile from home, and I trudged to school and back, crossing a railway line and walking along a busy road. Most students rode bicycles, and hundreds would be cycling along the road each morning. I passed the houses of three classmates on my way to school. One, who lived barely 500 yards from school, was driven there every day. I don’t remember ever being offered a ride.

We lived in a small, rented house. Tiny veranda, sitting room, two bedrooms, and a small kitchen. No electricity or running water. An outhouse for a toilet, and water drawn from a well shared with several other houses.

My father tried to make some money by breeding German Shepherds and raising turkeys to be sold at Christmas time. But a rabid dog bit the mother dog, so she and her puppies had to be destroyed. Unable to shoot his own dog, my father requested a policeman to do the job. Adding to his woes, all the turkeys were stolen one night. Those were hard times.

Our landlady, Mrs. Ferdinando, lived nearby, and she had a teenage daughter. Every afternoon, they would listen to “Housewives’ Choice”, a request program on Radio Ceylon. On Sundays, it was “Sunday Choice”. Because their radio was turned-on at a high volume, we enjoyed Hank Locklin, Dean Martin, Jim Reeves, Hank Snow, Eddie Arnold, Harry Belafonte and other popular singers from home. Doris Day’s Que sera sera was the hottest single, and we heard it several times every day.

My brother Roy and I also spent a lot of time in the large, lovely house in front of ours, where the Kuruppu family – parents, a son and a daughter, resided.

We were poor and they were well off. They had electricity, even a fridge! Mrs. Kuruppu was a kind person, and her children, Dilip and Malki, were welcoming to Roy and me. Dilip was a year older to me, and Malki two years younger. Dilip was considered very intelligent, literally a walking encyclopedia, and spent most of his time with books. He brooded, seemed shy, and perhaps had poor social skills. His parents had bought him many toys to distract him from books, and my favorite was a beautiful Hornby train set, “Made in England”, the Rolls Royce of toy trains. It had a green wind-up engine, wagons, stations, signals, bridges, and lengthy, winding tracks.

Especially during the month-long school holidays in April, August, and December, Roy and I spent hours at the Kuruppu home. We played mostly with Dilip’s toys, especially the train set, while he watched. We also chased butterflies in the lovely, spacious garden, breaking off the golden pupae and collecting them in jam jars.

Malki’s personality was the opposite of Dilip’s. She was cheerful and mischievous. Being closer to Roy in age, they played together often. She was proud of her schoolwork and showed me the gold stars on her report card. Today, my granddaughter Nelum reminds me of the Malki I knew.

Mrs. Kuruppu played the piano and taught music and elocution. So, their house was filled with music all the time. She liked us, and we often enjoyed the delicious cakes she baked and the wonderful desserts she made. I am sure we often had meals at their place.

About two years later, we moved to another house closer to the school that Roy and I attended, and to my mother’s place of work. A few years later, Dilip also joined the school, but he was very much the shy loner, and we never spoke again. Years later, I came to know that Dilip had become a lawyer. When I drove past their former home, I saw that it had become the office of a finance company. I did wonder what had happened to the Kuruppu family but did not follow up.

Malki – 60 years later

The year was 2017. Upon her return to Sri Lanka from the States, my sister volunteered to cut hair at a charitable home. One day, after a visit to the home, she was talking about a lonely woman who did not socialize with others, and appeared to be from a well-off family. She mentioned the woman’s name, Malki, and I knew at once that this was our old friend.

About two weeks later, my sister and I visited the home, a lovely, old bungalow away from town, where Malki resides. The residents live in a cheerful, caring environment, all placed there due to being mentally or physically handicapped.

My sister had already mentioned to her that George and Roy were her brothers, and Malki recognized me at once.

We talked. Or I asked and she answered, looking away and never meeting my eyes. She had been brought to the home about ten years earlier, after her mother passed away. Other than an occasional visit by a cousin, she had no visits from relatives. Malki had attended prestigious girls’ schools. Later, she had taught music and elocution, like her mother. Her father had died more than twenty years ago and her mother more recently. She had not seen her brother Dilip since coming to the Home.

Although some visitors to the Home knew of the Kuruppu family, and had even studied music or elocution from Mrs. Kuruppu or Malki herself, the manager of the Home told me that no one appeared to be interested in her family, least of all about Dilip.

Later, I learned that Malki was on psychiatric medication. Her teeth are in bad shape, but there are no other outward signs of poor health. Malki was liked at the home, because, at the slightest invitation, she would sit at the battered upright piano and play favorites songs from the 60s and 70s. At my request, she played Que sera sera, but I could barely recognize the tune.

When I asked to see a photo of her family, Malki told me she had none. I was saddened because, for ten years at the home, she didn’t even have a photo of her family to find some comfort. I thought she would be very lonely and decided to meet Dilip and get a photo. When asked, Malki gave me his address, repeating it mechanically.

Dilip – After 60+ years

Dilip still lived in the old neighborhood, at a house not far from where the Kuruppu family had resided in the 1950s. Knowing his mental background, I didn’t expect to see him living in comfort. But, not in my wildest dreams did I anticipate the neglect and squalor I encountered.

The house, almost at the end of a quiet, narrow lane, was large but neglected. I stood near his padlocked gate and yelled “DILIP”. An apparition emerged, a withered, bent old man in a filthy, strung-up sarong, staring bleakly out at me through dirty spectacles. The specks of white on the bony chest, which I first assumed was paint, turned out to be spilled grains of rice. I thought it was a servant, but I barely opened my mouth again before the man said “George Braine”. It was Dilip, and he had recognized me after all those years.

I was in shock but managed to carry on a short conversation with him. He clearly remembered our childhood days, even the name of the dog that had to be put down (“Rani”). He knew that my brother Roy had passed away. I told him that I had seen Malki, and he quickly said that she was sent to the home because she had a breakdown. He had never visited her. I asked him how he spent his time and asked him if I could bring some reading material. When I mentioned The New Yorker magazine, he perked-up, talking about Harold Ross and Tina Brown, former editors of the magazine, and James Thurber and a few other cartoonists and writers. He did not unlock the gate for me, saying that someone had threatened him, and a burglar had tried to break-in.

A few days later, I returned to the home, photographed Malki, and videoed her at the piano.

Later, I visited Dilip, armed with a pile of old New Yorker magazines and some snacks. This time, he quickly unlocked the gate for me, and I walked into a dark, damp, filthy hovel, the scattered furniture coated with grime, the entire floor and even the beds piled with garbage. One room was littered with empty 2-liter Coca Cola bottles. Another, with mounds of old books and papers piled high on the bed and the floor. The electricity had been cut off, and the roof leaked. The two toilets were horrors. Dilip’s life seemed straight out of a dark Gothic novel.

We sat and talked. His only income is Rs. 14,000/ per month, from a bank deposit. He said he had life interest ownership of the house, and that it would belong to a cousin upon his demise. “What about Malki?” I asked, and Dilip then said she had co-ownership of the house. He talked briefly about his life as a lawyer. (I don’t think he ever argued a case, and perhaps he only handled paperwork.) He talked about the time Malki became unbalanced, saying it was when she was told, wrongly, in the 1960s, that her father had passed away. He also mentioned a drunkard uncle. I got the feeling that Dilip had been swindled out of a large amount of money, apparently by a woman.

I showed him the video of Malki playing the piano and asked him if he would like to visit her, or even move to the home where she resided. He emphatically declined, claiming that he was a loner and preferred his “gay bachelor” life. I detected a high degree of resentment towards Malki. He occasionally attended church (not true, as I learned later). When I offered to bring someone to clean-up the house, he said “No, No” and claimed that he cleaned the house himself. Not true; it has not been cleaned in years. As for meals, his lunch was supplied by a neighbor, he said.

With the doors and windows firmly closed, the air was fetid, and I began to feel nauseous and wanted to leave. But Dilip was eager to chat, so I stayed a while longer.

Malki’s photos were on the wall, and Dilip allowed me to borrow them to be copied and given to Malki. He found a leaflet of a memorial service that had been conducted for Mrs. Kuruppu, and autographed it for me, recalling “fond memories of those halcyon days in 1957”. I left with a mental list of items for Dilip when I next visited.

On the way out, I met a neighbor who had lived there for more than twenty years. They remembered the time when Mrs. Kuruppu, Dilip, and Malki lived together in the house. With Mrs. Kuruppu’s passing, the life they knew was gone. Malki was taken away to the home, and Dilip became a recluse. The neighbor told me that some people had tried to take him away, there had been much shouting, but he had refused to be moved.

I drove straight to a church in town (the Kuruppus had worshipped at the church). I spoke at length with the pastor, showing him the photos of Dilip’s house, explaining his plight, and urging the church to intervene. A few days later, I drove the pastor to Dilip’s house and asked if the church could help in cleaning up the place and help in other ways, too. The pastor turned my request down, saying that his congregation consisted mainly of elderly men and women who were unable to perform any physical labor.

I then approached two of the Lions Clubs in town, but they did not respond. I wondered if the Kuruppu family had a dark past that the townspeople were familiar with, and I wasn’t. I had been away from Sri Lanka for more than 30 years, and upon my return, resided more than ten kilometers from the town where Dilip lived.

Keeping an eye

The first step was to rid the house – the four bedrooms, two toilets, spacious sitting room, and kitchen – of all that accumulated filth. I brought two workers, with rakes, hoes and baskets. Wearing face masks and gloves, they worked till late afternoon, clearing the accumulated Coca Cola empties, the books and papers, the old mattress, pillows, and bed sheets. Without electricity in the house, they worked in semi-darkness. We realized that the tiled floor was caked in filth, which had to be scraped off. We piled all that filth in the garden and made a huge bonfire.

I had brought a new mattress, sheets, pillows, and a sarong and T-shirts for Dilip. When cleaning the house, we realized that the water service came only up to a tap in the garden, and Dilip collected a trickle for toilet use. Obviously, he had not washed or bathed in years.

Unable to persuade Dilip to move, or to get the church and the Lions Clubs to help him, and his adamant refusal to leave the house, I realized all I could do was visit him with food and reading material. And, for the next two years, whenever I was in Sri Lanka, that’s what I did.

He would first wolf down all the pastries I brought, and then we would chat, seated on rickety chairs on the dilapidated veranda, the only place with some light. He was pleased with the newspapers, magazines, and books (Hulugalle’s biography of DS Senanayake was one) I had brought. He wanted me to order some law books so that he could begin a magnum opus on the legal system in Sri Lanka. A pipe dream. I also noticed that the interior of the house, which we had cleaned only a couple of months ago, was returning to its filthy state.

I left Sri Lanka in late 2019 and could not return for two years. Dilip did not have a phone, so I could not call while I was away. When I went to Dilip’s house December 2021 and yelled out his name as usual, no one came to the door. The few houses on his lane were all quiet, the people hunkered down because covid was still spreading.

Back in Sri Lanka in February 2024, I again stopped by Dilip’s place, only to see that his house had been completely razed. Not a brick was standing. A neighbor, who had moved there recently, had heard that the man who lived in the house had passed away.

How did Dilip die? Was he alone? Who discovered him? After how many days? In that dark, fetid house, the nights would have been dreadful. The covid lockdowns would have worsened his isolation. But, at last, he was at peace.

An old friend, a gentle, soft-spoken doctor, had died alone in the USA, and was discovered after seven days when the police broke down her door. A retired professor in Hong Kong, a former colleague, was found days after he passed away, alone in his apartment. So, Dilip’s passing resonated.

The Kuruppus had been an old, respected family for generations. A road in town is named after an ancestor. Dilip’s father had been a respected civil servant, with a degree from a top British university. Dilip’s plight, and to a lesser extent that of Malki’s, two children lovingly brought up by doting parents, is indeed a tragedy.

“Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be”
(Note: Names of people and places have been changed.)

By George Braine ✍️

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Features

Cyclones, greed and philosophy for a new world order

Published

15 hours ago

2025/12/8

Thilina Walpola

Floods caused by Cyclone Ditwah in Sri Lanka

Further to my earlier letter titled, “Psychology of Greed and Philosophy for a New World Order” (The Island 26.11.2025) it may not be far-fetched to say that the cause of the devastating cyclones that hit Sri Lanka and Indonesia last week could be traced back to human greed. Cyclones of this magnitude are said to be unusual in the equatorial region but, according to experts, the raised sea surface temperatures created the conditions for their occurrence. This is directly due to global warming which is caused by excessive emission of Greenhouse gases due to burning of fossil fuels and other activities. These activities cannot be brought under control as the rich, greedy Western powers do not want to abide by the terms and conditions agreed upon at the Paris Agreement of 2015, as was seen at the COP30 meeting in Brazil recently. Is there hope for third world countries? This is why the Global South must develop a New World Order. For this purpose, the proposed contentment/sufficiency philosophy based on morals like dhana, seela, bhavana, may provide the necessary foundation.

Further, such a philosophy need not be parochial and isolationist. It may not be necessary to adopt systems that existed in the past that suited the times but develop a system that would be practical and also pragmatic in the context of the modern world.

It must be reiterated that without controlling the force of collective greed the present destructive socioeconomic system cannot be changed. Hence the need for a philosophy that incorporates the means of controlling greed. Dhana, seela, bhavana may suit Sri Lanka and most of the East which, as mentioned in my earlier letter, share a similar philosophical heritage. The rest of the world also may have to adopt a contentment / sufficiency philosophy with strong and effective tenets that suit their culture, to bring under control the evil of greed. If not, there is no hope for the existence of the world. Global warming will destroy it with cyclones, forest fires, droughts, floods, crop failure and famine.

Leading economists had commented on the damaging effect of greed on the economy while philosophers, ancient as well as modern, had spoken about its degenerating influence on the inborn human morals. Ancient philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, and Epicurus all spoke about greed, viewing it as a destructive force that hindered a good life. They believed greed was rooted in personal immorality and prevented individuals from achieving true happiness by focusing on endless material accumulation rather than the limited wealth needed for natural needs.

Jeffry Sachs argues that greed is a destructive force that undermines social and environmental well-being, citing it as a major driver of climate change and economic inequality, referencing the ideas of Adam Smith, John Maynard Keynes, etc. Joseph Stiglitz, a Nobel Laureate economist, has criticised neoliberal ideology in similar terms.

In my earlier letter, I have discussed how contentment / sufficiency philosophy could effectively transform the socioeconomic system to one that prioritises collective well-being and sufficiency over rampant consumerism and greed, potentially leading to more sustainable economic models.

Obviously, these changes cannot be brought about without a change of attitude, morals and commitment of the rulers and the government. This cannot be achieved without a mass movement; people must realise the need for change. Such a movement would need leadership. In this regard a critical responsibility lies with the educated middle class. It is they who must give leadership to the movement that would have the goal of getting rid of the evil of excessive greed. It is they who must educate the entire nation about the need for these changes.

The middle class would be the vanguard of change. It is the middle class that has the capacity to bring about change. It is the middle class that perform as a vibrant component of the society for political stability. It is the group which supplies political philosophy, ideology, movements, guidance and leaders for the rest of the society. The poor, who are the majority, need the political wisdom and leadership of the middle class.

Further, the middle class is the font of culture, creativity, literature, art and music. Thinkers, writers, artistes, musicians are fostered by the middle class. Cultural activity of the middle class could pervade down to the poor groups and have an effect on their cultural development as well. Similarly, education of a country depends on how educated the middle class is. It is the responsibility of the middle class to provide education to the poor people.

Most importantly, the morals of a society are imbued in the middle class and it is they who foster them. As morals are crucial in the battle against greed, the middle class assume greater credentials to spearhead the movement against greed and bring in sustainable development and growth. Contentment sufficiency philosophy, based on morals, would form the strong foundation necessary for achieving the goal of a new world order. Thus, it is seen that the middle class is eminently suitable to be the vehicle that could adopt and disseminate a contentment/ sufficiency philosophy and lead the movement against the evil neo-liberal system that is destroying the world.

The Global South, which comprises the majority of the world’s poor, may have to realise, before it is too late, that it is they who are the most vulnerable to climate change though they may not be the greatest offenders who cause it. Yet, if they are to survive, they must get together and help each other to achieve self-sufficiency in the essential needs, like food, energy and medicine. Trade must not be via exploitative and weaponised currency but by means of a barter system, based on purchase power parity (PPP). The union of these countries could be an expansion of organisations,like BRICS, ASEAN, SCO, AU, etc., which already have the trade and financial arrangements though in a rudimentary state but with great potential, if only they could sort out their bilateral issues and work towards a Global South which is neither rich nor poor but sufficient, contented and safe, a lesson to the Global North. China, India and South Africa must play the lead role in this venture. They would need the support of a strong philosophy that has the capacity to fight the evil of greed, for they cannot achieve these goals if fettered by greed. The proposed contentment / sufficient philosophy would form a strong philosophical foundation for the Global South, to unite, fight greed and develop a new world order which, above all, will make it safe for life.

by Prof. N. A. de S. Amaratunga
PHD, DSc, DLITT

Features

SINHARAJA: The Living Cathedral of Sri Lanka’s Rainforest Heritage

Published

15 hours ago

2025/12/8

Thilina Walpola

Damp and thick undergrowth

When Senior biodiversity scientist Vimukthi Weeratunga speaks of Sinharaja, his voice carries the weight of four decades spent beneath its dripping emerald canopy. To him, Sri Lanka’s last great rainforest is not merely a protected area—it is “a cathedral of life,” a sanctuary where evolution whispers through every leaf, stream and shadow.

“Sinharaja is the largest and most precious tropical rainforest we have,” Weeratunga said.

“Sixty to seventy percent of the plants and animals found here exist nowhere else on Earth. This forest is the heart of endemic biodiversity in Sri Lanka.”

A Magnet for the World’s Naturalists

Sinharaja’s allure lies not in charismatic megafauna but in the world of the small and extraordinary—tiny, jewel-toned frogs; iridescent butterflies; shy serpents; and canopy birds whose songs drift like threads of silver through the mist.

“You must walk slowly in Sinharaja,” Weeratunga smiled.

“Its beauty reveals itself only to those who are patient and observant.”

For global travellers fascinated by natural history, Sinharaja remains a top draw. Nearly 90% of nature-focused visitors to Sri Lanka place Sinharaja at the top of their itinerary, generating a deep economic pulse for surrounding communities.

A Forest Etched in History

Centuries before conservationists championed its cause, Sinharaja captured the imagination of explorers and scholars. British and Dutch botanists, venturing into the island’s interior from the 17th century onward, mapped streams, documented rare orchids, and penned some of the earliest scientific records of Sri Lanka’s natural heritage.

Smallest cat

These chronicles now form the backbone of our understanding of the island’s unique ecology.

The Great Forest War: Saving Sinharaja

But Sinharaja nearly vanished.

In the 1970s, the government—guided by a timber-driven development mindset—greenlit a Canadian-assisted logging project. Forests around Sinharaja fell first; then, the chainsaws approached the ancient core.

“There was very little scientific data to counter the felling,” Weeratunga recalled.

: Poppie’s shrub frog

: Endemic Scimitar babblers

: Blue Magpie

“But people knew instinctively this was a national treasure.”

The public responded with one of the greatest environmental uprisings in Sri Lankan history. Conservation icons Thilo Hoffmann and Neluwe Gunananda Thera led a national movement. After seven tense years, the new government of 1977 halted the project.

What followed was a scientific renaissance. Leading researchers—including Prof. Savithri Gunathilake and Prof. Nimal Gunathilaka, Prof. Sarath Kottagama, and others—descended into the depths of Sinharaja, documenting every possible facet of its biodiversity.

Thilak

“Those studies paved the way for Sinharaja to become Sri Lanka’s very first natural World Heritage Site,” Weeratunga noted proudly.

: Vimukthi

: Nadika

: Janaka

A Book Woven From 30 Years of Field Wisdom

For Weeratunga, Sinharaja is more than academic terrain—it is home. Since joining the Forest Department in 1985 as a young researcher, he has trekked, photographed, documented and celebrated its secrets.

Now, decades later, he joins Dr. Thilak Jayaratne, the late Dr. Janaka Gallangoda, and Nadika Hapuarachchi in producing, what he calls, the most comprehensive book ever written on Sinharaja.

“This will be the first major publication on Sinharaja since the early 1980s,” he said.

“It covers ecology, history, flora, fauna—and includes rare photographs taken over nearly 30 years.”

Some images were captured after weeks of waiting. Others after years—like the mysterious mass-flowering episodes where clusters of forest giants bloom in synchrony, or the delicate jewels of the understory: tiny jumping spiders, elusive amphibians, and canopy dwellers glimpsed only once in a lifetime.

The book even includes underwater photography from Sinharaja’s crystal-clear streams—worlds unseen by most visitors.

A Tribute to a Departed Friend

Halfway through the project, tragedy struck: co-author Dr. Janaka Gallangoda passed away.

“We stopped the project for a while,” Weeratunga said quietly.

“But Dr. Thilak Jayaratne reminded us that Janaka lived for this forest. So we completed the book in his memory. One of our authors now watches over Sinharaja from above.”

Jumping spide

An Invitation to the Public

A special exhibition, showcasing highlights from the book, will be held on 13–14 December, 2025, in Colombo.

“We cannot show Sinharaja in one gallery,” he laughed.

“But we can show a single drop of its beauty—enough to spark curiosity.”

A Forest That Must Endure

What makes the book special, he emphasises, is its accessibility.

“We wrote it in simple, clear language—no heavy jargon—so that everyone can understand why Sinharaja is irreplaceable,” Weeratunga said.

“If people know its value, they will protect it.”

To him, Sinharaja is more than a rainforest.

It is Sri Lanka’s living heritage.

A sanctuary of evolution.

A sacred, breathing cathedral that must endure for generations to come.

By Ifham Nizam

Features

How Knuckles was sold out

Published

15 hours ago

2025/12/8

Thilina Walpola

Knuckles range

Leaked RTI Files Reveal Conflicting Approvals, Missing Assessments, and Silent Officials

“This Was Not Mismanagement — It Was a Structured Failure”— CEJ’s Dilena Pathragoda

An investigation, backed by newly released Right to Information (RTI) files, exposes a troubling sequence of events in which multiple state agencies appear to have enabled — or quietly tolerated — unauthorised road construction inside the Knuckles Conservation Forest, a UNESCO World Heritage site.

At the centre of the unfolding scandal is a trail of contradictory letters, unexplained delays, unsigned inspection reports, and sudden reversals by key government offices.

“What these documents show is not confusion or oversight. It is a structured failure,” said Dilena Pathragoda, Executive Director of the Centre for Environmental Justice (CEJ), who has been analysing the leaked records.

“Officials knew the legal requirements. They ignored them. They knew the ecological risks. They dismissed them. The evidence points to a deliberate weakening of safeguards meant to protect one of Sri Lanka’s most fragile ecosystems.”

A Paper Trail of Contradictions

RTI disclosures obtained by activists reveal:

Approvals issued before mandatory field inspections were carried out

Three departments claiming they “did not authorise” the same section of the road

A suspiciously backdated letter clearing a segment already under construction

Internal memos flagging “missing evaluation data” that were never addressed

“No-objection” notes do not hold any legal weight for work inside protected areas, experts say.

One senior officer’s signature appears on two letters with opposing conclusions, sent just three weeks apart — a discrepancy that has raised serious questions within the conservation community.

“This is the kind of documentation that usually surfaces only after damage is done,” Pathragoda said. “It shows a chain of administrative behaviour designed to delay scrutiny until the bulldozers moved in.”

The Silence of the Agencies

Perhaps, more alarming is the behaviour of the regulatory bodies.

Multiple departments — including those legally mandated to halt unauthorised work — acknowledged concerns in internal exchanges but issued no public warnings, took no enforcement action, and allowed machinery to continue operating.

“That silence is the real red flag,” Pathragoda noted.

“Silence is rarely accidental in cases like this. Silence protects someone.”

On the Ground: Damage Already Visible

Independent field teams report:

Fresh erosion scars on steep slopes

Sediment-laden water in downstream streams

Disturbed buffer zones

Workers claiming that they were instructed to “complete the section quickly”

Satellite images from the past two months show accelerated clearing around the contested route.

Environmental experts warn that once the hydrology of the Knuckles slopes is altered, the consequences could be irreversible.

CEJ: “Name Every Official Involved”

CEJ is preparing a formal complaint demanding a multi-agency investigation.

Pathragoda insists that responsibility must be traced along the entire chain — from field officers to approving authorities.

“Every signature, every omission, every backdated approval must be examined,” she said.

“If laws were violated, then prosecutions must follow. Not warnings. Not transfers. Prosecutions.”

A Scandal Still Unfolding

More RTI documents are expected to come out next week, including internal audits and communication logs that could deepen the crisis for several agencies.

As the paper trail widens, one thing is increasingly clear: what happened in Knuckles is not an isolated act — it is an institutional failure, executed quietly, and revealed only because citizens insisted on answers.

by Ifham Nizam