Record changes in society

By Usvatte-aratchi

‘…For, numerous as have been the autobiographies of the past, almost all have come from the upper or middle class, and most recent ones of distinction (…..) have a public-school background. There are very few autobiographies that come out of the working class and reveal its ways of behaviour and feeling from within, its standards and reflections upon itself. And it is curious, since the war of 1914-1918 a whole generation has come up in the normal course from elementary and secondary school to the university, forming almost a new middle class, that not a single autobiography has yet (March 1942) appeared, so far as I know, which gives any account of that process of education and emergence, though it has become the more usual one for the nation at large. I cannot claim that the story told in this book is necessarily typical, yet I have some hope that, when complete, it may be regarded as representative of its generation.’

– A.L. Rowes, Fellow of All Souls, FBA.

I have lived in a society that has undergone massive changes. If you recall life in the 1950s when I was 15 to 25 years old and compare that with what goes on in the 2020s, (a good 70 years later) you will observe changes all around you. I am not speaking about the foul rot in political life, talking about which I am sick to the core. Since 1950-1960, there have been upheavals in most aspects of this society and they have gone mostly unrecorded at the micro-level. There are a few landmarks of record. An early landmark was The Disintegrating Village written by Sarkar and Tambiah, based on a survey of five villages in Pata Dumbara (I was a student who worked on the Survey.). They were interested mostly in economic, especially, agrarian relations. There were, in quick succession, Gananath Obeysekera’s Land Tenure in Village Ceylon, Edmond Leach’s Pul Eliya, and several pieces of work by Obeysekera and by Richard Gombrige. These latter works, outstandingly good as they are, gave us static pictures. That was the nature of anthropological inquiry. Malinowsky spent about six years travelling to Trobriand Islands off New Guinea and wrote up what he observed. That was anthropology then. There are official surveys of the living conditions of the people at large. The best known in our country are the Consumer Finance Surveys carried out by the Research Department of the Central Bank of Ceylon (later Sri Lanka) from 1952, under the direction of Theodore Morgan. Latterly these have been replaced with Surveys of Living Conditions carried out by the Department of Census and Statistics of the government. In addition, there are whole sets of statistical information generated by the Registrar-General, the Director of Medical Services (DM&SS), the Department/Ministry of Education and the University Grants Commission.

Collating and analysing them is tedious, as it would need reading a lot of data. If one makes use of these data with imagination, it is possible to arrive at some understanding of the nature of changes that have taken place in our society during the last 70 years or so. Yet the pictures you arrive at will remain static. You do not have so many pictures which when made to move fast one after the other to create the illusion of movement, as we enjoy when we see a movie. We do not see society on the move and that is what I am after.

In contrast, social change comes out of dynamic processes in society. You can see them most spectacularly in the French Revolution of 1789 and beyond and the Bolshevik Revolution in October 1917. Whole layers of society were either laid waste or thrown off their perches to be replaced with newcomers, performing the same essential functions in very different ways. In many societies, changes have been gradual, though not necessarily less spectacular, Charles 111 in England is a very different ruler from Charles 11 who in 1662 gave a charter to the Royal Society. It is this slow-moving dynamism of our society that I find poorly documented.

M.N.Srinivas, in a justly famous lecture in California, provided an excellent framework within which some social changes in India could be studied. Changes in our society are far less spectacular, though no less thoroughgoing. Martin Wickremasinghe’s celebrated essay on Bamunukulaya Binda Vateema stands out as useful but a one-shot exercise that did not lend itself to analyzing dynamic processes. Wickremasinghe’s celebrated novel Gamperaliya and Kumari Jayawardene’s biography of her father A.P.de Zoyza are essays on the commercialization of the village and not the vertical mobility of a person vertically in the income scale..

To pick up a metaphor highly imaginatively used in a TV drama on BBC (and later PBS) over a number of months, my interest is not in those who live ‘Upstairs’ or ‘Downstairs’ but the latter who climb the stairs to live ‘Upstairs’. I am interested in the foundations on which the stairways had been built and the nature of the stairs as well. I am not interested in those in the ‘middle or upper classes’ but about those in the ‘working classes’, although those classifications do not make much sense in our society. I am interested in those unlettered and propertyless, who climbed out of those gruesome lives to be lettered and to sleep on a bed in a home that did not leak when it rained and let in some air when the front door was shut. Some of them, as it happened, went beyond. There was that boy from Nugawela Central School, who became not only a highly respected civil engineer but also the leader of a political movement, that boy from Ibbagamuva Central School who became a world-class historian and the vice-chancellor of his university, that girl from Meepavala, Poddala, who was an expert teacher of English in Nigeria and the head of the leading girls’ school in the Maldives. There were (perhaps) millions more.

And their stories have not been told.

This is where A.L.Rowse’s A Cornish Childhood comes in. Rowes lived in Tregonissey, a village in Cornwall. His father and uncles were miners. They had been to South Africa to work and their world was wider, much wider, than that of a boy in a village in Morawakkorale in the south of Ceylon. When Rowe went to primary school, he ‘could not understand why little boys didn’t like attending school’. I was moved up the school at a very rapid rate, sometimes jumping a whole standard altogether.’ ‘ … there were no books to read at home, not a single one’. ‘By quick promotions, I had arrived at the top of the school by the time I was eleven. ‘ I had not only got a scholarship but was placed first in the district..’. I never had been out of Cornwall until at the age of seventeen I went to Oxford to try a scholarship. Rouse wanted 200 pounds to go to Oxford and had to win scholarships giving those funds. He won 60 pounds from a county scholarship….

There was an English scholarship to be offered at Balliol. But what chance was there of my winning a Balliol scholarship, I asked…., Rowes won a scholarship in English to Crist Church.

He now had 140 pounds, still short by 60 pounds. Drapers Company, in response to a recommendation by Rowse’s old headmaster Jenkins, offered him the 60 pounds that enabled him to go to Christ Church in Oxford. Rowse was elected a fellow of All Souls College at the age of 21 years. And he became a brilliant historian of the Elizabethan age. Later he was elected to Parliament from the Labour Party.

Writing autobiographies or even biographies is not a feature of our culture. Rapiel Tennakoon, brilliant scholar, a prolific poet and a master of sarcasm in the mid-20th century, sought the sources from which Mahavamsa may have been written. He found that a very important source was pinpoth maintained by powerful people like kings, queens, ministers and rich persons. They kept records of meritorious deeds performed by them and were sometimes read aloud when the doers were on death bed. These did not amount to autobiographies or biographies.

Wickremasinghe and Sarachchandra both wrote highly readable autobiographies but they lie outside my period of interest. Besides, they contain much literary history, which is not of present interest to me . A.T. Ariyaratne, who died recently, left an autobiography running into three volumes.

He did not start quite from the bottom but climbed great heights. Sarath Amunugama has written an excellent autobiography, still to be completed, but he started from ‘upstairs’, climbing further with great ease and grace.

It is Rowse-kind of autobiography that I want. I tried my hand and wrote that novel Alut Matanga. As a kindly friend remarked, it was a thinly veiled autobiography. He was perfectly right. And so I wrote in the preface. I could not find a way of writing an autobiography without embarrassing and even offending a mass of persons who had supplied the steps on which I went to secondary schools, Peradeniya and eventually to Cambridge. It was a reality that neither my family nor my primary school teachers had imagined, though they let me skip a whole year of schooling. The public stairway for me to climb ‘upstairs’ had been designed by C.W.W. Kannangara, A Ratnayake, V Nalliah and J.R. Jayewardene. The stairs had been kept in place with fuel supplied by the taxpayers of this society. It is that climb ‘upstairs, that I wanted documented. An analysis of such journeys will explain much of what happened in our society from about 1990 when persons who rose from ‘downstairs’ took control of affairs ‘upstairs’.