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Midweek Review

Situating Panduka Karunanayake’s ‘Politics’ of Education

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by Sasanka Perera
South Asian University New Delhi

Panduka Karunanayake, Ruptures in Sri Lanka’s Education: Genesis, Present Status and Reflections. Nugegoda: Sarasavi Publishers, 2021 Pages; 280; ISBN 789553117793. Price: LKR 600.00 (with soft cover).

(This essay was initially written as the ‘Foreword’ for, Panduka Karunanayake’s book, Ruptures in Sri Lanka’s Education: Genesis, Present Status and Reflections)

As an educationist, once based in Sri Lanka, I had already read many of Karunanayake’s essays that have now been collected in this volume in their previous incarnation in the national press. This is not merely because we used to be teachers in the same university, but because we were both interested in the same issues, challenges and anxieties Sri Lanka’s education system had generated. I was also intrigued then and am also now that Karunanayake had opted to wade a considerable distance out of his speciality in Medicine into the messy and often thankless domain of public debate with his ideas that focused more broadly on education as opposed to his medical speciality. This is unusual for people with his kind of training, particularly in the local academic belief system where the popular assumption is that doctors should look after the sick and social commentaries should be left for social scientists and journalists. Thankfully, as the trajectory of these essays would indicate, Karunanayake began to transgress this kind of regressive thinking, at least 15 years ago, when he self-consciously decided to make the public sphere a forum for his ideas. In this context, my attempt in this Foreword is to situate these essays in the broader politics to which Karunanayake has consistently asked us to enter, though many have not.

 

Twenty-three essays

The 23 essays in this collection, about half of which have not been previously published, is a clear cartography of Karunanayake’s thinking on education. But, more importantly, they also broadly sketch the landscape of Sri Lankan education with a focus on three main issues. These are the present status of the educational reforms initially implemented under the visionary leadership of C.W.W. Kannangara in the 1940s and after; the role private capital can play in Sri Lanka’s higher education sector; and the status and role of the university as an institution in Sri Lanka, not only as a space for advanced learning, but also as a place for reflection.

Kannangara is best known for the introduction of what is known in Sri Lanka as ‘free education’, a system that assured citizens an education from kindergarten to university at the expense of the state. An important vehicle in institutionalizing this system was the establishment of central schools (Madhya Maha Vidyala) in urban and semi-urban locations in different parts of the country as conduits through which the vastly rural populations in the country could be directed towards an advanced secondary education at school level, and prepare them for university and professional education. The issue today is not that ‘free’ education does not exist along with the institutional structures set up to achieve this. Instead, the issue is whether the broader ideas of citizenship that Kananangara visualized are being met? It seems to me that Panduka Karunanayake’s anxiety is whether the value of this system of education has diminished as a result of the country’s present-day educational authorities losing touch with the finer points in the ideals of Kannangara’s reforms even though all of them would have reaped the benefits of that system.

 

Kannangara thinking

Today’s schools in Sri Lanka – in my view – are not about building a sense of citizenship and public consciousness that goes beyond the basic utilitarian expectations of education such as literacy and basic disciplinary competencies. In this sense, such a system can be better described in the words of Ivan Illich than what was anticipated by Kannangara’s thinking. That is, in general, schools everywhere today are “designed on the assumption that there is a secret to everything in life; that the quality of life depends upon knowing that secret; that secrets can only be known in orderly successions; and that only teachers can properly reveal these secrets. An individual with a schooled mind conceives of the world as a pyramid of classified packages accessible only to those who carry the proper tags.” What this regimented and linear scheme of learning refers to is the basic requirement of discipline that young people are expected to follow that would allow them to become an integral and unobtrusive part of the employment market. In this systemic setup in which both Karunanayake and I are also a part, it would be difficult to think in terms of humanity with a self-conscious sense of empathy. That is, in systemic and structural terms, this is not what is anticipated even though individuals still have considerable leeway to nudge their students – both in schools and universities – think out of the box, be reflective and conscious of one’s circumstances as they go about fulfilling the formal requirements of learning. In Sri Lanka’s context, it is precisely this reductionist system of learning that creates divisive, competitive and exclusivist notions of ethno-cultural and religious identities that have by now considerably subverted the more inclusive kind of Sri Lankan citizenship that statesmen like Kannangara envisaged at the time of Independence.

As his writings suggest however, Karunanayake does not absolve himself from this overall scheme of things. But by critiquing what needs to be critiqued and being reflective of what could be changed, he is attempting to offer specific avenues of hope by entering the public domain with his ideas rather than becoming a voiceless prisoner within the prevailing system. Decision-makers in Sri Lanka’s educational system today seem to have conveniently forgotten the basic implications of education to young people that Jiddu Krishnamurti outlined in Education and the Significance of Life. As he noted, “while one is young is the time to investigate, to experiment with everything. The school should help its young people to discover their vocations and responsibilities, and not merely cram their minds with facts and technical knowledge; it should be the soil in which they can grow without fear, happily and integrally.” This was also the kind of broader education the Kannangara reforms anticipated beyond its hoped-for impact on people’s social mobility.

 

Second Theme

The second theme that runs across some of Karunanayake’s essays focuses on the possibilities of opening Sri Lanka’s higher education to private investment. His general position is that private capital does have a role to play in the country’s university education system, which is not a popular position to hold in Sri Lanka’s public and often noisy debates on education. Most educationists in the country argue that the burden of university education in terms of both planning and costs of delivery should be the responsibility of the state. I am sympathetic to this idea as long as the state also takes the responsibility to guarantee the quality of education at all levels, the competence of teachers, equity of access and finally that the education offered by universities also creates a broader sense of citizenship as opposed to parochial-minded individuals. But we know from experience at both school and university levels in Sri Lanka that the state has not been able to fulfill these ideals. In such a situation, to chant the mantra of an exclusively state-led higher education makes little sense. What Karunanayake proposes for Sri Lanka is a private university sector based on what he calls an ‘indigenous model.’ But even in this call, he does not envisage the abolishment of the state system. What he visualizes instead is a parallel system.

Karunanayake’s arguments in support of private education is not leaning towards unmitigated privatization. Instead, what he favours is what might be called an ‘enlightened infusion of private capital into higher education’ which might expand the country’s higher education opportunities as well as areas for social justice. The post-1977 liberalization of Sri Lanka’s markets has ensured capital influx into many areas of the national economy. The healthcare sector is one of them. Education at the school level and college level training for universities overseas have also seen an expansion in the private sector. One cannot simply assume if a country’s economic policies embrace capitalism and its people seem to prefer it, only selected areas – like higher education – might not be impacted by these schemes. Such a position is simply not sensible. Privatization of university education does not necessarily have to mean inequitable access. Its potential ill-effects can be controlled to some extent by appropriate state policies that guarantee access through scholarships and financial aid schemes. After all, it is not that such schemes have not been successfully experimented with in other parts of the world. But this area has merely remained an area of anxiety and virulent argumentation in Sri Lanka’s public sphere where nuanced reflection has generally been absent. It is to this contentious debate that Karunanayake’s essays that deal with privatization of university education beckons us. One does not need to agree with him. But what he writes in this matter is worth reflecting upon.

 

Status of universities

Karunanayake also reflects on the status and role of the university as an institution in the Sri Lankan context. But his reflections are not only about how universities must function as competent forums for advanced technical training in different disciplines. This is certainly one of the most important roles universities can and should play in contemporary times. More importantly, he also wonders how universities might also be spaces for reflection. It is about the university’s role in the first sense referred to above that states, including the Sri Lankan state, have paid considerable attention to. Technical education offered by universities has traditionally focused on this aspect in any case. But its over-emphasis in contemporary times, its popular acceptance by most people today and state support to this hegemonic understanding of the university has degraded its once-cherished ideal as a place of reflection and responsible social and political commentary. While Karunanayake is in agreement that universities must offer technical competencies as he himself does as a medical academic, he does not believe it must necessarily be offered at the cost of reflection. To put it more simply, his opinion differs considerably from many of his and my colleagues in the Sri Lankan higher education sector whose only focus is on training individuals for the needs of the market, an attitude shared by most students as well. It is truly unfortunate the present moment in the 21st century, many of us have lost sight of the fundamental difference between a university and a technical college.

 

‘University and society’

It is in this spirit that Karunanayake, in the chapter titled, ‘University and Society: To Tango or Not’ refers to Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan’s ideas on the ideal university as a place for the “promotion of liberty of mind or freedom of thought” which “has little to do with the protection of privilege or call for conformity.” It is the same idea that Rabindranath Tagore also promoted in the early twentieth century in his essay, . ‘Ideals of Education’ when he noted, “universities should never be made into mechanical organizations for collecting and distributing knowledge. Through them the people should offer their intellectual hospitality, their wealth of mind to others, earn their proud right in return to receive gifts from the rest of the world.” It is possible to dismiss these ideas as old-fashioned, and to argue the university’s role today is to merely fulfill the requirements of a technical education. Support for this reductionist idea comes from within the university as well as from within the country’s governance structure. It is precisely the poverty of such thinking that has diminished the overall intellectual value of Sri Lanka’s higher education even though in selected fields, the technical training offered might be on par with what is provided in other parts of the world. It is heartening to note that Karunanayake has brought this important cluster of thinking to forums of pubic debate through his writing.

Karunanayake’s collection of essays enters public circulation as a body of reflections linked to his training, social background and ideological positions at a time Sri Lankan society in general and the country’s broader education system in particular are experiencing profound and multiple crises. In this difficult context as a university teacher, what come to my mind are the following words of Rabindranath Tagore outlined in his essay, ‘Ideals of Education’: “I try to assert in my words and works that education has its only meaning and object in freedom – freedom from ignorance about the laws of the universe, and freedom from passion and prejudice in our communications with the human world.” By bringing his ideas, concerns and ideological positions as a specific form of politics into public discourse away from his twin comfort zones in academia and medical practice, it seems to me that Karunanayake as a fellow university teacher is striving to live closer to the words of Tagore than to the disruptive hegemonic politics of our times.



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Midweek Review

Daya Pathirana killing and transformation of the JVP

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JVP leader Somawansa Amarasinghe, who returned to Sri Lanka in late Nov, 2001, ending a 12-year self-imposed exile in Europe, declared that India helped him flee certain death as the government crushed his party’s second insurrection against the state in the ’80s, using even death squads. Amarasinghe, sole surviving member of the original politburo of the JVP, profusely thanked India and former Prime Minister V.P. Singh for helping him survive the crackdown. Neither the JVP nor India never explained the circumstances New Delhi facilitated Amarasinghe’s escape, particularly against the backdrop of the JVP’s frenzied anti-India campaign. The JVP has claimed to have killed Indian soldiers in the East during the 1987-1989 period. Addressing his first public meeting at Kalutara, a day after his arrival, Amarasinghe showed signs that the party had shed its anti-India policy of yesteryears. The JVPer paid tribute to the people of India, PM Singh and Indian officials who helped him escape.

By Shamindra Ferdinando

Forty years after the killing of Daya Pathirana, the third head of the Independent Student Union (ISU) by the Socialist Students’ Union (SSU), affiliated with the JVP, one-time Divaina journalist Dharman Wickremaretne has dealt with the ISU’s connections with some Tamil terrorist groups. The LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) hadn’t been among them, according to Wickremaretne’s Daya Pathirana Ghathanaye Nodutu Peththa (The Unseen Side of Daya Pathirana Killing), the fifth of a series of books that discussed the two abortive insurgencies launched by the JVP in 1971 and the early ’80s.

Pathirana was killed on 15 December, 1986. His body was found at Hirana, Panadura. Pathirana’s associate, Punchiralalage Somasiri, also of the ISU, who had been abducted, along with Pathirana, was brutally attacked but, almost by a miracle, survived to tell the tale. Daya Pathirana was the second person killed after the formation of the Deshapremi Janatha Vyaparaya (DJV), the macabre wing of the JVP, in early March 1986. The DJV’s first head had been JVP politburo member Saman Piyasiri Fernando.

Its first victim was H. Jayawickrema, Principal of Middeniya Gonahena Vidyalaya, killed on 05 December, 1986. The JVP found fault with him for suspending several students for putting up JVP posters.

Wickremaretne, who had been relentlessly searching for information, regarding the violent student movements for two decades, was lucky to receive obviously unconditional support of those who were involved with the SSU and ISU as well as other outfits. Somasiri was among them.

Deepthi Lamaheva had been ISU’s first leader. Warnakulasooriya succeeded Lamahewa and was replaced by Pathirana. After Pathirana’s killing K.L. Dharmasiri took over. Interestingly, the author justified Daya Pathirana’s killing on the basis that those who believed in violence died by it.

Wickremaretne’s latest book, the fifth of the series on the JVP, discussed hitherto largely untouched subject – the links between undergraduates in the South and northern terrorists, even before the July 1983 violence in the wake of the LTTE killing 12 soldiers, and an officer, while on a routine patrol at Thinnavely, Jaffna.

The LTTE emerged as the main terrorist group, after the Jaffna killings, while other groups plotted to cause mayhem. The emergence of the LTTE compelled the then JRJ government to transfer all available police and military resources to the North, due to the constant attacks that gradually weakened government authority there. In Colombo, ISU and Tamil groups, including the PLOTE (People’s Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) enhanced cooperation. Wickremaretne shed light on a disturbing ISU-PLOTE connection that hadn’t ever been examined or discussed or received sufficient public attention.

In fact, EROS (Eelam Revolutionary Organisation of Students), too, had been involved with the ISU. According to the author, the ISU had its first meeting on 10 April, 1980. In the following year, ISU established contact with the EPRLF (Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front). The involvement of ISU with the PLOTE and Wickremaretne revealed how the SSU probed that link and went to the extent of secretly interrogating ISU members in a bid to ascertain the details of that connection. ISU activist Pradeep Udayakumara Thenuwara had been forcibly taken to Sri Jayewardenepura University where he was subjected to strenuous interrogation by SSU in a bid to identify those who were involved in a high profile PLOTE operation.

The author ascertained that the SSU suspected Pathirana’s direct involvement in the PLOTE attack on the Nikaweratiya Police Station, and the Nikaweratiya branch of the People’s Bank, on April 26, 1985. The SSU believed that out of a 16-member gang that carried out the twin attacks, two were ISU members, namely Pathirana, and another identified as Thalathu Oya Seneviratne, aka Captain Senevi.

The SSU received information regarding ISU’s direct involvement in the Nikaweratiya attacks from hardcore PLOTE cadre Nagalingam Manikkadasan, whose mother was a Sinhalese and closely related to JVP’s Upatissa Gamanayake. The LTTE killed Manikkadasan in a bomb attack on a PLOTE office, in Vavuniya, in September, 1999. The writer met Manikkadasan, at Bambapalitiya, in 1997, in the company of Dharmalingham Siddharthan. The PLOTE had been involved in operations in support of President Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga’s administration.

It was President Premadasa who first paved the way for Tamil groups to enter the political mainstream. In spite of some of his own advisors expressing concern over Premadasa’s handling of negotiations with the LTTE, he ordered the then Elections Commissioner Chandrananda de Silva to grant political recognition to the LTTE. The LTTE’s political wing PFLT (People’s Front of Liberation Tigers) received recognition in early December, 1989, seven months before Eelam War II erupted.

Transformation of ISU

The author discussed the formation of the ISU, its key members, links with Tamil groups, and the murderous role in the overall counter insurgency campaign during JRJ and Ranasinghe Premadasa presidencies. Some of those who had been involved with the ISU may have ended up with various other groups, even civil society groups. Somasiri, who was abducted along with Pathirana at Thunmulla and attacked with the same specialised knife, but survived, is such a person.

Somasiri contested the 06 May Local Government elections, on the Jana Aragala Sandhanaya ticket. Jana Aragala Sandhanaya is a front organisation of the Frontline Socialist Party/ Peratugaami pakshaya, a breakaway faction of the JVP that also played a critical role in the violent protest campaign Aragalaya against President Gotabaya Rajapaksa. That break-up happened in April 2012, The wartime Defence Secretary, who secured the presidency at the 2019 presidential election, with 6.9 mn votes, was forced to give up office, in July 2022, and flee the country.

Somasiri and Jana Aragala Sandhanaya were unsuccessful; the group contested 154 Local Government bodies and only managed to secure only 16 seats whereas the ruling party JVP comfortably won the vast majority of Municipal Councils, Urban Councils and Pradeshiya Sabhas.

Let us get back to the period of terror when the ISU was an integral part of the UNP’s bloody response to the JVP challenge. The signing of the Indo-Lanka accord, in late July 1987, resulted in the intensification of violence by both parties. Wickremaretne disclosed secret talks between ISU leader K.L. Dharmasiri and the then Senior SSP (Colombo South) Abdul Cader Abdul Gafoor to plan a major operation to apprehend undergraduates likely to lead protests against the Indo-Lanka accord. Among those arrested were Gevindu Cumaratunga and Anupa Pasqual. Cumaratunga, in his capacity as the leader of civil society group Yuthukama, that contributed to the campaign against Yahapalanaya, was accommodated on the SLPP National List (2020 to 2024) whereas Pasqual, also of Yuthukama, entered Parliament on the SLPP ticket, having contested Kalutara. Pasqual switched his allegiance to Ranil Wickremesinghe after Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s ouster in July 2022.

SSU/JVP killed K.L. Dharmasiri on 19 August, 1989, in Colomba Kochchikade just a few months before the Army apprehended and killed JVP leader Rohana Wijeweera. Towards the end of the counter insurgency campaign, a section of the ISU was integrated with the military (National Guard). The UNP government had no qualms in granting them a monthly payment.

Referring to torture chambers operated at the Law Faculty of the Colombo University and Yataro operations centre, Havelock Town, author Wickremaretne underscored the direct involvement of the ISU in running them.

Maj. Tuan Nizam Muthaliff, who had been in charge of the Yataro ‘facility,’ located near State Defence Minister Ranjan Wijeratne’s residence, is widely believed to have shot Wijeweera in November, 1989. Muthaliff earned the wrath of the LTTE for his ‘work’ and was shot dead on May 3, 2005, at Polhengoda junction, Narahenpita. At the time of Muthaliff’s assassination, he served in the Military Intelligence.

Premadasa-SSU/JVP link

Ex-lawmaker and Jathika Chinthanaya Kandayama stalwart Gevindu Cumaratunga, in his brief address to the gathering, at Wickremaretne’s book launch, in Colombo, compared Daya Pathirana’s killing with the recent death of Nandana Gunatilleke, one-time frontline JVPer.

Questioning the suspicious circumstances surrounding Gunatilleke’s demise, Cumaratunga strongly emphasised that assassinations shouldn’t be used as a political tool or a weapon to achieve objectives. The outspoken political activist discussed the Pathirana killing and Gunatilleke’s demise, recalling the false accusations directed at the then UNPer Gamini Lokuge regarding the high profile 1986 hit.

Cumaratunga alleged that the SSU/JVP having killed Daya Pathirana made a despicable bid to pass the blame to others. Turning towards the author, Cumaratunga heaped praise on Wickremaretne for naming the SSU/JVP hit team and for the print media coverage provided to the student movements, particularly those based at the Colombo University.

Cumaratunga didn’t hold back. He tore into SSU/JVP while questioning their current strategies. At one point a section of the audience interrupted Cumaratunga as he made references to JVP-led Jathika Jana Balawegaya (JJB) and JJB strategist Prof. Nirmal Dewasiri, who had been with the SSU during those dark days. Cumaratunga recalled him attending Daya Pathirana’s funeral in Matara though he felt that they could be targeted.

Perhaps the most controversial and contentious issue raised by Cumaratunga was Ranasinghe Premadasa’s alleged links with the SSU/JVP. The ex-lawmaker reminded the SSU/JVP continuing with anti-JRJ campaign even after the UNP named Ranasinghe Premadasa as their candidature for the December 1988 presidential election. His inference was clear. By the time Premadasa secured the presidential nomination he had already reached a consensus with the SSU/JVP as he feared JRJ would double cross him and give the nomination to one of his other favourites, like Gamini Dissanayake or Lalith Athulathmudali.

There had been intense discussions involving various factions, especially among the most powerful SSU cadre that led to putting up posters targeting Premadasa at the Colombo University. Premadasa had expressed surprise at the appearance of such posters amidst his high profile ‘Me Kawuda’ ‘Monawada Karanne’poster campaign. Having questioned the appearance of posters against him at the Colombo University, Premadasa told Parliament he would inquire into such claims and respond. Cumaratunga alleged that night UNP goons entered the Colombo University to clean up the place.

The speaker suggested that the SSU/JVP backed Premadasa’s presidential bid and the UNP leader may have failed to emerge victorious without their support. He seemed quite confident of his assertion. Did the SSU/JVP contribute to Premadasa’s victory at one of the bloodiest post-independence elections in our history.

Cumaratunga didn’t forget to comment on his erstwhile comrade Anupa Pasqual. Alleging that Pasqual betrayed Yuthukama when he switched allegiance to Wickremesinghe, Cumaratunga, however, paid a glowing tribute to him for being a courageous responder, as a student leader.

SSU accepts Eelam

One of the most interesting chapters was the one that dealt with the Viplawadi Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna/Revolutionary Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (RJVP), widely known as the Vikalpa Kandaya/Alternative Group and the ISU mount joint campaigns with Tamil groups. Both University groups received weapons training, courtesy PLOTE and EPRLF, both here, and in India, in the run-up to the so-called Indo-Lanka Peace Accord. In short, they accepted Tamils’ right to self-determination.

The author also claimed that the late Dharmeratnam Sivaram had been in touch with ISU and was directly involved in arranging weapons training for ISU. No less a person than PLOTE Chief Uma Maheswaran had told the author that PLOTE provided weapons training to ISU, free of charge ,and the JVP for a fee. Sivaram, later contributed to several English newspapers, under the pen name Taraki, beginning with The Island. By then, he propagated the LTTE line that the war couldn’t be brought to a successful conclusion through military means. Taraki was abducted near the Bambalapitiya Police Station on the night of 28 April, 2005, and his body was found the following day.

The LTTE conferred the “Maamanithar” title upon the journalist, the highest civilian honour of the movement.

In the run up to the Indo-Lanka Peace Accord, India freely distributed weapons to Tamil terrorist groups here who in turn trained Sinhala youth.

Had it been part of the overall Indian destabilisation project, directed at Sri Lanka? PLOTE and EPRLF couldn’t have arranged weapons training in India as well as terrorist camps here without India’s knowledge. Unfortunately, Sri Lanka never sought to examine the origins of terrorism here and identified those who propagated and promoted separatist ideals.

Exactly a year before Daya Pathirana’s killing, arrangements had been made by ISU to dispatch a 15-member group to India. But, that move had been cancelled after law enforcement authorities apprehended some of those who received weapons training in India earlier. Wickremaretne’s narrative of the students’ movement, with the primary focus of the University of Colombo, is a must read. The author shed light on the despicable Indian destabilisation project that, if succeeded, could have caused and equally destructive war in the South. In a way, Daya Pathirana’s killing preempted possible wider conflict in the South.

Gevindu Cumaratunga, in his thought-provoking speech, commented on Daya Pathirana. At the time Cumaratunga entered Colombo University, he hadn’t been interested at all in politics. But, the way the ISU strongman promoted separatism, influenced Cumaratunga to counter those arguments. The ex-MP recollected how Daya Pathirana, a heavy smoker (almost always with a cigarette in his hand) warned of dire consequences if he persisted with his counter views.

In fact, Gevindu Cumaratunga ensured that the ’80s terror period was appropriately discussed at the book launch. Unfortunately, Wickremaretne’s book didn’t cause the anticipated response, and a dialogue involving various interested parties. It would be pertinent to mention that at the time the SSU/JVP decided to eliminate Daya Pathirana, it automatically received the tacit support of other student factions, affiliated to other political parties, including the UNP.

Soon after Anura Kumara Dissanayake received the leadership of the JVP from Somawansa Amarasinghe, in December 2014, he, in an interview with Saroj Pathirana of BBC Sandeshaya, regretted their actions during the second insurgency. Responding to Pathirana’s query, Dissanayake not only regretted but asked for forgiveness for nearly 6,000 killings perpetrated by the party during that period. Author Wickremaretne cleverly used FSP leader Kumar Gunaratnam’s interview with Upul Shantha Sannasgala, aired on Rupavahini on 21 November, 2019, to remind the reader that he, too, had been with the JVP at the time the decision was taken to eliminate Daya Pathirana. Gunaratnam moved out of the JVP, in April 2012, after years of turmoil. It would be pertinent to mention that Wimal Weerawansa-Nandana Gunatilleke led a group that sided with President Mahinda Rajapaksa during his first term, too, and had been with the party by that time. Although the party split over the years, those who served the interests of the JVP, during the 1980-1990 period, cannot absolve themselves of the violence perpetrated by the party. This should apply to the JVPers now in the Jathika Jana Balawegaya (JJB), a political party formed in July 2019 to create a platform for Dissanayake to contest the 2019 presidential election. Dissanayake secured a distant third place (418,553 votes [3.16%])

However, the JVP terrorism cannot be examined without taking into JRJ’s overall political strategy meant to suppress political opposition. The utterly disgusting strategy led to the rigged December 1982 referendum that gave JRJ the opportunity to postpone the parliamentary elections, scheduled for August 1983. JRJ feared his party would lose the super majority in Parliament, hence the irresponsible violence marred referendum, the only referendum ever held here to put off the election. On 30 July, 1983, JRJ proscribed the JVP, along with the Nawa Sama Samaja Party and the Communist Party, on the false pretext of carrying out attacks on the Tamil community, following the killing of 13 soldiers in Jaffna.

Under Dissanayake’s leadership, the JVP underwent total a overhaul but it was Somawansa Amarasinghe who paved the way. Under Somawansa’s leadership, the party took the most controversial decision to throw its weight behind warwinning Army Chief General (retd) Sarath Fonseka at the 2010 presidential election. That decision, the writer feels, can be compared only with the decision to launch its second terror campaign in response to JRJ’s political strategy. How could we forget Somawansa Amarasinghe joining hands with the UNP and one-time LTTE ally, the Tamil National Alliance (TNA), to field Fonseka? Although they failed in that US-backed vile scheme, in 2010, success was achieved at the 2015 presidential election when Maithripala Sirisena was elected.

Perhaps, the JVP took advantage of the developing situation (post-Indo-Lanka Peace Accord), particularly the induction of the Indian Army here, in July 1987, to intensify their campaign. In the aftermath of that, the JVP attacked the UNP parliamentary group with hand grenades in Parliament. The August 1987 attack killed Matara District MP Keerthi Abeywickrema and staffer Nobert Senadheera while 16 received injuries. Both President JRJ and Prime Minister Ranasinghe Premadasa had been present at the time the two hand grenades were thrown at the group.

Had the JVP plot to assassinate JRJ and Premadasa succeeded in August 1987, what would have happened? Gevindu Cumaratunga, during his speech also raised a very interesting question. The nationalist asked where ISU Daya Pathirana would have been if he survived the murderous JVP.

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Midweek Review

Reaping a late harvest Musings of an Old Man

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I am an old man, having reached “four score and five” years, to describe my age in archaic terms. From a biological perspective, I have “grown old.” However, I believe that for those with sufficient inner resources, old age provides fertile ground to cultivate a new outlook and reap a late harvest before the sun sets on life.

Negative Characterisation of Old Age

My early medical education and training familiarised me with the concept of biological ageing: that every living organism inevitably undergoes progressive degeneration of its tissues over time. Old age is often associated with disease, disability, cognitive decline, and dependence. There is an inkling of futility, alienation, and despair as one approaches death. Losses accumulate. As Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.” Doctors may experience difficulty in treating older people and sometimes adopt an attitude of therapeutic nihilism toward a life perceived to be in decline.

Categorical assignment of symptoms is essential in medical practice when arriving at a diagnosis. However, placing an individual into the box of a “geriatric” is another matter, often resulting in unintended age segregation and stigmatisation rather than liberation of the elderly. Such labelling may amount to ageism. It is interesting to note that etymologically, the English word geriatric and the Sanskrit word jara both stem from the Indo-European root geront, meaning old age and decay, leading to death (jara-marana).

Even Sigmund Freud (1875–1961), the doyen of psychoanalysis, who influenced my understanding of personality structure and development during my psychiatric training, focused primarily on early development and youth, giving comparatively little attention to the psychology of old age. He believed that instinctual drives lost their impetus with ageing and famously remarked that “ageing is the castration of youth,” implying infertility not only in the biological sense. It is perhaps not surprising that Freud began his career as a neurologist and studied cerebral palsy.

Potential for Growth in Old Age

The model of human development proposed by the psychologist Erik Erikson (1902–1994), which he termed the “eight stages of man,” is far more appealing to me. His theory spans the entire life cycle, with each stage presenting a developmental task involving the negotiation of opposing forces; success or failure influences the trajectory of later life. The task of old age is to reconcile the polarity between “ego integrity” and “ego despair,” determining the emotional life of the elderly.

Ego integrity, according to Erikson, is the sense of self developed through working through the crises (challenges) of earlier stages and accruing psychological assets through lived experience. Ego despair, in contrast, results from the cumulative impact of multiple physical and emotional losses, especially during the final stage of life. A major task of old age is to maintain dignity amidst such emotionally debilitating forces. Negotiating between these polarities offers the potential for continued growth in old age, leading to what might be called a “meaningful finish.”

I do not dispute the concept of biological ageing. However, I do not regard old age as a terminal phase in which growth ceases and one is simply destined to wither and die. Though shadowed by physical frailty, diminishing sensory capacities and an apparent waning of vitality, there persists a proactive human spirit that endures well into late life. There is a need in old age to rekindle that spirit. Ageing itself can provide creative opportunities and avenues for productivity. The aim is to bring life to a meaningful close.

To generate such change despite the obstacles of ageing — disability and stigmatisation — the elderly require a sense of agency, a gleam of hope, and a sustaining aspiration. This may sound illusory; yet if such illusions are benign and life-affirming, why not allow them?

Sharon Kaufman, in her book The Ageless Self: Sources of Meaning in Late Life, argues that “old age” is a social construct resisted by many elders. Rather than identifying with decline, they perceive identity as a lifelong process despite physical and social change. They find meaning in remaining authentically themselves, assimilating and reformulating diverse life experiences through family relationships, professional achievements, and personal values.

Creative Living in Old Age

We can think of many artists, writers, and thinkers who produced their most iconic, mature, or ground-breaking work in later years, demonstrating that creativity can deepen and flourish with age. I do not suggest that we should all aspire to become a Monet, Picasso, or Chomsky. Rather, I use the term “creativity” in a broader sense — to illuminate its relevance to ordinary, everyday living.

Endowed with wisdom accumulated through life’s experiences, the elderly have the opportunity for developmental self-transformation — to connect with new identities, perspectives, and aspirations, and to engage in a continuing quest for purpose and meaning. Such a quest serves an essential function in sustaining mental health and well-being.

Old age offers opportunities for psychological adaptation and renewal. Many elders use the additional time afforded by retirement to broaden their knowledge, pursue new goals, and cultivate creativity — an old age characterised by wholeness, purpose, and coherence that keeps the human spirit alive and growing even as one’s days draw to a close.

Creative living in old age requires remaining physically, cognitively, emotionally, and socially engaged, and experiencing life as meaningful. It is important to sustain an optimistic perception of health, while distancing oneself from excessive preoccupation with pain and trauma. Positive perceptions of oneself and of the future help sustain well-being. Engage in lifelong learning, maintain curiosity, challenge assumptions — for learning itself is a meaning-making process. Nurture meaningful relationships to avoid disengagement, and enter into respectful dialogue, not only with those who agree with you. Cultivate a spiritual orientation and come to terms with mortality.

The developmental task of old age is to continue growing even as one approaches death — to reap a late harvest. As Rabindranath Tagore expressed evocatively in Gitanjali [‘Song Offerings’], which won him the Nobel Prize:: “On the day when death will knock at thy door, what wilt thou offer to him?

Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life — I will never let him go with empty hands.”

by Dr Siri Galhenage
Psychiatrist (Retired)
[sirigalhenage@gmail.com]

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Midweek Review

Left’s Voice of Ethnic Peace

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Multi-gifted Prof. Tissa Vitarana in passing,

Leaves a glowing gem of a memory comforting,

Of him putting his best foot forward in public,

Alongside fellow peace-makers in the nineties,

In the name of a just peace in bloodied Sri Lanka,

Caring not for personal gain, barbs or brickbats,

And for such humanity he’ll be remembered….

Verily a standard bearer of value-based politics.

By Lynn Ockersz

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