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A critique of Jathika Chintanaya (Part II)

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“The middle-class of this country, a majority of them, appear to follow Jathika Chintanaya. But it’s very clear that they don’t know what Jathika Chintanaya means. Nor do they seem interested in knowing what it is. Gunadasa Amarasekara talks about Jathika Chintanaya. I talk about Chintanaye Jathikathwaya. Those not hailing from the middle-class know what Chintanaye Jathikathwaya is. But they don’t yet know how to articulate it.”

— Nalin de Silva, “Jathika Chintanaya and Chintanaye Jathikathwaya”

Despite what supporters and critics may say, from its inception Jathika Chintanaya was, as it still is, moulded by a Protestant ethic. Nalin de Silva’s famous critique of contemporary Buddhism – what he contemptuously derided as “Olcott Buddhism” – should not mislead one into thinking that followers of Chintanism questioned seriously the bourgeois Protestant ethic on which that variant of Buddhism was based. As scholars have clearly shown, despite its millenarian vision, post-19th century Sinhala nationalism ended up caving into the same merchant-rentier-comprador interests from which it sought to escape.

The experience of the last two decades bears out this latter point well: despite its intentions, Jathika Chintanaya failed to propound a version of Buddhism which was at once populist and emancipatory, which incorporated the Left while discarding its comprador elements.

A brief thaw did emerge in the early 1990s – a period I consider to have marked the peak of the movement – when Nalin de Silva and Gunadasa Amarasekara evolved a critique of the Left, as well as of processes which the Left had traditionally critiqued.

The thaw was largely epitomised by Nalin de Silva’s campaigns against Coca-Cola and the Kandalama Hotel. I consider these campaigns to have been justified, even if they did not go far enough in preventing Coca-Cola or Kandalama. I do so because in calling for the boycott of the one and the closure of the other, de Silva more or less put into question the credentials of “Left” outfits and activists who, far from critiquing the forces of globalisation and multinational capital which underlay the beverage and the hotel, welcomed them on the grounds that these forces would transcend the traditional “feudal” relations within Sinhala-Buddhist communities. This was what the “Left” magazine Pravada propounded in its editorial on the Kandalama Hotel as a response to activists organising protests against it: that while giving leeway to large companies was not kosher, the breakup of such “traditional relations” resulting from the project was deemed eminently desirable.

In welcoming the intrusion of metropolitan capital into the country, the editors of Pravada, and other like-minded publications projected the impression that they preferred even neoliberalism to the conservation of a traditional way of life: a somewhat peculiar conclusion for a paper identifying itself with the Left! The error stemmed from a fundamental misconception of “traditional relations,” and of capitalist enterprise in general. In any case, whatever it was, such postures from the New Left only served to vindicate the opposing stances of Jathika Chintanaya.

With the benefit of hindsight, it can be said that the latter faced its moment of reckoning at this point. Accordingly, these tactics should have been what informed its strategy. The JVP, decimated by the second insurrection, had adopted a similar line (of deploying Leftist rhetoric on nationalist issues) years earlier, so it was hardly unprecedented.

Yet for some reason, it was that strategy the Chintanawadeen chose not to take. I believe this failure reveals, at one level, the class limitations of Chintanism, an ideology rooted today in a Sinhala petty bourgeoisie. At a time when the founding ideologues of the Jathika Chintanaya seem to have split – Gunadasa Amarasekara in an overwhelmingly middle-class camp, Nalin de Silva in a non-middle class one (what he calls “Chintanaye Jathikathwaya”, which I shall explore later) – these limitations deserve further explication and analysis.

It goes without saying that both Amarasekara and Champika Ranawaka, foes in the battle of nationalist ideology today, continue to aim at, and appeal to, the Sinhala petty bourgeoisie: Amarasekara from what remains of Jathika Chintanaya, and Champika Ranawaka from his newly constituted “43 Senankaya”, which targets a disgruntled class of suburban Sinhala Buddhist professionals. What is pertinent here, of course, is not whether such a strategy can help win votes, but what it has done to, and how it has modified, the relationship between the Sinhala nationalists and the (economic) forces they opposed decades ago.

The Sihala Urumaya in the run up to the 2000 election gave a series of interviews in which its representatives expressed their ideas on globalisation and socialism. Their arguments revealed the transition the party was undergoing then: cautioning against the “ruinous” policies of the 1970-1977 regime which the “destroyed” Sinhala businessman, they made the point that globalisation, of a radically different sort, should be welcomed.

This did not mean the reinstatement of the “open economy,” which they critiqued, but neither did it mean a withdrawal from such an economy; it merely meant the recasting of neoliberal globalisation along lines more favourable to “indigenous” traders and merchants. The inadequacies of this approach are apparent enough, for it does not differ fundamentally from the neoliberal prescription of growth driven by – who else? – traders and merchants.

What we’re seeing here is a radical departure from how proponents of Sinhala nationalism once thought about political-economic matters in the wake of the 1987 Accord. Of particular interest is their currently Janus-faced attitude to the open and the closed economy: their critique of both is framed in terms of what these economic systems did, and did not do, for the local businessman. Very much in line with their petty bourgeois inclinations, they oppose globalisation from a cultural standpoint, while welcoming it from an economic standpoint. As for socialist alternatives, they view them as undesirable and in fact opposed to nationalism.

Tilak Karunaratne, General Secretary of the Sihala Urumaya, summed up these sentiments better than most, in an interview with The Island: “The things the SLFP did after they came into power starting with the bus nationalisation [were] done to hit the Sinhalese businessmen who were all UNPers. This was not at all done with a socialist intent. He thought by doing this he could destroy the UNP but he actually destroyed the Sinhalese. . . . The same happened with Insurance nationalisation, Port nationalisation and worst to hit the Sinhalese was the Plantation nationalisation. The economic clout was destroyed of the Sinhalese.”

Now, the point to note about these ideologues is that they tend to change. From critiquing the open economy and attacking nationalisation then, the Chintanavadeen seem to have come round to opposing the one and supporting the other on all fronts, and not just from a cultural perspective. Thus Gunadasa Amarasekara, in an article published around a year ago in this paper, reflects on the flaws of an economic model dependent on extraction, workers’ remittances, and tourism. The critique is cerebral, and the turnaround to be welcomed, even if inadequate. Yet these are a far cry from the positions the proponents of Sinhala nationalism adopted just two decades ago.

In offering a critique of globalisation, Jathika Chintanaya appears again to be subscribing to the stances it took in the immediate post-Cold War conjuncture, when it opposed multinational beverage brands and large-scale hotel development projects with an eloquence hardly matched by “Left” activists. This does not tone down my criticism of the movement or its ideologues, however: its failure to come up a more pluralist ideology that at once incorporated the more genuine sections of the Left, while discarding left-liberal and foreign donor-driven elements, when only a commitment to such a strategy could have transformed it from a purely communalist perspective to a radically non-comprador one.

Had it followed such a line, Jathika Chintanaya could no doubt have accomplished a transition which neither the Old Left at its nadir, nor the JVP after its entry into the democratic mainstream managed. Instead, the Chintanawadeen opted to chart the worst political-economic course: a regressive petty-bourgeois ideology impotent before neoliberalism and globalisation.

It’s easy to understand where the adherents of Jathika Chintanaya (as distinct from Nalin de Silva’s Chintanaye Jathikathwaya) went wrong: in battling petty enemies, they lost sight of the larger adversaries of systemic proportions. The consequences of these errors are to be seen in the debates over the leasing of the East Container Terminal: while the Left (along with Wimal Weerawansa and Gevindu Cumaratunga) spearheaded trade union action, several prominent nationalists chose to underscore the importance of foreign investment.

The irony became most apparent when it transpired that these were the same nationalists who berated India over other issues, like devolution. Now to harbour fears of Indian intervention, yet welcome the leasing of a strategic asset to non-nationals, seems to me an intellectual leap unworthy of such ideologues. But that is a leap they have been only too willing to make.

The writing is on the wall: as long as Jathika Chintanaya engages in pettifogging instead of serious debate, the world will move on, and civilisations will crumble down, under the weight of forces misapprehended if not altogether missed by their nationalist adherents. In the face of these forces of fragmentation, indeed of modernity itself, all that is solid melts into air – even the beloved nation.

 

Note 1: In Part I of this piece, I wrote that Nalin de Silva’s Old Left associations began in the NSSP. In actual fact they began in the LSSP, and only later shifted to the NSSP.

Note 2: Professor Kanishka Goonewardena of the Department of Geography and Planning at the University of Toronto has authored an interesting essay that dwells on Jathika Chintanaya. Titled “Populism, nationalism and Marxism in Sri Lanka”, it is, I daresay, a must-read, for the simple reason that it deviates from the generalisations one usually encounters with liberal scholars on the subject.

 

The writer can be reached at udakdevl@gmail.com



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Politics

Champika’s challenge

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Patali Champika Ranawaka’s somersault into the political establishment remains one of the more interesting developments from the last quarter century or so. Beginning with the JVP, moving to the nationalist right, only to later turn to the neoliberal right, he remains shrouded in enigma, a cut above the rest: while most of his colleagues go round in circles, shifting parties as you would shift from one musical chair to another in a never-ending cycle, he prefers straight lines.

The issue has to do with where those lines are leading him. What are his beliefs and strategies? Who are his friends and enemies? Which side does he tilt to? These questions may remain unanswered for some time, well into the long run; to search for answers now would be futile.

Ruthless to a fault, yet quiet and tactful, our most perfectionist parliamentarian happens to be one of our most intelligent. He knows the numbers, and quotes them almost effortlessly. Even if he jumps to the wrong conclusions, he gives the impression of having taken a longer, more tortuous route to reach them. Whether he’s critiquing a development initiative or a financial scandal – of course while in the opposition – he resorts to logic, not speculation. His speeches are among the eloquent we hear from parliament today, at least by the standards set by both present government and opposition MPs in that unfortunate institution. He says what critics of the government want to hear, not what they’ve heard elsewhere. Insofar as opposition MPs are concerned, Ranawaka has thus laid the benchmark and set the yardstick, even if he lacks the charisma and charm of his opponents.

What explains his appeal? It’s not as though he’s been consistent throughout. The truth is that he has indulged in as much pole-vaulting as most of his colleagues and contemporaries: a dubious record to be sure, but one which hasn’t attracted for him the kind of outrage others have.

Take a look at his affiliations: the JVP, Jathika Chintanaya, Ratawesi Peramuna, Janatha Mithuro, National Movement Against Terrorism, Sihala Urumaya, Jathika Hela Urumaya, United People’s Freedom Alliance, United National Front for Good Governance, UNP, and finally SJB. His entry into the latter remains tenuous and debatable at best, yet it was with its formation that he let go of his past, for good: having served as leader of the most powerful nationalist party in the country, the JHU, he left that party, even if he did not disavow its ideology. What’s extraordinary about it is that regardless of where he has jumped to, his record has attracted less censure than that of most of his colleagues. Bottom line: consistency is not his forte, but his lack of it hasn’t worked against him.

If it’s isn’t consistency, is it survival? From the tail-end of the Cold War to the peak of a pandemic, Ranawaka seems to have been driven by two impulses: power and adaptability. But he’s hardly the only such politician who’s stuck to these credos. To say he’s survived due to some farsighted powers of adaptation is to overlook a crucial, inescapable fact: that adaptation for him signals not so much an ability to harbour different ideological affiliations across parties as it does an ability to adhere to the same ideology, the same worldview, while straddling different parties. In this, he is the superior of many colleagues and foes. Bottom line: he’s survived not because he’s changed so often, but because, at a fundamental level, he hasn’t changed at all.

At a Q&A session organised by a group of young activists a few weeks before last August’s election, Ranawaka was suave, confident, and a tad tired. He spoke about his journey from university student to political activist to politician, underscoring his achievements without bragging about them. The man has, if anything at all, a clean record as a minister, whatever his failings on other fronts may be, and this became apparent as one slide moved into another on the screen.

Yet what caught me wasn’t the conviction with which he outlined his achievements, but the answer he gave to my question as to why he abandoned his activism over alternative development paradigms (he called it Sanwardhanaye Thunweni Yamanaya, (“The Third Era of Development”). Ranawaka was polite, yet to the point with me: “We must bend when we have to, without clinging on to the same ideas, movements, and personalities forever.”

Does this offer a clue to his philosophy, if he follows a philosophy at all? Critics, especially from the Sinhala nationalist right, accuse him of peddling nationalism as a launch pad for his personal politics: a strange assessment, given that since at least the Donoughmore period politicians have been peddling nationalism, of all shades, for personal gain. What makes Ranawaka a target of nationalist vitriol here is not his tendency to shift parties so quickly, but his gift for dominating nationalist discussions while cohabiting with parties hardly amenable to such discourses: the UNP then, the SJB today.

That boils down to a simple truism: no matter the virtues he claims for pole-vaulting, no matter the vices he claims for sticking to the same ideologies, he’s achieved the best of both worlds, bending to the currents of political expedience while sailing on the same ship. If Ranil Wickremesinghe has been compared to a fox, Mr Ranawaka’s spirit animal, given these predilections, ought to be a leopard: not a leopard that doesn’t change its spots, but one whose spots can never change.

All this is peripheral to any proper discussion about the man, his dreams, and how he has set out to realise them. Far from concentrating on why he’s survived all these decades despite abandoning any pretence at ideological consistency, while sailing on the same (Sinhala nationalist) ship, it behoves us to consider the challenges his track record poses to his future prospects. Put in another way, what are the biggest obstacles he faces as he charts yet another new political course?

To ponder these is to ponder Ranawaka’s vision for the future. None of his critics, from the nationalist right or the pro-SJB opposition, has engaged him over that vision. In essence, it centres on the need to nurture what he calls “fifth generation leaders”, a meritocratic class of results-oriented politicians and officials. The emergence of that generation is, in fact, the objective of “43 Senankaya.” Rawanaka’s strategy to that end is to consolidate the Bandaranaike reforms of 1956 and the Jayewardene reforms of 1977, forming “an administration comprising of experts from various sectors.”

One can of course question how the reforms of 1956 will square with those of 1977 – can you think of a more contrasting, disparate set of policies? – but that is grist for another piece. For now, what needs to be understood is that Ranawaka’s political philosophy has engaged a suburban petty bourgeoisie, along with a young precariat milieu fresh out of university, engaged in part-time employment, and entranced by his talk of next generation leaders. The “43” in his brigade’s title refers to the year free education was enacted here: its aim, therefore, is the realisation of the hopes and aspirations of a post-1956, post-1977, and post-2000 educated class. This is ambitious, cutting across political differences and potentially unifying everyone from everywhere. Yet it is not without its problems.

Ranawaka’s showing at last year’s general election (he came second from last in the SJB’s Colombo district preferential results) confirmed two things: one, that the nationalist crowd he wooed long ago has defected to the SLPP today, and two, that despite a lack of support from this crowd, he could not canvass enough support from other communities and groups. The latter revealed a more fundamental failure: an inability to cut into a) Colombo’s upper middle-class and b) ethnic minorities from Central Colombo. In these constituencies he was upended by a neoliberal rightwing, populist centre-right, and minority bloc. Once these groups deserted him, he was left with only a Sinhala suburban middle-class: a paltry base from which you can aim for little, and achieve even less.

Ranawaka’s challenge then is two-fold, necessitating two strategies. Firstly, since he is locked into Colombo’s middle-class and ethnic minorities, he should cross the terrain, beyond city and district, canvassing popular support from other regions. Secondly, since he cannot do without city and district, he should scale the wall, winning support from non-suburban-Sinhala constituencies there.

To both cross the terrain and scale the wall is not easy. But given his dismal showing last year, he should opt for a strategy which squares the circle. Otherwise, he runs the risk of not only irrelevance, but also marginalisation: both of himself and of the “43 Senankaya.”

The problem for Ranawaka is that he has ruffled the feathers of three minority communities: Tamils (anti-federal postures, coupled with an ambivalent stance on devolution), Muslims (comments about them being outsiders 13 years ago), and Christians (anti-conversion campaigns vis-à-vis the JHU, following the passing away of Soma Thera). Simultaneously, his defection to the UNP and SJB has led to dwindling support from the Sinhala nationalist right. All these factors have led to losses on all electoral fronts, with no compensating gains.

Today, he courts support from a niche audience: an anti-Rajapaksist, pro-meritocracy Sinhala middle-class as conservative as rightwing neoliberals. Unless he claims real estate elsewhere, he will find it difficult to achieve either his aims or the objectives of his brigade, even with a Sinhala electorate on his side. In politics especially, the past cannot be allowed to determine the future. In Ranawaka’s case, the past seems to be coming back with much ferocity. He must do what he can to let go, paving a new road. A failure to do so can only condemn him to irrelevance and extinction.

 

The writer can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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Military Officer Cadets- A Nation’s Promise of the future

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Major General Nanda Mallawaarachchi VSV’s article in the Sunday Island and Sunday Times of April 25, 2021 respectively titled ‘Being blooded into the Ceylon Army in 1971’and ‘The making of a soldier’ would certainly have brought back pleasant memories to army officers of their days at Diyatalawa while training as officer cadets.

A retired officer of the Armoured Corps residing in Canada puts it across very well in a letter “Good read … about what was normal, and common to all intakes. The analysis and mention of individuals and places also brings back fond and nostalgic memories of training days at Diyatalawa ……. Loyalty to intake mates is good”.

The Major General may be forgiven for not mentioning the landmark of Diyatalawa, Fox Hill and its environs, including a hill jocularly known as ‘R… kellage passa paththa’ where quite a lot of training is done, the White Gate at the top of the dominating steep hill from the polo grounds where senior cadet’s test junior cadet’s fitness and interaction with the SLAF cadets.

Diyatalawa is also the only Garrison town in SL, something even the Directorate of Legal Services at Army HQ appears to have forgotten to the delight of dozens of unchecked illegal squatters. Leaving out the demonstration platoon from the Gemunu Watch may also be excused as they may have added to the cadets’ tales of excruciating woe on tactical exercises like Frozen Trout on the Horton Plains.

The mission of SLMA Diyatalawa, called the Officer Cadet School when Maj Gen Mallawaarachchi was there, is to educate, train and inspire officer cadets to be good military leaders and good citizens.

However in what appears to be a misconception of the mission, possibly due excessive zeal and popular exaggeration, the writer has made a few avoidable declarations. The first is considerable and dramatic. It fuels myths. It states that the Chief Instructor Captain, (not Major as given – later Major General) Sena de Sylva SLLI in his opening address said ‘We will break you and remake you in such a manner that nobody… will be able to break you again”.

This cannot be. Is it due to a severe memory lapse and a mistake, 50 years on? At a time when Geneva is giving SL no respite, this description could be added manna for SL’s detractors to be made by no less than a Major General that the Army ‘breaks’ even its officer cadets. It could also cause considerable negative concerns to parents, teachers and future aspirants as well as the public that holds the Army in considerable esteem and to former instructors. Major de Sylva, a Sandhurst alumnus from Trinity College, now living in the USA, actually said the training would be ‘very hard’.

The article misinterprets the objectives of the SLMA. As the above retired SL officer in Canada expands with passion “there was nothing to be broken. Inherent characteristics, talents, qualities and capabilities were enhanced and corrected while new ones were added through training, leadership examples of instructors and later seniors in one’s regiment. It includes transparency, respect for law and order, common decency, upholding the highest ideals of human behaviour, not by someone in authority but as a normal human being.” Military training is certainly very hard, robust, grueling, and very tough and extremely challenging as surely it must be. However it is not intended to ‘break’ inductees, especially future leaders.

The aim at SLMA Diyatalawa is to produce an officer who is morally, mentally and physically able to lead soldiers. The motto of the Military Academy Diyatalawa is ‘Serve to Lead’. It means officers must first serve their men in order to lead them. The officer trains them in the field, looks after them when in barracks, plays with them, goes out on adventure training with them, helps solve their personal problems and generally builds up confidence and trust. It is said a good young officer will know his men better than their own parents. This is what makes a soldier risk his life in obeying his officer in battle as he knows the officer would have done the same to save his. Would the charter of Diyatalawa be compromised by ‘breaking’ them first?

Such methods may possibly be attempted in a penitentiary or by sadistic ‘seniors’ (IUSF members with complexes) on ‘freshers’ at Universities in SL, with pitiful consequences including sadly, suicides.

The idea at Diyatalawa is to encourage imaginative and flexible and predictable leadership that is sensitive, honest, develops group spirit, camaraderie and a sense of fun as seen in the article. There will be pride, friendship forged by shared suffering, military knowledge, basic skills, discipline and finally a willingness to risk their lives for their comrades, regiment and country. They should be quick witted, hardy, well educated, approachable and have the trust and esteem of their soldiers, being responsible for lives not only livelihoods.

The article for some strange reason also states that cadets were paid Rs 460 in 1971.This is quite curious as even subalterns (second lieutenants) starting pay was Rs 275 then and a captain was paid Rs 525. Cadets who went to Sandhurst in the 1950/60s were paid a soldier’s salary. It was Rs 60. No one was shy to say so.

The article goes on about doing night sentry duties in ‘fox holes’ at Diyatalawa when the 1971 JVP insurgency began. Fox holes are tubular and uncomfortable. Foxes may know! This is an American term for the wholly inadequate preparations they used to make to protect themselves from enemy fire. It was a shade better than their alternative ‘shell scrapes’. They found the bitter truth of this in the Korean War. That term and concept was not in use at Diyatalawa. Surely what was meant were fire trenches? They provide protection for two from enemy small arms fire and substantially from artillery fire. What is not known was why NCOs like Reeves (later Regimental Sergeant Major of the First Field Engineers and now living in Canada) were allowed to slip into the trenches ‘at night to catch anyone sleeping and punish them’. Corporals were never allowed to punish cadets anyhow. Why Reeves was not shot is the real question!

Whatever these asides are, the real finale to these experiences will be when the former Officer Cadet Gotabaya Rajapakse of Intake 4 takes the salute as the Commander in Chief (C in C) at the next commissioning parade at Diyatalawa. He will remember that day, 50 years back, when he too was among those who paraded on the same grounds at a similar but smaller parade to salute the C in C’s representative.

The many battles he fought against the terrorists and his comrades both soldiers and officers who died and were wounded, will flash across his mind. He will humbly recall the leadership promise fulfilled when he as Defence Secretary was a part of the triumvirate that headed the armed forces which ended the 30-year conflict bringing total peace to SL.

Retired and serving officers, parents of the cadets and the public watching the parade live and on TV and the cadets on parade will bring to mind an officer cadet who then became an elected president without being a politician and came back to Diyatalawa as the C in C to take the salute.

Thankfully he was not broken but challenged, encouraged, set examples inspired and made. Emulation is highly unlikely but the mountain was climbed right up to the top. What an achievement. What an Academy! What an unforgettable and unique moment it will be.

 

A former officer cadet/instructor

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Covid-19 surge as an opportunity to re-calibrate

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by Malinda Seneviratne

Lockdown. Isolation. Quarantine. Wave. Social. Spread. Cluster. These are not new words. They are however words that have acquired fresh currency courtesy Covid-19. And, as often happens, when used frequently, they lost meaning or rather they are treated with (cultivated) nonchalance.

That’s as far as the general public is concerned. Meaning, all those who are not directly involved in designing policies and developing strategies to prevent or curb the spread of the virus, enforcing safety protocols and of course treating the infected. Yes, from Day One we were told that every single citizen has a responsibility. Indeed such communications were relayed not just through state media but private media institutions, social media and through innumerable notices. We saw them all. We heard them all. We continued to see and hear. We still do. Therefore, if there’s virtue in soul-searching then that’s a national exercise which neither government, opposition, institution (private, public or cooperative) nor individual can brush aside saying ‘not my/our business.’ We can ask, ‘where did we go wrong?’ We can ask ‘where did they (say, the government) go wrong?’ We can also ask, ‘where did I go wrong?’ The yet-to-be-infected or say the non-infected can say/think ‘well, I must have done something right,’ but then again if such an individual violated the basic safety measure of avoiding crowded places he/she would have unknowingly contributed to increasing people-density in certain places (say a shopping complex, a supermarket, a party or religious gathering). You add yourself and you make it that much harder to maintain social distance protocols. That’s one way of playing the blame game. There’s another. You turn your binoculars on the government. It’s fair enough. It’s the state authorities that have to design policy and enforce rules. So we can ask a lot of questions.Did they become paranoid too soon (March to June, 2020)? Did they become complacent thereafter? Didn’t they anticipate a second and third wave? Were they foolhardy in opening the country to tourists? Did they go overboard or were too indulgent with the so-called magic remedies? Have they done enough in terms of preparing for the unforeseen? Was testing done in a systematic way? Did they select and procure the correct complement of vaccines and in adequate quantities? Were they administered prudently? Were preparations for a surge in infections adequate? Then there are questions that are not asked or are not shouted out. Is there some kind of fail safe formula to balance containment with the need to keep the economy moving? Can Sri Lanka afford an extended or comprehensive lockdown? What would you/I say if for instance such measures were put in place? Would we then whine about the economy grinding to a halt? Would you/I keep our mouths shut if businesses large and small were forced to shut down or lay off employees? Would you/I not lament the plight of the poor(er) employees?

Have we studied adequately the political economy of pharmaceuticals, including vaccines (procurement of raw materials, production and distribution)? If someone told me/you that the USA used its Defense Production Act to ban exports of the materials needed to make vaccines to India, resulting in a 50% drop in production, would I/you believe it and conclude that vaccination is not free of politics, free of the profit-motive?It’s all about how easy we want to make it for ourselves, isn’t it? It has something to do with political preference hasn’t it? In the early days of the pandemic there was fear and foreboding. Even paranoia. Things got better and people were less paranoid. The recent surge in infections has produced a hike in worry. People are frustrated. They need someone to target. Anyone. Anyone but themselves. They want everyone (else) to do their bit and the government to do much more than it can hope to, but many are reluctant to do their bit. It’s easy to vent and ‘someone else’ is always a better target. We are not rich in self-reflection. We are poor when it comes to responsibility. In the early days there was a sense of siege. Fear made people think of coping mechanisms at all levels. Maybe we will return to all that. Maybe the government will figure out a way to allocate resources prudently and design better balancing systems (of pandemic response and an acceptable/reasonable level of basic economic and social activity).Speculation, however, can only help so much. It is clear that a concerted effort by one and all would help. Criticism has a role to play in all this. If it is constructive. If it is motivated by decent intention. For example, a year ago, an opposition in disarray ranted and raved about ‘risks’ when elections were to be held. When the second wave hit us a couple of months later, some people got into we-told-you-so gloating mode. Obviously they knew very little about the behavior of the virus and cared even less. What does tomorrow hold? Can anyone answer? What should be done? What should not be done? Talk to 10 people. Make that eight persons who have an axe to grind about this government. They won’t speak ‘in one voice’. Talk to ten ‘experts’. Same effect, I would wager. Everyone is a self-appointed epidemiologist these days. Everyone is an expert on balancing pandemic-mitigation and managing the economy. Everyone is more or less in the dark and if you doubt this, check out the various measures put in place by various governments and how these strategies have been amended over the past 18 months or so. There’s a lot that a lot of people can do. There are some basic things that an individual can do. Perhaps it might be useful to go back to one of the rules-of-thumb that did the rounds in the early days of the pandemic: assume that you are infected (rather than assuming someone else is infected). Assume also, if you like, that the virus is in your face, so to speak. That might bring those who prefer to loaf in ethereal regions back to earth.

It’s about doing what we can. It’s about doing no harm. Dialing down anger. Being kind. Restrictions of any kind provide one thing: the space for sober reflection. Not a bad thing. It could even be seen as a blessing, an opportunity to re-calibrate a lot of things, not just the response to the virus.

malindasenevi@gmail.com. www.malindawords.blogspot.com.

[Malinda Seneviratne is the Director/CEO of the Hector Kobbekaduwa Agrarian Research and Training Institute. These are his personal views]

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