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Crime and Punishment In Sri Lanka – Where is the Equity ?

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By Anura Gunasekera

Recently, the Kegalle High Court Trial at Bar, on conclusion of the December 2018 Mawanella Buddha statue damaging case, conducted under the Prevention of Terrorism( Temporary Provisions) Act, has passed sentences of varying severity, on the accused who have admitted culpability. Three of the accused have been discharged and the cases against two fixed for further inquiry

Moving back to the period between June 2014 and March 2018, rioting Sinhala mobs, incited or led by Buddhist priests, destroyed or damaged hundreds of Muslim owned businesses, private homes, vehicles, and a couple of mosques, in Aluthagama, Digana and Panadura. Seven people were killed, six of them Muslims. The cost of the damage to assets, owned mostly by Muslims, would be, conservatively, in billions of rupees. Any forensic investigation of the Aluthgama carnage was pre-empted by forces personnel quickly cleaning up the scene of the crime, before investigations could begin, apparently on the orders of former President, Gotabaya Rajapaksa, then Secretary of Defence.

As far as I am aware, not one person has been convicted for any of the above crimes, though much of the destruction is reported to have been caused, in full view of armed police and the forces. There have also been allegations of active assistance provided by uniformed police to the rioting mobs. Two Buddhist priests, Galagoda Athhe Gnanasara and Ampitiye Sumanarathana, publicly associated with the incidents, have been ignored by the law. In fact, in 2020, the Galagoda monk was appointed by then President Gotabaya Rajapaksa, as the chairman of the “One Country, One Law” task force.

Amit Weerasinghe, leader of the “Mahason Balakaya”, a Sinhala-Buddhist extremist entity associated with the riots, was arrested and released. It is not clear whether any action was filed against him. More than a 100 individuals, all from the majority community, arrested in connection with the incidents of anti-Muslim violence described above, were enlarged on bail at the respective first hearings. However, 45 individuals, all Muslims without prior criminal records, arrested in connection with the Mawanella affair, were held in remand custody for forty two months, though there were no eyewitnesses to the related incidents.

Jude Jayamaha, convicted murderer sentenced to death in 2012, was pardoned in 2019 by then President Maithripala. Army Sergeant Sunil Ratnayake, sentenced to death for the torture/murder of a Tamil civilian family of eight, was given a “full presidential pardon” by former president, Gotabaya Rajapaksa, in 2020. Former member of parliament and close associate of president Gotabaya, Duminda Silva, sentenced to death for complicity in murder, benefited from a “special presidential pardon” , extended by GR in June 2021, which also included over a hundred other prisoners. However, Silva has been rearrested in May 2022, on a Supreme Court order suspending the pardon.

In the meantime, the loose-tongued MP, Ranjan Ramanayake, has so far spent one year of a four-year sentence for contempt of court. I am open to correction by those who know the law better but, as I understand it, his sentence is based on a provision of the Penal Code, which dates back to a 19th century statute. However, it is a fact that most mature democracies have moved on from such archaic legal provisions, and now permit robust and reasonable debate in regard to matters pertaining to the judiciary itself.

Also relevant is the case of Lasantha Wickrematunge, and the many other journalists and anti-government activists, featured in the list of the murdered regime-critics over the last three decades, now simply names in a long and sad litany of unsolved crimes. There are the thousands of civilians who disappeared during our long war, and in the course of the suppression of two consecutive Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna uprisings; over 700 Sri Lankan policemen were murdered by the LTTE, in June 1990, after surrendering to them on the orders of the then President, Ranasinghe Premadasa, conveyed through then Inspector General of Police, Ernest Perera. The absence of an in-depth investigation in to this incident is, perhaps, due to the fact that the alleged mastermind- according to Field Marshal Sarath Fonseka- Vinayagamoorthy Muralidaran of the LTTE, subsequently became a government ally.

In fact, a review of unsolved murders and extra-judicial killings since the beginning of the Eelam war, would require a separate volume. The land that the Buddha is supposed to have consecrated with several personal visits is, truly, very bloody, underfoot.

In more recent events, parliamentarian Prasanna Ranatunge, heavily fined and sentenced to a suspended sentence, for attempting to extort money under threat from a businessman, has been appointed Minister of Urban Development and Housing, by President Wickremesinghe. Nimal Siripala de Silva, who resigned his cabinet portfolio pending investigation in to a major bribery charge (reportedly conveyed to then president Gotabaya by Japan’s ambassador), has been “acquitted”- by a panel led by former High Court judge, Kusala Sarojini Weerawardane, on conclusion of what must be the speediest of such investigations conducted in decades; just one week! Within a day of this miraculous “acquittal”, he is reappointed to the cabinet by President Wickremesinghe, as Minister of Ports, Shipping and Aviation.

The two actions by the new president makes a mockery of a key assurance given by him regarding the elimination of bribery and corruption during his maiden address to parliament. How does one conflate that noble pledge with the elevation of two individuals, one patently corrupt and the other allegedly so? That situation is decidedly worse than the case of former state minister, Lohan Ratwatte, whose forcible entry in to Welikada and Anuradhapura prisons, was investigated- with no conclusive outcome- by the same lady.

All of the above is a preamble to the current situation. Wickremesinghe, immediately upon assuming the acting presidency, declared a state of emergency and enabled the arrest of a number of individuals seen as leaders of the “Aragalaya”, the movement which actually paved the way for his presidential appointment. Apart from Joseph Stalin (General Secretary, Ceylon Teachers’ Union), Fr Jeewantha Pieris, Wasantha Mudalige ( Convener, Inter-University Students’ Federation) Eranga Gunasekera( National Organizer for “Socialist Youth Union”) and Lahiru Weerasekera (National Organizer for “Youth for Change”), four protesters “loitering” around the Bandaranaike statue at Galle Face, and a few who have been identified as having entered the Presidential Secretariat and the President’s House, have also been taken in.

In the greater scheme of things the “crimes” attributed to these individuals are clearly low level misdemeanors. Proven damage to premises and content are crimes which must be punished, but relaxing on the president’s bed and sitting in the president’s chair are not major crimes, though the latter have been classified as ” terrorist acts”.

Compare the above with the events which took place in parliament , on November 15, 2018, when members of Mahinda Rajapaksa’s party physically attacked the then Speaker, Karu Jayasuriya. At the fore-front of the aggression were then ministers, Johnston Fernando and Mahindanda Aluthgamage, who attacked the police who tried to restore order. Arundhika Fernando occupied the Speaker’s chair and was seen being smilingly felicitated by MP Pavithra Wanniarachchi. All these events have been caught on video-film as indisputable evidence. Despite the desecration of the very seat of governance by the lawmakers themselves, no action was taken against those guilty. Let us also not forget the May 9 attack on unarmed activists at Galle Face, in which Mahinda Rajapaksa and Johnston Fernando were clearly complicit.

Since April this year six dead bodies have washed up ashore along the Colombo district coastline. The police have been very quick to attribute these incidents, and other recent murders in and around the Colombo district, to drug-related violence, though results of investigations have not been made public. Surprisingly, these incidents appear to have slid under the radar of routine news reporting, with minimal mention in the media.

One can also add the “Bond Scam” of 2015, involving the current president’s then Central Bank Governor appointee, Arjuna Mahendran, the “Sugar Scam” of 2020, the shambolic “Greek Bonds” affair of 2012, under the stewardship of then Central Bank Governor, Nivard Cabraal and the controversial settlement of International Sovereign Bonds in January 2022, again under the supervision of Cabraal in his second term as CB governor. However, Mahendran, hiding from the law in plain sight, is safely delivering profound statements on the economy of Sri Lanka to, international media, the profiteers from the sugar deal have not been dealt with despite recommendations by the National Audit Office, and Cabraal, still unscathed, is living in seclusion.

And what of the Rs 17.8 in cash, discovered in the President’s House by the Aragalists and handed over to the Fort Police on July 9, but produced in court by the police only on July 29? Where did the Fort OIC store this cash in the interim? Will former president Gotabaya, as head of the presidential household, be asked to explain the source of the cash and the reasons for its retention?

The point of this narration is to highlight the glaring inequity, in the application of the same body of law, in the context of social and economic position, proximity to those in power, personal political significance, and ethnicity. It would seem that the wheels of justice grind slowly, and selectively, subject to the above considerations.

President Wickremesinghe’s pious sentiments about combatting crime and corruption, are simply echoes of similar statements made by previous leaders of the country, in successive regimes, which have condoned colossal crimes and acts of corruption. Collectively, they have contributed to the present economic disaster, and the humiliating position of Sri Lanka in the global Human Rights Violation index. After 75 years of independence and “democratic” governance, Sri Lanka occupies the 112th position (in the 3rd quartrile), in the Global Freedom Index of 2022, behind Sierra Leone, Belarus, Kenya and Lebanon. The ongoing repressive measures being implemented by a supposedly liberal president, is likely to result in a further downgrading before long.



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Politics

A pivotal shift in the status quo

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By Uditha Devapriya

The Mahanayakes of Sri Lanka’s three Buddhist monastic orders – Siam, Amarapura, and Ramanya – have written a letter to President Ranil Wickremesinghe. They have requested concessions on the recent electricity tariff hikes, which they claim are impacting temples severely. Citing the “enormous service” they render to society, the monks have pointed out that these temples are not in a position to absorb the current rates. They moreover imply that since people visit them after work and in the evening, their contribution to the cultural and social life of the country cannot and should not be neglected.

The missive, seen as an attempt at reaching a truce with the government, followed from a number of demonstrations organised by Buddhist monks and other religious leaders. The protests centred on the point that religious institutions are being crushed by a 500 percent rise in electricity bills, whereas the impact on factories and business establishments has been less. Taking the lead in these protests, Venerable Omalpe Sobitha has threatened the government that Buddhist temples will not pay these bills.

The country’s Power and Energy Minister, Kanchana Wijesekera, took to social media immediately when the protests started. Pointing out that there had been no discrimination when finalising the list of categories for electricity users, Wijesekera bluntly stated that if temples did not pay up, power would be disconnected. He noted that ordinary people had not been spared these hikes, and that they were suffering too. These remarks aggravated an already tense situation, compelling the Mahanayakes to pen a missive to the President. For his part, the latter offered an olive branch to the Chief Prelates, flagging their concerns and assuring them that the State would look into installing solar panels at temples.

These developments mark an interesting turnaround in the country’s politics. Buddhist monks have traditionally been seen as political creatures, actively involved or playing the more passive role of patrons and financiers. Their justification for this has been historical: Buddhist monks played an important part in the lives and politics of the country’s kings, so it is only natural that they continue playing it, though the country has transformed from a hereditary monarchy to a constitutional republic. They have typically latched themselves on to parties and personalities that claim to uphold the trinity of populist politics in Sri Lanka: country, race, religion (“rata, jathiya, agama”). This has enabled some parties to take a lead over others, though all major parties have a history of flirting with the clergy.

Such attitudes belie deep-rooted feelings of insecurity and unease. Narratives, mainly Western, liberal, and Colombo-centric, depict Buddhist monks as authoritarian, proto-fascist, and no different to fundamentalist Muslim and Hindu clerics. But such commentaries fail to note the historical basis for the sentiments that monks air from time to time. To be sure, these sentiments are intolerant, illiberal, and ill-founded, particularly those that evoke fascist inclinations: Venerable Vendaruwe Upali’s call for Gotabaya Rajapaksa to “become a Hitler”, if people assumed him to be one, is a case in point. Yet they underscore two points, which the monks themselves and their more zealous followers highlight: Sinhala Buddhism has no institutional support outside Sri Lanka (“We have nowhere else to go”), and Sinhala Buddhism is the centre of Sri Lankan society (“This country belongs to us”).

The biggest reason for the Buddhist clergy’s insecurity is a simple historical one: British colonial policies deprived temples of the wherewithal and the means to sustain themselves. As the historian Kitsiri Malalgoda has observed in Buddhism in Sinhalese Society, the effect of colonial legislation, which vested temple lands in the hands of the Chief Prelates, was to turn Chief Prelates into landowners and commercial-minded clerics. This had a debilitating effect on these institutions, compelling monks to seek sustenance through whatever means. Colonial reforms also turned the Church, especially the Anglican and the Catholic, into one of the country’s biggest landowners, a point which often gets missed out by narratives that frame Buddhist monks as rapacious landowners and political machines.

None of this justifies the excesses of Buddhist monks. The original conception of political Bhikkhus, as the United National Party derisively called them then, was along the lines of an activist and radical clergy: the prototypes of political Buddhism, after all, were two Marxist monks, Walpola Rahula and Udakendawala Sri Saranankara, the latter of whom received no less than the Lenin Peace Prize in 1957. Yet as often happens with such transformations, this gentle, humanist, and radical conception of the Buddhist clergy has been disfigured, and has now turned into an echo-chamber for intolerance. As Regi Siriwardena has observed more than once, Buddhist monks neglected to use their precepts and mores as a rallying cry for radical social and political change, on the lines of a Thomas Müntzer. Instead they deployed these values to entrench the status quo, and by extension themselves.

All these are interconnected. The economic base of Buddhist temples is no longer what it used to be, even though the lower peasantry still considers ordinations as a way out of economic misery for their children. The latter point has also been missed out by Western, liberal, and Colombo-centric commentators: not unlike the military, the Buddhist temple has become a rural subsidy, enabling a poor peasant youth to escape the drudgery of poverty. This has been so because, since the 1950s, the Buddhist clergy has become a beneficiary of State subsidies: the main reason for the recent protests.

The government has played its cards carefully and strategically, framing monks clamouring for State subsidies as moochers who cannot be given favoured treatment. The Opposition has also played its cards strategically, meeting the clergy and assuring them of an uprising against recent tariff revisions. The SJB, which heads the Opposition, is in itself housed by MPs who are in favour of tariff revisions and neoliberal reforms. Its attitude to these issues thus reveals its contradictory character, a point that Dr Dayan Jayatilleka has implied in his criticism of the party. What this means for the trajectory of relations between the State and the clergy is that a government which courted the support and approval of monks has now become the bête noire of the latter, while an Opposition housing MPs once seen as enemies of Buddhist interests is fast becoming the darling of those monks.

The response of the public has been even more interesting. Going by social media posts and memes, it’s probably not an exaggeration to conclude that the hikes revealed an underlying, seething, and barely concealed anti-clerical sentiment in society. Of course, social media is not Sri Lankan society writ large: when it comes to Twitter in particular, it is a self-contained and self-defined space. Yet social media memes are a significantly accurate gauge of wider, and widespread, sentiments. In that sense, as far as memes about the recent protests are concerned, Sri Lankans dwell on two points: that monks did next to nothing when the State imposed hardships on ordinary people, and that they are asking for favourable treatment at a time when even more hardships are being imposed on those people.

It goes without saying that both these points reflect larger, more widespread feelings of hostility towards these institutions. This is a remarkable turnaround from two or three years ago, when monks could say whatever they wanted to in favour of their preferred politicians and deploy people to do their bidding for those politicians. Now that politicians have fallen out of favour, and have lost their place among the people, those seen as supporters of such individuals have lost their prestige. These include Buddhist temples and monks, particularly the bigger ones, which as President Wickremesinghe stated were the only monasteries that have faced severe tariff hikes. One cynical friend noted for me that since monks preached humility and tolerance for politicians when people rose up in arms, people should respond in kind to monks who ask the public to rise up in arms against the State.

The Opposition and the government would do well to note these reconfigurations. For a brief while at least, people are bothering themselves less over cultural trivialities than over the immediate imperative of finding food, gas, and fuel. Economics, in other words, has triumphed over ideology, though ideology is very much present in the people’s discontent. Certainly, the government may find itself at a loss, come the next election cycle, if monks remember how it responded to their protests. The Opposition, by contrast, will find itself at an advantage here. The people, however, are fed up with both politicians and monks, the parliament and the temple. The SJB would do well to flag this, instead of capitalising on the fears and grievances of the clergy for petty, short-term electoral gains.

The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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DB Wijetunga’s political rise

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Excerpted from Sarath Amunugama’s autobiography

The appointment of D.B. Wijetunga as Minister of Information and Broadcasting (in 1977) was a surprise. A senior member of the UNP who had been inducted to politics by his mentor A. Ratnayake, Wijetunga was known as a diehard party man who was close to his constituents. When Dudley suffered a humiliating defeat in 1970 Wijetunga was unlucky to lose his Udunuwara seat by a few hundred votes.

For seven years after that he persisted in working for his electors in spite of the many obstacles that he had to face, including economic problems. Fortunately, his wife’s `Walawwe’ was located in the centre of Pilimatalawe town and it was within easy reach of his voters. He was not a person who pushed himself forward and no party bigwig thought he was a threat to their ambitions. Having been Minister Ratnayake’s Private Secretary during the DS and Dudley regimes, Wijetunga had a mastery of public administration and the goodwill of district officials.

The talk in Kandy was that no public official would deny Wijetunga a favour. With a good command of the English language having studied at St Andrew’s College in Gampola [where Thondaman was his classmate] he loved to write official letters in his own hand which his numerous followers took to senior administrators for relief. When I was the Director of Combined Services, I was inundated with his letters seeking redress for clerks and minor staff based in Kandy. I accommodated many of his requests which seemed reasonable.

While JRJ decided on the holders of the main ministries he relied on Menikdiwela, his secretary, for recommendations regarding the other positions. Menik would have recommended Wijetunga without hesitation and he was appointed as Minister of Information and Broadcasting since he was not in any one’s clique. His acceptability to every faction in the UNP carried him far in his political life. Later he was Minister of Finance, Prime Minister and President – a combination of posts that no other UNPer had enjoyed before or after.

For me he was the perfect boss since we were friends and relatives. He trusted me completely to run the Ministry though I was comparatively junior in the CCS. Equally, I made sure that he was well briefed and prompt in his responses to the President and the PM. Usually there were complaints that the media was not covering this or that minister’s activities. But the President was convinced that with Wijetunga who did not belong to any camp, there was no hanky panky or hidden agendas regarding media coverage.

It was Wijetunga who promoted the TV project with gusto as he knew that the President was keeping a watchful eye on it. I briefed him on the state of play before every cabinet meeting so that he could respond to his boss’s queries. His goodwill and courtesy, which fascinated the Japanese, helped in keeping up the momentum of the project. Unlike in the case of some other ministers who were delaying projects while bargaining for `kickbacks’, Wijetunga was scrupulously honest.

However, he refused to go out of the country be it to Japan or any other. Foreign travel never interested him. His only outing was his regular visit to home in Pilimatalawe every weekend. One reason for his reticence for travel was that he would miss his favourite local cuisine. Whenever we visited him in his Paget Road Bungalow, he would insist on our eating a simple homemade meal with him.

My daughter, Varuni, was then attending the lower classes of Sirimavo Bandaranaike College which was next door to the minister’s bungalow. She cheekily used to visit `Wije Aththa’ with her friends and demand cool drinks which the minister happily provided. Once I found Varuni and her friends busy with Wijetunga cutting up his broom sticks because they had forgotten to bring their ‘Li Keli’ sticks from home and were afraid to go to their dancing class without them.

His private staff led by Gamini Ratnayake, and Wilson were all from Kandy and the whole entourage would take off on Friday afternoons and reappear on Monday mornings. Since they were all Kandy boys, I could interact easily with them and get them to work cordially with my ministry staff. When the minister was transferred to the Telecommunications Ministry his whole entourage disappeared into Transworks House.

At that time W.J. Fernando, who was Wijetunga’s friend from his Kandy GA days, was a Director of the Davasa group which was very influential in the media field. This newspaper group supported our minister and that was well known to the President and the Cabinet. He was sought by his cabinet colleagues when they had problems with the Press. I will describe later how we earned much kudos by arranging a supply of newsprint to the Davasa group in an emergency.

Our actions were envied even by then Housing and Local Government Minister Premadasa. WJ Fernando was a pal of Sam Wijesinha, Secretary General of Parliament as both had attended Henry Kissinger’s annual Foreign Policy Seminar at Harvard. This was long before Kissinger became an influential advisor of President Nixon. Kissinger was a great networker and I have seen the letters he wrote to WJ from Harvard.

These two friends -WJ and Sam, were the most trusted advisors of Premadasa and they promoted Wijetunga to him as a counter-weight in the hill country to Gamini Dissanayake. This was the background to Wijetunga’s meteoric rise to several high positions.

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A post-mortem of Gotagogama

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By Uditha Devapriya

Sri Lanka is still living with the consequences of Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s presidency, partly because his government has not left and partly because resistance to it, though repressed, is still alive. Under Ranil Wickremesinghe the State has asserted its will and imposed it on those who disagree with it. It has arrested protesters without as much as a blink of an eye from those who walked to Gotagogama. Today their (mostly middle-class) supporters have relapsed into silence, seemingly getting on with their lives.

When protests began in early March, I predicted that sooner or later, middle-class calls for IMF reforms would sour. While a section of the middle-class still bats for those reforms, the lower middle-classes have been so battered by price hikes and tariff revisions that they have wavered. Still, even they couch their hatred of such reforms in the rhetoric of resistance to political corruption. Sri Lanka’s middle-classes do not appear politically mature enough to take the leap from that sort of resistance to opposition to neoliberal reforms.

Sri Lanka’s middle-classes tend to sway from one extreme to another: from wholehearted support for the yahapalana regime, for instance, they shifted to Gotabaya Rajapaksa and his brand of Bonapartist nationalism. They are also so disenchanted with local institutions, particularly political institutions, that they believe any alternative is better than what we have. This explains their newfound love for the IMF, and their inability to translate their hatred of IMF reforms into a coherent critique of those reforms. Instead they have directed the brunt of their anger, not on the institution demanding such reforms, but the institutions enforcing them. This is a curious contradiction, and it needs examining.

The protests against Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s government did not begin in March and April. One of that government’s biggest blunders was its fertiliser policy. As Dayan Jayatilleka has pointed out, the policy cost the regime its peasant heartland, a loss it could never hope to regain. The peasantry and the (predominantly Sinhala and Buddhist) middle-classes made up the biggest pillars of support for the government. It was these constituencies that gave the SLPP a two-thirds victory in 2020. The government had no better strategy for losing its momentum than losing these bases. This is what it began doing in 2021.

The class composition and preferences of these groups have not been seriously examined. The peasantry had been hit hard by the import bans. Yet what caught the headlines wasn’t farmer protests, but corporate opposition to those bans: in effect, the big estates and farms that would lose the most from the government’s policy. The outcome of such policies was to bring together a diverse array of class interests, which would otherwise not have united and coalesced into a resistance movement. The anger of the farmers was apparent enough, but it was left to corporate and middle-class elements to articulate it fully.

For obvious reasons, attitudes to neoliberal economic reforms differ from social class to social class. While the rupee was artificially pegged, and petrol was still going for less than 200 rupees a litre, the lower middle-classes felt no need to oppose such reforms, even as they were being imposed on the peasantry and the urban poor. When IMF reforms finally saw the light of day, they changed their tune. It was this that led to the peak in the protests between June and August. Once petrol prices hiked and shortages ensued in late June, the middle-class felt it had nothing to lose. So they walked to Gotagogama.

I have mentioned several times, in this column, that the ideological preferences of the bulk of the demonstrators at Gotagogama did not bear out progressive-liberal perceptions of the protests and the protesters. The UN Human Rights Council’s situation report on Sri Lanka, titled A/HRC/51/5, implies that the bulk of these protesters demanded accountability from the government. True as this may be, the document does not capture the essence of those demands. The reality is that middle-class perceptions of accountability, and transparency, differ considerably from liberal progressive definitions of such concepts. To put it bluntly, the call at Gotagogama was not so much the establishment of institutional mechanisms, as the restoration of fuel and gas supplies and uninterrupted electricity.

I am not suggesting here that the protests were regressive and reactionary, though at times they were almost that – particularly when their opposition to the political leadership in the country took on homophobic dimensions, as I personally witnessed on July 12. Yet, again as I have mentioned in this space, the Gotagogama demonstrations never fitted in with liberal progressive narratives that framed them as a mass, courageous, youth-driven and youth-led uprising. The youth themselves, who formed the crux of the protests, hardly ever bore out such stereotypes. Their class composition aside, the racial dimensions of the youth were so evident that one would have to be wilfully blind to ignore the cynical commentaries on the protesters authored by sections of Tamil civil society.

My point is that these divisions were never appreciated or understood when the protests gained steam. Had we taken stock of them, they would not have fragmented so soon. The middle-class’s confused attitude to IMF reforms should inform us that they are, as yet, not mature enough to take on the task of critiquing local and international institutions, including political institutions. Their resistance to power and privilege is couched in populist calls for personality and system changes. The task of the Left, particularly the New Left (the JVP and the FSP), is to transform these popular calls into a larger, broader programme, one that can carry the protests forward and ensure a leftward tilt within the middle-class. There are signs that the New Left is doing this. But more needs to be done. Much more.

The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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