Features
GROWING COCONUTS ON ‘COCONUT LANDS’
by Chandra Arulpragasam
In 1958 I went to a lecture on coconut cultivation, because I knew nothing of the subject. The lecturer, a well-known coconut planter, started his talk with the platitude: ‘The duty of a coconut planter is to plant coconut, on coconut land’. But this set me thinking. First, who gave him the duty to plant coconuts? From his own point of view, he should be planting the crop that would give him the greatest returns, while from the country’s point of view he should be planting the crops that would provide the greatest return in terms of income, foreign exchange, employment and sustainability. Secondly, who decided that these were ‘coconut lands’? Was this not a terminology (‘tea lands’, rubber lands’, ‘coconut lands’) inherited from the British, who grew these crops because they could be grown on a plantation-scale for export?
A couple of years later (in 1960) when I headed the agriculture sector in the Department of National Planning, and again when I came with the ILO World Employment Mission to Sri Lanka in 1974, I had an opportunity to revisit these questions. If coconut was to be a mono-crop, it was important that it should meet the above criteria of greater employment, greater income and greater foreign exchange earnings compared to other crops. Coconut brings much lower financial returns than tea or rubber. As for employment, figures of 1960 showed that while one acre of tea employed 1.1 persons per acre per year, and one acre of rubber employed 0.4 persons per acre, one acre of coconut employed only 0.1 persons per acre per year. That is, only one worker was employed for every 10 acres of coconut, which was four times less than that employed in rubber and 10 times less than that employed in tea. This meant that the so called ‘coconut lands’ were under-utilizing the land not only in terms of income but also in terms of employment.
In physical terms, assuming that the coconut trees are planted in the usual spacing of 8m x 8m apart (which is accepted by the CRI as standard) and that their root system spreads only two metres around each tree (CRI stsndard), this would still leave 78 per cent of the land untouched and unutilized – the best lands in the ‘coconut triangle’.
This brings us back to the previous question. Why should these lands be called ‘coconut lands’? Is coconut the best or only crop that can be grown on them? Undoubtedly these lands are well suited for coconut, while coconuts are much in demand by our people. Not for nothing has the coconut tree been called ‘the tree of life’. But is it wise to relegate so much of our fertile lands to a relatively low-paying mono-crop? The British probably originated the nomenclature of ‘coconut lands’ when they grew coconut as a monocrop on a plantation scale, thus making it a land-extensive and labour-extensive crop, as opposed to the land-intensive and labour-intensive crops dictated by our factor endowments. Hence, this article is not against the planting of coconut: it is only against the planting of coconut as a monocrop on lands capable of yielding much more by way of intercropping.
The system of management of ‘coconut lands’ in the period 1960-1980 speaks for itself. Whereas tea and rubber estates were managed by resident estate superintendents or managers, coconut estates were ‘looked after’ by a ‘conductor’ or by a ‘watcher’, armed only with a torch and gun. The latter showed that the focus was on preventing the theft of coconuts, rather than on increasing yields or output. This locked large extents of these ‘coconut lands’ in a cycle of low expectations, low investment, low-level management, low income and low employment.
The Coconut Research Institute (CRI) in 1974 insisted that the optimum stand of coconut was 64 trees per acre, with an adequate distance (8 metres) between the individual trees and the coconut rows. It argued, on the one hand, that the growth of the intercrop would be stunted by the shade of the coconut, while insisting on the other, that the intercrop would deprive the coconuts of needed soil nutrients. After long discussions, the CRI experts ultimately agreed to the following propositions made by me in 1974.
First, it would be technically possible to inter-plant other crops during the first five years of replanting/new planting coconut without any adverse effects, since the coconut palms would be too small to block out the sunshine from the intercrop. This in itself was a big breakthrough, since an average of 9,300 acres was replanted or newly planted to coconut each year in Sri Lanka. Since intercropping would be possible for the first five years, the total acreage available for intercropping in the newly planted/replanted acreage in any particular year would be 46,500 acres (9300 acres x 5 years).
From this total should be deducted the 22 per cent of land that is actually occupied by the newly planted coconut, which would leave a net acreage of 36,000 acres for planting other crops. For purposes of comparison, this annually available acreage is more than double the extent of land opened up under land development/colonization schemes in each year, prior to the Mahaweli Scheme.
Secondly, the CRI ultimately agreed that in older stands of coconut (more than 25 years old), the trees would have grown so tall that they would not block out the sun from an inter-planted crop. It further now agrees that intercropping is possible without detriment to the coconut or its yields for 35 years of the trees’ 55 years of productive life. It is a pity that it has taken about 30 years for technical thinking to reach this conclusion!
But, thirdly, it was necessary to push the thinking even further. I argued that wider spacing between the coconut rows would result in less shade between the rows, thus enabling intercropping. The CRI in 1974 initially objected to this on the grounds that it would reduce the total number of trees per acre. But they ultimately agreed to my suggestion that if we increased the space between the rows but planted closer along the rows, the number of 64 trees per acre could still be attained, without any decrease in total production. Such further-apart spacing of coconut rows is now (40 years later) actually practised in Kerala and the Philippines, combined with intercropping. However, in Sri Lanka, although this was technically accepted in 1974, there has been little action along these lines by the Coconut Development Authority.
There remained the question of what could be grown as an inter-crop. When I travelled for FAO in Asia in the 1970s, I found pineapple, bananas, sisal, maize and manioc already inter-planted with coconut in the Philippines, and even cocoa under coconut in Indonesia, while livestock was common in most countries. Thus Sri Lanka lagged behind other South East Asian countries in this regard not only in the 1970s, but even so today.
Despite the government’s neglect, private planters in Sri Lanka have recently been adopting intercropping at an increasing pace. According to a survey done by the Coconut Research Institute in 2006, cashew was the most popular intercrop in the Dry Zone, while pineapple, betel and pepper were most popular in the Intermediate Zone. Tea, cinnamon and ginger were most popular in the Wet Zone, while bananas and livestock were common in all regions. Agro-forestry using tree crops (such as glyricidia) has also been recently recommended as a means of providing fodder for livestock, wood for fuel, biomass for fertilizer, control of erosion and soil moisture retention.
Obviously the possibilities of intercropping would be more limited in drier parts of the country with poorer soils. The inter-planting of cashew trees (pruned low) between the rows of coconut has now been adopted in the drier areas. I had also suggested (in the Short Term Implementation Programme of 1961) that groundwater was likely to be available at fairly shallow levels in the coastal areas north of Puttalam, which could be pumped up for higher value crops. I had also suggested the possibility of using windmills for such irrigation, which could be powered by the steady winds that blow during the dry season in these areas.
In 1994, I was able to revisit this question of inter-cropping under coconut in the drier areas. A women’s micro-credit in the dry north of the Puttalam District had used its loan to purchase a pump to irrigate an inter-crop on land newly planted to coconut. The women found groundwater at a depth of only four feet, which they pumped to irrigate chillie plants cultivated between the newly planted coconut rows. Their net return was Rs. 30,000 per acre within a four month period in 1994, which was more than treble the return from the adjoining coconut land for the whole year. Meanwhile, the fertilizer and water that they used for the intercrop were found to benefit the newly planted coconut too, in a win-win synergy. In the long run, the possibility of drip irrigation for coconut needs also to be considered. Such irrigation is needed only at the height of the dry season (cheap systems are now available) in order to reduce stress and increase yields.
To sum up, the Coconut Research Institute has now agreed to the following propositions that I proposed in 1961 and reiterated in 1974 (ref. ILO World Employment Mission, 1974).
· Inter-cropping between newly planted or replanted coconut can be done without prejudice to the newly planted coconut palms for the first five to six years of their life.
· In new plantings, the coconut rows could be planted farther apart, but with more trees per row, such that the total number of trees per acre will not be reduced. This would enable an inter-cop between the rows.
· Inter-planting among older coconut stands of over 25 years can be undertaken without detriment to the coconut trees or to the intercrop.
· Such intercropping can be done even in the drier regions using intercrops suited to the drier conditions, while irrigation would provide an added bonus.
· The yields of coconut actually increase because of the fertilizer and water used in the intercrop.
· There are other advantages of intercropping, such as providing biomass for fertilizer, increasing soil moisture and reducing erosion.
· The inter-crop (depending on the crop) is capable of yielding more than double the value of all the coconuts that could be produced from the same land.
Despite intercropping being both feasible and profitable, it was reported as late as 2007 that ‘in Sri Lanka, most of the coconut holdings are maintained as monocultures’ (Gunathilake, 2007). The question is why intercropping has not been more widely adopted when its feasibility and desirability were highlighted as early as 1974. The answers, in the opinion of the writer, are mainly structural and institutional.
The advantages of intercropping arise from its more intensive use of land and labour, with resultant higher returns per acre. However, the pattern of absentee ownership and management of larger estates raises the problem of supervising the casual, non-resident labourers needed for intercropping. Faced with this question, one of my estate-owner friends exploded: ‘Are you mad? The fellows (the labourers) will steal my coconuts’! Thus, although intercropping is recognized as feasible and profitable, the prevailing agrarian structure (with large holdings and absentee landlords not prepared to accept outside labour) seems to be the major factor inhibiting the wider adoption of inter-cropping on larger estates. Such estates (over 20 acres) occupied 18 per cent of the total area under coconut in 2002 (Agricultural Census of 2002).
Coconut, however, is mainly a smallholder crop in Sri Lanka, with 80 per cent of all ‘coconut lands’, covering almost 800,000 acres being made up of small holdings; 54 per cent of these are less than three acres in extent. Inter-cropping is gaining ground in this area, using mainly family labour. Although figures of comparative coconut yields between large and small coconut farms are not available for Sri Lanka, it is very likely that the coconut yields are higher in these small holdings compared to larger holdings, as proved in other countries. More importantly, the total value of agricultural production per acre in such small holdings is likely to be much higher than that in the large, well-managed coconut estates.
This is because the coconut smallholder invests more labour per unit of land to intensify and diversify his production by intercropping, in order to maximize his income. Most small coconut holdings are likely to include a papaya, banana or lime tree, some betel or pepper vines, some home-grown vegetables and some livestock. In fact, the small holder actually attains this higher level of total productivity per acre only by treating his land as much more than a ‘coconut land’.
Fortunately in more recent times, individual coconut planters in Sri Lanka have started to inter-crop on their own initiative, with encouraging results. The Coconut Research Institute has also helped by useful research into types of crops and land practices for intercropping. There has also been more forward-looking research and development abroad, in terms of ‘coconut based farming systems’ (CBFS) – a concept which is gaining ground in South India (Kerala) and some other South East Asian countries.
The purpose should not be merely to increase coconut yields, but to maximize the total productivity of these lands on a sustainable basis. This can best be achieved by a more holistic approach which seeks to develop the farming system as a whole, with each component synergistically supporting the other. While coconut would provide the pillars of such a farming system, inter-cropping would enhance its total productivity and ecological sustainability. Since coconut would still be the foundation of such a system, perhaps we could even be forgiven for referring to these lands affectionately as ‘coconut lands’!
(The writer who was a member 0f the old Ceylon Civil Service thereafter had a long career with FAO)
Features
Returning to source with Aga
The last time I met Aga I had made up my mind to bring him a few things, stationery mostly, to help him along with his writing. His desk was a somewhat chaotic cluster of cardboard folders, containing loose sheets of paper on which had written his manuscripts – sometimes, a page would spill out onto the table and I worried how he could figure out what went where. At the centre of this celestial orbit were the party’s old weeklies and national congress reports, like a compass guiding his research.
Sadly, time got the better of us, and I never did get to refresh his stationary supply.
Aga Jayasena (15 February 1942–28 October 2025), was a communist as old as the Sri Lanka’s communist movement itself, being born less than a year before the founding of the Ceylon Communist Party (2–3 July 1943). He joined the party as a full-timer immediately after graduating from the University of Sri Jayewardenepura and cut his teeth organising peasants in Badulla and Monaragala. He recalled that he lacked the confidence to give his own speeches in his early days as an organiser, so would read aloud the articles from the communist daily Aththa. A lifelong learner, communicator, and educator, he soon found a place in the party’s central committee, politburo, education department, and as a national organiser.
I first saw Aga, and heard him speak, at the launch of his book on Frederick Engels. I was impressed but a little intimidated, he seemed to me quite stern and serious that day! It was only earlier this year that I picked up the courage to call him to do a series of interviews on his perspectives on the history of communist movement in Sri Lanka. My initial estimation of him was quite wrong, he was extremely warm and welcoming. Ah, Shiran! No point talking on the phone, come and meet me in person. After a few false starts, mainly due to his health, we met at his home in Pelawatte. Flipping through my notes, and listening to the recordings, I realise how unstructured these conversations were. We spoke for hours about various elements from history. But throughout, he was patient, kind, and analytical.
The following are some elements of what we discussed, including my own reflections and research based on the points he raised.
What stage are we in?
In his last days, Aga had thrown himself into the movement’s history to try and understand how the present came to be. He was busy writing his memoirs, including his reflections on the history of party, some of which were quite critical. In our discussions, he was emphatic about the efforts by founding leaders S. A. Wickramasinghe and M. G. Mendis to build the trade union and cooperative movements. The struggles in the trade union movements – especially the conflicts with A. E. Gunasinghe’s Ceylon Labour Party, which had taken a communal and collaborationist turn, during the strikes at the Wellawatte Spinning and Weaving Mills – pre-dated the founding of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party (LSSP). Similarly, when the communists were expelled from the LSSP in 1940, Wickramasinghe and his comrades first spent time building up the mass organisations – the Ceylon Trade Union Federation (CTFU) was established in 1941. The party had to come out of the movement, not the other way around.
For Aga, this was the key. He was critical, though not dismissive, of the penchant for conjuring up programmes on which to base a coalition. Having a programme was all good and well, but a programme needed to be creative and original, it had to identify the social forces that would propel the programme forward – who would be included and excluded in such a programme? In his words, a programme needed a “vehicle” – the mass organisations. He was strongly of the opinion that the communist movement needed to descend once again into the working class to rejuvenate itself and rebuild this vehicle.
Aga was also particular about the key theoretical questions. He asked: “What stage of the revolution are we in?” and “Is there a national question?” The questions were open ended, as if he knew the multiple-choice answers that lay before but was unsure which was correct in the current conjuncture. One thing was certain; more study was needed. But the movement lacked intellectuals of the calibre that once existed. And the tide of day-to-day crises and electoral compulsions pulled the movement ever forward, with scarcely a moment to pause, reflect, and evaluate.
Colombo to Cochin
Aga’s reading of the party’s beginnings in the working-class movement made him think about the role of Malayali workers in Ceylon. The CCP’s first mass base was among the Malayali workers. There were about 40,000 Malayalis in Ceylon by the 1940s, and around 2700 Malayali toddy tappers were organised by the CTFU-affiliated All-Ceylon Toddy Workers. In fact, the CCP itself was the product of a union between its predecessor the United Socialist Party, and the largely Malayali-based Ceylon Socialist Party. The first CCP constitution, adopted in 1944, specified that the flag should have the party’s name inscribed “in the Sinhalese, Tamil, Malayalam or English language as the case may be”. Similarly, the party’s first publications were quadrilingual – Forward (English), Janasakthi (Sinhala and Tamil), and Navasakthi (Malayalam). Columns in right-wing papers like Times of Ceylon used to derisively refer to the CCP as ‘Malayali comrades’.
Ceylonese communist ties to India were not limited to their organising the workers domiciled in Ceylon. The founders themselves had intimate connections with the Indian freedom movement – nurtured during periods of study in London and visits to India itself. In London, Wickramasinghe associated closely with Indian freedom fighter, and independent India’s first High Commissioner to the United Kingdom, V. K. Krishna Menon – the two organised a conference on ‘Socialism in India and Ceylon’. Wickramasinghe later travelled to India during the Meerut trial, and for a while lived alongside Sabarmati Ashram Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Then there is Buddhist monk Udakandala Sri Saranankara Thero, who studied in Santiniketan, the residential school established by Rabindranath Tagore. In India, Saranankara Thero, learned Bengali, became involved with the Indian freedom movement, and met Subhas Chandra Bose in prison.
But as independence came, efforts turned inwards towards national construction, and contradictions arose over citizenship, borders, markets, and so on. For the communists, the main international capital became the Soviet Union, which alone had the economic strength to maintain an internationally supportive network. Thus, bilateral relationships with neighbouring fraternal parties were deprioritised compared to the relationship with the Soviet Union, which served as the movement’s Mecca.
Aga wondered why that relationship with the Indian movement, particularly in Kerala, wasn’t nurtured more by both sides. Just across the Palk Straits, and over the Western Ghats, lay Kerala, which had democratically elected communists to power in 1959 (interestingly, the dismissal of this government by Nehru, with CIA-backing, occurred just months before the assassination of S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike). There are many parallels between Kerala and Sri Lanka. At the time of independence, both were plantation economies, with an underdeveloped industrial bourgeoisie and proletariat, and a dependency on food imports. Like Sri Lanka, Kerala was one of the last places on the subcontinent for a communist party cell to be formed – E. M. S. Namboodiripad attributed this to the relative underdevelopment of Kerala’s modern industries, a conclusion that may well be applied to Sri Lanka too.
Aga’s point intrigued me. Why were there no greater exchanges between the Sri Lankan and Keralite movements? Could there not have been exchanges of cadres for political education, and mutual translation of literature and poetry? Could Sri Lankan cadres not have been sent on fact-finding missions to Kerala’s vast cooperatives networks, community libraries, and healthcare centres? These questions may seem idealistic but they are very well worth asking given the close historical, cultural, and geographical links between the two polities.
Following Aga’s lead, my research led me to an interesting figure. P. Sankar was a Malayali trade unionist and founding member of the CTFU (where he was the vice president and assistant secretary), editor the CCP’s Malayalam weekly Navasakthi, and a CCP central committee member from 1943 to 1952. Sankar returned to India in 1952 – I am not sure the circumstances but it seems likely that the Ceylonese government’s policies against Indian immigrants must have played a role. Once back in Kerala, Sankar joined the Communist Party of India and was elected to the Kerala Legislative Assembly from Chittur in 1977. He died in 1991. Did he ever stay in touch with comrades in Sri Lanka?
I don’t think Aga was being Indo-centric or an Indophile when he suggested closer relations with the Indian movement. His point was that the conditions in India were far more similar to Sri Lanka than the distant Soviet Union. He argued that Sri Lankan communist youth were eager to go and study in the Soviet Union (an arrangement that evolved into a paternalistic relationship for the party) but what they learnt could not always be easily applied to Sri Lanka. I don’t know if he felt this way about his own time at the Academy of Social Science in Moscow. The Soviet Union certainly helped produce a great many Sri Lankan bureaucrats and public servants (for example, Dr. Anil Jasinghe, the health ministry secretary who helped lead the campaign against the COVID-19 pandemic, is a product of Soviet education) but not enough revolutionaries with original thinking. Aga was making an argument rooted in Sri Lankan reality.
Cream of the Crop
One memento I have from Aga is a copy of the Draft Political Report for the Eight National Congress of the Ceylon Communist Party (20–24 August 1972). The faded copy, its pages yellowed, sits on my desk as I type this. Between 1964 and 1972, a period of eight years, there were no national congresses held. Up to then, this was perhaps the longest period without a party congress. This was especially significant because it was a turbulent and transformative few years for the party, the left movement, and the country as a whole.
In 1964, the party had split along the Sino-Soviet fissure, N. Sanmugathasan took with him much of CTFU, the editors of the Sinhala and Tamil press, the peasant front organiser, and several youth front leaders. Thought its electoral impact may have been small, it was a significant blow to the unity of the mass organisations and the ideologically committed mid-level cadre. Then in 1965, Shan’s own party split, with the young Rohana Wijeweera peeling off the youth-wing and beginning to proselytise among rural educated Sinhala youth (Aga was one of those personally approached by Wijeweera) to establish the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP).
Also in 1964, the United Left Front (ULF), consisting of the LSSP, CCP, and Philip Gunawardena’s Mahajana Eksath Peramuna, collapsed due to the LSSP breaking ranks to accept a cabinet position in the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) government led by Sirimavo Bandaranaike. After decades of factionalism, the ULF had been virtually compelled to form due to unprecedent united trade union action leading to the formation of the Joint Committee of Trade Union Organisations in 1963.
Reflecting on the watershed collapse of the short-lived ULF, Aga said, “people let go of us”.
The centre-right government that took power in 1965 was the first to borrow from the International Monetary Fund. There was a renewed urgency for unity among progressive forces. By 1970, the long mooted LSSP-CCP-SLFP alignment finally came to fruition, and this United Front won the elections by a landslide. But the CCP was blocked from obtaining more than one ministerial position (the Ministry of Housing and Reconstruction held by Pieter Keuneman).
Then, in 1971, came the JVP insurrection. Aga recalled the turbulent conjuncture of that time – the assassination of Che Guevara in Bolivia in 1966 and the independent Tricontinental line of Cuba, the US war on Vietnam and the killing of Buddhist monks, and the proliferation of literature by Kim Il Sung translated into Sinhala. The insurrection shook the Old Left, which was completely taken aback by the violence. The deeply ingrained notion that there were no conditions for armed struggle in Sri Lanka were challenged. “The big question was why we didn’t see this coming”, Aga said.
Aga admitted a “soft corner” for the JVP of 1971. He was of the same generation of Rohana Wijeweera (born in 14 July 1943). He spoke of that generation in an almost bittersweet and rueful tone – they were the “cream”, he said, who could have been a powerful force for social transforma
He had just returned to the country after his political education in the Soviet Union, and communist youth all around the country were in ferment. Aga spoke as if whether he ended up on side or the other was a flip of the coin. After all, like many communists of his age, he had comrades on both sides.
In 1973, the Soviet-wing of the CCP split, a faction led by Wickramasinghe crossed over to the opposition (this group included Sarath Muttetuwegama, Aththa editor H. G. S. Ratnaweera, as well as a young Aga and D. E. W. Gunasekera). A faction led by Keuneman remained with Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s government. There were a range of reasons for this split, including the disagreement with the heavy-handed way in which the government had dealt with the JVP insurgents and the use of Criminal Justice Commissions (CJC) Act, No. 14 of 1972, which allowed evidence that would have been inadmissible under the normal procedures. This crucial period intrigued Aga. Some historical accounts claim that the Soviet embassy intervened to patch up ties between the two factions in 1976. Aga intimated that this didn’t happen on equal ground – the Soviets had “closed the tap” of financial support to Wickramasinghe’s faction.
I tend to speculate that Wickramasinghe, without the support of intellectual stalwarts – like P. Kandiah (died in 1960), G. V. S. De Silva (left the party in 1959), and Sanmugathasan and Kumarasiri (who formed the Peking faction in 1964) – perhaps lacked the theoretical confidence to mount a challenge to the Soviet-Keuneman line, and felt isolated. But that is purely my speculation. It is interesting that Sanmugathasan’s Memoirs of an Unrepentant Communist (1989) expresses venom towards Keuneman, but a reverence towards Wickramasinghe. Similarly, Kumarasiri wrote in his later years that Wickramasinghe – not Philip Gunawardena, who later allied with the UNP – was the person who came closest to deserving the title ‘Father of Socialism’ in Sri Lanka. Wickramaisnghe didn’t leave behind any memoirs, so we may never truly know his story.
I think Aga was drawn to the 1972 Draft Political Report because he felt the text contained within it some of the contradictions brewing in the party since the 1960s, and especially after the 1970 coalition and 1971 insurrection. The copy I have is in English and is missing ten pages. Some passages have been marked with a pencil, but I am not sure if this was done by Aga himself, since he would have surely read the Sinhala version instead. Here is one of the marked paragraphs:
“The Party entered the United Front without fully working out the relationship between its own programme and that of the United Front. In the absence of independent campaigns for the party programme, there was a certain ideological confusion in some party ranks and also its development and continuation of diverse ideological trends. This also created confusion among the politically advanced non-party sections, leading to doubts in their minds as to the revolutionary character of the CP. The neglect of the ideological struggle also contributed to the above.”
We Have no Mechanism
My first interview with Aga was about four months into the presidency of Anura Kumar Dissanayake (AKD) and the National People’s Power (NPP) government. Aga had an open mind about the NPP when we met. That said, he maintained it was not clear which way the government would go, and if and how the government would break from the neoliberal framework. He acknowledged that there had been a series of missed opportunities for détente between the JVP and the Communist Party of Sri Lanka over the last decade – most notably, during the joint-struggle to prevent the privatisation of Colombo Port’s East Container Terminal.
Aga understood the NPP’s decision to continue with the IMF programme, and felt it wise for the NPP to not rock the boat too much. Not because he endorsed the IMF programme but because he must have felt that the balance of power was strongly tilted in favour of the bondholders and local merchant capitalists, who could make the economy scream by withholding foreign currency, hoarding commodities, downgrading credit ratings, and so on.
He was also sympathetic to the fact that the NPP was walking into a collapsed state machinery. His choice of words, in Sinhala, still echoes in my mind – “අපිට යාන්ත්රණයක් නැහැ”, we have no mechanism. He felt the NPP’s first budget, constrained by the IMF’s conditions, was unable to satisfy any specific sector, but he was appreciative of the allocations towards the estate sector and the north and east. In general, he was appreciative of the NPP’s electoral gains in the north, but was critical of their lack of clarity on solving the national question. He felt that the provision of economic services and infrastructure alone would not be enough to sidestep the political question.
Aga was clearly in a nostalgic mood the times I met him. His mind kept drifting back to the fighters from history, many of whom did not leave behind any memoirs and who are not memorialised by those who remain. He wondered why his generation (the second generation of communists) never thought to sit and interview the first generation at length before they died. Tears came to his eyes as he spoke of A. Vaidialingam, one of the founders of the CCP, who few speak of today. “Vaidialingam was to the north, what Wickramasinghe was to the south”, Aga said. With Aga’s passing, that lineage is almost broken – so much of our movement’s history remains unwritten.
The last message I have from Aga is a voice note in appreciation of a talk I gave on the Bandung Spirit at the Bandaranaike Centre for International Studies earlier this year. In our interviews, he was often pensive and introspective, so it is nice to have a recording of his voice sounding so animated.
Aga’s passing strikes us just two months ahead of the 90th anniversary of the founding of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party – the beginning of the socialist movement in Sri Lanka. I hope that, like Aga, others in the left will take the time to reflect upon the past 90 years of struggle and write these histories. Not just to bask in the glories of the past, but to regain a sense of self, a confidence in our ideas and original aspirations, and a grounding to forge a way ahead.
(Shiran Illanperuma is a researcher at Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research and a co-editor of Wenhua Zongheng: A Journal of Contemporary Chinese Thought. He is a co-convenor of the Asia Progress Forum).
by Shiran Illanperuma
Features
Amid Winds and Waves: Sri Lanka and the Indian Ocean – references Prof. Gamini Keerawella
The following are the references for the four-part article, Amid Winds and Waves: Sri Lanka and the Indian Ocean byProf. Gamini Keerawella, published in The Island on 10, 11, 12 and 13 Nov.
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Campbell, Kurt M., and Iain H. Houlden, eds. 1989. The Indian Ocean: Regional and Strategic Studies. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
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(Author is a former professor of Modern History at the University of Peradeniya. He could be contacted through Keerawellag@gmail.com)
Features
Vision of Dr. Gamani Corea and the South’s present development policy options
The ‘takes’ were numerous for the perceptive sections of the public from the Dr. Gamani Corea 100th birth anniversary oration delivered at ‘The Lighthouse’ auditorium, Colombo, by Dr. Carlos Maria Correa, Executive Director of the South Centre in Geneva on November 4th. The fact that Dr. Gamani Corea was instrumental in the establishment of the South Centre decades back enhanced the value of the presentation. The event was organized by the Gamani Corea Foundation.
The presentation proved to be both wide-ranging and lucid. The audience was left in no doubt as to what Dr. Gamani Corea (Dr. GC) bequeathed to the global South by way of developmental policy and thinking besides being enlightened on the historic, institutional foundations he laid for the furtherance of Southern economic and material wellbeing.
For instance, in its essential core Dr. GC’s vision for the South was given as follows: sustainable and equitable growth, a preference for trade over aid, basic structural reform of global economy, enhancement of the collective influence of developing countries in international affairs.
Given the political and economic order at the time, that is the sixties of the last century, these principles were of path-breaking importance. For example, the Cold War was at its height and the economic disempowerment of the developing countries was a major issue of debate in the South. The latter had no ‘say’ in charting their economic future, which task devolved on mainly the West and its prime financial institutions.
Against this backdrop, the vision and principles of Dr. G.C. had the potential of being ‘game changers’ for the developing world. The leadership provided by him to UNCTAD as its long-serving Secretary General and to the Group of 77, now Plus China, proved crucial in, for instance, mitigating some economic inequities which were borne by the South. The Integrated Program for Commodities, which Dr. G.C. helped in putting into place continues to serve some of the best interests of the developing countries.
It was the responsibility of succeeding generations to build on this historic basis for economic betterment which Dr. G.C. helped greatly to establish. Needless to say, all has not gone well for the South since the heyday of Dr. G.C. and it is to the degree to which the South re-organizes itself and works for its betterment as a cohesive and united pressure group that could help the hemisphere in its present ordeals in the international economy. It could begin by rejuvenating the Non-aligned Movement (NAM), for instance.
The coming into being of visionary leaders in the South, will prove integral to the economic and material betterment of the South in the present world order or more accurately, disorder. Complex factors go into the making of leaders of note but generally it is those countries which count as economic heavyweights that could also think beyond self-interest that could feature in filling this vacuum.
A ‘take’ from the Dr. GC memorial oration that needs to be dwelt on at length by the South was the speaker’s disclosure that 46 percent of current global GDP is contributed by the South. Besides, most of world trade takes place among Southern countries. It is also the heyday of multi-polarity and bipolarity is no longer a defining feature of the international political and economic order.
In other words, the global South is now well placed to work towards the realization of some of Dr. GC’s visionary principles. As to whether these aims could be achieved will depend considerably on whether the South could re-organize itself, come together and work selflessly towards the collective wellbeing of the hemisphere.
From this viewpoint the emergence of BRICS could be seen as holding out some possibilities for collective Southern economic betterment but the grouping would need to thrust aside petty intra-group power rivalries, shun narrow national interests, place premium value on collective wellbeing and work towards the development of its least members.
The world is yet to see the latter transpiring and much will depend on the quality of leadership formations such as BRICS could provide. In the latter respect Dr. GC’s intellectual leadership continues to matter. Measuring-up to his leadership standards is a challenge for BRICS and other Southern groupings if at all they visualize a time of relative collective progress for the hemisphere.
However, the mentioned groupings would need to respect the principle of sovereign equality in any future efforts at changing the current world order in favour of all their member countries. Ideally, authoritarian control of such groupings by the more powerful members in their fold would need to be avoided. In fact, progress would need to be predicated on democratic equality.
Future Southern collectivities intent on bettering their lot would also need to bring into sharp focus development in contrast to mere growth. This was also a concern of Dr. G.C. Growth would be welcome, if it also provides sufficiently for economic equity. That is, economic plans would come to nought if a country’s resources are not equally distributed among its people.
The seasoned commentator is bound to realize that this will require a degree of national planning. Likewise, the realization ought to have dawned on Southern governments over the decades that unregulated market forces cannot meet this vital requirement in national development.
Thus, the oration by Dr. Carlos Maria Correa had the effect of provoking his audience into thinking at some considerable length on development issues. Currently, the latter are not in vogue among the majority of decision and policy makers of the South but they will need ‘revisiting’ if the best of Dr. GC’s development thinking is to be made use of.
What makes Dr. GC’s thinking doubly vital are the current trade issues the majority of Southern countries are beginning to face in the wake of the restrictive trade practices inspired by the US. Dr. GC was an advocate of international cooperation and it is to the degree to which intra-South economic cooperation takes hold that the South could face the present economic challenges successfully by itself as a collectivity. An urgent coming together of Southern countries could no longer be postponed.
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