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MY FATHER

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by LC Arulpragasam

(This is another excerpt from the book Falling Leaves, a part autobiographical anthology of articles by one of the last remaining members of the old Ceylon Civil Service, now living in Manila at age of over 95-years. A painting my the author adorns the book cover.)


My father was Dr. Albert Rajaratnam Arulpragasam. To my regret, I do not know much about him, because he kept to himself. He was born on June 12, 1890. He died in 1957 in Jaffna. By profession, he was a medical doctor working for the government of Ceylon, retiring at the age of 60 years. After a few years in Colombo, my parents retired to their home in Chundikuli (Jaffna) – a home he inherited from his sister. I (we) do not know much about my father, mainly because he was a very private, reticent and self-effacing man, who seemed reluctant to talk about his childhood or about his past. We, his children, must also be blamed for our lack of curiosity in regard to the man who quietly and uncomplainingly provided the means for us to go to the best schools and University in Ceylon and to embark on successful careers.

This lack of knowledge also arose partly because we were all the time in boardings and schools in Colombo, whereas my father was always stationed in the provinces, so that we never got to really know him. My sister, on the other hand, who spent a longer time at home, was able to dig out more stories from our reticent father. Hence, what I record below is information that I gleaned from my mother, who despite a lifetime lived with him did not know details of his past; and from my sister, who was close to him.

My father’s mother died giving birth to his sister (or soon after), when my father was just two or three years old. He and his baby sister were then sent off to their maternal grandfather’s home. My Dad’s father was a Postmaster by profession: he probably could not have undertaken to care for two baby children. He never remarried. As for my father, growing up in his grandparents’ home seems to have left an indelible imprint on his life and values. It also left a deep affection and loyalty to ‘look after’ his baby sister throughout her life. It may be that he had an unhappy childhood in this stern and austere home, which may be the reason for his reluctance to talk about his childhood: we shall never know.

His maternal grandfather with whom he grew up was the Reverend Seth Christmas, an Anglican clergyman. He was so named because he was born on Christmas day, given the name ‘Christmas’, and living up to his name, died on Christmas day! Growing up in the austere Reverend’s home seems to have instilled in my father certain ‘Christian’ values, as taught by the missionaries at that time.

Apart from the usual Christian commandments, they branded smoking and drinking alcohol as ‘sins’. When my father was told that my elder brother (who was already a medical doctor by then) was smoking, he confidently declared: ‘None of my children will ever drink or smoke!’ This hope and certitude was unfortunately betrayed by all three of his sons, who all smoked and drank!

This treatment of drinking as a sin is also illustrated by another story. At the usual ‘rag’ on initiation when entering Medical College, the seniors made the freshmen suffer all sorts of indignities. One of them was to drink half a bottle of arrack in one go. My father, true to his ‘Christian’ principles, refused to touch liquor. Try as they may, he refused to drink. Ultimately in disgust, they banged the bottle of arrack on his head and poured the contents over his head! Undoubtedly, silent obstinacy was one of his traits!

My father had his early education at St. John’s College, Jaffna. He thereafter finished his high-school education at Royal College, Colombo, which was the best school in those days. Fortunately for us, he insisted that all his sons attend Royal College too. He thereafter entered Medical College, and after obtaining his medical degree, joined government service as a doctor. My mother, going through his few personal things after his death, found the Gold Medal for Surgery, which he had won in Medical College. He seems to have won this over Sir Nicholas Attygalle (his batch-mate) who later became one of the the most recognized surgeons in Sri Lanka. This characterizes my father’s modesty, since neither his wife nor his children knew of this achievement before.

My father was not an impressive man, either in physical appearance (he was never smartly dressed) or in career achievement; nor was he worldly-wise. He was undoubtedly very intelligent – as seen by his achievements in medical college. This intelligence ran in his mother’s family: but so also did a strain of depression. For instance, his mother’s brother, S.K Rutnam (the husband of Dr. Mary H. Rutnam), despite obtaining an M.A. degree from Princeton University (USA) as early as 1915, ended his life in depression. Depression also seems to have run in other lines of the family, originating from my father’s mother’s side of the family.

I can list only some of the posts my father held as a government doctor – due to my lack of knowledge. As a bachelor, he seems to have served in different posts around Kurunegala in the North-Western Province. I know that he served as a doctor in the Jaffna hospital in 1927, since I was born during his stint there. He seems thereafter to have switched to the field of public health, after which he was posted as the junior doctor in Mandapam Camp, where I spent the first five years of my life.

He was then selected for a government scholarship to England for post-graduate studies in public health. On his return to Ceylon, he served as Medical Officer of Health in the Batticaloa District (during World War II) for five years. Thereafter, he was appointed as Port Health Officer in charge of all health measures in the port of Colombo, which was the busiest port in Asia at that time. When he was passed over for appointment as Director of Health Services in charge of the whole Department of Health, he opted for a transfer as Medical Superintendent of Mandapam Camp where he would be his own boss. This was a quarantine station located in South India in the charge of Ceylon government doctors, whose aim was to prevent infectious diseases such as smallpox and cholera being brought to Ceylon from India, mainly by plantation workers destined for the tea estates of Ceylon. He served in charge of Mandapam Camp for eight-10 years, until his retirement.

In the latter capacity, he was in charge of about 7,000 people covering about 700 acres of land. We lived in a posh house with all the modern amenities, a garden of more than two acres of land, two full-time gardeners and a swimming pool. He was also the boss of about 50 uniformed security guards (needed to keep the detainees under enforced quarantine), dressed in Indian military-style khaki uniforms, replete with puttees and turbans. These guards would salute him whenever he passed, even if on the other side of the road, springing to attention and saluting him in mid-flight. To which my father, a modest and self-effacing man, would respond with an embarrassed, downcast eyes-salute!

He was socially awkward in company – which was more than compensated for by my mother, who thrived on conversation. He was not really into sports, although he played soccer in his youth and played a passable game of tennis in his ‘forties. In Mandapam Camp in his fifties, having walked about two miles in the sun to the railway station (to pass the passengers in the Ceylon-bound train), he would come back home and recline in his easy chair, saying that he was ‘fagged’ (tired).

I have some funny stories to relate about his life as a young government doctor. When posted in a wild part of the country in British colonial times, patients would come to his clinics from remote villages. Once, looking down at his records, he called for the next patient – and a cow walked in! When posted in another remote town, he was assigned a government bungalow adjoining thick jungle. My father loved to have chickens pecking around his yard and enjoyed feeding them; whereafter, the chickens would spend the rest of the day foraging in the jungle.

One day, my father’s big boss from Colombo was coming on ‘inspection’. My father invited him to lunch, hoping to give him chicken curry. But when he went to look for his chickens, they were all away, foraging in the jungle. In desperation, he got out his shotgun and went into the jungle to hunt his own chickens!

When I grew up, I was amazed at the number of relatives whom my father had been financially supporting. He seems to have undertaken the responsibility of helping his mother’s sisters and their children. This was despite not having really known his mother, who must have died when he was barely two years old. He seems to have financed a nephew through medical school, while providing monthly financial aid to his two maternal aunts and their children. My mother did not object, because she knew that he considered this to be his duty: she also knew that although quiet, he was still a very stubborn man!

My father seems to have valued financial security more than making more money. He neither saved nor invested – even in a home. He seems to have spent his entire salary in supporting his children and his mother’s sisters and their families. My mother relates this example of his not caring for money. The government in those days accepted that while government doctors should work in the hospital during office-hours, they could thereafter see patients privately at home for a fee.

My father would not charge a fee even when patients were seeking to see him privately. My mother reported cases where he was called urgently to poor patients’ homes but still would not take a fee, despite bearing the cost of transport himself. Other doctors in the area were naturally upset, since all the patients were flocking to my father. He saw it as his duty as a doctor to treat all patients who came to him. The other doctors came to him to object, arguing that he should charge a fee – because he was offering unfair competition!

To overcome this dilemma, my father started working in the hospital till night, so that patients could see him free of charge. Finally to avoid this predicament altogether, he moved into the field of public health, where the Government provided an extra allowance in lieu of private practice. Instead of becoming a surgeon, he chose to move into a less-paying field, which paid enough for his needs -which included looking after his mother’s sisters and their families! He was not ambitious for himself: he was merely putting personal duty, as he saw it, before self.

I too had experience of his ‘money is not important’ thinking. I had by this time got into the Ceylon Civil Service. At the age of 27 years (in 1954), I was approached to be interviewed for the post of Marketing Manager at Unilevers (Lever Bros). I was selected for the post (as a trainee) and offered a salary (as a trainee) more than six times of that which I was earning in the Ceylon Civil Service.

Since I was undecided, I wrote to my father for advice. I did not expect the thundering reply that I received from my usually quiet and indulgent father: “I did not think that any of my sons would stoop to filthy lucre like this!” I was stung to the quick by this response, because I too had been brought up in his way of thinking! So I shamefacedly turned down the post – though I had other reasons too.

I remember that my father never touched me, either in love or in anger, beyond my age eight years. I cannot remember him ever cuddling or hugging me, although I heard that he did this when I was little. He always maintained a distance when we were older, seeming shy of his own children! On the other hand, he never raised his hand against me, nor ever beat or scold me or my siblings. Nor did he ever ask me to study, nor make any attempt to supervise or check on my studies – though I know that he was very interested in my school results, which were undoubtedly conveyed to him by my mother.

It is only when I reached maturity that I realized that he ‘ruled’ us not only by example, but also by expectation. I don’t think that he was subtle and devious enough to realize this: but he achieved this result without even trying! He lived by very high standards of duty and integrity: he merely expected us to do the same. These expectations filtered down to us not directly from him, but from various uncles and aunts, bringing a feeling of guilt if we did not live up to his high standards and expectations. He was not an impressive man either by outward appearance or career achievement, but as I grew older, I grew to respect him more and more for the highly principled man that he was.

He was a remote and uncommunicative father, whom we often reached only through my mother. This is with the exception of my sister who was more familiar with him because she grew up mostly at home. He was, however, very considerate and indulgent towards his children. Each time that I was leaving for school after the holidays at home, he would sidle up to me and without looking me in the eye (he was embarrassed), would shyly slip a wad of pocket money into my hand, saying stiffly “pocket money” and hurry away.

When I looked at the money, it was always too much. When I ran behind him to protest, he would hasten away in embarrassment. I had to go to my mother to ‘complain’ that it was too much, and give her ‘the excess’ to return to my Dad. I found out later that my elder brother too had habitually been doing the same.

I have to relate another episode that shows his indulgence towards his children. Once when I was at home on holiday (I must have been about 16 years old at that time – and a confirmed athlete and rugby player), I came to the verandah where he was reclining on his ‘easy chair’ to chat with him. I found him struggling to get out of his ‘easy chair’ in order to offer it to me, although there were many other chairs around! I had to entreat him repeatedly to please sit down in his own chair, in his own house!

I conclude with the following personal story, as a tribute to my father. After my degree, I undertook a survey of the Veddas, involving a walk of 250 miles through jungles and drinking dirty water. I consequently developed severe dysentery – and hardly managed to walk the 100 miles through jungles to get back to my starting point. When I finally returned to my starting point, I found that the person with whom I had left all my money (since I had no use for money in the jungle) had gambled it all away!

I was thus left with absolutely no money at all and unable to return to Colombo for urgent hospitalization. Sick, weak, desperate and almost collapsing, I spent the last 15 cents I had on bus fare to reach a place closer to Colombo. (I was foolishly trying to go towards Colombo – although I knew that I could not reach it!) In that God-forsaken place I came across a government dispensary at the edge of the jungle (near Padiyatalawa).

Meanwhile, night had fallen – and the dispensary was closed. I was desperate now, with no money even to feed myself. When I shouted for urgent medical help, a window opened and a double-barrel gun poked out, since this was a jungle outpost where bandits were at large. I shouted explanations in English, in order to sound ‘educated’. (I looked a bandit myself, clad in my khaki kit, which I had worn for months in a row, my slouch khaki hat and a four month beard).

Afraid and annoyed, the Apothecary shouted roughly, asking my name and what I wanted. When I gave my name (‘Arulpragasam’ was a very uncommon name at that time), he asked whether I was, by any chance, a relative of Dr. Arulpragasam. When I said that I was his son, his attitude changed completely. He said: “Come in, my son” – although he was a Sinhalese gentleman, and I was not his son.

He went on to say: “Your father was the best boss that I have ever worked for, and the most decent gentleman that I have ever known”. He gave me some food, and after treating me for dysentery, he even lent me money for a third class railway ticket (which was all he could afford) back to Colombo. Whenever I think of this episode, tears come to my eyes: for I remember that it was the name of my father that saved me on this most desperate day of my life!

My father died of a brain aneurism in Jaffna at the age of 67 years. He passed away before any of his sons could reach him, although my sister was able to do so. My father’s remains are buried in the graveyard at St. John’s Church, where he had worshipped as a boy. When the ‘Eelam war’ was over, I had the grave rebuilt and a new headstone installed. When I look at these photos now, it is with sadness: sadness because we did not show the love and respect for him that he had for us. He taught us, at least posthumously, what true love, integrity and duty really meant.

P.S. My father had endowed a prize at St. John’s College, Jaffna, for English Oratory. This was in honour of his father, Mr. Cornelius Arulpragasam. Jega (my brother) and I have augmented this endowment, renaming the prize as “The Cornelius and Dr. Arulpragasam Prize for English Oratory”. This prize serves to remind me of my father – and of my origins.



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Trump’s Delinquent War Game: No Early End in Sight

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Iranian Frigate sunk by US Submarine near Galle

It is fruitless analyzing US President Trump’s reasons for going to war with Iran or the conflicting outcomes he says he is looking to have in the end. It is quite possible that he may have made the decision to attack Iran after being cajoled by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. It is a good time to attack because Iran is at its weakest moment yet posing an imminent threat warranting a pre-emptive attack. Strange and circular reasoning is needed to justify unnecessary wars.

True to form, Trump did not consult any of his western allies the way his predecessors did in similar situations. He ignored NATO as much as he ignored the UN. Nor did Trump go through the internally established broad consultation and focused decision making processes that US presidents usually undertake before committing American forces abroad. The Congress, the institution under Article I of the American Constitution, was also habitually ignored .

It is likely that Trump secured tacit support from other Middle East governments, especially the Gulf states of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar, UAE and Oman that are Iran’s neighbours. The latter may seem to have been hoping to have it both ways – letting US and Israel take out Iran’s reprehensible regime while appearing to stay neutral in the fight. That calculation or miscalculation explosively backfired when Iran started firing drones and missiles not only into Israel but practically into every Arabian (Persian) Gulf country, hitting not only American bases but also civilian centres. The welcoming reputation of the Gulf countries as secure oases for foreign investment, tourism, sports and entertainment has been seriously shattered.

Escalating War

In addition to the six Gulf states, Iranian missiles have reached Iraq, Jordan and far away Cyprus. Even Turkey and Azerbaijan have been targeted. Israel has been hit and has suffered casualties far more in the few days of fighting than it has in all the past aerial skirmishes. The US outposts are under attack as well. The Embassy in Kuwait was hit on Monday. The next day two drones fell on the US Embassy in Riyad, Saudi Arbia, apparently the most fortified American outpost abroad. This was followed by drone attacks on the US Consulate in Dubai and on the American military base in Qatar, the largest in the region. Six American servicemen have been killed and 18 injured in the first four days of the war.

The Trump Administration that has been notorious for picking countries to deny US visas, is now asking Americans to return home from 14 Middle East countries for the sake of their own safety. Washington has closed its embassies in Riyadh and in Kuwait and has ordered non-emergency staff and families to depart from its other embassies in the region. But leaving the embattled region is not easy with flights cancelled and air space closed. Belatedly, the State Department is scrambling to make arrangements to help stranded Americans find their way out by air or by land to neighbouring countries. It is the same story with governments of other countries whose citizens are living and working in large numbers in the Middle East. The monarchs of Middle East depend on migrants of many hues to do their blue collar and white collar labour while keeping their citizens in cocoons of comfort. That equilibrium is now under threat.

Iran’s losses are of course significantly higher, already hit by over 2,000 Israeli and US missiles reaching multiple targets in 26 of Iran’s 31 provinces. Over a thousand people have been killed including 180 students in a girls’ school in the south. Buildings and infrastructure and installations are being devastated. Israel has opened a full second front in Lebanon using the thoughtless Hezbollah’s aerial provocation as excuse for once again badgering Beirut and its suburbs. A week into the war there is no early end in sight. Only escalation.

Not only Iran but even the US is extending the waves of war. A US submarine torpedoed without warning and sank the IRIS Dena, a Moudge-class Iranian frigate, in the Indian Ocean not far from Galle. The frigate had about 130 sailors on board and was sailing home after participating in the International Fleet Review (IFR) and multilateral exercise, MILAN-2026, organized by the Indian Navy at Visakhapatnam. The frigate was reportedly not carrying weapons in keeping with the protocol for international naval exercises. Also, according to reports, Americans were in the know of the Fleet Review in India and its participants. Yet the US Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, went on public television to say: “An American submarine sunk an Iranian warship that thought it was safe in international waters,. Instead, it was sunk by a torpedo. Quiet death.” How tragically surreal!

It fell to little Sri Lanka to respond to the distress call of the sinking sailors. Sri Lanka’s navy and emergency services have done an admirable job in fulfilling their humanitarian responsibilities. The Sri Lankan government has also handled a difficult situation, complicated by a second Iranian ship, with poise and purpose. On the other hand, unless I missed it, I have not seen any official reaction by the Indian government to the reckless sinking of one of its guest ships. An opposition parliamentarian of the Congress Party, Pawan Khera, has been cited as asking on X, “Does India have no influence left in its own neighbourhood? Or has that space also been quietly ceded to Washington and Tel Aviv?”

India is not the only one that has ceded space and time to the bullying whims of Donald Trump. With the exception of Spain, the entire West is literally genuflecting for fear of getting hit by tariffs. Notwithstanding the US Supreme Court ruling much of Trump’s tariffs to be illegal, and a Federal Court now ordering that the collected monies should be paid back to those who had paid them. The situation is a far cry from the European reaction and the public lampooning of Bush and Blair when they went to war in Iraq two decades ago.

The Missile Math

Two factors may objectively determine the course and the duration of Trump’s war: weapons stockpiles and the oil and natural gas markets. Higher prices of oil and natural gas will increase domestic pressure on Washington to find an offramp to the war sooner than later. Other countries may have to suffer not only higher prices but also shortages of fuel. The weapons are a different matter.

The ongoing aerial warfare involves the use of drones and missiles to attack as well using defensive missiles to detect and destroy incoming projectiles before they hit their targets. After the beating it took last year and this week, Iran has no missile defense system to speak of, but it has both a stockpile of drones and missiles and capacity for rapidly producing them. The military question is whether Iran’s stockpile of offensive drones and missiles can outlast the combined defensive missile stockpile of the US, Israel and the Middle Eastern countries. There is no clear answer, only speculations about Iran and US concerns over its own stockpile.

The “troubling missile math,” as it has been called is underscored by the concern expressed by US Secretary of State Marco Rubio, that Iran has the capacity for “producing, by some estimates, over 100 of these missiles a month. Compare that to the six or seven interceptors that can be built a month.” The worry is also about the depleting impact that the extended use of interceptors against Iran will have on American stockpiles elsewhere in the world, especially in areas involving China. That is part of the standard military calculation. What is bizarre now is that after starting the war on a whim last Saturday, Trump is convening a meeting within a week on Friday with weapon manufacturers to urge them to produce more.

Secretary Rubio also added that destroying Iran’s missile capacity is the goal of the US campaign. Iran’s missile capacity involves different missiles with different flight ranges. The shorter the range the larger the stock. Iran does not have the standard two-way intercontinental ballistic missile, and it is nowhere near developing them. The current Administration has recklessly claimed that Iran is capable of launching missiles to hit America and has unfairly named and blamed all previous presidents for not doing anything about it.

Trump’s predecessors were fully aware of America’s unmatched military superiority and Iran’s utter limitations. They were also aware that going to war with Iran to destroy its drones and limited range missiles will create more problems without solving any. The Obama Administration in consort with China, UK, France, Germany and Russia produced the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) committing Iran to have nuclear programs for peaceful uses only. Trump tore up the Obama plan and instead of using the opportunity this year to create a new and stronger program, chose to start a war instead.

As things are, unless the US-Israel axis succeeds in literally obliterating all drones and missile production resources in Iran, Iran will retain the capacity to produce drones and short-range missiles with which it could torment its neighbours for long after Trump and Netanyahu declare the war to be over. It may never be a long-range menace – in fact, it never was – but it could become an even greater short-range nuisance.

The US is no longer indicating a time limit for the war to end. For Netanyahu, it is not going to be an endless war. Of the two, Israel might be having some clear objectives to be achieved before ending the war. For Trump and his Administration, on the other hand, the objectives of the war are chaotically evolving on a daily basis, and the world will have to wait till the man of the deal finds some outcome or outcomes that can be shown as success and call it quits.

Regime Change: Insult after Injury

Iran’s Supreme Leader and forty or so other top Iranian leaders were taken out in the first minute of the fight by “pinpoint bombing”, as Trump boasted in his auto-poetic truth social post. But the Iranian regime has not collapsed. It has shown remarkable structure and durability despite the death of its Supreme Leader. It is America that is showing its inability to contain its Supreme Leader from going berserk on the world through tariff and bombing terror – in spite of all the checks and balances that Americans thought they have constitutionally practised and honed over 250 years. It is also poetic comeuppance for the Iranian regime that, after 47 years, it should now face its undoing by an unhinged American hegemon for theocratically subverting the 1979 revolution from realizing any of its secular possibilities.

Trump now wants to add insult to injury by forcing himself into the succession process for selecting a successor to Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. Iran has a well-established succession process, almost akin to the conclave in the Vatican, in which a body of 88 elder clerics, the Assembly of Experts, are convened to elect through a secret vote the new Supreme Leader. Over the last few days, it has been widely reported that the late Khamenei’s 56 year old son Mojtaba Khamenei has emerged as the leading candidate to succeed his father as the next Supreme Leader. His political strength and leadership claim are reportedly based on his close connections to the powerful Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC).

Mojtaba is said to have been the shadow Supreme Leader in recent years making decisions in place of his ageing father. For that reason, he is reviled by Iranians who are opposed to the regime and who have been oppressed by the regime. There are also allegations and rumours about his amassing wealth and investing in properties and opening bank accounts in London and Geneva. At the same time, there could also be sympathy for him in the ruling circles because it was not only his father and his mother who were killed in the first minute bombing but also his wife and his son. While ideologically he has been a hawk, Mojtaba is also described as a “pragmatist.” Being pragmatic in the current context, according an unnamed Tehran academic, would imply that Mojtaba Khamenei will be seeking revenge for the US-Israeli attacks on his family and his country – not through victory in war but by ensuring “the survival of the Islamic Republic.”

President Trump is not bothered about the dynamics and nuances of Iranian leadership politics and has no hesitation in inserting himself into the succession process. In an interview with the American news website Axios, Trump has declared that he wants to be personally involved in the Iranian succession process, and that the selection of the younger Khamenei would be “unacceptable” to him, because “Khamenei’s son is a lightweight.” “I have to be involved in the appointment, like with Delcy [Rodríguez] in Venezuela,” Trump went on, because “we want someone that will bring harmony and peace to Iran.”

Comparing Venezuela and Iran is no less preposterous than the Bush Administration’s decision to invade Iraq in addition to Afghanistan in order to punish Al Quaeda for 9/11. Trump now appears to be seeking not a wholesale regime change but a retail leadership change in the old regime. This is only the latest addition to his lengthening wish list for the war with no method or plan to achieve any of them. Add to the growing list the news that the CIA is putting together a Kurdish insurgent force to foment “a popular uprising” within Iran.

That would be back to the future and the return of the CIA, but in a totally different situation from what it was 73 years ago when the CIA, in partnership with Britain’s MI6, staged the 1953 coup that ousted the government of then Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh and reinforced the monarchical rule of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran. The purported plan now is to arm and organize Kurdish forces in Iran and Iraq to engage the Iranian security forces and thereby to create internal spaces for Iranian civilians to come out to the streets and take over their country. Those who are entertaining this plan are also aware of its inherent dangers and cross-border and pan-ethnic implications for Iraq and even Turkey and Syria. Trump is reportedly aware of the plan but may not be bothered about its unintended consequences.

by Rajan Philips

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ARRIVING DOWN UNDER

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Melder home in Melbourne

We (my wife Esther, two children, Frances (two yrs six months) and Richard (six months), and myself left Katunayake airport for Australia at 4.30 pm on March 12, 1968, flying UTA French airlines.

The final day in Sri Lanka was quite a busy one, receiving our foreign exchange allocation only at 11.00 am that morning, then rushing back home for the trip to the airport. Having long worked as an engine driver for the CGR, it was my intention that our final trip in then Ceylon would be by train; as such we took the 12.45 pm train from Maradana and detrained at Katunayake station.

I had pre-arranged with the Station Master at Katunayake to have a fleet of taxis stand by to convey us (friends, relatives and ourselves) to the airport. The plane departed on schedule and from the moment it took off I was air sick all the way.

At Singapore there was a break of a few hours and I managed to get off into the transit lounge for a breath of fresh air which seemed to revive me. Esther and the children however, stayed on board the aircraft. Once the plane took off, I was again a victim to air sickness. Fortunately the seats behind had fallen vacant and I was able to bed down for the night. It was Esther who had a torrid journey, minding the two kids all the way.

I was woken up whilst the plane was flying over Central Australia and did see the morning glow light up the land. We arrived at Sydney in the morning and I was amused to see that as soon as the plane landed a man entered the plane carrying an aerosol can, the contents of which he sprayed around the interior of the plane. He was, I am told, the Quarantine Officer, carrying out his duties to ensure no ‘nasties’ entered the country.

Before we disembarked a pleasant surprise awaited us – a telegram from a pen friend of mine in Queensland welcoming us to Australia, was delivered to us. We had a two hour break at Sydney Airport before we caught our connecting flight to Melbourne (Essendon Airport).

Victor Melder and wife, Esther, pictured in front of ther home. (Photo by Dominic Sansoni)

It was a hot sunny day, the children were tired and grumpy and I called over at a food outlet to buy some drinks. All I had with me was a British pound sterling note. I gave them that and was given the change in Australian currency, which I had never seen before. I kept looking at it for a while, when the lady at the counter wanted to know what was wrong.

I told her I was migrating to Australia with my family and had never seen Australian currency before and was looking at it. She said, ‘please give it all back to me’, which I did. She then gave me back the pound note and said, “Welcome to Australia. I came here from Poland 10 years ago, I hope you settle in happily”. An auspicious start indeed to our life ‘Down Under’.

The family (my parents, brothers and sisters) were all gathered to meet us as I was the last member to migrate. The drive home was fascinating to say the least, the roads, bridges, lack of people on the roads, quiet traffic (with no cacophony of horns) made it all the more pleasant.

We were seeing television for the first time, and I thought to myself, how wonderful to ‘see the cinema come home’ as the day unfolded and we began to discover more delightful Australian customs and way of life. The following day, accompanied by a brother, I visited the local factories and businesses – Yakka, Ericsson’s, Nabisco Biscuits, Ford Motor Company – in search of employment.

I was flabbergasted to hear each one of them say I was too qualified for them and as such they could not employ me. This was indeed a new one for me. My brother explained, that they knew I was a new migrant and was looking for any type of employment to get settled, and then later on would obtain better employment commensurate with my qualifications. Thus all their training would have been in vain, not to mention the costs involved.

The following day I went to the City, accompanied by another brother. The train journey there and back, the ‘big smoke’ had me enthralled. We called at the recruitment office for both the Federal and State Public Services where forms were filled in and an application for employment lodged. Both agencies stated that it would be some months before I heard from them.

We next called in at the Australia Post recruitment centre as they were recruiting mail sorting officers and signed up with them to begin work the following Monday. The three months at the Postal Training School was interesting; one had to familiarize oneself with the various postal towns in districts and learn speed sorting. At the end of the three months I was given a bundle of 25 letters and had to sort it in a minute into postal districts, with only three errors allowed.

I was smart enough to work on the names in districts, in line with railway stations in various areas of the CGR – Matara, Badulla, Trinco, Batticaloa, KKS lines, thus being able to acquaint myself with the names quicker, and in the final test had only two mistakes.

As son as I had passed out from Postal School, I had a letter from the State Public Service offering me a clerical position (the choice was mine) at any of the following – the Department of Agriculture, Department of Health, Motor Registration Board, Grain Elevators Board and Fisheries & Wildlife Department. The last seemed very interesting and I picked it.

The postal authorities were unhappy to say the least when I resigned my position immediately after three months training (I now understood why I was earlier told that I was too qualified for employment). And so began a 25 year carrier with the State Public Service, which saw me serve in the same ministry, but various divisions – Fisheries & Wildlife, Conservation, Environment Protection Authority, Conservation & Natural Resources, Forest Commission, National Parks and Conservation & Environment.

Due to needs of supplementing my income, I obtained part time employment as an office cleaner with Brown’s Office Cleaning Services and worked for them for 15 years. They had contracts for cleaning offices in the City of Melbourne. A number of Sri Lankan immigrants worked for them supplementing their income. Thus began an extra stint of duty, leaving one’s day job, which ended t 4.30 pm.

Whilst the work was not too arduous the long hours were very demanding. I worked three hours each weekday evening, beginning at 5.00pm. By the time I reached home on public transport, it was well past 9.00pm and I was completely exhausted, especially during the summer months. Fortunately although it was part time work, I was also entitled to sick leave and annual leave.

Esther always wanted to remain at home and look after the kids. This was indeed a most demanding role for her, in that at one time we had the five kids attend five different Catholic schools in the area, which were graded senior, junior, high school (college) and then also segregated between boys and girls. She spent some 15 years driving them to the various schools and back.

One of the first things my father got me to do on arrival in Australia, was to fill in an application form with the Housing Commission of Victoria for a home of our own. This they told us would take anything up to three years before we were allocated one.

After an initial stay of four months with my parents at Broadmeadows, we decided to look for our own accommodation (a flat or house), but found that no one was keen to rent houses to people with children or pets. Finally we were able to locate a large flat (over a small shopping centre) in East Thornbury, where my parents lived when they moved to Australia.

The Estate Agent amazed me when I told them we had children saying, “we love children, yours are welcome.” When I said I had no Australian references, which everyone wanted, they said “If you were good enough for the Australian Government, you are good enough for us”. They were truly amazing and people with a heart.

We lived at East Thornbury for three years before we were given a choice of selecting a house from one of six being built at Broadmeadows West. This we did and this has been our home for the past 38 years. Initially it was difficult as it was a new area, with no street lighting and away from most shopping amenities, but over the years much development has taken place in and around the area.

At the early stages, we had most services delivered to the door – bread, milk, dry cleaning, fruit & vegetables, newspapers, the onion & potato man, mail etc. Over the years the services have dwindled (with progress) and today only the mail and newspapers are delivered.

After 25 years service with the State Public Service, I took the opportunity of ‘early retirement’ being offered by the public service and retired in April 1993.

by Victor Melder

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How Helmut Kohl braved the tsunami, P-TOMs and Kadirgamar assassination

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Delegation at World bank meeting in Washington

This is the place to introduce the episode of ex-Chancellor Helmut Kohl of Germany. “This legendary unifier of post war Germany was at a small hotel in Hikkaduwa undergoing Ayurveda treatment when the Tsunami struck. A German Minister who owned a house in Hikkaduwa and visited Lanka regularly had recommended Ayurveda treatment to The Chancellor and head of her party- the Christian Democrats.

The German Embassy was at its wits end because Kohl had disappeared without a trace. They contacted us and we activated our Grama Sevaka network to find that Kohl had been taken to the safety of his home by a hotel employee. When we offered to send a helicopter to bring him to Colombo the Chancellor had replied that it was not necessary as he was well looked after by his host. He came by car the following day in order to thank CBK for her help.

I went to President’s House with Kohl who seemed quite relaxed in his coloured shirt, crumpled pants, a grey seersucker coat and rough boots. He was full of praise for the Sri Lankan people who had helped him and all the tourists in distress due to the Tsunami. Kohl said that he wanted to help in the rehabilitation of the south in his personal capacity. When he got back to Germany he set up a group of rich friends called “Friends of Helmut Kohl” who sent money to build a hospital in Mahamodera, Galle.

The money was lodged in the German Embassy. But the usually lethargic Health department dragged its feet on the construction work on the guise that the money was not sufficient for their grandiose hospital plans ignoring the value of the superb gesture by Kohl. Unfortunately he died before the completion of the project and therefore could not keep his pledge to come to Galle for its opening.

Later in time I was a member of a Parliamentary delegation led by Speaker Karu Jayasuriya which included Sampanthan, Rauf Hakeem, Anura Dissanayake and several others. I suggested to our group that we pay a belated tribute to Helmut Kohl who had died a few months previously. This was immediately welcomed by the parliamentarians and the organizers of the tour and we jointly paid our heartfelt tribute to a great friend of Sri Lanka who was an eye witness to the success of our rehabilitation effort.

Post Tsunami Operational Management Structure (P-TOMS)

The Tsunami was particularly harsh on the eastern and northern coastline because it was directly in the way of the giant waves created in Indonesia and deflected to our shores. It also created a transformation of the political scene and the nature of the war. The LTTE had invested considerable resources in building up its “Sea Tigers”. They wanted control of the northern seas in order to increase their supply of weapons and ammunition. The Sea Tigers established a presence in east Thailand so that arms could be purchased from Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand. The fighting in the Indo-China theatre was over and the cut rate weapons market was flourishing.

Our embassy in Bangkok had an army officer who was monitoring terrorist activities but he was helpless because Thai officials in the lower echelons were in the pay of the LTTE. In addition to that problem, the mediocre officials of our Foreign Ministry were no match for the determined LTTEers one of whom had married an influential Thai lady. With money coming in from expatriates they had even set up a shipping line which was so well run that they could finance weapons buying for the LTTE with its profits.

We had received intelligence that the LTTE was preparing for a major “Sea Tiger” operation from their base in Mullaitivu. This base area concept shows the advanced thinking of the LTTE which was attempting – then unsuccessfully – to even manufacture a low cost submarine. Fortunately for us the Tsunami wiped out the base of the “Sea Tigers” together with many of their assets such as boats, proto-type submarines and diving gear.

True to form they sent signals for talks which they had earlier broken. Their diaspora had mounted a campaign to collect funds for rehabilitation. At this stage the UN got into the act and with the World Bank and IMF persuaded the CBK government to consider a power sharing arrangement principally for the rehabilitation of the North and East. It was to be called P-TOMS. CBK appointed Jayantha Dhanapala as the head of SCOPP – a secretariat to coordinate the relief effort in the North and East. The World Bank appointed Peter Harrold, its representative in Colombo, to coordinate the P-TOMS effort with SCOPP.

Estimates were made by SCOPP regarding the amount necessary for the rehabilitation of the North and East. This budget became the talking point of several successive regimes who promised to allocate such funds in exchange for Tamil votes in the North. Mahinda Rajapaksa’s agents held this figure as a bait to promote a boycott of the Presidential poll in 2005 which threw the election which was in Ranil’s pocket to MR thereby changing the destiny of the LTTE as well of the country. [MR cleared the 50 percent hurdle by only 25,000 votes].

Perhaps to strengthen the push for P-TOMS, Kofi Annan the Secretary General of the UN arrived with a large contingent of staffers and I was asked to meet and greet him in Katunayake. We gave Annan a grand welcome but he seemed distracted and was only interested in getting his Swedish wife who was hanging back, into the spotlight. CBK had several discussions with him but we ran into a snag in that he wanted to visit the North and meet Prabhakaran.

Perhaps some of the big powers had got to him as he was in the midst of a scandal about his son from his first marriage who was facing charges of corruption. The scandal was rocking UN headquarters. Annan who was elevated from his earlier status as a UN functionary to satisfy African members, was according to several biographers, indebted to the west and could not end his tenure to the satisfaction of the majority of the UN membership.

CBK, already under pressure for mishandling the P-TOMS campaign, was adamant that Annan should not meet the LTTE which would have given the terrorists parity of status with the SL state. Since such an interpretation was circulated by virtually all political parties in the South she was pushed to a very difficult position. After much discussion Annan settled for a helicopter tour of the North. I found that he was a weak leader who was led by his nose by Mark Mallock Brown – his chief of staff, who had been in charge of UN operations even during its disastrous forays in the Congo.

Mallock Brown was later identified as a camp follower of the West who compromised the credibility of the UN. I have memories of Mallock Brown holding forth on their next step here while Annan and Dhanapala were mere passive listeners. This Western initiative of P-TOMS did not finally see the light of day. But it split the ruling coalition of the PA and JVP irrevocably and Mahinda Rajapaksa burnished his credentials as an opponent of the project. He became popular with the PA and its allied parties over and above CBK.

When the P-TOMS project was to be placed before Parliament Mahinda as Prime Minister refused to present it on the floor of the House. CBK was too weak to dismiss him partly because Lakshman Kadirgamar also was a strong opponent of P-TOMS. Instead she got Maithripala Sirisena to present the proposal. But the Opposition which was joined by the JVP including its functioning Ministers, took to the streets. The JVP members demonstrated and disturbed the proceedings from the well of the House and then resigned “en masse” from the government putting its majority in jeopardy. Mahinda’s anti-P-TOMS stand endeared him to the JVP, which had earlier preferred Kadirgamar to him, and helped him to garner votes which went a long way in ensuring his ultimate victory. He had become so powerful that CBK had no option but to accommodate him.

Assassination of Lakshman Kadirgamar

Another blow was struck at CBK and the government by the I TTE when they assassinated Lakshman Kadirgamar near the swimming pool of his house. He had a successful kidney transplant in India – with a Buddhist monk from Balangoda donating a kidney – and was asked to swim regularly as exercise by his doctors. I knew of this arrangement because when we travelled together he always asked the Foreign Office to put him tip in a hotel with a heated swimming pool.

He was about to enter the water in the swimming pool when a LTTE sniper shot him through a window in a neighbourhood flat. This dastardly crime wits condemned unanimously by the international community. India sent her Foreign Minister to attend the funeral. Ksdirgamar’s death brought CBK’s Government to the brink of collapse. The JVP though leaving the Government respected LK and paid a tribute to him by arranging for their leaders to follow his hearse on foot to Kanatte.

It must be mentioned here that LK nearly pipped Mahinda for the post of PM in 2004. He had the backing of the JVP who wanted CBK to appoint LK and in the alternative appoint Maithripala Sirisena as PM. He was also supported by India but CBK was afraid that Mahinda will break up the party if he was deprived of the Premiership. After LK’s demise she undertook a mini reshuffle and Anura Bandaranaike had his ambition of being Foreign Minister realized.

To succeed him as Minister of Industries and Foreign Investment she appointed me in addition to my portfolio of Minister of Finance. Arjuna Ranatunga was the Deputy Minister of Industries and I left most of the administrative work to him. When we had an investment promotion meeting in Delhi I invited Arjuna and Aravinda de Silva to be our delegates and they stole the show among the cricket mad Indian investors. All the tables at dinners hosted by us were taken and we had many friends appealing to us to get them reservations even at the last minute.

We had such good relations that I was invited to take part in popular TV talk shows. I remember that Shekhar Gupta invited me for a discussion on our health services with Kajol – the top Hindi film actress who was brand ambassador for Narendra Modis “clean Bharat” campaign. She was a charming young lady who recounted her enjoyable stay in Sri Lanka when she accompanied her mother Tanuja who was shooting a film in Colombo with Vijaya Kumaratunga as her co-star.

After LKs murder the fear of the LTTE was so strong that CBK could not even attend the funeral ceremony. PM Mahinda Rajapaksa represented her. This death was a bitter blow to me because as an old Trinitian friend he would always consult me on party matters. I still have a letter he wrote to me about a coffee t able book on the art of Stanley Kirinde which he sponsored in honour of our mutual college friend.

(This book is available at the Vijitha Yapa bookshops)

(Excerpted from vol. 3 of the Sarath Amunugama autobiography)

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