Features

Susil Sirivardena: an incomparable friend

Published

4 years ago

2021/09/12

It was in early 1966, as I worked in my office, a messenger came into announce a visitor. I did not expect anyone but unexpected visitors were not unusual in those times when telephones were not ubiquitous as now.

I got up to receive him. He was not only unexpected but also strikingly unusual. He wore an off-white cloth hanging from his waist about two inches short of his ankles and a collarless shirt with a split on the left shoulder tied together with two ribbons of the same colour. The shirt was of the same colour and material as the cloth he wore.

He wore a pair of simple sandals and carried a pan malla, or reed bag, from which one could see some papers peeping out. He was as dark as I was, open faced, ready with a smile and adorned with a sense of determination. We soon sat down to chat. He talked about a special issue of Samskrti they were planning and asked me whether I would consider contributing an article on universities. That isssue was very well received and ran out of print soon.

The 1960s was a time when economists were deeply immersed in studying education in relation to economic development. The Robbins Committee in Britain had issued its reports and there was a Commission sitting on university education in India. I was working on a paper on education for the Centenary Volume that was planned by the Ministry of Education and begged to be excused. However, I promised to take an interest in the work of Samskrti under his guidance. He suggested that we meet soon at leisure to talk and for the next 50 years and more we have been doing just that.

Susil was perhaps the last member of a line of young men from privileged homes who committed themselves early to the public good. They defined the public good in their own terms. The earliest was Solomon Dias Badaranaike, the son of a rich and powerful landowner and the young man went to St.Thomas’ College, Galkissa and to Oxford to read classics, entered the bar but committed himself to the public cause as it was understood then. About ten years later, a whole group of them emerged: Philip Gunawardena, Pieter Keuneman, N.M.Perera, Leslie Goonewardene (unrelated to Philip), Dudley Senanayake and T.B.Subasinghe. They were all from privileged homes and schools, went to universities in US and Britain and committed themselves to serve the public in the way they thought best.

Ranil Wickremesinghe was a late comer and he graduated from Colombo reading law. Susil was from a privileged home, went to St.Thomas’ and to Oxford, where he read English and defined his commitment to the public good. (A.T.Ariyaratne made in a different mould, defined the public good (outside politics) for himself and has served the public well.) Ranil and Susil were perhaps the last of that breed as privilege itself began to be newly defined and public service itself took on new shades.

Tragedy struck our society. A new set of political leaders emerged, who, uneducated, corrupted the public good to consist of their personal good and plundered the public purse without shame. An uncritical public sang hosannas to these criminals. The educated youth was not mature enough to define the public good for themselves and fitted into the machine or took to thoughtless violence.

Susil’s first job was as a teacher in a government school. When he asked for an appointment as a teacher in a government school and insisted that he be appointed to a school in a remote area, the officials were flummoxed. He had his say and went to teach English in Anuradhapura Central School. In this school he exhibited an unmistakable characteristic of his work: his passionate commitment to whatever he set out to do. He was no dilletante. It came forward in all his enterprises: as a civil servant, editor of journals and public speaking. There never was any halfhearted activity that he put his hand to. Besides the regular syllabus, he took the children to reading poetry and plays. He made lasting friendships in Anuradhapura: one that endured for long was with Sarath Wijesooriya, a mild mannered but steel willed colleague, who collaborated with him in editing Mavata, a journal committed to discussing cultural and social issues. Sarath later edited a bi-weekly sheet and wrote children’s books.

He joined the Ceylon Administrative Service having come first in the competitive examination to recruit young persons to eventual senior management jobs in the public service. His signature initiative was Janasaviya when he worked with President Premadasa. It has survived under various names and is now Samurdhi. It was designed and carried out as a poverty alleviation programme that called forth the fundamental urges in Susil to serve the public. He set about with passion, which is partly the reason that the programme was so successful. Yet one should note that it stagnated after him as a dole, bereft of its growth potential. The other area he worked in was housing, under the same president. He kept a long term interest in housing and helped government, whenever summoned. I missed almost the entirety of his career in CAS, as when he had been just promoted as the Director to ARTI, he was arrested and I left for New York a few days later.

Let us go back to Susil whom I saw that morning. I lived in an old house on Gregory’s Road. We had a broad varandah where I met visitors. I had some interest in education and P.K. Dissanayake (of the NCHE) and Susil both came there to talk about ideas pertaining to education, especially university education. Sometime then, he invited me to some discussions as a part of the attempt to encourage young scholars to think about change in society and culture and to contribute papers to Samskrti. We met on Saturday mornings in Dr.Ranjan Abeysenghe’s spatial house in Krillapone. Besides Susil, I recall Piyal Somaratne, who worked for Radio Ceylon and Mahinda Wijesekera who was a student at Vidyodaya and, in maturity, a politician. Susil went about on a light blue Vespa scooter and was a frequent visitor at our home. We mostly talked about books and articles and about writing for Samskrti. Sometime in May 1971 (it was perhaps a Saturday) he came to our place as usual and the next morning, we learnt that he had been arrested.

In June I left for New York City. After he came back from prison and whenever I came back to Colombo, we met infrequently as circumstances permitted. Susil never talked to me about the trial and imprisonment and I felt I would violate his wishes if I asked him about it. It was characteristic of him not to talk about himself. I knew his brother who lived in Manhattan and apart from that I knew nothing of his parents. It was from a note that Kusum Kumara passed to me a few days back that I learned that Susil’s family and Felix Dias Bandaranaike’s had had a feud (kontharyak). Felix Dias Bandaranaike was besides the prime minster the most powerful person in that government.

One of Susil’s major accomplishments, arguably the most vauable for posterity, was the publication of Mavata, a magazine devoted to discussing culture, especially fiction and poetry. It was ‘the small magazine’ that he often spoke about. What he attempted and that was new was an assessment of the cultural history of this society, from the point of view of the then dominant ideas about colonialism and neo-colonialism. In the first editorial in Mavata he periodized these developments and defined the development, in our society, of two streams of literature and literary criticism. The ‘majority school’ was better connected to the common people than the ‘minority school’ that developed in the university of Ceylon, especially at Peradeniya. The ‘colomba kavi’ was the main literary form of the majority school while the ‘Peradeniya school’ used fiction, poetry and literary criticism to dominate, via schools, the minds of young people in the years after 1950. Susil published a complete anthology of Vimalaratne Kumaragama’s poetry. Samskrti, (in which Susil played a major role both before and after Mavata) gave expression to the views of the Peradeniya school. Its first board of editors of five were all graduates of the University of Ceylon. It would be most instructive to study the first editorial of Amaradasa Virasinhge in Samskrti in 1953 and Susil’s in Mavata in 1976. They contrasted in many ways. The first issue came out in 1976 and the last in 1992, having issued 56 numbers in between. The editors were Susil, Piyal Somaratne, Kumudu Kusum Kumara, Sarath Vijesooriya, V.Arthur, Kirthi Ekanyake and several others, not all at the same time. Many young people who shone later contributed to it. Contributors included Kumudu Kusum Kumara, Sena Thoradeniya, Kumari Jayawardena, Parakrama Kodituvakku, S.G.Punchiheva, K.S.Sivakumaran, Mahagama Sekera, Premakirti de Alvis, and Abraham Kovoor. Mavata inspired may young men and women to examine their own culture.

Sometime in 2009, Amaradasa Virasighe asked me to join Samskrti. I did not know him and consulted two persons who had worked in Samskrti earlier. Both advised me against joining Samskrti. I talked to Susil and he thought I should go. In gratitude, I asked him to join me. Most of what we did in Samskrti were considered together, although we were each entirely responsible for our actions. In 2009 itself, Susil wrote out a manifesto for Samskrti ‘smaskrti sangarave jivodaya’ which was followed 2013, by a more elaborate programme. The Special Issue on universities had gone out of print and Susil and I put out a reprint with a new introduction. He was very keen to make special issues on both M.D.Ratnasuriya and Dharmasiri Ekanyake and that appeared in 2011. In 2013 appeared a special issue on Gitanjali and G.B.Senanayahe , edited by Susil. Dharmasiri Ekanayake was a regular contributor on literary criticism to Samskrti and I proposed that we collect them in a book with an introduction we would write jointly. When we went to ask Dharmasiri for permission to do that, he guffawed as usual and produced four ‘log ‘books’ of neat hand writing which contained book that we had planned. It was published 2012 as ‘sahityaya ha vicara kalava’.

Susil wrote outstanding film reviews for Samskrti beginning 1966 on Bimal Roy’s Bandini in 1966, ‘Satyajit Ray’s art of film making’ in 1968 and Siri Gunasinghe’s ‘ranavan karal’ in 1968 and ending with ‘valapatala’ in 2009 and ‘sri siddharta gautama’ in 2013. These last few years were spent understanding ‘nation building’ in our country in the 20th century. He sought guidance in Indian writings and spent several weeks in successive years at the Indian Cultural Centre in New Delhi. We discussed several drafts of an outline but got no further.

Susil and I set out, roughly about the same time, from different ports fitted out in very different vessels with sails of different material. Those vessels were carried forward by fair tail winds, generated by utterly different forces. En route, we put into different ports for victuals and other supplies and so enriched, we finally put into harbour where we went ashore and put up different camps, unbeknown to each other. Susil destroyed his boat and equipment; I preserved mine tethered in a cove for future use. Our forays inland, always new to each new generation, were in different directions. Some of them were into wastelands created by evil men whose designed destinations differed from those of Susil. We met up and carried on common campaigns, with the objective of public education. Susil left tall landmarks, which will guide many an intrepid adventurer in future. For all his labour and that plenitude, we are grateful to Susil.

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Features

Politics of Enforced Disappearances in Sri Lanka

Published

20 hours ago

2025/03/24

Thilina Walpola

Image courtesy UNHRC

In 2016, I participated in research focused on gathering information about reconciliation mechanisms in post-war Sri Lanka. During one of the interviews, a Tamil mother, from the Eastern part of the country, broke into tears as she shared her story. Her son had disappeared, and, according to some of the neighbours, he was apparently abducted by a paramilitary group. Her story goes as follows: After hearing the news, she began searching for her son and went to the police station to file a case. However, police refused to file the case and directed her to a military camp. In the military camp, she was directed to an officer, who took her to a room with scattered flesh and blood stains. Then the officer, pointing to the room has told the lady that, ‘This is your son’.

In another instance, in the same year, while we were working in Kurunegala, an elderly mother, wearing a white saree, approached us and shared her story. She held a stained envelope, and when she carefully took out a piece of paper, related to her son, she broke into tears. She handled the paper with such tenderness, as though it were a part of her son himself. Her son was abducted by a para military group in 1989 and never returned.

These two stories have remained deeply etched in my mind for several years, leaving a lasting impact. Now, with the release of the Batalanda Commission Report, which sheds light on the atrocities committed during a dark chapter of Sri Lanka’s history, coupled with the release of the movie ‘Rani’, there is renewed attention on enforced disappearances. These disappearances, which were once shrouded in silence and denial, are now gaining significant traction among the public. Thus, it is timely to discuss the stories of enforced disappearances and the political dynamics surrounding them.

The Effect

Enforced disappearance is often employed as a strategy of terror, deliberately designed to instil fear and insecurity within a society. The tactic goes beyond the direct impact on the immediate family members of the disappeared individuals. The psychological and emotional toll on these families is profound, as they are left with uncertainty, grief, and often a sense of helplessness. However, the effects of enforced disappearance extend far beyond these immediate circles. It creates a pervasive atmosphere of fear that affects entire communities, undermining trust and cohesion. The mere threat of disappearance looms over the population, causing widespread anxiety and eroding the sense of safety that is essential for the social fabric to thrive. The fear it engenders forces people into silence, discourages activism, and ultimately weakens the collective spirit of resistance against injustice.

Absence of the body

For years, the families and loved ones of the disappeared hold on to a fragile hope, clinging to the belief that their loved ones may still be alive. The absence of a physical body leaves room for uncertainty and unresolved grief, creating a painful paradox where the possibility of closure remains out of reach. Without the tangible proof of death—such as a body to bury or mourn over—the search continues, driven by the hope that one day they will find answers. This absence extends beyond just the physical body; it symbolizes the void left in the lives of the families, as they are left in a perpetual state of waiting, unable to fully mourn or heal. The constant uncertainty fuels a never-ending cycle of searching, questioning, and longing.

Making a spectacle of unidentified bodies

In 1989, as a small child, I found myself surrounded by an atmosphere that was both suffocating and frightening, filled with sights and sounds that I couldn’t fully comprehend at the time, but that would forever leave a mark on my memory. I can still vividly recall the smell of burning rubber that hung thick in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke that lingered long after the flames had died down. The piles of tyres, set ablaze, were a regular feature of the streets where I lived. Yet, it wasn’t just the sight of the burning tyres that etched itself into my consciousness. As the flames raged on, the shadows of bodies emerged—neither completely visible nor entirely hidden.

Though my parents tried their best to shield me from the horror outside our home, I would sneak a peek whenever I thought no one was watching, desperate to understand the meaning behind what was unfolding before me. It was as though I knew something important was happening—something I couldn’t yet comprehend but could feel in the very air I breathed. I understood that the flames, the smoke, and the bodies all signified something far greater than I could put into words.

The burning piles of tyres—and, of course, bodies—which people spoke of in hushed tones, served as a chilling spectacle, conveying the threatening message the government sent to the public, especially targeting the young rebels and anyone who dared to challenge the state

Unable to seek justice

The absence of the body makes justice seem like a distant, unreachable concept. In cases of disappearance, where no physical evidence of the victim’s fate exists, the path to justice is often blocked. Without the body, there is no concrete proof of the crime, no tangible evidence that can be presented in court, and no clear sign that a crime was even committed. This leaves families and loved ones of the disappeared in a state of uncertainty, with no clear answers about what happened to their dear ones. As a result, families are forced to live in a limbo, where their grief is ignored and their calls for justice are silenced.

Undemocratic actions under a Democratic Government

Governments are meant to serve and protect the people who elect them, not to subject them to violence, fear, or oppression. Irrespective of the situation, no government, under any circumstances, has the right to make its citizens disappear. A government is a democratically elected body that holds its power and authority through the consent of the governed, with the explicit responsibility to safeguard the rights, freedoms, and lives of its citizens. When a government starts to take actions that involve the arbitrary killing or disappearance of its own people, it betrays the very principles it was founded upon.

The act of making people disappear and killing represents a fundamental breach of human rights and the rule of law. These are not actions that belong to a legitimate government that is accountable to its people. Instead, they signal a state that has become corrupt and tyrannical, where those in power are no longer bound by any ethical or legal standards. When the government becomes the perpetrator of violence against its own citizens, it destroys the trust between the state and the people, undermining the core foundation of democracy.

In such a scenario, the authority of law collapses. Courts become powerless, and law enforcement agencies are either complicit in the wrongdoing or rendered ineffective. This breakdown in legal authority does not just mean a failure to protect the rights of individuals; it signals the descent of society into anarchy. When the government wields power in such a violent and oppressive way, it erodes the social contract. When this relationship is violated through actions like disappearances, those in power essentially declare that they are above the law, which leads to a breakdown of social order. It no longer becomes a state that works for its people but rather a regime that rules through fear, repression, and violence.

by Dr. Anushka Kahandagamage

Features

Hazard warning lights at Lotus Tower

Published

20 hours ago

2025/03/24

Thilina Walpola

Lotus Tower enveloped in mist

Much has been written about the use of Hazard Warning Lights at Lotus Tower (LT)

Now it looks as if the authorities have got the day and night in a ‘twist’.

During the day time LT is in darkness. What should be ‘on’ during the day are the High Intensity Strobe Lights. It is observed that the authorities switch them ‘on’ in the night instead!

According to the ICAO recommendations what should be ‘on’ in the night are the low intensity strobe lights. High intensity in the night as is now, can momentarily blind the pilots.

At this time of the year the island experiences afternoon thunder showers which make the LT and the natural horizon invisible. (See picture) in a phenomenon known as ‘white out’ caused by fog (low cloud), mist and rain. However, the LT is kept dark and not lit up and that could be dangerous to air traffic.

In short what is needed are white strobe lights 24/7 (day and night). High Intensity by day and Low Intensity at night. They are known as ‘attention getters’.

The red lights must be ‘on’ at sunset and ‘off’ by sunrise (as correctly carried out currently).

I am aware that the Organisation of Professional Associations (OPA) has written to the LT authorities at the request of the Association of Airline Pilots, Sri Lanka, about three months ago but strangely the OPA has not even received an acknowledgement!

GUWAN SEEYA

Features

Ninth Iftar celebration organised by Police Buddhist and Religious Affairs Association, Wellawatte

Published

20 hours ago

2025/03/24

Thilina Walpola

Islam is a peaceful religion that guides people to fulfil the five pillars of Islam, namely, Kalima, Prayer, Sakkath, Fasting and Hajj and through them to attain the grace of God.

The fact that the Holy Quran, the sacred book of Muslims, was revealed on one of the odd nights of the month of Ramadan, makes people realize the special importance of the month of Ramadan.

Fasting, the Holy Quran states, “0 you who believe, fasting is prescribed for you as it was prescribed for those before you, that you may become pure.” (2.183)

Muslims observe the first fast in the early hours of the evening when the first crescent of the month of Ramadan is sighted. The special feature of Ramadan fasting is to wake up early in the morning, eat before the sunrise (Sahur) and then fast for 14 hours until the evening prayer (Mahrib), remember the Creator and worship Him five times a day, break the fast at the time of Iftar (Mahrib), eat food with dates and spend the 30 days of Ramadan.

Ramadan fasting increases fear and faith in Allah, and it is not equal for the wealthy to live luxuriously without realizing the poverty of the poor and the poor to die of poverty. Therefore, fasting has been emphasized as the fourth Pillar in Islam to make the rich aware of the nature of poverty and to make the rich aware of the nature of hunger and to give charity.

Ramadan fasting is a shield for Muslims. The main objectives of fasting are the virtues, characteristics, morality and spiritual attraction of a person.

When approaching fasting from a medical perspective, it is said that ‘a disease-free life is an inexhaustible wealth’, so the good deed of fasting provides great benefits to the body.

Generally, it is a universal law to give rest to all the machines that have power. That is, it allows the machines to continue to function well. Similarly, it is necessary to give rest to our bodies. The fasting of the month of Ramadan explains this very simply.

“Historically, fasting has been proven to be very safe for most people,” says Babar Basir, a cardiologist at Henry Ford Health in Detroit, USA. “Ramadan fasting is a form of intermittent fasting that can help you lose fat without losing muscle, improve insulin levels, burn fat, and increase human growth hormone,” he says.

All wealthy. Muslims are required to give 2’/2 percent of their annual income to the poor in charity. This is why Muslims give more charity in the form of money, food, and clothing during Ramadan.

Anas (Kali) reported that the Prophet (Sal) said, “The best charity is to feed a hungry person.” This shows how great an act it is to feed a hungry person.

Fasting during the holy month of Ramadan, one of the most sacred duties of Muslims, is Providing facilities for fasting and breaking it is also a pious act that brings benefits. In that way, the Sri Lanka Police, as a way of receiving the blessings of Allah, have organized the Police Iftar ceremony to break the fast for the fasting people.

The Police Iftar ceremony, which is organized annually by the Sri Lanka Police Buddhist and Religious Affairs Association for Muslim police officers serving in the Sri Lanka Police, will be held for the 9th time this year on the 24th at the invitation of the Acting Inspector General of Police Mr. Priyantha Weerasooriya and will be held at the Marine Grand Reception Hall in Wellawatte under the participation of the Hon. Minister of Public Security and Parliamentary Affairs Mr. K.M. Ananda Wijepala. Muslim members of Parliament, Foreign Ambassadors of Islamic countries, High-ranking Police officers and Muslim Police officers, as well as members of the public, are also expected to attend the Iftar ceremony.

a.f. fUARD
Chief Inspector of Police
International Affairs
Criminal Investigation Department