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The Significance Of Accents



by Vijaya Chandrasoma

I have traveled more than anyone else, and I have noticed that even the angels speak English with an accent – Mark Twain

English is now recognized as the global language, widely spoken in most parts of the world. It is certainly the universal language of international trade and commerce. However, distinctive accents in the use of English in different parts of the world make English sound as if different languages are being spoken.

Countries originally settled by Anglo-Saxons, like the United States of America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, have, with some variations, recognized English as their national language. English of the original immigrants, blended with those of the hundreds of millions who emigrated to the New World from Europe, and the more recent arrivals from the colonies of the old British Empire in Asia, Africa and the West Indies.

However, the nations colonized by the British, especially those countries in the Indian Subcontinent, boasted of a proud history of their own languages and cultures. Their willing embrace of the English was necessarily merged with the sounds of their native languages, Hindi, Urdu, Sinhala and Tamil. The language resulting from the blending of these proud languages with that of the invader unfortunately gave birth to an English accent which is an unpleasant onslaught on the senses.

The 20th century saw a flood of immigrants to Europe, Canada and the USA. Religious persecution, poverty and two World Wars were the main reasons for immigration to the USA; the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free”, economic refugees seeking a better future for themselves and their children. The end of World War II and the resultant labor shortages saw an influx of immigrants to Europe. Post-war Britain facing labor shortages enticed immigrants from their defunct empire to the nation we had been brainwashed to revere as the “Motherland”, to do the menial jobs that the natives felt were beneath their dignity.

Of course, accents played a part within the host countries themselves. In England, the accepted accent till the late 20th century for diplomats, the upper crust and the BBC was the Oxford/Cambridge variety, cultivated in the prestigious public (read private, expensive, snobbish) schools in the land. English is spoken with a multitude of accents depending on the locale in which you live. The Brummie (Birmingham) accent is different from the London cockney, the Liverpudlian from the West Country; and if you strike up a conversation with a Scotsman at a pub in Aberdeen, you will find it hard put to understand the drift of the conversation, especially had you slaked your thirst with that golden elixir, the hallmark of the nation.

The upper classes of colonial and post-colonial Sri Lanka, educated at Christian private mission schools, with the single exception of one government school in Colombo, often scoffed condescendingly at the English spoken in Sinhala and Tamil villages. As the hoary and offensive joke goes, when referring to an inhabitant from the Southern City of Galle, “You can take the boy out of Gaul, but you can’t take the Goal out of the boy!”

I emigrated to the USA in the late 80s, during the peak of the JVP and LTTE strife. I was amused, sometimes perturbed, to observe American attitudes to the accents of recent immigrants. The natives of the 50 states of this vast and powerful nation spoke English in their different accents; but American English had pretty much evolved into a uniform dialect.

As Theodore Roosevelt said at the turn of the 20th century, “We have room for but one language, the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding house”. He has been proved largely prescient, though the recent influx of immigrants from Latin America and Asian countries has made for vast tracts of communities who speak only their own language, with a smattering of English to get by. This will change when their offspring join a new generation of Americans.

Generally, Americans have a combination of both inferiority and superiority complexes about the accent used in their nation when compared to the languages spoken in the “Old Country”. Each set of new immigrants till the middle of the 20th century added something of their own language/culture to the dialect now accepted as American English. First generation immigrants, however, usually retain the accents of the language they spoke at home, although many try to emulate the accents of the host country to demonstrate their eagerness to assimilate. Americans have formed their own conceptions, often stereotyped and fallacious, of the characteristics these various accents suggest.

Americans are generally in awe of those speaking with a British accent. Never mind the accent is OxCam or cockney, Welsh or Scots, these accents are often falsely regarded as evidence of an upper class education, even a status symbol. A French accent is admired as the mellifluous language of love and romance; such an accent, when accompanied with a gallant kiss on the hand, will make any lady, not just American, swoon. The Australian accent, which to my ears is just a variation of the lowly Cockney, is also held in high regard in the United States, while the guttural German is thought to be indicative of cold, even brutal, efficiency. Other European accents are held in varying degrees of esteem, depending on their national stereotypes. One accent that is universally enjoyed is the Jamaican, which opens up fantasies of warm beaches, cocktails with little umbrellas, reggae and calypso music and wild parties with a surfeit of sex and pot, lots of pot.

Sadly, the accent held in the least esteem are the discordant sounds of the English language spoken by first generation immigrants from the Indian Subcontinent, contemptuously personified by Apu in the popular TV show, “The Simpsons”. It has also been disdainfully described as an accent, when used by a man pursuing a woman, that would be the least likely to help him getting laid. Unless, of course, the lady in pursuit hailed from the Subcontinent, in which event a mere accent would likely prove to be least of the problems.

Many of these immigrants from the Subcontinent are highly educated professionals, medical, engineering, and the like. Their education has often been “refined” by the hallowed schools of learning in England. They take inordinate pride in their distinctive and cultured accents, and many refuse to parrot the pidgin American of their host nation. As an example, my brother emigrated to California over 40 years ago. He received his education up to MD General Medicine (Sri Lanka) and MRCP (UK), in Colombo. After a brief period of training at the University of Southern California, he has been teaching pathology at the USC Medical School for over 40 years, as the Head of Surgical Pathology of the most prestigious university in Los Angeles. Like me, he talks with the same English accent we learned at Royal College, which neither of us has been able to shed; me, after six years in England as a student and over 20 years in the United States, and my brother, after 40 years’ teaching pathology to American medical students. I asked him once why he didn’t adapt his accent to better communicate with his students, why he still used words like ‘nought’ and ‘fortnight’ which are unfamiliar to Americans. His typically arrogant Sri Lankan response was: “I am not going to change the way I speak. Let the buggers look up any words they don’t understand!”

Americans, and it must be confessed, even many of these educated immigrants from the Subcontinent, look down upon the grating accents of recent immigrants from the Indian Subcontinent, usually economic refugees of the “lower orders” with little education and fewer skills. They do their utmost to parrot the American accent in a desperate desire to blend in, efforts which unfortunately result in a bad accent made even more jarring.

When I first arrived in America in 1990, I met with some Sri Lankans living in the twilight zone of the undocumented immigrant, making great efforts to pursue the elusive American Dream. One of them, fresh out of LAX, heard a dog barking, and exclaimed, in Sinhala, with an air of wonderment, “Aday, machang, even the dogs here bark with an American accent”.

American prejudice against the accents of immigrants from the Subcontinent is a really yet another not so subtle expression of racism. I have personally suffered this form of discrimination, when insensitive American co-workers tried to mimic my accent in an effort to diminish me. My advanced age at the time (49), and lack of American work experience compelled me to take lowly, often menial jobs in an effort to put food on the table, secure medical insurance and pay the rent. But I never let these taunts take me down, because I knew I was better than them. I am not being arrogant or conceited, it was a low bar I had to clear. However, this kind of cruel mimicry can have a devastating effect on children, especially those in their formative years.

In Los Angeles, we made friends with an Indian family living in our apartment complex, who were in a similar situation. They had an only daughter, a beautiful and talented little girl, who attended the junior high school in the neighborhood. My friend and I shared the chore of taking our kids (my younger son had, during those first few days, enrolled in the local Community College) to school and picking them up at the end of the day, depending on our work schedules. I noticed that my friend’s little daughter looked very glum, sometimes close to tears when I picked her up after school. After a couple of weeks, concerned as only a father can feel for another’s obsessive need to protect his daughter, I decided to cross traditional lines of privacy and asked my friend if there were any problems with his daughter’s schooling. I thought maybe she had problems with adjustment to a new culture and a different curriculum. My friend broke down and told me the awful truth. Their daughter kept sobbing herself to sleep every night, in deep distress; she was being mocked for her Indian accent by the school bullies. He and his wife were at their wits’ end, even thinking of abandoning their quest for the American Dream and going back to India.

We talked to the scared, sensitive little girl, told her that she was better than any kid in the school; that she was better read and educated in the English language than most; that she should study hard and go on to complete her studies at the best university in the country. She tearfully agreed to try.

And try she did! She has exceeded even our most extravagant expectations. She gritted her teeth, bravely overcame the relentless taunts, won the English prize at the end of her junior school career, finished high school as its Valedictorian and earned a Summa cum Laude bachelor’s degree from the University of California, Berkeley. She didn’t stop there. She was accepted to Yale Law School, and is now a lawyer, the General Counsel at one of the nation’s leading philanthropic Foundations.

We have kept in touch with our Indian friends, and I am so enormously proud of their daughter’s achievements just as if she were my very own. In spite of the sad fact that she now speaks English with a perfect American accent.

Which is not to say that I haven’t been extraordinarily blessed with my two sons. They also took advantage of the wonderful educational opportunities available during the Clinton years to kids who were willing to work hard, and equipped themselves with degrees from equally prestigious universities. My pride in their achievements knows no bounds. And they have the added virtue of speaking English with just a trace of the accent we all learned at our alma mater, Royal College, Colombo.

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Rev Fr. Eugene Herbert’s loss should result in breaking down societal imbalances



The river we step in is not the river we stand on

By B Nimal Veerasingham

Years ago, when visiting New Orleans, Louisiana, I found myself wandering through the sprawling campuses of Loyola University. It is not far from the mighty Mississippi river flowing almost 6,000 km and economically powering significant parts of US Upper Midwest. In an unassuming quite corner under a well branched shady tree I noticed a memorial structure commemorating the killing of eight people in El Salvador, including six Jesuit priests in 1989. The six priests were also professors at the university of Central America in El Salvador at that time.

Peace memorial

This May, as per Loyola’s ‘Maroon’, at the memorial event held at the Peace Quad at Loyola university New Orleans, now dedicated as a memorial to this tragedy, Prof Alvaro Alcazar addressed the gathering. ‘The colonial power that is still very much in place in Latin America has created a ‘faith’ that is blind to or silent about injustice. It was this faith that inspired the Jesuit’s activism, but it cost them their lives’.The involvement of US in this tragedy was also addressed by Prof. Susan Weisher something the United States has never taken accountability for.

US Foreign Policy

The many contradictions and positivity of US foreign policy and its vast turns and switches in reaching many parts of the world is like the mighty Mississippi that prowls almost through or parts of 32 US States. The depth and power of this vast river cannot be estimated by mere width and length. Hurricane Catarina breaching the dikes nearly destroyed the entire city of New Orleans.

Fr Eugene Herbert memorial

Early this year a memorial statue of Rev Fr. Eugene Herbert SJ was declared opened by Rt Reverend Ponniah Joseph, Bishop of Batticaloa in the outskirts of Batticaloa town right by the shores of Batticaloa lagoon. The statue was placed midway between the Batticaloa town, where he lived and taught, and the town of Eravur, where he ‘disappeared’ along with one of his students at the Eastern Technical Institute, where he was a Director. He was on his way on the scooter to arrange a safe way for the nuns trapped in a convent in the nearby town of Valaichchenai engulfed by ethnic riots.

Rev Fr Eugene Herbert was born in Jennings Louisiana. He joined the Jesuits on 14 Aug. 1941, while still in his late teens. He volunteered to join the ‘Ceylon Mission’ and arrived in Sri Lanka in 1948. As in the traditions of Jesuits as providers of high-quality education from their founding of their first school in 1548, Rev Fr Herbert served particularly in two schools in the East, St. Josephs College Trincomalee and St. Michael’s College Batticaloa. It is well known that Education in the Jesuit tradition is a call to human excellence. It develops the whole person from intellect and imagination to emotions and conscience. It approaches academic subjects holistically, exploring the connections among facts, questions. Insights, conclusions, problems and solutions. It has succeeded in a variety of cultures because it adapts to the context of the learner.


Rev Fr. Herbert was a multi-talented genius excelling in music, science, technical studies, vocational studies and to be outdone of it all, in the basketball courts. In all disciplines, he brought a stricter structure that is besides excelling in the fundamentals, incorporating situational strategies encompassing critical thinking and adaptation. This was greatly visible none other than in the basketball courts where he injected exuberance and counter strategies to conventional wisdom. Saint Michael’s College Batticaloa up until his arrival in 1974 just was crawling in all Island Championships more so maintaining the status-quo. But Rev Fr Herbert revolutionised the outcome when Saint Michael’s started winning All Island Championships almost in all age groups against much more resourced Colombo schools.

Excellence in Basketball

Human excellence as we all know is not rocket science but striving to be the best with practice, discipline and endurance. But Rev Fr. Herbert’s presence provided the boys from the East who often lacked a concentrated leadership with clear and precise roadmap. The structural imbalance whether it be not so well built or barefooted at matches, didn’t determine the outcome. Rev Fr, Herbert provided energy and leadership both morally and corporally to the boys of the East who faced systemic roadblocks by not getting the direction and leadership. This was further evidenced by Rev Fr. Herbert’s active and emotional coaching that led the College teams to ignore opponent’s big city environments and large support base, but to keep concentrated on the final execution, the championship.

The referees in matches, where Saint Michael’s played paid greater attention to their decisions something that became standard when dealing with someone who knew the rulebook top to bottom. Rev Fr. Herbert quite often, if not in all matches, where St. Michaels College played could be seen challenging the referees for their inaccurate or missed calls. He always carried a basketball rulebook and could be seen feverishly waving the exact page of the rule and exclaims at top pitch when the referees failed to observe especially when the game was heated, and the difference between was swinging by one or two points.

Reaching the stars

I can remember that Rev Fr. Herbert once refused to participate in a Consolation Finals of a tournament. The team wanted at least to bring home a Consolation Finals Trophy, having failed to reach the finals. Rev Fr, Herbert looked at it differently. ‘We came here for nothing else but for the Championship trophy. Now that we couldn’t, we are catching the 8.00 PM night train tonight back to Batticaloa – and by the way, the practice for the next tournament will begin tomorrow evening, be on time’.

Rev Fr. Herbert’s humanity was visible in practically everything he exemplified, calculating the speed of the travelling train to explaining the mechanism of automobiles and the melodies from his clarinet. Between the matches and practices in Colombo he said mass at the Jesuit residence at Bambalapitiya. As teenagers with expectations we got confused sometimes with his message from the pulpit. ‘We strive to become the best and win. But at times that is not possible, and we have to accept defeat gracefully. But we have to rise again learning from our mistakes’.On another occasion, the security person refused to allow us to sleep on the floor of an enclosed classroom.

The train was late, and it was late in the evening; there was no one to instruct the security to open the classroom. He was ready to allow only the priest to the reserved quarter upstairs. ‘I will stay with the team and do not need any special arrangement,’ said Rev Fr without blinking, sleeping the entire night with us on the ground of an open but roofed half basketball-court, using his cassock as the bedsheet.

Rev Fr. Herbert exemplified through his life the true meaning of his calling and forging a future full of hope to a population that was at the receiving end of things for a longest while.

Last letter

In one of his last letters to his fellow Jesuit in New Orleans he wrote,’ Enough for our trials. The Lord continues to take care of us. I had really planned to write to USAID for another grant. We are running rehabilitation courses for ex-militants and other youth. Every four months we train 20 boys in welding, 20 in refrigeration repairs and 25 in house wiring. Every six months we train 15 in radio and TV repair. This is in addition to our regular three -year course in general mechanical trades’.

‘Pray for us. God willing the current instability and disturbances will be changed by the time I write again. We are used to vast fluctuations in fortune’.

Rev Fr. Herbert’s letter foretells several aspects of humanity that he was called upon to uphold.

The US continues to provide resources to ensure economic wellbeing, stability and peaceful existence across the Globe. The rule of law cannot be simply behavioral codes or identifying the cause or the culprit but ensuring resources and direction for the citizenry in general to break the cycle and rise above injustice. The rule of law cannot be applied differently to different set of people or on a best effort basis.

Breaking down societal imbalances

El Salvador and Sri Lanka were victims of a vicious violent cycle, where Jesuits lost their lives in obeying to their calls from above in their attempt to remake what it ideally should be. Many lost their lives in these cycles of hatred and violence both ordinary and clergy, including my well-liked and ever smiling classmate Rev Fr Savarimuthu Selvarajah. Fr Herbert’s disappearance galvanizes the distrust in our own destiny; many thousands were killed by fellow citizens than in the nearly 500 years of combined occupation by the foreign colonial powers.

The mighty Mississippi River, which travels almost 6,000 km is hardly comparable to a mere 56 km-long Batticaloa lagoon. Yet the son who was born on the shores of Mississippi became the true son by the shores of the Batticaloa lagoon.

This August 15th marks the 32nd anniversary of Rev Fr. Eugene Herbert’s ‘disappearance’. Ironically, at the time of his disappearance he was a year less a day from celebrating his Golden Jubilee in joining the Jesuits (14th August 1941). No one has been brought to date to justice or rather under the clauses of the ‘rule of law’. The one who held the rulebook up above his head is still denied justice.Batticaloa and the entire Sri Lanka lost one of its true sons, and he just happened to be born in the United States of America.


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Vijaya Nandasiri : Losing it in laughs



By Uditha Devapriya

Vijaya Nandasiri left us six years ago. The epitome of mass market comedy in Sri Lanka, Nandasiri belonged to a group of humourists, which included Rodney Warnapura and Giriraj Kaushalya, who redefined satire in the country. Nandasiri’s aesthetic was not profound, nor was it subtle. It was not aimed at a particular segment. Indeed, there was nothing elitist or pretentious about it; if you could take to it, you took to it. It was hard not to laugh at him, it was hard not to like him. Indeed, it was hard not to sympathise with him.

In the movies, Sri Lanka’s first great humourist was Eddie Jayamanne. Typically cast as the servant or bumpkin, Jayamanne could never let go of his theatrical roots. More often than not his laughs targeted a particular segment, so much so that when Lester Peries cast him as the father of the hero’s lover in Sandesaya, he still seemed stuck in those movies he had made and starred in with Rukmani Devi. Many years later he was cast as a close friend of the protagonist in Kolamba Sanniya, in many ways Sri Lanka’s equivalent of It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Even there, he could not quite escape his origins.

In Kolamba Sanniya, Jayamanne played opposite Joe Abeywickrema. Hailing from a different background, more rural than suburban, Abeywickrema had by then become our greatest character actor. Dabbling in comedy for so long, he found a different niche after Mahagama Sekara cast him in Thunman Handiya and D. B. Nihalsinghe featured him as Goring Mudalali in Welikathara. Yet he could never let go of his comic garb. Cast for the most as an outsider in the cities and the suburbs – of whom the epitome has to be the protagonist of Kolamba Sanniya – Abeywickrema discovered his élan in the role of the man who falls into a series of absurd situations, but remains unflappably calm no matter what.

There is nothing profoundly or intellectually funny in Kolamba Sanniya. Like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, the humour emerges from the characters’ imperfections and foibles: their way of looking at the world, their accents, their lack of polish and elegance. The dialogues are not convincing, and some of the situations – like the hero’s family discovering a bidet for the very first time – are downright silly, if not condescending. What strengthens the story is Joe Abeywickrema’s performance; specifically, his ability to convince us that, despite the situations he is being put through, he can stand on his own. Like the protagonist of Punchi Baba, left to take care of an abandoned baby, he is helpless but not lacking control. He often makes us think he’s losing it, but then gets back on track.

Vijaya Nandasiri was cut from a different cloth. In many respects he was Abeywickrema’s descendant, yet in many others he differed from him. Whereas Abeywickrema discovered his niche playing characters who could conceal the absurdity of the situations they were in, Nandasiri’s characters could only fail miserably. Abeywickrema convinced us that he was in control; Nandasiri could not. As Rajamanthri, the politician who for most of us epitomised the silliness and stupidity of our brand of lawmakers, he frequently parrots out that he’s an honest man. Abeywickrema could say the same thing and get away with it. Nandasiri could not: when he says he’s honest, you knew at once that he was anything but.

Nandasiri revelled in having no self-respect even when we ascribed to him some sense of honour and dignity. In Nonawarune Mahathwarune the ubiquitous Premachandra flirts with the woman next door (Sanoja Bibile), though we don’t get why the latter never returns his affections. As Senarath Dunusinghe in Yes Boss, the situation is reversed: he has to suffer another man flirting with his wife, the issue being that the man happens to be his employer who doesn’t know that they are married. The whole plot pivots on two things: the fact that his boss doesn’t like him, and the fact that he has to disguise himself as an older husband of his own wife to conceal their marriage from his boss.

In his own special way, Nandasiri went on to represent our contempt for womanisers, cuckolds, and politicians, by turning them into easily recognisable and easily mockable stereotypes. In Nonawarune Mahathwarune he was the womaniser, in Yes Boss he was the cuckold – though his wife only pretends to give in to their employer’s advances – and as Rajamanthri, easily the most recognisable comic figure here during the past 20 years, he was the politician. It was as Rajamanthri that he prospered, even when playing characters who only vaguely reminded us of him, such as the antihero of Sikuru Hathe.

Many years ago, I watched a mini series on Rupavahini revolving around a politician and his driver. Vijaya Nandasiri played the politician, Vasantha Kumarasiri’s driver. Early on I sensed something odd about them. Their voices were different. The dubbing team had synced one actor’s voice with the other, a trick that survived the first 10 minutes of the first episode, after which these two meet a horrible accident that (inexplicably) leaves onlookers and relatives confused as to whose body belongs to whom.

Both are near dying. A quick surgery is hence followed by a quick plastic surgery, in which the wrong face is placed on the wrong body. The voices now revert to the correct actor. In hindsight this was an unnecessary gimmick, but also a useful trick, since for the rest of the story the driver becomes the believer in authority and the politician the believer in Marxist politics. Crude, and rather one-dimensional, but fun. And it wasn’t just a change of voice: it was also a change of spirit, of two contradictory personalities transplanted to each other. That was Nandasiri’s charm. You could never anticipate anyone other than him when he was there. For the mini series to work, hence, he had to be himself.

If Joe was redeemable because he was at the receiving end of some confusing dilemma (like the baby he raises in Punchi Baba, or the lifestyle in Colombo he gets used to in Kolamba Sanniya, Vijaya was unredeemable because he was at the other end, always provoking if not unleashing some havoc. It’s not a coincidence that, in this respect, his characters were always middle class, consumerist, very often in professions that called for security, stability, and status: as a Junior Visualiser in an ad agency in Yes Boss, as the chief in a security firm in Sir Last Chance, and as a police sergeant in Magodi Godayi. These symbolised a lifestyle that Nandasiri’s antiheroes sought to subvert and to defy.

Where he was his own man – the magul kapuwa in Sikuru Hathe or Rajamanthri in so many movies and serials – he wasn’t a provocateur, but a lovable antihero. And like all antiheroes, he conceals goodness because he despises it: in Sikuru Hathe, for instance, he commits one deception after another for his family’s sake, especially his daughter’s.

Where he was paired with another actor, I think, Nandasiri failed. He was his man, so when in Methuma he and Sriyantha Mendis are mistaken for two lunatics by a veda mahaththaya in a village, he could not really shine the way he had in Ethuma. Even in Magodi Godayi, he was less than he usually was whenever he was opposite Gamini Susiriwardana. Yes Boss and Nonawarune Mahathwarune had him among a plethora of other actors, to be sure, but then he was on his own there. There are moments in Yes Boss when Lucky Dias nearly outshines him. But Nandasiri gets back on track; he exerts his dominance again.

In other words, Nandasiri could give his best only if his co-star was alive to his range, or if his character was of a lesser pedigree than his co-star. That is what happens in King Hunther, where he could be himself opposite Mahendra Perera for two reasons: because Mahendra was a fairly good comic actor himself, and because Nandasiri’s character, Hunther, hails from such a different world that the present (in which Mahendra is an escaped convict) appears outlandish to him. Hunther to get used to this world, and that means getting used to the first two people he befriends: Mahendra and Anarkali Akarsha.

Vijaya Nandasiri’s ultimate triumph was his gift at getting us to feel for unfeeling antiheroes. Sometimes he could trump us, as Abeywickrema often did, like in King Hunther, when he hears that the politician who befriends him to further his career has decided to kill him off, and surreptitiously escapes. You never thought he was capable of upping the antagonist, but he does just that, providing us with the final twist in the story.

He couldn’t behave this way as Rajamanthri because he was not reflecting our contempt for figures of authority, but downright embodying it. When, towards the end of Suhada Koka, he is killed off by an assassin acting on the orders of the second-in-command to the Prime Minister (the latter played by W. Jayasiri), the film preaches to us a homily on the corrupting influence of power, a warning for all politicians. But then, just as you come to terms with this conclusion, he wakes up; the whole scene, it turns out, was a nightmare.

Ordinarily, you’d think he would learn from such a nightmare. But he doesn’t. Even after that harrowing fantasy, he is soon back to being the pompous figure he always was. Yet in that brief sequence he told us everything that needed to be told about how the corrupt remain corrupt, and how irredeemable they are. Was it a cruel coincidence, then, that the only time Rajamanthri was killed off like that marked the last time Vijaya Nandasiri played Rajamanthri? We may never know, but perhaps it was more than a coincidence. Perhaps it was the only fitting end to such a career that could be filmed.The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at

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22A: Composition of CC problematic; ensures government domination



By Dr. Jayampathy Wickramaratne
President’s Counsel

The Wickremesinghe-Rajapaksa government’s new Twenty-Second Amendment to the Constitution Bill was presented to Parliament on 10 August 2022. The earlier Bill, which was published in the Gazette in June 2022, lapsed as it was not presented before the recent prorogation of Parliament.

The August Bill is an improvement on the June Bill from a Nineteenth Amendment perspective. Under 19A, Ministers and Deputy Ministers were appointed by the President on the advice of the Prime Minister. This was done away with by the Twentieth Amendment. The June Bill sought to bring back the requirement of the Prime Minister’s advice, but that provision would not apply during the present Parliament. The August Bill does not have such an exception.

According to the June Bill, where the President is of the opinion that the Prime Minister has lost the confidence of the present Parliament, the Prime Minister can be removed. Such a provision is not found in the August Bill.

Under 19A, the Speaker, Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition were ex officio members of the Constitutional Council (CC), while the President would nominate one MP. Five persons were nominated jointly by the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition, two of them being MPs. In making such nominations, they were required to consult the leaders of political parties and independent groups represented in Parliament to ensure that the CC reflects the pluralistic character of Sri Lankan society, including professional and social diversity. One MP was nominated by the MPs belonging to parties other than those to which the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition belonged. The three persons from outside Parliament shall be persons of eminence and integrity who have distinguished themselves in public or professional life and who are not members of any political party. Parliament shall approve their nomination. In practice, such approval was a mere formality as they were nominated jointly and after a consultative process.

The August Bill, like the June Bill, proposes the re-establishment of the CC but makes a crucial change. The five persons referred to are not appointed pursuant to the joint nomination of the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition. One MP is nominated by the Government Parliamentary Group, and the other MP is nominated by the party to which the Leader of the Opposition belongs. The three persons from outside are nominated not jointly by the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition but by the Speaker in consultation with them. The smaller parties are not consulted.

This deviation from 19A gives rise to several issues. If the Speaker is partisan (and there have been several such Speakers), the Government could ensure that all three CC members from outside are their own nominees. The Government, by virtue of its majority, would have no difficulty getting Parliamentary approval. The smaller parties would have no say in the nomination of these three persons. Thus, in the current Parliament, parties such as the TNA, NPP, EPDP, TNPF etc., who together account for twenty-five MPs, would not be consulted.

The 22A Bill says that in nominating the two MPs and the three persons from outside Parliament, Members of Parliament shall ensure that the CC reflects the pluralist character of Sri Lankan society. This would be most difficult as they would be nominated by separate processes. Under 19A, on the other hand, that was ensured as the nomination was jointly by the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition after consulting the leaders of all parties in Parliament.

The composition of the CC is of crucial importance for the achievement of a national consensus on high-level appointments. The approval of the CC is a pre-requisite for the appointment of judges of the Supreme Court and Court of Appeal and appointments to high positions such as the Attorney-General and the Inspector-General of Police. Appointments to independent Commissions are made on the recommendation of the CC. As the other seven members of the CC are all Members of Parliament and may be swayed by political considerations, the three members who are appointed from outside have a vital role to play. They should be persons acceptable to all and who can have a moderating influence on the politicians.

An argument that has been adduced by the Government is that the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition may not agree on the to be nominated jointly. No such issue arose both under the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Amendments. Members of Parliament nominated jointly acted with responsibility. Distinguished personalities appointed by joint nomination included Justice Dr A.R.B. Amarasinghe, Professor Colvin Gunaratne, Dr Jayantha Dhanapala, A.T. Ariyaratne, Shibley Aziz, and Dr Radhika Coomaraswamy, Javid Yusuf and Professor N. Selvakkumaran.

That the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition may not agree is no reason to give the power of appointment to the Speaker. The writer proposes that the 19A provisions be re-enacted with the addition that if the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition do not agree on the nominees within a stipulated period, the Speaker will make the nominations in consultation with the Prime Minister, the Leader of the Opposition and the leaders of the smaller parties.

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