Ethnic consciousness: The case of Sri Lanka

By Daya Somasundaram

The dangers inherent in emphasising difference and exclusiveness as the foundations of collective identities are not to be underestimated. While group identities provide various benefits, the consequences of a group considering itself superior to others often results in violence. The polarised ethnic consciousnesses of the two main groups in Sri Lanka, the Sinhalese and the Tamils, has fuelled a violent civil conflict for over 25 years.

Ethnic segmentation in Sri Lanka evolved from the colonial and post-colonial experiences that divided the population along racial lines. In the pre-colonial period, different linguistic groups coexisted in relative harmony for centuries despite dynastic feuding, intense rivalry among kings, and inter-caste conflicts. The initial categorisation of the population in ethnic terms came from European theories of racial classifications; these divisions have unfortunately persisted after decolonisation with devastating consequences.

Though socially concerned scholars (Committee for Rational Development, 1983; Spencer, 1990; Jeganathan & Ismail, 1995; Roberts, 1977; 1994; 1997; Obeyesekere, 1988; Tambiah, 1992; Bastian, 1994) have belatedly begun to deconstruct these divisive consciousnesses, these nationalisms have already become invested with considerable emotion.

They are supported by strong mythic beliefs that defy rational argument. Ultimately they are “imagined” (Anderson, 2006), or what Marxists call false consciousness, or what Buddhist and Hindu philosphers would call maya. As Allport (1958) points out: “A subtle and attractive mystery surrounds the concept of blood... This symbolism has no supportfrom science. Race is a fashionable focus for the propaganda of alarmists and demagogues... Racists
seem to be people who out of their own anxieties,

Amongst scholars and academics who trace the origins of ethnic consciousness, most agree that its current manifestation in Sri Lanka is of recent origin. Sinhalese and Tamil ethnic identities are not genetically inherent. Low Country and Kandyan Sinhalese used to be considered different groups only a century ago, more so than the Sinhalese- Tamil demarcation that, at the time, overlapped in many castes without apparent tension. The sharp divide in Sinhalese-Tamil identities evolved from a confluence of socio-cultural, political, economic, ecological, contextual, and psychological factors.

Aspiring leaders and interested parties have astutely fanned and manipulated these points of contention to serve their own ends.

According to Sivaram (Whitaker, 2007), modern ruling elites have found ethno-nationalism to be the most effective principle to organize and govern emerging modern nation-states. The emotional loyalty and passions it generates make it an easy mechanism to garner votes, obedience, sacrifice, and control. Gilroy (2000) eloquently opposes the “emergence and entrenchment of biopolitical power as a means and technique for managing the life of populations, states and societies.” Biopolitical power is based on ethno-nationalism. It is a form of ‘New Racism’ in the post-colonial world, arising out of beliefs in discrete and exclusive racial and national identities that are then linked to a genomic, essentialist fundamentalism.

Today’s ethno-nationalist politicians and academics in Sri Lanka have used these divisive ideas to influence peoples’ perceptions of themselves as part of exclusive ethnic categories. Sri Lankan parliamentary politics have produced ethnically-based tyrannies of the majority. Aspiring leaders have learned to appeal to ethnic passions as an easy route to power, thus prolonging the war between the Sinhalese and the Tamils that has left deep emotional scars on individuals, families, and communities.

Moreover, the acrimonious debate as to which ethnic group came to Sri Lanka first, which features prominently in the discourse of group divisions based on historic grievances, is laden with misunderstanding. No evidence exists to support the Sinhalese argument that their group came to Sri Lanka first as an ‘Aryan’ migration from North India, nor for the Tamils’ claim to South Indian origins. Rather, the historical record shows that the island’s local inhabitants adapted to influences from mainland India fomented by the movement of traders, craftsman, skilled workers, mercenaries, prisoners of war, and brides in both directions (Indrapala, 2007).

Further, migrants came not only from various parts of India but also from Java, Malaysia, Arabia, and more recently, Europe. People also migrated within Sri Lanka and freely switched from one language to another. Thus ethnic, linguistic, and religious identifies were fluid, overlapping, and inclusive.

I contend that the only path to reconciliation is to make people aware of the value of other ethnic constructions by breaking down and rebuilding these historically-rooted but ultimately perceived identities. However, before this can take place, the underpinning socio-economic factors that have worked to maintain polarised attitudes must be transformed. Taking these steps is the only way can we begin to build a vision for lasting peace in Sri Lanka’s future.

The Colonial Origins of the Conflict

The extreme polarisation of the country’s two main groups, the Tamils and the Sinhalese, is the largest obstacle standing in the way of a lasting solution to Sri Lanka’s ethnic strife. The basic divide is one of language. Seventyfour percent of the population is categorized as Sinhalese speakers. Of these, over 93 percent are Buddhist. The remainder of the population is mostly composed of the 25.7 percent Tamil-speaking minority, about half of whom are Sri Lankan Tamils. Almost 29 percent are Muslims and the remaining 21 percent are Hill Country Tamils. There is a negligible number of Burghers, Malays and Veddas that account for the remaining 1.5 percent of the country’s population.

The source of the highly charged division between the Sinhalese and the Tamils can be linked to the cycle of ethnically-motivated inequality that was experienced by both sides during the past century. Under British rule, Tamils were perceived as holding an unfair advantage, since they were disproportionately better educated and better employed by the state. However, the situation was inversed in other sectors such as commerce and agriculture, as the arid and underdeveloped land of the northeast Tamil territories lacked the level of resources available to the rest of the island.

The disproportionate number of Tamils in these sectors led to affirmative action campaigns by the subsequent Sinhalese governments. In time, however, the government overshot the mark and Tamils began to see themselves as disadvantaged in relation to the Sinhalese in terms of government investment (mainly in education) and felt themselves slipping from the privileged position they had previously enjoyed in certain key areas. They felt they had become “2nd class citizens” (Schwarz, 1988). Now, not only the state but the private sector and even some diplomatic missions discriminate against Tamils in their hiring practices, as well as when issuing visas and scholarships. While employing Sinhalese workers engenders good relations with and benefits from the state for employers, hiring Tamils can bring trouble due to costly intrusions by the police and armed services, who frequently arrest and detain Tamil employees.

The Construction of Ethnic Consciousnesses

An interesting characteristic of the ethno-national discourse between the Sinhalese and Tamil groups is that the majority and minority ideologies are, in many ways, mirror images of one another. Both ideologies define the ‘other’ in terms of exclusion and opposition. War, then, becomes a contest between hegemonic ideologies for supremacy in an attempt to impose a particular construction of social reality. However, both operate within the same paradigm of ethno-nationalism by producing a master narrative that is hegemonic within the group and totalitarian in nature. In a politically contested, polarised, and violent situation, attempts to transcend these narratives can be taken as treason; the mentality becomes one of either being with or against the group, with little room for flexibility or compromise.

The majority Sinhalese Buddhist consciousness has evolved to identify itself with a territorial claim to the whole island (Sinhadeepa), as well as the Sinhalese language and the Buddhist religion. However, Sinhalese Christians form about seven percent of the Sinhalese population and mostly share the beliefs of the dominant Sinhalese consciousness. Many Sinhalese nationalist elite leaders came from this social stratum, and later converted to Buddhism.

According to Kumari Jayawardena (1986), the Sinhalese-Buddhist consciousness is based on:

1) The doctrine of the primacy and superiority of the Sinhalese `race' as the original, true inhabitants of the island. This is linked to a myth that the Sinhalese were `Aryan' migrants from Bengal.

2) The concept that the Sinhalese race has been placed in a special relationship to Buddhism as its protector. Appeals to save Buddhism from infidels are frequent in the rhetoric of Sinhalese ethno-nationalism. In recent years, some Sinhalese leaders have gone as far as calling for a dharma yudhaya, or holy war, to protect the Buddhist religion.

3) The feeling of insecurity that stems from the fact that, unlike the other minority groups which have ethnic links with other countries, the Sinhalese are a regional minority that does not exist outside of Sri Lanka. This is particularly true in reference to the Tamils, who, while a minority within Sri Lanka, identify ethnically with the 50 million Tamils living in South India.

Despite the relatively recent emergence of the conception of this identity, it has profoundly influenced today’s Sinhalese people. Violence and political action against those perceived to threaten this identity is commonplace (Gunawardana, 1990).

Prominent Sinhalese have reinterpreted history to arouse strong feelings of injustice. An example of this is the 1956 All Ceylon Buddhist Congress’s Committee of Inquiry report, “The Betrayal of Buddhism,” written while Sri Lanka was still under British rule (Tambiah, 1992). The sentiments expressed in this document later grew into virulent Sinhalese Buddhist ethnocentrism, culminating in the 1983 anti-Tamil pogrom.

Anthropologists Obeyesekere (1988, with Gombrich, 1988), Kapferer (1988; 1997), and Tambiah (1992) have elucidated how this identity came into being from a deeper intra-psychic, socio-cultural perspective. Ancient Buddhist chronicles like the Mahavamsa and the Dipavamsa as well as many myths and legends, such as those of Duttugemunu and Vijaya, have been reconstituted and imbibed with new meanings in the current socioeconomic and political context to identify the Tamils as the archetypal “dangerous other” (Nissan & Stirrat, 1990). These beliefs have become deeply ingrained in the Sinhalese psyche. The collective fear of the other manifested itself in periodic mob violence against Tamils while providing the impetus behind the continuing machinations of state terror. The current model of extreme Sinhalese Buddhist ideology and politics are represented by Jathika Chinthanaya or “national consciousness” (Goonewardena, 2007), which had maneuvered itself into the driving seat of the Sri Lankan state under the Rajapakse regime and through the Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU) and Janatha Vimukthi Perumana (JVP/NPM) parties (UTHR-J, 2008).

Unsurprisingly, modern Sri Lankan Tamil identity developed as a reaction to the increasing dominance of the Sinhalese Buddhist identity (Wilson, 2000; Arasaratnam, 1998). Successive Sinhalese leaders rose to power by exploiting ethno-nationalism and then proceeded to use the state machinery to promote Sinhalese superiority. This was accomplished by enforcing Sinhalese as the only official language in 1956, enshrining Buddhism as the state religion in the 1972 constitution, and discriminating in favor of the Sinhalese in educational and employment opportunities as well as in the allocation of resources and land. These leaders also encouraged periodic mobviolence against the Tamils, notably in 1956, 1958, 1977, 1981, and 1983. In turn, the Tamils feared that their existence and identity as a separate and unique group was under threat. Furthermore, claims to a Tamil homeland in the north and east of Sri Lanka clashed with Sinhalese perceptions of territoriality. It was only after the 1983 pogrom that the Tamil resistance became militant and fascist in turn. Tamil nationalist groups adopted methods of terror against the state, Sinhalese and Muslim communities, and those in the Tamil community reluctant to participate in the Tamil ethnonationalist narrative.

Like its Sinhalese counterpart, Sri Lankan Tamil ethno-nationalism developed over the past century. Over the course of decades of discrimination and violent repression, Tamils have acquired a minority complex based on their collective experience of persecution at the hands of the state. This complex has often led them to hide their identity in public areas outside of their traditional territory in order to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Despite these efforts, they are frequently required to identify their ethnic background at military checkpoints and are subject to government-sanctioned house-to-house searches. The recent detention and internment of close to 280,000 Tamil internally displaced persons (IDPs) exemplifies the outcomes of this anti-Tamil state aggression.

Many Tamils who consider these conditions intolerable have fled the country, spreading ethnonationalist sentiments throughout the Tamil diaspora. The spread of Tamil nationalism and its linkages to a pan-Tamil nationalism are already apparent in Sri Lanka, across the straits in India’s Tamil Nadu province, and, increasingly, worldwide. Large pro-Tamil movements exist in Western countries such as Canada, the US, the UK, Australia, France, Sweden, Norway and Germany. With the military defeat of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in May 2009, there are now growing efforts to form a more unified transnational Tamil movement. Those who support the establishment of a separate Tamil Eelam state argue for the group’s entitlement to ethnic sovereignty by referencing the ‘purity’ of the Dravidian race, the descendants of the ancient Mohenjadaro civilization, the greatness of the 5000-year-old Tamil language, and the glories of the Chola Empire.

This exclusive ethnocentric identity alienates other minorities within Tamil-speaking areas and has resulted in the expulsion and massacre of Muslims in the north and east. Eastern Tamils, who perceive themselves as being historically marginalised by their northern brethren and feel that their identity, history, culture, and problems are somewhat different, voice fears of being dominated by the northern Jaffna Tamils (Reddiar, 1997). Such fears resurfaced once again with the internal LTTE-Karuna split in 2005. Thus, for all their nationalistic rhetoric, the Tamils have not demonstrated the capacity to overcome a narrow ethnocentric consciousness and develop
a tolerant, multicultural one.

As a reaction to these cycles of ethnic identification, exclusiveness, and persecution, other minorities within the country have begun to assert their identities. In particular, the Muslim community has undergone a rapid political awakening as a reaction to local ethnic hostilities. Political parties and a extremist youth militant organisation have surfaced to represent Muslim interests. The electoral success of the Sri Lanka Muslim Congress has consolidated
requests for an autonomous Muslim territory in eastern Sri Lanka. Furthering this paper’s thesis regarding the contextual determinism of ethnic consciousness, Sri Lankan Muslim identity is increasingly taking on an international dimension. Muslims are now beginning to identify and perceive themselves as members of the international Muslim community, which transcends national boundaries.

The Institutionalisation of Difference

The hegemony of the ethnonationalist Sinhalese line is found at all levels of society. An illuminating study of Sri Lankan school textbooks by Siriwardene (1984) reports:

“Millions of school children [are] taught, in the name of social studies, through text-books published by the state, the myths of divergent racial origins which will help to divide the Sinhalese and Tamils for more generations to come... What this lesson does is to evoke the child's memories of being frightened by his parents with threats of the mysterious and fearful `billo' to identify these bogeymen as Tamil agents, and thus to enlist the deep-seated irrational fears of early childhood for the purpose of creating apprehension and hatred of Tamils.”

Although the Tamil insurgency acknowledged military defeat on May 17, 2009, vestiges of the civil war are ubiquitous in Sri Lanka: PIC-Arun Pillai-Essex/MFAR

Referring to the exploitation of history as an instrument of divisive ethnic ideologies, Siriwardene says history texts "project an image of Sinhalese- Buddhist identity which is defined fundamentally through opposition to and struggles against Tamils in history.”

The misappropriation of education for ethno-nationalist purposes is by no means only a Sinhalese problem. Siriwardene quotes a professor who says that Tamil textbooks "[inculcate] in the Tamil child a special feeling for his or her community and language, and [help] to strengthen communal attitudes... and to foster a kind of patriotic feeling, not towards Sri Lanka but towards Tamil Nadu.” This is but one example, and a very telling one, of how deeply these divisions run and how difficult it will be to overcome them if they are entrenched in the minds of the members of both groups from childhood.

However, despite the institutionalisation of these divisions by state and community actors, the narrow categorization of current identities does not accurately reflect the lived experience of most Sri Lankans. Their reality is a much richer blend. Many people share multiple identities, loyalties, beliefs, and common cultural practices (Silva, 2002). Clear examples of a shared consciousness can be found in cultural festivals such as the Sinhalese-Tamil New Year celebrations, in the ever-popular World Cup cricket matches, and in religious practices at Kataragama, Bellanvilla, and countless other shrines around the country (Gombrich & Obeyesekere, 1988; Kapferer,1988). Despite numerous attempts on the part of leaders on boths sides to sow the seeds of division in these popular gatherings, these important cultural phenomena have been sustained.

The only way to achieve reconciliation is to address the genuine grievances of the minorities. For example, if official use of the Tamil language can be genuinely implemented, as promised under the constitution, Tamils would start to feel that they have a place in their country. However, such measures would by no means solve the problem overnight. It is the perception of being treated as second-class citizens and of being discriminated against because of their ethnicity that has caused such deep-seated resentment. Fear of being assimilated at the expense of their group identity and culture is at the heart of their struggle. However, creating an environment in which such fears would no longer have any basis in reality would entail a drastic transformation of attitude on the part of the Sinhalese community, which would have to accept the responsibility to allow for the needs of a pluralistic, multicultural polity.

Apart from the aspects of the conflict rooted in ethnic difference (whether perceived or real) and with commensurate implications for seeking prospective solutions, it is crucial to acknowledge that there are vested economic, psychological, and political interests in continuing the war. The military, security, and political establishment, as well as militant organizations, all have stakes in maintaining the status quo. Included in the perks that come from positions of power are economic benefits to be had from salaries and allowances, not to mention the myriad corrupt practices generated by times of conflict (TI, 2001). In effect, it can be said that the major organisations acting in the war perceive themselves as existentially dependent on the continuation of the conflict. This idea is not without some truth to it, thus rendering reconciliation all the more difficult due to the extremely high costs such a change in dynamics would incur for many powerful groups. Furthermore, since 9/11 Sri Lanka has been pulled into the Global War on Terror, a connection that is sure to linger as Sri Lanka’s Muslim population becomes increasingly politicised.

In addition, the geopolitical considerations of the regional superpowers and internal politics of the Indian subcontinent continue to have powerful repercussions on the ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka. Unfortunately for ordinary civilians, the conflcit has become inextricably entangled in webs of international, regional, national, and local struggles for power. Appeasing and reconciling this plethora of diverging interests
will be no simple feat.

Clearly, the military defeat of the LTTE by the Sri Lankan Army last year did not and cannot end the conflict between Tamils and Sinhalese. It is a historical conflict rooted in colonial policy and driven by firmly entrenched, diametrically opposed, and mutually exclusive ethnic consciousnesses. If there is to be any progress towards peace as a conclusion to this protracted ethnic conflict, all of these vested interests and socioeconomic, historical, political, psychological, and ideological dynamics will have to be taken into account and addressed in practical, effective ways. Ideally, this would transform the underlying ethnic consciousnesses and attitudes on both sides. Despite the difficulty of this task, undermining the exclusive identities of each group in favor of a shared positive ethnic consciousness appears to be the only route to lasting peace for warravaged Sri Lanka.

For works cited: Click PDF File [ MCGILL FOREIGN AFFAIRS REVIEW, Volume II, Issue 1 - Winter 2010]

Daya Somasundaram, is former Senior Professor of Psychiatry in the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Jaffna and psychiatric consultant who worked in northern Sri Lanka for over two decades. His research and publications focused on the psychological effects of ethnic conflict and disasters, and the treatment thereof. He is currently on an extended sabbatical, working in Australia as a consultant psychiatrist as well as treating refugees and asylum seekers who have survived torture and severe trauma, while writing a book on collective trauma.

Courtesy : Tamilweek

Undermining Political Reconciliation with Post-Election Repression

by Ahilan Kadirgamar


The following are my prepared remarks at the Global South Asia conference at New York University on 13 February 2010. My prepared remarks on the Sri Lanka panel in titled, ‘Return of the Displaced and Political Reconciliation’ are below. The remarks in the Sri Lanka panel which I chaired were to complement the presentations by Sharika Thiranagama, New School for Social Research titled, ‘Houses of the Future: Return and Reconciliation amongst Northern Muslims and Tamils’ and V. V. (Sugi) Ganeshananthan, University of Michigan, Lanka Solidarity, journalist and author of Love Marriage titled, ‘Dialogue in the Diaspora’. The February 2010 issue of Himal Southasian magazine is a special issue on Jaffna, Sri Lanka and has a number of articles that address the post-war moment. The Sri Lanka Democracy Forum (SLDF) statement on 18 January 2010 titled, ‘SLDF Calls for National Attention on Demilitarization and a Political Solution’ details many of these issues in depth.

I want to begin with the end of the war, which inevitably leads to a shift in politics. Post-war politics can not be same as war politics.

During the last couple years of the war, President Rajapaksa put together a war coalition comprised of a broad spectrum, from Sinhala nationalists to sections of the Old Left. Despite the end of the war, the President and his government attempted to keep the war mentality alive, as we have seen through the continued suffering of the displaced as they were herded into internment camps with no freedom of movement. It was indeed a lost opportunity for political reconciliation.

The war not only brought physical devastation and tremendous human suffering, it also undermined institutions, corrupted political culture, crippled dissent and contributed to the degeneration of our intellectual and scholarly production. As the people were bombarded by nationalist and war propaganda, issues of class, caste, gender and social justice were drowned. The end of the war, inevitably, is bringing these issues to the fore. The economic pressures in particular are mounting and the demands for democratisation are becoming stronger.

It is in this context that last month’s presidential elections, the first post-war national elections, became significant. Not only did it split the war coalition, with General Fonseka credited with winning the war, challenging the war-time President, it also signalled an interest in electoral politics not seen in the recent past. The elections were not so much a contest between the President and the General. Rather, General Fonseka, tarred with a militarist and authoritarian past himself, became the convenient expression of the dissatisfaction of people against the authoritarian and oligarchic aspirations of the Rajapaksa regime. In the face of the government’s unwillingness to recognise the post-war moment and to initiate a process of reconciliation and vision for Lanka’s economic and political future, the people propelled a considerable opening of political space through their election related mobilisations, ubiquitous discussions, open debates and dissent.

Despite such opposition, the President, by riding ideological momentum from the war victory and by holding elections two years in advance, was able to win with a large margin. While there was abuse of state power and state institutions, ultimately as in many other elections in Lanka, it was the rural Sinhalese population, which has much to rely on state patronage that gave the President the victory. The absence of a serious vision for Lanka’s future from General Fonseka and the opposition parties also meant that the rural voters were not willing to mobilise against the President on the basis of opposition to the incumbency alone. The abuses of state power, the uses of state patronage and the strength of incumbency all contributed to President Rajapaksa’s victory.

In the couple weeks since the elections, we again see the President and his government squander yet another opportunity for reconciliation, both with the minorities and the opposition, including the people that voted against the President. The arrest of opposition candidate General Fonseka by the military police a few days ago has unleashed protests, yet again exposing the authoritarianism of the Rajapaksa regime. Furthermore, journalists are again coming under attack as the Rajapaksa regime attempts to undermine the public sphere. With parliamentary elections now scheduled for April, the election dynamic again is likely to shape political engagement and the political space. Indeed the current round of repression, now mainly against sections of the Sinhalese population that oppose the government, is a risky strategy for the Rajapaksa regime; historically, elections have been a time when the arrogance of political power has been contested by the Lankan voters.

There are the many challenges of resettlement and reconciliation. But neither of these can be seen in apolitical terms, and in the limited framing of ethnic harmony. They are both related to a process of democratisation and a political settlement. During the decades of war, the problem in Sri Lanka was constructed as an ethnic problem. Indeed the political problems of Lanka can not be limited to one of ethnicity, as the recent political turmoil makes clear.

The most serious challenge in Lanka has been a problem of democratisation. That is democratisation in opposition to the abuse of power and authoritarianism as well as the refashioning of the brand of liberal democracy in Sri Lanka, which some of us have characterised as majoritarian democracy. Such a far reaching process of political reconciliation centred on democratisation would have to involve reforming the state through a new constitution that allows for the devolution of power to the regions and power-sharing at the centre. It would have to advance the devolution debate in ways to address class, caste, gender and the rural-urban divide. It would have to end the militarization of the decades of war. There needs to be substantive demilitarisation involving not only demobilisation and reduction of the size of the military, but also the lifting of the state of emergency and repealing the Prevention of Terrorism Act.

Thus political reconciliation can not just be about humanitarian issues and ethnic harmony. Nor can it be imprisoned within the Rajapaksa government’s narrow vision of reconstruction and economic development. Rather it has to take seriously the challenges of democratisation and a political settlement. Such political reconciliation will not be possible without dissent and democratic struggles that challenge the Sri Lankan State and the ruling regime, and awaken Lankan society at this important post-war moment.

Courtesy: http://kafila.org/

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mg;gbg;gl;l rpwpjsNtDk; kdpjj; jd;ikaw;w [lq;fSld; $l;lzp mikg;gjw;F Kw;Nghf;fhf fhl;bf;nfhz;l fl;rpfs; ,ize;Jnfhs;tJgw;wp ghPrpypf;fpd;wd vd;gij vd;dntd;W nrhy;tJ? ,dp ,th;fspd; ‘nfhs;if – Nfhl;ghLfis’ guzpy;jhd; NjlNtz;Lk;.

Mf ,th;fs; $j;jikg;G cUthf;fg;gl;l fhyj;jpy; mjpy; cs;slq;fg;glhjjw;F Gypfspd; tpUg;gpd;ikNa fhuzk;. my;yJ Gypfspd; ghrprr; nraw;ghLfs;jhd; ,th;fis jLj;jpUf;fpwJ. ,Jkl;Lk;jhd; Gypfsplk; ,th;fSf;F cld;glhjh tplakh? Vnddpy; Gypfs; vg;gb kf;fis Vkhw;wp mioj;Jr;nrd;W Ks;sptha;f;fhypy; gypnfhLj;jNjh mijNa $j;jikg;Gk; kf;fis Vkhw;wp Ks;sptha;fhypy; ,Ue;J mioj;Jr;nry;y Maj;jkhfpwJ. mjw;F Jizahf ,e;j Kd;dhs; Kw;Nghf;fhdth;fSk; Maj;jkhfpwhh;fsh?

N[tpgpf;F ,e;j Kiw xU ghuhSkd;w Mrdk; fpilj;jhNy nghpa tplak;. vdNt njd;gFjpapYs;s fl;rpfs; jdpj;J epd;W jkJ ghuhSkd;w Mrdq;fis Fiwj;Jf;nfhs;stij jLf;f jkJ ithpAlDk; $l;Lr; Nrh;e;J Njh;jiy re;jpf;f rpj;jk; nfhs;fpd;wdNth mNjNghyjhd; $j;jikg;Gk; jdJ Mrdq;fis jf;fitj;Jf;nfhs;s ,ju jkpo; fl;rpfisAk; tioj;Jg;Nghl glhjghL gLfpd;wd. mjw;F ,e;j fl;rpfSk; gypahtJ Nftyk;.

,e;j fl;rpfs; jdpj;J epd;why; mth;fSila jdpj;Jtk; njhlh;e;J epiyehl;lg;gLk;. kf;fSf;F njhlh;e;Jk; murpay; tpopg;Gzh;it Vw;gLj;jTk; ghuhSkd;wk; nry;tjw;fhd tha;g;G Vw;gLkhdhy; njhlh;e;Jk; kf;fs; Nrit nra;aTk; cjtpahf ,Uf;Fk; vd;gJ vkJ ek;gpf;if. Mdhy; $j;jikg;Gld; Nrh;e;jhy; $j;jbf;fTk; kf;fis njhlh;e;J Vkhw;wp Vkhw;wp tapW tsh;f;f kl;LNk cjTk; vd;gjpy; ve;jtpjkhd re;NjfKk; ekf;fpy;iy.

jkpo; NgRk; kf;fspd; Njrpag; gpur;rpidf;F epahakhd murpay; jPh;T fhzg;gl;l Ntz;Lk;. [dhjpgjpj; Njh;jypy; tlf;F> fpof;F tho; jkpo; NgRk; kf;fs; thf;Fg; gyj;jpd; %yk; jq;fspd; ,iwikia ntspg;gLj;jpAs;shh;fs;. ,jid Fg;igj; njhl;bapy; Nghl KbahJ. kf;fs; toq;fpa jPh;g;gpd; ngWkjp vd;d? vkf;F ,iwik chpikapy;iyah? ghuhSkd;wj; Njh;jypy; ,J Fwpj;J cuj;Jf; Nfl;Nghk;. [dhjpgjpj; Njh;jypy; tlf;F> fpof;F jkpo; NgRk; kf;fs; toq;fpa jPh;gpYk; ghh;f;f rpwg;ghd jPh;g;ig vjph;tUk; ghuhSkd;wj; Njh;jypy; toq;f Ntz;Lk;. mj;jPH;g;G rpq;fs kf;fspd; murpay; jiyikj;Jtj;jpy; xU czh;it> jpUg;gj;ij Vw;gLj;Jtjhf mika Ntz;Lk;. rh;tNjr r%fj;jpYk; mj;jPh;g;G jhf;fj;ij Vw;gLj;j Ntz;Lk; vd;W ePl;b Koq;Ffpwhh; jpUkiy rz;bah; ,uh. rk;ge;jh;.

,J ‘Gz;izf;fhl;b gpr;ir’ Nfl;Fk; epiyapidNa Qhgfk; Cl;LfpwJ. 22 ghuhSkd;w cWg;gpdh;fs; fle;j tUrq;fshf ghuhSkd;wj;jpypUe;J vd;dj;ij fpopj;jhh;fs;? ghuhSkd;wj;Jf;F Njh;e;njLf;fg;gLk;tiujhd; NkNy Fwpg;gpl;l [k;gq;fs; vy;yhk;. ghuhSkd;wk; nrd;whg; gpwF mLj;j Njh;jypd;NghJjhd; ,e;j [k;gq;fis ehk; kPz;Lk; Nfl;fyhk;.

ntl;fk; nfl;lj;jdkhf kPz;Lk; kPz;Lk; xd;iwNa nrhy;ypr; nrhy;yp thf;Ff; Nfl;gJk; mNjNghy ntl;fk; nfl;lj;jdkhf mth;fSf;Nf thf;Ffis mspf;Fk; kf;fsplk;> ntl;fk; nfl;lj;jdkhf ehKk; Nfl;fpNwhk; mth;fSf;F thf;fspf;fhjPh;fs;!

Panel on Sri Lanka

Panel on Sri Lanka @ 2 -3:45pm on Sat, Feb 13th:
Sri Lanka: Return of the Displaced and Political Reconciliation
Panelists include: Ahilan Kadirgamar, Sri Lanka Democracy Forum, Himal Southasian Magazine, Kafila Collective

Sharika Thiranagama, The New School "Houses of the Future: Return and Reconciliation amongst Nort...hern Muslims and Tamils"

V.V. (Sugi) Ganeshananthan, The University of Michigan, Lanka Solidarity,
journalist and author of Love Marriage "Dialogue in the Diaspora"

February 13th, 2010 - 9am
Rosenthal Pavillion, NYU Kimmel Center
60 Washington Square S, New York, NY

-----------------
If interested in attending, please register for the conference at
http://sites.google.com/site/nyuglobalsouthasiaconference/registration

You can find the itinerary, personal bios, and other information about the conference at the following link:
http://sites.google.com/site/nyuglobalsouthasiaconference/Home

nky;y nky;y Njh;jy;te;J nkd;ikahd ifiaj; njhl;L ms;sp ms;sp jur;nrhy;YNk …….!

- rjh. [P.

‘vjphp vq;fis Mo;fpwhd; vjphp vq;fis Mf;fpukpf;fpwhd; vjphp vq;fSf;F’ vd;W ‘’ jkpodpd; fhjpYk; g+r;Rw;Wk; g+rhhp gpd;fjthy; Ngha; vjphpAld; Nre;J ‘tp\;fpf;F Nrhlhf fye;J mbr;rhy; ey;ykh? my;yJ I];fl;b Nghl;L mbr;rhy; ey;ykh?’ vd;W fhurhukh tpjhjpj;Jtpl;L tpbNaf;f Ngg;guj; jpwe;jhy; ‘jkpoh;fspd; Rahl;rp> jkpo; gpuNjrq;fspy; jkpoh;fspd; eph;thfk; Mfpatw;iw typAWj;jpaJ $j;jikg;G’ vd;wpUf;Fk;. mq;F cz;ikapy; tapw;Wtypapy; rk;ge;jidah ff;$Rf;f ,Ue;J Kf;Fthh;> ,uT jpd;w #lhd Nfhopahy.

nghJj; Njy;jYf;F $j;jikg;G vd;d $j;jhLk; vd;W ghh;g;gjw;F Kjy;> nfhOk;G kl;Lk; jkpoPo tiuglk; ePz;bUf;fpwJ. mjhtJ tlfpof;fpy; kfpe;jtpd; rpe;jidia epe;jpj;J ruj; nghd;rhfhit Mjhpj;jjpd; %yk; jkpo; kf;fs; njspthd Kbtpid njhptpj;jpUf;fpwhh;fshk;. mNjNghy nfhOk;G cl;gl Rw;Wg;Gwq;fspy; thOk; jkpoh;fSk; kfpe;jtpd; rpe;jidia epe;jpj;J ruj;ij Mjhpj;jjpd; %yk; tlfpof;F kw;Wk; nfhOk;Gj; jkpoh;fs; vy;NyhUk; ,ize;jpUf;fpwhh;fshk;. mjhtJ $j;jikg;gpd; Ntz;LNfhSf;F nrtprha;j;J nfhOk;Gj; jkpoh;fSk; ruj;nghd;Nrfhit Mjhpj;jjhf $j;jikg;G Gfohq;fpjk; nfhs;fpwJ. vkf;fpUf;fpw xNu xU MWjy; $j;jikg;gpd; Ntz;LNfhSf;fpzq;fpj;jhd; njd;gFjp rpq;fs kf;fSk; ruj;Jf;F thf;Ffis Ftpj;jhh;fs; vd;W nrhy;ytpy;iy vd;gJjhd;.

nghJj; Njh;jypy; $j;jikg;G tlf;F fpof;fpy; jdpj;Nj Nghl;bapLk;. [dhjpgjpj; Njh;jypy; ‘mtiu Mjhpf;fpNwhk;’ vd;W nrhy;ypaJ kpfkpf ,yFthdJ. Vnddpy; $j;jikg;G Rl;bf;fhl;bath; ntd;why; jq;fSila ‘gth;’ vd;W khh;jl;bf;nfhs;tJ. Njhw;why; ‘kf;fs; mtiu Vw;Wf;nfhs;stpy;iy’ vd;W jl;bfopj;JtpLtJ.

Mdhy; nghJj; Njh;jy; $j;jikg;Gf;fhuhpd; tho;NthL tpisahLtJ Nghy. mtuth; fsj;jpy; ,wq;fNtz;Lk;. ,dg;gpur;rpidnad;Dk; rpuq;if ahh; ahh; nfl;bj;jdkhf nrhwpe;JtpLfpwhh;fNsh mth;fSf;Nf ghuhSkd;w fjpiu! ,e;j rpuq;if rpwg;ghf nrhwpe;JtpLtjpy; Kjd;ikahdth;fSk; Kd;dpiy tfpg;gth;fSkhd $j;jikg;G jdpj;Jg;Nghl;bapLk; vd;gjpy; vtUf;Fk; ve;j IaKk; voj;Njitapy;iy.

gy goq;fisj; jpd;W nfhl;ilfisg; Nghl;Lf;nfhz;bUf;Fk; rk;ge;jdhfl;Lk; my;yJ ,g;gj;jhd; nfhl;ilia #g;gpf;nfhz;bUf;Fk; RNu]; gpNukr;re;jpud;> Fjpiu – fjpiu nghd;dk;gyq;fs; tiu nrhwpe;JtpLtjpy; nfl;bf;fhuh;fs;. thapy; thzPh; Cw nrhwptpd; Rfj;ij mDgtpf;Fk; jkpod; nrhwptpd; vhpitAk; NtjidiaAk; mDgtpf;Fk;NghJ rk;ge;jd; Ngha;Nrh;e;jpUg;ghh;! rk;ge;jd;u ,lj;Jf;F RNu]; gpNukr;re;jpud; te;jpUg;ghh;! ,Jjhd; murpay; tpyhq;fpay;!

,dp ,e;j 22 $j;jikg;G ghuhSkd;w cWg;gpdh;fspy; ahh; ahiu fol;btplg;Nghfpwhh;fs; vd;gJ njhlh;ghd rpwpa mDkhdk;: ,zf;fg;ghl;L murpaYf;F Kjy;fhyb vLj;Jitf;fj; Jzpe;j $j;jikg;G ghuhSkd;w cWg;gpdh;fshd rpth[pypq;fk;> rpwpfhe;jh MfpNahh; $j;jikg;G Ntl;ghsh;fshf fsj;jpy; epw;fg;Nghjpy;iy.

fjpiuf; fN[e;jpud; jg;gpdhh;. mtUila KjyhtJk; Kjd;ikahdJkhd jFjpNa mtnuhU Nkl;Lf;Fb Fbkfd;. Nghd]hf mtUf;F Mq;fpyKk; rpq;fsKk; ruskhff; fijf;ff;$bath; nfhQ;rk; jkpOk; njhpAk;. ghtk; Fjpiuf; fN[e;jpud; jhd;. rpWgps;isj; jdkhd Ngr;rhYk; Fuq;Fr; Nrl;ilahYk; ,tUf;F Mg;Gj;jhd;. MdhYk; ,jpnyhU rpf;fy; ,Uf;fpwJ.

$j;jikg;G> gj;jkpdp rpjk;guehjid fol;btplNt ,Wjptiu Kaw;rpf;Fk;. ,Ug;gpDk; XusTf;F gpugy;ak; mile;Jtpl;l ngz; Ntl;ghsh;> Mrphpah;. vy;yhtw;Wf;Fk; Nkyhf rpjk;guehjdpd; Jiztpahh;. rpjk;guehjd; ahnud;W njhpANkh? (njhpahl;by; aho;g;ghzj;Jf;F Nghdg;Nghl;L Nfl;lhy; njhpAk;) gj;kpdp Ntl;ghsuhf njhpTnra;ag;gl;lhy; mth; jdf;Fj; Jizahf Fjpiuf; fN[e;jpuidAk; Ntl;ghsuhf epakpg;gjw;F jdJ rfy m];jpuq;fisAk; gpuNahfpg;gjw;F tha;g;gpUf;fpwJ. ,g;g Fjpiuf;Fk; gj;kpdpf;Fk; vd;d njhlh;G vd;W ePq;fs; Nfl;fyhk;? Cq;fspd; Nfs;tpapNyNa gjpYk; ,Uf;fpwJ mt;tsTjhd;.

Gul;rp ‘tz;b’f;fhud; RNu]pd; epyik vd;d? vd;w vz;zk; cq;fSf;Fj; Njhd;wpdhy; ePq;fs; murpaiy cd;dpg;ghf ftdpj;jhYk; murpay;thjpfis ftdpf;ftpy;iy vd;Wjhd; mh;j;jk;. rk;ge;jd; gLf;iff;Fk; ff;$Rf;Fk; kl;Lk;jhd; jdpikapy;Nghfpwhh;. kw;Wg;gb ve;NeuKk; RNu]; xl;bf;nfhz;LtpLfpwhh;. xUNtis tug;NghFk; nghJj;Njh;jYf;F gpwF eilngWk; nghJj;Njh;jypy; rk;ge;jd; ,Ue;jhy; RNu]pd; jait ehlNtz;bNaw;glyhk; ahh; fz;lhh;?

,d;ndhU RthurpaKk; eilngwTs;sJ. $l;lzpj; jiyth; Mde;jrq;fhp ,f;$l;lj;Jld; xl;bf;nfhs;tjw;fhd tha;g;G. Mde;jrq;fhpAk; rk;gd;jDk; neUf;fkhd ez;gh;fs;. ,ilapy; jkpo;nry;tDld; Vw;gl;l neUf;fj;jhy; Mde;jrq;fhp fho;g;Gzh;T nfhz;bUe;jhYk; jw;NghJ epiyik khwpapUf;fpwJ. tpLgl;l neUf;fk; kPz;Lk; ,ize;jpUf;fpwJ. MAjk; jhq;fpa Kd;dhs; gpuKfh; vd;why; Mde;jrq;fhpf;F mNyh;[p vd;whYk; ‘vd;Dld; thg;gh’ vd;W rk;ge;jd; Mirahf miog;gij Mde;jrq;fhpahy; jl;lKbAnkd;wh epidf;fpwPh;fs;?

$j;jikg;G cWg;gpdh;fs; ,dthjg; Ngr;Rf;fis jtph;g;gJ ey;yJ> jkpo; kf;fspd; vjph;fhyj;jpy; tpisahl Ntz;lhk; vDk; Mde;jrq;fhp jkpo; kf;fs;kPJ mf;fiwFilatuhf ,Ue;jhYk;> mtUf;F ghuhSkd;wf; fjpiuapy;yhky; if Rk;khapUf;fhJ vdNt mtUf;fpUf;fpw xNu njhpT rk;ge;jDld; Cly;nfhs;tJjhd;. ,d;ndhU njhpTk; ,Uf;fpwJ. $l;lzpapd; ngahpNyNa Njh;jy; fskpwq;FtJ. ,J nrd;wKiw nghJj; Njh;jiyg;Nghy fhiythhptplhJ vd;gjw;fhd ve;j cj;juthjKk; ,y;iy.

,t;tplj;jpy; ,d;ndhd;iwAk; Rl;bf;fhl;lyhk;. rk;ge;jDk; jkpoh;fspd; vjph;fhyk; gw;wpa rpwpa mf;fiwAilatuhf ,Ue;jhYk; mtUld; $l ,Ug;gth;fspd; fpLq;Fg;gpbapdhy; mtuhy; ,dthjrfjpapypUe;J tpLglKbahJ xd;W> ,uz;L jkpo; ,dthj Clfq;fspd; mDf;fpufk; ,Ue;jhy;jhd; jhd; njhlh;e;Jk; jkpo; kf;fs; kj;jpapy; gpufhrpf;f KbAk; vd;w #o;r;rpiatpl;L ntspNawj; Jzpahjth;.

vdNt ,jpy; $j;jikg;gpy; rhh;gpy; ‘Kf;fpa’ Gs;spfs; ghuhSkd;wk; njhpthth;fs;. Rj;jpr; Rj;jp Rg;gw;u nfhy;Nyf;f vd;gJNghy jkpo; kf;fs; Rg;gw;u nfhy;Nyf;f mdhjuthf tplg;gLthh;fs;. jkpoh;fs; czh;r;rpfSf;F ,yFthf mbikg;glf;$bath;fs;. vg;Ngh mtd; czh;r;rpfis iftpl;L mwpThPjpahf rpe;jpj;J nraw;gLthNdh mg;NghJjhd; mtdJ tpLjiynad;gJ rhj;jpag;gLk;.

,jpy; ,d;Dnkhd;iwAk; Rl;bf;fhl;lyhk;> a+vd;gp Ml;rpaikf;f $j;jikg;gpd; jaT Ntz;bapUe;jhy; $j;jikg;G jhuhskhfNt ‘mijf;’nfhLf;Fk;. [dhjpgjp uh[gf;rTf;F ‘fbthsk;’ Nghlj;jhd; ehk; a+vd;gpf;F MjuT nfhLf;fpNwhk; vd;W ,ypr;rthad; fhjpy g+r;Rw;Wthh;fs; vd;gJ jpz;zk;.

Nkw;$wpa jkpopdthj murpay;Nghf;if vjph;j;J epw;ff;$ba rf;jp jkpoh; gf;fKk; ,Uf;fpwJ Mdhy; mJ xd;Wjpul;lKbahj JHg;ghf;fpa epiyikNa ,d;Wtiu epyTfpwJ.

Gnshl; kw;Wk; …….

tpkh;rdq;fSf;F mg;ghw;gl;ljy;y

fle;j nghJj; Njh;jypy; ,th;fis xd;wpizj;J Nghl;bapl gy el;G rf;jpfs; Kaw;rpj;jd. mJ if$bapUe;jhy; Fiwe;jJ ,uz;Lf;F Nkw;gl;l ghuhSkd;w Mrdq;fisg; ngw;wpUf;f KbAk; vd;gJ gyuJ Mzpj;jukhd ek;gpf;if.

,k;KiwAk; lf;s]; Njthde;jh nghJj; Njh;jypy; jdpj;Jg;Nghl;baplj;jhd; jPh;khdpf;ff;$Lk;. xd;wpizg;gjpy; nghWikahf Kaw;rpg;Nghk;. my;yJ nghWj;jpUe;J ghh;g;Nghk;.

Gnshl; fLikahd tpkh;rdq;fis vjph;nfhz;bUf;fpwJ. jw;Nghija jiyth; jh;kypq;fk; rpj;jhj;jd; ‘vkJ iffs; fiwgbe;jJjhd; Mdhy; ,dpNkYk; mjid fiwgbahky; ghh;j;Jf;nfhs;Nthk;’ vd;W jdJ murpay; gf;Ftj;ij ntspf;fhl;bapUf;fpwhh;. Gnshl;bd; fle;jfhy fLikahd nraw;ghLfs; vy;Nyhh; kdjpYk; neUbf;nfhz;bUe;jhYk; Gnshl; fLikahd ciog;gpd; %yk; kf;fspd; kdq;fis nty;yNtz;Lk;.

‘Jwe;J’tpl;L Xbafspd; gpd;dh;

tlf;ifg;nghWj;jtiu Gnshl; kw;Wk; ‘,ye;j Ks;isj; jpUg;gpdhYk; ,th;fisj; jpUj;j KbahJ’ vd;W thshjpUf;f KbahJ. fle;j nghJj; Njh;jypy; Kaw;rpj;j rf;jpfs; kPz;LnkhUKiw ,th;fis xd;wpizg;gjw;F Kaw;rpf;f Ntz;Lk;. ,th;fis xd;wpizAkhW gytopfspYk; Kd; Kaw;rpfs; - tw;GWj;jy;fs; Nkw;nfhs;sg;glNtz;Lk;. mg;NghJjhd; $j;jikg;gpw;F rtyhd xU murpay; rf;jpia ehk; fskpwf;f KbAk;.

Pathways of dominance: 'Pathways of Dissent' edited by R.Cheran

By: Sivamohan Sumathy

On 19 May 2009, with the violent deaths of the top rung of the LTTE leadership, including that of its leader V Prabhakaran, Sri Lanka’s 30-year-old civil war came to an abrupt end. While the conclusion was a traumatic event for many in the country – not necessarily because of the destruction of the LTTE, but because of the huge loss of life and immense suffering of roughly 300,000 people, as well as the sheer scale of the breakdown of social cohesion – it also ushered in an era of possibilities, particularly in rethinking the pathways of nationalism. With these ideas in mind, this reviewer began to read Pathways of Dissent, edited by the sociologist R Cheran.

What would one expect from a volume on Tamil nationalism at this critical juncture? Having written and worked on this subject for many years, wading through the volume proved to be frustrating. The work provides no direction to any one of the burning questions that are currently posed for the academic or the activist situated at the cusp of the post-war political scenario. This is distressing, as so many are today seeking answers to questions that became so pressing in the context of the disastrous conclusion to the war. At that time, the Tamil diaspora, again paying scant attention to the lives of these people, turned out in their hundreds of thousands in the capitals of Europe and Canada to demand the release of Prabhakaran. What had gone so wrong with Tamil nationalism that it had became consonant with the actions and imperatives of LTTE and Prabhakaran? Unfortunately, although the essays of this volume were written fairly recently, they do not touch upon the destructive path that Tamil nationalism has long been taking, particularly in the new millennium.

The academic allure of the title’s use of the term dissent provides an analytical entry point into the volume and the entire project of Tamil nationalism. Dissent has a political salience that is useful and productive, particularly at this juncture of charting new directions for those who work with and within the idea of a Tamil nation. The sweeping hegemony of Jaffna-centrism dominant in the volume contradicts the idea of dissent, striking a note of dissonance from the very beginning. This bias is no accident – if all the chapters, barring one, take Jaffna as their focus, they do so not in the spirit of dissent, nor to scrutinise its dominant place in the narrative of nationalism. Rather, through academic sleight of hand, they do so to reinforce its dominance.

Dissent without resistance
Let us begin with Cheran’s introduction to the volume, which provides the framework for the subsequent chapters. Interestingly – and perhaps inevitably, given the very linear narrative of the history he charts – Cheran’s trajectory of Tamil nationalism collapses itself into the imperatives and dominance of the LTTE within the Tamil nationalist scenario, following the familiar nationalist path of recounting the ‘textbook’ version of the Sri Lankan Tamils’ history. Though certain class and caste implications of nationalism are signalled in the manner of political correctness, Cheran’s approach itself does not plug the dissonances of caste and class as a theoretical device of inquiry.

While Cheran’s introduction lays the foundation for such a reading, the chapters of the book fall neatly into a linear, historicist paradigm. Both S K Sitrampalam (a historian) and V Nithiyanandam (an economist) approach the issue from the ‘root causes’ angle, posing the question: How did Tamil nationalism emerge? Loosely reactive and focusing on the formation of the Sinhalese state, the essays by Sitrampalam and Nithiyanandam – which, respectively, look at the historical and archaeological, and the economic angles of the rise of the so-called Tamil nation – chart little that would speak to the varying forces that sit uneasily within that ‘nation’. Nithiyanandam attempts to trace the historical formation of the economy of the Jaffna as a separate socio-political entity; he gives little sense of the political economy of the entire region as a historical force that nourished and pushed the emergence of Tamil nationalism in multiple ways. Once again, it is a Jaffna-centric approach that prevails.

On the political front, the chapters on militancy are disappointing. Ravi Vaitheespara’s “Towards Understanding Militant Tamil Nationalism in Sri Lanka” is contradictory and strangely un-analytical. Its attack on the activist-scholar authors of the seminal The Broken Palmyra (1989) and the widely respected University Teachers for Human Rights (Jaffna), the UTHR (J), is partisan, disguising its nationalist rhetoric in a thinly veiled populist brand of leftwing discourse.

Sidharthan Maunaguru’s essay, “Brides as Bridges?”, is anthropological and focuses on evolving generational patterns in trans-nationality. It is, once again, passive on the political front. While it provides some insight into movements of people that go beyond the boundaries of territoriality, what the writer envisions as its impact on the construct of the Tamil ‘nation’ remains unclear. Similarly, Rajesh Venugopal’s chapter on the neo-liberal economy brings up certain interesting questions regarding the anxieties of statist nationalism, the structural framework of the LTTE during the peace process of 2002-06. However, it stops short of pushing this analysis through to its logical conclusion, the unviability of the nation state as envisioned by the LTTE and separatist Tamil nationalists.

Daniel Bass’s essay on the Malaiyaha (Up-country Tamil) community is perhaps the only chapter that strikes a discordant chord in this volume, questioning the idea of the ‘monolith’ of the Tamil nation in its entirety. While one could not call it dissenting in the way suggested earlier, his chapter on the marginalised Tamil community of plantation workers does depart from Jaffna-centrism in a critical fashion. Academically speaking, Bass moves from tracing the genealogy of nation-making through the act of enumeration as initiated by the colonial government (his contribution is titled “Making Sense of the Census”), to broader more contemporary notions of citizenship and belonging to Sri Lanka. The essay does not directly allude to the project of nationalism until the very end, when he concludes with “the rise of a distinct up-country Tamil ethnic identity has ... undermined the supposedly pan-Tamil appeal of Sri Lankan Tamil nationalism, while providing a counterpoint to dominant discourses of Tamil identity.”

The chapters on literature and art raise interesting issues but are ultimately disappointing. Chelva Kanaganayakam’s chapter on the literatures of the nation is selective and, both wittingly and unwittingly, makes a case for homogeneity. On the contrary, T Shanaathanan’s “Painting the Artist’s Self” reveals an engaged reading of the emergence of the artist as Tamil. His historiography of the artist is interesting, but when it comes to Shanaathanan’s theoretically marked commentary, one is let down. For example, the “fragment and the collage” that Shanaathanan says had come to dominate the Sri Lankan scene during the 1990s is understood in purely formal terms. He repeats clichés such as “In post-traditional societies individualization of the artist is also associated with commercialization and commodification of art work. In post-colonial societies it also directly or indirectly is connected with emerging nationalist sentiments.” Of course, one could ignore this as marginalia and look for something more substantial and theoretically sustained in the crux of his essay. But one is left with a sense of dissatisfaction, feeling engulfed by the overarching inevitability of the nationalist discourse in any narrative of the Tamil.

Nimanthi Rajasingam and Radhika Coomarasamy’s chapter, “Being Tamil in a Different Way”, looks at the ramifications of gender in colonial and postcolonial times and, importantly, during militancy. While it is historical and largely a literature survey, it is perhaps the only chapter in this volume that talks about dissent as resistance within the Tamil community. While one might have asked for a greater intimacy with the material and a more engaged positioning, this chapter undoubtedly represents an inquiry into dominance and dissent through the subversive category of gender, which is lacking in the rest of the volume.

Invisible Muslims
In addition to caste, which is dealt with only cursorily and tellingly suppressed, one of the central absences of the volume is any work on Sri Lanka’s Muslim community. A glaring omission, this is also an admission of the overarching politics of dominance of the volume. Why are the Muslims so important? Politically, Muslims posed a challenge to the hegemony of Tamil nationalism, both from within and without. Laying claim to the north and east as their homeland, the Muslim polities provided an alternative reading of Tamil nationalism and its framings that could have been productively exploited by those who worked on Pathways of Dissent. Indeed, the resounding silence on Muslims has an intricate connection with the Jaffna-centrism of the volume as a whole. Its nationalistic platform, which refuses to take even the east as a full-fledged category for inquiry, is an additional aspect of this.

The east, after all, provides a counterpoint to the domination of the Tamil nationalism. More multiethnic than Jaffna in the conventional sense, a serious engagement with the happenings in the east could have opened up illuminating faultlines. Tamil nationalism in the east has had a chequered career, and has posed great challenges to the myth of the cohesiveness of the nation. In deciding to focus almost exclusively on the north, particularly Jaffna, this work was able to conveniently sidestep the complexities informing the fraught unity of the nation and the challenges of the Muslim polity, including the mass eviction of upwards of 85,000 Muslims from the north, in 1990 (See accompanying article, “Ignoring two decades”). It is interesting that Kanaganayakam omits prominent Muslim literary figures in his piece on literature, including several writers who have brought in an inquiring note to the literary quest of nation-(un)making.

All in all, the title Pathways of Dissent is both politically hegemonic and academically wanting, as the volume does not in any way touch upon the critical tools afforded by dissent. Another work is clearly needed in order to bring that critical thrust into the analysis of Tamil nationalism.

Sivamohan Sumathy teaches literature, critical theory, theatre and film theory at the University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka. Her works include Thin Veils, like myth and mother, Piralayam and Oranges.

Courtesy: http://www.himalmag.com

Post election notes

By

Samanmalee Unanthenna

University of Colombo / University of Heidelberg

“Never has our future been more unpredictable, never have we depended so much on political forces that cannot be trusted to follow the rules of common sense and self-interest-forces that look like sheer insanity, if judged by the standards of other centuries. It is as though mankind had divided itself between those who believe in human omnipotence (who think that everything is possible if one knows how to organise masses for it) and those for whom powerlessness has become the major experience of their lives”

Hannah Arendt, Origins of Totalitarianism

As the dust is settling after what was a vicious Presidential campaign the rumour mill is working at its hardest and also analyses of various shades are being presented. The mood is odd: triumphant yet revengeful on one side; shock, disbelief and defiance on the other.

But what of us? What about those of us who spoke out to stem the erosion of democracy and the emerging totalitarian characteristics of the MR regime? Is it all over for us? Do we give up the fight now? Do we go back to pursuing our individual ambitions and goals, shed any pretence of trying to work for change and allow cynicism to take over? I must say there was a moment on the 27^th of January, when I felt hopeless; when I questioned the point of fighting what seemed to be insurmountable odds; when it seemed as if we had lost our last chance to fight for a small space.

But now I think, this is perhaps a moment when losing hope or giving up means surrendering not just our lives but our souls to the workings of a totalitarian regime. When what we MUST believe that what we do and discuss in our homes, at work may transform what may happen not at the next election but what happens in hopefully 6 (but more realistically 8) years. If there is one lesson we should take from this Presidential campaign is that there are no short cuts; that restoring democracy, law and order and decency cannot happen in 2 months. That we are in this for the long haul.

One thing we need to remember in analysing the election results is the corruption of the MR campaign. While there have been positive and useful analyses of the election results there have also been some uninformed sweeping statements being made regarding the causes for SF to lose. This type of superficial analysis in my mind is not just misleading but dangerous in that it obfuscates what really happened and the real villainy. Let us be clear on one point at least: this has been the most corrupt election campaign ever in Sri Lanka for several reasons which I pointed out in my previous article as well. That is what lead to SF losing and nothing else. It is worthwhile to reiterate the many reasons why I describe this election as corrupt:

1. The shameless disregarding of the Supreme Court judgement directing the state media and the removal of the Competent Authority the Commissioner appointed to ensure unbiased reporting of state media since he was unable to do his job.

2. The state media completely violating election laws and continuing to promote MR after the 23^rd of Jan when all campaigning had to stop.

3. Ignoring the request by the Commissioner to not to use state officials, public resources and funds for the election campaign.

4. The role of the state media not only in restricting the opposition’s access but in deliberately and systematically broadcasting programmes that spread propaganda for the MR campaign while attacking SF and his campaign. No calculation has been made as to this impact of this in influencing the electorate.

5. The use of the police and armed forces for the MR campaign leading to the extremely dangerous politicisation of the armed forces for the first time in Sri Lankan history.

6. Increasing public officials salaries during the campaign, entertaining them at Temple Trees, launching ‘development’ projects etc: in short, bribing the public

7. The state media casting doubts as to the validity of SF’s candidature due to his failure to vote on the afternoon of election day. This was constantly broadcast over the media during the afternoon and clarifications from the former Chief Justice and the Elections Commissioner rejecting this insinuation were not broadcast on state media. Again, we do not know what impact this had on the final result.

Conclusions regarding the freeness and the fairness of the election have to take into consideration all these factors and not just what happened on the election day. The judgement of election observers, so called political analysts, the media and even political leaders that this was a ‘free and fair’ election needs to be therefore seriously questioned.

The extremely serious question that is before us all now is whether it is possible at all to have a free and fair election under these circumstances. Judging from the behaviour of the MR regime, all indications are that they are in no mood to relent, and that what we can expect is a hardening of attitudes driven by confidence that they can get away with blatant acts of corruption, intimidation and disregard for the laws of the country. The machine is well oiled, practiced and ready to roll on. This means that the ability of Sri Lanka to hitherto effect changes of government through the electoral process has been seriously compromised. This is the most dangerous situation we can find ourselves in.

So what do we do? If there is any sense of responsibility among us, then it is clear that generating a public demand for things such as the implementation of the 17^th Amendment, formulation of the Right to Information Act, independence and accountability from the judiciary and public service has to be our rallying point. We have to demand these things in different and diverse ways. And this is not going to happen before the general election. This requires working relentlessly for the next several years. It requires public agitation and creating a groundswell of support for these causes.

How do we do this one may ask. Well, each one of us will have to come up with creative ways to engage in these issues. Keeping in mind that all such initiatives will be monitored, suppressed and that the mainstream media will not be functioning independently we will have to think of alternative forms of communication. And when we do that, do not forget that the majority of citizens will not have access to the internet. Yes, it may seem impossible right now. But I ask you, what alternative do we have? Yes, we can choose to give up- but that means that the totalitarian project has won. But never let us forget in the words of Hannah Arendt that “Totalitarian domination, like tyranny, bears the germs of its own destruction” (Arendt, Origins of Totalitarianism, 1968:478). Nurturing and setting free those germs of destruction in whatever way we can is our task for the next several years.

Thank you to all of those who have written back to me and I apologise for not responding to you individually. Your encouragement I appreciate very much and your criticisms I take with good grace. We may never meet face to face, but we can give each other strength through these challenging and difficult times. Above all, we owe it to ourselves not to give up or give in.

30^th January 2010