courtesy: www.barknpurr.pets4life.com.au |
25 years is not
a very long time. But the business world rarely pays attention to time-span.
People grow, and so do enterprises. They age. They wither. And they crumble.
Nothing is permanent, not even the enterprises of man. Few bear the stamp of
time delicately, with no sign of going down. But we have exceptions, little as
they are. We see visions transformed, and passions realised. Profits
are made, true. Ethics are infringed. But
there’s something about those who sacrificed neither youth nor idealism when
they ran the businesses they found. This is true even in Sri
Lanka. I would rephrase that. This is true especially in Sri Lanka.
I am not a big
fan of business (with a capital “B”). This is obvious. For all the
superfluities associated with Corporate Social Responsibility and
sustainability, commerce is yet as far removed from non-profit concerns as
they can ever get. But then again, that’s the way with it all. This is an age
where generosity is advertised. Big-time. Where feel-good initiatives and
foundations are begun, ostensibly in the name of future generations and
sustainability, but in reality for reasons of tax-exemption and
wealth-generation. I don’t know how cynical I can get over Business. But I know
one thing. There are exceptions. There is honesty. And there is generosity. Un-hyped.
Few
entrepreneurs in Sri Lanka (and for that matter the world) have caught my eye.
Otara Gunawardena did. And how. There was her array of dresses, true. From a
humble corner in a car boot, her business acumen reached heights within less than two-and-a-half
decades. That’s achievement. The endearing thing about it was this: it was born
out of a small-time, innocent need. Otara had been to the United States for her
higher education. She would have seen fashion store after fashion store. Back
home, the economy had been made "free.” The robber barons had come. A Free
Trade Zone, “free” only of labour rights and resource expense, had been built.
The age of garment factories had begun, with garments being sold to countries
which either were paying ridiculously low prices for them (hence the meaning of "cheap labour") or had set up import restrictions to keep their economies
afloat. Short-sighted policy on our part, you could say.
Otara
Gunawardena, like countless other budding entrepreneurs, saw opportunity. She
could have, admittedly, started at the top. She could have gone with the crowd
and enmeshed herself in the new economy. But she didn’t. She opted for a second
path instead. From a car boot, she took in home produce. She
converted them. She sold. She earned. And she grew. Entrepreneurs allured and
enchanted by favourable prospects went out, or at least joined up with
outsiders. It wasn’t give-and-take then. More often than not, the “give”
became greater than the “take.” Otara didn’t get herself involved in it. She
started at home, literally and figuratively. That’s how “national” entrepreneurs
can get.
For all the hype
over the “peace” we won in the early part of the new millennium, war still continued.
Business interests were looked after, by a government more concerned with
Profit than with Welfare. That’s putting things in a clichéd way, but no other
will do. Otara stood away from those interests. She wasn’t alone. But the
forging ahead and the getting of raw material and converting into final
accessory were done amidst tremendous pressure.
It is of course
a convenient plaything of commerce and politics to ignore a conflict-prone
situation as long as it doesn’t affect their welfare. Amidst all this, ODEL
reached new heights. Branches in Majestic City, Alexandra Place, Katunayake, and
Kohuwala were built. It would be fatally easy to consider ODEL as having
figured in prominently in the conflict, but no-one can deny that, at a time
when business and government combined unethically, she cautiously (and
laudably) stayed away. There was idealism in her. That never died. She was
among the most honest entrepreneurs I ever encountered.
The war, despite
the “peace” we had won, had to be over with. So we ended it. Loyalists of the
old order, whose interests would be eroded should a new government come into
power, tried to prevail. They couldn’t. So they did the next best thing. They embraced
the winner. They bent with the wind. Otara didn’t, though. There’s a reason for
that. She had seen reality. A long time back.
I remember
seeing Kumar Rupesinghe, back then an unabashed apologist for the LTTE,
genuflect to the present regime. He couldn’t do otherwise. That’s scoundrelism
of the worst sort. But then, on the same news channel (Al-Jazeera), I saw
Otara. She spoke succinctly. The war, she said, had been the biggest
impediment, both to her country and to business. There was not a hint of
back-bending in that statement. She said it as though she had accepted it as the
truth a long time ago. That’s honesty. That’s class. Few businessmen could get
that honest.
This isn’t all.
Otara showed womanhood in Sri Lanka a way forward. A new way. She did something
else. She brought fresh meaning to the word “CSR.” She did this not through
advertising generosity on yearly reports. She did it almost purely on a
personal level. EMBARK was not born out of ODEL. I’m not saying the two were
clean different, but one could see where the real passion,
the real effort, was coming from. The thing is, there are initiatives started
every other day. More often than not, they become scarcely distinguishable from
NGO outfits and feel-good Foundations. EMBARK went viral. Dog-adoption found
its way to our hearts. We went with it. No scandal rocked it. But we rarely saw
the woman advertise herself. Politicians and do-gooders in the corporate world,
I feel, have a lot to learn. Especially from her.
This is not the
time to attempt a lengthy analysis. I leave that to the experts. Sketchy as my
tribute is, this is all I can write. I am not a fashion-fan. Neither, for that
matter, is my mother, although her tastes in clothes far dwarf those of anyone
else her age I have met so far. My visits to ODEL have not been frequent. There’s
price and affordability involved there, but that’s another story. Despite this,
though, my fascination with that organisation remains intact. My mother isn’t
an ODEL patron either. But she loves dogs. Perhaps growing out of this, she has
developed a shrewd talent at recognising people’s true worth and “humanity.” That’s
talent. For EMBARK, and for ODEL, she has given a 10/10 assessment.
Unconditionally. I am not saying her opinions are ex-cathedra. But when it
comes to sifting the false from the honest, she’s streets ahead of me.
Otara
Gunawardena deserves more than a cheer, of course. As a fashion-fanatic, I am
sure you will heap praises on her. She has “given up” ODEL. In a way, at least.
Perhaps some of us feel betrayed. One cannot predict how well Softlogic will
run her company. It’s true that Softlogic has, in recent years, become a
conglomerate (and force) to reckon with. So I reserve judgment of that. But
enough with this “feeling of betrayal.” For the fact is, Otara hasn’t really given
up. In a big way.
We look forward
to term-end and year-end at school, because we know the new term and year will
bring with it fresh start. Not too different here. ODEL has stepped out. But
EMBARK remains. Indeed, we may even see it expand in time to come. In that sense,
not much has been given up. I think this will remain so.
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