History is coloured by ideology. Those who claim a division between fact and frill are rare. The truth then is that while we are grateful to those historians who went beyond a reductionist, anti-holistic view of their subject, they are in the condemned minority. Can't help. After all, no assessment of our history, particularly that which creeps up after independence, escapes ideology-colour. That's what has provided opportunity for commentators to either praise or condemn our historical records, disregarding the "commendable" in a particular epoch and marginalising the "imperfect" in another.
First and foremost therefore, this "record" of milestones and setbacks our leaders have achieved since 1948 is not meant to be packed with facts and figures. Inasmuch as history isn't objective and depends for its resolution on factors not always discernible to the compiler, it is hence true that if one is to talk about our post-independence history, one must factor in both material fact and ideological frill. By "frill" I don't mean predilection to any political ideology: I only mean the factors that gave birth to a particular period in time and whether they were absented later on.
When we talk about milestones, we are talking about contributions made to effect change in society. When we talk about change, we are referring to organic change or revolution. Suffice it to say that all history since 1948 has been a clash between these two modes of change, and for the most it has been revolution (whether quietly or violently effected) that has won. It's commendable and speaks well of our democratic practice, flawed though that practice has been in the past.
Here then is a compilation of our
leaders, many of whom tried their best to be statesmen
or stateswomen.
The Dominion Years
When I think of post-1948 history,
I think of how the leaders of our independence struggle were victims of
colonialism, who after forming the Ceylon National Congress, opted for
constitutional change rather than mass agitation to win independence. This
change of face has been documented by both sociologists and political propagandists,
but I believe that a gradualist approach to independence was what salvaged our country
in those first few years.
That is what D. S. Senanayake
believed in as well. And in the end, the fact that it vindicated those initial
few years is a testament to his vision.
Senanayake was no pedant. We
remember his development drive. We remember the vision that went into it,
buttressed by the knowledge he had of his subject (he had been Minister of
Agriculture and Lands in the State Council, before independence). This drive
could have come up at an exorbitant price of course, but back then, with
pragmatic, middle way policies that filled the government coffers through
exports of tea, rubber, and coconut and ensured budget surpluses, there were
little problems.
He was also, I believe, an
idealist. Even today, those who have an axe to grind with his successors have
nothing but praise for the man.
He loved his people. He was aware
that hard choices must be made. Perhaps this reflects the way he ran the
government and maintained friendships abroad. The Left accused him of kowtowing
to the West. But when the Netherlands asked whether they could use our airbase in
their effort to attack freedom fighters in Indonesia, he refused to comply. A
lesson in nonalignment, I believe.
As with all idealists though, he
was stunted. His belief in the status quo and the continued separation of
temple and state has been documented. Perhaps it's a sign of how potent the
cracks beneath his idealism was after his premature death, when the Leftist
opposition and later the government lost their base and had to concede ground
to an upsurge in racial and linguistic nationalism, itself a product of
independence.
The point where it all started was
1951, when his party faced several defections. The opposition, long shattered
and divided on ideological lines, coalesced into a unified whole. That made use
of what was felt to be Senanayake's biggest failure: to effect change quickly
enough and accommodate the cultural revolt that was soon to spill over.
Dudley Senanayake's premiership
signified two things. Firstly, like his father he too tried to maintain the
economic and social status quo. Secondly (again, like his father) he maintained
his government's religious neutrality. Both undermined him in 1953, when his
finance minister J. R. Jayewardene tried to cut the rice subsidy. As the
protests that followed highlighted, the Left was not powerless. On the
contrary, its foray into parliamentary politicking empowered it even more,
underscored by the
Buddhist clergy who had taken to politics.
Sir John Kotelawala's premiership
continued this. Between the years 1954 and 1956, attempts by Sir John to
control the impending cultural revolt (at the time of the Buddhist Commission
of Inquiry) and shift his country's nonaligned foreign policy to one tilting
towards anticommunism led to his electoral downfall.
This doesn't mar his
contributions, of course. From providing electricity to Sri Pada to
inaugurating the Laxapana hydroelectricity scheme, providing buildings for the Peradeniya
University, and constructing an airport at Ratmalana (all done as a Minister),
he proved that he was no lotus-eater bereft of love for his country. He proved
to be a man who refused to bend before the wind, who didn't want to accommodate
structural changes in a government that was fast being rejected by the people.
There are essays and books that
have been written on 1956. Martin Wickramasinghe, in his essay "The Fall
of the Brahmin Class", paints it as historically inevitable. On a more
nuanced level, Professor Kumari Jayawardena sees it as signalling the
upliftment of the unprivileged, rural class. At the opposite pole, Regi
Siriwardena has written that it provided false channels for that same class.
The author of what transpired that
year was S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike. Like D. S. Senanayake, he was an idealist.
His program for national regeneration was hijacked by forces antithetical to
its pluralist character. But this speaks more about those who contorted it than
about the idealist who originally wanted to maintain its humanist character.
Moreover, in terms of economic and social matters, there's no denying that he
achieved what he wanted: if Dominion independence meant handing over defence
matters to the British, then Bandaranaike reversed that trend by taking over our
airbases and port.
The people had a term for his
government: "apey anduwa".
But if Bandaranaike was a
revolutionary fired by liberal ideals, his widow took on his program with a
more nationalistic streak. She handled two explosive issues - whether our
schools should be taken over by the government and whether her husband's
nationalisation program should be intensified - to the extent where she won more
enemies than friends. We lost Western aid, but we got the other side of the
Iron Curtain. She eased tensions between India and China, which added to her
stateswoman-like qualities.
But for having antagonised the
Catholic Church and having alienated the minority groups that controlled
business interests in the country, she had to pay her price. The 1962 (failed)
coup and the defection of several ministers from her government three years
later ensured that price: defeat. It's a measure of how her program was
supported and affirmed, however, that even after half a century much of her
legacy has survived. The schools she took over are still run and financed by
the government, for instance.
The cultural resurgence unleashed
during these years, curiously, avoided the retrogressive character of the
ethno-religious fervour that was to vent itself through chauvinism.
It was in 1956 that Maname was staged and Rekava was screened, and it was in 1957 that Viragaya was written. As Regi Siriwardena has
observed, these works of art were not consciously driven by 1956, but their
impulses were concomitant with a period of cultural renaissance.
It's a testament to how strong
this was that it remains virtually untouched, even after 1977. The brief return
of the UNP in the years 1965 to 1970 (during which Ceylon enjoyed her best
years in terms of economic growth) couldn't change it either. But a new class
was growing: the idealists who had welcomed and had been birthed by 1956, who
were now fast being disillusioned by poverty and unemployment.
Ceylon turns into Sri Lanka and
"embraces" Democratic Socialism
After authoring our first
Republican Constitution, Sirimavo Bandaranaike's second government reformed land
ownership and commerce, imposing restriction in the name of promoting equality.
In part this was due to the 1971 insurrection: with an alternative posed to
the Old Left by the JVP and Rohana Wijeweera, the socialism-tag of the
government was challenged. What happened next was inevitable: it sped up a
process of nationalisation that inhibited commerce but promoted social
equality, ameliorated at least partly by policies adopted by the then Finance
Minister Dr N. M. Perera.
The cleavages attendant
on the latter part of her regime, not surprisingly, proved to be too much. J. R. Jayewardene's
victory in 1977, however, has been interpreted as a victory by capitalist
rationality. No doubt this was owing to Jayewardene's desire to emulate the
Singaporean model. But such a reading of 1977 is at variance with the political
experience of the 1980s, and for good reason.
J. R. Jayewardene's economic
program, which is by far his biggest legacy to the country, wasn't new. Not
even to him. In 1966, for instance, he had invited B. R. Shenoy, the Indian
libertarian economist, to author a policy document for Dudley Senanayake's
government. By this act he had ignored Sri Lankan academics, no doubt due to
his distrust with their leftist orientation. Furthermore, as far back as 1948
(as Finance Minister), he had said, "If the entire
national income is distributed among the population, it would make beggars of
us all".
Embracing capitalist rationality,
as experience bears out, isn’t an end but a means to an end when it comes to
political reform. Enforcing this rationality through economic
liberalisation on the one hand and political centralisation to facilitate that liberalisation on the other, therefore, couldn’t last. Not for long. That is what marred Jayewardene's
regime in its later years.
He gave his share: the 1977 Constitution paid deference to multiculturalism by making Tamil and Sinhala official languages, according parity to both, in later years. The Parliament was built in his day. The various social welfare projects he inaugurated tried to keep politics out of the business of promoting social parity, precisely the problem that had dogged his predecessor. This was an era of “democratic socialism”, when capitalism was made king without ignoring the welfarist character of the state.
But notwithstanding this, few would bet that the euphoria which
greeted Jayewardene in 1977 remained when he left office in 1988, when the UNP changed
its economic outlook from neo-liberalism to populist conservatism under
Ranasinghe Premadasa.
The irony is that, even despite
his populist outlook, not even Premadasa was able to undo this rift between
economic liberalisation and political autocracy. But he is probably remembered
more than any president until that point, purely by the poverty alleviation
programs his government authored (of which “Janasaviya” was one). As a
political commentator put it,
"High growth, high foreign investment, high efficiency, reduced unemployment, reduced inflation, rapid rural industrialisation, poverty reduction, transfer of real incomes to the poorest households, reduced income inequality, net inflow of capital. In short, Sri Lanka achieved the impossible: growth with equity; re-asserted and restored national sovereignty, and violence-free elections."
Whether or not this could have
been sustained in the long term is a question history is yet to answer, because
Premadasa was killed prematurely. But by that point his legacy in other
respects was sealed, in terms of the second insurrection by the JVP, and
eroding peace talks with the LTTE.
The return of the SLFP
Chandrika Kumaratunga was by all
accounts the first ideological reformer of her father's party. I say this
because her association with the Old Left of the 1980s and Vijaya Kumaratunga
led to two volte-faces in the SLFP. Firstly, it oriented itself with an antiwar,
pro-peace movement led by civil society and sections of the government.
Secondly, it began embracing moves towards devolution and hence affirming the 13th Amendment,
concepts introduced to the country during Jayewardene's tenure.
It is Kumaratunga's biggest legacy
that despite brief defeat, her pluralistic ideology survived two terms by
Mahinda Rajapaksa and its nationalist-thrusts. Much like how the UNP witnessed
a restoration to the traditional elite after Premadasa's assassination, the
SLFP, after the defeat of Rajapaksa, saw a similar political recapitulation on
the part of those who were chosen to head it.
I have written before that Mahinda
Rajapaksa was a popular leader who rationalised a virtual dictatorship in terms
of that popularity and remained, for the most, an outsider to colleague and
foe. I have also written that after his defeat, the restoration of party
principles to what they were before his victory in 2005 meant one thing: that
his charismatic variant of nationalism (his biggest contribution to our political
landscape) could survive only as a faction within the party.
Mahinda Rajapaksa proved that (to paraphrase what his detractors frequently say) “the war could be won”. He also initiated probably the most ambitious development drive we witnessed since D. S. Senanayake’s tenure (in terms of their scope, that is), extending not just to bridges and schemes but roads as well. What he failed to understand was that winning a war was winning half the battle: the other half involved winning the peace (which material development could never achieve completely). I think Kumaratunga put it best: "winning the war is not establishing peace".
Hence, whether or not the
(un)popular image of him survives a fresh assessment of his legacy is a
question that history is yet to answer. True, he could have done more to ease
tensions between communities, particularly with regard to Tamils and Muslims.
That he didn't and that this contributed partly to his defeat, we know. But
history is open. Mahinda Rajapaksa is still politically alive. There's more we
can expect.
These compilations are not
exhaustive. They are reflections and don't pretend to be anything else. But
some points can be gleaned from them. The shifts and turns of power we have
seen since 1948 have run parallel with exogenous forces. 1956 was a milestone,
but it could not have materialised in its entirety had the British not
introduced universal suffrage to our people decades earlier. 1977 was a
milestone too, but it couldn't have materialised without the dissatisfaction
that those who “grew up” with 1956 felt at the state's continuing, overbearing
character.
The return of the SLFP in 1994 did
not mean a return to Bandaranike's principles: the milestone there was a result
of the political experience of the latter half of the 1980s, when the Old
Left-assembled United Socialist Alliance (of which Vijaya Kumaratunga was
leader) was championing pluralism and devolution, the likes of which hadn't
been affirmed by either mainstream party before.
Decades later (in 2005)
Professor H. L. Seneviratne wrote of a rift between "arthika"
(policy) and "jathika" (nationalism) in that year's election: an
unsustainable, reductionist simplification, because after merely two terms by
Mahinda Rajapaksa we saw a peaceful and quick transition to what characterised
the political landscape before him: a purported return to "arthika",
that is.
History, Regi Siriwardena once wrote, is open. Perusing it through an article or two does scant justice to its vibrant character. The ideology-shifts that have attended not just parties but factions within parties here have, for the most, highlighted milestones in the country which commentators who are fixated on ideology have either discounted or ballooned beyond proportion. It’s best to steer out of either extreme. Otherwise, one ends up with an enthusiasm for political colour which can make the historian selective.
What we need isn't that. What we need is sobriety.
Uditha Devapriya is a freelance writer who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Written for: Daily News, January 8 2016 (in a special supplement commemorating the first anniversary of President Maithripala Sirisena's election)
Uditha Devapriya is a freelance writer who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Written for: Daily News, January 8 2016 (in a special supplement commemorating the first anniversary of President Maithripala Sirisena's election)
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