THE IMPACT OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION ON THE RURAL ECONOMY AND SOCIETY OF COLONIAL CEYLON (1925-1939) By Eric P. Meyer Part III: CEYLONESE LAND OWNERS FACING THE GREAT DEPRESSION

It is proposed to examine quite briefly how the Great Depression affected the landowning class of Ceylon, whose plantations of coconut trees, rubber, and to a lesser extent of tea, were probably the main source of income, and certainly the preferred investment. This social category does not belong to rural society, because absenteeism is common among plantation owners, but it influences its fate. To do this, we shall compare numerous testimonies generally based on simple impressions, with the numerical results drawn from an analysis of the sales by judicial authority of properties seized during the period 1924 to 1939. Depression, which occurred at the very moment when this emerging indigenous class entered the political arena, also translated into behaviours whose ideological content will catch our attention. The rise of chauvinism, more anti-Indian than anti-British, represents an interesting colonial variant of the xenophobia epidemic that engulfed the countries affected by the depression, of which Germany represented the most pathological case, but of which Asia was far from being exempt.

A pathological indebtedness

“There is hardly a member of the permanent population who has not invested if not the entirety, at least the major part of his savings in [coconut products]. The sudden and sharp decline in their prices has put every domestic budget out of gear (…) It is no exaggeration to say that practically everybody is a borrower today, while lenders are few and far between”[1]. This is the general feeling of contemporaries, who represented Ceylon as a nation in debt at the mercy of foreign plutocrats. The Ceylon Banking Commission, in charge of evaluating the phenomenon in 1934, collected almost unanimous testimonies that underlined its magnitude. But it proved unable to quantify satisfactorily the mass of private debt. Witnesses claimed, based on subjective impressions, that 90% of the population was in debt, or that 75% of the land in coconut producing regions was mortgaged; in rubber areas, 50% of the owners would be in debt. The Commission scaffolded on this fragile basis risky calculations, which gave for the coconut plantations alone a debt  of about 110 million rupees (370,000 acres mortgaged at 300 rupees per acre); for indigenous rubber plantations, the total investment was estimated at 50 million rupees but no figures were advanced for the debt, the authors of the report simply pointing out that the high profits of these plantations allowed easier financing than for the coconut owners[2].

A few years later, on a monographic scale, village socio-economic surveys found that the majority of households were in debt: percentages varied by region, from 60% in Matara to 86% in Galle. But it was mostly a debt of a different nature, contracted for food consumption by poor peasants, and amounting to a hundred rupees on average[3]. Village debt was a structural phenomenon, linked to the vagaries of the climate and seasonal variations in employment, and aggravated by monetization. The debt of the planter was a phenomenon in principle momentary, linked to the need to wait for the enterprise to become productive and make profits. But the behaviour of the landowner towards debt remained marked by the peasant model; it appeared irrational in the eyes of external observers who reasoned along a capitalist logic: “One gets the impression, wrote a district administrator, that practically everybody who owned some land which could be offered as security during the years of buoyant prosperity borrowed money for no reason other than extravagant living”. “It is common knowledge that the purchase and development of land in agricultural products is the only major occupation in which in the past Ceylonese engaged themselves or are engaging themselves even now” wrote in 1939 the Minister of Agriculture, D.S. Senanayake, as an introduction to a bill to adjust the debts of plantation owners[4]. Productive debt, or sumptuary debt? The problem in fact did not arise in these terms; according to a witness testifying before the Banking Commission, “Our people pride in possessing of acres of land, although it is 5 out of 100 who improve the value of the lands they come into possession. They go on buying land on the security of the landed wealth they possess. Besides they are fond of investing in lands because it is the easiest way to raise money on emergencies such as weddings, or the purchase of other lands”[5]. An almost caricatural example illustrate the effects of this passion for land. A mudaliyar (low country chief headman) had acquired from the Crown at auction in 1925 a land of 50 acres at the phenomenal price of 520 rupees per acre (it was not even an acquisition in full ownership, but an emphyteutic lease!); one of his ‘enemies’ had raised the stakes and to keep face, the mudaliyar had held on to the end: “I came home victorious, he wrote candidly, receiving congratulations of my headmen and the approbation of the villagers. I realized my folly, but sincerely thought that I would receive the assistance of government in adjusting matters as the bidders against me were worthless fellows”[6].  In fact, the mudaliyar obtained staggered payment facilities, but when the depression arose, he again asked for a gesture in his favour: the case went up to the governor, and London finally agreed in 1936 to remit the remainder of the debt. Land, this fixed idea of the peasant as well as of the large Sinhalese owner, was not considered as a productive asset, but as a sign of social status. Its acquisition responded to considerations of prestige, and in the marriage strategy, an art in which the Sinhalese are masters, a dowry in land was the decisive weapon. Dowries commonly reached in the ruling class several tens of thousands of rupees, and served as a means to seal complex political-financial alliances which forged the ‘clans’ that would dominate the political scene at independence. To capture the best party, it was necessary to exhibit the largest landed area; it did not matter if to build up this parade capital it had to be burdened with double or triple mortgages. Once the dowry was paid, it still remained to organize the most ostentatious wedding. Holding one’s rank was also a sure way to develop one’s capital, by obtaining on the services of one’s debtors and the solidarity of one’s peers[7]. The passion for legal squabble, another source of debt, was another face of the same social reality. Court trials, especially in provincial capitals, dramatically manifested wealth and power. The court was a theater where the tragicomedy of boundary or inheritance quarrels was tirelessly played out, which sometimes turned into drama; attendance at the court sessions was the main distraction of the villagers who came to town; lawyers exercised one of the most prestigious and lucrative professions. In the late 17th century, the debts contracted to pay the costs of the trials were one of the main sources of Kandyan indebtedness: one hundred and fifty years later, nothing had changed, and the procedural debt came in order immediately after the debt for the purchase of land, which it somehow complemented and supported[8]. The lawsuits were themselves multiplied by the inaccuracy of the title deeds in areas that had not been the subject of a settlement. Thus, a vicious circle was formed: the money necessary to support lawsuits intended to defend the value of these same securities was borrowed upon the guarantee of doubtful securities. The behaviour of Sinhalese debtors retained many features that can be described as traditional.

We have analyzed elsewhere the characteristics of debt as it prevailed in the Kandyan kingdom in the pre-colonial period, as well as its subsequent evolution under the impact of monetization[9]. We will retain here the features that survived a century and a half of colonization. Peasant debt was first and foremost a maintenance debt consisting of an addition of small loans contracted when need arose: coconut planters also made a series of loans in a fractional manner during the ten years necessary for their plantation to fully mature. Next to maintenance debt there was a ceremonial debt socially necessary to manifest and maintain membership of the community; it is interpreted by anthropologists such as Firth as an elementary form of investment allowing the borrower to subsequently ensure the counter gift of his guests[10]. In traditional debt, theoretical interest rates were very high: 50% from one harvest to another for grain loan, 100% maximum, regardless of the duration of the loan (dam dupat rule). In practice, the interest actually perceived was a function of circumstances, and could take the form of benefits that were difficult to assess. The Sinhalese debtor was therefore not frightened by having to pay rates of the order of 15% to 30% : he did not calculate what the real profitability of the operation he launched could be and he expected his creditor to adapt his requirements to the circumstances. The creditors, being socially close to the debtors, did not claim any other guarantee than the one given to them by the reputation of the debtor, the credit that he enjoyed in the village society. When a guarantee was necessary, the farmer pledged not ‘his’ land, but his cultivation rights on the land of his lineage (panguwa), and he commonly gave these rights in usufruct (ukas mortgage) as reimbursement; the alienation of land in the hands of creditors was very rare, but the usufructuary mortgage very widespread. The debtor in the 20th century still expected his creditor to trust him on his word, and when he was obliged to grant him a mortgage, he did not envisage that it could eventually result in a definitive land transfer: he considered the operation to be of a revocable nature. He also expected that the creditor would grant him terms of payment: this was the attitude that the community expected of him: thus a lasting relationship of structural debt was established, where the lender found his reward in terms of prestige; it was not in his interest to claim repayment of the initial capital. A final settlement of the debt would have meant a breakdown of social relations. Debt, a social contract par excellence, appears in the Indian context as a link of religious essence[11]. If it is difficult to detect in the type of debt that we consider here survivals of these distant origins, it is certain on the other hand that the debtor did not consider the prolongation of the debt relationship as an intolerable constraint, but on the contrary as a perfectly normal situation. He expected his creditor to renew from time to time the bond between them by demanding the repayment of the principal, and considered it abnormal if he seriously wanted to end their relations. In the past, when a debtor was recalcitrant, the creditor could appeal to the justice of the king or his local representative, without the intervention of which no seizure was possible in principle. But it also had a range of methods of social or moral constraint, ranging from the threat of suicide at the debtor’s door (who might have to answer for the death of a righteous person) to symbolic imprisonment – a circle of chalk drawn on the ground, until a relative or friend came to deliver the debtor by acquitting the debt; at the beginning of the 20th century these practices disappeared, but not the prison for debts, to which the colonizers put very real bars.

These are therefore the secret or proclaimed aspirations of potential borrowers. The singular fact is that they found complacent lenders, especially in the person of Nattukottai Chettiar. We have previously described their organization and activities. It is obvious that the Chettiar differed fundamentally from peasant lenders: they were alien to local society, and therefore not bound by social obligations to their debtors. If they agreed to play the game of tradition, it was not out of social obligation, but out of economic calculation. The Chettiar were inserted at the hinge of the capitalist system and the peasant system, connecting their circuits. They chose to finance the development of indigenous plantation agriculture because they saw it as a way within their reach to quickly expand their own capital and the sums they borrowed in the short term from European banks, taking advantage of the significant difference between the interest rates of the capitalist circuit from those of the indigenous circuit. The multiplication of their agencies, each dealing with a limited number of borrowers, gave them the opportunity to personally follow their customers, while the solidarity of their caste organization allowed them to cope with individual accidents. They were therefore able to distribute an easy credit accessible to all, without formalities; they were willing to lend in the long term, to invest. The fact may be surprising if we consider that they refused to settle permanently on the island. It can be partly explained by the permanence of the firms despite the regular renewal of agents, and by the high rate of interest claimed that allowed them to recover the equivalent of the capital after four or five years. It is also explained by their feeling that the economic system put in place by the British was solid, and that they occupied a strategic position by financing the production of Burmese rice and the products of Malaysian and Ceylon indigenous plantations of coconut and rubber. But the major fact seems to me to be the conviction they had that they were covered by the colonial political-legal apparatus. The Chettiar did not execute financial acrobatics without a net; they knew that as a last resort they would be able to stop playing the game and have their debtors’ mortgaged properties put up for sale. But the weaknesses of the system were soon to reveal themselves: classic weakness, so to speak, arising from the contradiction between short-term resources and long-term investments; political weakness resulting from the gradual takeover of the State apparatus by representatives of the Sinhalese majority identifying their interests with those of the debtors, or debtors themselves.

Judicial sales.

In 1931, the colonial government, alerted by the moratorium plans of some politicians, conducted a summary and confidential inquiry with district administrators and judges to find out the extent of judicial sales[12]. It was found that the phenomenon was not serious enough to require public intervention, and the case was closed without further action. Three years later, the Banking Commission of inquiry set up at the request of the same pressure groups concluded that it was necessary to find a solution to a problem considered very serious. Finally, between 1936 and 1939, the village surveys all underlined the extension taken by the property of non-villagers, and implicitly considered that the depression was responsible for it. Difference in appreciation of a political nature, or worsening of the phenomenon over the years? A careful examination of the results of the 1931 investigation leads to doubt the seriousness of the answers, very brief and treated as a routine affair by officials who were overwhelmed with paperwork tasks. Reports from the coconut and rubber areas were much more alarmist: in the Kalutara, Awissawella and Kägalla courts, there was a 20% to 32% increase in the number of lawsuits. In Kalutara, Chilaw and especially Kurunägala, the collapse of land prices was such that the amount of sales did not even cover that of receivables. In the administrative reports of the early 1930s, indications of the same order can be gleaned, but formulated in vague terms[13]. The considerable number of coconut estates sold and become the property of Chettiar, the visible impoverishment of the wealthy peasantry, and in particular of the indigenous chiefs, were highlighted as a recent phenomenon.

The Ceylon Banking Commission said in its report: “Banking institutions, Chettiar and others have admitted that before the depression, it is hardly if they had the opportunity to drag their debtors to court for the recovery of their debts”[14]. The Chettiar themselves, in a memorandum addressed to the same commission, recognized the existence of these transfers, but added that that “most of the acquisitions [of land properties] were forced upon by their debtors who preferred to transfer their properties to the Chettiar rather than face worse difficulties”[15]. The administrator of Puttalam district confirmed that “it is a mistake to think of these moneylenders as rapacious land grabbers. They are no more anxious to buy the lands than the owners to sell them” but added “The general depression is still felt acutely, more coconut estates have been taken over by Chettiar and other creditors in liquidation of their debts”[16]. The tea-producing districts of the upper country were affected, where the network of Chettiar agencies was also dense. The Chettiar were accused of having systematically foreclosed in the province of Uva, and two recently established institutions, the Chettinad Corporation and the Bank of Chettinad, were in the process of building up an extensive land capital by getting their hands on the best tea lands in the vicinity of Bandarawela. “We think, said witnesses, that most of the past indebtedness of the medium size holders and the big private holders has been liquidated by sales (…) Now all the most fertile land in the district is in the hands of this Chetty firm”[17]. The socio-economic surveys of the years 1936-1939 noted similar phenomena in particular villages of the coconut districts. “The expropriation of smallholders by small Ceylon capitalists, Indian Muslim merchants, local shopkeepers and lenders has probably continued at an accelerated pace (…) It is significant that mortgages of coconut land cluster round the depression period. Even the largest areas are not exempt and titles of many of them have passed to the Chettiar and other financiers”[18].

During and after the depression, many small landowners had to sell their lands that were absorbed into larger estates belonging in many cases to non-residents. Thus, in four villages in the district of Kurunägala (Tittawela, Rangama, Hiripitiya and Wilagedara) 30% of the coconut plantations were owned by villagers and 70% by absentees, while 59% of the paddy fields were owned by the villagers and 41% by absentees. The conclusion that emerges from these testimonies and investigations is that it is the depression in general, the action of moneylenders in particular, especially Chettiar, which was responsible for peasant landlessness. Without excluding this hypothesis for some villages, I consider on the contrary that this very real situation was the result of an evolution started long before the depression by speculators grabbing peasant lands with borrowed money to build up extensive land properties for the benefit of the Colombo Ceylonese bourgeoisie.

The statistical review of sales by judicial authority from 1925 to 1939 confirms this general impression. While the number of sales had increased in significant proportions, the share of foreign creditors, and especially the value of the debts claimed by non-Ceylonese, did not increase significantly. On the other hand, the few indications available regarding the ethnic distribution of land ownership in 1939 confirm and clarify the general indications provided by the Chettiar regarding their real estate property. I summarily analyzed the 12,433 judicial sales announced between 1924 and 1939 in the weekly official journal of the colony (Ceylon Government Gazette); and in more detail the announcements every other year, from 1925 to 1939, numbering 6,393, just over half of the total. This particularly tedious work consisted of noting for all sales their number, their location and the percentage of Chettiar creditors in the total, and for sales every other year, the value of the receivables, the ethnicity of the creditor and that of the debtor when they could be ascertained, and incidentally the existence of mortgages and the nature of the properties offered for sale: but these last two pieces of information were neither complete nor really safe, and were excluded from the final operation. The identification of the ethnicity of the parties present was made on the basis of an onomastic tracking whose principles are described in the annex. 

Let’s first consider the overall evolution of the number of sales. It remained until the end of 1930 perfectly in line with the overall economic evolution. Of 400 sales per semester in 1924, it dropped to less than 300 in 1927 and bounced to more than 700 sales in the second half of 1930; then it decreased very regularly, regaining its total of 1929 in 1936, and fell to 230 in the first half of 1939. This movement is confirmed by the statistics of seizures published by the Land registrar services: their number capped from 1931 and decreased from 1933; it is singular that sales had fallen earlier than seizures; one would expect the opposite but increasingly many seizures were not followed with sales (in 1930, 1300 sales for 1800 seizures). The fall in the number of sales after 1930 is surprising in view of the statements of contemporaries who argued in 1931 that alienations were not alarming, but were moved from 1934 by the situation: is it the effect of the chronological shift specific to any awareness, always late after the event? This undeniable decrease can be explained by a series of factors. The first is a change in attitude on the part of the courts: taking into account the depression, they granted creditors the benefit of seizures less easily than in the past, and above all left debtors longer grace periods[19]. According to the representative of one of the major business law firms of Colombo (Julius and Creasy), the average time lag between the beginning of an action and the judicial sale was of the order of two years in 1938. Creditors, discouraged from going to court, especially since lawsuits were expensive in times of crisis, therefore preferred to recover amicably what they could. In addition, the judges enforced an order issued in 1927 on the recommendations of the Land Commission, which prohibited the alienation by any means of land mortgaged after that date when it had not been the subject of a settlement. Another element of explanation lies in the fact that the Chettiar had reduced the volume of their loans as early as 1925 and that the volume of their current claims therefore tended to decrease. The statistics of the Registration show that the depression led to a sudden drop in the number of mortgages from 80,000 in 1929 to 40,000 in 1934. Releases collapsed even more, from 18,000 to 8,600 ; the difference does not correspond to judicial recovery: many amicably releases were not recorded. A last hypothesis is not to be ruled out, although it is contrary to the impression that generally prevails : the improvement in the financial situation of the owners from 1931-33; the increase in the number of releases from 1933, followed a year later by that of mortgages, tends to confirm that the land market was experiencing a recovery probably resulting from the coupon system. 

The evolution of the value of the claims is not the same as that of their number. The statistics collected are less accurate, the enormity of the task having forced me to carry out counts only for every other year. But the overall movement is clear enough: the decline in the value of receivables is faster than that of their number from 1925 to 1927: each debt is of lesser importance; the increase from 1927 is also slower, but it continues until 1933: after claiming small claims, the lenders attack the largest. This fact is perhaps not unrelated to the late but intense awareness of alienations by the ruling classes; if they initially felt little concerned, it is because they were not yet threatened. Among the ‘heads’ that fell from 1932, there were a number of parliamentarians. Subsequently, the average value of receivables decreased again, the rise of 1939 being mainly explained by the presence of a few very large recoveries. The location of the sales provides an indirect indication of the nature of the property affected: in the North Western Province, the coconut tree predominates, in Sabaragamuwa, it is rubber, and in the Central province, tea and commercial interests are important. Sales in the coconut land area followed an evolution in line with that of all sales, but tended to fall more quickly from 1931, probably due to the attitude of the courts and the impossibility for the creditor of making any profit from the sales. The unexpected maintenance at a high level of sales in the tea area suggests that despite the establishment of the coupon system, small tea producers, among which there are many kangani, were experiencing persistent difficulties. It is also likely that creditors would press their debtors more because of the maintenance of the profitability of tea plantations, thanks to the restriction, at a suitable level.  The sawtooth evolution of Sabaragamuwa’s sales is difficult to explain (perhaps it results from the annual periodicity of the distribution

of rubber coupons?), but the overall movement is quite similar to that of the North-western province. It was not possible for me to carry out a rigorous analysis of the nature of the lands sold, because of the often imprecise nature of the description given in the advertisements. The toponymy itself does not make it possible to distinguish simple gardens from modest plantations (both are called watte in Sinhala); in addition, most sales combine houses and gardens, or gardens and paddy fields. A summary survey for the first quarters of 1925, 1931 and 1937 gives the following approximate results (in the count, sales affecting two types of property are counted twice): houses alone and houses and gardens represented 23.5% 20.3%; 23.5% of sales. Houses and gardens, small plantations and gardens and paddy fields represented 51.3%; 67% and 56% of sales. Paddy fields, and paddy fields and gardens 14.4%, 14% and 16.5% of sales. The proportions were therefore stable overall with a slight increase in the place of paddy fields. The extension taken by the sale of paddy fields was the subject of contradictory testimonies. A delegation of indigenous leaders of Kurunägala said that the ukas system remained the rule: “At least 75% of coconut owners have lost their land. – Is this also the case for rice field owners? – No, when they borrow, it is usually from another villager, on a usufructuary mortgage.” But the village surveys present a different picture. In Battulu Oya, 75% of the paddy fields were in the hands of non-residents: “They originally belonged to the villagers but passed out of their hands for failure to redeem mortgage debts”. The Kurunägala survey offered similar cases: “Alienation of paddy lands into the hands of non-residents has been on the increase for some time. In Wedanda, over 25% of the paddy lands are under mortgage to a copra merchant; in Tittawela, about 63% are held by non-residents; in Pannala and Hiripitiya, an increasing proportion has gone to Indian Muslim traders”[20]. I have myself encountered similar examples in the village of Haloluwa (district of Kägalla): the local dominant family, which had invested in a few acres of rubber, had to sell its micro-plantation during the 1930s, then all its paddy fields, which covered almost half of the terroir; the plantation was acquired by a shopkeeper and by a peasant from a neighboring locality, the paddy by the dominant family of another village; the descendants of the former lords of the village after 1940 obtained a lot as landless farmers in a settlement of the dry zone. The growth in paddy field sales only apparently contradicts the hypothesis of an improvement in the situation of the owner classes after 1931-1933, formulated previously: indeed, who owned rice fields in sufficient quantity so that they could be used to pledge a loan? The wealthy peasantry, and the class of indigenous leaders that emerged from it. And who bought them? Other peasants, and also traders, small civil servants, and bourgeois of Colombo or southern cities… in short, the category of plantation owners. This remark leads us to once again emphasize an essential distinction when we talk about the possessing classes: this means the class of the new rich living in the cities and seeking to place their fortune in the acquisition of land ownership, and not that of traditional rural dominants. In short, the bourgeoisie, but a bourgeoisie that remained influenced by the traditional value system.

The last factor analyzed, less in detail than I would have liked, is the community belonging of creditors and debtors. The question is essential, given the controversies raised at the time by the economic role played by the Indians in Ceylon. Let’s examine first the evolution of the share taken by the Chettiar in land sales. At the beginning of the crisis, their proportion in all creditors increased significantly, from 27.5% in the first half of 1924 to 38.7% in the first half of 1930. Then, contrary to the general feeling of contemporaries, their place regularly decreased, to stabilize at around 22% from 1935. If we consider the value of the debt, the evolution was even faster: in 1925, the Chettiar claimed 1,157,380 rupees (33.6% of the total) in 1929, 1,226,639 rupees (43.6%); in 1933, 1,081,319 rupees (31.4%) and in 1937, 868,329 rupees (29%). Such a decrease means that the place was taken by other creditors, mainly the Sinhalese. A comparison of the sales of 1925 and 1933, taking into account only the Sinhalese and the Chettiar, is instructive. In 1925, the debts claimed by Chettiar from the Sinhalese represented 16.5% of the number and 12.2% of the value of the debts; in 1933, they amounted to 16.8% of the number and 12.4% of the value. On the other hand, the loans between Sinhalese, which represented in 1925 25.4% of the number and 10.1% of the value of receivables, amounted in 1933 to 29.5% of their number and 15% of their value.

The structure of Chettiar firms and their operations have already been described in the first part of this study. But it is interesting, to understand the reality of their operations during the depression, to consider the number of cases where each of them was a creditor. From the sales announcements in the Ceylon Government Gazette from 1925 to 1939 (every other year) I drew up a list of 620 firm names. Not all firms on the island were represented on this list, but probably the vast majority of them.  Some were subsidiaries of agencies based in Colombo and the same firms appeared under different vilasam in different years. In 1934, the Chettiar Association declared that it had 556 members, a hundred of which were only pawnbrokers; it added that before the crisis, their number was 50% higher, which would give about 675 ordinary lenders in 1925. The most striking feature is the very large dispersion of operations: only 27 firms appeared more than ten times in eight years, including 7 firms twenty to thirty times. A second significant characteristic is that there were two types of behaviour: some well-established lenders had one or two judicial recoveries per year from one end of the period to the other; others appeared only in an ephemeral way, either that the volume of their cases was not sufficient to lead them to go to court on a regular basis, or that their presence in Ceylon had been momentary. It appears in particular that 315 of the 620 firms ceased to appear after 1931. The ‘Chettiar crisis’ led to the departure from the island after 1925 of a third of the Chettiar, according to their association. A phenomenon of concentration occurred, the most visible manifestation of which was the creation of two organizations, Bank of Chettinad and Chettinad Corporation, both controlled by one of the largest firms in Madras, belonging to Sir Annamalai Chettiar[21]. The evolution of the average value of Chettiar debts reflects these transformations: it decreased until 1931 (1925: 4,704 rupees; 1927: 4,542 rupees; 1929: 3,833 rupees; 1931: 2,820 rupees) which means that small lenders sought to recover their funds. Then it increased (4,142 rupees in 1933, 3,991 in 1935, 5,947 in 1937 and 4,531 in 1939), only the largest lenders remaining active. Among other lenders from the Indian continent, it is worth mentioning in passing the presence of shark usurers, the so-called Afghans, who demanded exorbitant interest and multiplied fraudulent practices against their victims. But the volume of their operations was tiny: they constitute a category that was quite widely represented in Kandy district but the amount of their loans was rarely more than 100 rupees, and the repeated frequency of sale of the same property tends to prove that they rarely achieved their ends by legal processes.

Enriched kangani, especially those who had established themselves as shopkeepers or small plantation owners, were conspicuous among moneylenders in the up-country localities. Unfortunately, onomastics do not make it always possible to distinguish them from the agents of certain Chettiar firms, nor from the indigenous Tamils from Jaffna, so that it is impossible to assess their real role. Kandyan headmen were prominent among their debtors, especially in the province of Uva and the district of Nuwara Eliya; one of them, indebted for the considerable sum of 28,000 rupees with a kangani of Koslanda, was compelled to sell 52 plots, highlands as well as paddy fields[22]. On a smaller scale, the detailed list of claims of a plantation shopkeeper, Muttupalani Pillai, shows that this category advanced money indifferently to Sinhalese, Tamils, or even Chettiar with whom they placed their profits[23]. Nevertheless, the kangani, in this period of immigration crisis, were certainly better represented in the category of debtors than in that of creditors. Most of them had gone into debt to Chettiar to build up their small tea plantations, and the depression led to a fall in profits they derived from their activities as overseers and planters; their debts were often very high: several tens of thousands of rupees[24].

Another notable element is the place held by Europeans as creditors vis-à-vis Ceylonese debtors. This little-known fact deserves to be highlighted, because it runs counter the thesis that European and indigenous credit circuits were watertight[25]. In 1925, Europeans (and perhaps some Burghers, whose names are sometimes difficult to distinguish from those of Europeans), demanded 26.7% of the total value of debts, in 1931, 25%, in 1937, 27.4%. What is the origin of this phenomenon? Possibly the absence of income taxes in Ceylon before 1932, which made profits domiciled on the island more attractive for local Europeans than those that could be derived from dividends domiciled in London. The importance of these small but valuable mortgage claims explains the concerns of European pressure groups regarding moratorium projects and their insistence on limiting to 25,000 rupees the maximum amount of debts for which a conciliation procedure would be possible.

The finding drawn from the analysis of judicial sales that is most contrary to the preconceived ideas of contemporaries is the growing place of indigenous lenders in the mechanisms of alienation. These lenders were less visible than the Chettiar, they handled much smaller sums, and, with few exceptions, did not make a profession of their activities[26]. Three categories stand out in these operations. The landowners have always practiced the loan of seeds to their sharecroppers and neighbors; some seem to have converted to the loan of money on a local basis, which the headmen already did at a time when the conversion of the grain tax into money forced the peasants to borrow to pay the tax. Unlike the Chettiar, their main objective was to get their hands on the land of their debtors. For example, in the district of Kandy, they foreclosed whenever possible. But it is doubtful that the depression had significantly changed the volume of their activities, if not by pushing them to press their claims even faster, to the extent that they were themselves pressed by other creditors, or affected by the collapse of rice prices. A second category was made up of Sinhalese, Muslim, or Ceylonese Tamil shopkeepers. They sold food products and fabrics on credit, and took high margins from the transaction – actually disguised interests; many Muslims, whose religion prohibits interest loans, did so. In times of depression, shop credit tended to be all the more expensive as suppliers, often linked themselves to Chettiar, restricted their facilities. Traders who practiced the loan on upcoming harvest could always make seizures: the traditional practice consisted of presenting themselves on the threshing floor, a bag in hand, solidly framed by acolytes, and to seize on the spot what was due. But they increasingly demanded mortgages, and the transaction frequently led to judicial sales[27]. A third category was made up of government employees, especially rural teachers. Having a regular income, however modest, they were in an advantageous position in times of crisis, and many engaged in lending as a subsidiary activity, constituting a land capital that contributed to raising their prestige, to giving them a social base that they often lacked. Education was booming during the 1930s: all the testimonies suggest that this boom was accompanied by the development of a new type of lender[28]. But our statistics are unfortunately silent with regard to the profession of ‘amateur’ creditors. It was not possible to analyze these categories of creditors from a quantitative point of view, but a number of salient features appeared during the count. In some areas, lenders were almost entirely indigenous: this was the case in Jaffna, where loans were made between Tamils, in Kalutara, and to a lesser extent Galle and Matara, where Sinhalese lenders dominated. Among the latter, the number of members of the Karava caste (originally fishermen) seems particularly high, but the activity was in no way confined to a particular professional caste as in the case of the Chettiar. The absence of a caste of lenders in the traditional social structure of the Sinhalese regions is an important phenomenon, which would deserve an in-depth study: it contrasts with the fairly general presence of such social groups in India: the Chettiar, without integrating into the Sinhalese social fabric, filled this void. A last notable feature is the place of Muslims among the debtors of Sinhalese creditors: it seems that a number of Sinhalese had invested money in commercial activities through this way.

The depression had therefore resulted in a spectacular and early swelling of the mass and value of judicial sales but in this phenomenon, the share taken by foreigners, Indians or Europeans, had not increased exceptionally. Already high in 1925 (60.3% of the value of debts), it remained at a comparable level in 1931 (59.7%) and in 1937 at a slightly lower percentage (54.4%). It is therefore wrong to claim, as the Ceylon Banking Commission did in 1934, that judicial recoveries by foreigners were a novelty linked to the crisis.

The reality of land transfers

Do the statistics of judicial sales faithfully reflect the reality of land transfers? There are two objections. The first is that these are announcements: they do not reveal what finally happened to the land. The second is that they do not represent, far from it, all sales. It would have taken to reach certainties on these points to explore the archives of the provincial courts; an attempt to do so has remained unsuccessful, given the mass and disorder of the documents, and the almost impossibility of making the necessary in-checks with the indications of the Ceylon Government Gazette. The following remarks do not therefore claim to exhaust the question. What happened to the properties put up for sale? And first, how were the sales going? It was not uncommon for properties to be put up for sale two or three times, either that no bidder had appeared, or that the debtor had obtained a last-minute respite; the case seems common when the creditor was a Chettiar and the debtor was an influential person, a Kandyan headman for example; sometimes sales were shunned by potential buyers who feared that their acquisition would cause them more trouble than profits. Sometimes villagers obstructed the effective possession by the buyer. This kind of boycott was, it seems, limited to the Tamil areas of the north and east of the country: the strength of solidarity was much greater in the Tamil society than among the Sinhalese[29]. David Washbrook has shown that at the end of the colonial period, in India, between half and two-thirds of appeals for the execution of judicial sale orders were classified as not executed: their execution did not depend on legal coercion alone, it was mediated by extra-legal institutions that were able to adapt judgments to social realities[30]. The institutions in question are the family solidarity and caste networks. As they were notoriously less solid in Sinhalese society, it is likely that sales were more effective in the south of the island. The absence of bidders frequently resulted in the creditor’s control over the land. According to the main auctioneer at Kurunägala,  “ordinarily, the mortgagee takes the land: nobody bids at the sale”. Of the 37 sales analyzed by the administrator of the same district in 1931, 19 resulted in the acquisition of the land by the creditor, at extremely low prices: the average amount of debts reached 4,200 rupees; the average value of the properties was estimated at 16,644 rupees but the sums obtained during sales reached on average only 609 rupees! In Kalutara the collapse was a little less marked. On a limited sample of 21 cases the amount of debt was 1,909 rupees on average, the valuation 1,529 rupees, the value of sales 1,264 rupees. Extreme cases were mentioned during the debate on the draft moratorium: a 40-acre coconut estate estimated at 30,000 rupees, sold 60 rupees for the satisfaction of a debt of 15,000 rupees; a small 9-acre rubber plantation worth 6,000 rupees, sold 60 rupees for a debt of 406 rupees, and whose owner was sentenced to prison for debts for the rest of his due[31]. Unfortunately, we do not have general data on the movement of land prices. However, scattered testimonies collected by the Banking Commission gave orders of magnitude lower than those just mentioned; the experience of the main auctioneer of the coconut land areas and an expert in evaluation operating in the Kandy regions are particularly valuable. According to them, a coconut plantation in the North Western province, which was worth between 500 and 1000 rupees per acre before the depression, came down to 250 to 400 rupees; a rubber plantation in the district of Kandy worth 500 to 1000 rupees per acre could be sold only between 250 to 600 rupees if it found a buyer; a paddy field went down from 300 to 100 rupees per acre[32].

What happened to the victims of judicial sales? The testimonies diverge considerably[33]. While some claim that creditors returned the land purchased to their former owners as a sharecroppers (this was at least the rule in the case of paddy fields), others argue that they systematically expelled the occupants “to avoid the possibility of trouble; the displaced cultivator had to move out to some other place and work as a labourer; there are owners who advance on mortgages with the main purpose of getting their debtors’ land.” This type of case was frequently encountered when a big owner wanted to round his estate to the detriment of smallholder neighbours, and seemed quite common in the ‘coconut triangle’. Analyzing the distribution of land ownership in the district of Chilaw, (53.4% of families without land, 26.1% having less than 1 acre, 15.3% from 1 to 5 acres, 5.3% more than 5 acres) the authors of a survey commented in 1937: “These figures are hardly believable for an agricultural community. They reveal the extent to which big owners with their estates have consolidated their position and the other villagers were squeezed out or left with holdings of uneconomic size (…) During and after the depression many of the small owners had to sell their lands which were absorbed into the larger units belonging in many cases to non-residents” . According to the testimony of the agrarian services official of the North Western and North Central Provinces, it is not so much the Chettiar than the Ceylonese themselves who were responsible for the evictions: “The number of Chettiar in the district is now greatly reduced, as several had to leave it being bankrupt. The securities they held were sold, and the land was bought by Ceylonese who ousted the original owners from their land”[34].

The second objection is more serious: sales by judicial authority obviously do not represent all land transactions. Two other types of transfers took place: sales made by agreement of the parties by a private auctioneer, and amicable transactions. Let’s start with the latter: they were undoubtedly frequent and have always been, especially among the poorest villagers unable to resist the pressures of the notables and finance the cost of a trial. Can we assume that they multiplied during the depression? The general deterioration in the standard of living may have made debtors retreat from court costs that they would have undertaken in times of prosperity; indeed, several testimonies suggest that the courts exerted less attraction than usual on a people of litigants renowned for their love of chicane. In addition, the more favorable attitude to the debtors of the courts pushed creditors to seek to recover their money by other means. This could explain that despite the decrease in the number of sales after 1931, the value of debts collected did not decrease so quickly. Nevertheless, there is no evidence that debtors in debt with the Chettiar feared the courts more than those who were in debt with their compatriots. In addition, the passionate attachment to the land of the Ceylonese in general, and of the Sinhalese in particular, makes it unlikely that they voluntarily stripped themselves of their property for the benefit of their foreign creditors without resorting to all the means at their disposal. Private auctions, on the other hand, had a considerable extension at the other end of the social scale. Creditors as well as debtors, when it came to high-value domains, often felt that it was worth paying for auctioneer services to get a better price, with a better advertising than that of the administration[35]. It was excluded, given the enormity of the task, to scan the entire press of the years 1925-1939 in search of these announcements. However, I made an effort to carry out surveys, for a few months taken at random. For the second quarter of 1929, the total number of auction sales amounted to 153. The value of debts, in the 64 cases where the sum was mentioned, amounted to 46,6064 rupees, or an average of 7,282 rupees per sale; if we assume, which is not proven, that this average also applies to other sales, we would obtain a total of about 1,114,000 rupees. During the same period, the total amount of judicial sales amounted to 700,833 rupees for 298 sales, or an average of 2,349 rupees per sale. For the month of March 1931, there were 90 auctions; the amount of 39 auctions amounted to 602,106 rupees, or 15,438 rupees per sale, but this figure was inflated by the presence of two very large operations. If we exclude them, we get a sum of 327,065 rupees for 37 sales or 8,839 rupees per sale. The average of judicial sales for the corresponding year is 4,070 rupees, and their number for the month of March 1931, is 114 sales. It can therefore be reasonably assumed that private auctions represent between a third and half of the total number of sales, but that each of these operations amounts to double or triple those carried out by the administration: in value, auction sales would be about 50% higher than judicial sales. If we consider the location of the sales, no well-defined characteristics emerge, if not a slight predominance of auction sales in the coconut districts (Kurunägala, Chilaw, Galle). Finally, the comparative analysis of the debtors’ identity gives exactly the same figure for 1929 (78% of Sinhalese for judicial and auction sales), the value being a little lower in 1931 (62%, but the sample is less large). With regard to creditors, the Chettiar are a little more represented in the auction sales of 1929 (45% of the sample) than in the annual average of judicial sales (43.5%) in 1931, they form only 35% of the creditors in the sample, almost exactly as much as the annual average of the judicial sales (34.7%). I will therefore cautiously put forward the hypothesis that the absence of the statistics for auction sales does not distort the conclusions relating to the community of belonging of the parties involved; on the other hand, it would be necessary to multiply by 2.5 the total value of the claims recovered by judicial means to obtain an order of magnitude of all the sums collected from 1924 to 1939: which would represent 110 million rupees, including 37 million rupees for the Chettiar. This result is perfectly compatible with the estimates provided by the Chettiar in 1934: the value of the land purchased was estimated by them at 30 million rupees, and that of current mortgage loans at 20 million rupees.

There is another way to verify the reality and extent of transfers: the yearly Ferguson directories contain plantation lists mentioning the name of the owner, location, area and nature of the crops. These lists are in principle updated annually, but they cannot be assured of absolute accuracy. Only the plantations whose owners have communicated the data to the publishers are included; however, over the years there is a trend towards swelling in the number of domains recorded: the phenomenon results from the emergence of a Ceylonese bourgeoisie proud to exhibit its fortune in a directory originally restricted to European planters, which became a kind of Who’s Who, an essential reference in terms of social status and marriage strategy. An apparent increase in the number of Ceylonese owners may therefore conceal a stagnation or decline. It was therefore resolved to examine only the situation of the properties belonging in 1939 to Chettiar, Tamils of other castes, and Muslims, excluding the mass of major European estates, which had not progressed since the 1920s, and that of the properties of the Sinhalese. When comparing this list to that of 1925, only the domains whose owner had changed between these two dates were retained, and whose data were clear enough to allow a secure identification. Out of a total of 386 estates, 29% belonged to Chettiar in 1939, 50% to other Tamils, 21% to Muslims. What is the origin of these 112 Chettiar domains? 10% belonged to Chettiar in 1925 (2,304 acres, 85% planted in tea); 14% had been acquired before 1931 (1,865 acres, 45% in tea and 49% in coconut); 26% had been acquired after (1,696 acres including 30% tea, 20% rubber, 50% coconut). Among the properties belonging in 1925 or 1931 to members of other communities, four (3.5% of the total, 587 acres) were previously owned by Muslims; seven (1,888 acres) by Tamils of other castes; sixteen (6,455) by Europeans or Burghers; twenty-seven (25% of the total) belonged to Sinhalese, for a total of 4,966 acres composed of 46% tea, 35% of rubber and 19% of coconut. With regard to the 192 properties belonging in 1939 to Tamils of other castes, 56% were owned by Tamils since 1925, 27% do not appear in the lists prior to 1939, 11% were owned by Europeans or Burghers, and 5% to Sinhalese (2,030 acres). Finally, the 82 properties belonging to Muslims were at 26% the property of other Muslims, 11% of Burghers or Europeans, 14% of Sinhalese (1,724 acres) and 47% do not appear in previous directories. According to these figures, no large-scale expropriation of the Sinhalese would have occurred: the total number of Sinhalese ‘loss’ amounts to 48 estates representing 8,720 acres; even if we add to them the 138 estates of which it was not possible to identify the origin (13,863 acres), we only reach a total of 22,583 acres and 186 estates, or 1.37% of the area and 4.2% of the estate number. However small estates do not appear in the directory.

We will therefore, by taking a closer look at the Chettiar property in 1939, try to assess its importance. In 1939, the Chettiar owned about 10,750 acres of tea; this figure is slightly higher than what they declared in 1934 (7,500 acres) but there is a margin of error from the possible confusion between the names of Chettiar and those of members of other Tamil castes, and on the other hand the alienations continued between 1934 and 1939. These properties represented 1.9% of the area of tea plantations. For rubber, the Ferguson yearbook mentions 6,381 acres, a figure close to the 1934 estimate (7,500 acres), which represented 1.4% of the total rubber area given in the directory. On the other hand, the data on coconut is obviously very incomplete: in 1939, the Chettiar declared in the directory only 6,593 acres; while they evaluated their properties in 1934 to about 35,000 acres. According to the official estimates, the small and large coconut estates covered a little more than one million acres in Ceylon, while the directory mentions only 227,846 acres i.e. 4.5 times less. By assigning the same coefficient to the area declared by the Chettiar in 1939, we obtain about 30,000 acres, a value close to the estimate of 1934. The coconut properties of the Chettiar therefore represented between 2.9% and 3.5% of the total area of these plantations in 1939. We are far from the alarmist figures put forward by the Ceylon Banking Commission, which said that 60% of the coconut estates were mortgaged to Chettiar and that the latter had appropriated a third of these properties, about 20% of the coconut area[36]. Even if Indian bankers resold as many domains as quickly as possible, it is difficult to argue that they were the instruments of a large-scale alienation.

Pauperization and chauvinism.

The impoverishment of the possessing classes, especially from 1933, is open to doubt. It is unlikely that land transfers had such a magnitude; they did not have a comparable severity to those that traumatized Lower Burma at the same time. But if the Ceylonese owners proved to be able to keep most of their assets, didn’t they had to make heavy sacrifices that compromised their standard of living? Was the intense thirst for credit, which the Chettiar were no longer willing to quench, a sign of an impoverishment of the bourgeoisie? There are many examples of individual destinies compromised by the effects of the depression. We will mention only one, which concerned one of the main promoters of the policy of assistance to debtors in difficulty, and is known on the basis of private documents. The member of the State Council for Kägalla, E.A.P. Wijeyeratne, a provincial lawyer who was not known for his excessive lifestyle, and whose modest fortune was not based on the possession of vast plantations or on land speculation activities, was forced by the state of his finances not to run in the 1936 elections; he was compelled in 1935 to solicit a short-term loan of 1,500 rupees from the big Indian Muslim trader Adamalee on the guarantee of his lands[37]. What should not be the situation of more adventurous or more prodigal than him. But despite multiple individual examples, as eminent as they are, it is the overall trends that count. The thirst for credit is not necessarily a symptom of impoverishment; on the contrary, it can be a sign of a resumption of business. We have already noted several indications of such a reversal of trends, in particular that the number and value of mortgages, after a sudden fall from 1929 to 1931-33, started to increase again. The evolution of savings deposited at the Post Office and Savings Banks is also instructive. Until 1932, the impact of the crisis was indisputable; postal savings, whose mass was the most considerable, were decreasing, withdrawals since 1930 exceeding deposits: the petty bourgeoisie, the main user, ate its capital; in the same way, the savings of the Savings Banks, of a more recent creation and of a lower amount, progressed only very little. But from 1933-34, savings increased until 1938-39. This evolution, which went unnoticed at the time, can be explained by the institution of the coupon system that preserved the income of owners at the expense of employment; by the increase in the income of State agents given the decrease in the cost of living; and possibly by a temporary change in attitude towards land investment: the depression made the placement unattractive, especially since the restriction schemes excluded, in the case of tea and rubber, the cultivation of new lands. The total amount of this type of savings was, in 1937, of the order of 4 million rupees: a significant sum compared to that which was collected during the same year by judicial sales: 2,987,000 rupees (1,680,000 rupees if we exclude the 8 largest sales out of a total of 643). If the land market remained depressed, and if on the other hand savings were beginning to increase, how is it that the thirst for credit was still felt so acutely in 1934? The main reason lies in the almost total cessation of Chettiar operations. Since 1929-1930, according to their own testimony, there had been virtually no new transactions[38]. Willy-nilly, from lenders, the Chettiar tended to become rentiers; they deposited in European banks the sums provided by amicable sales and recoveries (about 5 million rupees) and increasingly repatriated their capital to India since the institution of income tax in Ceylon exposed them to being double taxed. The other sources of credit were not of much help: the State Mortgage Bank created in 1931 limited its activities to a tiny minority of very large owners; and, at the other end of the scale, rural cooperative credit companies born during the 1920s were forced into bankruptcy one after the other, and the property of their members put up for judicial sale, especially in the Batticaloa rice producing region[39].

The dry-up of credit sources therefore contributed to prolonging the depression, at a time when the owners were beginning to look to the future with less pessimism. To quench their thirst for credit, they resorted to expedients. The success of the cheetu circles represented an original, but dangerous, response to this need[40]. The principle was as follows: a cheetu was a temporary mutual credit association bringing together a specific number of contributors who paid a fixed sum at regular intervals into the hands of a director. After appropriating the first payment, this director launched auctions for each payment, and the member who offered the highest discount won the total capital paid, less the discount that was redistributed to those who had not yet benefited from an auction; the director was personally responsible for the payment of the remaining payments by those who had already benefited from an auction and required a mortgage or security deposit to do so. When everyone had obtained their cheetu, the circle dissolved. There were many variants of this basic principle, described in the report of the Banking Commission, but we do not need to detail them. More interesting from our point of view are the origins and actual functions of the cheetu. The existence of mutual credit circles is attested in many peasant societies. These institutions represent an extension of the forms of collective solidarity and exchange of work; they are also similar to funeral brotherhoods, and like them, their functioning is accompanied by a ritual of which the banquet organized during each payment is the major element. In modern Europe, tontines offer a variant of the same theme. Closer to the cheetu are the practices of the esusu of which Bascom studied the functioning among the Yorubas, in West Africa, and those of the ho, circles of female mutual credit generalized in Vietnam and widespread in China. The cheetu themselves exist in Malaysia under the name of kutu. Their origin is from Southwest India, from where they reached Southeast Asia[41]. To return to the case of Ceylon, it is important to point out that they represented an innovation there. Their sudden and ephemeral success was directly linked to the effects of the depression, and it is again Indians, this time from Kerala, who imported the system, momentarily taking the place of the Chettiar. In a few years, the cheetu circles they led multiplied in the cities, where they attracted shopkeepers and petty officials, and even in the countryside. In 1934 there were 86 cheetus with official status, but probably many more that operated illegally. Many adventurers took advantage of the thirst for credit to grab small naive savers. Indeed, the effective functioning of the cheetu circles left room for easy embezzlement. A cheetu director could slip away after taking the initial payment; he could also use the services of accomplice members to push the auction when a certain member of the circle had obviously an urgent need for money, so that the discount redistributed to other members, of which he himself was a part, could reach high rates. But even assuming that the circle operated on a perfectly regular basis, his members benefitted from it very unevenly; there were actually two categories of members of a circle: those who joined it as investors, and those who had recourse as borrowers. The former left their money there for as long as possible: they thus benefitted from the largest number of discounts offered by their co-partners and did not have to pay any discounts themselves, competition diminishing as the cheetu approached its end. The latter, pressed by the need, competed with each other from the creation of the circle, so that they eventually paid a very high interest; some estimates show rates of 20% to 35% on average, while investors earned 10% to 15%. This fundamental characteristic of cheetu tends to confirm our hypothesis that there is a category of owners whose savings had not been seriously affected by depression and who took advantage of the situation to become amateur lenders, but a number of them were victims of the actions of Indian adventurers whom they had trusted. The unpopularity of the Chettiar, which probably came more from the cessation of their credit operations than from their land acquisitions, was coupled with hostility towards the Keralite entrepreneurs of cheetu.

Ceylonese or more precisely Sinhalese nationalism, antedates the great depression, but was stirred up by it. After the fall of the Kandyan kingdom in 1815, the monarchical idea coupled with a spirit of independence survived for several decades; the animosity of a fraction of the Kandyan aristocracy towards the foreign presence was not directed exclusively against the British, but also against Indians, who were there prior to colonization: in the entourage of the last kings of Kandy, themselves of South Indian origin, there were many moneylenders, most likely from the Chettiar caste. The figure of the expropriating foreigner became prominent in the political discourse, when Low-country Sinhalese attempted to rally the Kandyans for electoral purposes, whitewashing their own responsibility in the land grabbing process. As early as 1925, D.S. Senanayake, as member of a committee of enquiry on landless villagers, had a suggestive exchange with a Kandyan headman, L. Nugawela who was giving evidence:

  • Senanayake: “About fifty years ago, the villagers owned a lot of land, but now much less. The chief offenders have been the Coast Moors of the coast, Chetties and so on. Did you know that they tried to get undivided shares of property and harass the villagers and put them into court etc., and so a man loses all his lands?
  • Nugawela: Yes, that is the chief cause of losing land”[42].

An extreme expression of xenophobia is found in a long memorandum addressed under a pseudonym to the Banking Commission by a representative of the Sinhalese business community[43]. Its author began with a piece of self-criticism, which took up all the commonplaces conveyed by colonialist circles; these worn themes took under his pen a striking relief, in the context of the crisis and land alienation: “The Ceylonese are not industrious and all their time, all their energy, all their earnings are invested in imitating, ruining their physique, their tradition and love of the country (…) They are bankrupt in all, except verbosity (…) Ceylonese have been borrowers in every respect for the past three or four hundred years. Language is borrowed, literature is borrowed, ideas are borrowed, modes and means of life are borrowed. Money is also borrowed. Foreigners encourage borrowing. A foreign government supports the foreign lenders.” To this cultural and economic alienation, it is necessary to find a responsible person; the Chettiar provides a convenient scapegoat: “They are the canker eating into the vitals of the Ceylonese nationality aided and abetted by all other foreigners. The Chetty’s methods are assured and peculiar, and no ordinary power can cope with him. Physically, he is a mass of cowardice. Morals he has none. Spiritually, he is a mass of superstition, weak, fearing God but not loving, hating humanity, a veritable Jew, ready to tear and destroy. In cunning and treachery he has no equals. Laws are circumvented by him. He spreads dishonesty, bribery, corruption, immorality, and destruction wherever he goes. He is everywhere and in everything. He bribes from the legislators to the fiscal peons. The Chetty along with usury should be exterminated and exorcised to restore our island’s financial balance.” Another ideological loan… this time from Nazism. We should not imagine that such arguments were common; but they were a symptom of a deep malaise of the possessing classes. The foundation by Bandaranaike of an organization called the Sinhala Maha Sabha (Great Sinhalese Association) in 1937, which represented a turning point in the career of the future leader of the national movement, must be interpreted in the light of these xenophobic feelings, although he was not himself a jingoist[44]. Reading through the minutes of the State Council sessions leaves the impression that anti-Indian feelings represented one of the major themes of political discourse and took the place of nationalism. It would be excessive to represent the Ceylonese in general and the Sinhalese in particular as a nation seized by the mania of persecution, and the Chettiar of Ceylon were spared the violence that accompanied the advent of Burmese nationalism. The peasants knew very well that British and Ceylonese speculators were more responsible than the Indians for their condition; as for the bourgeoisie, it expected the State to come to its rescue to redeem its debts.

State assistance.

The gap created in the credit system by the withdrawal of the Chettiar was finally filled by the establishment of a State bank. The story of the birth of a modern banking system in Ceylon has already been written in a valuable book, which exempts us from returning to it in detail[45]. On the other hand, we will focus on successive projects to put an end to land alienations or even to return their alienated properties to unfortunate debtors. During the years of prosperity, a few lucid minds, fearing the fickleness of the Chettiar credit system, called for the creation of a State credit institution[46]. These requests led to the birth of a mortgage bank (State Mortgage Bank) which began its activities in 1931 under the presidency of Sir Marcus Fernando, one of the largest owners of coconut estates. Its purpose was long term lending for all, but having few funds, it restricted its operations to a narrow fringe of rich planters, and generally required mortgages on urban buildings that hardly depreciated during the depression: only the bourgeoisie of Colombo (the absentee owners of the coconut plantations) was able to provide these guarantees[47]. This is one of the many examples of diversion by the bourgeoisie of institutions originally intended for the peasantry, or at least for its wealthy fringe.

The first moratorium projects date back to the beginning of 1931. “If [the debtors] are not saved, said their promoter, the nation is bound to perish”[48]. After the elections, the case was relaunched at the initiative of the representative for Kägalla, E.A.P. Wijeyeratne: “The mortgage debt of this country is gigantic (…) A great authority on finance stated only a year ago that it was over 500 million rupees (…) No agricultural country in this world of the size of Ceylon has yet been known that can bear a debt of that magnitude.”[49]. Wijeratne urged for the State control over the banking sector, which had always refused to invest directly in the development of the country, preferring to place on the London market or with the Chettiar; meanwhile, he considered that a moratorium was necessary. The result of this approach was the formation of a parliamentary commission of inquiry whose report was tabled a year later. This document reflects without detour the class interests of its authors: “While in the case of small debtors the land lost by one villager generally passed into possession of another villager either directly or through the hands of a purchasing creditor, this was not the case with large debtors, as the ability of the Ceylonese to purchase large estates sold under decree sale was indeed small at the present time. Consequently, in the case of the large creditors where the property would ordinarily be purchased by judgement creditors or their nominees, the loss is not merely personal to them but more far reaching,  as the majority of large creditors are admittedly foreign capitalists”[50]. The project (Judgment Debtor’s Bill) was unanimously opposed by European business circles, which had heavily invested in mortgage loans; in his memoirs, a former planter, T. Y. Wright, defined the project as “a way to buy back with taxpayers’ money land that was wasted by pierced baskets of which some were once millionaires”. Europeans were soon joined by representatives of the Indian community who expressed the concerns of the Chettiar, and by the most moderate Ceylonese leaders whose fortune was solidly established. Adopted by the State Council with a narrow majority, the project was vetoed by the governor, and by the London authorities, who were convinced by an avalanche of motions and petitions. That of the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce explained that by virtue of the economic integration of the island, the measure was likely to have far-reaching repercussions: “The commercial and agricultural activities of the island depend largely, if not entirely, on the credit facilities that emanate either directly or indirectly from the banks.”[51]. After this first setback, Sinhalese politicians did not abandon their project. They obtained the creation of the Ceylon Banking Commission, whose composition reveals the evolution of the colonial government: it did not include any European in its ranks, but was presided by an Indian Parsi banker, Sir Pochkanawala, and not by a Ceylonese. Shortly before, similar commissions had investigated the banking system of India and Burma. Following the nuanced recommendations of the commission, which exempted the Chettiar from the sin of usury but accused them of irresponsibility, the attention of the political class was focused on the project to create a State bank aimed at filling the void left by the Chettiar withdrawal, and which the European pressure groups did not want. The moratorium projects were abandoned, possibly because forced sales were not so dramatic, but the relapse of 1938 revived the debate. The new projects first aimed to institute a conciliation procedure between creditors and debtors (Debt Conciliation Bill)[52]. The Chettiar, who had given up recovering all their debts, did not oppose it; on the other hand, the Europeans were fighting a rear-guard fight. The governor planned to oppose his veto and referred it to London. Among the senior officials of the Secretariat of the Colonies was a former director of the agricultural services of Ceylon, F.A. Stockdale, who harshly criticized the project, which he said was intended to benefit only the large absentee owners who led an extravagant lifestyle in Colombo. But the war pushed the authorities to spare the local political class, and London agreed in December 1939, on the basis of a report written in energetic terms by the Minister of Agriculture and future Prime Minister, D.S. Senanayake. Encouraged by this success, politicians reintroduced in 1940 an annually renewable moratorium project, which was opposed by European insurance companies that had invested heavily in mortgages and already felt that they were wronged by the delays of the courts[53]. London finally accepted the project in 1941, because its scope was restricted to small properties.

The last project was by far the most interesting and significant. Its aim was to have the mortgaged properties sold between January 1st, 1929 and December 31st, 1940, bought back by the State, so that they could be returned to their former owners for a repayment spread over 25 years[54]. The governor renounced to veto a measure that he considered anti-Indian and anti-European, doubting the real effects of its application: “The proof of this legislative pudding will lie in its eating.” It does not seem indeed that this law (Land Redemption Ordinance) had spectacular effects: between 1945 and 1947, 5,519 applications were registered and 2,850 rejected, but the examination procedures were especially long and those of acquisition even more. What must hold us back is more the intention than the act. The authors of these laws defended actual interests. But their behavior, consciously or not, was in line with a monarchical tradition that a century and a half of colonization could not erase. “In the time of kings” according to the consecrated expression that always comes to the lips of the Kandyans, land sales were always redeemable during the lifetime of the parties, and when an aristocrat was threatened with seizure, the king intervened to finance the redemption of his debt; it also happened that the monarch obliged the powerful to return to simple villagers the land they had snatched from them by forcing them to go into debt, but there only one attested case in the time of the last king of Kandy, whose anti-nobility positions were to cause the loss[55]. Recourse to the State, a substitute for monarchical authority, in times of crisis, is certainly not a characteristic of Ceylon, as shown by the entire political history of the interwar period in the West. The xenophobia epidemics that accompanied it was also universal. But it is rather in the Indian cultural area that the Ceylon case must be appreciated. There is a significant contrast between a structured Hindu society, where intermediate forms of organization, such as the caste, took precedence over the individual and the State, and more flexible societies – those of the Buddhist countries on the Indian periphery – where the individual did not benefit from the same solidarity or suffer from the same constraints. It is the weakness of social ties in a Buddhist context that the recourse to the State found its justification.

*

To sum up our findings and enlarge the scope of the study, it can be asserted that the depression of the 1930s, in Ceylon as in other areas producing raw materials, was above all the crisis of the small and medium-sized indigenous production, which had developed during the previous two decades. This expansion had been favored by the availability of land (the chenas), of credits (provided especially by the Chettiar) and by the presence of a market where the demand, especially for rubber, grew faster than the production of the large European owned plantation companies. However, during the 1920s, expansion met its internal and external limits. Land was becoming scarce; credit was drying up; the market was getting cluttered. Even before 1929, overproduction was present; it resulted in part from this indigenous growth itself, and large producers were quickly determined to eliminate these undesirable competitors from the market. They exported their crisis, getting rid of their surplus immigrant labor by sending it back to India, and stopped hiring villagers as occasional workers. Finally, the restriction plans adopted in 1933 and 1934 met the expectations of large planters, while ensuring, thanks to the sale of their coupons, a modest rent to small producers. The weight of the crisis was ultimately borne by the most marginal social categories, new Tamil immigrants still poorly integrated into the structure of the plantations, and moreover occasional Sinhalese workers who lost the resources they could derive from hiring on large plantations, from work to task on small plantations and in public works sites. This category survived thanks to family solidarity or the patronage of the notables, and by finding imperfect substitute resources such as home garden cultivation. It exposed itself to climatic fluctuations, to the ‘old regime crises’ from which the peasantry had freed itself thanks to the multiplication of external jobs. When the drought occurred, the malaria epidemic catastrophe, a crisis in the crisis, was triggered, eliminating a hundred thousand victims predestined by malnutrition. The possessing classes of Ceylon became aware of the peasant condition and the duties of the State in this regard, but were quick to defend their own interests. With new political responsibilities, but burdened with their endemic debt, they demanded that the State replace their departing creditors. The colonial government remained reluctant until the war revealed that the advent of the Welfare State was the best way to ensure a quiet transition to independence. This process, of which all the nuances expressed in the previous pages have been erased, translated politically into the appearance of a series of myths. The general spread of the depression, through the credit system woven by the Chettiar, the public finance crisis, and the narrow links of the peasantry with the plantation economy revealed that the entire island economy was integrated into the world market. However, it was at this precise moment that colonial circles developed the thesis that the peasant economy would be immune from fluctuations in the economy. A colonial version of the myth of the return to earth, the dualist theory had the function of concealing the bankruptcy of a dependent but real indigenous development, and of removing the spectrum of a rapid growth in social spending. Let everyone return to his place, the peasant to his fields, the immigrant in excess to his homeland. Under the opposite appearance, the Ceylon political class cultivated the same myth. Discovering the deterioration of the peasant condition, it celebrated the pre-colonial golden age and the virtues of self-sufficiency, rejecting on the colonizer the responsibility for a supposed long-term decline of the peasantry, and a very real spoliation of its lands, and ignoring its own role in the process. At the same time, it accused the Indian financiers, who abandoned it after having largely financed it, of reducing Ceylon to a ‘proletarian nation’, while the Indian immigrant workers of the plantations began to be designated to the peasant vindication as those responsible for unemployment. These facts and myths were far from being limited to the only case that concerns us. We find the equivalent in Malaysia where the ‘sons of the soil’ were beginning to claim the exclusivity of the profits provided by the plantation economy; and in paddy producing Burma where agricultural development that was reaching its before the crisis, was definitively compromised by the great depression. In the latter case, this led to a wide scale peasant rebellion, while no such revolt occurred in Ceylon. Among the reasons explaining the difference between Burma and Ceylon, one should point out the absence of a land tax and the beginnings of a representative political system in Ceylon, but also the fact that expropriation by the Chettiar was limited and affected absentee landowners more than actual peasants.

It is perhaps too easy to assert a link between the global depression and the crisis of the colonial system. The Indian example, which is decisive, shows that the birth of an authentic national movement is significantly earlier, and has nothing to do with the economic situation, which was generally favorable for this country at the end of the 1930s. What the depression calls into question, at least in the colonies most integrated into the British imperial system, is the inchoative development of a small production on the margins of the system, which in a way ensured the collaboration of an important fraction of the peasantry and the entire land-owner bourgeoisie for the purposes of colonization. If the development of this small production was a world-wide phenomenon, which remains to be proven, and that it played a decisive role in the origins of overproduction and the crisis, one is entitled to say that colonization was a victim of its own contradictions.


[1] Sessional paper 23 of 1934: Ceylon Banking Commission, volume II, (CBC II) p. 331 (E. de S. Wijeyaratne, notary, Galle); Administration Report (AR) Puttalam 1932, p. F21

[2] CBC II p. 187 (Madawela), p. 27 (Abeysekera), p. 21 (deputation Ratnapura) ; Sessional Paper (SP) 22 of 1934: CBC volume I p. 161, 170-171 ; Evidence of the Committee on Landless villagers, Land commissioner records file 907, 20.10.1925 (L. Nugawela)

[3] Bulletins of the Ministry of Labour, Industry and Commerce n° 5 to 12: Reports of the Economic Surveys of Villages (SV) Kurunägala n°10 (70%), Kalutara n° 6 (80%), Chilaw n° 7 (75%), Puttalam n°8 (74%), Galle n° 11 (86%), Matale n° 9 (84%), Matara n° 12 (60%)

[4] Administration Report (AR) Puttalam 1932, p. F21, CBC II p. 44-45 (Bostock), CO54/970 (Memorandum by D.S. Senanayake on the Debt Conciliation Bill, 1939), CBC II p. 86-87 (Awissawella), p. 351 (H.W. Dias), p. 496 (Government Agent Southern province)

[5] CBC II p. 178 (R.C. Kannangara, planter, Deniyaya)

[6] CO54/55801/1936

[7] OBEYESEKERE (G.), Land Tenure in Village Ceylon, Cambridge, 1967, JIGGINS (J.), Caste and Family in the Politics of the Sinhalese, Cambridge, 1979, FRYKENBERG (R.E.) ed., Land Control and Social Structure in Indian History, Madison, 1969, POUCHEPADASS (J.), Land, Power and Market. A Bihar District Under Colonial Rule, 1860-1947, New Delhi, Sage 2000.

[8] CBC II, p. 27-28 (Abeysekera), D’OYLY (J.), A Sketch of the Constitution of the Kandyan Kingdom, Colombo, 1929; KANE (P.V.), History of the Dharmashastra, Poona,1946

[9] MEYER (E.): “From Internal to External Debt. Observations on Changes in Credit Practices in Sri Lanka in Colonial Times” in MALAMOUD (Ch.) ed., Debts and Debtors. New Delhi, Vikas, 1983, pp. 161-177.

[10] FIRTH (.), Capital, Saving and Credit in Peasant Societies. London, 1964

[11] MALAMOUD (Ch.) ed., Debts and Debtors. New Delhi, Vikas, 1983.

[12] SLNA 65 Confidential file (CF) 969/1931

[13] AR North Western Province 1930 p. F4, 1931 p. F34; AR Puttalam 1931 p. F22

[14] CBC I p. 21

[15] CBC II p. 67; in the Burmese rice producing areas, the Chettiars were similarly forced into foreclosing: see BROWN (I.), A Colonial Economy in Crisis, Burma’s Rice cultivators and the world depression of the 1930s, London, Routledge, 2005, p. 77

[16] AR Puttalam 1932 p. F21 and 1934 p. F33

[17] CBC II p. 39 (Bassett), p. 406-409 (Badulla session)

[18] SV Kurunägala p. 7-10, SV Chilaw p. 10 sq.

[19] Judicial commission, Sessional Paper SP 6 of 1936; CO54/970, notes of a meeting held in the chambers of the Legal Secretary, 6.04.1938: evidence of Mr. Rowan (Julius and Creasy); CBC II p. 2 (Abeysekera)

[20] CBC II p. 518 (Kurunägala); SV Kurunägala p. 11; SV Chilaw p. 7.

[21] CBC II p. 66-67 (Memorandum of the Nattukottai Chettiar Association)

[22] Ceylon Government Gazette (CGG) 1937, p. 905; see also SP 18 of 1951 (Kandyan Peasantry Commission), p. 275

[23] CGG 1927 II, p. 1063

[24] For example, CGG 1929, p. 912 (Punahela); CGG 1937, p. 891 (19,000 Rupees, Atabage)

[25] CBC I p. 35; CBC II p. 403 (Luddington)

[26] CBC II p. 375 (Negombo), p. 493 (Kalutara), p. 473-481 (Cooperative Mortgage Bank secretary, Kandy); SV Kurunägala p. 33.

[27] CBC II p. 403, 461, 38, 429, 143-145; SV Kurunägala p. 20.

[28] AR Registrar of cooperative societies 1935 p. E4; CBC I p. 52; TAMBIAH (S.J.) “Ceylon” in LAMBERT and HOSELITZ, The Role of savings and wealth in southern Asia and the West, Paris, UNESCO, 1963; YALMAN (N.), Under the Bo Tree, Berkeley, 1967.

[29] CBC II p. 47 (B.P. Nicholas, banker, Jaffna); AR Registrar of cooperative societies 1934 p. E20; CBC II p. 277 (Campbell)

[30] WASHBROOK (D.A.), Law, State and Agrarian Society in Colonial India”. Modern Asian Studies 15 (3) 1981 BAKER (C.), “Debt and the Depression in Madras” in DEWEY and HOPKINS, The Imperial Impact, Studies in the Economic History of Africa and India, London, 1978.

[31] CBC II p. 516-520 (M. Fernando, auctioneer, Kurunägala); SLNA 65/CF969/1930.

[32] CBC II p. 457 (Puttalam), p. 519 (M. Fernando), p. 402 (Government Agent Ratnapura), p. 477 (Walbeoff, valuer); SV Kurunägala p. 32-33.

[33] CBC II p. 375 (Negombo), SV Chilaw, p. 30.

[34] CBC II p. 460; Reports of the Divisional Agricultural Officers for the North Western and North Central provinces; Evidence of the Committee on Landless Villagers (D.J. Jayawardene, notary, Negombo); Hansard 1931 (2) p. 231 and 319 (Freeman, Corea)

[35] Sessional Paper 6 of 1936 (Judicial Commission) p. 66-75

[36] CBC I p. 35 and 70, CBC II p. 403 (Codrington)

[37] SLNA 25/20/20 Wijeyeratne to Will, 29.10.1935; Wijeyeratne to Adamalee, 2.11.1935

[38] CBC II p. 487-488 (testimony of the deputation of the Nattukottai Chettiar Association)

[39] AR Registrar of cooperative societies 1934 p. E20; CBC II p. 277 (Campbell), p. 200 (Kalutara), p. 27-28 (Chilaw)

[40] CBC I p. 55-60, CBC II p. 233, p. 351, p. 500; CO54/55782 (Cheetu Ordinance file, Attorney General report)

[41] FIRTH (R.), op. cit. 1964 ; SWIFT (M.G.), “Capital, Saving and Credit in a Malay Peasant Economy” in FIRTH op. cit. 1964 ; NGUYEN VAN VINH, Coutumes et institutions annamites: les sociétés d’épargne et de prêts mutuels, Hanoi,  1931.

[42] Evidence of the Committee on Landless Villagers, 20.10.1925 (L. Nugawela); CBC II, p. 245.

[43] CBC II p. 105-108

[44] MANOR (J.) The Expedient Utopian, Bandaranaike and Ceylon. Cambridge, University Press, 1989

[45] GUNASEKARA (H.A. de S.), From Dependent Currency to Central Banking in Ceylon, London, 1962

[46] PERERA (G.K.W.), Economic Development, an Appeal, Colombo 1925

[47] Sessional Paper 21 of 1929; Sessional Paper 24 of 1936

[48] Hansard 1931 p. 341-346 (6.03.1931, C.W.W. Kannangara)

[49] Hansard 1931 (2) p. 279-294 (10.09.1931)

[50] Sessional Paper 3 of 1932 CO54/909/92953/2 (Memorial of the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce, 29.03.1932); 8

[51] CO54/909/92953/2 (Memorial of the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce, 29.03.1932); WRIGHT (T.Y.), Ceylon in my Time, 1889-1949, Colombo1951, p. 177-178

[52] CO54/970/56080 (Debt Conciliation Bill)

[53] CO54/984/56152 and 56161 (Suspension of Mortgages bill and Rates of Interest bill, 1941)

[54] CO54/985/56284 Confidential dispatch, 19.01.1943; see also AR Land Commissioner 1940-1947; CGG 1942 p. 471-477 (29.06.1942)

[55] D’OYLY op. cit., p. 96; PIERIS (P.E.), Tri Sinhala, Colombo 1939, p. 77 note 1

THE IMPACT OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION ON THE RURAL ECONOMY AND SOCIETY OF COLONIAL CEYLON (1925-1939) PART II: TAMIL PLANTATION WORKERS AND SINHALESE VILLAGERS IN THE DEPRESSION by Eric P. Meyer

There are not two social categories whose condition was as different as Tamil workers of Indian origin residing on the large European plantations, of which they formed the core of the labour force, and the indigenous Sinhalese villagers living in contact with these plantations. The former were a regularly employed workforce, at a very low standard of living, but nourished, housed and materially protected from absolute misery thanks to a system of recruitment and wage control. In return, these workers were closely supervised, fixed, enslaved, irremediably indebted to their employers and their foremen (kangani). The latter, especially those who lived in plantation areas, had more diversified resources: cultivation of paddy fields, small plantations, gardens, public works sites, occasional or regular jobs on medium and large plantations. Their relationship to the plantation economy was of a different nature from that of resident workers. Auxiliary, peripheral labor, necessary in periods of expansion, but towards which the planters did not feel bound by any obligation; free workers with little supervision, often paid by the task, but for whom the contribution of resources drawn from the plantation economy had often become vital, the balance of the villages having been made fragile by the direct or indirect effects of the intrusion of these plantations. The study of the differential impact of depression on two distinct groups is indicative of both local socio-economic structures and the effective mechanisms of impact of a crisis. The major fact is that villagers were no less affected than workers living in plantations by the crisis – on the contrary. But they were in different ways, and after a certain latency time. We will first observe the apparently simple impact of the crisis on the former, before analyzing the rather complex modalities on the latter.

 

 

TAMIL PLANTATION WORKERS IN THE DEPRESSION

 

One could imagine that in times of economic depression leading to mass unemployment, immigrant workers deprived of rights would be the first to lose their jobs, for lack of means of resistance. The reality is quite different. In the case studied here, this workforce had been established for decades on the estates where it resided, and formed the core of the employees: it was both at the mercy of employer’s decisions, but difficult to replace because of its competence. In addition, if the control over population movements exercised jointly by the planters and by the colonial administration made mass dismissal possible, it also made it visible. Provided that the political context lent itself to it, the case could take on a political dimension. An overview of the history of Indian immigration in Ceylon is essential to understanding the situation of the 1930s.[1]

 

 

The logic of the system.

 

In 1928, British planters could have celebrated the first centenary of the immigration of Indian plantation workers. About a hundred in 1828, Tamils from South India were approximately 900,000 a century later, including 732,000 residing on the plantations. It has been said that the British Empire had three metropolises, the United Kingdom, India and China. Ceylon, unlike Malaysia, never received Chinese ‘coolies’; but without the influx of Indian ‘coolies’, the development of a colonial capitalist economy would have been impossible. It may seem strange that the British planters went to recruit workers in South India, when there was a relatively large peasantry in Ceylon. This phenomenon is in fact by no means isolated, it is found for example in Malaysia and Burma. Its causes have been the subject of historical controversies, from which political concerns were not absent. The planters, and in their wake the defenders of the colonial system, have always maintained that they would have preferred to employ a Sinhalese workforce, but that the indolence and lack of interest of the ‘natives’ for regular work had made it necessary to call on immigrant Indians. The first Sinhalese nationalist historians, on the contrary, claimed that the planters had voluntarily imported Indians in order to better control the colony, by virtue of the motto ‘divide to reign’. Nuancing and refining the colonial argument, ‘revisionist’ historians have sought to prove that the reluctance of the Sinhalese to be employed on plantations was explained by the prosperity of their subsistence agriculture and by the relative egalitarianism of the village society, which ensured the entire population access to land ownership. In addition, the downtimes of paddy farming did not correspond to the periods of activity of coffee cultivation. This interpretation, which is based on solid data, has several shortcomings in our opinion[2]. It turned out that in the very first years, Sinhalese were employed on coffee plantations, and that mistreatment and irregularity in the payment of wages discouraged them from continuing the experiment. On the other hand, there were a number of landless Sinhalese peasants, and their attitude of refusal is explained more by the maintenance of the dominance of the Kandyan aristocracy on which they were dependent than by an alleged rural egalitarianism. Finally, from the 1890s, the Sinhalese whose village lands surrounded by plantations became too narrow given the population growth, abandoned their preventions with regard to salaried work on the plantations.

 

But the advantages of the labour of Indian origin were so obvious to the planters that the employment of the Sinhalese villagers despite its significant increase remained subsidiary (1/5th of the employees in 1943) and did not call into question the foundations of the system. One might think that this system was simply an extension in other forms of the slave system of colonial plantations. But again, the reality is more complex: unlike migrants hired by planters under an indenture system such as those in Mauritius, the Tamil workforce of the plantations had theoretically come of its own free will and was in principle free to leave its employer to which it was not linked by any contract. Cut off from their villages of origin, they lived in their workplace, which allowed the estate to exercise close control and limit the rate of absenteeism, which would be impossible in the case of villagers returning home every night. Migration was not only a spatial phenomenon, but also a social phenomenon whose function was to uproot the workforce to make it docile to industrial discipline, and control them through rigorous master-servant laws. Such a system responded better than any other to the needs of plantations, labour enterprises whose profit rates depended on the ability to mobilize an adequate workforce at the right time and at the lowest cost. It was left for the planters to solve two problems. One was to fix their workers as long as they needed them, while keeping the freedom to send them back at will. The other was to control migratory flows, whose natural movement followed the fluctuations of the agricultural situation in southern India. To retain workers throughout the growing season, the first coffee growers practiced wage retention, content to feed (very badly) their ‘coolies’, paying them only at the end of cultivation operations, and using physical force to prevent any escape. These methods that generated discontent were less commonly practiced as soon as the planters saw that they could exploit the debt of migrants to their advantage. The leaders of migrant groups, called kangani, were tasked with recruiting the workers necessary for the next cultivation campaign, and were entrusted with increasingly considerable sums that they distributed in the form of advances to their recruits, after having taken a comfortable commission.

 

When seasonal coffee cultivation gave way to permanent tea cultivation, and the partially temporary immigration became more regular, the debt of ‘coolies’ reached such a level that they no longer had any prospect of freeing themselves from it. The ease with which the planters began to distribute advances, in contrast to their unwavering refusal to grant the slightest wage increase, had no other reason to be than to make migrants slaves for debts. The ‘coolies’ were in no way legally bound by these debts, only the kangani having signed recognitions to the planters; but they were morally bound. In Indian custom, the debt relationship has a binding force of an almost religious nature, which even death cannot untie, to the point that when a worker died in debt, his family or his comrades were practically obliged to contribute to repay his debt. The diversion of traditional attitudes of submission for profit purposes was one of the hidden springs of the plantation system and perhaps of the colonial system in general. The second problem was that of the adaptation of supply and demand for labour. The misfortune of the Indian peasants made the happiness of the British planters. The curve of migratory flows between 1875 and 1905 is parallel to that of food prices in South India. It turned out that the periods of famine in India coincided with the phases of growth in the plantation economy, which allowed the estates to obtain cheap labour during the years when they needed it most. Nevertheless, the planters were periodically worried about a risk of a break in labour supply, and demanded that the colonial government intervene in their favour; but they called back as soon as the State for the price of its services claimed a right of inspection over the treatment of ‘coolies’ or considered creating new taxes. It was not until the beginning of the 20th century that semi-official recruitment agencies were established in India, and that the authorities became responsible for transporting immigrants free of charge, the invoice being then directly paid by the plantation (a ‘cash on delivery shipment’ as the planters said, with inappropriate humor). Finally, it was necessary to allow the sliding of the workforce from one domain to another according to the work available. But the ‘coolies’ were fixed by their debts. The planters developed a mechanism that allowed a worker or more often an entire team to obtain leave provided that they were hired by another planter who reimbursed the debt of the ‘coolies’ (the ‘invoice’ was called tundu, and the term came to refer to the whole system). Thus, these new slaves could somehow be bought and sold; however, in times of labour shortage the ‘coolies’, or rather their kangani, could exploit the system by seeking to sell their workforce to the highest bidder, moving their teams according to the supply of increasingly higher advances. As a result, the system was abolished in 1923, the planters believing that the kangani had enriched themselves at the expense of the stability of the work force.

 

The ‘long walk’ of the coolies of the mid-19th century was a perilous and often dramatic adventure[3]. In the 1920s it had become a simple routine with the development of railways and the control by a joint organ of the planters and the State of the conditions of migration. Registered in a migration camp located in South India and transferred to the island, the migrants were enlisted on their arrival on the plantation that had pre-recruited them, in a hierarchical organization designed to exploit their workforce to the maximum. Each domain was a closed universe, a kind of small autonomous principality placed under the absolute power of the dorai (the planter, owner or manager), who had his staff administered by a hierarchy of small executives: the kanakapillai, accountant-pointer in charge of drawing up the list of coolies present, noting working hours and preparing pay; the periya kangani (chief-overseer) having under his orders brigades of up to several hundred men, divided into teams of a dozen coolies led by the silara kangani. Residents therefore had no recourse against arbitrariness. The dorai exercised de facto rights of justice, and sometimes even de jure. The registration of births, marriages and deaths was his responsibility, as was the later organization of school and medical services. It was rare for an administrator, a doctor, a judge or a police officer to enter a plantation for the exercise of his duties. Planters could privately welcome visitors, but the slightest attack on the sacrosanct nature of private property triggered reactions that a conservative governor of the 1940s did not hesitate to describe as hysterical. In the current state of research, it is very difficult to assess globally the conditions of existence that have reigned in all the two thousand large plantations of the island. The only certainty that emerges from the comparative study of the information available for the 19th and 20th centuries is that a very significant and general improvement occurred at the turn of the century, both in terms of hygiene and feeding conditions and in terms of treatments inflicted by planters to their people; nevertheless, I still encountered in 1913-1914 dramatic cases of mistreatment against immigrants refusing the discipline imposed on them; and mortality rates, especially infant mortality rates, remained very high (224 per thousand in 1910)[4].

 

 

The prosperous years

 

The 1920s were for the Tamil community of plantations relatively prosperous years. It benefited for the first time of the tea and rubber booms. The abolition of the tundu system at the request of the Indian authorities and with the consent of planters concerned about the enrichment and increased autonomy of the kangani removed one of the binding instruments of the servitude for debts, without making the debt itself disappear. The creation in 1922 of more effective control bodies on both the Ceylon and Indian sides provided more guarantees to the migrant both in terms of hiring and working conditions. Dispensaries and schools became more common on the plantations. Finally, in 1929, after much delay, the Planters’ Associations accepted the fixation of a minimum wage with guarantees for the number of days of work. This change in attitude can be explained by the improvement in living standard in the South Indian villages that supplied emigrants, which the planters mentioned with concern[5]: “To maintain a satisfactory labour position, that prosperity has to be competed with. Therefore, the wages and conditions in Ceylon on plantations must be such that they will induce the right type of labourer to come over”. Emigration itself was one of the origins of this relative prosperity and it is symptomatic that the large Indian landowners sought at the same time to put a brake on the exodus because it led to an increase in the price of labour in the villages. Plantation workers could subscribe significant sums when calamities hit the south of the peninsula in 1924[6]. In Ceylon itself, the spread of prosperity had the effect of diverting a fraction of the plantation workforce to the urban sector or even to the villages. The planters were worried about it and were led to grant bonuses to retain their workforce or resurrect the old tundu system in a disguised form[7]. Does this mean that the condition of all plantation workers had generally improved? Certainly not: this society remained very hierarchical and the main beneficiaries of prosperity were the kangani. Indeed, debt did not tend to decrease; on the contrary, in a period of easy money, it was the kangani who received the advances; the abolition of the tundu system was only illusory; in many cases the planters continued to ask for a certificate of dismissal from the previous employer and the kangani to whom debts were owed by his men and women demanded that the accounts be cleared before transmitting the document in question, which was refused to the worker who sneaked out to escape the debts or the blackmail of his kangani. According to the Agent of the government of India in Ceylon[8] “It is often stated by planters that the necessity for producing a certificate before a labourer can be employed restricts undue movement of labour. My own experience and that of all enlightened planters is that the movement of labour from estate to estate is almost invariably due to their chronic indebtedness”. As for the prosperity of the South Indian villages, it remained fragile and above all unequally distributed: it is the kangani and their protégés who had solid houses built, and became locally powerful; it is through them that transited a large part of the savings that the workers of Ceylon sent home. As the authors of the 1931 Indian Census Report noted, when the first effects of the depression were being felt[9]: “A strong and continuing emigration flow is necessary to maintain the population at a subsistence level (…) The Tamil has long been a rover and it is one of the problems of South India is that his opportunities for roving seem likely to diminish”

 

 

The re-exported crisis.

 

The impact of the Great Depression on migratory flows and on the condition of plantation workers was at first glance simple and somehow automatic: cessation of recruitment, dismissal of surplus workers, partial unemployment, wage reduction if the movement was confirmed. Thus, the plantation economy re-exported its crisis. However, the reality was more complex. First because the adaptation of supply and demand required a longer or shorter latency. Second because a majority of workers established with their families for more than a generation had ceased being mobile. Because from one district to another, or even from one domain to another, the severity of depression varied greatly. Finally because the economic mechanisms were influenced by political action, the worker of Indian origin becoming during the 1930s a pawn in the game played by the Sinhalese nationalists, the British planters and the Indian authorities. As a result, the migration crisis became structural; the movement reversed and then led to the paralysis of the system.

 

The testimonies of the period vary considerably in the assessment of the degree of mobility of the workforce in normal times. It is extremely difficult to interpret statistical data relating to mobility between India and Ceylon, as shown by Patrick Peebles. Case studies suggest that some plantations had a particularly stable staff, coming mainly from a single village and cemented by family ties, while others employed a more mobile workforce, the most frequent case being that of a stable nucleus and a mobile fringe[10]: “It has been the custom for a large number of years for estates to restrict largely their recruiting to relations of their resident labourers and thus on a great many estates the labour force is homogeneous, permanent and settled. To labourers brought up with an old established connection of this sort, the closing of the estate has come as an unexampled calamity, involving in many cases a complete break with the past”.

 

The number of immigrants from India decreased even before 1929, but the figure does not distinguish plantation workers from urban workers [11]. From 159,398 in 1927, it went down to 133,712 in 1928, 105,095 in 1929 and 91,422 in 1930; the early beginnings of the rubber depression corresponded to a series of good years in South India; in addition, the implementation of minimum wages led plantation managers not to rehire a certain number of marginal workers. Recruitment for rubber plantations stopped in 1930, and for tea plantations in 1933. There was a shift in the workforce from closed rubber plantations towards tea plantations, where there was still employment, or where the presence of parents made it possible to survive while waiting for better days[12]. This shift, more considerable than expected, reduced for a time the number of ‘beneficiaries’ of a ‘repatriation’ plan put in place at the end of 1930. The number of returnees amounted to 10,645 (+4,772 indigents) in 1931 “What is surprising is that there are not more because it is estimated that about 100,000 acres of rubber were abandoned”. In the following years, the number of returnees varied greatly: 14,338 in 1932; 42,343 in 1933, due to the entry into force of a new repatriation plan with greater facilities: in two months, May and June 1932, 15,000 workers left[13]. But the adoption of the concerted restriction plan for tea production immediately led to a sudden surge in demand in August 1933 and recruitment resumed from September 1st at the initiative of the planters. The trend intensified in 1934[14]: “The labour requirements of estates had been limited to a flat rate of 1. 1/8th labourers per acre but as a result of representations made by the planting community these were raised to 1. 1/4th labourer per acre. Applications for licenses came pouring in and recruitment from coast went on briskly. The unprecedented drought and the decline in the price of tea during the latter half of the year resulted in the curtailment by estates of their normal cultivation program. In spite of it the labourers were being recruited from India on licenses already issued. Owing to this heavy influx of labour it was found towards the end of the year that there was a sufficiency of labour on estates in Ceylon and that probably the total labour force was slightly in excess of actual requirements”. From the end of September 1934, the authorities sought to curb recruitment by stopping giving licenses to kangani, then resumed small scale repatriation operations (6,252 in 1935, 5,396 in 1936). A minor slump of the tea industry at the end of 1936 determined the adoption of a new repatriation plan in February 1937, of which 4,485 workers benefited during the year but from the month of May the resumption of rubber absorbed the excess tea and the planters demanded 5,000 additional workers: they encountered, for the first time, the opposition of the Indian government. In practice the planters managed to bring back former workers (palaial) accompanied by their close relatives “whose definition is on this occasion changed to include married girls, their husbands and children, parents, brothers and sisters and their children as well as paternal uncles and their families”. Thus 15,681 Tamils were recruited in 1938[15]. This ebb and flow was the sign of a disorganization of the labour market. The precipitation or the procrastination of the planters reflected their nervousness, and administrative measures always lagged behind. Such vicissitudes announced the final crisis of emigration, which will be discussed later.

 

How did returnees adapt to India? Their fate remains the great absentee of this depression story: ceasing to be public, it no longer interested anyone. The published documents are silent, vague, or contradictory, the Indian authorities arguing that there was no problem and the Ceylon administration that the migrants were eager to return. The representative of the Government of India in Ceylon pretended that these repatriates “appear to have settled down in their villages without noticeable distress. Weather conditions in South India were favourable and foodstuffs cheap”[16]. It was assumed that family solidarity and savings accumulated during the prosperous years made it possible to meet the essential needs and that, in any case, a few thousand more or less under-employees did not count in the Indian immensity. However, the good agricultural years were followed by less abundant harvests after 1933, and when the resumption of recruitment by Ceylon planters was announced, the influx of candidates to the employment offices left little doubt about the preferences of Tamils or their forced choices[17]. It seems that many of them had not returned to their villages: India was experiencing an industrial boom at the time resulting in part from the reorientation of local capital invested in agriculture, which was no longer profitable because of the depression. Two poles of this development, Madras and Bangalore, were located near emigration recruitment areas; in addition, large public works sites (irrigation works) were opened at the same time; this job-creating boom, which contrasted with the Ceylon depression, must have attracted many unemployed for a while. And it is the feeling of being able to employ all its workforce that led the Indian government to adopt under the pressure of the nationalist movement an increasingly restrictive attitude towards emigration, not only to Ceylon, but also to Burma, Malaysia and the sugar islands of the Indian Ocean, the Pacific and the West Indies.

 

 

The evolution of the standard of living of plantation workers[18].

 

The vast majority of them remained in Ceylon despite the increased difficulties of their existence. Does this mean that their standard of living had ultimately not been seriously affected, as the planters and the Ceylon authorities repeated? The figures prove them right at first glance: the decrease in wages was accompanied by the decrease in food (especially rice) prices. But to make a global judgment, it is also necessary to take into account two factors that are more difficult to quantify: the actual working hours, and the chronic debt of workers. The procedure for setting minimum wages was quite complicated: in each district, joint councils chaired by an administrator and composed of planters and kangani supposed to represent employees made proposals that were submitted for consent to a central council where employees were not represented, and then to the colonial administration. On the other hand, since 1920, housing, medical care and part of the rice were free, provided that the employee had worked a minimum number of days per month. The wage was usually evaluated on a daily basis and varied according to the amount of latex or tea leaves brought to the factory. Finally, workers were supposed to be able to get work six days a week. The decrease in wages was postponed until 1931, but due to the general decline in rice prices, most workers in the lower and middle districts stopped frequenting the shops of the plantations which continued to sell rice at the price set in 1929, more than 50% higher than the market price[19]. After trying to prevent workers from purchasing outside the estate, which caused deep discontent, the planters accepted to lower rice prices and wages at the same time. The government gave its assent to the new tariff in May 1931. The kangani who represented the interests of the workers at the joint councils raised no objections, admitting the argument that the measure did not affect the standard of living[20]. Immediately a new reduction was demanded by the planters; it did not come into force until February 1st, 1932. On May 10th 1933, another reduction was imposed, which was short-lived, because the recovery led the planters to adopt a higher tariff in November, and then to restore the 1931 rates a year later, which remained in force until 1939. The standard of living of the workers has not been theoretically affected; the continuous reduction in general and infant mortality rates seems to confirm this. In addition, imitating the villagers, a number of employees obtained from the planters permission to garden uncultivated plots or to engage in livestock rearing – an activity in which Tamils excelled[21]. There is no doubt that the legislation in force had protected workers to some extent from the effects of depression, as evidenced by the regular request from the ‘hard’ elements of the planters to suspend its application, which was regularly ignored by the colonial administration[22].

 

However, several signs suggest that the standard of living of those who had kept a job had been seriously amputated. The most obvious is the sudden fall in the amount of sums sent to India by immigrants in the form of postal orders. Other indices go in the same direction, such as the 25% drop between 1929 and 1930 in alcohol consumption in plantation areas[23]. To this amputation of purchasing power, there are three possible explanations: either the minimum wage was not really respected or cuts on the salary were made; or the number of consumers had increased. The latter hypothesis, of which the clues must be carefully sought, must in any case be retained. It seems that in a first phase, this is the mechanism that had made it possible to limit the number of repatriations: rubber plantation workers went up to live on tea plantations, appealing to the solidarity of their relatives established in the upper country. The proportion of people dependent on workers has indeed increased from 18% in 1925 to 28.8% in 1930[24]. Partial unemployment is another form of adaptation to the crisis leading to a decrease in purchasing power. On this point, the testimonies of the Ceylon and Indian authorities diverged, the former stating that the planters had always offered employees that they had not dismissed the six statutory days, while the latter argued that non-compliance with the legislation, even fraud, has been constant. In rubber plantations, it was traditional to employ the tappers only in the morning and to pay them by the weight of latex – tapping is done between 6 a.m. and 10 a.m., and the latex collected between 10 and 12 p.m.[25]. During the depression, the superintendents demanded that workers work eight hours to pay the minimum wage, but since they did not provide them with work in the afternoon, they deducted a quarter of the salary. It was also common to pay only one working day for two on the grounds of insufficient yield, or to deduct a few pounds of tea from the weight brought back at the end of the day by the pickers on the pretext that the leaves were particularly moist. Another expedient was to give less than six days of work a week “a desperate remedy for a desperate crisis” commented the Agent of the government of India in Ceylon[26]. The planters also threatened their workers of dismissal with the help of the kangani. This practice was illegal, but continued for lack of jurisprudence. So the Indian Government representative decided to file a complaint against the intendant of an estate, that of Perth, in order to obtain a judgment making jurisprudence; acquitted in the first instance, the intendant was condemned on appeal by the Supreme Court, to the fury of the planters who accused the Agent of “harassing the planting community in a time of depression”[27]. Colonial justice had so far always shown a certain bias, condemning planters to symbolic fines and workers to heavy prison sentences. Despite this jurisprudence, according to the Agent, the reduction of working days remained very common between 1934 and 1937, under various pretenses: in 1934, drought; subsequently, malaria epidemic, or fall in prices. On the other hand, the Ceylon Controller of Labour maintained after investigation that he has not found any such case. The case took a political turn in the context of exacerbating nationalisms that will be mentioned later[28].

 

There is a final explanation for the deterioration of the standard of living, which is due to the very nature of the employee’s relationship with his employer. The worker was indebted from the start. This structural debt was the main instrument of enslaving the workforce during the 19th century. It remained the best way for planters to fix and control it. To the debt due to estate was often added the debt due to the kangani who managed both debts. In the final analysis, the vital issue for the worker was not that of purchasing power, but of borrowing power and repayment capacity. Thus, the decrease in wages, regardless of the fall in prices, translated into a reduction in cash and pushed back the hope of freeing oneself from previous debts whose amount did not tend to be reduced; in this respect, the situation of the plantation worker was not fundamentally different from that of the small producer in debt with the Indian lender, the relationship to British capital being in both cases changed into a relationship to Indian capital. It is very difficult to obtain precise information on these unwritten debts. Most observers of the time were content with impressions. Asked by the Ceylon Banking Commission, the Indian Agent estimated that 75% of workers were in debt with the kangani and added “if the labourers do send money to India they borrow it from the kangani. About 75% of the labourers on estates are indebted to kangani”. In some estates, the intendants deduced from the wages the debts owed to the kangani. A survey revealed that in a given case, the total deduction amounted to 5,422.37 rupees (unfortunately the number of employees is unknown) but it can be recalled that the monthly pay was lower than 10 rupees[29]. Even when the pay was made without deduction, the kangani was always present during the operation, and passed the money from the master to the servant and inevitably “a portion of the wages sticks to the head kangani’s hands”[30]. How is it that, if wages were adequate, plantation workers continued to go into debt, asked in 1937 the Agent of the Government of India under the title ‘the most perplexing problem’[31]: “This is a question for which no satisfactory answer can be gathered. Some superintendents explain that it is the nature of the labourer to be in debt and that if a kangani does not lend some other professional moneylender will. Perhaps the explanation which is nearest to truth is that the debt to the kangani is the relic of the old days of the tundu system. Even now, it seems to be a fact that few gangs of labourers will go to an estate unless they are offered a substantial sum by the head kangani of the estate as an inducement.   The head kangani either gets an advance from the estate or pays a sum himself to the labourers in order to keep them under his obligation. Once this ‘advance’ has been made, it persists and is scarcely ever admitted to have been completely liquidated even if it has been actually repaid”. We are at the heart of the debt issue. Debt, in the Indian cultural context, constitutes the contract par excellence, which binds the creditor as much as the debtor[32]. To enter the service of someone is to enter into his debt. It is therefore not conceivable to enter into the service of a plantation without performing this quasi-ritual act that must bind the boss or the kangani, commit him to employ and help you since you are his man. But there is another possible explanation, purely economic. Although the plantation worker is paid on a daily basis, he is paid only monthly, and therefore forced to a large extent to live on credit with the local shop, usually held by a relative or friend of the chief kangani[33]: “ Boutiques usually sell goods on credit to the labourers on the security of their head or sub-kangani, and when an improvident labourer has run up bills to a large extent in a boutique, he not only finds his lot on the estate miserable, but any attempt on his part to leave the estate is resisted. Some boutique keepers have gone to the extent of assaulting labourers to recover their debts and where possible have seized their chattels and even their discharge certificates”. Police reports confirm the frequency of the fact, but also suggest that the victims no longer allowed themselves to be done without protest: “In the planting districts complaints by these labourers that they had been robbed of their savings and jewelry just before their departure were frequent. Such complaints were often true, but the offender was not unfrequently some local shopkeeper who had seized the last chance of obtaining something more tangible from his customer than a promise of repayment of his debt”[34]. With this example we encounter one of the concerns that are at the heart of this research, namely the respective game of socio-cultural factors and economic factors. Debt is inexplicable as a pure economic phenomenon. But its economic consequences are no less real Here we have a traditional debt diverted by the planter or the kangani from its primary purpose.

 

The Chettiar debt provided us with the example of a contract in a way secularized, neutralized, but the kangani were themselves in debt with the Chettiar and the movement of judicial sales that will be studied later strongly suggests that many small plantations launched by kangani with the help of borrowed capital had to be sold. However, the principle of debt was beginning to be called into question, as evidenced by the multiplication of cheetu circles (mutual saving associations) on large estates, or the increasingly frequent request of workers to be registered by planters in an autonomous team independent from any kangani. The growth in the number of petitions points to a change of mind: most were directed against overseers (and not against the planter himself) and debt was directly or indirectly responsible for the majority of them. Their number remained stable from 1925 to 1929, then it tripled in the space of four years, to fall after 1934[35].

 

 

The immigration crisis

 

The end of the 1930s was marked by a general crisis, both internal and external, of immigration. Internal: the power of the kangani was called into question, trade unionism developed and the authority of the unions began to supplant that of the management staff. External: Sinhalese and Indian nationalist leaders condemned the system, which resulted in a serious break in relations between the two countries. Depression disrupted the labour market both directly and through politics[36]. Without an external catalyst, it is unlikely that the agitation would have taken on such an open character. The roots of discontent were already solid in the early 1930s, but a decisive element occurred in 1931: the right to vote, granted to about 100,000 ‘Indian Tamils’, made them overnight courted citizens:  meetings were held, an electoral literature was broadcast, and to the surprise of the planters who hoped to be elected by their employees, it is two Indians who became members of the State Council, and one of them, Peri Sunderam, was chosen as Minister of Labour. In addition, the development of plantation schools, however modest, allowed an increased number of young people to keep their accounts and therefore to control the arbitrariness of the kangani. A radical Tamil journalist, a South Indian Brahmin, close to the Ceylon trade union movement for a time, Natesa Aiyar, founded the first trade union for plantation workers in 1931. Charismatic leader (although Brahmin, he defended the Untouchables), he was considered by many as a messiah, and closely monitored by the police. It is significant that his union’s primary objective was to eliminate debt and organize pension funds. But the planters set up the kangani against Aiyar, and the union proved unable to break through in times of depression, especially as the Ceylon trade union movement became violently anti-Indian with the blessing of a section of the British authorities. The fire continued to smolder, as evidenced by the incidents in 1933 in Hatton town[37]. Planters and the police became nervous: it was enough for an Australian apprentice planter, Bracegirdle, to speak in a meeting alongside the representatives of the Tamil workers and members of the Marxist party LSSP (Lanka Sama Samaja Party), and for the police to immediately obtain from the governor the authorization to expel him from the island (April-May 1937). From 1936, the left organized a new union on the plantations. Indians did the same and a demagogic outbidding appeared. The LSSP masterfully used the Bracegirdle case and the governor’s decision was eventually reversed by the Supreme Court.

 

The wave of strikes that shook the plantations in 1939 – 1940 resulted from the paralysis of the fundamental mechanisms of immigration resulting from the rise of the Indian and Ceylonese (rather Sinhalese) nationalisms. Since the elections of 1931 and moreover since those of 1936, a large fraction of the Sinhalese political class had fueled the anti-Indian sentiments of the indigenous population, amalgamating Indian capitalists and poor plantation immigrants according to a well-known process in Europe. Workers of Indian origin, although settled for generations in the estates, were branded as aliens without abiding interest in the island. In this propaganda stands out the founder of Ceylonese trade unionism, A.E. Goonesinha, who remained close to British Labour for a long time, but embarked on a career as a xenophobic agitator after 1930. However, his influence remained strictly urban, practically limited to Colombo. In the same vein, a character of a completely different magnitude, S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, who would become Prime Minister in 1956, launched an opinion campaign from 1933 in order to limit or even stop immigration accused of being the cause of unemployment, and to replace the Indian workforce with a Sinhalese workforce. Facing the refusal of the colonial administration which declared: “It is not in the interest of the country to prefer an inefficient workforce to a qualified workforce”[38] he persisted and finally obtained in August 1936 the creation of a commission of inquiry, which reported a year later. To satisfy the Sinhalese demands, it suggested the preferential employment of Ceylonese and the organization of local recruitment agencies for plantations; but the planters showed no enthusiasm. The Sinhalese ministers also decided to exclude people of Indian origin from the benefit of agrarian laws providing for the distribution of land to the needy, and to deny plantation workers the right to vote for elections to the village councils[39]. These measures triggered from 1937 a very lively response from the Indian government, threatening to dry up the flow of immigration, which created great concern among the planters. When Colombo authorities decided to dismiss a number of government employees of Indian origin, the crisis broke out. From August 1, 1939, Delhi and Madras forbade former workers from Ceylon to return to the island, which created a dramatic situation for many of them, separated from their families, “ a complete disregard of the ordinary feelings of humanity”, according to the Controller of Labour. Communalist feelings were exacerbated on both sides, the Sinhalese boycotted the Indian merchants of Colombo, the Indians retaliated by ceasing to frequent the Sinhalese shops up-country. The discontent was eventually deflected against the kangani and the planters, and an unprecedented wave of strikes broke out on the plantations[40]. The safety valve that was free migration between the two countries was blocked, while these trips were all the more necessary for those who had interests in India. The flexibility of the system was called into question. It is interesting to note that the first strike that broke out spontaneously, in the Kotagala estate, in April 1939, originated from the workers’ request to form a temperance society that met with the refusal of the superintendent. In the words of the Controller of Labour, “the rise of the unions tends to conceal the fact that the current movement is social and not political” contrary to what the planters thought. In his confidential diary, the Governor commented on the ‘neurotic condition’ of many planters and added: “the agitation is the strongest where the planters are the most retrograde”[41].

 

The impact of the Great Depression on plantation workers was therefore quite complex. The maintenance of the standard of living linked to the decline in food prices is a thesis that does not stand up to the examination: partial unemployment, debt, swelling of the number of unemployed dependent on workers who had kept their jobs, had amputated their purchasing power. But it took almost ten years before the situation resulted in an open crisis. It was when the freedom of movement of Indian migrants was called into question that the explosion prepared by a decade of malaise broke out.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 SINHALESE VILLAGERS IN THE DEPRESSION

 

Village society was infinitely more complex than that of plantations. From one region to another, the resources differed; the major contrast opposed the villages of the dry zone still living largely in self-subsistence, and those of the wet zone dependent to varying degrees on the plantation economy. From one village to another, the social and economic condition was not the same: there were villages of small landowners, villages of day laborers, villages of artisans; a majority of high-caste villages, a minority of low-caste villages and a number of multi-caste villages. And inside each village, social contrasts, which most contemporaries claimed to be definitely less marked than in India and which were indeed less ostentatious, but which remained a determining element when it comes to appreciating the behaviour of a society in times of depression.

 

 

System elasticity and survival strategies

 

When elder villagers were asked about these difficult years, a Sinhala word naturally came to their mind: “pirimähuwa”: we managed, we got by, we survived[42].  In a way, it may be interpreted, along the lines defined by James Scott, as a case of ‘everyday form of peasant resistance’, using the ‘weapons of the weak’[43]. It is not a question of reducing the social history of depression to this aspect of things: powerful forces were at stake, often without the knowledge of those concerned. But to neglect it, we would fall into the bias of so many socio-economic surveys that, ignoring these underground mechanisms, are naively surprised to meet a majority of households that spend more than they earn, debtors who do not care at all about repaying their debts, lenders who claim their debts but never collect them, etc. The question is what is the degree of elasticity of the system, how long, in a given conjuncture, one can hold, and who can hold. Supporters of dualistic theses, already mentioned, imagine the social structure of colonial countries in the form of two juxtaposed entities whose reciprocal influence is minimal: it would be enough to cross the demarcation line to find oneself safe in an intact pre-capitalist universe. On the contrary, I am convinced that the ‘indigenous’ social practice is encompassed in a whole largely determined from the outside by the fluctuations of the capitalist economy.  The administrative reports of the early 1930s repeatedly affirmed that, although depression affected the population, its effects did not reach a severity requiring the intervention of the authorities. The most pessimistic simply stated in 1931: “Although no actual distress save in limited areas was reported during the year, there seems no doubt that indigenous labour in rural and estate areas has had  what would popularly be called a thin time”[44]. These opinions of colonial bureaucrats do not always agree with those of men in the field, notably Settlement officers, who encountered more pockets of misery during their in-depth inspections than district officers. The official argument was nevertheless retained by the Ceylonese historian Lal Jayawardena, who considered that “depression had at most an uncertain impact on the small man in the coconut and rubber areas” because salaried jobs did not represent a decisive element in the balance of the villages[45]. The boundary between poverty and destitution is, of course, perfectly subjective, and it is to be expected that administrators forced to a policy of austerity by the real or supposed crisis of colonial finances tended to minimize the situation to avoid getting caught up in the gear of interventionism, and that their indigenous assistants avoided drawing their attention to unpleasant realities. We also observed how deep-rooted throughout the colonial world was the belief that dualism would allow peasant societies to better resist depression than industrial societies. This colonial variant of the myth of the return to the land certainly influenced many observers: as evidenced by the surprising statement of the interim agent of the government in Ratnapura, who declared in 1934 to the investigators of the Ceylon Banking Commission that the population, living in a non-monetary economy, was spared from the effects of depression[46]. These statements were in perfect contradiction with the pessimistic findings of the investigators of the years 1936 and following, whose observations were indeed made after the malaria epidemic: as much as we are poorly informed about the reality of the peasant condition at the beginning of this century, the information became abundant from the 1930s following the depression and the establishment of the democratic regime, which attracted the attention of the ruling classes to rural poverty.

 

The series of socio-economic surveys undertaken in 1936 was conducted with methods that may seem primitive: random sampling of a very limited number of villages per district; evaluation of family budgets by household and not by family group; collection of employment statistics on the basis of imprecise definitions of rural unemployment, etc. But these investigations remain close to the lived reality, and are much more significant for social history than subsequent work where the search for statistical refinement and systematic aggregates crush the facts under the avalanche of numbers. They also have the interest of having been conducted independently of the official apparatus; the hostility shown towards them by some indigenous headmen says a lot about their fear of losing their monopoly on information on the condition of the peasantry[47]. As far as we are concerned, their main defect is in the end of being isolated and late, which prevents any comparison with the situation before the crisis. Their conclusions are corroborated by the work of the medical teams who came to investigate the state of health and the level of nutrition of the villagers following the malaria epidemic[48]. On the basis of the data from the peasant surveys of 1936-39, it is possible to argue that, from the point of view of the villages, work on plantations, small and large, was something other than an auxiliary resource during the Great depression. In the Kalutara district, 20 to 22% of families mainly derived their resources from occasional work, to which must be added about 20% families more regularly employed on plantations. In the coconut plantation district of Chilaw, the proportion of casual workers was 32%, plus 4% of heads of household regularly employed in coconut plantations. In the district of Puttalam, 22%. In the district of Kurunägala, the total number of agricultural employees was 55% of heads of families, in Galle 40%, in Matara 34%. Finally, in Matale, where tea predominated, associated with rubber, investigators counted 11.85% of daily workers and 15.55% of more regular workers, or 27.4%, the percentages varying greatly from one village to another. It can be concluded that between a quarter and half of the population depended on this type of employment, the percentage being the highest in the coconut areas. But the temporary character of this activity made these villagers eternal job seekers, rarely employed more than 20 days a month, working in a large estate to the task, then employed on a public works site, lending a hand to a neighbour during the harvest, transporting food for a shopkeeper from the nearby village, and so on. This instability, which was attributed by the British to a weakness of character, was in reality a guarantee, however fragile, against the risks resulting from an excessive dependence on a single employer, like the peasant who practices polyculture.

 

 We will now retain an element of particular interest. The district of Matale, on the border of the dry zone, includes to the north and east villages practicing food agriculture, to the south and west villages whose most of the resources are linked to the proximity of plantations. It is in the latter that economy was the most disrupted by depression and where misery was the most visible[49]. In 1940, the diet of the villagers of the plantation areas was found more deficient than that of the inhabitants of the dry zone, although it was commonly admitted that the miserable villages of the north of the district were unable to properly feed their inhabitants; malnutrition reached the highest levels in localities where the majority of the population lived on jobs as day laborers, both on plantations and in paddy cultivation. One cannot fail to be struck by the contrast between the optimistic picture of the peasant condition drawn by official observers at the beginning of the century, whose archetype is the report on the 1911 census[50], and these dark images. A hypercritical historian would conclude that the contradiction was simply political in nature. However, I prefer to test the hypothesis that the depression had indeed led to a profound deterioration in the standard of living in areas dependent on export products, initially delayed by a series of circumstances: existence of village savings, reduction in the prices of consumer products, implementation of substitute resources, family solidarity or customer relations.

 

 

 

 

Lower wages and reduced employment.

 

The movement of village incomes is difficult to grasp statistically. Indications comparable to those concerning resident workers of Indian origin are not available for occasional Sinhalese plantation workers, nor even for workers on public works construction sites. The income of paddy farmers or small planters is also poorly known. The 1936-1939 surveys provide precise figures, but no comparison is available for previous years. Among the few pieces of information available, those provided by headmen to the Labour Controller in 1932 indicate a decrease in wages of the order of 40% compared to the pre-crisis – much lower than that of rice prices; other sources report declines of more than 50%, but these values are not significant if they are not weighted by short-time unemployment rates[51]. However, casual workers were the first to be dismissed when plantations had to cope with the crisis. As early as 1930, for example, a deputy from the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce recognized before the governor that Ceylon planters gave their Sinhalese day laborers only three days of work a week instead of six, and demanded that the government align itself by reducing wages on public works sites which were 75 cents per day compared to 50 cents on rubber plantations[52]. In 1934, wages continued to fall: for example women travelled about twenty kilometers for a daily wage of 25 to 30 cents per day, while an entrepreneur had tiles transported on their head by peasants for 28 cents a day[53].

 

More than the wage trends, it is the variations in the level of employment that matter for day-to-day workers in most cases. To assess the seriousness of the effects of depression, it is necessary to recall the main lines of the history of the employment of Sinhalese workers in plantations[54]. Contrary to popular belief, their number has never been negligible, but statistics, which until the 1930s only take into account workers residing on the estates, conceal this fact, which is revealed by an early 20th century report, and many indications in administrative reports. It is clear that during periods of expansion, planters called on villagers and low country Sinhalese for tree felling and planting operations, and then if necessary as permanent labour (coconut, rubber) or additional (tea). The Sinhalese were considered by the planters as good workers as the Tamils, the only problems being their least regularity and the need for a certain amount of patience and humour to deal with them: in fact, the prevention of planters came from the fact that unlike the Tamils, the Sinhalese refused the sort of military discipline which they tried to impose.  Recruitment was usually done through village headmen, or job middlemen who, like the kangani, were responsible for the number of men present; but it was also possible to show up at the plantation after the call of regular workers to get a day job. Among these Sinhalese, there were many young people who did not yet have access to the land and a number of women. It also seems that the percentage of members of the ‘low’ Kandyan castes was relatively high, and the fact can also be explained by the location of large domains in areas where these communities were numerous. During the 1920s, the expansion of rubber and coconut cultivation attracted a more numerous village workforce, young people that the demographic boom had multiplied or farmers who abandoned paddy fields or gardens whose cultivation was not very lucrative: the impact of depression during the next decade would be all the more conspicuous. In the absence of reliable overall statistics, the only process is to review the various districts, as is done by the authors of a 1934 report, who highlight the particularly difficult situation of the coconut and rubber areas[55].

 

The administrative reports of the province of Sabaragamuwa make it possible to follow the drying up of employment year by year[56]. In 1928, when prices began to fall, village workforce was still welcome. In 1929, a considerable number of young villagers from the most remote canton of the province (Kolonna korale) still abandoned paddy and chena cultivation for salaried work but in 1930, although very few estates closed down, hiring ceased for villagers; at the end of the year, currency stopped circulating in the villages, and the respective condition of the localities that had recently depended on this type of employment and those that had not, reversed to the detriment of the former. The contrast is evident in the canton of Kukul korale, whose southern part continued in 1931 to subsist as usual, while in the northern sector where plantations had been opened about ten years before, destitution was very marked. Two years earlier, villagers could earn a rupee per day (double the normal pay) by working on the task: of the 438 inhabitants of the village of Karawita, 30 to 40 men worked daily on an estate near Niriella after selling their chenas (130 acres) to the plantation, neglecting their paddy fields (190 acres of poor land) and their gardens (291 acres)[57]. Not all villagers had as much land: the fate of some of them, who did not have paddy fields and were deprived of the majority of their chenas during the rise of plantations, was much worse than that of the Karawita villagers. This was the case, for example, in Maliboda (southeast of the district of Kägalla), in Magurukanda (east of the district of Kurunägala, near the plantation of Shakerley), in Puwakpitiya (district of Matale)[58]. The district of Matara was an overcrowded rural area, a source of emigration, on the periphery of which were established, especially by Ceylonese, plantations of tea and rubber employing very few workers of Indian origin. The unemployment already obvious in 1931-32 resulted from the cessation of weeding and pruning operations on the one hand, and the dismissal of tappers and pickers or the reduction of almost half of their wages. In 1936, the situation did not improve, a survey by the headmen estimated at 7,000 the number of people who, having lost their jobs, did not find sufficient resources by cultivating their own land; it was in this area that two years later one of the first rural employment agencies in the country was created and the region subsequently became a communist stronghold[59].

 

The villagers of the coconut areas also experienced serious difficulties during the depression. The dependence of the population varied according to the nature of the exploitation of the coconut tree: grown in gardens, it was only partially marketed; cultivated in large plantations, it dominated all aspects of economic life. In the North Western Province, which is most of the Coconut Belt, the villagers generally had a small coconut garden of less than one hectare and worked part-time on large nearby plantations, or in coir (coconut fibers) or arrack (palm alcohol) local factories. In a single-production area, where the sale of copra and other coconut by-products represented the main support for the economy, villagers were doubly affected: as small producers, by the slump; as employees, by unemployment. From the late 1920s, expansion stopped and new jobs were rare, while shopkeepers sometimes refused to buy nuts from small producers. After a brief recovery in 1932, the relapse in 1933 resulted in the closure of a very large number of estates[60]. In the south of the district of Kägalla there were two villages whose inhabitants, victims of the closure of the coconut plantations, were in a more miserable situation than that of their neighbours surrounded by rubber plantations; at the beginning of 1934, they had only a frugal daily meal for all food. And in the district of Kurunägala, where many immigrant families from coastal areas had settled as squatters near large estates, women and young people were among the hardest hit, the first as tea pickers, or workers in coir factories, the latter, in all sectors where the demand of the 1920s had attracted them; for example in Timbulkotamulla village, “14 out of 17 families are landless outsiders living in wretched little mud huts on the verge of starvation; most are almost entirely unemployed (…) Unemployment is as demoralizing in this country as it is in England (…) A young widow alleged in her thirties with seven children has been living by working as a coolie on an estate for 45 cents a day; recently it was reduced to 30 cents; soon it will be nothing at all and one begins to wander how such people will manage to subsist”[61]. Some planters claimed that the income lost as a result of the unemployment of these categories was not essential, forgetting that female labor provided a substantial part of the village resources[62].

 

It was commonly accepted that the slump in tea price did not have effects on villagers to the same extent as that in rubber and copra: employment of villagers on tea plantations was less extensive and the technical characteristics of tea production differed significantly: tea must be picked, or in any case pruned and weeded, whether the leaves are sold or not, to prevent the estate from returning to the jungle, while the coconut plantations and rubber plantations can be abandoned for a few years without serious risk[63]. However, in tea-producing regions at mid-elevation, in the middle of villages, the situation worsened in 1932. The mechanisms were especially apparent in the Kotmale valley, where a majority of large European plantations and a sprinkling of small tea gardens coexisted. The former, to keep their resident workforce, stopped giving work to the villagers. The latter, who employed only villagers, reduced wages by half, so that they remained competitive for a while. But from 1934, the large planters imposed a system of quota of production that led to the abandonment of small properties, whose owners preferred to sell their coupons to the large estates rather than producing themselves:  so that in 1935-36, the Kotmale valley, once one of the most prosperous in the upper country, became a pocket of poverty and unemployment[64]. On the other hand, the province of Uva, where, according to the authorities, few villagers were employed in the tea fields, was less severely affected by the employment crisis; however difficulties began to appear in 1933[65].

 

According to official estimates, 120,000 workers would have lost their jobs on rubber plantations by 1932. Of this total, about 60,000 would be Sinhalese. Other data, concerning only the resident Sinhalese workers employed on the largest estates also including workers of Indian origin, indicate a decrease of 16% of the former, compared to 19% of the latter, but these were only the resident workers. Statistical data on employment at the all-island level is hardly unreliable, but the employment policy followed in the plantation industry is clear enough. It could have been expected that planters, forced by legislation to pay a minimum wage only to workers of Indian origin, would make more use of villagers for whom there was no control. On the contrary, employers assured that it was the obligation to pay a high minimum wage to their Tamil workforce that forced them to dismiss their village workforce in 1932-33[66]. This choice of planters became more explicit in 1933-34, when the recovery they expected led them to resume hiring. At first, the difficulty of bringing back Indians in a sufficiently short time pushed them to hire villagers. But as soon as the prospects for recovery were confirmed and the possibility of mass recruiting in India was assured, the recruitment of villagers stopped. According to the candid expression reported by the Agent of the Indian Government in Ceylon, the Tamils are “of better composition”[67]. In 1931, 1932 and 1933, 122,000 Indians had not returned to the island; in 1934, the surplus of immigrants was 97,000: the previous deficit was therefore compensated to 80%. These workers were employed on the large plantations which reopened thanks to the establishment of quotas; the small estates operating with the help of only the village workforce closed down and transferred their coupons to the large plantations. It is not possible to accurately estimate the number of villagers who lost their jobs, but it is clear that the return of the Indian Tamil emigrants broke a timid movement of employment of the villagers on the large estates.  Such an evolution, even if not voluntary, was in the logic of the plantation system where the non-resident had always been considered a subsidiary worker. The different treatment of Sinhalese and Tamils of Indian origin was justified by the planters in the name of technical and financial arguments. Tamil veterans would be more productive; they must therefore be kept even if they were more expensive. But this explanation is not sufficient; it is the very structure of employment that determined the policy of planters. In times of crisis and production restrictions, a core of veterans was kept and marginal workers were dismissed. In Ceylon, by virtue of an inversion specific to the colonial system, it is the indigenous workforce that was peripheral and the immigrant workforce that was nuclear. Such a phenomenon was not new: during the brief crisis of 1920, it was already the villagers who had been the first to be reduced to unemployment and especially those of them who had sold their land for the development of the rubber plantations “as the policy of estates was to conserve the immigrant labour force as long as possible, the first class thrown out of employment was the daily paid local Sinhalese labour on local rubber estates”[68].

 

The employment situation in 1936 was therefore, despite the recovery, more serious than in 1933: the survey on unemployment in Ceylon published in 1937 mainly concerned urban employment, but the few passages devoted to rural unemployment, without providing an overview, insisted on the effects of the restriction, citing for example villagers ready to accept a job for 10 cents a day or a little rice, and giving a list of villages where a dozen heads of families were in absolute unemployment, due to the establishment of the coupon system which had resulted in the closure of very small estates[69]. Village surveys revealed the presence of a large number of villagers who could only be classified in the category of unskilled casual workers. According to the enquiry, these villagers were people who had a more regular job on the plantations before the depression. The Labour Controller in his report of 1931 anticipated the situation: “in the rural areas where work available largely depend on estates there has undoubtedly been a great reduction in the work available (…) making men who would not normally work for daily pay, seek for employment”[70]. It is unfortunately not possible in the current state of knowledge to compare these data with those of the pre-crisis to verify these assertions which, if well-founded, would mean that depression had led to a lasting structural change.

 

How did the authorities react to the spread of unemployment? Most district administrators first minimized the seriousness of the situation to avoid being dragged into an interventionist policy, while a few sought to act in favour of special cases, for example by distributing more generously land to needy villagers. The administration woke up from its nonchalance only under the spur of political action. In 1931, the first general elections in the history of the country were held; dominated more by rivalries of people or parties than by debates of ideas, they were hardly influenced by the economic depression. However, a few rural representatives became aware of the situation during their campaign, and once elected sought to remedy it by putting pressure on the administrative apparatus. This was the case of the Minister of Agriculture, D.S. Senanayake, who developed peasant settlement schemes in his stronghold; and of less influential figures, such as E.A.P. Wijeratne, member of State Council for Kägalla, who was faced with the disbelief of the Assistant Government Agent and the refusal of the Labour Controller when he asked for the opening of emergency public works[71]. When the request was made by the peasants themselves, it was even less likely to succeed: in the same district in 1932, villagers who asked the government to organize public works to repair irrigation channels were told that they had to undertake them at their own expense; they replied that being undernourished it was too hard a task for them; the Agent commented: “during the rubber boom, it was so easy to earn a living that these people have lost the habit of working”[72]. Such a reaction should not be surprising if we remember that the government itself set an example, by massively compressing public works expenditure. It was only during the malaria epidemic that government decided to start public works, catching up but too late for five years of inaction. And it is finally only in 1937-1938 that the problem was taken up following the recommendations of the reports on unemployment and immigration, and the results of the 1936 elections that led to a radicalization of political life. The planters then agreed to employ villagers, because the recovery of rubber was accompanied by the adoption of new transplanted plants instead of old trees: felling and planting are operations for which villagers had always been employed in large numbers by the estates. The districts of Kägalla and Kalutara were the main beneficiaries of this movement.  A number of small village tea plantations were reopened, and small businesses such as coir factories resumed their activities; the construction of minor roads in 1935 finally facilitated the access of villagers to plantations. Another reason that pushed planters to these new choices was the increased difficulty they encountered in obtaining Indian labour due to the first restrictive measures of the authorities of the peninsula. Finally, political pressures relayed by press campaigns urged them to do so[73]. Within a year, the percentage of Sinhalese on large plantations went from 10.9% in 1936 (average 1929-1936 9.9%) to 14.2% while between 1932 and 1934 the increase was only two points (9% to 10.9%). The statistics do not distinguish the Kandyan villagers from the Sinhalese who came from the coastal regions of the Low country to work on the estates, but in 1938, workers residing on the plantations represented 30% of the Sinhalese employed on the large plantations[74]. To promote the movement, the authorities initially organized labour cooperatives, to avoid the multiplication of parasitic intermediaries and to ensure the financing of advances for resident workers. They then sought to regularize the conditions of employment, and to eliminate frequent abuses, such as the irregular payment of wages, or the payment by food vouchers on the shop of the estate[75]. Finally, two recruitment agencies were established in 1937-38, one in the southern province, the other near Kandy in the center of the island. Their goal was to get the Sinhalese to live on the plantations, but a large number of new recruits left the domain as soon as they arrived “finding conditions of life so uncongenial” both in terms of housing and discipline. From the point of view of the recruiters, another obstacle was the dispersion of the potential workforce; there was no such thing as “a definite reservoir of labour willing to take up work on estates in gangs or families”. Finally, although the argument was not openly put forward, relations between the Sinhalese and the Tamils had always been difficult insofar as the language, religion, and caste system were different.  The failure of recruitment agencies led to their closure, also explained by the slowdown in the economic recovery from the end of 1937[76]

 

 

The tribulations of small producers

 

Ceylon is often presented as a country of small owners compared to India where in the colonial period the large property (in fact often more theoretical than effective) of the zamindar and other absentee owners dominated. This particularity is attributed to the historical circumstances which spared the island the tax collection systems established by the Muslim sovereigns and taken over by the British, and to the Dutch rule in Ceylon which imposed a legal system copied from Roman law. Such an image should not mask the existence of very large estates – in this case, the plantations owned by British or Ceylonese capitalists, nor that of a few large rice properties, often belonging to temples. The estimates of the number of landless peasants are perfectly contradictory, and this is not the place to go into detail of the controversies raised by the data of the 1936-1939 surveys, which give percentages varying according to the district between 28% and 56%, the average being around 40%. These figures are certainly overestimated, if only because of the basis used for this calculation: young people that did not yet have access to family heritage were considered landless peasants. For the moment, we can simply say that more than half of the villagers owned land; if we follow the conclusions of Lal Jayawardena, it would be the vast majority of families. I would rather say that a majority of villagers had access, directly or indirectly, to the profits provided by the exploitation of paddy fields, gardens and highlands.

 

In the paddy sector, a very large part of the locally produced rice was self-consumed by the farmer or by the owner who gave out his land in sharecropping. The fall in rice prices had no other effect, in this case, than to discourage any expansion of areas. There were a number of large ‘rice villages’, especially in the Kurunägala and Kägalla districts, which marketed a fraction of their production; most of these villages were inhabited by members of the Batgama caste (whose name means ‘rice village people’) who were placed very low in the social hierarchy. The purchasing power of these peasants, some of whom were owners and others tenants, was seriously affected and the debt of sharecroppers with their owners increased; money became dramatically rare in these villages, which were seriously affected during the 1934-1935 malaria epidemic[77]. The impact of the rice price depression was also specially felt in the two areas of large-scale paddy cultivation: the district of Hambantota and its margins on the one hand, that of Batticaloa on the other. In the first, the price of rice paid to the producer collapsed by 50%, and three-quarters of farmers traditionally indebted to their owner were no longer able to pay their due[78]. In the second, owners who employed agricultural labourers could no longer sell their production on their traditional markets, the Jaffna Peninsula and the province of Uva, due to the competition of cheap Burmese rice. The situation was all the more serious as the government had set up credit unions to finance production, which went bankrupt one after the other. Local notables insisted on the abolition of irrigation taxes and the imposition of a surcharge on imported rice, but their request was ignored by the government which considered that the low price of rice was in the present circumstances the only way to avoid a catastrophe in the plantation sector[79].

 

It has already been explained under what circumstances plans were adopted to restrict production, or rather to restrict exportable quantities, first of tea and then of rubber. These plans had been conceived in European metropolises, without small producers, particularly numerous but disorganized. The intention of large planters was to see the competition of small owners, which they considered responsible for overproduction, disappear. In a confidential letter sent in 1932 by the Ceylon Association in London (the lobby of Ceylon planters) to the head of the South Asia department at the Secretariat for the Colonies, these ulterior motives are clearly expressed. The Association was concerned about projects to limit production, and was rather in favour of limiting exports. Limiting production “will in fact produce a very serious danger of still greater overproduction when restriction terminates in five years’ time. Not only those areas, largely native, which produce 50 million lbs. of unwanted tea be kept in being, but also young areas not yet in production will be encouraged to come in production”[80].

 

In times of depression, small holdings had an advantage over large estates: their cost price was lower, they had fewer fixed costs, and they employed a workforce that was not subject to any wage regulation; in 1925, the cost of producing a pound of latex was estimated at 20-25 cents for a large estate, 12-15 cents for a village property, but the latter produced rubber of lower quality[81]. Economists do not agree on the respective degree of flexibility in a period of depression: according to P.T. Bauer, the production of large plantations varies little, while the elasticity of small ones is strong, because of the ability of small farmers to turn to alternative incomes;  for J.C. Kunhardt, on the contrary, peasant farmers tend to increase production to make up for the shortfall in prices; for G. H. Peiris, large plantations adapt their production to the situation by taking advantage of the fact that a large part of their labour force is composed of occasional workers, and small producers do the same[82]. My observations also go in the latter direction, at least for rubber and the period prior to the establishment of the restriction. In 1932, 40% of the areas of rubber were untapped. But in the case of tea, it seems that the production of large plantations had resisted much better while a number of small gardens were abandoned even before the restriction, for technical and economic reasons, as many small producers who used to sell their fresh leaves to the factories of the large plantations lost that outlet[83].

 

The restriction mechanisms had therefore the purpose and effect of endorsing a pre-existing trend in tea, and in the case of rubber to enlarge the gap between large estates whose production was maintained, and small ones, where it was stopped. In order to make this discrimination practically possible and socially acceptable, compensation was given to small producers, by the issue of coupons. The system was not new, it had been experimented with under the Stevenson plan to restrict rubber production during the 1920s; but while in the Stevenson plan, it was theoretically forbidden for the small producer to sell his coupons, that is to say his quota, to a large producer, this possibility was now offered and discreetly encouraged[84]. The survey of the 76,149 small tea holdings was the subject of many challenges: the opportunity was too good for small planters to inflate their income cheaply, by obtaining from an understanding headman the signing of a false declaration, with if necessary the complicity of a planter interested in the low-priced buyout of their coupons: in Kägalla 60% of the declarations were considered false!  According to an administrator in charge of verifying the declarations “tea control seems to be regarded as a philanthropic organization by which small holders get something for nothing”[85]. A year later, the same operation was repeated for the 97,996 small rubber holdings and proved to be even more difficult : “the most troublesome work”, commented a controller in his diary. “They were only concerned about the coupons and not the land”. Others noted a multiplication of thefts of rubber plants, “many rubber plants having a migratory existence”, everyone seeking to have the maximum extent planted before or during the survey[86]. In 1935, in the midst of the epidemic, the Kägalla Planters’ Association was busy hunting shadow holdings, and offered the government its services to do so. A minority of planters were hostile to the negotiability of coupons; one of them declared that “there was no better work for the villager than to get into the habit of rubber tapping by which they would earn much more than by selling their coupons and sitting on their backs”[87]. But once the evaluation was done, small producers almost without exception sold their coupons to a planter. A number of shopkeepers and traffickers appeared, who were in charge of collecting coupons for this or that planter and of course received their commission on the operation: “All coupons pass into the hands of shopkeepers when prices are low; the villagers sell their coupons in advance. Now the price of the coupon on the market is 25 or 26 cents but the coupons were sold 10 or 15 cents by the villagers”. There were indeed significant variations in the prices of the coupon between the moment they were issued and everyone wanted to sell, and the end of the year, so that hoarding developed. The coupon thus involuntarily became a kind of parallel currency, it was exchanged and endorsed, it was used to pledge loans from a lender or a neighbour. As for the registration of property in the controller’s books, it was soon considered a safe title of ownership, in a country where registration did not exist, and where notaries accepted any declaration. But the sale of the coupon did not necessarily lead to the cessation of production. When there was a trafficker to buy their latex, the villagers did not hesitate to sell with both hands but at a very low price[88]. The selling price of the coupon alone was not always remunerative. In 1938, a tea coupon (for an annual pound of tea) was sold 35 cents: an acre of tea would yield about 73.5 rupees. The average area of a small tea holding is 0.8 acre: the rent provided by the coupons was therefore on average 58.8 rupees per year, 4.9 rupees per month. However, village surveys estimated that the resources necessary for the livelihood of a peasant family amounted to about 15 rupees per month. The situation of the villager who owned a plot of rubber was no better. The average size of these micro-holdings was 1.33 acres; an acre yielded about 41.25 rupees (the coupon was sold 25 cents); the annual revenue was on average 54.8 rupees, 4.57 rupees per month. By way of comparison, in the village of Kulupana, when work was resumed, the rubber tappers earned 7 rupees per month, while the teacher earned 50 rupees, and the shopkeeper could go up to 80 rupees[89].

 

It is clear that the sale of coupons lightened the burden of the small peasantry, but that other resources had to be found, possibly by illegally selling their production. In a village, only a minority of wealthy peasants had enough to live on their income, and it is in fact mainly outsiders, shopkeepers and other inhabitants of small towns, who took advantage of the situation. It was precisely these small absentee owners who employed village day labourers to exploit their land; as the sale of their coupons was enough for them to live, they completely ceased exploitation, further reducing the amount of jobs available in the village. The trend towards the abandonment of plantations and the rise in unemployment took on worrying proportions to the point that the Controller was considering stopping the distribution of coupons to abandoned holdings, or finding a way to lower the price of coupons to make them less attractive; thus, the tea factories operating with leaves bought from the peasants closed one after the other (nine around Balangoda town)[90]. The issue was raised before the State Council. A council member representing the interests of these manufacturers took a stand against the alienability of tea coupons, also advancing the argument that the Sinhalese worker would be replaced by the Indian; he questioned the European planters who, according to him, were jealous of the natives capable of producing at a lower cost price. The spokesman for European interests strongly replied. In 1935, another representative raised the question without success. Finally in 1936, the first motion tabled at the opening of the assembly by one of the two Marxist members who had just been elected, N.M. Perera, aimed to abolish the transferability of coupons: “The present condition of the villages is due not only to the dire consequences of malaria, but also to the dire consequences of the coupon system.”[91]. During the discussion of the motion much later the debate opposed the defenders of unemployed workers (N.M. Perera) and those of small owners, such as the member for Gampola, A.S.S. Gunawardena, who stated that the coupon system had greatly improved the condition of small holders by freeing them from their debts, and that these people, even if they no longer employed workers on their land, gave them other work or provided them with food[92].

 

The situation of small owners of coconut plantations was significantly different. They were much more numerous: there is no reliable evaluation, but it can be argued that every villager who owned a garden belonged to this category. They were not affected by any restrictive measure, so that their ability to sell their production alone determined the level of their income: their fate was in the hands of traders, arrack contractors or manufacturers of oil or copra. Prices were very irregular. The number of plantations belonging to Europeans, in Ceylon as well as in the Philippines and in other producing countries, was too small to induce them to control production. Although the fall in prices was apparent as early as 1927, the villagers continued to plant until 1929. The collapse of prices in 1931, the recovery of 1932 linked to Indian demand, the relapse of 1933, the recovery of the end of 1936 partially obliterated by a decline in production resulted in a constant instability of the income[93]. When prices were lowest, the profit of a one-hectare property, which is already considerable, was less than 5 rupees per year, roughly what the sale of coupons of a micro-holding could pay off in one month. It was therefore impossible for a small-holder to live on his income and he had necessarily to work elsewhere or produce fruits or vegetables for the market. On the other hand, as the plantations did not close, it seems that unemployment itself was less marked in the coconut areas than elsewhere, but the misery was certainly not less, and no one escaped it in the villages, the small owner being no better than the small wage earner and often being one with him.

 

 

The drying up of savings.

 

The gap between the moment when the decline in income occurred and when the social effects of the crisis became acute could be explained by the presence of peasant savings. But all contemporaries agree to deplore what they called the lack of foresight of the Sinhalese villager, which they oppose to the thriftiness of the Tamil villager, a stereotype that contains a good dose of exaggeration[94]. The truth is that the climatic conditions prevailing in Tamil areas (a tropical climate with dry season) encourages savings, while the virtual absence of seasons of the humid tropical environment where the majority of the Sinhalese population lives favours a certain carelessness of the next day. One must avoid an excess of schematism: hoarding was not unknown in the Sinhalese villages, and the depression put an end to it. In 1931, the Registrar of cooperative societies noticed that due to the dry-up of employment on plantations, there was a striking increase in the amount of money rupees in the coffers of cooperatives: “In many cases these have come out of holes in the ground. It is a very good thing that they should come out of that very unsatisfactory type of bank, but I am afraid that their appearance means that the pinch is beginning to be felt in the villages”[95]. The Settlement Officers responsible for settling on the villagers or selling to them the lands they claimed met with more and more difficulties in obtaining payment of the survey fees or the price for the lots, as the money was scarce, while during the 1920s peasants were ready to pay for an indisputable property right. The case of Galdunupitiya village is quite typical: “ Some lots advertised for the second or third time. All the claimants as they have done before declared that they had no money, and saw no reason why they should pay even if they had. After a lot of talk, I managed to get one man to buy one lot for which he had to pay 1.30 cash down. He produced one rupee and then disgorged the balance of 30 cents mostly in one cent pieces at the rate of a cent a minute”[96]. The scarcity of money led more peasants to pay their local tax by working a few days a year to repair the roads, although the rates had often been reduced by half, and such work was considered socially humiliating; to the point that in 1933 the village committees that managed these funds found themselves with a manpower they could not employ[97]. Gold jewelry, the traditional form of hoarding among Tamils and Sinhalese bourgeois and wealthy peasants, became rare. Pawnshops in the south of the island had to close down because residents no longer had anything to give as collateral. In the absence of savings, could the villagers have lived on loans? Village surveys reveal very high debt ratios. Depending on the district, between 70% and 80% of families were in debt; the median debt per family was less than 50 rupees, and if we examine the destination of the loans, the majority of them were devoted to food expenses and contracted with shopkeepers or relatives[98]. But with the decline in activity of Chettiar, credit became less and less easy, lenders devoted most of their activities to getting repaid old debts, and shopkeepers were in trouble; the fall in land prices and marketable products reduced the value of guarantees (mortgages or crops) that villagers could provide.

 

The decline in the prices of consumer products.

 

Peasant savings made it possible to meet exceptional expenses (purchase of land, ceremonies) but were in no way used for consumer expenses, for which shop debt was commonly used; if the amount of these debts did not immediately increase in unsustainable proportions, it is mainly because of the sharp drop in rice prices and in some everyday consumer items such as textiles. It is difficult to follow the movement of these prices at the consumer level because of the absence or uncertain nature of market price data. Economists use import price indices, a large part of everyday food being imported, but the question is to what extent the price decline were passed on by retailers; we know, for example, that shopkeepers operating near plantations had lowered their prices enough for immigrants to desert the stores of the estates that continued to sell at a high price. But there was a market to win: what was the attitude of the small village merchant in a monopolistic position, himself pressed by suppliers less inclined to do credit, due to the contraction of Chettiar operations. To the extent that we can rely on rice price data, they confirm that the decline was only reflected incompletely and with delay and they also show that other essential foods, such as chillis or dried fish, had not decreased in similar proportions. With regard to textiles, there are no similar price lists, but a number of qualitative indications suggest that low-priced Japanese imports had largely penetrated rural markets, until the imposition of quotas under the imperial system of preference established by the Ottawa agreements led to a brutal price increase in fabrics, “still lowering the very low standard of living of the poor  peasantry of the district, according to the Government Agent in Kurunägala, and appreciably increasing the hardships of the sick caused by inadequate clothing” [99].  These reservations once made, it is indisputable that a decrease in the price of rice by almost half between 1930 and 1934 considerably lightened the burden of the vast majority of the village population: indeed, according to the figures collected by socio-economic surveys, rice represented between 50 and 75% of household spending at that time, and with the exception of the villages of the dry zone and a limited number of large rice-growing localities in the interior, more than half of the rice consumed was imported. In the villages studied by the 1936-1938 surveys, the percentage of imported rice was estimated between 60 and 75% of consumption depending on the locality. It is generally to this fall in prices that contemporaries attribute the absence of deep misery[100]. Economists studying the period argued that the overall decline in the standard of living had not been as significant as might have been expected. The maintenance of the volume level of rice imports between 1930 and 1933, while the immigrant population of the plantations tended to decline, corroborates this view. However, there was a price that did not fall, that of arrack: consequently the variations in the level of alcohol consumption would be an excellent index of the standard of living, if their movement were not affected by two variables that make its interpretation difficult: the variations in the number of plantation workers, large consumers; and the progress of the temperance movement, which reduced open consumption and encouraged clandestine distillation. Despite everything, their curve is significant especially at the level of certain districts.

 

 

Back to food production

 

In the pre-war colonial domain, the ideal of many administrators was to see the peasants stay where they were, or return to where they came from. Peasants do not bother with theories; if they have the material means, they naturally fall back on food crops as an expedient while waiting for better days. In the case of Ceylon, this decline could take the form of an extension of areas or an intensification of rice yields, or an increase in vegetable, fruit and tuber crops in gardens and on uncultivated land.

 

The state of stagnation in paddy production and yields was linked to competition from imported rice, the facilities offered by other sources of income, and the nature of production ratios in this sector. Of these three factors, one was strengthened (decrease in rice prices), another attenuated (scarcity of jobs) the third remained unchanged. No spectacular development could be expected. As a Settlement Officer noticed in 1934 “Extremely low paddy returns. The villagers hold floods and the ravages of animals responsible, but the truth is that yields are low where the fields are near a road: the work necessary for the production and marketing of rice is not paid enough”[101]. The fact that rice cultivation for self-consumption developed under these conditions in limited areas shows how severe the impact of depression was. Thus, the swampy valley bottoms (owita) of the districts of Kalutara and Galle, abandoned during the rubber boom or even before, or converted into rubber plantations, were again cleared (asweddumized, in the Anglo-Sinhalese sabir) as early as 1930[102]. In the North Western province, coconut plantations established with the help of the government on previously irrigated lands were reconverted into paddy fields[103]. In the Kandy district “the villagers who had been in the habit of supplementing their resources by work on tea and rubber plantations, no longer able to obtain this type of job, cultivated their land more intensively”[104]. But if the phenomenon had been general, it would certainly not have escaped the attention of the agronomic stations whose managers do not mention it in their reports. The problem is that we do not have any reliable statistical data on the evolution of local paddy areas and yields, because the colonial administration was concerned until then only with the plantation sector. The Director of Agriculture admitted in 1931 that “the examination of returns of rice imports are some indications of conditions bearing upon the paddy industry within the island”[105]. We are as unarmed as he was. It is not enough to compare the evolution of the population with that of rice imports: it is also necessary to weigh the result obtained according to the number of residents of the plantations who were proportionally larger consumers of imported rice than the villagers, and take into account a possible reduction in the consumption of rice per capita, which is precisely one of the data that we would be most interested to know.

 

Until 1931 rice imports varied hand in hand with the number of migrant workers, from 1931 to 1933 they were maintained despite their exodus which suggests an increase in indigenous consumption. The recovery of imports in 1934 corresponds to the return of emigrants and a catastrophic drought that annihilated local production, their strong growth in 1935 and their maintenance at a high level afterwards are linked to the sequelae of the malaria epidemic. In any case, the maintenance of imports between 1930 and 1933 excludes any significant growth in local paddy production; given the departure of more than 100,000 Indians, it suggests, on the contrary, a reduction in this production, or an unlikely increase in per capita consumption. The process of intensification of rice production without modernization described as involution, which Clifford Geertz observed in Java, did not occur in Ceylon: the British imperial system, different from the Dutch system, was based on the sharing of tasks, by virtue of the same principle that had led to the abolition of the Corn laws in the previous century. The profitability of plantations, a labour industry, was largely based on the maintenance of low wages made possible by the import of cheap Burmese rice. Planters hardly imported vegetables which were locally produced, and it was precisely in the horticultural sector that the phenomena of intensification and extension of crops were the most marked. To the point that in 1936, nearly 200 hectares of paddy fields were planted with vegetables during the dead season[106]. The first reflex of the villagers was to turn to substitute commercial production and not to food products: thus they cut down rubber trees in Kägalla to grow coffee and pineapple instead; elsewhere they experimented without much success cotton or pepper[107]. Other peasants who were less enterprising, or less stimulated by the market, or closer to famine, resorted to the traditional expedient in the years of scarcity: the cultivation of chenas on highlands. The problem was that in some districts the growth of plantations had not left the slightest space available, and that the State had strengthened its control over ‘waste lands’ since the beginning of the century. The resort to chenas was not general, according to the administrator of Kurunägala who wrote in 1932: “There was not the great increase of chena cultivation that might have been expected for food production in view of the failure to get any profit from rubber or good profit from coconut cultivation”[108].  It is the growth of permanent and not temporary cultivation of vegetables and tubers in gardens that was most marked; the phenomenon was general in the wet zone, especially near the rubber plantations, where this cultivation was undertaken by the rubber tappers who had lost their jobs, but this activity was described as unusual by some administrators when it extended to the tea areas in the upper country[109].

 

When employment resumed on plantations, what happened to food cultivation? It may have experienced a certain decline: at the end of 1938, in the district of Kägalla vast spaces that the peasants had previously planted in älwi (unirrigated rice) were abandoned: the villagers said that this cultivation required a long fallow, which is correct, but it also turned out that they had resumed work on the plantations, which led them to neglect their land. In other regions the change seems to have been sustainable with the transition from intermittent cultivation of chenas to permanent cultivation of gardens; the remarks of the administrator of Nuwara Eliya are relevant in this regard: “ wherever plots of lands are available, vegetable cultivation has become very popular in the district especially during the maha season and is the chief  source of money making in the villages; there is a ready market in the neighbouring estates and Sunday fairs”[110].

 

The growth of food production therefore did not mean that the villagers were returning to self-subsistence. On the contrary, everything indicates that it was accompanied by a marked development of trade[111]. The period of depression paradoxically coincides with that of the development of a dense road network traveled by bus lines and many lorries. After a brief period of stagnation between 1930 and 1933, the number of vehicles in circulation increased by 73% from 1933 to 1938; railway traffic, it is true, stagnated or decreased; railways were used almost exclusively for the transport of the product of large plantations, and it is likely that a transfer from one mode of transport to another occurred. But the multiplication of rural markets during the same period and the observations of contemporaries show that at least part of this spectacular increase in the vehicle fleet was due to the progress of trade in the village sector. The rise of Sunday markets (pola) predated the crisis; it was originally linked to the increase in the purchasing power of plantation residents who, not working on Sundays, went down to stock up in the neighbouring villages, buying from merchants and increasingly from small village producers. Very quickly the small urban merchants followed their example, so that the markets proliferated along all the roads leading to Colombo, Kandy, Galle or Jaffna. This spontaneous proliferation worried the authorities, first because fraud was frequent, and because it was feared that the ‘improvident villager’ would sell the stocks necessary for his livelihood under the pressure of merchants with whom he would have gone into debt, and the swelling of vegetable production was such that prices collapsed and farmers were forced to mortgage their upcoming harvests from local merchants. The return to land was far from being a panacea[112].

 

 

Land hunger and colonization schemes.

 

The redevelopment of food crops in densely populated areas where plantations controlled large areas came up against another problem: many villagers had no longer enough land at their disposal; and when they had enough, the unequal distribution of land reserved the benefits of these crops for the larger landowners. Depression was therefore indirectly responsible for an increased hunger for land. The Land Commission reports mentioned it in the late 1920s but at the time the demand for land was rather a demand from the rural and urban middle classes eager to take advantage of the high price of export products to open new plantations. While during the 1930s, it was the pressing demand of a jobless peasantry, which became aware that in lean times, it was with the small profits of the gardens or the sale of coupons that one could best survive. The period of the Great Depression coincides with the questioning of agrarian policy hitherto followed by the colonial administration[113]. In a first phase, which lasted until about the beginning of the 20th century, the villagers tried to appropriate the lands necessary for the expansion of their crops with the complicity of the indigenous headmen and against the always assertive but unequally effective will of the British administration.  In a second phase, with the establishment of the Settlement Department, the government strove to practice a direct administration to fight against the actions of headmen who, together with the planters and the new class of indigenous land traffickers, plundered the villagers of their lands, and the government of the profits it expected from sales to planters. In the early 1930s, the conjunction of the widely publicized Land Commission’s conclusions, the institution of universal suffrage, and the Depression, resulted in a wave of encroachments on uncultivated lands and, for the first time, by legislation, a ‘decriminalisation’ of these practices. The unpublished diaries of the Settlement Officers show how the normal process of land sales to peasants was disturbed. These administrators, unlike district officers, were field men who resided for days or even weeks in the villages. They were brought to know all the land transactions and get a precise idea of the financial situation of each village family. As early as 1929, the cases of peasants unable to pay for the land they claimed multiplied and traffickers and indigenous owners of large plantations took advantage of it, as in the typical example of Mangulagama village: “quite a number of lots sold were at once transferred, before the ink of the land register was dry, to the proprietor of a large coconut estate, who was there waiting for his prey. These lots would have been of inestimable value for future village expansion. Instead of that they have in effect been alienated at slightly over 10 Rs an acre to an outside capitalist”[114]. Despite the crisis supposed to dry up the resources of plantation owners, the phenomenon continued in 1932: “Piliyapitiya: the capitalists in most cases paid the full sale value, but the villagers were unable to even pay a first deposit, that is 1/10th price of their lands. In such cases, a few hours’ time was given to them to make the payment, which they did during the course of that day. There were two instances where the villagers on being told the sale value negotiated with outside capitalists who were present, and obtained from them the necessary sum. In these latter cases, it is surmised that the villagers arranged to sell their lands to the capitalists.”[115]. Settlement operations, in a situation of scarcity of money, and drying up of savings, had the consequence of aggravating the indebtedness of villagers and favouring the alienation of their lands – a result diametrically opposed to the objective pursued. Settlement Officers encountered increasing difficulties in making the villagers pay, and from 1933 were often forced to postpone sales operations, particularly in the rubber growing areas of Sabaragamuwa and in the coconut regions of Kurunägala[116]. Although the land was put up for sale at a very low price of 10 rupees per acre, sometimes no one showed up. An increased number of peasants asked for free settlements, under a clause that authorized Settlement Officers in the Kurunägala district alone to assign to each villager possessing paddy fields a triple area of highland[117]. The link between unemployment and hunger for land was made explicit in this request made by villagers in the district of Kurunägala in 1932: “Certain villagers stated that as they could not earn money as labourers, the only way they had of trying to earn money and spending their time usefully was to plant coconuts. They wanted to be allowed to plant chenas with coconuts. They were informed that they will have to wait till the settlement enquiries were completed”[118]. Sometimes the Settlement Officer, believing that depression served as an excuse for peasants not to pay, adopted a rigid attitude. One of these administrators was faced with concerted obstruction, in a village where was only 8 hectares left to share between 200 families; a phenomenon all the more significant as it was unexpected for those who took for granted the passivity of the Sinhalese peasantry: “There was something very like a riot in Nanwatta shortly after I got there. A crowd as big as that assembled for an enquiry gathered round me, weeping women with howling children and men who seemed on the verge of physical collapse demanded land”[119]. In the district of Kägalla, where the Settlement Officers hardly exercised their activities, as the amount of available land was minimal, the last uncultivated areas were eagerly coveted by villagers and planters. The government planned to establish colonies in favour of the former, and to reserve them for landless peasants unable to pay the price of a settlement: the land would therefore be allocated as usufruct and not as alienable property, to villagers recruited within a limited radius, who would be invited to reside on their lots. The first colony, that of Paspolakande, was opened in 1927; the success was not very marked at the beginning, but the second tranche of the same project, inaugurated in 1931, attracted 300 candidates for 50 plots. A series of other colonies, established after 1931 on the initiative of E.A.P. Wijeratne (the representative of the district at the State Council), were a great success; they were located almost all in the canton of Kinigoda, where for more than a generation the peasants had embarked on small-scale commercial crops, and where a systematic settlement was carried out during the 1910s, reserving for the State well-defined areas that it was therefore possible to give to allottees. In the northern part of Kinigoda there were 240 hectares for more than 1,000 candidates, and, to the testimony of the agent of government in charge of distribution “the deserving cases are so numerous that it is very difficult to make a selection”[120]. The beneficiaries rushed to plant vegetables, cassava, millet, and banana trees, at the same time as young coconut plants that would take about ten years to mature. Nevertheless, tensions soon appeared between the settlers and neighbouring villagers who did not benefit from the project while they considered these lands as theirs. The villagers took revenge by calling the settlers ‘assisted people’. The Kandyan headmen were accused of having shown bias in guiding the choice of English administrators. Caste rivalries were grafted on these jealousies, the peasants of high caste refusing to mix with Batgama villagers, the majority in this canton, and the latter being systematically excluded by some headmen, to the extent that a new distribution had to be made in their favour [121]. The hunger for land was no less in the south of the district of Kägalla: but there the poorer terroirs were hemmed in by large plantations, and the peasantry, less enterprising, had been living for two generations on the crumbs of large estates. The tradition of the cultivation of älwi [unirrigated paddy] on the chenas had however survived the alienation to the planters of the vast majority of the highlands. As early as January 1931, 176 villagers signed a petition in which they demanded forest land to plant älwi: they had read in the newspapers that it was given to the peasants of Kalutara. A year later, the demand was still pressing in localities affected by unemployment in rubber plantations, where there were many landless peasants[122]. In a group of villages located near Kitulgala, the case took a critical turn: the villagers helped themselves, without waiting for the good will of the authorities, fearing that their land would be used for a colony for the benefit of settlers from elsewhere. There was only a block of 16 hectares left, all that remained of the several hundred hectares once devoted to chena cultivation, which were gradually alienated by the peasants themselves who sold them to Muslim traffickers serving as intermediaries for planters, or to small indigenous capitalists. Regretting their mistake, a number of peasants reoccupied the land of one of these plantations that the buyer abandoned due to the depression. Finally the Marxist deputy N.M. Perera elected in 1936 obtained from the authorities in 1938 the release of the ban on cultivating reserved land in the Kelani Ganga valley, this same region where six years before the peasants had taken the initiative to occupy land. In a further move, Perera pressed for the State to buy poorly managed plantations to distribute them to peasant allottees[123]. In these new demanding attitudes, it is difficult to determine what was the share of peasant initiative and that of external incentives. Informal interviews with former residents of the district I had in 1978-1979 suggest the following pattern: the new electoral system deprived indigenous headmen of their privilege of exclusive intermediaries between the colonial power and the peasantry; some politicians took advantage of it and their initiatives released a long-contained flow of demands. The new settlements soon escaped the control of the traditional leaders, to become the business of politicians, flanked by influential mudalali (petty traders) established nearby, who quickly kept the peasants in their debt and became the new notables.

 

 

A limited rural mobility

 

Rural exodus represented in many countries another way out of the Great Depression. But this possibility was limited, in Ceylon, for two reasons: one of an economic nature: the urban sector was no less affected by the crisis, to the point that population movement was oriented rather in the direction of the villages; the other of a social nature: one of the most striking features of the behaviour of the Sinhalese peasants was their reluctance to move away from their village. Nevertheless, there was a prospect, the repopulation of the jungles of the dry zone. The Rajarata (land of kings) had remained for a millennium and a half the center of the power and prosperity of the ancient hydraulic civilization. Abandoned between the 12th and 14th centuries as a result of a combination of unfavourable factors, the Rajarata had attracted the attention of colonial administrators at the end of the 19th century. While archeologists with the support of the authorities began to raise the ruins of the ancient cities of Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa, engineers restored some of the ancient dams, and a few nationalists promoted the idea of returning to a glorious past.  But at that time no mass movement was emerging: on the contrary, it was difficult to attract settlers, and in general only adventurers or members of Kandyan ‘low castes’ (especially Batgama) settled there. Many abandoned after a season of cultivation, undermined by malaria, discouraged by a material and psychological isolation particularly trying for peasants accustomed to the sociable existence of the villages, and for whom recourse to family solidarity in case of need was vital. The attachment to the terroir, considered by contemporaries as a cultural trait, is one of those complex phenomena whose analysis raises theoretical controversies. There were exceptions to the refusal to expatriate, such as that of the inhabitants of the southern districts of Galle and Matara who since the Dutch period migrated to the rest of the island to work as artisans, carpenters, shopkeepers and traffickers of all kinds. What was special about them? In terms of caste, there were proportionally many Karava (originally fishermen), Salagama (cinnamon peelers), Durava (toddy extractors), and relatively few Goyigama (theoretically cultivators). The three above mentioned castes settled in the island at a relatively later date and have always been more mobile if only because of their original professions. A second originality of the region is that it had experienced early population growth and was commonly considered ‘overcrowded’[124].

 

With regard to the Kandyans of the central districts of the country, if it is true that until the middle of the 20th century they showed many preventions against mobility. Before the 1940s, two factors seem to have slowed down emigration: the insufficiency of means of transport, and the influence of dominant families who retained enough material resources to ensure the livelihood of their dependents, especially members of the ‘lower castes’, and enough prestige to prevent them from leaving. In this regard, one can quote two successive administrators of the district of Kägalla[125]: “In the division most affected by the fall in the price of tea and rubber, the pressure of economic stress is not as severe as one believes it to be from the considerable number of men who, even in the villages, want work. I have been astounded by the answers I have had from village headmen when I questioned them closely on the number of men who are not only landless or out of work, but also without any relatives on whom they can sponge (…) And yet when I enquire what prospect there is of getting these men from the area near  Talduwa to migrate 15 miles to peasant proprietor allotments I hope to make in Kitulgala, I am assured that the men will not go even so far from their village. Economic stress in this locality then seems to fall short of the point when it exerts enough pressure to disturb custom and habit”. In other words, it is the survival of traditional structures that would make it possible to face the crisis.  “The low mobility of the villager is not entirely due to his lack of entrepreneurial spirit, but at least partially to the awareness that once out of his home and his family group, essential products such as salt, jaggery (palm sugar), sugar or tea will cost him more, but that an acre of land will hardly provide him with a marketable surplus”. A Settlement Officer reported the answer of a simple peasant whom he suggested to emigrate: “And how shall we live while we build new houses and wait for the harvest?”[126]

 

The pressure of the crisis finally proved to be strong enough to push a few villagers to migrate in the mid-1930s,  when the government organized the allotment of uncultivated areas at a reasonable distance from the villages, in the Kalutara district (Pasdun korale east), and later in well-organised colonies in the Rajarata (Kalawewa, Nachchaduwa)  “The effect of the slump in the stimulation of colonization have been very noticeable during the year under review”, wrote in 1932 the Land Commissioner[127] “The peasant is at ordinary times attached to his village and naturally loath to emigrate. During the last 50 years the population of the wet zone has increased by leaps and bounds. Up to the beginning of the present slump this population was largely supported by various forms of employment which was provided at its doors by the prosperity of the major industries. As the depression increased these means of livelihood were gradually curtailed and in some cases cut off altogether. The village population was thrown back upon its resources, and it was then found that the available village land was insufficient to support the largely increased numbers. The result has been that the villagers of the cultivating classes have been more and more compelled to go further afield and seek localities in which Crown land still remained available for allotment to them. This has enabled extensive settlement of peasants from the Kalutara and Colombo districts in the Pasdun korale east colonies, from Galle district in Urugasmanhandiya area, and the development of large acreages under Nachchaduwa and Kalawewa in the North Central province”. But next year “the return of better times in the tea and rubber industry providing employment for increasing numbers of villagers, who have for the last 2 or 3 years been deprived of this additional means of livelihood, militates against colonization. The villager is naturally loath to leave his home and permanently migrate to what is to him a new country (…) He will only be induced to make the plunge after he is satisfied that sufficient means of livelihood are not to be found in his own village”[128]

 

The attraction of the Rajarata was a new phenomenon during the 1930s. It was linked to the publicity given to colonization projects, and to the rise of a nostalgic representation of the Sinhalese past, which presented the rebirth of this lost country as a revenge on the British occupier and the Tamil invader. But the illusion was short-lived; the State councilor of Anuradhapura, a non-conformist former British administrator, gave this picture of the influx of migrants[129]: “A great number of unemployed from all parts of the island have come to Anuradhapura this year. They come without money and without making enquiries as to the conditions there. They start with a few rupees, either on foot or by bus, and get nothing”. These settlements were far from successful. In addition to the sociological obstacles already mentioned, and countless errors due to the inexperience of those responsible, they stumbled on the problem of the weakness of rice prices. This led to a reflux towards the villages of origin, obvious in 1933-1934. It is true that many villagers returned to the colonies afterwards, judging by the number of settlers established in Rajarata at the time of the 1946 census. But it is difficult to measure the exodus accurately due to a lack of indications on the regions of origin of these new inhabitants and because of the excessive gap between censuses. For example, the village surveys of 1936-38 suggest that outmigration occurred from the villages of the district of Kurunägala, because they note that in 9 villages out of 10 the population decreased compared to 1931, and in four of them by more than 40%; but the location of the villages where the decrease was the strongest suggests an alternative interpretation: mortality resulting from the malaria epidemic. In other districts, the correlation between migration and depression is clearer: in Matale, out of 6 villages studied, 5 lost an average of 11.8% of their population, including 2 that lived from employment on plantations. The only locality whose population increased was a village in the dry zone living in self-subsistence. In his personal diary, Bernard Aluvihare, the elected representative of the region, wrote that landless and unemployed peasants left without enthusiasm to a colony near Elahera, and complained bitterly about the favouritism shown by the indigenous headmen during the distribution of land. In the district of Chilaw, where the population decrease was on average 14%, the most affected village, Bandarahena, was also the one where the proportion of coconut estates belonging to absentee owners was the highest. Who left? Landless peasants, mainly squatters from coastal areas, emigrated first, followed by indigenous peasants forced to sell their land to their creditors[130].

 

Solidarity and patronage

 

In the Sinhalese villages, the extended family was no longer the basic social unit. But if conjugal household was the rule, collective solidarity had nevertheless lost none of its strength. In each locality coexisted a certain number of lineages that traditionally divided the terroir into as many lots (pangu) and it is within the lineage that solidarity was first exercised, that allowed the poor relatives to obtain means of subsistence. There was indeed a whole range of invisible resources in the village economy. Some fall under what could be described as a remnant of the gathering economy. It was accepted that poor children, or widows who were not remarried, come to pick fruit in their parents’ gardens, which were never fenced. It was also a rule that they were employed during transplanting and harvesting. They were present at all parties, weddings or funerals, and fed abundantly on these occasions. The tattumaru system described above was able to allow a number of jobless day labourers to reintegrate into the rice cycle, claiming rights that they may have neglected during the period of prosperity. But this phenomenon that could have led to an intensification of rice cultivation probably remained limited, the day labourers being precisely those whose shares in the pangu were too minute to ensure them a livelihood. On the other hand, it is very likely that the practice of ‘family sharecropping’ developed: it is still extremely common[131]. A poor relative was assured of obtaining from a wealthy owner a plot of paddy land or highland, for the duration of a growing season (on average six months). But these expedients were not enough for the poorest, especially since some lineages were poorer than others. In this case, more than the solidarity of the village as a whole, it is the protection of a powerful individual that would be sought.

 

Patronage relationships are one of the most conspicuous features of Sinhalese society. This was the case since the time of the Kandyan kingdom where, from the king to the peasant, a feudal-type hierarchical organisation grafted on the caste system ensured everyone by virtue of their place in the pyramid a capital of rights and obligations. So it remains today, where any successful man, politician or merchant, civil servant or owner, must maintain a clientele of obliged. To what extent and in what way these links have helped mitigate the effects of depression is one of the questions that is not possible to answer with the help of reliable data. It is certain that the depression initially reduced the ability of the powerful to maintain their clientele at least until the institution of coupons. On the other hand, the disintegration of the social position of traditional leaders limited their means of action. Nevertheless, in Kandyan regions where the caste system remained alive in the 1930s, the dependent of an aristocrat Radala, of a temple (devale) or a Buddhist monastery (vihare), could always expect from his or her protector the assurance of means of subsistence. And in areas where new notables (shopkeepers and teachers) sought to carve out a reputation, their assistance would not fail; but in the context of increasing monetisation, the informal interest loan may tend to prevail over the pure and simple donation. Finally, the marked renaissance of Buddhism in the first half of this century encouraged charitable acts, by virtue of an ethics that valued the performance of meritorious acts (pinkama). It is to charity that colonial administrators attributed  the survival of many inhabitants: “the dislocation of the island’s economic life in recent years has very gravely affected the lives and fortunes of very many thousands, and the sums available for relief, whether governmental or local, seem pathetically small and would be so, were it not for the abiding charity of the people which alone keeps utter destitution from of very many homes”[132].

 

Crime and the Depression.

 

There is a tradition of rural violence in Ceylon, probably prior to the colonial period, but certainly aggravated by the trouble it has caused. The research conducted by John Rogers makes it possible to clarify its contours[133]. This tradition of violence was clearly different from that of near India or Latin America, for example, in that it had an individual, or family character, more than collective; the main motives were marital jealousy, disputes of boundaries, succession quarrels. The level of physical violence was very high: 6.9 murders per 100,000 inhabitants in 1933, compared to 0.5 in Great Britain, but 10.8 in the United States[134]. It appears to have worsened during the 1880s and 1890s, probably due to the disturbances caused by the great development of plantations and the population growth. The only type of rural crime that was similar to Indian practices was cattle theft that fed a vast traffic over which Muslim dealers held control. In parallel with the growth of employment outside the village, new types of crime (thefts on plantations or construction sites, burglaries) developed whose variations followed those of the economic situation. Thus, the theft of latex became prevalent when rubber reached high prices, in 1925; on the other hand, in times of low prices and restriction of employment on plantations, unemployment promoted theft of food produce.  In 1923, in the two districts of Kalutara and Kägalla, a growth in crime of the order of 40% was reported, which was of great concern to producers. It was to be expected that the depression of the 1930s would result in a general increase in this type of petty crime. Police statistics and administrative reports provide abundant but repetitive information on a phenomenon to which the authorities have always been very sensitive. The seriousness of the phenomenon may have been exaggerated by the interest they had in it, just as police statistics were inflated by the growth in the number of police stations created to fight against it. The police superintendent, in his 1933 report, analyzed in detail the mechanisms responsible for the rise of crime[135]. “The low country estates in particular provided employment for the villager when not employed in the cultivation of his own fields (…) With many rubber estates abandoned or placed in a care and maintenance basis, and with the cessation of all building or contract work, those who worked as tappers and others who worked as masons and carpenters are living in the villages with nothing to do and unable to earn a regular wage. There may be little acute poverty in the villages, but there is lack of ready money and the smaller towns where the inhabitants catered for the needs of estate labourers have been particularly very hard hit. There is a great temptation for such people to commit crime. Another result of the depression has been the increased attention paid by the villagers to vegetable cultivation with the result that there have been disputes over land which had previously been lain idle. With less money available for settling land disputes by litigation, villagers have been tempted to take the law into their own hands”. The general evolution of the number of crimes and offenses was much faster than that of the adult population. It ran parallel to that of the economic situation from 1926, the recovery of 1934 resulting in a slight drop in the number of cases. However, this decline can also be explained by the malaria epidemic. Local administrators did not always agree with the police to blame the depression for the situation, and the comparison of the curves by province shows that some of the strongest growths were recorded in areas (North Central and Northern Provinces) where there were no plantations. The distribution by type of crime shows that the progression of acts of violence was stronger than that of burglaries; the depression reducing the value of stolen objects, cases went to the rural court and thus escaped police statistics, but thefts of livestock and agricultural products were experiencing a spectacular boom[136]. This point will keep us because it is especially significant of the mechanisms of depression. In this area too, there was a regression towards self-sufficiency, or rather towards subsistence at the expense of neighbours. The villagers of the North North Western Province returned to the abduction of cattle from neighbouring localities: this type of crime, in strong regression during the 1920s, regained in 1933 its level of 1921. It declined in 1934, particularly in the rubber-growing areas where recruitment resumed, but reached a record level in 1935[137]. The period of the malaria epidemic, which was accompanied by a severe food shortage, resulted in a 100% increase in cattle theft in the North North Western Province. The animals were taken to an isolated place and slaughtered; while in the past the meat was sold to Muslim butchers, it was consumed on the spot, which shows how severe the famine was; it was also believed that beef consumption could restore health, by virtue of a total inversion of values in the Ceylon Buddhist context, but that knowledge of the effects of the major European plagues makes less surprising[138]. While slaughtering cattle was a serious business, the spoils of coconut or other fruits and small shoplifting were committed in the absolute indifference of the population and generally did not give rise to complaints to the police, so that their indisputable progression is difficult to quantify[139].  This indifference was not free of ulterior motives; harvesting fruit in the garden of a wealthier parent was a right that no one disputed without being accused of avariciousness. Doing it on the domain of an absentee owner was not fundamentally different: if this owner had established his plantation on land bought from the villagers for a dish of rice, or even downright usurped, the act was appreciated as a fair return of things to which the planter had to resign himself if he did not want to attract the hostility of an entire village. The administration itself was divided: while the police was considering organising patrols in the coconut districts, the head of the Settlement department wrote: “Dowbiggin (the police chief) mentions that in the North Western province burglaries are increasing and that people thrown out of work in estates are stealing foodstuffs right and left. These are probably the people who appeared before us classified as landless. Colonies for these people will be better than jails”[140]. The growth of crime was also noticeable at the local level: the 1936 surveys came across a village where in 1935 all shopkeepers were victims of burglaries while the thing had never happened before. This village was the only one among those in the sample where the plantations had closed[141]. In addition to these petty offenders, professional burglars were also affected by depression: forced to expand their range of action, each catch being meagre, they were increasingly using the bus network. Organised theft was a regular practice in particular villages often located on the border of two provinces. It was often associated with clandestine alcohol distillation and thrived especially near plantations. Gangs of robbers organised as in the time of the famous Sardiel, the Ceylonese Robin Hood of mid-19th century, had disappeared at the beginning of the 20th century. Sign of the times, some reconstituted themselves in the North Western province, long famous for its spirit of insubordination; they were made of hungry peasants, or of beggars scouring local fairs, rather than of professionals[142].

 

The impact of the depression on the level of crime is clear from the point of view of law and order. Reversing the perspective, it may be that petty crime had indeed allowed an appreciable number of people to get out of trouble, somehow replacing the resources offered by occasional work. Looting was a constant in the areas of coconut cultivation and contributed to the subsistence of some marginal families (widows in charge of children, ‘low caste’ groups); it could develop in times of difficulty and contribute to the subsistence of a wider margin of the population. Before concluding this evocation of crime, it would be necessary to question the existence of social violence directed against wealthy peasants and village headmen such as rural societies in Asia provide frequent examples. We have not conducted exhaustive investigations on this subject, but there is nothing to suggest that depression has led to a significant swelling of this phenomenon, of which we have encountered several isolated cases, particularly in Sabaragamuwa and North Western provinces. [143]

 

*

 

Thus the impact of depression was felt unequally in the Ceylonese countryside. Geographical disparities: the crisis spared the villages of the dry zone that lived in self-subsistence, but hit those who marketed their paddy production; it remained more moderate in localities practising polyculture and those where the proximity of major roads favoured the development of horticultural production for the market; it reached its maximum intensity in villages dependent on a single source of income, be it rubber, coconut or even tea, and where the number of landless peasants was high. Social disparities: the crisis revealed the class stratification of the rural world in Ceylon. Indian plantation workers who had been able to keep their jobs had their standard of living reduced, but escaped misery; others were forced to emigrate. Their Ceylonese colleagues had their wages amputated by 50% and their number of working days reduced. Rural artisans working for plantations lost their jobs. Those of them who had a regular job become casual workers, and many casual workers were left out, especially from 1933-1934, when the coupon system resulted in the closure of small indigenous plantations where most were employed. Poor peasant micro-fundiaries with less than 2 or 3 acres of land experienced very difficult years until 1933-1934; they subsisted by cultivating part of their land in vegetables. The restriction system only partially lightened their fate. However, the decrease in jobs deprived them of complementary resources. Wealthy peasants and small non-cultivator owners (small traders, teachers, etc.), after being seriously affected, managed after 1933-1934 to take advantage of the situation by turning into rentiers (which brought them closer to the big planters): it is this category of small notables that began to make its voice heard in politics, and which would later form the social basis of the Bandaranaike regime. It is this class that most loudly proclaimed its fear of seeing ‘Indian immigrants’ steal the jobs of villagers. Indeed, there was a relationship between the coupon system, the closure of small plantations, the dismissal of Sinhalese workers, and the renewed Indian immigration of 1934; but in this process, small and large planters had objectively the same interests. The weight of the crisis, especially in rubber-growing areas, was passed from the capital onto the workforce.

 

 

 

[1] See the synthetic study of PEEBLES (Patrick) The Plantation Tamils of Ceylon, London, 2001, who argues that ‘coolies’ were not ‘migrants’ but a settled population; and the more detailed research work of WESUMPERUMA (Devapriya) Indian Immigrant Plantation Workers of Sri Lanka, a Historical Perspective, 1880-1910, Nugegoda, 1986.

[2] JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.), The Supply of Sinhalese Labour to Ceylon Plantations, 1830-1930: a Study of Imperial Policy in a Peasant Society. Cambridge, Ph. D. thesis, 1963; MEYER (E.), “Between Village and Plantation: Sinhalese Estate Labour in British Ceylon” in M. Gaborieau & A. Thorner eds., Asie du Sud, Traditions et Changements. Paris, 1979 p. 459-468.

 

[3] VAN DEN DRIESEN (I.H.), The Long Walk. Indian Plantation Labour in Sri Lanka in the 19th century. New Delhi, 1997.

[4] WESUMPERUMA (D.), op. cit, 1986; and MEYER (E.) “A dramatic episode of labour migration to Sri Lanka: Marathi coolies in the Sabaragamuwa rubber estates during the early 20th century” Sabaragamuwa University Journal vol 1 n° 1, pp. 11-28, 1998.

[5] Yearbook of the Planter’s Association of Ceylon (hereafter YPAC) 1928 p. 75

[6] AR Controller of Labour (hereafter: AR CofL) 1939 p. O23; INDIA, Report of the Royal Commission on Labour in India, 1931: Madras and Coorg, written and oral evidence, vol II.

[7] YPAC 1927 p.47-48

[8] INDIA, Report of the Working of the Indian Emigration Act, the rules issued thereunder and of the Labour Ordinances of Ceylon, by the Agent of the Government of India in Ceylon. Calcutta (hereafter AGIC), 1932 p. 18

[9] INDIA, Census Reports, 1931, Madras, p. 45-47.

[10] AR CofL 1932 p.O19; see also JAYARAMAN 1975.

[11] AGIC 1929 p.4 ; 1930 p.5;

[12] AGIC 1931 p.8

[13] AGIC 1932 p. 1-2, 1933 p.3; AR CofL 1933

[14] AGIC 1934 p.3; CEYLON, Sessional Paper (hereafter SP) III of 1938, p.27-28

[15] AGIC 1935 p.4, 1936 p.3 ; 1937 p.6-7, 1938 p7 ; AR CofL 1937 p. 030, 031, 037, et 1938 p.044-45.

[16] AGIC 1932 p.2

[17] AR CofL 1937 P.O30

[18] A contemporary analysis of the social impact of great value is: SUNDARAM (L.)  “The Indian labour force in Ceylon : the impact of the economic crisis” International Labour Review, July 1933

[19] AGIC 1931 p.10-14

[20] AGIC 1931 p.22

[21] AR CofL 1938 p.O44

[22] AGIC 1932 p.10

[23] AGIC 1930 p. 18-19

[24] SUNDARAM (L.) op. cit. 1933

[25] AGIC 1930 P.8-9, 1931 p. 13

[26] AGIC 1930, 1931 p. 13 ; AGIC 1933 p.9, 1934 p.5

[27] AGIC 1932 p.6-7 et 14

[28] AGIC 1935 P.6, 1936 p.5, 1937 p. 11-12. AR CofL 1937 p.O44

[29]  CEYLON, Sessional Paper 23 of 1934, Memoranda and Evidence of the Ceylon Banking Commission (hereafter CBC II) p.475, cf AGIC 1935

[30] AGIC 1930 p. 11-12

[31] AGIC 1937 p. 15-17

[32] MALAMOUD (Ch.) ed. Debt and Debtors, New Delhi, 1983

[33] AGIC 1934 p. 14

[34] AR Inspector General of Police 1933 p. A19

[35] AGIC 1932 p. 12-13; AGIC 1934 p.11-13, 1939 p. 13

[36] JAYAWARDENA (V.K.), The Rise of the Labor Movement in Sri Lanka, Durham, 1972, chap. XIII

[37] AR IGP 1933 p.A31

[38] AGIC 1934 p. 21-22

[39] CO54/55531; AGIC 1937 p.7-8

[40] AGIC 1939 p. 26-28, AR CofL 1939 p. O22-23

[41] AR CofL 1939 p.O9-10; CO54/55569 “Things Ceylonese”, diary of Sir A. Caldecott, 1940

[42] Interview by the author, Talewala, Kägalla district, July 1979; see also AR Registrar of Cooperative Societies (hereafter RCS) 1933, p. E4

[43] SCOTT (J.C.) Weapons of the Weak. Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance in South-East Asia. Newhaven, Yale University Press, 1985; also The Moral Economy of the Peasant. Newhaven, Yale University Press, 1976

[44] AR CofL 1931 p.O35, AR Western Province 1929 p.A4-5, AR Kalutara 1929 p.A23, AR Kägalla 1930 p. I16 and 1932 p.I21

[45] JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.) op.cit. 1963, p.277-278

[46] CBC II p. 402-405 and p.488

[47] CEYLON Bulletins of the Ministry of Labour, Industry and Commerce n° 5 to 12: Reports of the Economic Surveys of Villages (hereafter: SV) Kurunägala n°10 (70%), Kalutara n° 6 (80%), Chilaw n° 7 (75%), Puttalam n°8 (74%), Galle n° 11 (86%), Matale n° 9 (84%), Matara n° 12 (60%); CBC II p.181 (Ratemahatmaya of Wiyaluwa)

[48] NICHOLLS (L.) & NIMALASURIYA (A.), “A nutritional survey of the poorer classes in Ceylon”, in Ceylon Journal of Science, sect. D, November 1941.

[49] SV Matale p.25 (Selagama, Palleaswedduma, Wellangahawatta, Tibbotuwawa were villages connected with plantations, Bibile was a dry zone village) cf CBC II p.381

[50] DENHAM (E.B.), Ceylon at the Census of 1911, Colombo 1912.

[51] AR CofL 1932 p.O33 ; AR Nuwara Eliya 1932 p.B27

[52] SLNA Colonial Secretariat Records F/407 /1930

[53] Diary GA Ratnapura 18.01.1934 ; see also  Diaries Settlement Officer 25.11.32, Assistant Settlement Officer (ASO) Fernando November 1932, ASO Abeyakoon April 1933.

[54] MEYER (E.) op. cit. 1979  

[55] SP XX of 1934 p. 76

[56] AR Sabaragamuwa 1928 p.I4, 1929 p.I4-5, 1930 p.I5, 1931 p.I4

[57] SP I of 1929 (report on Karawita by Brayne)

[58] Diaries ASO Northcroft 8.02.1932, ASO Cocks 5-7.01.1931, ASO Aluvihare, 30.04.1939

[59] SLNA 26/1408 (15.10.30, 22.10.32, 9.12.320, 13 02.35) ; SLNA 26/256 (15.12.36)

[60] SV Kurunägala p.3 & 8, SV Chilaw & Puttalam, passim; AR North Western Province 1929 p.F18, 1933 p.F4; AR Registrar of Cooperative Societies 1933 p. E3

[61] Diary AGA Kägalla 18.12.1933 et 29.01.1934; diary ASO Sandys 21-22.10.1930 (Timbulkotamulla).

[62] AR Matara 1930 p.C10 ; SP VII of 1937 p. 12

[63] CO54/914/14 Ceylon Association to Cowell, 30.11.1932

[64] AR Nuwara Eliya 1932 p.B27, 1936 p.B33; cf diary ASO Fernando, November 1932

[65] AR Uva 1932 p.H6, CBC II p. 406-408

[66] AR CofL 1932 p.O33-34 ; SV Galle p.37, SP III of 1938 p.27, CO54/975, memorandum by the Controller of Labour 19.06.1938

[67] Diary AGA Kägalla 19.11.32, 18.07.33; AR Southern Province 1933 p.C4; AR Sabaragamuwa 1933 p.I4, 1934 p. I3; CBCII p.472 sq.

[68] AR Kägalla 1920 p. I16, AR Sabaragamuwa 1921 p.I2

[69] SP VII of 1937 p. 11-12

[70] SV Kalutara p. 26, AR CofL 1931 p. O35-36

[71] Diary AGA Kägalla 20.02.34, CEYLON Hansard 1935 p. 19

[72] Diary sAGA Kägalla 14.11.32

[73] AR RCS 1936 p.E5-6, SV Kalutara p. 44, AR Kägalla 1936 p. I22, AR Matale 1937 p.B21, AR CofL 1937 p.O15; Young Ceylon January and July 1936

[74] AR CofL 1938; AGIC 1938 p.8

[75] AR RCS 1936 p.E27-28, AR Central Province 1936 p.B5; AR ColL 1936 p. O5, 1937 p.O16-18, 1938 p.O20-21, 1939 p.O15; SP III of 1938 p. 32 et 36

[76] AR RCS 1937 p.E4, AR Ka1utara 1938 p.A22

[77] AR Kägalla 1932 p.I21, CBC II p. 105

[78] CBC II p.512 sq. and SV Hambantota, passim.

[79] CBC II p.216, AR Eastern Province 1932 and 1933 p. E4, AR Mannar 1932 p.D17, KARIAPPER (M.S.) Our Economic Needs, Kalmunai, 1940, SP IV of 1931 (Report of the paddy marketing committee)  

[80] CO54/914/14 Ceylon Association to Cowell, 30.11.1932

[81] CO54/874 Evidence of the select committee on Rubber restriction, 1925, p.9; AR Western Province 1928 p.A5

[82] BAUER 1948; KUNHARDT (J.C.) – The Future of rubber, London, 1930, p. 10; PEIRIS, 1972.

[83] Divisional Agricultural Officer Report, Central (hereafter DAOR) 1928 p.5, 1929 p,4, AR Director of Agriculture 1930, 1931 p.O5 and O39, 1932 p.05. Diaries ASO Fernando, 30.03.1933, ASO Rasaretnam July 1934.

[84] SLNA 25/14, Minutes of the L.C.P.A. 8.07.1927. cf OLIVER (H.M.) Economic Opinion and Policy in Ceylon, Cambridge 1957 p.16

[85] Diary AGA Kägalla 10.04.1934 and 10.08.1933; AR Tea Controller 1933 p. S8-9, 1934 p. S5

[86] Diaries ASO Rasaretnam July 1934, ASO Abeyakoon, july 1934, AGA Kägalla 10.08.1934

[87] SLNA 25/20/14 (Wijeratne papers); Ceylon Daily News 24.09.34 (Meeting of the Kelani Valley Planter’s Association)

[88]  CEYLON Hansard 1938 p.1686 (Kannangara] Ceylon Government Gazette, 24.09.37 p.984 (a case of Fiscal sale); SV Kalutara p.33

[89] SV Galle p.20 sq; AR Tea Controller 1938 appendix A; contra: CBC II p.472 ; SV Kalutara p.4 sq.

[90] AR Central Province 1934 p.B5-6, AR Tea Controller 1935 p,S4, AR Rubber Controller 1935 p.T8, AR Matale 1936 p. B21; AR Southern Province 1936 p.C5, AR Matara 1936 p. C21, AR Sabaragamuwa 1936 p.I6, 1937 p.I8

[91] CEYLON Hansard 1933 p. 727, p.873 (G.K. W. Perera), Ceylon Daily News 16.02.35 (S.A. Wickramasinghe) , CEYLON Hansard 1936 p. 26 and 407 (N.M. Perera)

[92] CEYLON Hansard 1938, p. 26-27 and 407-408; cf Sessional Paper VI of 1938 p.85

[93] AR RCS 1933 p.E6, SV Kurunägala p. 9-10, DAOR (central) 1929-p.4, AR Director of Agriculture 1931 p.06, AR North Western Province 1933 p.F4, 1936 p.F7, SP VII of 1937 p.12

[94] CBC II p,488, SP VII of 1947, p.7

[95] AR RCS 1931 p.E5

[96] Diaries ASO Jones Bateman 4-10.03.1933, and ASO Abeyakoon 25-28.04.33; AR Southern Province 1930 p.C3, Diary Ratnapura 26-27.09.34, AR Sabaragamuwa 1933 p. I4

[97] AR Kalutara 1932. p.A19, AR Southern Province 1932 p.C7, AR North Western Province 1932 p. F7, AR Sabaragamuwa 1932 p.I11, 1933 p.I12, AR Matale 1936 p.B26

[98] SV Kurunägala p. 30-31, SV Rayigam korale p. 10, SV Kalutara p. 18 ; CBC II p. 505

[99] AR 1935 p.F9

[100] Diary ASO Rasaretnam Feb. 1934, SV Kurunägala p. 13; AR Matale 1930 p.B17 & 1932 p. B21, AR Central Province 1932 p.B3, AR North Western Province 1932 p. F3-4. See also COREA (G.) op. cit. 1975 p.97

[101] Diary ASO Rasaretnam, February 1934

[102] AR Kalutara 1930 p.A14, 1932 p.A17. AR Southern Province 1930 p.C3, 1933 p.C4, AR Director of Agriculture 1931 p. D71.

[103] CBC II p.385 (Director of the irrigation department)

[104] AR Central Province 1932 p.B4

[105] AR Director of Agriculture 1931 p.D8

[106] AR Director of Agriculture 1936 p.D12

[107] AR Director of Agriculture 1930 p. D23, 1931 p. D40

[108] AGA Ke 18.01.31, 15.03.32, AR Ke 1938 p.I18. AR NWP 1932 p.F3-4 

[109] AR Director of Agriculture 1931 p. D71 (Kalutara), AR Sabaragamuwa 1931 p. I4, AR Kägalla 1931 p.I18-19, 1930 p.I16. AR Southern Province 1931 p.C4. AR Matara 1931p.C14. AR North Western Province 1931 p.F3-4. SLNA 26/1408 22.10.32 (Matara) AR Nuwara Eliya 1932 p.B27.

[110] AGA Kägalla 1-2.11.38 AR Nuwara Eliya 1936 p.B35

[111] DE SILVA (K.M.) ed., History of Ceylon vol III, Peradeniya 1973, p. 303-316

[112] AR NWP 1928 p.F4, 1934 P.F4, CBC II p.517. AR CP 1938 p.B5 ; AR Sabaragamuwa 1933 p. I4, AR Director of Agriculture 1936 P.012, AR CofL 1932 p.034; Diary AGA Kägalla 21.03.1933

[113] See Eric Meyer, “Towards a new land policy in the Kandyan regions: from the Ceylon Land Commission of 1927-1928 to the Kandyan Peasantry Commission of 1949-1950” https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6972

[114] Diary ASO Sandys, October 1929

[115] Diary ASO Rasaretnam 6-7.12.1932

[116] Diaries ASO Northoroft Augist 1932 (Lassekanda), ASO Light March 1933 (Eratme], ASO Cocks September 1934 (Alutgama, Wanduragala, Hitgoda Walpola) cf. AR Matale 1931 p.B23

[117] Diaries ASO Fernando 4 & 23,07.30, ASO Christoffelz 1930 & 23 .04.1931

[118] Diary ASO Abeyakoon, july 1932

[119] Diary ASO Jones Bateman 5.07.32, 4 et 10.03.33 cf Diary ASO Ingledow 22 10.30

[120] Diary AGA Kägalla 8.12.1927, 11.01.1931, 5,09.31 to 12.12.31, 12.09.32

[121] Diary AGA Kägalla 27,06.32, 22.11.33,11.01,34

[122] Diary AGA Kägalla 18.01.31, 15.03.32 et 18.03.32

[123] Diary AGA Kägalla 5.02.32, 17.04, 11.06, 11.07.1934; 27.11.1937, 10-12.10.1938; AR Kägalla 1938 p.I8.

[124] SV Galle p.5

[125] Diary AGA Kägalla 18.10.1932 & 21.01.1933

[126] Diary ASO Sandys, 20.05.1930 (Doratiyagedara)

[127] AR Land Commissioner 1932, p. B5

[128] AR Land Commissioner 1933 p.P6, AR Western Province 1932 p.A4

[129] CEYLON Hansard 1931 (2) p.231 (H. Freeman)

[130] SV Kurunägala p.3 , SV Matale p.2; AR Land Commissioner 1933 p.P6; Diary B. Aluvihare

12 et 19.03.39

[131] SV Kalutara p.2

[132] AR CofL 1932 p.O37

[133] ROGERS (J.), Crime, Justice and Society in Colonial Sri Lanka. London, 1987

[134] AR Inspector General of Police (hereafter IGP) 1933 p.A16; AR Western Province 1925 p.A4, SLNA 25/14: LCPA Annual General meeting 1924 and minutes 28.03.1924

[135] AR IGP 1933 p. A13

[136] AR Sabaragamuwa 1933 p. I10, AR Western Province 1932 p.A6, AR IGP 1933 p.A17 and 1934 p.A11

[137] AR IGP 1931 p.A11 & 15, 1933 p.A19, 1934 p.A16

[138] AR North Western Province 1935 p.F10 & F15, Diary AGA Kägalla 19.06.35

[139] AR IGP 1930, AR RCS 1936 p. E5-6, AR Central Province 1936 p.B5, AR Southern Province 1931 p.C5

[140] AR NWP 1936 p.F12; SO 7.11.1930

[141] SV Kalutara p.33 (Iddagoda)

[142] AR IGP 1933 p.A17, 1934 p.A13-15, AR North Western Province 1935 p. F9, Diary Kurunägala 2.02.1935.

[143] Diaries Ratnapura 2106.1935, AGA Puttalam 21.01.1935

 

.

“THE IMPACT OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION ON THE RURAL ECONOMY AND SOCIETY OF COLONIAL CEYLON (1925-1939)” by Eric Paul MEYER

The following text is the revised English version of my doctoral dissertation defended in French in 1980 at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris, before a jury composed of Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Jean Bouvier and Charles Malamoud. My intention is to give the English-speaking public access to a historical analysis that, although written 45 years ago, remains relevant in some respects, if only by the documents it has gathered. The part of this essay devoted to the 1934-1935 malaria epidemic has already been the subject of an English version available on the Sri Lanka & diasporas website[1] and will not be repeated here, but must be integrated into this text, which is published here in three separate parts.

The first part is devoted to the genesis and channels of diffusion of the crisis

The second to its impact on the economy and population of the plantations and on the economy and society of the Sinhalese villages

The third to Ceylonese landowners facing the crisis

 

It seemed appropriate, in those years of crisis where the precedent of the 1930s was often mentioned, to offer a precise picture of the impact of the Great Depression on a particularly dependent society. Ceylon (we will use here the name of Sri Lanka during the colonial period) provides a characteristic example of a country deeply penetrated by the plantation economy. The crisis of the 1930s offered an opportunity to examine how economic movements affected the fate of a peripheral economy and a dependent society, and revealed its structures.

It was indeed the depression and its after effects, including the malaria epidemic of 1934-1935, that determined a ‘discovery’ of the condition of peasantry among contemporaries and gave rise to the first in-depth investigations. “Just as the progress of a disease shows a doctor the secret life of a body, so does the progress of a great calamity provides the historian with valuable information about the nature of the society it affects” wrote the historian Marc Bloch. The crisis is therefore revealing of the structures, both for contemporaries and for the historian; and in the case that concerns us, the malaria epidemic following the economic depression, is particularly revealing. A problem of method has arisen that I do not think I have fully resolved: in the given image of rural society at the time of depression, the features that result from the economic crisis are difficult to distinguish from those that belong to a previous evolution, in the absence of information compatible for the period of the pre-crisis. In addition, quantitative data are not sufficiently continuous or reliable enough to allow a statistical analysis of social facts. There are, in fact, reliable figures on the evolution of quantities and prices of export products, which will be used to follow the steps and assess the extent of the crisis; ten-year population censuses also provide reliable information, but whose interpretation is often difficult. Finally, data on the movement of land ownership have been laboriously collected, and will be the subject of a tentative statistical development. However, these series do not provide decisive information on social facts in their links with economic movements, on the impact phenomena that we have chosen to study. In this research, the mechanisms will therefore appear more clearly than the fluxes; the statistical apparatus will not constitute its framework but will simply support a number of developments.

The constraints imposed by the state of the sources are one thing. The choices resulting from the framing of the subject are another. It was resolved to limit to a minimum the developments devoted to purely financial mechanisms, which had already been the subject of research, and to draw attention to the social impact of the Great Depression. At this very level, it appeared necessary to operate a second limitation: although urban society, i.e. essentially that of the capital, had been seriously affected by the crisis, we have excluded it from the present study, limited to the impact of depression in the rural world, including plantations, without however discarding its effects on the land ownership of city dwellers, to the extent that it influences the fate of rural society. On the other hand, it appeared necessary to gather and exploit as much grass root level information as possible, which could to some extent make up for the shortcomings of quantitative information. Only a quasi-monographic study could reveal the real impact of the crisis: the analysis of the spread of depression by very tenuous channels questioned the dualistic image given by observers at the macro-economic level; the relatively long latency time separating the triggering of depression from its impact on rural masses could only be explained by the game of phenomena falling within economic anthropology, based on the field investigation, including oral testimonies.

The most useful documents were the printed annual reports (Administration Reports) and the journals (Diaries) of the officials in charge of the provincial administration (Government Agents and Assistant Government Agents) and of the operations determining the respective land rights of the State and the private owners (Settlement Officers and Assistant Settlement Officers). Unpublished documents offered the advantage of controlling and correcting the omissions or complacency of reports intended for publication. The productions of administrators who live at the age of the car, telephone and paperwork do not have the authenticity or precision of those of their predecessors who made their tours on horseback or on foot and who were spared the constraint of routine reports. But their existence is already quite exceptional and does not seem to have many equivalents in the colonial world of the time. The reports of the parliamentary committees of inquiry are a second type of source widely used. With the establishment from 1931 of a representative regime, they multiplied and developed. However, these Sessional Papers are of unequal value and interest, depending on the care given to the investigation, and their main flaw is often to collect more opinions than facts. The most useful are those related to the epidemic and the huge publication of the Ceylon Banking Commission, which offers the advantage of including almost all of the memos received by the commission and the minutes of all its public sessions. Socio-economic surveys conducted in some villages from 1936 onwards are particularly valuable, although they have methodological flaws, and they have no equivalent for the period before the Depression to make it possible to notice an evolution. The central archives of the colonial administration offer much less interest: it appears that London was relatively poorly informed about what was really happening in its ‘model colony’, and in any case the information is at the level of the great political strategy and not of social facts. The press is also quite disappointing, with the exception of the reports of parliamentary sessions (which are also found in the semi-official publication called the Hansard) and some letters from readers. Among the other documents used: the censuses (but the one of 1931 saw its publication seriously amputated because of the crisis, and the next one was only carried out in 1946 because of the war); the Ferguson directories, which include lists of plantations; the Blue Books, collections of statistics of very unequal value; and the official journal of the colony (Ceylon Government Gazette) which served as the raw material for a study of the sale of properties by the judicial authority. I also drew a number of information from informal contacts between 1975 and 1979 with elders, contemporaries of the event, which in some cases took the form of more structured interviews: among these testimonies, those of a former Marxist minister elected deputy of the south of the district of Kägalla in 1936, N.M. Perera (interview conducted a few months before his death); of a former leader of the depressed Kandyan castes, N.H. Keerthiratne; of the son of the former deputy of Kägalla, Tissa Wijeyaratne, former ambassador to Paris (I was allowed to use his father’s personal papers, now deposited in the National Archives of Sri Lanka); of former Kandyan headmen of all ranks (E. Delwala, A. Bandara); of a provincial lawyer (A.B.C. de Soysa); finally, of groups of villagers from the district of Kägalla.

The historiography of Ceylon is abundant and of good quality. Between 1955 and 1970, a number of young Ceylonese scholars came to Great Britain to carry out research in colonial archives, and the collective volume of Ceylon’s university history devoted to the contemporary period highlights the quality of their work[2]. But, made in the colonial metropolis, they have the paradoxical defect of not using local sources, with a few exceptions; on the contrary, it is these sources that I have perused the most. Several theses have been devoted by economists to the period of the Great Depression; but all are at the macroeconomic level and only consider in passing the mechanisms of the social impact of the phenomenon[3]. On the other hand, the analysis of the impact of the depression in other colonized countries has made considerable progress in recent years. Michael Adas’ pioneering book on the rise and crisis of Burmese commercial rice cultivation has paved the way, more recently taken up by Ian Brown’s study[4]. It is about a country that offers many common features with Ceylon by its Buddhist religion, and by the role played by the Nattukottai Chettiar Indian bankers. The evolution that Michael Adas describes is exactly parallel to that of Ceylon: it is the story of a growth in indigenous commercial production, thanks to a market created by the British imperial system of task sharing on a global scale; and of the cessation of this growth resulting from the closure of the pioneering ‘frontier’ even before the Great Depression: an endogenous crisis that the global crisis, which translates here into a collapse in the price of rice, makes irresistible; while the presence of a large community of Indian origin provokes xenophobic reactions and interethnic violence that accompany the birth of the national movement.

In the Indian domain, the general synthesis of D. Rothermund, a work devoted to rural South India by C. Baker, and a detailed study of the Depression in Madras by K.A. Manikumar[5], also suggest the existence of a growth, but much slower, over the twenty years preceding the crisis; they show the effects on the standard of living of the peasantry of the fall in the prices of export agricultural products (especially cotton and peanuts), and pose as I will do the problem of rural debt and the processes of land alienation that it may have led to. The Chettiar are also present there – in their homeland-, but the specificity of the Indian evolution during the depression is due to the fact that indigenous capital fleeing export agriculture that has ceased to be profitable is massively invested in a nascent national industry, so that India is one of the few countries whose industrial production indices does not decline during the depression. Manikumar recognizes that “the change from cultivation for home consumption to cultivation for the market had integrated the Madras economy into the world economy”, and he considers that the crisis began in 1929 and not before, and that it turned into a depression due to the lasting collapse of the prices of agricultural export products in 1931.

The multiplication of studies on Africa led to the organization in 1976 of a symposium on the theme of ‘Africa and the Crisis’. The context is very different from that of the British colonies in Asia: a more recent domination, fewer indigenous plantations which, on the contrary, tend to develop during the depression; but a series of convergences also appear: existence of a colonial crisis prior to the depression that accentuates it, degradation of the standard of living of peasant populations[6].

The general studies on the Great Depression do not bring anything specific to our purpose. The proceedings of a symposium held in Lisbon in 1933 on the crisis and the colonies reflect the concerns of the administration and of colonial interests. The idea that emerges is the need to encourage the maintenance of a dualism separating the ‘indigenous sector’ and the ‘colonial sector’ in order to ‘protect the indigenous’ in the event of an exogenous crisis: one of the speakers is the Dutchman J.H. Boeke who systematized his dualist theses shortly afterwards[7]. Among more recent studies, in addition to the detailed article by C.H. Lee who presents a review of the effects of depression on raw material producing countries, the most complete synthesis is that of Dietmar Rothermund devoted to the global impact of the great depression. But at this level of generality, reflections on the notion and the interpretations of the crisis are more inspiring than summary inventories[8].

 

Most of the problems of interpretation raised by the study of the crisis in dependent economies were posed in the introduction (J. Bouvier) and the conclusion (R. Gallissot) of the symposium on Africa and the crisis.  The anteriority to the crash of October 1929 of the depression of the prices of raw materials (especially rubber and copra for Ceylon) raises the problem of the origins of the crisis. It strongly suggests that the explanation by overproduction remains largely valid, and that in the genesis of this phenomenon dependent economies played a decisive role; this question is linked to that of the respective play of endogenous factors and exogenous factors in the outbreak of the crisis in a given country or economic area: the case of Ceylon clearly poses the problem of the articulation or superposition of a long-term crisis and cyclical factors. A second set of questions is posed by the sectoral extent of depression. If, as most studies suggest, the entire economy of the colonized countries was struck by its direct or indirect impact, the dualist theory dear to the colonial circles of the time, according to which the indigenous sector and the capitalist sector would be separated by a watertight partition, a cordon sanitaire that would protect the peasant from the effects of global fluctuations, is ruined. Dualism can therefore be interpreted as a political myth, itself a sign of a crisis in the colonial system. I met this theme constantly during this study, and proposes to return in more detail to its meaning in conclusion. I am convinced that words such as that of the French rapporteur at the Lisbon conference[9] should not be attributed to simple blindness: “From the indigenous point of view, you will recognize with me, with a certain satisfaction, that the populations have not suffered too much from the current crisis (…) Nothing comparable to what happened in civilized countries (sic) happened for them, neither as unemployment nor as misery. Why? Because, all the same, next to the new economy remained the indigenous economy.” These considerations naturally lead to the question of the policies followed by colonial governments confronted with the Depression, the awareness of “underdevelopment”, and the role of the Depression in the genesis of the colonial crisis. In this regard, the example studied here is specific, due to the attribution to Ceylon of a representative regime which corresponds exactly to the years of depression: a coincidence that may not be fortuitous.

 

 

PART 1

 EXOGENOUS CRISIS, ENDOGENOUS CRISIS

THE GENESIS AND DIFFUSION

OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION

 

 

“The Depression occurred at the precise moment when the long-term economic expansion in the country was naturally coming to an end.” Gamani Corea[10]

 

When I started this research, I had formulated the hypothesis that, in a colonized country as dependent as Ceylon, the crisis of the 1930s would be a pure import product. A better knowledge of the country and the period revealed that the impact of the exogenous crisis coincided with the results of internal mutations; economic depression appeared to me as the effect of a superposition. Superposition, or interaction? The question is important: I do not intend to decide it in the context of a work more focused on the effects than on the causes of depression. I will nevertheless try to assess to what extent the endogenous – actually indigenous crisis, could have determined or been determined by the exogenous crisis.  What are the components of this internal crisis? First, a demographic increase, relatively early in the plantation areas of the island in comparison with the situation prevailing in the Indian subcontinent; its origin is linked to the economic boom of the previous two or three decades; its effects are critical only to the extent that they coincide with the end of the spatial expansion of permanent crops in the wet zone. Second, the spectacular development of small indigenous plantations that introduces disturbances in the game of the planting economy established by the colonizers and to their benefit; to the extent that similar phenomena have occurred in other producing countries (including Malaysia and the Dutch Indies, the world’s largest rubber producers), the sudden swelling of production capacity, a factor of long-term overproduction, seems to me to be analyzed according to the internal conditions specific to the producing countries. Finally, the ecological and economic upheaval determined by the intrusion of plantations into peasant terroirs has given way to a fragile balance, where the peasant ceasing to be a full-time farmer depends more and more on the resources induced by the presence of plantations.

 

 

THE LIMITS OF GROWTH.

 

All the analyses of the Ceylon economy give the first place to the capitalist sector of European plantations, then to the traditional food sector, the sector of small indigenous plantations occupying a very small place[11]. We deliberately choose to reverse, if not the whole perspective, at least the order of presentation. Let us not be mistaken: it is not a question of denying that the impulse of growth was of external origin; what this approach suggests is that this movement has become ‘indigenized’, and that it has given rise to contradictions that have compromised its pursuit. Measuring this growth is particularly difficult. Although presented as a ‘model colony’, the island had no institution responsible for collecting statistics; the only reliable data are the ten-year demographic censuses (since 1871, with a marked improvement in the methods used from 1911), and the figure of imports and exports. For the rest, and especially in terms of areas and agricultural production, and living standards, the government was content to publish each year in a collection called the Blue Book figures compiled from routine surveys of village or district headmen, of an imperfect or even fanciful character. The abolition of the grain tax in 1892 had relieved the peasantry of a weight perhaps less heavy than its opponents claimed, and at the same time deprived the historian of a source of valuable information. This abolition of any State levy on the food sector, creating a situation almost without example in the world, proves better than any other indication to what extent the plantation economy and the monetization that accompanied it had already penetrated the economic organism: the product of import taxes on foodstuffs (mainly rice) and export taxes on plantation products, and indirect duties on alcohol and the monopoly of salt, were sufficient until the end of the 1920s to feed the coffers of the colony. The first systematic attempts to count areas and production are contemporary with the slowing down of growth, the first surveys on the standard of living are posterior to the crisis. The coincidence is not accidental, but it frustrates the point-of-comparison seeker. To assess the progress of agricultural production or the variations in the standard of living, one is compelled to use qualitative testimonies, or indirect indices, so that the mechanisms appear more clearly than the flows. However, there is no doubt that growth has occurred since the beginning of the century, bringing the entire rural population of plantation areas into a trade economy. Two sure clues to this change are the growth in rice imports per capita, and the reduction in infant mortality rates. Rice imports, originally intended for plantation workers and urban populations, were growing faster than the plantation population and the total population; the increase per capita (about 30% from 1900 to 1917), was abruptly interrupted by a supply crisis and then returnd to its previous level during the 1920s. This is explained by the progress of the village consumption of imported rice, the implications of which will be analyzed in more detail. Reported infant mortality rates increased until 1911, due to the improvement in registration methods and perhaps the poor health conditions of the growing estate population; then they declined regularly (with, however, two peaks corresponding to the 1919 flu epidemic and 1934-1935 malaria epidemic). Most contemporaries insisted on this upward trend such as the Government Agent of Ratnapura, in charge of one of the rubber-producing districts, who however considered that progress to be sustainable required a judicious adjustment in the repartition of land between outside investors and villagers[12].

 

The hypothesis of a deterioration in the peasant condition under the impact of the plantation economy, commonly accepted by nationalist circles from the 1930s, fits badly with these testimonies that signal a long-term improvement in living conditions. But growth was fragile, its spatial and social distribution was uneven. The new balance that was being established connected a large part of the rural population with the world circuits in such a way that it benefitted from the fallout of prosperity; but it had no control over these circuits and took the habit of dependence. This new situation resulted in population growth and the scarcity of the land available for further expansion.

 

 

From the old ecological regime to the new economic system

 

Clifford Geertz’s studies on Indonesia paved the way for an ecological analysis of the impact of the plantation economy on village structures. Whatever the theoretical criticisms that such an approach may raise, it provides a useful tool for analysis. The relationship between the village sector and the plantation sector in Ceylon offers a significantly different example of intrusion of a foreign economic body into a traditional structure[13]. In Indonesia, according to Geertz, two distinct systems coexisted and mixed together: in Java a rice ecosystem predominated: the planting economy was forcibly inserted in the paddy cycles by virtue of the ‘culture system’, which forced farmers to devote part of their terroir, by rotation, to a speculative crop, usually sugar. In the Outer Islands, agriculture was based on periodic clearing of temporary fields abandoned after a few years as soon as the fertility of the soil was exhausted: the plantation economy was inserted in the interstitial spaces without generally integrating into the rhythms of peasant cultivation. According to Geertz, while the sugar economy engaged the rice sector in a process of intensification without modernization (which he called ‘involution’), the planting economy of the Outer Islands determined a development that, by virtue of a demonstration effect, was to promote the rise of market-oriented small producers. In the Kandyan regions of Ceylon, before the intrusion of the plantations, there was only one ecosystem combining the two types studied by Geertz: each village represented a miniature Indonesia, composed of a rice center and a periphery of temporary fields (called chenas), the contact area being occupied by houses surrounded by fruit gardens[14]. The typical village landscape of the wet zone was therefore tripartite. In the least populated areas, the spaces furthest from the paddy fields preserved their primitive vegetation and served as hunting grounds, for fruit collection or tapping the sap of certain trees (such as the sugar palm); the villagers supplied themselves with timber or heating wood, and let their cattle graze. On the chenas two distinct types of cultivation were practiced: that of millets (amu and kurakkan) which could grow on all kinds of land but provided poor quality food; and that of ‘mountain rice’ (älwi) which required a rich soil and sufficient natural humidity. Finally, in contact with the two zones, a belt of fruit gardens (watte) surrounding the village houses; the gardens came up against the chenas area and in the event of population growth, could extend at its expense. The spatial dosage of these different zones varied from one locality to another. The colonial administration recognized as normal an area ratio of 3 (chenas) to 1 (paddy fields). But ratios of 10 for 1 were frequent in villages where paddy terroirs were particularly exiguous and where some social groups systematically exploited highland resources.

 

This geographical structure was perceived very intensely, it shaped the village mentality. The paddy field was the place of stability, security, legality. Everyone knew perfectly the characteristics and limits of the paddy lands. In contrast, the highlands represented the place of mobility, occasional work, imprecision, even illegality: this is where the arbitrariness of traditional chiefdom was best exercised, sheltered from the interference of colonial authorities: this class derived its wealth from its paddy fields, but its power from its control of marginal spaces. The cultivation of chenas was not a secondary element in the village economy. It represented an essential factor in a given ecological balance. Just as, in the Sinhalese diet, there is no rice without curry, so there were no rice fields without highlands. Chena offered a flexibility essential to the survival of the ecosystem: it made it possible to compensate for a bad harvest with an improvised cultivation, or to amass a modest surplus in anticipation of family events that generate expenses such as weddings or village festivals. Socially, the cultivation of the chena played the role of a safety valve; it provided certain individuals in rupture (couples not socially recognized for example) or certain social groups (castes of hunters or palm sugar extractors for example) with a means of survival. It represented the place of marginality par excellence.

 

The legal status of villages dated back to the monarchical era, but British legislation introduced new rules from the 1830s. In the past there were four types of villages. The most numerous which were also the smallest, the koralegam, were bound to a simple tax on grain production (irrigated paddy and älwi only), to which the British added a corvée on the roads convertible into head tax in money; most of the koralegam were populated by peasants belonging to the Goyigama caste located at the top of the social hierarchy and from which all the traditional headmen had come; the full ownership of paddy fields and gardens was recognized to the villagers, but the status of the highlands remained uncertain. Under an ordinance enacted in 1840, the British government appropriated all the land whose occupants could not prove that they paid the paddy tax, which automatically excluded millet-cultivated areas. The gabadagam , the vast villages of the king’s private estates, were exploited under a system comparable to that of the reserve and the tenures of the large domains in the medieval Europe. The tenants, usually of the Batgama caste, had only limited rights on the land. The colonial government abolished this regime during the 1830s, selling the reserve and recognizing the tenants’ full ownership of their paddy lands, but it retained its exclusive rights over the highlands. The temple villages (devalegam and viharegam) and the seigneurial villages (nindagam) operated according to a system comparable to that of the gabadagam, which the English let exist when their owners were able to provide proof that they resulted from a royal gift: in this case the highlands were recognized as private. Finally inside each village of some importance, the terroir was organized into pangu, operating units each corresponding to a lineage: each panguwa had its rice fields, often its hamlet and gardens, and, what escaped most of the colonial administrators, its chena area.

 

During the first phase of the intrusion of the plantations (1840-1855 approximately), the alienation of the land took place according to a process from which the Sinhalese were almost entirely excluded. The planters selected a land suitable for them, usually a forest, settled there, and legalized their occupation by buying the soil from the Crown for a symbolic sum. The villagers, whose spaces constituted hunting and gathering grounds, sometimes reacted by opposing surveying operations. During the peasant rebellion that occurred in 1848, whose origin was fiscal and the ideology millenarist, several plantations were attacked and burned by the villagers. But no large-scale movement occurred, for lack of the support of the traditional headmen, who were beginning to take advantage of their position as intermediaries between villagers and planters, and to discover the resources that the sale or rental to the planters of the land they controlled could provide. Soon, a fraction of the peasantry, at the instigation of small merchants from the coastal regions, entered the monetary economy by planting coffee trees in the gardens or on a portion of the chenas. The emergence of a market first virtual, then effective of the highlands played a decisive role at the origins of the second phase of plantation intrusion. In the interior of the country, the paddy tax was generally evaluated and received by the headmen. When the peasants were unable to pay they mortgaged their land. If the operation resulted in a judicial sale, the villagers who sought at all costs to keep their rice fields more willingly alienated highlands with indefinite limits. The transfer remained fictitious as long as it was not relayed by any external request of any magnitude but the buyers, traditional headmen or merchants, constituted a sort of capital of securities. During the years 1865-1870, the colonial authorities noticed that in the provinces not yet open to the plantation economy, the highlands were out of their control. Their first reaction was to repress the cultivation of chenas, which immediately led to serious food shortage in the regions concerned. Then the government resolved to adopt a more conciliatory position in a test district, that of Kägalla, where the demand for land for plantations was already significant. Carried out during the 1880s, the settlement of the chenas resulted in an ‘amicable’ division of the terroirs, the State renouncing any claim on a fraction of the highlands but asserting ownership of the rest. The operation allowed the State to build up vast one-piece domains regrouping the ‘confiscated’ chenas of several villages, which it was quick to resell to the planters. At the same time, the dramatic collapse of the coffee economy, combined with the forced conversion into money of the paddy tax, ruined many peasants. Instead of keeping the land that had been granted to them, many decided or were forced to sell it to planters already established nearby. Speculators rushed to the district. The planters employed the services of ‘land hunters’ – merchants or tavern keepers who pushed the villagers to go into debt, artisans working on the plantations, village headmen baited by the promise of bribes, dishonest lawyers who offered the peasants their services, exploiting the agrarian quarrels multiplied by the rise of the land market and by the defects of the ‘settlement’. Some families who had been deprived of the areas where they used to cultivate had not obtained compensation in the block assigned to the villagers, the planned redistribution having only benefited the clientele of traditional headmen. A new settlement was undertaken during the 1890s to remedy these defects and curb the massive movement of alienation of private lands. But it was too late to stop a mechanism that government policy had largely helped to trigger.

 

In the strategy of land speculation, the struggle for the appropriation of the added value created by the irruption of plantations took a sharp turn when the rubber boom relayed that of tea. The planters, who became the agents of large companies, sought to buy the land at low prices on behalf of their principals; the economic constitution of a huge land capital was, with the exploitation of a workforce of Indian origin, one of the ingredients of the maximization of profit rates. The colonial government, for its part, began after years of laissez-faire to worry about its land capital, and sought to assert its rights against both planters and villagers. The intermediaries were in the process of raising enough capital to allow them to behave autonomously and aspire to bourgeois respectability. And some villagers were beginning to become aware of the value of their land and the resources they could derive from it by constituting their own plantations. From 1897, a large-scale settlement policy was initiated, this time successfully. A body of specialized investigators concentrated its activities on the areas of the low country where coconut plantations were developing, and later on some areas of rubber cultivation. By that date and in these areas, large-scale land speculation was practiced by a nascent national bourgeoisie eager to invest in a booming sector the profits derived from market activities or liberal professions. It was obviously easier for the colonial government to defend the peasantry against Ceylonese investors than against the British planters… But this policy became the target of increasingly precise attacks by those who considered themselves victims: the attribution of internal autonomy to the country resulted in a slowdown in settlement activities. It is true that by that time, the extension of the plantations had reached its maximum; the depression would soon calm the speculative fever.

 

In all the areas where the villages were surrounded by plantations, a decisive break in the old agrarian regime occurred. The least populated forest districts were the first and most severely affected. Small villages were reduced to their small paddy fields and garden belts: their population growth was stopped. The large rice villages of the most densely populated areas were not affected in their demographic dynamism, but the problems of overcrowding and underemployment took a sharp turn within a generation. The only localities that experienced a smooth transition from one regime to another were those where the absence of large plantations had allowed the transformation of the chenas into cash crops by the villagers themselves, and to a much lesser extent those where the employment caused by the rise of plantations had immediately taken the place of work on the chenas.

 

The impact of the intrusion of plantations on the village ecosystems took many forms. The paddy fields located below the tea and rubber plantations were momentarily or sometimes even permanently silted, the practice of clean weeding aggravating the erosion of the hills; the only benefit that the farmers derived from it was to receive chemical fertilizers at the same time. Deforestation affected the regularity of the springs feeding the gardens and rice fields, and the planters sometimes diverted water from streams to operate their factories. The defense of the planters, when they were accused of these attacks on paddy cultivation, was to claim that the cultivation of chenas was also destructive of the natural environment. This classic colonial argument does not correspond to reality: the very principle of temporary cultivation allowed the regrowth of a secondary forest, and as long as the terroir was large enough, the villagers arranged their chenas in such a way that the hills were never bared by whole sections. The villagers used to put their paddy fields in defense with the help of palisades, and to let their cattle graze freely on all the rest of the terroir. When forests and chenas were converted into plantations, the animals continued to wander on their usual grazing grounds, finding young tea shoots to their liking. The favorite sport of plantation workers quickly became the hunting of village cattle that they would sometimes seize in the village itself (a large proportion of plantation workers belonged to untouchable non-vegetarian castes). These border incidents became a constant source of tension between the villages and the plantations. The peasants accused the planters of not enclosing their estates, as they themselves put their fields in defense. The planters, imbued with their Western conception of abstract boundary of property, and, for some of them, obsessed with a complex of racist agoraphobia aggravated by their way of life, felt as an intolerable attack any presence of “native elements in British territory” according to the ironic expression of a contemporary. Most did not know the Sinhalese language, many considered the village as an unknown territory, a source of crime, from where stealing expeditions originated and where ‘their’ coolies were perverted by traffickers with criminal designs; some imagined that the extension of the small village plantations, which worried them, was done with the help of plants stolen from their nurseries, and they obtained permission from the colonial authorities to use corporal punishment in case of flagrante delicto. In addition, many plantation owners refused to let the villagers use through their estates the old paths that connected the villages to each other: they did not hesitate, on the other hand, to widen the paths through gardens and paddy fields, which the villagers sometimes obstructed in retaliation. It is not proven that at the level of the entire country each of these disturbances – silting of fields, drying of springs, slaughtering of livestock, refusal of the right of way, was sufficient to determine a regression of agricultural techniques and yields. But it is difficult to escape the conclusion that their accumulation had the effect of discouraging a process of Javanese intensification that could have been caused by the contraction of the terroir in a context of strong population growth.

 

Nevertheless, the decisive phenomenon in the break in the old equilibrium remains the complete disappearance of chenas in plantation areas between 1890 and 1930, just when population growth accelerated. Thus the ecosystem lost its flexibility at the very moment when it became the most necessary. But this contraction of the terroir was not reflected in a total proletarianization of the peasantry, nor in a generalization of peasant commercial agriculture, nor in an intensification of paddy cultivation, but in the search for a type of resources offering a comparable flexibility. The reaction of the villagers to this ecological revolution, and more generally to the growth of a monetary economy, was a function of local conditions. In the coconut areas established at the expense of irregularly cultivated rice fields, a few villages were affected by the rural exodus. Some were absorbed in the structure of the plantations, and their inhabitants became ‘coolies’ on the large estates. On the other hand, in the regions where the government had refrained from selling land to planters, and where land speculation had not been unleashed, the most enterprising villagers converted to plantation agriculture; the settlement operations of the early 20th century favored this evolution. The magnitude of the peasant response to market demands, when conditions were favorable, was a challenge to dualistic theses dear to colonial business circles anxious to maintain full control of the plantation sector. But the small holdings proved to be very vulnerable to crises. Kinigoda, in the district of Kägalla, offers a typical example of this kind of evolution: one of the most backward and most malarial areas in the country, inhabited by so-called backward castes, but protected from the extension of plantations as fuel reserve for the railways, it was transformed in the space of a decade, thanks to the proximity of a railway station (Rambukkana) and the establishment of a purely indigenous marketing network. The chenas were converted into banana, then coconut plantations, by the villagers themselves. In other regions, small rubber plantations multiplied (latex manufacturing operations do not require expensive tools) and even tea: during the 1920s, some tea factories began to operate exclusively with leaves purchased from small producers. But often, the loss of chenas was not compensated by a sufficient extension of the village plantations for lack of available space.

 

A complex economic system took the place of the old ecosystem. In a context of land hunger and demographic explosion, the element of flexibility was provided by the diversification of resources made possible by the proximity of plantations. The village economy did not fully integrate into the plantation economy, but it borrowed from it the elements necessary for its survival, and this reluctant symbiosis became as necessary for the balance of the village as was once the cultivation of the chenas. This new mixed economy was based on three sources of income: the product of paddy fields, often cultivated under the tattumaru system (rotation of a plot between members of the same family group, each cultivating a season in turn); the products of the fruit garden surrounding each house, a fraction of which was sold on the market created by the population of immigrant workers of the plantations; finally, occasional or relatively regular salaried jobs made necessary by the irregularity of the resources from the paddy fields in tattumaru. These jobs depended directly or not on the plantations: many planters discovered that it was profitable to entrust villagers with the operations of incision of the rubber trees and the collection of latex, paying them for the task; others found work such as woodcutters, masons, etc.

 

Internal social changes resulting from the rise of plantations are difficult to assess. Here are some hypotheses. The structure of power at the regional level was not radically changed: some families of superior headmen who bargained for their collaboration with the planters derived considerable profits and increased influence. On the other hand, at the local level, simple village headmen often saw their prerogatives reduced to little by the establishment of the planters’ law on the spaces they once controlled, and by the influx of traders and workers from coastal regions. The irremediable decline of the village aristocracy is at partly attributable to this cause. During the last hundred years, some lineages vegetated or even disappeared, while others grew and multiplied. The ‘low caste’ villagers had often sold their land first: they were more vulnerable to the pressures of the Goyigama headmen. The Batgama of the old royal villages, who had been denied ownership of their chenas during the settlements, often sold them for ridiculous sums, but some successfully launched into plantation enterprises. The inhabitants of the seigneurial and temple villages were sheltered from state interference in the cultivation of chenas but they did not enjoy any property rights in the highlands and when their lords became aware of the profits they could draw from the rental or sale of their estates, these tenants were deprived of their chenas without the slightest compensation. Finally, the Vahumpura caste, whose traditional resource consisted of exploiting the sugar palms of the forests, found itself in some areas deprived of this means of subsistence, and forced to look for employment on the plantations. Nevertheless, we must beware of all schematism: some non-Goyigama communities offered remarkable resistance to land speculation, and their entrepreneurial spirit led them to develop small plantations, while many Goyigama populated villages sank into immobilism.

 

The main beneficiaries of this revolution were not the villagers, but the intermediaries and investors. One of the major sources of the fortune of the Ceylon bourgeoisie is derived from these speculative activities. Muslim merchants, Sinhalese traders from coastal regions, surveyors, notaries, Sinhalese lawyers or Burghers (descendants of Dutch settlers) amassed capital that allowed them to buy land and open plantations, and to settle in Colombo. At the next generation, this class formed the framework of the political elite that was to get into power at independence. 

 

 

The rise of small producers.

 

Under the influence of the plantation economy, a growing fraction of the rural population found itself integrated, whether they liked it or not, into the circuits of the world economy. Until the Great Depression, this integration was constantly underestimated by observers foreign to the villages. The testimony of an administrator responsible for cooperative societies, close by his function to rural realities, who discovered in 1933 the effects of the increase in tea prices, appears typical in this regard: “This is a factor that has infinitely more influence on the prosperity of the Sinhalese villager than I had ever imagined before the difficult years that tea cultivation has gone through. Not only do a huge number of villagers have their own small tea plots, but they depend to a very large extent on their work on the plantations, while the market for their vegetable production in particular is very largely conditioned by the presence of the immigrant worker from the plantations”[15]. The crisis here played the role of a revealer, and we could not better express the phenomena that are at the core of this research. The integration was certainly not done all at once, nor in the same way. From the 19th century, the Kandyan peasants, at the instigation of the merchants of the low country and at the imitation of the first British planters, devoted a growing portion of their gardens to the cultivation of coffee, which had been acclimatized in Ceylon since the arrival of the Arabs (15th century). These small prosperous gardens had led to an early monetization, which the government had taken advantage of to proceed with the forced conversion of the grain tithe into a tax in cash. The coffee crisis (1880 to 1890) was to put an end to this boom and plunge the most prosperous villages into misery. The recovery was made by the conversion of coffee to tea, undertaken first by the large planters, followed after a few years by a few small Ceylonese producers: but the complexity of the processing operations of tea leaves made such a conversion difficult for them, unless they could sell them to factories.

 

In the low country, integration was more spontaneous. The cultivation of the coconut tree has been indigenous in Ceylon for at least a millennium. It had long remained limited to peasant gardens and reserved for family consumption. But as early as the 18th century the production of coconut alcohol (arrack), intended for the Indian market, and during the next century the European demand for oilseeds, led the largest Ceylon owners to plant vast expanses and small farmers to market a growing share of their production. The district of Kurunägala thus experienced a spectacular boom at the beginning of the 20th century; the chenas and the forests were converted in a few years into plantations. In this process, the loans granted by the Indian bankers Chettiar played a decisive role. Other indigenous productions of minor importance were similarly stimulated by external demand: the arecanut, a specialty of the district of Kägalla, exported to India; cinnamon bought by the Portuguese as early as the 16th century, which was to be affected around 1830 by the competition of the Dutch Indies; citronella, growing wild in the south of the island, which began to be exported at the beginning of the 20th century. In a third step, it was again the Europeans who gave the example of the development of a new product, rubber. The large plantations, established between 1895 and 1910 for the most part, were imitated by the peasants of the mid-country, who from 1910 devoted ever-increasing spaces to rubber: the transformation of latex is within everyone’s reach and requires little equipment. The small cyclical crisis that occurred in 1919-1920 was not to interrupt this boom, which reached its peak between 1925 and 1927.

 

The link between the development of the plantation economy and prosperity is undeniable. The optimistic impression that emerges from the 500-page official report on the results of the 1911 census is not so much the effect of the complacency of the colonial administration as of this phenomenon of growth that was in full swing on this date[16]: “The coconut boom has been followed by a wave of material prosperity which has enriched all owners of land and brought employment to all classes of artisans. The extension of large estates is gradually squeezing some of the villagers out of their holdings, and they are being reduced to the position of vagrant labourers without any settled homes; but on the whole the increase in wealth has been fairly and generally divided”. Never was this prosperity more evident than in 1925, the year of the second rubber boom. All plantation districts without exception saw the standard of living of their population increase. The number of smallholders was indeed much more considerable in 1925 than it was during the first boom of 1905-1910. The demand for land was intense, speculators patrolled the districts in search of vacant land, and those of the villagers who did not have land found without difficulty to work on large estates.

 

Not all regions of the island were suitable for the establishment of plantations. The dry area in the north-central (Rajarata) and southeast (Ruhuna), depopulated since the 13th century, still housed at the beginning of the 20th century miserable villages at the foot of their too often empty reservoirs, compelled to cultivate chenas often several seasons in a row, undermined by malaria, subject to the good pleasure of a repressive or lax but always unpredictable administration. Described in two different registers by the writer Leonard Wolf (Virgina’s husband) in an admirable novel (The Village in the Jungle) and by a series of ethnologists, the most remarkable of whom was Edmund Leach (Pul Eliya), these villages have attracted the attention of tradition-loving observers; but they are in no way representative of Ceylon in the 20th century[17]. It would also be wrong to present them as a relic of the past: as far away as they were from plantations, those which were near the roads leading from ports facing India to the upper Kandyan country were affected by the passage of migrants as long as their journey was made by this route, and the others suffered or benefited from the attentions of an administration torn between its community of interests with the planters and its desire to help abandoned populations. It could have been expected that the population of these villages would be attracted by the prosperity of the plantation sector and migrate. However, this was not the case, with a few exceptions such as that of peasants of Kolonna korale hiring themselves on the large estates up-country in the dead season. This stability can be attributed either to the difficulty of communication and the lack of information, or to cultural features[18].     

 

We will now limit this analysis to the villages marked by the rise of plantations, which were home to the majority of the population even if they occupied only a minority of the island area. A profound change occurred there, marked by the growth of small peasant plantations and the employment of villagers on nearby large estates; these two elements are also linked because many micro-owners accumulated a small starting capital and assimilated new cultivation techniques by working part-time on the estates.

 

The number of small village plantations is only known precisely in the case of tea and rubber, thanks to the surveys made necessary by the establishment in 1933 and 1934 of restriction plans in the context of the Depression. During the 1920s, a first count (in the context of the ‘Stevenson Plan’) had remained imperfect, many owners seeing it as a prelude to taxation; on the contrary, in 1934 there was a tendency to over-registration, the plan resulting in the issuance of negotiable coupons in the limits of quotas defined according to the planted areas; but these declarations were verified on the ground, and the published results are trustworthy. In the case of rubber, the statistics establish the date on which the areas were planted: the analysis is very revealing in this regard. Between 1922 and 1934, micro-estates of less than 10 acres increased by 104% and occupied in 1934 21.6% of the planted area, compared to 13.8% in 1922. At the same time, medium size plantations increased by 44.7%, while the growth of large estates was limited to 12%, their share of the total area decreasing from 67% to 57%. The boom of small peasant production was particularly marked in the districts of Galle, Matara, Ratnapura and Kägalla, which made them vulnerable to price fluctuations: “As early as 1920 peasants had begun planting rubber in small holdings. Rubber being the type of permanent crop as it is, the result was an increase in the extent of land which the individual could look after. And when there was a squeeze on the land, it was vegetable cultivation that was edged out. This worked well enough for a time (…) However when depression came the peasant found himself without either rubber or free land to try whatever else might have been profitable. Added to this was the difficulty that work on the plantations came to a virtual halt”[19]. In 1938, Ceylon had 97,997 rubber estates of less than 10 acres, covering 130,487 acres, or 1.33 acres each on average; they represented 94.3% of the total number of rubber properties, and 21.5% of their area. A summary calculation based on the 1931 census gives about 180,000 rural families for the rubber growing districts; one in two families would therefore theoretically be in possession of a small property; it is obviously necessary to reduce the estimate to take into account families with several or larger properties; but in any case, the level reached was very considerable[20].  

 

In the case of tea, statistics give 76,149 properties of less than 10 acres in 1938 (97% of the number) covering 61,292 acres (11% of the area); each had on average only 0.8 acres. If we only take into account the village population (1931), which amounted to about 130,000 families, there would in principle be a little more than one property for two families. But a number of these small tea plots were worked part time by plantation workers of Indian origin who were not registered as villagers, which makes it difficult to have a global view; it is not possible to date this development statistically, but all the qualitative indications affirm that it increased during the years 1910-1920[21]. There are no reliable data on small coconut plantations for this period, and even today estimates differ depending on whether or not peasant gardens are included. A survey published in 1953 concluded that there were 115,000 small coconut estates with an average of 5 acres; but the gardens should be added; the number of families in the coconut plantations districts amounting to nearly 300,000, about one in three households would have been in possession of a small coconut property, the other two also having coconut trees in their gardens.[22] The economist Lal Jayawardena estimates that in 1930, there were, all products combined, some 270,000 small plantations, and concludes that each peasant family owned one of them; I would rather say each lineage; but I do not subscribe in any way to the conclusion drawn by the author, according to whom the villagers would have no need to look for work on the plantations[23].

 

It is difficult to estimate the revenues from this small production before the crisis. What we know from the years 1936-38 suggests that tea or rubber small holders who at that date derived from it at most a third of his livelihood, could live on it in a period of high prices around 1925. Village producers treated their latex themselves: coagulation operations require only acid and tanks, and the following operations a hand press and a smokery; in the opinion of the agronomic services, some small producers put on the market in 1927 a rubber “of a quality equal to or higher than the best rubber from large plantations”[24]. This represented a serious competition in the long run for large planters, whose attitude towards the villagers was full of ambiguities. Some remained suspicious of thefts and noticed that in the contact areas between large estates and village, the plants had a one-way migratory propensity, and a certain leakage also affected the work tools[25]. But this involuntary aid to village development was not denounced by all planters: many factories had unused production capacity and the purchase at low prices of fresh tea leaves, liquid or coagulated latex, had become a source of profits. Some entrepreneurs, mostly Ceylonese, had built during the 1920s tea or rubber factories that operated exclusively with the help of the production of small indigenous planters: these were particularly numerous in the district of Kandy and around the small town of Balangoda and in these areas peasant prosperity was evident[26]. Nevertheless, this development of small plantations remained fragile, due to its marginality compared to the economic system as a whole. They only found their place in a context of rapid growth. But if they were economically marginal, they were not socially so; they were less and less an additional resource, and increasingly the main source of income for a growing number of villagers. The general decline in food production provides proof of this. The conviction prevailed during the 1920s that paddy cultivation was an unprofitable activity in Ceylon: the best thing to do, according to an administrator, was to “leave rice cultivation for the more profitable cultivation of tea, rubber and coconut tree”. This was still the feeling of some Europeans ten years later, as evidenced by this typically colonialist withering remark by J.D. Aitken, a representative of Colombo’s business circles, in 1934: “To make Ceylon self-sufficient in rice is as foolish as making the Orkney islands self-sufficient in grapes”[27]. Despite supply disruptions as in 1919-1920, rice, imported mainly from Burma, was so cheap that after completely eliminating the locally produced paddy from plantation shops, it had conquered the largest share of the village market. There are no statistics prior to 1936 on the degree of dependence on rice imports for each region of the island and we must, once again, be content with testimonies that report a decline in paddy cultivation. Some owners drained the valley bottoms or emptied the village tanks to plant them with rubber or coconut trees. The phenomenon was common in the east of the district of Kalutara, in the north of that of Galle[28], and on the margins of the district of Kurunägala, where paddy fields, inadequately irrigated due to poor maintenance of hydraulic works, had been absorbed into expanding coconut estates[29]. A commission of inquiry on soil erosion did not hesitate to affirm with some exaggeration that the extension of small plantations was done “particularly by the conversion of rice fields” and mentioned the case of old terraced paddy fields devoted to the cultivation of tea[30]. A cumulative process may have occurred: following the installation of plantations on the highest lands, the paddy fields located below were silted with the mud of the carefully weeded tea fields. Other contributing factors were the drying up of springs following the felling of forests, the reduction of the usual grazing grounds of buffaloes, the difficulty of obtaining sticks to fence paddy fields. Finally, the workforce normally employed in paddy cultivation was diverted by the attraction exerted by salaried employment on plantations. This phenomenon was not new: as early as the 1900s, planters were trying to recruit employees even during the paddy season. But it assumed in the 1920s proportions sufficient to worry the indigenous headmen, themselves owners of rice fields. In the south, the link between paddy stagnation and employment on plantations was explicit: “the transplanting of rice is generally only practiced by headmen (…) The main difficulty seems to be the lack of labour, women and children prefer to work on plantations. Another reason is that even when there are job seekers, they demand to be paid in cash, which is not always easy for rice farmers”[31].  A former administrator interviewed during the 1960s considered that “the villagers had ceased to be farmers, except for their small garden”. Excessive affirmation: as unprofitable as it was, rice cultivation had not disappeared, and it often took little to revive it[32].

 

 

Sinhalese day labourers on the plantations

 

The role played by the employment of Sinhalese in plantations has always been underestimated by economists and historians imbued with dualist theses, obsessed with the central place held by workers of Indian origin in the operation of large estates established in high-altitude regions where the village population was absent. For example the economist Snodgrass claimed that the employment of the villagers on the plantations has remained negligible. Lal Jayawardena said that the peasantry was satisfied with its land and was therefore in no way forced to seek resources outside[33]. Contrary to these authors, I maintain that this type of resource has played a decisive role in the balance of a large number of villages and plantations, at least since the beginning of the 20th century. It is true that this workforce has never turned into a stable proletariat, unlike the Tamils of Indian origin residing in large domains; but it is their very flexibility and mobility that have made these workers indispensable. The major difficulty for the study of the phenomenon is the absence of overall statistics. The planters took into account the population residing on their estates, but not the teams of more or less occasional workers who returned to their villages every evening. The censuses counted the Sinhalese population residing on the estates, which in 1901 stood at 5.56% of the total number of resident workers, in 1911 at 7.66%, in 1921 at 9.85%, in 1931 at 9.89% and in 1946 at 15.6%. As for the statistics of labour services, they did not list the Sinhalese employed on small plantations not employing workers of Indian origin, which were by definition those where the Sinhalese were the most numerous; in large plantations, their percentage compared to the total workforce would be 9.2% in 1929, 10.9% in 1934 and 14.8% in 1939; but these figures do not take into account occasional workers, and the first serious survey on this subject is not prior to 1937-1939. At that time, on the large plantations, there were 97,391 Sinhalese workers, including 31.7% residents, 46.4% regular non-residents and 21.9% more or less occasional non-residents paid by the task[34]. The employment of the Sinhalese is as old as the plantations themselves, which they often opened as wood cutters. It became more frequent at the turn of the century, with the rise of coconut and rubber plantations and the contraction of the spaces available for the cultivation of chenas. The testimonies collected in a 1908 survey leave no doubt on this subject; the geography of the employment of the Sinhalese is in accordance with that which emerges from the statistics of the Labour Controller in 1948[35].

 

The Southern province, especially the district of Matara, regularly provided a large share of the resident workers, as the plantations located in this region rarely called on Indian Tamils; in the west of the country, the districts of Kalutara and Kägalla were also very marked by this phenomenon but the Indian Tamils also came there in large numbers. All the coconut estates of the North-western province had from the beginning employed exclusively Sinhalese workers. In the upper country, on the tea plantations, the employment of villagers had developed in the Mahaveli Ganga valley between Gampola and Nawalapitiya, the Kotmale valley, the surroundings of Matale, and the confines of the districts of Badulla and Nuwara Eliya. The results of the 1948 survey indicate that coconut land areas employed more than 75% of villagers, rubber districts between 30 and 50%, intermediate areas between tea and rubber about 25%, and tea districts in the upper country less than 20%. It is obviously difficult to rely on statistics from 1948 to affirm that this type of employment represented for planters more than a backup force during the 1920s. On the other hand, it was possibly essential for the villagers themselves.

 

Who were these workers? To answer this question, it is necessary to take into account the characteristics of the village society, which was far from being egalitarian[36].  Several lines of cleavage ran through it, separating within the same family the generations, within the same lineage different branches, inside the same village different lineages and different castes, and finally distinguishing the native villagers from the outsiders, merchants, squatters and others. The conjugal family was already the basic unit of Sinhalese society. It was rare for married children to live under their father’s roof. But the parents owned the land, and usually cultivated it with the help of the youngest who, in the Kandy regions, inherited the house and property if he was able to compensate his elders. The latter, during the lifetime of their parents and even after the inheritance division, had therefore to provide for their own family by seeking external resources, especially in times of population growth. It is significant that the itinerant cultivation of chenas had always been the work of young households, and that salaried employment on plantations, which replaced it, was frequently restricted to this category; this trait helps to explain the instability of these workers who were employed while waiting for an inheritance. This problem of young people previously found a solution in the current practice of fraternal polyandry: elders and cadets lived in the same home, avoiding any inheritance division, and at the same time limiting the number of their own heirs; fraternal polyandry had certainly been encouraged in monarchical times because it allowed each family to ensure the service of the king while continuing to cultivate its land. During of the 20th century, the practice had not entirely disappeared, as evidenced by the genealogies collected in Kandyan villages. But the multiplication of external jobs must have led to its decline. Another way to avoid inheritance divisions was to preserve the heritage undivided by organizing a rotation of land; this system, generally known as tattumaru, gave rise to an abundant literature that sometimes tended to obscure the question. The principle is as follows: each household of the lineage has the right to cultivate all or part of the paddy land of the lineage at an interval determined by its place in the real or supposed family tree of the lineage (hence countless disputes relating to the exact status of each). Thus, in the simple hypothesis of two brothers heirs of the founder of the lineage, one without offspring and the other having three children, the uncle without children will cultivate the paddy fields every other year while his three nephews will have access to the land only one year out of six. After several generations, the system becomes extraordinarily complex and it is not uncommon to encounter ten-year or more rotations: the tattumaru then becomes purely symbolic, and the usufructuaries cede their rights to one of them for some reciprocal advantage. The system has nothing egalitarian in its principle. But even when access to the means of production is reduced to a fiction, the absence of full ownership binds the main usufructuary to duties of solidarity from which he cannot escape, at the risk of being taxed of stingyness, a capital sin in the Sinhalese value system. It is clear that the tattumaru system can only subsist if other resources are available to those concerned. This aspect of things is curiously ignored by most studies; it can explain the spatial location of the phenomenon that has often intrigued observers: tattumaru is especially widespread in areas where the cultivation of chenas with unirrigated rice (älwi) predominated, and where its disappearance had given way to employment on rubber plantations.

 

Another line of cleavage separated, in the same village, different lineages and often different castes. Some considered themselves the founders of the village, others had settled later, attracted or tolerated by the former. In the context of the old seigneurial villages, there were lineages of dependent servants or artisans, belonging to lower castes in the hierarchy who received a fraction of the terroir in exchange for their services. With the slow but almost general weakening of the authority of the dominants resulting from their loss of control over the highlands and their tutelage under the colonial power, these dependent groups found themselves deprived of their protectors and exploiters, and exposed to the activities of land traffickers; it therefore seems that they had become, proportionally more than others, landless peasants and that they were particularly numerous in the category of occasional workers. The development of the plantations therefore represented an opportunity for them to improve their condition, after having often been at the origin of their uprooting[37]. It is difficult to know the caste membership of plantation employees, the planters themselves being perfectly ignorant in this matter. The villagers belonging to hierarchically inferior castes had probably more frequently than their Goyigama neighbours sought salaried jobs, either because they had lost their highlands (case of the Batgama villagers living in the former royal villages, or the numerous Berava in the temple villages) or because their habitat was located in the highlands where plantations were established (case of the Vahumpura villagers, settled in the hills where they once lived from the extraction of palm sugar and the cultivation other fruit trees)[38].  It is often said that these groups, used to working for others, more easily accepted the discipline imposed by the planters, and did not fear contact with resident workers of Indian origin often themselves belonging to ‘low’ Tamil castes. This reasoning, quite common when the issue is raised with Goyigama people, seems to me questionable. The cases of Goyigama peasants occupying salaried jobs were not rare. Among the newcomers in the villages, there were a number of squatters, attracted by the jobs offered in nearby plantations. They quickly melted into the village fabric by getting married on the spot. But entire families had also moved, particularly in the district of Kurunägala where migrants from coastal areas had largely participated in the development of coconut cultivation. Devoid of rights on the ground, tolerated more than welcomed, they found themselves confined to these jobs that had attracted them[39].

 

For impoverished peasants, the choice was clear: “the farmer who used to receive small advances during the growing season and to receive very little of his share at harvest is no longer satisfied with this system and prefers to work on large estates, where he receives a good salary paid regularly”[40]. Other significant features of the recruitment of occasional workers deserve to be noted. The high proportion of women and young people among them is noticed by many observers and tends to confirm them in their idea that this is a marginal phenomenon that only provides households with complementary resources. The presence of young people or even children is explained by what has been said above about the family, that of women is not surprising in the Sinhalese social context where women are much freer than among Tamils, for example; that said, it is difficult to assess the real degree of autonomy of these women vis-à-vis their husbands remaining in the village to cultivate their gardens or to stay idle[41]. Recruitment methods varied from one plantation to another: the large plantations employed the services of the village headmen or Sinhalese kangani, and they were always ready, during the rush periods, to hire the villagers who came to the plantation after the call of regular workers. The type of work carried out by the Sinhalese varied from one domain to another but, contrary to popular belief, no task was repulsive to them: men were very frequently woodcutters and tappers of rubber trees, children and young people engaged in weeding teams working on the task, women picked tea like Tamils.

 

In addition to occasional or regular employment, villagers in plantation regions used to sell vegetables and fresh fruit to Tamil workers residing on estates, who for the most part did not have the use of gardens; or they exchanged them for rice. Toddy (fermented juice of palm trees) and arrack (distilled toddy), widely consumed by ‘low-caste’ Tamils, represented a tolerated source of income, in the first case, and illicit, for the second. Although this is often overlooked, a series of clues suggest that, for a very long time, the clandestine sale of alcohol was the main source of income for many villages located at the foot of the plantations. The institution of a partial prohibition, under the pressure of the puritan Buddhist circles, did not stop the practice. Thus, in a remote canton of the district of Kägalla, called by its inhabitants the Kälerata (Forest country), Vahumpura and Goyigama peasants, traditionally producers of jaggery (palm sugar), turned to the manufacture of fermented toddy, which they exchanged for rice with the Tamils of the Kelani valley estates and the merchants of the bazaars of Deraniyagala and Dehiowita. The profits were apparently sufficient to ensure the subsistence of this peasantry almost completely devoid of rice fields and having had to gradually abandon the cultivation of its chenas due to the extension of the plantations[42].

 

The Sinhalese, both small planters and employees of the domains, had shown a capacity to respond to market incentives, like the Burmese peasants studied by Michael Adas, who were able to take advantage of the opportunities offered to develop large-scale paddy cultivation in the Irrawadi Delta[43].The difference lies in that by virtue of the system of task sharing imposed by the colonial power, the Sinhalese had to grow products foreign to peasant traditions, with the exception of coconut.

Who were ultimately the main beneficiaries of the expansion? And who were the ones who depended on it the most for their survival? Small landowners capable of converting their highlands into plantations had become able to live on their rents in times of high price especially in the 1920s, something that would have been unthinkable a few decades earlier. Proportionally, it is the most humble or marginal categories of the population that had taken advantage of the situation. Families belonging to humiliated castes had found a means of subsistence independent of their former masters in salaried employment on large plantations. Those who were able to preserve their lands had often shown a greater entrepreneurial spirit than their Goyigama neighbours, judging by the extension of small plantations around Kadugannawa, Gampola, Rambukkana and Narammala, belonging to Duraya peasants (this honorary name includes several castes including the Batgama and Panna)[44]. More generally, all those whose economic position was precarious, sharecroppers, women, young men, enjoyed greater autonomy: once dependent on their masters, their husbands or their parents, they were now dependent on the prosperity of tea, rubber or coconut.

 

 

The elements of an endogenous crisis: population growth and land hunger

 

There were shadows in the picture of the prosperity of the 1920s. In the specific case of Ceylon, contemporaries became aware of this as early as 1927, when the agrarian issue was raised for the first time. The elements of an emerging endogenous crisis were the combination of faster population growth and exhaustion of the amount of land available for village expansion in the country’s wet zone. According to the calculations made by Snodgrass, the pressure index of the rural population on the land left at the disposal of the peasantry would have remained substantially constant until 1921, and would have deteriorated abruptly from that date. Whatever the merits and weaknesses of the calculations of Snodgrass, these conclusions fit perfectly with the ‘literary’ data available, whether the reports of the colonial administrators or the testimonies collected by the Land Commission between 1927 and 1929. All evoke the worsening of the agrarian problem in terms of available space, many affirm the swelling of a category of landless peasants. However, such an increase in the agricultural pressure index is in no way sufficient to prove that there was a worsening of economic conditions: productivity would have to stagnate, and no new source of income would have been added. We know that, on the contrary, peasant resources had diversified. Moreover, it is possible to argue that the acceleration of population growth, an essential component of this increased pressure, resulted from an economic improvement, leading to a decrease in infant mortality. Finally, such a general figure does not take into account regional disparities, nor, above all, social inequalities. Only an increase in the percentage of landless peasant families would be relevant; but the first data are not prior to 1936, and their accuracy is questionable. According to village socio-economic surveys, the number of households without land would have represented at that time 44% of the total, but a careful analysis of the survey methods led Lal Jayawardena to doubt this figure, young households not yet having access to property being classified in this category[45]. Should we give up evaluating this land hunger, or even relegate it to the store of political artifices, as Jayawardena tends to do? I don’t think so: there is too much evidence to the contrary, that lead to consider the phenomenon in two forms, absolute and relative: in limited areas, the amount of land was materially insufficient to allow the continuation of village expansion; but in most localities, it was the inequality in the distribution of land that was responsible for such a situation: the appetite for land of the outsiders was at the origin of the hunger for land of the villagers. And while at the beginning of the century the villagers sold their rights to the highlands to planters for a dish of rice, the 1920s were marked by a rivalry between speculators and peasants for the control of a space that was shrinking. Land hunger is not a myth. The peasants were very aware of the situation, as evidenced by this statement reported as typical by a Settlement Officer[46] : “A man told me: I thought I would just have sufficient land for two children at the same time; now I have seven and my land is no longer enough”. The most accurate information on the issue can be found in the unpublished diaries of the Settlement Officers and in the published or unpublished reports that were used for the work of the Land Commission. Land hunger was evident in specific regions. First, two cantons up-country, Kotmale and Udukinda[47]. In Kotmale, villagers demanded land to build their houses, grow products to sell to the population of the plantations adjacent to their gardens. The district administrator would prefer to see them work themselves on the plantations or to cultivate their paddy fields more intensively. The most demanding were the young, and those of their elders who had “by their folly or bad luck alienated their ancestral properties”. They asked for the allotment of the few remaining communal pastures (most of it has been sold to the planters) and they opposed the owners of paddy fields who needed them for their buffaloes. The same administrator was aware in 1926 of the fragility of the small plantations that had multiplied on the outskirts of the villages: “in the event of a significant drop in tea price, large plantations and factories will stop buying their leaves from them, and farmers will be forced to sell their plots at very cheap prices to some capitalists”.  In Udukinda, the issue was aggravated by the activities of the kangani, who more than unenterprising villagers, launched small plantations. A conflict for the land appeared between Sinhalese and Tamils, the latter having installed gardens or small plantations even in places where the regulations against erosion prohibited it. It was the villagers themselves who at first sold them land; but they repented, and the peasants’ opposition to any alienation often became systematic “Many lands were sold that should not have been sold,” commented the administrator. Not far from there, gardens were alienated at the initiative of a large local family, heavily indebted, and the village was practically abandoned[48].

 

In the south of the island, the district of Matara presented a different case of agrarian congestion. It resulted from the concentration of land in the hands of a minority of large landowners, which led to the formation of a landless proletariat. As early as 1901, an insightful administrator, W.E. Davidson, became aware of this; one of his successors, A.N. Strong, launched in 1925 a policy of agrarian reform that was to inspire the projects of the Land Commission: its basis was the subdivision of land still available in inalienable plots, and the planning of rural space at the village level (‘mapping out’). In the event of extreme overcrowding, Strong went so far as to consider the expropriation of the plantations and their redistribution: a project revolutionary in 1925, which was to find a beginning of execution after 1940, culminating with the nationalizations of 1972 and 1975. The beneficiaries were to be in the order of priority the peasants without land, who would establish their houses and gardens on these plots, then the ‘small capitalists’, in other words the promoters of small plantations[49]. A change of administrator in 1929 was to break this attempt.

 

The example of the confines of the districts of Kalutara and Ratnapura (cantons of East Pasdun and Kukul) is that of the sudden transition from abundance to an apparent shortage of land. There was a burst of unbridled speculation during the last surge in rubber prices in 1925, when the cost of production of a pound of rubber was one seventh of its selling price. Investors who rushed, almost all Sinhalese from the Low country, bought indiscriminately land that the smartest peasants resold two or three times to different buyers. In this specific case, population growth had no share of responsibility in the process, and the hunger for land was purely speculative in nature: “Folly in sale, folly in purchase, a tragic harlequinade has been played in this Kukul korale. The transactions might almost be said to be twice cursed: they cursed him that gave and him that took.”, wrote Stace, the Settlement Officer[50]. Twenty to thirty years earlier, the entire district of Kägalla was experiencing a similar evolution. There is no district where the effects of population growth resulting partially from the presence of plantations, and the contraction of village land having the same origin have been combined to such a degree. For a long time, the latent crisis was postponed by the profits from the peasant plantations of banana, coconut or rubber trees, the sale of arecanuts and toddy, and by the resources provided by salaried employment. There were, it is true, very few zones absolutely without land; but, according to the estimate of a local headman himself involved in land operations, three quarters of the land belonged in 1925 to one twentieth of the population. From 1930 there was practically no land left for the extension of the villages, to the point that the Settlement Department had almost given up on carrying out its activities there, all the lands having become private property. And it was there that the first plantations were expropriated.[51]

 

Finally, the North-western province, which roughly corresponds to the area of extensive coconut cultivation, experienced years of plantation growth that began around 1890. The cultivation of the coconut tree is greedy for space, but stingy for jobs (1 worker per about 4 hectares, ten times less than tea): the threshold of relative overcrowding is therefore quickly reached where it is a monoculture. In the struggle for land, the fight was excessively unequal between the great owners of Colombo and often miserable peasants, having long lived in the isolation of their villages surrounded by chenas. A Settlement Officer reported the words of an old peasant forced to leave his village, which was deserted: “Ihala and Pahaladilla are practically devoid of inhabitants, who have all been driven out by a certain rich landowner. We asked a very old man what had happened to him and he said: Loka [literally the Big man] wanted me to go, so I went. – Did he pay you anything for the land? – No”[52]. Some villages resisted better, especially those that had been the subject of settlement and where peasants knew their rights. But most of the villagers found themselves in a Latin American-type situation of microfundiaries in the face of absentee latifundiaries, and even if in absolute number the region was not overcrowded, land grabbing by a minority created a situation of relative land hunger: “I receive many requests every day from landless and half-hungry villagers; one of them tells me that he makes his wife and three children live in a clay hut, on a soil that does not belong to him, with less than half a rupee per day”. As the cultivation of the coconut tree was an activity within everyone’s reach, the demand for land was almost general. Apparently, this demand was a sign of continued expansion, it was stimulated by the steady growth of the purchasing power of the wealthy fringe of the peasantry. But behind the villager demanding land often loomed the speculator, and the Settlement Officers encountered many cases where the land they allocated against payment to the peasants was immediately resold to outsiders[53]. Nowhere can we better perceive how expansion comes up against natural limits and obstacles to the distribution of property. The growth of coconut plantations exceeded their natural ecological setting, extending over arid areas previously considered unsuited for cultivation, on the northern fringe of the province. The expansionist aims of the already established planters went against the interests of the village; among many examples, that of those owners whose domain encircled village reservoirs, which they wanted to appropriate, or who attempted to grab the slightest little land by all means[54].

 

Finally, debt was taking on such proportions that instead of helping to develop, it blocked the villager’s horizon. A settlement officer gave his version of the phenomenon: “Galakumbura: this is a village where the inhabitants have been almost entirely bought out by capitalists, the number of families being reduced to eight. I asked one man what was the cause of this orgy of selling and he put it down to what R.L. Stevenson would describe as ‘drink and the devil’; he said: ‘People drink arrack and toddy at Kuliyapitiya [the local bazaar], then brawls ensue and they become involved in criminal cases’. Then they fell into debts and are forced to sell to pay off the loans”[55].

 

 

The agrarian question

 

The new agrarian policy suggested by the Land Commission in 1927-1928, when the crisis had not yet broken out, was a reflection of the concerns of the ruling circles, both British and Ceylonese, in the face of worrying signs of an endogenous crisis. To understand the motivations, it is necessary to recall the main features of political evolution during the 1920s. At that time, a moderate nationalist movement emerged. The National Congress of Ceylon, a pale replica of its Indian counterpart, claimed the participation of the Ceylonese in the affairs, which the colonial authorities would grant in stages, first in 1924, on the basis of limited suffrage and according to a system of separate colleges. In a second stage, following the radical conclusions of a royal commission of inquiry (Donoughmore Commission, which sat by the same time as the Land Commission), universal suffrage and parliamentary responsibility were granted in 1931, during the Depression. In between, the agrarian question began to agitate opinion, and politicians could no longer afford to ignore it, in view of the extension of the electorate. The nationalist politicians of the 1920s accused the colonial authorities of having alienated indiscriminately for a century, to the benefit of British planters, land over which the villagers had rights, and which even if they were not used intensively at the time of their alienation, would later prove essential to the village balance. This thesis of expropriation acquired an increased audience and was taken up by the Sinhala language press and discussed in Maha Jana Sabhas, provincial political circles that multiplied at the time. Two Sabhas, those of Kägalla and Kalutara (two areas particularly affected by land speculation) published pamphlets vigorously attacking colonial policy. But one cannot fail to be struck by the fact that in the first case at least, the author of the attacks was himself a confirmed speculator, which allows us to doubt the intentions of a number of so-called defenders of the peasantry. The real target of the attacks was in fact the Settlement Department, accused of making peasants pay Government for land that they believed belonged to them, and above all of making the owners of plantations established in dubious conditions pay still higher prices[56]. The Ceylon political leaders were generally large plantation owners. Many of them had constituted their estates at the expense of the villagers, especially in the Kurunägala district, where every bourgeois family in Colombo owned or sought to acquire a coconut estate considered a secure placement. During the period of prosperity, despite their verbal attacks against the ‘British plantocracy’, politicians remained mainly concerned with their interests. The position of the young D.S. Senanayake in 1925, whose family owned extensive plantations, is not lacking in interest: testifying before the Commission which was enquiring about the effects of the Stevenson plan to control rubber production, Senanayake opposed any restriction to land alienation: “I must say that in Ceylon there is no land at present suitable for the further cultivation of rubber, as the government is adopting the dog-in-the-manger policy. Ceylon would be far more prosperous if the government opens its eyes to the fact and releases land as much as possible. Ceylon can always compete with the rest of the world. In Ceylon labour is cheap, conditions are better, and I should say the yield is better”[57]. The main association of Ceylonese planters (the Low Country Products Association) put forward a comparable argument in 1928 against the proposals of the Land Commission; it would be necessary that peasants and capitalists obtain the same facilities for the development of the land; because the large landowners would stimulate the small peasants, playing the role of pioneers, their elimination would present serious dangers[58].

 

The administration’s position on the agrarian issue was ambiguous, and the analysis made by the governor of the time, Sir Hugh Clifford, was not necessarily that of the colonial administration as a whole. His ideal was that of dualism, although the reality he had before his eyes was that of integration. The reasoning he held was as follows: against the supporters of an economic nationalism, he argued that the rise of the plantation economy had been beneficial as a whole to the Sinhalese peasantry, as attested by the population growth in the areas it affected. But this boom had reached the point where it risked calling into question its own successes: the shortage of land blocked the development of a proprietary peasantry and favoured that of a landless proletariat : “For the first time since the agricultural development of Ceylon had been undertaken by Europeans, lands which could be put to profitable use by the indigenous peasantry of the country came into demand for conversion into properly organized and managed estates (…) It is clear that the further indefinite growth of large tea, rubber and coconut estates cannot continue to be promoted and encouraged unless the Government of Ceylon is prepared to face the prospect, long ere another seventy years have come and gone, of a congested population in a tropical agricultural country, with no suitable land available for its use. Were such a state of things to come about, the vast number of Sinhalese peasants, who would thus be rendered landless in their own native country – while huge areas were owned and cultivated by landowners the bulk of whom are of alien origin – would have against the colonial government (which had taken no measures to guard against this contingency) a legitimate grievance of the first magnitude”[59]. Was this a self-criticism of British agrarian policy? Not at all. According to the governor, this dangerous evolution resulted from a fever of land speculation for which the Ceylonese themselves and not the British were responsible. The solution was for Clifford to restore dualism and at the same time stop the extension of the large estates: “the plan I put forward should have the effect of gradually draining out of the plantations of the island all the Sinhalese who are not employed there to specialized tasks, to transform them into owner peasants”. This point of view was not shared by the entire administration[60]. Some Government Agents believed that the point of saturation was far from being reached (Thaine, Western Province), others on the contrary that there was no land available for such a project (Schrader, Southern Province). Some pointed out the dangers of a multiplication of small plantation owners, who would be vulnerable to the first crisis (Harrisson Jones, North Western Province). Others doubted the reality of land hunger and made the peasants themselves responsible for the alienation of their lands (Wedderburn, North Central Province). The Assistant Government Agent of Kägalla Hobday expressed a radical colonialist opinion: “It would in my opinion be improvident and arbitrary to prohibit completely the sale of any more Crown lands to capitalists. After all it is the capitalist who makes good use of the land and the peasant who spoils it. The Ceylon villager or at any rate the Kandyan villager will never exert himself to make a prosperous ‘small holding’ out of a chena allotment. He will grow enough to keep himself alive and that is all. It is often the case in this district that the more land a villager has, the more primitive and miserable is his existence. The best off is the man who supplements the small return of his paddy land and chena with good pay from a neighboring estate”. The majority of the administration recognized the existence of a problem, but diverged on the solutions, some trusting in the ability of the plantations to ensure the continuous development of the whole country and the creation of jobs sufficient to compensate for the effects of population growth, others wanting to block its development in favour of the development of a small owner peasantry.

 

The Land Commission opted for the second position[61]. Meeting in June 1927 and sitting for two years, it produced ten reports (only the third and the last have some consistency). The commission questioned hundreds of witnesses but did not have any statistical study of the agrarian crisis carried out. Its conclusions were therefore more a summary of opinions than a rigorous analysis of the issue. It recognized the existence of an agrarian problem; it did not clearly comment on its origins, but suggested a series of emergency remedies. First, the government should stop all existing land alienation practices, and somehow freeze the land market; in particular, stop alienating large blocks to planters, and stop auctioning small plots to villagers; peasants should be forbidden to alienate land that had not yet been the subject of settlement. The work of the Settlement Department should be made more expeditious and supplemented with a kind of rural planning (mapping out) so that the expansion of each village, when possible, was arranged in a rational way. The alienation of the land should be done as a priority for the benefit of poor peasants; but when they did not have the means to buy them, it was envisaged giving them free as a perpetual usufruct with a ban on alienation, or in full ownership if they were ‘paraveni [ancestral] chenas’. In the event of a village territory fully occupied, expropriation was not envisaged, but the establishment of settlements on available spaces nearby, or distant colonies in the vast expanses of the Rajarata. The petty bourgeoisie was not forgotten: it was planned for its benefit, in areas sufficiently provided with land, the alienation of blocks large enough to establish small plantations. As for large planters, they had nothing to fear, their only hindrance now being a greater difficulty in acquiring land. The government hastened to follow up on the most acceptable proposals from its point of view, so as to avoid having to give in on the essentials – namely the control allowed by the presumption of belonging to the Crown of the uncultivated lands, established by the Ordinance 12 of 1840: “there is no guarantee that the new State Council with perhaps a considerably changed personnel will understand these complicated measures or appreciate the labour and patience on both sides which has resulted in the present compromise. Should the controversy be opened on the old lines and an attack pressed against the existing law in the new council, the result may well have disastrous effects”[62]. We will not go into the details of the measures adopted, simply indicating the trend and assessing their scope. The State retained the theoretical ownership of the highlands and the machinery to ensure control remained in place, but the Settlement Officers were instructed to be more generous. On the other hand, the auctioning of land in large blocks intended for large planters was abandoned; all available land was reserved for the peasant population as a priority, and for the Ceylon bourgeoisie in second. There is a measure taken as early as 1927 that was to lead to unexpected consequences: it is the prohibition made to the beneficiaries of settlements to sell the land thus obtained to foreign speculators. The poorest villagers, unable to sell part of these highlands to pay the price demanded by the government for settlement, were led to sell their ancestral gardens, or even their rice fields: “If a very poor villager obtains 3/4 acres, even at 10 rupees the acre only, he will not be able to pay; if he sells an acre, he will be able to. The remedy would be to give up to five acres for free. There is now a marked increase in the sale by the villagers of fields and gardens, partly to overcome this difficulty, but to a large extent because of the need for cash that the villagers once procured by the resale of chenas with questionable titles”[63]. Such a trend says a lot about the inelasticity of peasant resources, about the reasons that pushed the villagers to accept settlements so willingly, in short, about the limits of the prosperity of the years 1920.

 

The Great Depression put an end to speculation and made it easier for authorities to intervene in the agrarian field, but it was too late to reverse the process of concentration of land ownership in the hands of a small number[64]. The Land Commission had recognized the inevitable halt to the territorial expansion of the plantation economy. The fact that it tabled its conclusions the same year in which the global crisis broke out is not entirely coincidence. The indigenous crisis of which it was the fruit had slowly matured during the 1920s under the pressure of external forces. The bouts of speculation related to the chaotic state of the rubber market before 1929 had contributed to revealing the limits of expansion, while the men on the ground saw every day the combined effects of population growth and land speculation. Expansion, according to the expression of Gamani Corea, was reaching its own end. The collapse of external markets, significant before 1929, in which overproduction linked to the rise of small plantations had its share of responsibility, therefore did not break a steady momentum; it rushed a latent crisis. This conclusion is exactly in line with that of Michael Adas: “Government officials and Burmese nationalists alike failed to recognize or actually to prevent the gradual deterioration of the condition of the agrarian classes in the Delta until the very last years of the decades. Their failure has been reflected in the works of many historians of modern Burma who have emphasized the impact of the Great Depression on the economy and society of Burma and neglected the changes in the early 1900s which made the crisis of the 1930s inevitable. This emphasis has obscured the root causes of that crisis, which lay in the very nature of the economic system which evolved in the Delta. Although they became more intense in the late 1920s and the 1930s, there were serious agrarian problems long before the Great Depression”[65]. In Ceylon as in Burma, an indigenous pioneering frontier was closing for the same reasons: lack of land, population growth, restriction of credit.

 

To conclude this analysis of the endogenous crisis, which was an ‘indigenous’ crisis, the following scheme seems to best account for the facts:

 

– The development of the plantation economy in the island’s wet zone caused, particularly after 1890, irreversible ecological and economic changes; but this evolution can in no way be interpreted as a long-term crisis. A new balance was established, in which the losses from the subversion of the old ecosystem were compensated and, in terms of standard of living, probably overcompensated by the gains from the fallout of the plantation economy, no watertight partition separating, contrary to the dualist scheme, the village sector from the plantation sector.

 

– In the old ecological regime, a macabre regulation mechanism functioned, by virtue of which the production of human beings and that of means of subsistence varied almost hand in hand: the demographic waves resulting from the growth phases of production were quickly clipped by climate fluctuations and their malarial sequelae. In the new regime, the market-induced fluctuations in production did not have such immediate demographic effects: a phase of expansion determined a demographic wave, under the conditions of a rural society where little or no birth control was exercised, but the resulting pressure on the land could increase without causing immediate imbalance for some time, as the economic cycles were generally longer than the climatic cycles.

 

– One can argue that an endogenous crisis was triggered before the exogenous crisis. The acute hunger for land, which was in itself the effect of the old expansion of large plantations and recent micro-holdings, was a sign that the continuation of development was compromised in the short term due to a lack of available space. But the growth of small indigenous production was just as threatened by the contradiction, which had been emerging since the mid-1920s, between the interests of small farmers and those of large planters. The appearance of an overcapacity in production during the 1920s was due to indigenous growth; this inchoative and marginal development (from an economic but not social point of view) was at the mercy of an economic turnaround; to the extent that it was not limited to the Ceylon case, but was found in Malaysia and the Dutch Indies in the case of rubber, it was a determining element in the appearance of the exogenous crisis. In other words, everything leads to strongly reaffirming the thesis of overproduction (and not underconsumption) with this essential precision: the appearance of overcapacity was the work of small indigenous producers. The Burmese case studied by Adas shows that identical mechanisms were at work with regard to rice production. 

 

 

 

 

THE DEPRESSION’S PROGRESS

 

Most contemporaries tended to consider the crisis as a phenomenon spreading from industrialized metropolitan centers to agricultural peripheries, colonized or not. In this perspective, which could be described as imperialist, the New York stock market crash represented the visible, spectacular source of the crisis, and everything that was prior to the event was relegated to the category of prodromes. This approach remains that of many economists obsessed with the American case. But a more sustained interest in the movement of commodity prices in the dissemination process has led to highlighting the anteriority of the depression compared to the stock market crash. Inverting the perspectives, depression therefore appears as a phenomenon coming from the peripheries and heading towards the center. The stock market crash, by a boomerang effect, sent the depression back to its starting point. The crisis did not spread one-way[66]. The purpose of this research being to analyze the social impact of depression and not to describe its general mechanisms, we will be attentive to the tenuous propagation channels of the phenomenon at the ground level where they reach the population, keeping in mind that where we see an external influence exerted, a movement in the opposite direction may well have also occurred. The Great Depression has spread through three channels communicating with each other: the collapse of the prices of the main agricultural export products, is a known phenomenon whose familiar features will simply be recalled; the crisis of the local credit system, controlled by Nattukottai Chettiar, financiers of South Indian origin, and the crisis of the colony’s finances, will attract our attention as they involve more specific mechanisms.

 

 

Dependence on exports

 

By its dependence on three products, tea, rubber and coconut products (copra, oil, desiccated nut), and by its negligible trading capabilities on the world market (the island being a colony, and its share of production being decisive only for tea), Ceylon was particularly vulnerable to price fluctuations. The depression of the 1930s had precedents in this regard: with the rise of plantations, the phases of the world economy punctuated the fate if not of the island, at least of the driving sector of its economy. From 1846-48, the European crisis combined with the effects of risky speculations momentarily ruined coffee production. Between 1878 and 1890, the European depression combined its effects with those of Brazilian competition and the ravages of a fungus attacking coffee plants, the hemileia vastatrix, to annihilate plantations, and only the timely conversion to tea saved the plantation economy. A phenomenon of external origin, in both cases, was combined with the elements of an internal crisis; let us add that in 1878-90, the small indigenous coffee producers, already numerous, were the first victims of the crisis, and that among the causes of the multiplication of hemileia, the cultivation of spaces unsuitable for the coffee bush was not negligible. These traits foreshadow those of the Great Depression. The last of these events was in 1919-1920, when the post-war crisis caused the prices of most export products to fall; aggravating circumstance, rice prices soared due to shortage, while the effects of the global flu epidemic disorganized production and led to considerable mortality. Its social effects prefigure those of the Depression: unemployment of Sinhalese workers, rise in rural crime, misery in the most dependent districts. But the lively recovery of rubber prices quickly erased the traces[67].

 

The singularity of the Great Depression in Ceylon is first of all due to its duration: it began between 1926 and 1929 and ended hardly before 1940; then, to the fact that it marked the end of a long-term trend of expansion that began around 1890; finally, to the considerable depth and extension of its impact, since the country’s economy had become increasingly permeable to influences emanating from the plantation sector since the beginning of the century. The decline in prices was uneven depending on the products. Rubber, after a brief lull in 1928-29, reached the lowest prices of its turbulent history between 1931 and 1933. The decline of copra began in 1929; it was stopped in 1932 under the effect of a recovery in Indian demand, and reached its lowest level in 1934. Tea resisted well until 1930, then plunged, but in smaller proportions than rubber; it regained a remunerative level after 1934. The recovery was general between 1935 and 1937, but it was followed by a relapse in 1937-38, which the war boom would end after 1940. The value of exports, given the quantities exported, varied slightly differently because prices varied more than production. For rubber, there was a tendency to compensate for the losses due to the fall in prices by an increase in exported quantities. In the same way, price variations were slightly mitigated in the case of tea, and much more significantly in that of copra.

 

Of all the raw materials, rubber is the one whose prices have proven to be the most unstable: “We are not dealing with a commodity like any other: it is dynamite” declared Colonel Colt, President of the U.S. Rubber Company[68]. The economist P.T. Bauer gave as early as 1948 a masterful study of the history of rubber: his greater familiarity with Malaysia and the Dutch Indies led him to some inaccuracies about Ceylon, which Gerald Peiris usefully corrected. This work will allow us to be brief[69]. Among the major facts to remember: rubber became during the 1920s the first export product of the British Empire and took a place in world trade equivalent to coal. Great Britain used it to balance its trade with the United States, which was by far the largest importer. Tropical Asia provided almost all of the production. Small producers represented 40.5% of production in 1929, Euro-American companies controlling only 49% of production. These companies were themselves little concentrated: the 600 larger controlled 32% of production, and the largest only 0.75%; but the management of operations was in the hands of a limited number of agencies. Ceylon provided only 7% of world production at the end of 1929, Malaysia 38% and the Dutch Indies 41%. The British tried to set up a production restriction plan between 1923 and 1928 (Stevenson Plan, due in fact to the initiative of Winston Churchill) that contributed to the boom of 1924-25, but at the same time pushed the Dutch Indies and French Indochina that were not concerned to multiply their plantations. The implementation of this plan revealed a desire on the part of large planters, who were responsible for assessing the production capacity of each unit, to systematically reduce the share of micro-units[70]. The Stevenson Plan did not prevent the fall in prices in 1926 after the peaks reached in 1924-25, due to the arrival on the market of the production of the Dutch Indies and more generally of Asian micro-fundiaries. This fall was initially considered a normal phenomenon given the usual instability of prices, and it is only when it was aggravated by the effects of the American crisis that it was perceived as an unusual catastrophe. But its precocity led to the cessation of production of a certain number of small units and the abandonment of plantations as soon as they opened. A new restriction plan including this time the Dutch colonies was set up in 1934, which will be examined later.

 

The history of tea has not been the subject of research of the same quality. At our level, Wickizer’s study is enough[71]. Tea was the only export product in which Ceylon held a decisive share of the market (24 to 26% depending on the year) but the prices were established in London (Mincing Lane) by traders who bought the production of the different countries. Production was much more concentrated than that of rubber, due to the high cost of the initial investment (especially the machinery of the factories): 120 to 200 pounds sterling per acre. This situation facilitated the agreements of producers: thus, the 1933 agreement had the support of 90% of them. Small producers remained marginal; they were subject to the control of large planters or factories that collected their leaves to treat them, an operation beyond the reach of the small planter. Tea prices generally fluctuated less than those of other products. It is generally accepted that tea, a cheap drink, is little affected by a decrease in the standard of living in buying countries, once consumption habits are taken. However, in Ceylon, where there were different qualities of tea, the most expensive teas had best maintained their prices, and the mediocre qualities had been more affected. The grands crus were produced at the highest altitudes, where there were no Sinhalese villages, and most of their production was in the hands of the great British companies. Ordinary teas were sold in the Middle East market, and the share of small village farmers in production was significant. Thus, as in the case of rubber, but according to different processes, it is clear that small producers were more at the mercy of a crisis than large planters.

 

The depression of coconut products has not been documented: the statistics are very deficient, and the product did not have the same importance as rubber and tea from the point of view of world trade[72]. Unlike tea, the nut is a standard product but the multiplicity of its uses, depending on the type of processing it undergoes, theoretically makes substitutions from one sub-product to another possible if the fall in prices is not general. Copra, and coconut oil were dragged into the global depression of the oilseed markets (they were bought by the food and soap industries). On the other hand, the dried coconut, used in pastry, resisted better, as did toddy and arrack. The coconut was an almost exclusively indigenous production, European investments were low; nevertheless there was a high concentration of commercial production in the hands of a limited number of very large Ceylonese owners, most of whom lived in Colombo, while small landowners depended on traders, oil mill entrepreneurs and arrack distilleries who took most of the profits. Finally, a large fraction of the production (maybe 50%) was not destined for export, but for the domestic market in the form of fresh nuts, toddy and arrack, intended for cities and areas where the coconut tree does not come well. The depression affecting the standard of living of urban classes and reducing the number of plantation workers led to the collapse of producer prices in this sector. The planter was therefore doubly affected by the crisis, no substitution being feasible; the momentary recovery of prices in 1932 is explained by a poor harvest in South India which had to import increased quantities. But the nature of production and market structures excluded the formation of international agreements for price support and the elimination of small producers.

 

The analysis of the oscillations of the colony’s balance of payments does not provide directly usable indications for the knowledge of the social impact of the depression. However, it provides general indications that should not be neglected given the statistical deficiencies in other areas[73]. It could be expected that the trade balance would be very seriously affected by the fall in the prices of the three main export products, tea, rubber and copra, but the particular structure of imports did mitigate this imbalance: food and textile products, which regularly represented more than 50% of them (52.75% in 1928, 57% in 1933) tended to fluctuate hand in hand with export products. The belonging of Ceylon to the sterling zone makes it difficult to assess monetary transfers between the metropolis and the colony. In a period of expansion, entries prevailed over exits as long as the constitution of land capital and equipment in machinery required metropolitan investments; but at least since the 1920s, exits prevailed, in the form of often spectacular dividends distributed to shareholders of plantation companies. Depression led to a collapse in profits and the majority of companies stopped distributing dividends. From the point of view of the balance of payments, the result was therefore favourable: exits were stopped, which would not have been the case if the country’s debt had consisted of government loans. The crisis therefore had no catastrophic effects on the national economy considered as a whole. The imbalances it caused stemmed mainly from the disorganization of credit systems and changes in the distribution of public spending and national income.

 

 

The public finance crisis

 

Depression also spread to the entire economic organization through the restriction of public spending. At first glance, however, the State’s resources do not seem to have been very seriously affected by the economic situation, but in practice, the budget choices made resulted in reducing spending in the areas that were precisely the most job-generating. To grasp the precise play of these mechanisms and the reasons that dictated these choices, it is necessary to take into account the political context and colonial budgetary practices. The advent of depression was contemporary with a representative regime advocated by the commission of inquiry led by Lord Donoughmore (1928). This commission, in which the Labour representative Drummond Shiels played an influential role, was surprised by the lack of attention paid to the well-being of the mass of the population, and it concluded that the adoption of universal suffrage would exert pressure likely to remedy this gap. The regime put in place in 1931 granted extensive powers in budgetary matters to ministers appointed by the specialized committees of an assembly, the State Council, elected by universal suffrage of both sexes. Strong pressure could have been expected in favour of an extension of the State’s social security contributions. But this was not the case; the first legislature (1931-36) was marked by its great budgetary timidity, its attachment to the strictest financial orthodoxy as it had been established by a century-old colonial practice.  The members of the State Council were more concerned to lighten the tax burdens on their properties and to maintain their constituency through a well-ordered charity than to embark on the path of a State social policy, and the colonial administration kept a decisive influence in financial and monetary matters. The particular system governing monetary emissions in the British Asian colonies made impossible any financing by inflation of a social policy: the Ceylon rupee was convertible into sterling (or Indian rupees themselves convertible into sterling), so that the money supply depended on the amount of sterling in reserve and the gains or losses that could result from the balance of payments. British commercial banks, for their part, maintained a high coverage rate and systematically placed their availability on the London short-term market, which made it impossible for the government to call on them to take out Ceylon loans. Since the beginning, colonial budgetary practice consisted of adjusting spending to expected resources; but import and export taxes, and alcohol duties, ensured most of the tax revenues: in times of depression, such a structure led to a severe fiscal contraction. As early as 1928, aware of the risk of a decrease in resources, the administration envisaged a restriction on spending, or failing that, an increase in import duties, and eventually the establishment of income tax.

 

The stages of the adoption of income tax deserve to be described in detail here because they shed light on the position of the interests at stake. The following information is extracted from three hitherto unpublished files kept in Colombo, where senior officials of the colony, the governor in the lead, and the various lobbies of the island, expressed themselves with an unusual frankness[74]. At the origin of the case, a report from the treasurer of the colony of February 1929, in which he pointed the growth of expenses faster than that of revenues. Existing taxation, he wrote, “is nearer to the limits to which it can be carried without causing hardship to the poor or checking the colony’s major industries than it is generally supposed to be”.  Most of the island’s wealth, he added, is appropriated by people who spend or reinvest it outside the island (i.e. the British shareholders of the Plantation Companies); inheritance rights and taxes on stock exchange transactions hardly benefit Ceylon but the country where these companies and individuals have taken up residence (i.e. Great Britain). The treasurer therefore suggested in the medium term the establishment of an income tax, and immediately, in the absence of a reduction in expenses, the launch of a loan and an increase in import taxes; the reduction in resources seemed irremediable, because it was linked to the already significant fall in export rubber prices, and to the reduction in legal alcohol consumption following closures of arrack taverns obtained by the propaganda of prohibitionists, whose action was related to the Buddhist national renaissance of the beginning of the 20th century. On March 16, 1929, the governor brought together the heads of departments to try to impose savings: in three years, health investment spending had increased by 32%, education by 50%, public works by 17%; the agriculture budget by 57%, that of justice by 30%, that of the police by 11% and 140% (two different budgets) and that of the provincial administration by 130%. Failing to sufficiently reduce these expenses, which, given the changes in mentalities and social changes, seemed difficult to compress, the government resolved to increase import duties by 5%: this decision led to an outcry from some of the elected members of the Legislative Council who denounced the risk of an increase in the cost of living, because food, rice, sugar, condiments, dried fish, constituted the largest share of imports. They thereby defended the interests of the indigenous bourgeoisie that owned the large plantations – the ‘brown plantocracy’, as their opponents said pleasantly, whose interests did not differ fundamentally from those of the ‘white plantocracy’. However, a fraction of this same class, made up of close collaborators of the colonial powers and hostile to any prospect of political autonomy, supported the government’s position. A deputation of this Unionist Association of Ceylon visited the governor on 23.09.1929 and pleaded for a policy of major works financed by borrowing, to ward off the risk of unemployment. One of the members of this delegation, the Reverend Ekanayake, insisted that there should be no reduction in health expenses: he pointed out that the number of admissions to hospitals tended to increase, and that malnutrition was at the root of morbidity; he also pointed out that, contrary to the arguments of supporters of reductions in public works expenses, it was not the Tamil workers of the plantations, but the Sinhalese villagers who risked being the victims of the austerity policy. The governor answered that there was indeed great rural poverty in the country, and explained this, among other things, by the fact that the administration had frozen the Crown lands for too long and proceeded too slowly with settlement operations. In the future, he added, it is the income tax that would ensure the financing of social spending; in the meantime, the taxation of imported food was essential. Health spending should be maintained, but it would be necessary to slow down construction operations and also unfortunately, the fight against malaria, “which we would like to be able to conduct more effectively than has been done in the past”. In the early 1930s the lobbies of the plantocracy (the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce, the Planters Association, the Ceylon Estate Proprietors Association and the Low Country Products Association) were again calling for a stricter economy and without rejecting the principle of income tax, demanded that plantations not be double taxed (by export duties and income tax). The governor replied that he was ready to reduce public service salaries, but that there was no question of cutting more on essential investments. On June 21, 1930, a letter from the same associations used the same arguments, going so far as to ask for savings on public works in progress. The central administration, despite the pressure exerted in London by the Ceylon lobby, joined the idea of an income tax and dispatched a financial expert to study its merits and modalities. Immediately the wealthy owners revolted and multiplied public meetings in Colombo. Their pamphlets printed on luxurious paper were titled: “Our slogan: retrenchment; our symbol: the axe”. More discreetly, the Nattukottai Chettiar Association, which feared double taxation, in Ceylon and India, sent a delegation to the governor. The Chamber of Commerce demanded that if the income tax was finally adopted, export taxes be lifted; it said that the crisis was the most serious that the country had experienced since the collapse of the coffee economy: “Companies that paid dividends of 40% (sic) have paid nothing to their shareholders this year”. As for the Low Country Products Association (LCPA), in defense of the Ceylon owners of coconut estates, it asked that they be exempted and that companies domiciled in Great Britain be surcharged, with the argument that these coconut lands were “more in the nature of an insurance for their children rather than an investment for earning dividends within a short period of years”. Finally, the nationalist politicians of the Ceylon National Congress accepted the principle of taxation but joined forces with the LCPA to demand the exemption of small coconut planters. The government remained inflexible and the tax was instituted in 1932; but the tax threshold was high until 1935, so the ratio remained low.

 

The actual budgetary practice from 1930 to 1938 shows that the problem was solved by a series of other expedients. A succession of fortuitous circumstances made it possible to maintain the level of resources with the exception of the fiscal year 1931-1932[75]. Among these favorable circumstances, the late provision of loans contracted for infrastructure work already carried out and charged to the budget surpluses of previous years; the huge amount of inheritance tax paid in 1932-33 by the heirs of one of the largest British owners on the island, Lord Inchcape (8 million rupees), a little more than the total amounts that would be devoted later to relief during the malaria epidemic: this underlines the disproportion between the financial dimensions of British capital and that of the island administration. Nevertheless, a moderate cut (2.5% to 10%) on the salaries of the public service had to be carried out in 1932-1934, and in April 1932, the income tax was finally established, these measures compensating for the reduction or total abolition of export duties on rubber, copra, then tea and cocoa that filled the expectations of the planters. Finally, the overall mass of State resources was not seriously reduced due to the depression. Should we conclude that the impact of depression was zero in this area? Despite the temporary cut on public service salaries, it was the spending sector that best resisted in absolute numbers, with that of social services, which increased sharply at the end of the malaria epidemic. On the other hand, investment spending literally collapsed, especially in the public works sector. For political and practical reasons, public order, social services, and the salaries of civil servants in place were difficult to compress; on the other hand, projected investments could be postponed until better days. In doing so, those responsible were sacrificing one of the major sources of urban and rural employment and in particular occasional employment, the essential nature of which we stressed in the socio-economic balance of the villages. On a small scale, it was an ‘anti-New Deal’ that Ceylon experienced. And socially, the effect of this choice was to aggravate the gap between the wealthy and the others, reduced to living on ties that they could have forged with the powerful. In the burgeoning ‘welfare State’, clientelism already had a place of choice.

 

 

The Chettiar, financing of expansion and integration of credit circuits.

 

The personal resources of members of the middle classes and wealthy peasantry were not sufficient for the initial financing of small plantations, in particular for the purchase of land from the State or villagers. However, the rudimentary rural credit system was not adapted to the requirements of a long-term investment, but only to the needs of a growing season, while at the other extreme, access to British commercial banks was closed to the vast majority of the Ceylonese. There was therefore a place to take, which South Indian bankers already established in Ceylon, the Nattukottai Chettiar, were able to occupy. Traditional forms of credit, as they already existed during the 18th century in the kingdom of Kandy, essentially met the needs between two harvests of rice or millet, and the imperatives of ceremonial expenditure and dowries; loans of this type were generally internal to the village society; they theoretically bore high interest, but in practice, the rates actually received were adapted to the nature of relations between creditors and debtors, profit being valued more in terms of prestige and authority than in terms of enrichment. On the other hand, the rare loans of money were granted by foreigners, especially Tamils traders who themselves obtained advances from the Royal Treasury at 20% that they made grow at 50% or 100%. The stranger to local society, in Ceylon as in pre-capitalist Europe, had a formidable asset: he was free from any personal attachment to his debtor. In the name of an already capitalist calculation, he could resist social pressures[76]. In the colonial period, peasant credit, internal to the social group, continued to operate, but fell under the dependence of market credit. The British facilitated the advent of the latter, by developing transport, by exacting grain taxes in cash, by multiplying the Courts through which lenders could claim repayment of their debts. Colonization then created an external purpose to the extension of peasant debt, by provoking intense land speculation during the development of large plantations: the preferred process of speculators was to push the villagers to go into debt by granting them facilities much higher than their repayment capacity, and to seize their land. But the great development of external credit dates back to the moment when it began to fulfill a positive function by helping to finance indigenous plantations. This period coincides with that in which the Nattukottai Chettiar, traders and exchangers established in Ceylon since the 18th century, were looking for new uses for the capital they had raised in the import of textiles and rice from South India, in the exchange operations between the places of Madras and Colombo (made necessary by the deficit of the balance of payments in Ceylon’s rupees vis-à-vis India and settled by the profits in sterling derived from coffee exports), and finally in the transport of cash necessary for planters to pay their labour force. The establishment in Colombo of the subsidiaries of the major Anglo-Indian commercial banks in the 1860s, easier transport in the plantation areas and the creation of bank branches up-country, pushed the Nattukottai Chettiar to diversify their activities towards the Low country, where the demand for copra began to stimulate coconut plantations.

 

Who were these Nattukottai Chettiar? Their past, their customs, their commercial methods have been the subject of many descriptions and many controversies, of which we will select here only the elements to explain their action and success in Ceylon[77]. They formed the highest sub-caste of a group of castes whose presence is attested by the oldest Tamil texts; the name (Chettiar) is derived from a Sanskrit term designating the head of a merchant guild (shreshti) and it is used in the broad sense to designate any Tamil merchant. The Nattukottai Chettiar, who controlled the salt trade, practiced the profession of moneylenders at least since the 8th century A.D. The region where they came from, Chettinad, was the most arid and desolate of all of South India, which may explain why the Chettiar soon sought fortune outside their country. Being located in the part of the peninsula that faces north of Ceylon, it was therefore natural that they extended the field of their activity to the island; their presence is attested in Dutch times, but is probably much earlier.

 

By the type of education they gave to their children, by the rigidity of their principles and by the strength of their caste organization, the families of Nattukottai Chettiar had assets that allowed them to behave as a strongly knit financial group entirely devoted to trading and lending money. They represent a remarkable example of the use of traditional social solidarity for mercantile purposes, which may be compared to the beginnings of the Israelite and Protestant banking in Europe; but the society in which they carried out their activities, especially in the colonial economic context, was very different. Lender firms were family businesses cemented by cross-alliances (the sub-caste was divided into nine exogamous clans); each of them was designated by a firm name that served as a company name, the vilasam, which was formed by the initials of the name of each of the company’s partners: the vilasam could change over the years[78]. The parent company of each firm remained established in India, usually in Chettinad, sometimes in Madras for the most powerful of them. It set up subsidiaries abroad; each firm had at least one in Burma, where the Nattukottai Chettiar financed a large part of the rice production for export, and quite often one in Ceylon; and more rarely one in Malaysia, Vietnam and Mauritius. The sons of the family received an education that instilled in them very young the sense of money: they were forced from the age of ten to manage their budget, which they reported to the head of the family; they were accustomed to an austere lifestyle in the context of the large family house where they continued to live after their marriage, contracted young according to Indian custom; prodigality was excluded, and when a visitor was invited, it was customary that only the first meal was served free of charge; if his stay was prolonged, the invoice was presented to him as a rule. Shortly after their marriage, the young men, separated from their wives, were sent to foreign agencies for a period of three years; upon their return, if they had proven to be able to raise sufficient capital, they were admitted as shareholders of the firm and were shortly after sent as head of an agency for an identical period; fully responsible for the sums made available to them, they had to report every three years to the family council which served as the board of directors of the firm. The accounting practices of the Nattukottai Chettiar were very advanced, with features such as the use of secret codes. The multiplicity of their account books made them suspicious in the eyes of some clients who did not understand their usefulness and saw it as an instrument of fraud: they had no less than eleven (entry and exit book, daily and monthly balance sheets, balance books with each client, account book with creditor banks, book of loans between Chettiar firms, statement of income from the properties, statement of the agency’s accounts with the parent company, books of personal expenses and donations to temples). Relations between firms were governed by precise rules, which the caste council established in each important financial center (Madras, Rangoon, Colombo etc…) was responsible for defining and enforcing. This council sat in the generally imposing Shaivite temple that each local community built with the help of considerable levies on the profits of the firms. The authority of the council was of a socio-religious nature; a member convicted of indelicateness, or bankrupt, was ostracized from his caste and consequently excluded from his profession; but bankruptcies were rare, because other firms normally came to the rescue of a member in difficulty. The caste council also devoted its activities to setting the rates of loans granted between Nattukottai Chettiar (madappu vattai), and to defending the interests of the community. The Nattukottai Chettiar Association created in Ceylon during the 1920s was its secularized emanation.

 

The majority of firms were businesses of apparently modest size, which in reality handled considerable sums. Each branch looked like a bank in the original sense of the term: a counter, a chair, a safe, a sleeping mat. These agencies were grouped in specialized streets (Sea Street, in Colombo) as was the rule in India or medieval Europe[79]. Most of the agencies of Colombo and Kandy themselves had sub-branches in the merchant bazaars established in the plantation areas, where independent firms were also encountered. They were concentrated in two areas: the tea-producing region located south of Kandy, where most of the firms had been established since the time when they imported rice and handled the transfer of funds for the payment of Tamil workers: these firms converted to loaning to the kangani and the Sinhalese wishing to create small tea plantations, and continued to discount the bills of the merchants of the region, especially the Muslims. The other area of intense activity of the Nattukottai Chettiar was the Colombo – Kurunägala – Puttalam triangle: firms based in Colombo lent to large Ceylon and Indian traders and to owners of large coconut plantations, while subsidiaries established more recently in the villages of the coconut producing zone financed the activities of small and medium-sized Ceylon planters and bazaar merchants. The volume of business of these provincial agencies was not negligible, but difficult to assess. The only testimony published to our knowledge, of which we have no reason to suspect the accuracy, concerns a medium-sized Puttalam firm, in the coconut producing area[80]: S.M.S.P. Muttiah Chettiar estimated the value of his business, short-term loans and sums immobilized in mortgages, to some 300,000 rupees in 1934; his father had settled on the island in 1885 with a starting capital of about 40,000 rupees.

 

The principle on which the lending operations of the Nattukottai Chettiar were based was as follows: they granted their client, with a very high degree of liberality and without worrying about the property titles, a starting loan, which allowed the speculator to buy land or the owner to plant coconut trees or tea[81]. Then they took the highest possible interest (13% was a minimum) according to the possibilities of the debtor, without looking for the repayment of the principal. After a few years, especially if the debtor showed bad will, they took a mortgage on the land that was beginning to be productive, threatening to claim repayment of the capital in case of refusal. The Nattukottai Chettiar actually behaved like shareholders receiving dividends varying according to the situation. But the threat they could pose to the operation was not a sale on the stock exchange or an unfavorable vote of a Board of Directors: it was blackmail into judicial recovery. Thus, the problem of medium- or long-term financing of coconut enterprise, which requires about ten years before becoming productive, was resolved in a fragile but satisfactory way for the parties in times of prosperity. It has been said and repeated that the rates charged by the Nattukottai Chettiar were unbearable for agricultural companies. The examination of the dividends paid to their shareholders by a representative sample of European plantation companies suggests that in times of prosperity, for a plantation in full production, the rates claimed were perfectly realistic. The system would not have been unhealthy if the Nattukottai Chettiar could have benefitted from long-term deposits. But they were reduced to their own capital, to demand deposits from a few Ceylonese (this point is controversial) and above all to short-term loans granted by British commercial banks. The latter refused to directly finance most of the indigenous entrepreneurs, considering the investment unsafe due to their lack of familiarity with this potential clientele and the insecurity of the property titles. This refusal was interpreted by the Ceylonese as a form of economic racism. On the other hand, the solidity of the Nattukottai Chettiar organization, the fact that they were known to the planters to whom they had served as bankers before the advent of commercial banks, and the location in Madras, headquarters of the European banks, of the most influential Chettiar parent companies, would make the latter privileged partners, exclusive intermediaries between British capital and indigenous capital. But the British bankers remained cautious: unable to demand guarantees from financiers whose real estate fortune was non-existent, they used as intermediary their ‘native’ cashier, the shroff (saraf in India), responsible on his personal fortune for transactions with non-Europeans, and taking his percentage, of the order of 2%. In addition, they restricted their operations to short-term loans of about three months[82]. What was the amount of these loans? According to the Banking Commission’s estimates, on average 25 million rupees (but a European banker interviewed by the same commission estimated them at only 10 million rupees)[83]. The capital of the firms, including deposits made in India, represented some 125 million rupees. The Nattukottai Chettiar should have used bank loans solely to finance their short-term operations, reserving their capital for mortgage investments involving sustainable fixed assets. The data provided by their association in 1934 suggests that such a policy was feasible and should be generally followed. But it seems that a number of firms among the largest were led to take advantage of the fact that banks regularly renewed their loans and that it was possible to borrow from one to repay the other, to engage in these risky operations that are the temptation of any banker. The thing was all the more attractive as the interest rates charged by the shroffs of large banks were of the order of 8% (bank rates were themselves around 6%) and that the Chettiar did not lend at less than 13%, and most often, by their admission, at rates of 15 to 25%. The activity of the Nattukottai Chettiar in Ceylon led them to play a crucial role in the economic integration of the British colonies in Asia. Placed at the hinge between the British banking system and the indigenous economy, they participated in the complementary development of the Burmese rice economy and the Ceylon and Malay plantation economy. And within each country, they put in communication the different economic circuits by partially ensuring with the help of British capital the development of indigenous plantations, the financing of food and textile trade. They thereby made the whole of society vulnerable to fluctuations in their own activity.

 

The ‘Chetty crisis’ of 1925 was to highlight these weaknesses. In the absence of access to the archives of the firms, it is not yet possible to write the documented history of the disengagement of the Nattukottai Chettiar from the plantation economy and the imperial system. With regard to Ceylon, the only usable testimonies are those of former shroffs interviewed by the Banking Commission, and the announcements of the Ceylon Government Gazette[84]. The banking crisis began with the bankruptcy filing in June 1925 of a large firm reputed to be serious, A.R.A.R.S.M. Its liabilities amounted to 3,700,000 rupees in India and 1,700,000 rupees in Ceylon, against a total asset of the order of 950,000 rupees. It seems that A.R.A.R.S.M had speculated during the rubber boom, which is suggested by the list of its properties put up for judicial sale (plantations in the south of the island) and its association with the British house James Finlay, creditor for 196,332 rupees, itself involved in land speculation operations. By virtue of the internal solidarity of the community, A.R.A.R.S.M. should have been saved but it seems that such loans, actually granted (A.M.N. was a creditor for 75,766 rupees) were not enough. Is it this failure that led the British banks to closely examine the financial situation of their Chettiar partners and to stop their credits, noting with concern that “they found to their dismay that many of the securities offered to them by the Chettiar were not safe and others were neither sufficient nor adequate”.  This is the interpretation given by a former shroff. But it is strange that the bankers and their shroffs did not know earlier about these practices, all the more so since the main creditor bank, the Imperial Bank of India, founded in 1921 by incorporating the Banks of Madras, Calcutta and Bombay, had among its directors the most powerful Chettiar banker of Madras, Sir Annamalai Chettiar. It seems more likely that these financiers, anticipating the depreciation of mortgaged land, took the opportunity to put an end to a practice that was safe only in a period of expansion. In 1925, at the height of the rubber boom, they realized that this expansion was not going to last. Perhaps they even sought to limit the expansion of small indigenous plantations whose competition worried the large firms, and to promote concentration in this sector? Pure hypothesis, which only the consultation of the bank archives would make it possible to elucidate. However, the bankruptcy of A.R.A.R.S.M. led the banks first to set up an agreement to prevent multiple loan operations, the Imperial Bank being responsible for keeping up to date a list of firms indicating the ceiling of the credits to which each could claim. Then over the years the volume of loans granted was reduced to the point of becoming almost zero in 1931 (500,000 rupees); the Nattukottai Chettiar accused the banks of having weaned them of loans; the bankers claimed that the Chettiar themselves had stopped asking for loans. Whatever the truth on this point, a system was broken, and the economic decline began. The Chettiar would soon pass on their difficulties to their customers, stopping any new investment, and raising the cost of their commercial credits.  Foreshadowing the Great Depression, the ‘Chetty crisis’ would spread to the entire economic organization. The weaknesses that were to lead to the paralysis of the activities of the Chettiar were none other than those of the economic system itself. The ‘Chetty crisis’ was the early sign of a malaise that would paralyze the entire system. The bank’s sensitivity to any announcement of a cyclical reversal, making this reversal decisive, found a new illustration here. That is why it seems justified to date back to 1925 the prodrome of the Great Depression in Ceylon.

 

 

The two sides of the same crisis.

 

Endogenous crisis and exogenous crisis interpenetrated each other in an inseparable way. They represented the two sides of the same phenomenon. What was at issue was the continued expansion of a small autonomous indigenous production, tolerated or even encouraged from outside in times of prosperity, but which had become undesirable as soon as the economic trend reversed. Marginal because it came late (as well as the employment of local workers in large plantations which was socially equivalent to it), this small production almost simultaneously met its limits in three areas. Physical limits: the space available for the extension of plantations was becoming more and more restricted – internal crisis. Financial limits: the indigenous credit system was disorganized by the restrictive policy of British banks – external crisis, but also by the increase in the price of land resulting from its scarcity – internal crisis. Trade limits: the simultaneous arrival on the market of all small producers, especially in the case of rubber, created an overproduction to which no swelling of demand corresponded.

 

This was the pattern of the situation in Ceylon. Michael Adas’ study shows that the mechanisms of the Burmese crisis were similar. The data available on Malaysia and the Dutch Indies suggest the existence of phenomena of the same nature. Did they extend to all economically dependent countries, or only to ‘developing countries’, in the authentic sense of the term, those where an enterprising peasantry and a bourgeois class had taken advantage of the opportunities offered by colonial capitalism? Should the reasoning be extended to all agricultural producers, including small farmers in industrial countries? Were the sources of the Great Depression at the periphery of the system and not in its center?

 

[1] “The 1934-1935 Malaria Epidemic in Sri Lanka” [http://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/1251]

 

[2] DE SILVA (K.M.) ed. History of Ceylon vol III, Peradeniya, 1973

[3] JAYAWARDENA (V.K.), The Rise of the Labor Movement in Sri Lanka, Durham, 1972; COREA (G.), The Instability of an Export Economy, Colombo,1975; GUNASEKARA (H.A.de S.), From Dependent Currency to Central Banking in Ceylon. London, 1962; INDRARATNA (A.D.V. de S.), The Ceylon Economy from the Great Depression to the Great Boom. An analysis of Cyclical Fluctuations and their Impact, Colombo 1966.

[4] ADAS (M.) The Burma Delta. Economic Development and Social Change on an Asian Rice Frontier, Madison, 1974; BROWN (I.) A Colonial Economy in Crisis: Burma’s Rice Cultivators and the World Depression of the 1930s. London, 2005. Ian Brown calls into question Michael Adas’ analysis asserting the anteriority of the agrarian crisis; he insists on the differential nature of the impact according to the categories of the peasant population and on the political consequences of the appropriation of land by Chettiar creditors.

[5] BAKER (C.)  An Indian Rural Economy 1880-1955: the Tamil Countryside. Oxford 1984; MANIKUMAR (K.A.) A Colonial Economy in the Great Depression: Madras 1929-1937. Chennai, 2003; ROTHERMUND (D.) India in the Great Depression, 1929-1939, Delhi,1992 and The Global Impact of the Great Depression, 1929-1939, London 1996.

[6] L’Afrique et la crise de 1930, Revue française d’histoire d’outre-mer LXIII, 232-233, 1976

[7] BOEKE (J.H.), Dualistische economie, Leiden, 1930 ; Economics and economic policy of dual societies, as exemplified by Indonesia, Haarlem 1953.

[8] LEE (C.H.), “The Effects of the Depression on Primary Producing Countries” Journal of Contemporary History  4 (4), 1969, ROTHERMUND (D.) op. cit. 1996.

[9] La crise et les colonies, Bibliothèque coloniale internationale XXIIe session de l’Institut colonial international, Bruxelles, 1933, 2 vols.; speeches by DU VIVIER DE STREEL, p. 169-170 (vol 1) ; and BOEKE p. 69 (vol 2)

[10] COREA (G.) op. cit. 1975, p. 86

[11] For example SNODGRASS (D.R. ) , Ceylon, an Export Economy in Transition, Homewood, 1966; GUNASEKARA (H.A. de S.) op. cit. 1962;  PEEBLES (P.),  Sri Lanka, a Handbook of Historical Statistics, Boston, 1982 and COREA (G.) op. cit. 1976, have a more balanced approach.

[12] Administration Report (AR) Sabaragamuwa 1927 p. I4

[13] GEERTZ (C.) op.cit. 1956

[14] PIERIS (R.) Sinhalese Social Organization, the Kandyan Period. Colombo,1956

[15] AR Registrar of Cooperative Societies 1933

[16] DENHAM (E.B.), Ceylon at the Census of 1911, Colombo 1912, p. 93-98, AR Kägalla 1912-13, AR Sabaragamuwa 1907 p. I2

[17] WOOLF (Leonard), The Village in the Jungle, London, 1913, LEACH (E.R.), Pul Eliya, a Village in Ceylon, Cambridge, 1961.

[18] CEYLON, Census of Ceylon, village statistics, 1871 to 1931.

[19] SENARATNE (S.P.F.), Status, Power and Resources. The Study of a Sinhalese village. London, SOAS Ph. D. thesis, 1971, p. 22-23

[20] AR Rubber Controller 1938 annex A; CEYLON, Census of Ceylon, 1931

[21] AR Tea Controller 1938 annex A. 

[22] International Bank for Reconstruction and Development, The economic development of Ceylon, New York 1953, p. 247 ; see also FARMER  (B.H.) op. cit. 1957 p.87 and CEYLON, Census of Ceylon 1931.

[23] JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.) The Supply of Sinhalese Labour to Ceylon Plantations, 1830-1930: a Study of Imperial Policy in a Peasant Society. Cambridge, Ph. D. thesis, 1963, Appendix

[24] CEYLON, Report of the Divisional Agricultural Officer (Central), 1927 p.3

[25] AR Nuwara Eliya (hereafter NE) 1925 p.B29, AR Inspector General of Police (hereafter IGP) 1925 p.B18

[26] AR NE 1925 p.B28; Diary Assistant Settlement Officer (hereafter ASO) Aluvihare, 21.02 & 4.03.1930; these diaries are kept in the Land Settlement Department records in Colombo.

[27] Sri Lanka National Archives (hereafter SLNA) Colonial Secretary Records, L/296/1927: report by the Assistant Government Agent (hereafter AGA) Puttalam on the 3rd interim report of the Land Commission; villages (hereafter CBC II) p.6

[28] AR Southern Province 1925 p.C2, AR Matara 1926 p.C17 ; Diary Settlement Officer October 1933 (Omatta); Diaries ASO Hunter, March 1928 (Badureliya), ASO Rajasingham October 1933 (Latpandura), ASO Egan 11.04.1927 (Bambarawana)

[29] Diary ASO Luddington 9, 19 & 26.02.1927 (Dodampewela, Wirambuwa, Madakumburumulla); and ASO Davies 17.03.1933 (Ihala Malagane)

[30] CEYLON Sessional Paper 3 of 1931

[31] AR Central Province 1926 p.B3, AR NE 1926 p.B35, DAOR (Central) 1928 p. 2; quotation from AR Ma 1928 p. C18

[32] Michael Roberts Oral History Project, interview of Frederick Leach; CEYLON, Report of the Divisional Agricultural Officer (Central), 1928 p.2

[33] SNODGRASS (D.R.) op. cit. 1965; JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.) op. cit. 1963

[34] CEYLON, Census of Ceylon, 1921, 1931, 1946. AR Controller of Labour (hereafter CofL) 1938 et 1939, passim.

[35] CEYLON, Report and Proceedings of the Labour Commission, Colombo, 1908. AR CofL 1948 p.C7.

[36] OBEYESEKERE (G.), Land Tenure in Village Ceylon, Cambridge 1967, YALMAN (N.) Under the Bo-Tree, Berkeley, 1967, TAMBIAH (S.J.) “Ceylon” in LAMBERT & HOSELITZ, The Role of Savings and Wealth in southern Asia and the West. Paris, UNESCO, 1963, ROBINSON(M.)Political Structure in a Changing Sinhalese Village, Cambridge, 1975, SARKAR & TAMBIAH, The Disintegrating Village, Peradeniya, 1957, LEACH (E.R.) op. cit. 1961, MOORE (M.P.) & WICKREMASINGHE (G.), Thattumaru, Kattimaru, Systems of Land Tenure. Colombo, 1978.

[37] AR Sabaragamuwa 1907 p. I2

[38] SENARATNE (S.P.F.), op. cit. 1971 p. 37 sq. : in Remuna, a bi-caste village, the Vahumpura lost their lands and looked more for outside employment than the Goyigama.

[39] SV Kurunägala p. 2 sq.

[40] AR Sabaragamuwa 1916

[41] AR Central Province 1925 p.B2 [children avoid school to work on plantations]; JAYAWARDENA L.R.U.) 1963, op. cit. p. 279, quoted a planter who maintained that 90% of the Sinhalese workers were young people without family responsibilities

[42] AR Controller of Excise, 1925 and following years

[43] ADAS (M.), op. cit., 1974

[44] Interview of N.H. Keerthiratne, by Eric Meyer, 20.03.1978; MEYER (E.) “Historical Aspects of Caste in the Kandyan Regions, with particular reference to the non-Goyigama castes of the Kägalla District” Sri Lanka Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences, 40 (2015), pp. 21-54

 

[45] SNODGRASS (D.R.) op. cit 1966, JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.) op. cit. 1963, appendix: the statistics of landlessness and chapter V.

[46] Diary ASO Sandys, 20.05.1930

[47] SLNA L/296/1927: Report by the AGA Nuwara Eliya on the third interim report of the Land Commission; AR Nuwara Eliya 1926 p.B35.

[48] AR Uva 1928 p.H8, Diary ASO Abeyakoon 25.04.34 (Diyabokadare), Diary ASO Seneviratne, August 1931 (Tuppitiya, Ellegama, Idanegama,J

[49] AR Matara 1925 p.C22, 1926 p.C27, 1920 p. C33, 1929 p.C25. cf. ROHP, interview d’A.N. Strong.

[50] Diary SO Stace, 23.01.1929; diary ASO Christoffelz, July 1928, AR Kalutara 1925 p.A19 and 1928 p.A28.

[51] See Eric Meyer, “Highland Appropriation by the Plantation Sector in the Kägalla District (1870-1930)”

https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org /6732 (2025)

[52] Diary ASO Sandys, 12.06.1929 and 2.02.1929; also Diaries ASO Bassett June 1929 and Seneviratne January 1933

[53] AR NWP 1927 p.F10; Evidence of the Committee on Landless Villagers, evidence of L. Nugawela; diaries of ASO Aluwihare 1.08.30, and ASO Sandys, July 1930.

[54] Diaries ASO Fernando, 23.09.30 (Madakumburemulla), and ASO Seneviratne 3.08.32 (Bowetta)

[55] Diary ASO Sandys, 29.07.1930

[56] WICKREMESINGHE (A.A.), Land Tenure in the Kandyan Provinces, Colombo, 1924, WIJEMANNE (S.R.), The Land Policy of the Government of Ceylon Critically Examined, Colombo, 1926, JAYAWARDENA (L.R.U.) op. cit. 1963. cf. HANSARD 1927 p.139.

[57] CO54/874 Evidence of the Select Committee of the Legislative Council on Rubber Restriction, 1925, p. 10

[58] SLNA 24/14 Minutes of the L.C.P.A. meetings, 3.07.1928

[59]  CO54/886 including: Confidential print n° 386, memorandum by Sir H. Clifford on Land Policy, 21.03.27; Message of

the Governor to the Hon. members of the Finance committee 1927; CLIFFORD (C.), Some Reflections on the Ceylon Land Question, Colombo, 1927.

[60] SLNA L62/1928 Reports of the Revenue and Settlement Officers containing their comments on the third interim report of the Land Commission.

[61] CO54/903/3 dispatch n° 571, 16.7.1930. cf. CEYLON Sessional Paper 2 of 1928.

[62] CO54/903/3 dispatch n° 571

[63] ASO Bassett, in SLNA L62/1928; diaries ASO Bassett, 24.11.1927 and ASO Christoffelz, 27-28.08.1928.

[64] CO54/926 Governor to Secretary of State 950, 31.01.1935.

[65] ADAS (M.) op. cit., 1974 p. 127-128.

[66] BOUVIER (J.) in L’Afrique et la crise de 1930, Revue française d’histoire d’outre-mer LXIII, 232-233, 1976 ; see also LEE (C.H.) op.cit. 1969.

[67] AR Kägalla 1919

[68] LAWRENCE (J.C.), The World’s Struggle with Rubbr, New York, 1931 p.2

[69] BAUER (P.T.), The Rubber Monopoly, a Study in Competition and Monopoly, London, 1948; PEIRIS (G.) “The effects of the price fluctuations on Rubber Production in Ceylon, a study of the depression and the Korean war boom”, Ceylon Journal of Historical and Social Studies, n.s. 2(1), 1972

[70] CEYLON Sessional Paper 14 of 1925, evidence of C.E.A. Dias p. 12

[71] WICKIZER (V.D.) Tea under International Regulation, Stanford, 1944, especially pp. 5,66,72,125,181.

[72] CEYLON Sessional Paper 25 of 1933 (Coconut commission)

[73] COREA (G.) op. cit. 1975 chapter. III

[74] SLNA, Colonial Secretary records F/219/1929 (note on the financial position of the colony and action thereon); F/94/1930 (Report of the income tax adviser), F/225/1930 (Protests against the proposed income tax), F/1407/1930.

[75] COREA 1975 chapter IV

 

[76] MEYER (E.) : “From Internal to External Debt. Observations on Changes in Credit Practices in Sri Lanka in Colonial Times” in MALAMOUD (Ch.) ed., Debts and Debtors. New Delhi, Vikas, 1983, pp. 161-177.

[77] GUNASEKERA (H.A. de S.) op. cit. 1962, p. 195-205; WEERASOORIA (W.S.), The Nattukottai Chettiar Merchant Bankers in Ceylon, Dehiwala, 1973; RUDNER (D.W.), Caste and Capitalism in Colonial India: the Nattukottai Chettiar. Berkeley, 1994; MAHADEVAN (R.), Fortune Seekers, a Business History of the Nattukottai Chettiars, New Delhi, 2025.

[78] We shall publish in annex a full list of the 620 vilasam encountered during this research.

[79] Their geographical location at the island level can be seen from the map we have drawn up from the indications provided to the Banking Commission, in appendix.

[80] CBC II p.459.

[81] CBC II p. 375, 409, 456, 458

[82] WEERASOORIA (W.S.) op. cit. 1973 p.XXV, contra: CBC II p.187-189.

[83] CBC I p.42, CBC II p.483 (I. Stewart), CBC II p.354 (Tyagarajah)

[84] RUDNER (D.W.), op. cit. 1994 p. 78-79, CBC II p. 253, 316, 354-55, 483. WEERASOORIA (W.S.) op. cit. 1973, p.38-41. Ceylon Government Gazette 1925 p.645 sq

Statement by leading economists and academics on Sri Lanka’s Climate Crisis and IMF Restructuring Deal

Sri Lanka’s 17th IMF sovereign debt restructuring agreement is executed under the 48-month IMF Extended Fund Facility (EFF) and provides limited debt service relief.  It therefore failed to provide a sustainable solution to Sri Lanka’s debt crisis and left Sri Lanka extremely vulnerable to external shocks – particularly climate-induced disasters.

Those shocks have now hit with the catastrophic aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah – marked by widespread flooding, deadly landslides, displacement of more than 1.4 million people, and nearly 800 individuals either dead or missing.  The concern over the country’s future deepens. Under the current IMF-supported arrangement, creditors agreed to reduce the size of Sri Lanks debt payments, measured in net present value terms, by 17%.

This left Sri Lanka with government external debt payments of around 25% of revenue, one of the highest rates in the world. According to IMF staff, under the IMF’s own models, Sri Lanka has a 50% chance of defaulting and/or needing another debt restructuring, even after debt relief. The IMF publicly said that “debt risks will remain high for many years”. Sri Lanka is now confronting a severe economic shock triggered by the recent cyclone, extensive flooding and landslides, which has inflicted extensive damage to infrastructure, livelihoods, and key sectors of the economy.

This environmental emergency is poised to absorb – and potentially exceed – the extremely limited fiscal space created by the current debt restructuring package. Additional external debt is already being taken on from the IMF, and more lending to deal with the impacts of the disaster is likely.

Given Sri Lanka’s vulnerabiity to climate shocks, the scale of destruction underscores how insufficient the present debt deal is in safeguarding economic stability. The country’s already fragile socio-economic landscape heightens the risks: diminished revenues, rising reconstruction costs, and increased import needs could quickly undermine projected gains from the restructuring. In this context, the nation remains acutely exposed to further external shocks, whether climatic or economic, highlighting the need for a more comprehensive, resilience-oriented debt solution. The IMF itself has acknowledged that Sri Lanka’s path to “debt sustainability remains knife-edged,” with the country only narrowly meeting targets while social-spending benchmarks were missed.

In light of the current climate catastrophe that has hit Sri Lanka, we wish to highlight the following points:

  • The existing restructuring – modest, conditional and tied to uncertain macroeconomic outcomes – is inadequate to protect the vulnerable majority from recurrent climate and external shocks.
  • By prioritising debt service continuity over deep debt relief, the IMF programme perpetuates structural exposure of Sri Lanka’s economy and population to future disasters.
  • Continuing to impose debt repayment obligations under these conditions fails to consider Sri Lanka’s capacity to service debt, which should instead be based on its foreign exchange (forex) earnings.
  •  Current onerous debt servicing undermines efforts to rebuild lives, restore agriculture, infrastructure, and provide social protection. Therefore, we call for immediate suspension of Sri Lanka’s external sovereign debt payments, and a new restructuring that restores debt sustainability under the new circumstances.

We propose the adoption of a genuinely sustainable framework that:

  • Recognises climate-driven disasters as systemic, not exceptional, shocks.
  • Provides significant debt cancellation – with no punitive conditions – to free up fiscal space for disaster recovery, social protection, reconstruction and development.
  • Prioritises human welfare, environmental protection, and long-term viability over f inancial obligations to external creditors. Only a fundamental rethinking of the global debt regime – one based on justice and sustainability – will offer Sri Lanka a realistic chance to recover from the climate impacts and build an equitable future for all.

Coordinated by:  Professor Jayati Ghosh; Debt Justice, UK;  Institute of Political Economy, Sri Lanka.

SIGNATORIES 1. Professor Jayati Ghosh, University of Massachusetts-Amherst, USA 2. Professor Joseph Stiglitz, Columbia University, USA 3. Professor Thomas Piketty, Science Po/Paris School of Economics, France 4. Professor Yanis Varoufakis, University of Athens, Greece 5. Professor Martin Guzman, Columbia University, USA 6. Professor C P Chandrasekhar, University of Massachusetts-Amherst, USA 7. Professor Stephanie Kelton, Stony Brook University, USA 8. Professor Jason Hickel, ICTA-University of Barcelona, Spain/LSE, United Kingdom 9. Professor Guy Standing, SOAS, University of London, U.K. 10. Professor Fadhel Kaboub, Global Institute for Sustainable Prosperity, USA 11. Professor Gary Dymski, Leeds University, United Kingdom 12. Professor Sudip Chaudhuri, India Institute of Management – Calcutta, India 13. Professor Kevin Gallagher, Boston University, USA 14. Professor Radhika Balakrishnan, Rutgers University, USA 15. Professor Gerald Epstein, University of Massachusetts, USA 16. Professor Utsa Patnaik, Jawaharlal Nehru University, India. 17. Professor Mariana Reis Maria, Universidade Estadual de Campinas, Brazil 18. Professor Irene van Staveren, Erasmus University – Rotterdam, The Netherlands 19. Professor Juan Carolos Moreno-Brid, UNAM-Mexico 20. Professor Surajit Mazumdar, Jawaharlal Nehru University, India 21. Professor Howard Nicholas, International School of Business – Ho Chi Min, Vietnam 22. Professor A Haroon Akram-Lodhi, Trent University, Canada 23. Professor Gunseli Berik, University of Utah, USA 24. Professor Sergio Cesaratto, University of Sienna, Italy 25. Professor Yavuz Yazar, University of Denver, USA. 26. Professor Suzanne Bergeron, University of Michigan – Dearborn, USA 27. Professor S Subramanium, Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai, India 28. Professor David Rucio, Notre Dame University, USA 29. Professor M V Lee Badgett, University of Massachusetts – Amherst, USA 30. Professor Julie Nelson, University of Massachusetts – Boston, USA 31. Professor Farida Khan, University of Colorado, USA 32. Professor Smriti Rao, Assumption University, USA 33. Professor Gustavo Indart, University of Toronto, Canada 34. Professor R Ramakumar, Tata Institute of Social Studies – Mumbai, India 35. Professor Randy Albelda, University of Massachusetts- Boston, USA 36. Professor Yana Rodgers, Rutgers University, USA 37. Dr Isabella Weber, University of Massachusetts – Amherst, USA 38. Dr Lucas Chancel, Science Po/Paris School of Economics, France 39. Dr Dean Baker, University of Massachusetts – Amherst, USA 40. Dr Ndongo Samba Sylla, IDEAS, Senegal 41. Dr Pedro Rossi, Global Fund for a New Economy, Brazil 42. Dr H Himanshu, Jawaharlal Nehru University, India 43. Dr Ingrid Kvangraven, Kings College – London, U.K. 44. Dr Surbhi Kesar, SOAS – University of London, U.K 45. Dr N
45. Dr Narayani Sritharan, AID Data, USA 46. Dr Tracey Freiberg, John Jay College, USA 47. Dr Ajit Zacharias, Levy Institute – Bard College, USA 48. Dr Smita Ramnarain, University of Rhode Island, USA 49. Dr Sheba Tejani, Kings College – London, U.K. 50. Professor Vijay Prashad, TRICONTINENTAL Institute, Argentina 51. Professor Barbara Harriss-White, Oxford University, U.K. 52. Professor Shirin Rai, SOAS – University of London, U.K 53. Professor Kanchana N. Ruwanpura, University of Gothenburg, Sweden 54. Professor Alessandra Mezzadri, SOAS – University of London, U.K 55. Professor Raj Patel, University of Texas – Austin, USA 56. Professor Kanishka Goonewardena, University of Toronto, Canada 57. Professor Vasuki Nesiah, New York University, USA 58. Professor Aram Ziai, Kassel University, Germany 59. Professor Matthias Goldman, EBS University, Germany 60. Professor Nata Duvvury, National University of Ireland – Galway, Ireland 61. Professor Maggie Leung, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands 62. Professor Padraig Carmody, Trinity College – Dublin, Ireland 63. Professor Bart Klem, University of Ghent, Belgium 64. Professor Roar Høstaker, Inland Norway University, Norway. 65. Professor Benjamin Selwyn, University of Sussex, U.K. 66. Professor John Morrissey, National University of Ireland – Galway, Ireland 67. Professor Kanishka Jayasuriya, Murdoch University, Australia 68. Professor Wilfried Swenden, University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom 69. Professor Roger Jeffery, University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom 70. Professor Naomi Hossain, SOAS – University of London, U.K 71. Professor Page Fontana, Columbia University, USA 72. Professor Dina Siddiqi, New York University, USA 73. Professor Christoper Cramer, SOAS – University of London. U.K. 74. Professor Ruvani Ranasinha, Kings College – London, U.K. 75. Professor Maria Heim, Amherst College, USA 76. Professor John Hariss, Simon Fraser University, Canada 77. Professor Nirmala Salgado, Augustana College, USA 78. Professor Vinay Gidwani, University of Minnesota, USA 79. Professor Dia da Costa, University of Alberta, Canada 80. Professor Atilio Boron, University of Buenos Aires, Argentina 81. Professor Anne Blackburn, Cornell University, USA 82. Professor Deepta Chopra, University of Sussex, U.K 83. Professor Muthucumaraswamy Sornaraha, National University of S 84. Professor Rahul Mukherji, Heidelberg University, Germany 85. Dr Juan Pablo Bohoslavsky, CONICET and National University of Rio Negro (CIEDIS) – Argentina. 86. Dr Mieke Lopes Cardozo, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands 87. Dr Thiruni Kelegama, University of Oxford, U.K. 88. Dr Giselle Thompson, University of Alberta, Canada 89. Dr Nimanthi Rajasingham-Perera, Colgate University, U.S.A 90. Dr Andrew Newsham, SOAS – University of London, U.K. 91. Dr Bhumika Muchchala, New School University, USA 92. Dr Alexandre da Costa, Alberta University, Canada/Brazil 93. Dr Sharika Thiranagama, Stanford University, USA 94. Dr Amali Wedagedara, Bandaranaike Centre for International Studies, Sri Lanka 95. Dr Eva Ambos, Tubingen University, Germany 96. Dr Paul Gilbert, University of Sussex, United Kingdom 97. Dr Priyadarshini Premarathne, University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka 98. Dr Farah Mihlar, Oxford Brookes University, U.K 99. Dr MeeNilancko Theiventharan, University of Oslo, Norway 100.Dr Shyamain Wickramasingha, University of Sussex, U.K 101.Dr Joeri Scholtens, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands 102.Dr Susantha Rasnayake, University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka  103.Dr Alicia Yamin, Harvard University, U.S.A. 104.Dr Lara Merling, UCL – Institute for Innovation Public Purpose, U.K. 105.Dr Rohith Jyothish, O. P. Jindal Global University – Sonipat, India 106.Dr Jon Philips, SOAS – University of London, U 107.Anne Pettifor, Jubilee Campaign, U.K 108.Tim Jones, Debt Justice – U.K., U.K. 109.Kate Raworth, Environmental Change Institute, Canada 110.Veronica Gróndona, ICRICT, Argentina 111.Maia Colodenco, Suramericana Vision, Argentina 112.Dr. Farwa Sial, IDEAS – Asia Region 113.Emma Bury, AID Data, USA. 114.Robin Jespert, Goethe University, Germany 115.Kevin Cashman, John Jay College – CUNY, USA 116.Gabriele Koehler, UNRISD, Switzerland 117.Vincent Chee, Raffles College of Higher Education, Singapore 118.Matheus Machado, IBMEC – Brazil 119.Chiara Subrizi, University Urbino Carlo Bo, Italy 120.Kowsalya Duraiswamy, Sri Lanka 121.Emma Burgisser, Christian AID, United Kingdom

 

accountability anti-Muslim violence army australia BBS Buddhism Canada china cinema Colombo Commonwealth Summit democracy Development diaspora economy Gotabaya Rajapaksa human rights India Jaffna justice JVP LTTE Mahinda Rajapaksa minorities Muslim Northern province Parliamentary Elections 2015 Peace and Conflict Politics and Governance Presidential Election 2015 Presidential election 2019 reconciliation religion Tamil tamil diaspora Tamils Tamil vote TNA tsunami UK UN USA violence war crimes women

accountability anti-Muslim violence army australia BBS Buddhism Canada china cinema Colombo Commonwealth Summit democracy Development diaspora economy Gotabaya Rajapaksa human rights India Jaffna justice JVP LTTE Mahinda Rajapaksa minorities Muslim Northern province Parliamentary Elections 2015 Peace and Conflict Politics and Governance Presidential Election 2015 Presidential election 2019 reconciliation religion Tamil tamil diaspora Tamils Tamil vote TNA tsunami UK UN USA violence war crimes women

accountability anti-Muslim violence army australia BBS Buddhism Canada china cinema Colombo Commonwealth Summit democracy Development diaspora economy Gotabaya Rajapaksa human rights India Jaffna justice JVP LTTE Mahinda Rajapaksa minorities Muslim Northern province Parliamentary Elections 2015 Peace and Conflict Politics and Governance Presidential Election 2015 Presidential election 2019 reconciliation religion Tamil tamil diaspora Tamils Tamil vote TNA tsunami UK UN USA violence war crimes women

accountability anti-Muslim violence army australia BBS Buddhism Canada china cinema Colombo Commonwealth Summit democracy Development diaspora economy Gotabaya Rajapaksa human rights India Jaffna justice JVP LTTE Mahinda Rajapaksa minorities Muslim Northern province Parliamentary Elections 2015 Peace and Conflict Politics and Governance Presidential Election 2015 Presidential election 2019 reconciliation religion Tamil tamil diaspora Tamils Tamil vote TNA tsunami UK UN USA violence war crimes women

“Your island seems to be washing away into the sea”

Plantation growth, environmental dislocation and decline of peasant agriculture in colonial Ceylon

by Eric P. Meyer

 

At a time of distress when cyclone has resulted in dramatic floods and landslides and when controversies about the causes and responsibilities for the disaster are swelling, it is worth recalling that environmental dislocation in Sri Lanka must be traced back to the development of plantations in the Kandyan regions in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and that the adverse impact of plantation development on peasant agriculture and the lack of conservancy policies had been denounced by reports after reports, but with no avail.[1]

 

In 1931, a report on soil erosion in Ceylon quoted the words of the director of Kew Gardens, the British botanist A.W. Hill: “Your island seems to be washing away into the sea”.[2]

 

Such a statement was not new. The issue had been discussed by scientists since 1873 when, instructed by Thwaites, director of the Peradeniya gardens, the then director of Kew gardens, Hooker, wrote to the Colonial office “The mischief done in other colonies is especially to be guarded against in this case. The planting of tea and coffee has suddenly become an object of active and to some extent of almost a speculative enterprise (…) There is reason to fear that districts may have been hastily cleared of forest”. The Governor Gregory tried to put the blame on slash-and-burn (chena) cultivation, described as “the easiest and laziest cultivation”, without totally exonerating the planters. This led to the stoppage of land alienation by the Crown above 5,000 ft, but Thwaites in his Administration report of 1878 pointed out that silting and drying up of sources, attributable to the carelessness of the planters, continued.  Shortly later, the coffee enterprise collapsed due to leaf rust (hemileia vastatrix), to be replaced by tea plantations. In 1882, the new governor, Gordon, asked a member of the Indian Forest Service, D’A Vincent, to report on the forest administration of Ceylon[3]. This detailed report blamed the colonial administration for a total lack of interest for forest conservation and the inability to apply its own regulations, since the beginning of the coffee cultivation. A few years later, the sudden development of tea estates in the Kelani Valley resulted in the general silting of the Kelani river hitherto used for transport, which led to a project of railway, and this situation was the subject of three successive reports[4], which recommended to establish compulsory rules to control erosion by plantations, noted that navigation was for the first time interrupted on the Kelani river during the dry season and that it was the result of the opening of the tea plantations, while Forsythe, the representative of the planters, blamed chena cultivation (“a wasteful and pernicious system”) for most of the erosion and minimized the extent of paddy fields affected by silting. In 1909 experiments by Peradeniya to better control erosion were abandoned; and an Indian specialist of irrigation pointed out the impact of the cultivation practices of the planters “ill adapted to tropical conditions”. Another report by P.M. Lushington, of the Indian Forest Service[5] blamed the Ceylon system which gave little power to the Forest department, and after explaining that forests are necessary to regularize the flow from rainfall, concluded “no greater condemnation of the forest policy of Ceylon can be made than that which nature herself affords in the state of her principal rivers  (…) The protection of the rivers in Ceylon is no longer in the hands of the forest department but for the greater part in the hand of the planter (…) the whole point of protecting forests has been missed”.  None of the reports was followed by an energetic policy of forest and soil conservation, owing to the paramount power of the planting industry.

 

The soil erosion report of 1931 was extremely critical of the planters’ lack of awareness of the situation: “it is doubtful whether [the planters] see the necessity for looking beyond the present and working for the future. There is a distinct tendency in certain quarters to be satisfied with what has been done (…) and to regard with prejudice and impatience the view that further measures are required. A planter stated that Agents would not countenance the spending of large sums on measures of soil conservation. The tenure of the superintendent is short contrary to the proprietary planters of old (…) It was suggested to the committee that the policy of owners, agents and visiting agents was short-sighted and that it was necessary to persuade these authorities of the value of measures of soil conservation”. The report criticized the unchecked practice of clean weeding on steep tea plantations resulting in the uprooting of tea plants (what the workers called “spider”), silting of culverts and eventual abandonment of acres become unproductive. In rubber plantations, erosion was less apparent but very real and as the paddy fields and gardens were in close contact with them, the adverse impact was seriously felt. The extension of small rubber holdings by the conversion of paddy land was made without any regard to soil conservation, contrary to the practice of terraced paddy cultivation, which was ideal to preserve the ecology. In coconut areas, there was little erosion as the land was generally flat and covered with grass but the risk of flooding was serious. According to the commission, in every planting district of the island, except flat coconut areas, there were constant complaints of troubles to paddy cultivation due to erosion in uphill estates and subsequent silting of fields and irrigation channels. In particular areas, such as the Kotmale valley above Gampola, Spring valley in Uva, Aranayake valley in Kägalla, landslides regularly occurred as a result of indiscriminate clearings on steep slopes. Whole valleys were affected for a couple of cultivation seasons, and fields on the margins of the estates were abandoned for good. Irrigation channels (elas) were choked, their banks breached by gravel and stones coming straight from estate drains, and water flow to the fields was stopped. In the worst cases, as in the Kotmale valley, landslides engulfed whole tracts of paddy fields . The report minimized the responsibility of slash-and-burn (chena) cultivation, which was the usual culprit in the colonial discourse: “The chena system is undoubtedly responsible for a large amount of preventable erosion, but it is possible that the damage is not so great as often thought. The chena cultivator does not introduce drainage systems into his land, but on the other hand, he does not keep the surface of the soil so scrupulously clean as the estate planter and the very presence of weeds assists in preventing soil wash”. Peasant care in land management, and the preoccupation with preserving or increasing the diversity of resources available in the highlands, are indeed well documented[6].

 

The report was received with little interest in the Colonial Office in London, where the great issue at the time was the political reform proposed by the Donoughmore commission. On the other side, the destructive impact of the plantation system on peasant agriculture became a leitmotiv of the political discourse in Ceylon after 1930, during and after the great depression. For example, in 1934, S.A. Wickramasinghe, the first leftist elected at the State Council, declared in a speech: “There is wanton soil erosion taking place. I have myself seen a report which stated that 20,000 villagers [sic] had to leave a district because of this. That document is available in the Kandy kacceri. Some harrowing tales of decimation are reported by the Government Agent in his Administration report as a consequence of the opening up of estates”[7]. Shortly after independence, the Kandyan Peasantry Commission concluded that the plantation system was responsible for the ‘disintegration of the village’. This thesis was later challenged by economists who held that the plantation sector and the village sector functioned in watertight compartments with little interference, and by academic historians such as Michael Roberts who argued that the impact remained limited[8]. The accumulation of local evidence found in official reports and unprinted diaries of colonial officers suggest that the environmental impact was deep, concentrated and direct in specific areas where tea, rubber and coconut estates were close to the villages, and that it was indirectly felt in other areas as well. We review here a large collection of such cases taken from different areas before focusing on the Kägalla district.

 

*

 

Deforestation leading to soil erosion and disruption of water systems was common during the coffee era (1830s to 1880s) in the upper valleys of the rivers of the Central and Uva provinces, especially in Kotmale, Uda Hewaheta and Udukinda. In the 1860s, the Government made timid attempts to arrest the process, by reserving wooden belts along the streams when selling lands to the planters, or even by repurchasing land for the purpose: “In the older grants made by Government, no reservation was made of land on either side of the water courses. Coffee growers who constantly purchased the higher lands took advantage of this to extend their plantations up to the edge of the water. The consequence has been in many cases the free flow of the water has been obstructed to the great prejudice of the paddy cultivators whose fields were irrigated by that water”. But the damage had already been done, and it continued because reservations were rarely delimited and planters quite often encroached on them without reaction from the authorities.[9] The Administration report of Nuwara Eliya for 1884 analyzed the situation in Pallegampaha korale of Uda Hewaheta: “There can be no doubt that the clearing of almost all the slopes at the head of this valley as coffee estates (Graymount being one of them) has seriously affected the water supply of the fields below (at Liyanwela), and disregard or at least ignorance of this probable result was shown when so much forest was sold to be opened as estates”. In Gangapalata korale (Udawatte) “the village lies on the northern slope of the Diyatalawa and I think that the opening of a great deal of the land high up on that hill as coffee estates must have permanently impaired the water supply of the streams. I do not see any other reason for the insufficiency of water to irrigate the fields formerly cultivated regularly”. The same situation prevailed in Walapane. In Kohoka korale paddy fields were abandoned following landslides “due undoubtedly to the total destruction of forests”. When coffee estates closed down in the 1880s, it was found possible to reopen abandoned irrigation works, such as the Werapitiya Maha ela in Pata Dumbara: “about 4 miles of a channel which had been blocked for years and which used to irrigate a very large area of land. The destruction of the latter work had been due to the silt from two coffee estates through which the ela passed and which had been sold by the Crown without a reservation along the ela, and it was only when the estates were finally abandoned that it was found possible to reopen the channel”[10]. In addition, at least during the coffee era, water powered factories often tapped the streams to the detriment of paddy fields owners, and the streams passing through estates were regularly polluted by coffee berry processing operations

 

 Whether deforestation modified the regime and amount of rainfall or not was and still is debated[11]. There were signs of a reduction of rainfall on the upper slopes of the up-country and of a less regular distribution of rainfall along the year in the plantation areas, due to reduced moisture of the atmosphere, but no incontestable proof can be adduced. P.M. Lushington, in his report on Ceylon forests published in 1921, held the following view: “Forests do not increase rainfall to any appreciable extent, but they serve to distribute the water supply and to prevent erosion. By cooling the atmosphere the forests assist in causing additional local rainfall, but the value in breaking the force of the wind, in preventing floods and landslides, and the silting of rivers, thus keeping them navigable, is far greater.” Revenue officers in the field were more assertive, for example in a report on the Nuwara Eliya district[12]: “There cannot be a shadow of doubt that the extensive forest clearings made in Walapane and Hewaheta as elsewhere within the last 40 years or so, have very materially and prejudicially affected the productiveness of the paddy lands in these divisions, both by reason of the decrease in the regular flow of water in the streams on which the fields used to depend, and also because of the diminution in the supply of fertilizing substances carried down in the low-lying lands from the adjacent forests during the rain.” Even if one discounts the hypothesis of rainfall reduction, the springs included in the estates became less regular with the disappearance of trees and the thinning of the soil.    

 

When tea replaced coffee in the 1880s, massive deforestation affected the ‘mid country’ where new estates were established on former chena lands. As a result, not only fields, but also rivers of the wet zone became silted, and their flow irregular. The bed of the Maha Oya was raised by 11 ft., that of the Sitawaka Ganga, a tributary of the Kelani Ganga, by 20 ft.; the Kalu and the Kelani Ganga became unnavigable from the 1880s, and overflowed their banks during heavy rains, while sand bars at the mouth increased the risk of floods. The waters of the Kelani Ganga, which were described as “beautifully transparent as it is fed chiefly by mountain streams” at the beginning of the 19th century, became exceedingly muddy, and one of its tributaries which formed the “finest bathing place in the island” in the early 1880s in the experience of Governor Gordon, washed along heavy silt as soon as plantations were opened upstream.[13]

 

Once again, a legislation was enacted to protect irrigation works but did little to prevent future silting as it safeguarded the interests of the planters: the paddy cultivation ordinance 23 of 1889, was “so framed as to afford adequate protection against injury to irrigation channels without undue hardship to the owners of adjoining properties” [14].  According to the Agent in Matale in 1896, “careless wording of the ordinance has made the law inoperative. I have had the case where 18 drains have been turned into an ela, naturally to the destruction of the latter. The people would of course have their civil remedy. But the Kandyan villager is always reluctant about going to law with his European neighbor”. Again in 1905: “injury to irrigation channels and paddy fields from wash and silt from the numerous new clearings (…) Engineering difficulties would be very costly to overcome. The law as it stands does not help in these cases”. In 1890, in Rayigam and Pasdun korales of Kalutara “there were many well founded complaints of damage occasioned by silt washed down into paddy fields from tea clearings, complaints were also made of the difficulties of procuring jungle sticks for fencing”. In 1898, in Uva: “It is always imprudent to sell for tea planting land through which an ela runs. This however has happened frequently but more often at the instance of Government than of the villager. Great damage results to elas and fields through the clearing of land above them and an expenditure of some 7,000 Rs will be entailed in repairing the Aluth Ela near Badulla town, solely in consequence of the damage resulting of the opening of the Ilverton estate just above”.[15] In many cases, the estates grudgingly paid compensation to field owners instead of undertaking permanent works such as the building of silt traps and of crossings over the irrigation channels. Some paddy cultivators benefitted from the wash of plantation manure. But on the whole, these nuisances led to strained relations between village and estate: this was especially the case in the densely populated mid-country areas[16].

 

In 1908, still another ‘rice cultivation committee’ was set up and reported district by district on the effect of silting and drying up of springs, but also more generally on the state of paddy cultivation. It tended to minimize the adverse ecological impact of plantation development on rice cultivation, insisting rather on the economic impact, due to the greater profitability of crops other than paddy (including hill paddy) and on the attraction exerted by higher wages on rubber or tea which deprived paddy cultivation of necessary labour. The most detailed testimony was that of Hellings, Government Agent at Ratnapura, but he considered that silting could be a blessing in disguise because silt is rich in manure[17].   

 

The rubber boom in the Sabaragamuwa and Kalutara districts and the coconut boom in the North Western province resulted in a form of re-afforestation of the slopes of the mid-country which were used by villagers for slash and burn cultivation, but nevertheless disrupted the water systems. In addition to the environmental impact, the expansion of village housing and gardening and the diversification of resources were hampered. In areas where large tea, rubber or coconut estates surrounded village land, actual landlessness became apparent around 1930, and led the authorities to attempt to stop indiscriminate alienation. According to the report on the census of 1911, “unless closely watched, there is little doubt that alienation of large areas of land for tea and rubber may adversely affect the villager not only by depriving him of grazing ground for his cattle, but by drying up sources which water his fields and, in spite of reservations, there is some reason to believe that there are cases in which this has occurred” [18].  In 1926 and 1927, cases of silting were given publicity during the sittings of the Land Commission which received petitions on the subject. In the Central province, “the silt problem in respect of the Gampolawela Rajaela has been a constant source of complaints for many years (…) At a representative meeting of the owners of estates above the ela and field owners the former promised to pay not more than 20 Rs an acre towards cost of overcrossings and signed an agreement to pay. Subsequent attempts to collect the money failed”. In the Matara district, “considerable damage caused to paddy cultivation by the washing down of silt from newly opened tea and rubber estates, particularly in the hilly regions of Morawak korale. In one village that I visited almost a whole valley has been permanently ruined by this cause”. In the Ratnapura district: “capitalists recklessly clear and plant right up to the edge of the fields and channels in complete disregard of the silting. Complaints of silt damage by such action are constantly received”. But such attitude was not prevailing in 1913, when E.B. Alexander, Government Agent of the same province, proposed to lease or sell stream reservations along his Rilhena estate to B.A. Thornhill, who had willfully planted them in rubber in 1910, commenting that “contrary to his predecessor Cookson, he thought that paddy cultivation would not be affected”.[19] The settlement officers were regularly confronted with these problems, for example, in Omatta village in 1933: “The grain tax commutation register and old plans showed that these owitas claimed were paddy fields some years back and silted. The villagers stated that the silting was caused by the opening out of the large rubber estates in the area: a good paddy field of 25 acres ruined by the silt from a steep plantation of rubber ; these fields were neglected during the days of rubber boom and the villagers inform that it is not worthwhile to cultivate these ruined fields”[20]

 

In the drier areas where tanks were used for paddy cultivation, their water storage capacity was reduced by silt. In some cases, reservoirs were included in the estates and planted up: there were several such occurrences in the Nuwara Eliya district during the coffee era which came to light when villagers protested. For example, in Uda Hewaheta, a tank which irrigated 200 acres was sold in 1864 as forest to the Amunumulla coffee estate: “The earnestness and pertinacy with which these unfortunate villagers represent their grievance is of itself sufficient to shew that it is substantial”[21] Much later, in the coconut belt, many similar cases occurred and similar complaints were aired. For example, near Giriulla, “a small abandoned tank which an estate proprietor wanted to purchase (…) the villagers at once claimed that it was essential for their fields and have started vigorously clearing the bund and channel”. Near Dandagamuwa: “ There is a small tank bordered on three sides by a large coconut estate whose proprietor, Dr. A.S. Goonewardena of Panadura, claims the tank as his private property He contended that the tank was formerly a paddy field purchased by his father-in-law, and that the tank was in reality a water hole dug up by the estate for the use of cattle. But the northern boundary according to his deeds is a tank bund, which clearly indicated the existence of a tank before the purchase (…) The villagers stated that the tank existed from time immemorial and that the estate took possession of it and attempted to convert it into a paddy field only about 25 years ago. They ask that the tank be reserved as at present they have to depend solely on rain water to cultivate their paddy fields”. Near Narammala “About half the village is an extensive coconut estate belonging to Mr. Dodwell and co. The villagers complain that they could not cultivate their fields owing to want of water. There had been a large tank in the village but unfortunately it had been sold by Government several years ago (…) Villagers said what they needed was water; they said there was an abandoned tank which if restored would provide water for all the villages in the wasama. Inspected the tank, it is a sort of natural lake, the water from the hills and from springs is retained by a long ridge of living rock. There is a breach at one place about 10 ft. wide. Very many years ago when this breach was closed about 6 acres of land was submerged: the tank had then irrigated several paddy fields lower down. These are now coconut plantations”.[22]

 

Denial of peasant access to water by plantation owners or workers was regularly mentioned in the diaries of the Settlement officers working in the province of Uva, as in the case of Kirawanagama and Beraliyapola where springs dried, stream reservations were cleared, top soil and grass cover removed, water diverted towards estate lands[23]: “All the villagers complain very bitterly that the streams which irrigate the extensive paddy fields in the villages are gradually drying up. They stated that the streams had their sources within the estate above the village and that at the time when the lands belonging to the village were alienated, adequate reservations for the sources of the streams and their beds were made. The forests near the sources which incidentally serve as village forests for these villagers are being surreptitiously but regularly denudated of trees by labourers on the estate. The top soil within these forests up to a depth of 3 to 4 feet is being removed for the purpose of making compost manure (…) the reservations along streams have in many cases been leased to labourers and are planted in guinea grass. In addition, storage tanks have been built in the beds of streams and water is conveyed by pipes not only for the use of the labourers but for watering their gardens also. The villagers have petitioned government on several occasions but have so far not obtained redress”

 

In the North Western province, the highlands of Madure korale were sold by headmen to plantations, leaving little space for villagers[24]: “Gallewa, a very big village, a small acreage of which is claimed or owned by the villagers themselves. The best lands, that is those on the hillsides, and tops, have been sold to a company (…) Mahawela, a village very similar to Gallewa except that more land here has been sold to outsiders. It is sad to see the villagers forced to live in the unhealthy villages, whilst the healthy hillsides and hilltops are in the possession of outsiders. The villagers complained to me that owing to the location of the estate on the hill, their fields were being deprived of water. Another complaint was that oil in the elas leading through this estate spoils their sources of drinking water and even ruin their fields. Superintendents in these malarial districts are in the habit of pouring oil into stagnant pools of water found in elas in the view of preventing mosquito breeding, but they scarcely realize what untold damage is done to paddy crops and villagers. I saw in one ela oily water trickling into the Deduru Oya, and the water in the river just beneath rubber estate full of oil at a spot where a villager was trying to make his buffaloes drink”. “Pahala Ogodapola is a small village inhabited only by 9 families. Irrigation facilities in the village could have been improved by restoring an abandoned tank found in the village but unfortunately part of the tank bed has been alienated by the Crown many years ago to the estate: this portion has now been planted up by the estate. Pasture land according to the villagers is their most pressing need [it is forbidden on Delwita estate]. Most of their cattle are now being pastured far away in Dodangaslanda on estates belonging to the Senanayake and Kotelawala families”

 

In an indirect way, paddy cultivation may have been affected by the restriction of pasture land reducing the numbers and impairing the health of buffaloes. Cattle were taken for grazing on the unforested highlands (patanas) in areas such as Uva and Dolosbage, or on the regrowth of vegetation after a chena season in the mid-country, and these grazing grounds were quite often sold as Crown lands to planters. Roberts denies any such impact; according to him buffaloes were not regularly required in paddy cultivation, and the actual reduction in their numbers was the result of epidemics brought from India rather than contraction of the available space. If he is right in explaining the diminution of buffaloes by the occurrence of cattle murrain or rinderpest, the fact that buffaloes could no longer recruit their health in up-country areas must have exposed them more than before to the attacks. In addition, cattle trespass on unfenced estates was from the beginning a major source of tension between planters and villagers: animals still roamed in areas where they used to graze at large before the opening of plantations.

 

Besides environmental factors affecting paddy cultivation, the much higher profits which could be derived from plantation products between 1900 and 1930 was indirectly responsible for the abandonment of paddy fields and their planting up in rubber or coconut after 1900. Conversion into coconut was common in the Kurunegala district. The Settlement Officer Fraser noticed in 1905 the process at work in Horambawa near Katugampola and his successors Luddington and Leach compared in 1927 the situation with the surveys effected during the previous decade in the villages of Konaputuhera, Medagama, Dodampawela, Wirambuwa where the disappearance of paddy was marked. In Madakumburumulla where an estate claimed a tank whose bund was made up of an outcrop of solid rock in an ideal situation, “1000 acres were practically planted up”; in Bagoda “a large amount of abandoned paddy, reason, shortage of cattle, yet this village offers the best grazing ground I have seen yet,”; in Henmulla where the villagers had only the reservations for the fields left; in Henegedara where many of the paddy fields were being converted into coconut gardens, and were coveted by the landgrabber F.H. Jayawardene[25]. Conversion of paddy fields into rubber plantations was also frequent in Western and Southern provinces. It was already noticed in 1917 by the Kalutara Revenue officer[26]: “This has become a perfect craze and if nothing happens to check it, there is no doubt that in a few years it will entirely supplant the cultivation of food. Hundreds of acres [more than 1000 acres] of owita lands which used to produce only food or were used as pasturage have gone into rubber and even extensive tracts of paddy fields are similarly treated”.   The Government agent of Galle made the same remark in 1916 and 1925: “the planting up with rubber of all the available small village lots is becoming very general throughout the district. Paddy fields covered with silt become rubber gardens, and the same product is gradually pushing out cinnamon and citronella” “the tendency is I think rather to forsake paddy growing for the more remunerative culture of tea, rubber and coconuts, and wherever possible low lying deniyas are being drained and planted with rubber”.    

 

*

 

On the basis of general assessments in various reports and scattered evidence, it is difficult to establish the extent and time continuance of the impact. By focusing on a particular area over a long period, one can try to overcome the difficulty. Scanning systematically through the diaries of the Assistant Government Agent in Kägalla from the 1870 to the 1932, one finds regular occurrences of erosion, silting, water diversion etc. which, even if they cannot be measured, at least demonstrate their prevalence.[27]

 

The first recorded occurrences of silting and landslides predate the major expansion of plantations and may have been connected with exceptionally heavy rains and with forest felling for lumber on the steep slopes above the valley of the We Oya:  : “the few fields we passed [above Bulatkopitiya] were much injured by the elas overflowing and covering the fields with sand and stones” (20.11.1871) Dramatic floods, 600 houses destroyed, cattle drowned, paddy crop lost for 2 seasons (23.09.1872). Landslide and silting at Uduwewela, “a process that has been going on gradually for the last 3 or 4 years” (16.11.1872).

At the same time, the first infringement by planters to paddy cultivation is recorded in the Aranayake area: “Complaint is made that the ela which conducts the water to Rahala and Selawa fields (in all 30 acres) cannot be repaired as it passes through the Getakohoella estate and the superintendent here will not permit the villagers to enter the estate. Headmen ordered to make a respectful [sic] representation” (21.06.1873)

 

With the extension of tea estates to the Kelani valley in 1885, silting cases became a common occurrence: “bathing pools are now choked up with sand and wash from tea estates” (23.03.1885, Yogama).   “Ekneligoda [the chief headman] sends a list of paddy fields in the Three korales covered over and rendered useless by the wash from ten estates. On the face of the report there would appear to be a case for compensation on the part of the Government who sold the land or of the planters who opened it” (15.07.1885). Among these cases, that of Ardross estate affecting Panawitiya village is exemplary: half the forest highlands appropriated by the Crown by the ‘Ievers chena settlement’ had been sold to the planter without proper protection of the paddy fields : “Inspected a range of fields that had been thrown out of cultivation by the wash from Ardross estate. The fields are irrigated by a channel which is filled by means of a dam close to the estate store. The dam has been broken down and the channel has been silted up. After some conversation with the villagers and Mr. Streeting, the superintendent of the estate, we came to the following agreement, that the superintendent was to rebuild the dam and clear the channel, but that I was to pay him 10 Rs as the villager’s share of the work; that in the future the estate and the villagers were to keep the dam and ela in repair, the estate giving two men and the villager one man on the work for such repairs” But the proprietor Mc. Martin practically repudiated the agreement” (31.07.1885). Eight years later, the trouble to paddy cultivation was not over: “By clearing and planting tea on either side of the watercourse, it has been filled up with the silt of the estate and dried up, and therefore it is difficult to take water now to the field. Since the past year, the cultivation of this field has been given up. This watercourse cannot be repaired but should be constructed anew”[28] . Another case was that of Kanangama estate: “I found that the fields had been silted up as stated, and as there appeared to be no way by which the wash could be stopped, I suggested the manager that the estate should buy the fields. He said the proprietor [Fairweather] would we willing to do this” Fairweather proposed 10 Rs per acre: “I do not think this is a fair price, he should pay at least double this in my opinion” Finally the price was fixed at 20 Rs. (3.10.1885).

 

In the 1891s, the preoccupation of the villagers with the impact of plantation development on paddy cultivation began to be more vocal, if the numerous petitions are considered as a reliable indicator of their opinion, as in this typical example[29] : “ They are the owners of the paddy field called Menewasam kumbura, they pay tax for it, and their names are entered in the commutation register. The two waste bits of land called pillewas which lie on either side of the said paddy field, upper and lower portion, also belong to them, of about 1 pela in extent, extending as far as the cry, which can easily be asweddumized, was to their great regret and surprise surveyed by government surveyor, while surveying the Crown land on the other side of the oya. Also their paddy field called Hiddelana kumbura adjoining the ela, a portion of which field is washed off by the high water of the said ela. That the petitioners having reason to suspect that they will be put into great inconvenience and hardship should the said pillewas or chenas be sold for tea estates, as they have not much of land to protect their fields and as they can asweddumize. Petitioners pray that they may be allowed to cut a ditch on the other side of the ela and secure the field from being washed off”. Confrontations between planters and villagers became more frequent, as in Ganapalla: “Countercharges between the villagers and the superintendent. Ganapalla estate is in the wrong, having silted up half a range of fields. Some fields he arranged to buy out, 40 Rs an acre, and make a present to his neighbours. For the rest he will make a channel” (19.07 and 6.09.1892). Or in Kanuggala: Lyndhurst estate tapping a stream for their turbine deprived Uda Kanuggala paddy cultivators of their water supply and they lost one year of crop. The estate “would have a weak case in court as it uses water to which the fields have prior right” (10.09.1892 and 22.11.1892). Or in Rangegama[30]: “About 8 or 10 years ago, a share of the forest lands of the said gamwasama was taken to the Crown and sold to the tea planters. Since the planting the memorialist fields are covered with sand washed down from the clearings and in another year or two all the fields will have to be abandoned as heaps of sand. If the proprietors of the Rangegama estate wanted to save the memorialists fields from being covered with silt he could have done so by opening a large drain  to carry the wash away to the stream, but no such consideration for the villagers property and their loss are entertained by most of the planters.”.

 

The colonial administration was split between pro-planters and defenders of the natural resources. Between 1895 and 1897, Frederick Lewis of the Forest department warned that “the Kelani will silt up so as to render boat traffic almost impossible by 1898. As he can give chapter and verse for what he says based perhaps on the most intimate knowledge of all the rivers which any European possesses, he should be examined by the Kelani valley railway commission” (1.03.1895), and his superior, in response to the critics of the planters voiced by T.N. Christie, pointed out that  “In Ceylon constant complaints are made of the gradual silting up of the Kelani Ganga. If reference is made to a map showing Crown lands it will be seen that it is the catchment area of this river which has suffered most from denudation”[31]. In the case of Karandupone estate, while in 1898 the Agent considered that it had to pay damages to the villagers whose lands had been taken to build the estate road or silted by the estate (15.12.1898), his successor declared (31.03.1904): “I am afraid the villagers are very slack and have been trading on getting compensation out of the estate at infinitum. The bund of the channel is in a hopeless state of neglect, I have warned them to repair the beaches. But I don’t think they mean to do anything except temporary patchwork. They have no communal labour on their field works in this district. Each man is supposed to look after his own little portion and if a slip occurs which he can’t cope with it can’t be helped. Now that a final settlement with the estate had been made the villagers will be forced to safeguard their interests or lose by their neglect” . And while a soil denudation commission of 1904 had recommended that no land whatever should be alienated in the proposed Kelani valley reserve “on account of the great danger of soil erosion and the consequent flooding of the Kelani river”, the Kägalla Agent provided a limited list of 9 cases of silting, including only one extensive case, that of Yatideriya estate at Undugoda ( 14 fields silted for the last 15 years)[32]  

 

In spite of these findings and protests, the cases of silting and troubles to water management continued: “Silt piled 4ft. high on a native man’s paddy field below the Ettie estate drain which led right on to this field” (2.11.1896). And the attempts by planters to encroach on villagers’ rights did not cease: “Mr. Stuart of Inguragalla estate wants to buy some land at Aranayake which has been reserved for the protection of paddy fields below. He seems to think there is a poor reason for reservation. I admit it may seem a poor one to an intending purchaser, but not to the paddy field owner” (8.01.1898). “Complaint by the village headman about Yatideriya factory diverting all the water of the Andawela stream” (12.08.1899). Hatbawe ela diverted by the estate (20.06.1908)

 

By the beginning of the 20th century, there was a rush to develop rubber estates at lower elevations, often in association with tea section on the upper slopes (21.04.1910 – 16.10.1910) and the environmental impact of initial felling was similar to that of the opening of tea estates, as in the case of Niyadurupola rubber estate: “Half of the fields covered with sand and stones and ela almost obliterated. The superintendent undertakes to have the ela cleared and with much forbearance the field owners accept this. I told them that if they went to court they would secure substantial damage for loss of their crops (…) Complaints made against the aracci of Bopitiya and other headmen by Mr. Crocker the superintendent. The Ratemahatmaya reported that during the enquiry held by him into these complaints at the estate bungalow Mr. Crocker assaulted the aracci of Bopitiya” Crocker was fined of 50 Rs for that. A new superintendent (Robb) “pays no attention to the Agent’s representations” and was menaced to be sued for silting the Batuwana oya and fields (5.10.1911). But the repair of the oya by Robb was so defective that it has been washed away at the first rains (12.12.1912)

 

Between 1910 and 1920, in a political context marked by the violent repression by armed planters of ethnic disturbances by Sinhalese against Muslim traders, the administrators of the district were constantly compelled to mediate between planters and villagers affected by silting and other troubles. At Knavesmire, Glenalla and Katugaha estates (10.05.1910); at Asgangula, Mayfair estate (Ambepussa), Gasnawa and Eadella (December 1912 – February 1913); at Gevilipitiya and Duldeniya (August 1913); at Ambadeniya (September 1913); at Getiyamulla, “channel completely filled up by silt from Yatideriya. The superintendent refuses to do anything on the ground that there is an amuna at the head of the fields. This has been in existence for years and the ela was not silted before the clearing of the estate” (18.01.1914); along the Hettimulla – Hatgampola road (29.10.1914). “Galapitamada superintendent refuses to pay on the ground that the damage was due to the field owners having neglected their elas” (28.01.1918); peasants petition against Nagolla estate which diverts the water irrigating Karandupone fields (25.03.1918); silting by Para estate and near Galigamuwa (10.07 and 8.10.1918); a bad case of silting at Liniyakaduwa by Gasnawa estate (19.09.1919); silting by Pallegama estate silting at Galapitamada (10.06.1919 and 21.10.1920); bad silting by Karandupone estate (11.12.1919); by Golinda estate (8.05.1920).

 

In his Administration report for 1914, the Assistant Agent Burden mentioned the numerous cases linked with the new rubber clearings in the Four and Three korales and considered that stream reservations were non-efficient to prevent the mud being carried by the drains: “The silting up of the Sitawaka river if it continues much further will result in a situation of seriousness for Dehiowita (…) the drainage from the bazaar does not flow into the river (…) The only remedy is for clearing of forest and chena for tea and rubber cultivation to cease for some years. The rivers and streams will then have an opportunity of cutting their way through their original beds again” But nothing was done and on 24.05.1927 another Agent wrote in his diary: “ at Dehiowita the Public Works department had been unjustly blamed for blocking up an ela, when the real trouble is the failure of the natural drainage system throughout the upper Kelani valley owing to silt from innumerable estates. I am told the bed of the Sitawaka ganga has been raised by no less than 20 ft.. It seems time that stringent rules were made with regard to the method of opening up land on these steep hill sides and the growing of cover crops might be made compulsory on all rubber estates in the wet zone”. In another area, “floods around Bulatkopitiya are not an annual but a monthly occurrence, and I am convinced that Government will be very badly advised to allow the felling of any more jungle on hilltops in the Kägalla district. The jungle on hill tops acts as a sponge and holds up moisture, in a way that clean weeded rubber estates do not” (30.06.1920)

 

With the post-war rubber boom of the 1920s, cases of silting continued unabated in spite of a new awareness of the effects of indiscriminate clearings. At Ussapitiya : “about 6 acres of paddy fields badly silted by the result of the overflow of the ela, caused it is said by the new clearing of the Elapalawa estate (…) The ela running through and into this yaya was sufficient to carry all the refuse water of this little valley until the hills were cleared and opened in tea and rubber. Thereafter the volume of water increased suddenly by about six-fold and the ela no longer served as a watercourse, and the stream flowed over its banks and devastated the paddy fields. In one place I dug through the deposit of silt for 3 ft. and still did not reach the mud of the paddy field below. The water has made a new course straight to the fields and has breached and crossed the old ela carving out a fairly deep gully through the lower fields. The villagers told me that Mr. Ondaatje proctor is negotiating with them on behalf of the Elapalawa estate.” (24.07.1920)  “The people of Etnawala have made some attempt at self help in clearing away silt which has come down from Etnawala estate. A considerable amount has been deposited at one end of the fields and the cultivators have removed and heaped it up in mounds at intervals. The option of compensation is still being discussed by the superintendent and villagers, but the estate does not deny liability” (22.09.1920); at Arama near Aranayake, the Government refused to sell land: “if the jungle is felled damage will be caused to the paddy fields below as these latter have been eating into the jungle and the banks are consequently very steep” (19.10.1920); at Siyambalawela “silting from estates have filled up the channel, causing flood water to overflow and breach the banks. Thereafter all the silt appears to have been carried through the breaches leaving the channel deeper than it was originally, a deplorable result as the level appears now too low to feed certains of the fields. Such are the results of the accursed system of clean weeding, which ought to be legally abolished in all rubber and tea producing countries” (19.11.1923); at Watura “the whole valley, like so many valleys in this district, has become blocked with silt by the opening of rubber lands during the last 1-15 years. The oya has changed its course, lost its depth, and a large extent of paddy has been rendered useless. Nothing could now be done except at enormous expense and with small chance of permanent success” (15.04.1924)

 

Between 1925 and 1930, the Kägalla diaries are filled with a litany of silting cases, especially after 1926 when the government began to consider the necessity of a new land policy and the rural population became conscious of its new political power. This is a list of such cases: at Kendawe (22.05.1925); at Labugolla estate: where the paddy field owner refused the compensation offered

(6.08.1925); at Alagalla, where villagers protested against the silting resulting from the reopening of a former coffee plantation (6.05.1926); by Eadella estate (18.09.1926); by Panana estate where “there is plenty of silt but the damaged land does not belong to the petitioner at all, the claim is nothing but an impudent attempt to extort payment from the estate and at the same time establish some sort of claim to the land” (3.12.1926 and 6.04.1927);  at Parakaduwa (12.01.1927); Gonapalla (23.01.1927); at Epalawa “the main ela has been blocked with sand and breached in several places, its restoration will be rather a big job and is certainly a case for inspection by the department of irrigation” (5.06.1927);  at Eheliyagoda “the damage extends to many acres and the case is the worst I have ever seen. At least three estates are to blame and it will be difficult to assess compensation if this is to be paid” (7.06.1927); by Para estate (21.09.1927); by Forest Hill estate (14.03.1928); by Epalawa estate (20.03.1928 and 4.03.1930); by Millangoda estate where “the trouble is particularly bad though the estate has already spent a considerable sum in remedial measures. It is a pity that estate superintendents do not consult the irrigation department before opening new clearings in the neighborhood of paddy fields. If scientific methods were adopted much of the damage caused by silting could probably be avoided” (5.12.1928); at Naranbedda by the planter of Taptonwood estate who got land on re-afforestation lease and planted jak and papaw without proper care to paddy fields below (17.06.1928, 22.04.1929 and 16.07.1929);  at Anhettigama by Noori estate (29.04.1929); by Rosyth estate, where “the superintendent accepts to pay compensation, but it is always difficult matter to apportion the responsibility fairly in these cases” (11.04 and 15.06.1929); at Asmadala and Kandegedara  (16-17.07.1929); at Levuke (2.09.1929); at Dunumale near Galapitamada (7.11.1929); at Burunnawa (14.11.1929). Giving evidence before the Soil erosion committee (5.09.1929), the Kägalla agent declared: “the silt almost always comes from new clearings”.

 

The last serious cases of silting were reported in 1930: 6.01: We Oya estate; 8.02: Duldeniya; 12.02: Pohorambe; 27.02: Udehenkanda; 3.03: Meneripitiya, 4.03: Epalawa; 9.07: Biddescar; 18.07: Tismalpola; 2.09: We Oya again; 18.11: Udagaldeniya; 17.12: Jinsena. Two years later, rubber plantation expansion had been stopped by the great depression, and the Government Agent of the province reported that “there has been very little trouble from silting. The partial abandonment of rubber, which has resulted in increase of undergrowth among the rubber trees has also had its effect”.[33]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

[1] See my contribution to Richard Grove, Vinitha Damodaran and Satpal Sangwan (eds.) Nature and the Orient, Essays on the environmental history of South and South East Asia. Delhi, Oxford University Press, 1998, p.793-827, and my recent papers “Highland Appropriation by the Plantation Sector in the Kägalla District (1870-1930)”

https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6732; “The Ceylon land settlement department and its fight against land speculation from 1897 to 1930” https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6950; “Towards a new land policy in the Kandyan regions: from the Ceylon Land Commission of 1927-1928 to the Kandyan Peasantry Commission of 1949-1950” https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6972

[2] Ceylon sessional paper n° 3 of 1931: report on soil erosion in Ceylon

[3] Ceylon sessional paper n° 43 of 1882

[4] Ceylon Sessional paper n° 11 of 1894, Sessional paper n° 22 of 1895 (the report includes a list of all the estates in the Kelani catchment area in 1895 with their acreage – cultivated and uncultivated), Sessional paper n° 42 of 1905 (the report includes a list of estates affected by silting)

[5] Ceylon sessional paper n° 12 of 1921

[6] as early as 1847, the Kandyan chiefs complained of the Waste lands ordinance of 1840 which established the Crown property of highlands and their alienability to planters: they “did not cut down the timber in some parts of their lands for fear the rivulets and water courses should become dried up by exposure. If the government claims these as forest lands, what was to become of them all?” Colonial Office Records, series 54 /238 Torrington to Secretary of State for the Colonies 12.08.1847 encl 2, Notes of the 1st conference held at Kandy 29.07.47 with a deputation of chiefs and priests of the Kandyan Provinces.

[7] Ceylon Hansard, 13.12.1934 p. 3204

[8] Report of the Kandyan Peasantry Commission, Ceylon Sessional Paper of 1951; the memoranda sent by various individuals and local societies, often written by teachers on notebooks, most of them in Sinhala, some in the form of village monographs, are kept in the Kandy repository of the National Archives (108/28). The dualist thesis is defended by R. Snodgraas, Ceylon, an Export Economy in Transition. Homewood, Irwin, 1966. M. Roberts, “The Impact of the Waste Lands Legislation and the Growth of Plantations on the Techniques of Paddy Cultivation in British Ceylon: a Critique”, Modern Ceylon Studies 2, 1970, p. 157-196. On dualism, see also my “Village versus plantation: colonial and post-colonial ideologies and practices” [http://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/5110]

[9] CO54/432, 12.01.1868

[10] SLNA 47/1 Diary Assistant Agent Nuwara Eliya, 4.08.1884, 6.12.1882, 18.04.1885, 9.11.1886. Administration report of Nuwara Eliya for 1884 (p. 65-66A); Paddy tax reassessment report for Uda Hewaheta, Ceylon Sessional Paper 14 of 1890; Moir report in Governor Gordon to Knutsford, 22.10.1889 reproduced in Eastern pamphlet 52; Administration report Central province 1883, p. 23A; Administration report Matale 1883. CO 54/517, Governor of Ceylon to Secretary of State for the Colonies,126, 29.03.1879; see also Report of the Kandyan Peasantry Commission, Sessional Paper of 1951, p. 116-117. Sessional Paper n° 43 of 1882 (D’A Vincent report), § 110-114.

[11] J. Emerson Tennent, Ceylon, London 1859,  vol II, p. 206; Ceylon SP n° 4 of 1867, (Report on irrigation in Ceylon);  SP n° 43 of 1882 (D’A Vincent report), § 100-103; Grain tax commission report Sessional paper of 1877);  Sessional Paper 12 of 1921 (Lushington report). See also for a later period I.D.T. de Mel, ‘Comparison of rainfall over Ceylon during the two 30-years periods 1911-40 – 1931-60’, Tropical Agriculturist 127, 1 (1971), and Meher Homji, ‘Do Forests influence the climate?’, Science Today 16, 1 (1982).  

 

[12] Quoted in Gordon to Knutsford, Secretary of State for the colonies dated 22.10.1889 (Eastern Pamphlets n°52, HMSO)

[13] CO54/518, Governor to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 29.04.1879; SLNA 30 Diary of the Assistant Government Agent at Kägalla, 21.02.1885, 1.03.1895.   

[14] CO54/586, 60 17.02.1890; SLNA 6/10990 RN017579 13.11.1897

[15] Administration reports for Matale 1894 and 1896, 1901, Ceylon Sessional paper n°4 of 1890, Administration report for Uva, 1898.

[16] Examples in Ceylon Administration Reports   Central Province, 1926; Matara district, 1927 and 1928; Diaries of the District Agent Kägalla, July 1920 and April 1924; Diaries of the Land Settlement Officers, October 1933 (Kalutara district); Ceylon Sessional Paper of 1951, Report of the Kandyan Peasantry Commission, p. 316-317

[17] Ceylon Sessional paper n° 6 of 1908

[18] E.B. Denham, Ceylon at the Census of 1911, Colombo, Government printer, 1912, p. 115

[19] Administration report of the Central Province 1926, p. B9, § 119; Administration report for Matara 1927, p. C23 and 1928 p. C5 (the villages affected were: Tambe, Malinibada, Wellana, Molokgamuwa, Rambukana, Diddenipota, Henegama, Akuressa, Ketenwala, Makandure, Beragama, Dankoluwa, Banagala, Eramudugoda, Nimaluwa, Kekunewela, Waralla) ; Administration report Ratnapura for 1926, p. I9, SLNA lot 6, box 761, RN02499, 4.02.1913 and box 814 (Rilhena)

[20] Diaries of the Settlement officer and of the Assistant settlement officer Rajasingham, October 1933

[21] Sessional Paper 2 of 1872-3, Report of the Assistant Agent at Nuwara Eliya (Hartshorne) on the paddy cultivation ordinance

[22] Diary Kurunegala 26.10.1922: Diaries Assistant Settlement Officer P.O. Fernando, 23.09.1930, 11.02.1931; Ratnatunga 28.04.1938

[23] Diaries of Assistant Settlement Officers Ingledow, March 1936 and Abeyakoon, August 1939

[24] Diaries of the Assistant Settlement Officers Arndt 20 and 21.08.1930 and Wijekoon, 28.01.1939.

[25] Diaries of Fraser, 11.12.1905, Luddington, February to August 1927, Leach, January 1927.

[26] Administration report Kalutara 1917 (Brayne) p. A16-17; Diary of the Assistant Settlement officer Hughes, 6.12.1923 (Edandagoda village); Administration report of the Southern Province for 1916, p. C2 and 1925 p. C2; Diaries of Assistant settlement officers Hughes, 25.08.1924 (Hattaka village) , 1.09.1924 (Godamuke), Egan, 11.04.1927

[27] SLNA 30/2 (1861) to 30/60 (1939): references to the diaries are given in text between brackets.

[28] Kägalla kachcheri records, Panawitiya village file, report by Ekneligoda, 19.01.1893

[29] Kägalla kachcheri records, Basnagoda village, petition 469 of 1891 of Wickramaccilage Jotihami

[30] SLNA 6/10290, 18.10.1897

[31] CO54/637 (18.02.1897)

[32] Ceylon Sessional Paper 42 of 1905, appendix 6

[33]   Administration report Sabaragamuwa 1932 p.I7

TOWARDS A NEW LAND POLICY IN THE KANDYAN REGIONS: from the Ceylon Land Commission of 1927-1928 to the Kandyan Peasantry Commission of 1949-1950.



By Eric Meyer



During the last two decades of colonial rule, diverse but convergent factors led to a redefinition of the land policy and practice of the British administration: first, during the boom of the mid-1920s, awareness of the contradiction between the huge demand for land for plantations and the limited land available for villagers; second, during the great slump of the 1930s, pressure exerted through an incipient representative system by a landless peasantry on a plantation sector weakened by the crisis; third, during the world war, the relaxation of rules combined with growing Sinhalese nationalist claims leading to Independence.

The decision to review the land policy was taken in 1927-1928 by the colonial Government, motivated by a combination of reasons:

  • Criticism, by a section of the westernized bourgeoisie adopting the nationalist stance and at the same time investing in the plantation economy, of the land policy based on the 1897 ordinance.
  • Desire of the colonial administration to rationalize and unify the management of land matters through an extension of the role of the Settlement department.
  • Atmosphere of political reforms encouraged by the Donoughmore commission
  • Political concern about possible peasant unrest.

Two valuable papers deal with the general issue of the factors behind the positions taken by the Land Commission: Vijaya Samaraweera, “Land as Patrimony”[1], and Mick Moore “The Ideological History of the Sri Lankan Peasantry”[2]. They question the defense of the ‘peasantry’ by a bourgeois-nationalist class of renters whose affluence was based on plantations which impinged on ‘peasant’ interests. What is missing in these papers is the detailed process by which the Land Commission came into being and took these positions. The following development will try to tackle the issue keeping in mind the general theories developed by these authors. Apart from the published reports of the commission, various memoranda, written and oral evidence collected by it, will be quoted extensively. These unpublished sources were available in the Colombo “old colonial secretariat” files (now the series 65 of the Sri Lanka National Archives) when I consulted them, and will be quoted under their original classification. 

The agrarian question seen by governor Clifford and the origins of the Land Commission

The genesis of the Land commission was recounted in 1930 in a dispatch sent to the Colonial office by the acting governor[3] : “There have always been spasmodic agitation in certain quarters against the working of the Waste lands ordinance as applied to chena lands in the Kandyan provinces. This agitation had in of recent years not been directed so much against the practice of the settlement department, whose fairness and equitable treatment of claimants inspired general confidence, as against the principles underlying the Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 which were held to be unjust and inequitable, and also to a certain extent against the practice of some of the Revenue officers who were guided by the law and the existing law regulations”. In February 1927, a motion was passed in the Legislative council “ that in the opinion of this council the Land settlement officers should be instructed to give effect to evidence of long possession by periodical cultivation with fine grain of chena lands in the Kandyan districts not subject to taxation which lands are claimed as paraveni chenas”. The idea behind that motion was to ruin the presumption in favour of the Crown established by the ordinance of 1940. On the other hand,  “public attention was at that time becoming more and more focused upon the numbers of villagers who were becoming landless and the importance of taking early measures to secure that the villagers’ interests were not overlooked in the development of the colony’s lands and that everything possible was done to foster and maintain upon the land he class of small peasants”: the experiments tried in Batticaloa under the Peasant proprietary system and in Matara “served to concentrate attention upon this subject”. But the decisive factor was that “Sir Hugh Clifford was in full sympathy with this movement and in a paper read in March 1927 called attention to the urgent need of providing land for small holdings in the wet zone”.

What the official dispatch failed to disclose is a third factor, the intense pressure put on the government to sell Crown land for the extension of the plantations of rubber, coconut and tea, by the mid 1920s. This pressure was exerted more by Ceylonese entrepreneurs investing in rubber and coconut than by European planters who had dominated the land market during the previous decades, but at the same time a section of the Ceylonese nationalist press put the blame on the Government for favouring the big planters. The governor Hugh Clifford was Colonial secretary in 1912 and had been alerted to the land problems by John Fraser, the Settlement officer (see previous chapter on the history of the Settlement department). During his subsequent governorship (1925-1927), he rehearsed and put together his views, prompted by the debates of the time  A series of unpublished documents and discussions regarding applications for Crown lands for rubber in the interior of Kalutara district, and the sale of patanas in Uva, show the process which led him to convene a Land Commission.

The starting point was a memorandum (dated 26.03.1926) addressed to the Governor, after a private meeting with him, by Sir Marcus Fernando (1864-1936), an influential medical doctor turned businessman, closely connected with the powerful Karawa plantation owners of Panadura and Moratuwa, and politically conservative. The author pleaded for a speeding up of land sales by the Crown: “A stage has been reached in which fresh development of the planting industries are overdue and necessary for the healthy advancement of the colony. The spectacle of jungle or waste lands reaching 500 to 1000 Rs per acre is perilous both to the planter and the country (…) it is an unmistakable index of the fact that the demand for land is greatly in excess of the supply”. He added the usual argument of the colonial planters that “land should not lie idle” and he insisted on the necessity to propose allotments of different sizes in order to allow ‘middle class’ investors to coexist with large size entrepreneurs. The demand for tea and rubber mid country, for tea up-country, for coconut in the North Western province would necessitate “that large blocks of land be selected for alienation and cut up in large and small parcels (500, 50, 5 acres)”. The interests at stake were clearly expressed by another conservative politician involved in the plantation industry, F.A. Obeyesekere: “Many professional men in Ceylon have saved money and are anxious to invest it in land, but could not have a look in if blocks were more than 50 acres in extent” [4].

By the same time (April 1926), another influent Karawa plantation owner, C.E.A. Dias, applied to purchase an extensive block of Crown land (4,000 acres) in Pasdun/Hinidum pattu in the interior of the Kalutara and Galle districts (where about 10,000 acres were available), at a cost of not more than 75 Rs an acre, and the Revenue officer Burden approved the project, which was however abandoned after a critical paper titled ‘Rubber Eldorado’ was published in the Daily News (15.07.1926).  The previous year, at Dodampapitiya in the same district, an application by a European company (Lewis Brown) for 1,545 acres had been approved upon the decision of the Controller of Revenue (E.B. Alexander), in spite of  the criticism of the Panadura Mahajana Sabha, a nationalist association represented by C.E.V. Corea: in that area which was for a long time a reserved forest and was unreserved after debate, Alexander ruled that land should be sold in large blocks and the building of roads “and generally the development of the country” should be left to the estates. In another case, the Kalutara Mahajana Sabha, in August 1926, protested against the projected sale of 179 acres of Crown land by the same Burden to extend the Pimbura estate, very close to paddy fields and gardens, and the sale was stopped. [5]

In November 1926, Burden who was promoted Government Agent of the Uva province recommended the sale to the influent British planter S. Bostock of plots of Crown pasture land  (patana) adjoining his Aislaby estate, in spite of protests which, in his words “are always forthcoming in practically every instance of the survey of any considerable block of Crown patana in Udukinda and Yatikinda (…) The reservation of thousands of acres of patana for cattle grazing seems to me uneconomic in the extreme”. E.B. Alexander confirmed the sale, but the Udukinda Mahajana Sabha and the Legislative Council member D.H. Kotelawala protested, and a meeting was held at the Buddhist school of Bandarawela. The Daily News (6.01.1927) attacked the Government: “The government surrenders to the almighty planter (…) For all the high-sounding ideas that Sir H. Clifford absentmindedly proclaimed, there is and there will continue to be only one land policy in Ceylon, and that is to make the land safe for the exploiter (…) The day was not distant when coolie lines will be seen on the ruins of Kandyan village homes” . As a result, the sale was stalled.[6] 

The Governor commented these questions (16.10.1926) and discussed the issue with the acting Controller of Revenue Wait and the Settlement Officer Stace, underlining that “two quite opposite policies are being pressed upon us: a. The necessity for the speeding up of the sales of Crown land; and b. the advisability of restricting all future sales of Crown land to comparatively small blocks, with a view to the multiplication of peasant proprietors”. In congested areas the second option would be preferable, but that for lack of sufficient information a commission of enquiry would be necessary.

In his minute (7.11.1926), E.B. Alexander, Controller of revenue who was acting as Colonial secretary, thoroughly criticized the past land policy, or rather lack of policy. After a rather trite defense of the colonial project (“The development of states should be only regarded as a secondary consideration [but] on the other hand, the indigenous population is very lacking in enterprise, and it is in the interest of that population that facilities should be granted for enterprise to be brought in from outside”), he conceded two points:

“No reader of the report made by Mr. Lushington of the Indian Forest Services can fail to be impressed by the great mistakes made in the past in the disposal of crown land to the coffee and tea planters and to the serious consequences which have ensued in the diminution and contamination of the principal sources of water supply in Ceylon”.

“No student of the conditions which at present prevail in the districts in which the cultivation of the staple products (tea, rubber and coconut) is now being extended, can fail to observe without dismay the rapid exploitation of the villager and his expulsion from his ancestral land. The government has been powerless to check the almost universal demoralization which is resulting in Sabaragamuwa and elsewhere from the success which has attended the defiant and openly shameless practice of land grabbing. The government itself has had to surrender its claims to very large tracts of chena lands. Every boom in the prices of no matter what product is inevitably followed by a certain degree of demoralization [but] the demoralization would not have been so complete if the government had exercised a more energetic land policy. The weakness of Ceylon’s land policy is principally due to the absence of any cadastral survey of the island (…) Since the Waste lands ordinance was passed in 1897 and the Department of Land Settlement was inaugurated by H.E. West Ridgeway, succeeding administrations have given by comparison very little attention to land problems and very little encouragement to land settlement”.

He concluded that the only remedy was the development of the staff of the survey and the settlement department, and that a strong commission of inquiry could persuade the Legislative council to finance it.

The Governor, while admitting that the proposal raised “extremely difficult problems”, agreed with the creation of such a commission, stating that “the primary object of government is the multiplication of small holdings, provided steps can be taken to prevent improvident alienation” (10.12.1926).[7] In a further note on these affairs (12.01.1927), Clifford recognized that the previous policy of alienating large blocks in sparsely populated areas up-country for tea was not adapted to the development of rubber in already congested mid-country areas where it was done “without regard to the ultimate results of that policy (…) We are faced with the fact that the population of Ceylon has increased in a period of 70 years from about 1.7 million to well over 5 million souls, and it is precisely in the healthier part of the moist zone that this expansion has been greatest”. The past policy of speedy development of large estates should be abandoned in view of the enormous population growth in these areas, and a new policy planning should consider “the future expansion of agricultural peasantry” and encourage “its overflow to such areas of fertile Crown land as are still available”. “Our policy should be to encourage taking up of land by small local capitalists in comparatively speaking modest areas rather than dispose of it to big capitalists or to companies in large blocks. Our object should be to multiply the number of landholders among the indigenous population”.

On March 3rd 1927 the Legislative council decided to set up a commission to report on land laws, on the policy followed regarding alienation of Crown lands, and to make recommendations to provide for the protection of villagers and small holders. In the meantime, Clifford, who was to leave his post in June 1927, elaborated his position in three documents, one public, two others of restricted circulation, which he sent to the Colonial office in London, explaining that his intention was to “clear away misunderstanding between publicists and the planting community, European and Ceylonese, in exposing the fallacy of the theory that the latter, which for near a century has built up the prosperity of Ceylon and that of its indigenous inhabitants, are parasites draining the island of its wealth; in making clear the folly and futility of the attempts so frequently made by Ceylonese politicians of recent times to treat purely economic questions from an acute angle of racial prejudice and animosity; in showing that there is ample land of 1st class quality still available in the most fertile areas of the island alike for the development by capitalists and for the occupation of a very large number of self-respecting and self-supporting peasant proprietor”[8].

In ‘Some reflections’, a defense pro domo of the British land policy meant for the general public, Clifford first tried to clear the colonial administration of the suspicion that it favoured planters at the cost of villagers in the process of sale of Crown lands, and that its policy to defend Crown rights was too strict. Then he attempted to counter the school of thought which held that tea and rubber plantations “are a parasitic growth” which “owe their existence to a systematic series of acts of expropriation and spoliation”. Such a theory was historically untrue according to Clifford, first because the prosperity of Ceylon was proportional to the prosperity of the plantation sector up-country (timber felling and carpentry, vegetable and poultry, peasant coffee) and also because coffee and later tea was planted in sparsely populated or uninhabited areas, and because the villagers were not compelled by poverty to work on estates; this theory “tends to promote ill-feeling between different sections of the community whose economic interests are inextricably interlocked. With the development of rubber and coconut, ‘in the low country today the prosperity of the villagers is usually in direct ratio to their proximity to large estates”

Land grabbing was according to him a recent phenomenon connected with “the phenomenally rapid growth of the rubber industry” (adding that the same process occurred with the extension of the coconut industry) which created a demand which the principles of preservation of Crown land could not satisfy; hence “delays which men in a frantic hurry to avail themselves ere too late of the opportunities offered to them by successive rubber booms”. He then undertook to explain the mechanism of appropriation of chenas through sales by villagers: “Considerable areas of land, the chena rights over which had been declared to be the communal property of certain villages under the late Lord Stanmore’s Forest Ordinance 10 of 1885, were simply sold to land speculators; and the Government, finding itself confronted by men actually in possession, to whom this transfer of rights had voluntarily been made by villagers, was usually compelled to complete the purchase by accepting for the Crown’s rights to the soil the half improved value” [this is not exactly what the chena settlement and the Certificate of quiet possession system were] “in this way extensive areas, the right of user over which the Government had sought to secure in perpetuity to the permanent rural population, were sold by the latter to persons who were often unconnected with their community”. “The men who made these purchases in some instances retained for themselves and subsequently converted into rubber plantations the land which they had thus secured, while others sold them as speedily as possible at greatly increased prices to the owners of adjoining estates (…) The villagers all too often made with these purchasers of lands bargains of a highly improvident character” but “it has occurred that the astute villager had sold the same piece of land more than once, while the issue of extracts from the wattoru registers had to be discontinued  because copies of the same extracts were constantly being produced as proof of private title to a number of different chenas in different locations in the same wasama (…) In all this however I am unable to find any evidence of the villagers having been ‘expropriated’; and as regards ‘spoliation’, their own improvidence  was mainly to blame.  Though much of the land purchased from them eventually became the property of one or another of the big rubber companies, or of individual European or Ceylonese estate owners, the speculative work of buying up doubtful titles from villagers was for the most part conducted by their own countrymen”.  Clifford conceded that Government failed “to devise effective means of preventing the sale by villagers of chena lands” but that it was a difficult task “for a handful of Revenue officers to stand between a dense rural population and their own improvidence”. He concluded – two years before the depression – that “the real solid base of the economic prosperity and stability of Ceylon is her highly organized agricultural industries (…) broadened by the recent creation of the rubber industry and the expansion of the coconut industry” and that the growth of the indigenous population was proof of the benefits of colonization. He however could not support the view of the planters pressing for “the speeding up of the sale of Crown lands”.

In his ‘Message to the members of the Finance committee’, Clifford was more explicit on his views regarding rural development and the relations between the plantation industry and the peasant society; he pleaded for a system of allocation of land aimed at developing a strong peasant proprietor class: “When I returned to Ceylon at the end of 1925, I was concerned to find that Ceylonese peasants in ever increasing numbers were beginning to find work as wage earners on estates, more especially in the Low country. This I definitely regard as regrettable. In my opinion only economic necessity and sheer inability to obtain land on his own account will compel a Sinhalese villager to seek employment for wage on any estate, and the scheme which I have put forward should gradually have the effect of draining off from the estates of the island all Sinhalese who are not employed upon technical jobs, and the conversion of them into peasant proprietors”. This dualistic conception was popular at that time in reformist colonial circles and was theorized by Julius Boeke in 1930[9].

In his ‘Memorandum for the colonial conference’ Clifford enlarged the scope of his analysis by pointing out the impact of rubber development: “For the first time since the agricultural development of Ceylon had been undertaken by Europeans, lands which could be put to profitable use by the indigenous peasantry of the country came into demand for conversion into properly organized and managed estates (…) It is clear that the further indefinite growth of large tea, rubber and coconut estates cannot continue to be promoted and encouraged unless the Government of Ceylon is prepared to face the prospect, long ere another seventy years have come and gone, of a congested population in a tropical agricultural country, with no suitable land available for its use. Were such a state of things to come about, the vast number of Sinhalese peasants, who would thus be rendered landless in their own native country – while huge areas were owned and cultivated by landowners the bulk of whom are of alien origin – would have against the colonial government (which had taken no measures to guard against this contingency) a legitimate grievance of the first magnitude”. It is to be noted that memorandum was not discussed at the London colonial conference, because its propositions could raise a hornet’s nest: the staff of the Colonial Office objected that “the question bristles with difficulties” and let the matter drop.

The reports of the Land Commission

The commission included elected members of the Legislative council and colonial administrators and sat for more than one year, during which time the Donoughmore commission sent by London enquired on the institutional future of Ceylon : announced in April 1927 by the governor Clifford, nominated in August after he left, sitting in Ceylon from 13 November 1927 to 18 January 1928 during which time the governorship was vacant, the Colonial Secretary Fletcher acting. The reports of the Land commission were printed as sessional papers of the Legislative council, but their information should be supplemented by the unpublished evidence collected by the commission[10], the commentaries on its proposals[11], the memoranda received by it from various individuals or bodies[12], which form a rich uncensored corpus of documents.

Its first report[13] insisted on the urgent necessity “to prevent the improvident alienation by villagers of their land pending settlement of their titles (…) such alienations are proceeding on a large scale usually at an undervalue”, through an ordinance prohibiting the alienation and mortgage of unsettled lands in the Kandyan provinces. It was based on a detailed report by the Government Agent at Kurunegala titled ‘the effect of Land settlement on the alienation of village lands’[14], which quoted numerous cases of settled villages where land sales had ceased.

The third report was much more detailed, and its proposals, reflecting the interests and the patronizing attitude of the emerging national bourgeoisie, led to a number of commentaries and criticisms[15]. Its main findings were:

  • The urgent need to make reserves for the present and future requirements of the indigenous population
  • That special provision should be made to reserve blocks of 10 to 50 acres for “middle and professional class, too wealthy to be classed as villagers, too poor to compete with big capitalists and companies (…) It is in our opinion distinctly for the benefit of the peasants that men of the educated classes should hold and cultivate estates of medium size (…) producing employment for the peasants and securing the residence among the peasants of men of culture and position”
  • That auction sale of Crown land be abandoned, that a Land registry replaced the Deed registry, and that Land Settlement operations be suspended pending the definition of what is a paraveni chena.
  • The complex legal mechanism of Land Settlement had led to various legal decisions which might be contradictory and rendered difficult for a claimant to dispute the Crown title to a chena. (The report included a detailed note on the Land Settlement operations which insisted on the principle that the field work was never left to headmen, and described the process of a model settlement whose effect is “to substitute individual ownership of definite surveyed separate blocks for a vague claim to a probably disputed undivided share in a large tract”. The final decision was always based on the merit of each case, but the settlement officer had no compulsive authority and if the claimant did not sign the agreement the case was referred to the court of law: “it frequently happens that a speculator buys up a small share and then attempts to grab the whole of the chenas and oust the villagers. The Settlement officer can say to him: ‘if you refuse to sign an agreement accepting your actual share, I shall urge the presumption that the land is at disposal of the Crown”)
  • Discontent created by settlement resulted from the difficulty to prove title to chenas by prescription, while in the past cultivation of chenas was a customary right attached to the cultivation of paddy fields, possibly on a communal basis: “For many generations the Kandyan villagers have been allowed to cultivate the village chenas according to their needs without interference”. The creation of individual rights to specific chenas thus affected the relations inside the village community.
  • Increasing the number of Settlement officers would help to “remove the cause which at present tempts the villager to sell his chenas, the uncertainty of title”
  • Acquisition of land sold to non-villagers should be possible for redistribution in case of landlessness

The following reports[16] dealt with the special demands of officers or of planters. The situation in the North Western province was discussed in the 5th report, following the demand of Hodson, the Government Agent, to stop land transactions in Wanni, Devamedi, Hiriyala and Madure, where speculation was maximal; the proposal was made to prevent speculative purchases in advance of settlement at very low prices (as in the case of Kiribamuna in Hiriyala Hatpattu purchased by an outsider at 2.5Rs per acre). The Commission decided to accept the proposal in spite of the opposition of Madawela and Senanayake who objected that the move could prevent the villagers from clearing their ‘paraveni chenas’; but the real reason behind their opposition was that it would freeze the land market in the area in which Madawela was interested.[17]

The final report of the commission[18] proposed the creation of a post of Land Commissioner, the institution of a ‘mapping out’ system instead of the application system in order to plan the alienation of Crown land, and of a system of unalienable tenure to prevent sales to outsiders, and the recognition by the Settlement department of the principle of paraveni chenas at least in the North Western Province.

The ‘Planters Raj’ fighting back during the sittings of the Land Commission

Just before and after the departure of Clifford, using the opportunity of an interregnum, and during the sittings of the Land Commission, attempts were made by planters and their allies to influence the government. The speech made in March 1927 before the Tea traders Association of the European planters by their representative at the Legislative Council, Thomas L. Villiers (1869-1959), is typical[19]: “There is no excuse more irritating than that of land being required for purpose of grazing (…) To let it stand idle when as everyone agrees  it is insufficient to grow and enrich good sized cattle, better could be made of the land”. The private letter sent by A. Wickwar, the Surveyor General, to M. Fletcher, the Colonial secretary acting as Governor, to persuade him to reverse the ban on Crown patana sales in Uva, shows the close connection between the planters and a section of the colonial administration [20]: “In accordance with your request made at Diyatalawa [the British army camp in Uva province] when we were discussing land matters, I now send the details of three separate applications for Crown lands, all of which have been refused. Two of them adjoin Ainslaby Estate, owned by Mr. Bostock, and the third adjoins Malwatte Estate owned by my brother O.S. Wickwar and myself. My reason for submitting Mr. Bostock application is that I was in charge of his estate when the land was definitively refused (…) The chief headman recommended the sale and inquired into the petition which two or three villagers put before him (…) Third case is an application for 12 acres by O.S. Wickwar, the land to the north and south of this lot is already the property of Malwatte”.

Another Villiers, Evelyn Charles (1884-1968), the superintendent of a large group of estates in the Kelani Valley (Hemingford) had applied for lands in the Kägalla (Humpitakanda) and Ratnapura districts (Badahelgoda) and through his relations, he thought he could overcome the restrictions put by the Land Commission to such sales: the lands should not be sold as long as ‘mapping out’ of the localities was not acted. In a private correspondence addressed to the private secretary of the Governor (28.03.1929), he wrote : “I had been told by the Controller of Revenue (E.B. Alexander) I could have the land  for 150 or 100 Rs respectively; after 3 ½ years I get a letter which puts the value of land at double what I had been told (…) I want these lands settled on me at the rate I was promised them by Alexander”. The new Controller of Revenue (Tyrell) reported that such a promise by Alexander or any other was ‘impossible’. Finally the land was put up for lease at 135 Rs an acre in May 1929, and E.C. Villiers was in 1931 appointed by Government to the State Council as representative of the European planters….[21]

A similar case of planter resistance was offered by the actions of L. Archdale, superintendent of a Kägalla estate (Lassehena) and speculator in land in his spare time, who had acquired cheaply from a local aristocrat, T.B. Morahaela, upon a contested sannasa, ninda lands, which he wanted to resell with a profit against the decision of the Land Commission to prevent alienation of unsettled lands. The Revenue officer and the Settlement officer had refused the sale qualified by them of ‘purely speculative claim’ but Archdale had obtained the authorization by the Executive council on the advice of the Controller of Revenue and of Sir Francis Molamure, representative of the Kandyans, closely connected with the influent families (Ellawala, Mideniya), who held that “the word ‘unsettled land’ did not apply to nindagam, viharegam or devalegam which have been recognized as such by Government by entering them in the Service Tenures Register[22]. This was contrary to the constant doctrine of the Settlement department expressed by the Settlement officer Fox in a letter of 12.12.1919 quoted in the report of the officers.

The law firm De Sarams was entrusted by a number of planters to defend them. In Denawaka Udakada (Ratnapura district), 218 acres were purchased by A.M.C. Rajasuriya, resold to Dr S.C. Paul who resold again to the Pelmadulla Rubber Co. led the Settlement Officer to comment: “As regards the preamble of the new land ordinance, its object is in brief to stop the traffic in village lands. One way to achieve this end is the prevention of sales by villagers, but a surer way is to prevent the transfer of village claims by a landbroker to a company. The broker himself has not as a rule the capital to enable him to open the land, and convert vague village claims into for example a valuable rubber estate. I was under the impression that the intention of the land commission was to prevent such sales by this ordinance. If it was not so, the ordinance loses a great deal of its effect.” [23]. In Kattange, a similar operation was done by one Mr. Ingram who purchased village shares for resale to the same rubber company. In Waleboda, a very poor devalegama on the borders of the Ratnapura district the beneficiary was the Anglo-American Direct Trading company who had purchased unsettled lands from S.D. Mahawalatenne who had pressed the nilakarayo to sell to him. His heirs J.C. Ratwatte (Dissave and shroff of a bank) and Barnes Ratwatte (the Ratemahatmaya) had not been able to perfect the title :“a purely speculative sale” according to the Government Agent Millington, but finally authorized as in the case of Archdale.[24] In another case, at Delwala, the firm on behalf of the Grand Central Rubber company put such a pressure on Government to open a land which was not legally settled on it that it had to refer the issue to the staff of the Colonial Office in London, which commented (Cowell): “We do not want the Secretary of State to be drawn into a political controversy as to the propriety of the transfer of lands in violation of recommendations of the Land Commission (…) We are skating on rather thin ice”[25]

The evidence collected from planters and other witnesses by the Land commission, and the questions and interventions of its members, especially D.S. Senanayake, G.E. Madawela and D.B. Jayatilaka, offer a valuable source to understand the conflicting interests at stake[26]. Marcus Fernando reiterated (21.03.1928) his views expressed in his memorandum of 1926, even opposing the idea of 50 acre blocks for middle class Ceylonese defended by D.S. Senanayake and C.V. Brayne: “It is only the rich man who can cultivate tea and rubber with any degree of success”; In the case of coconut, “in the Kurunegala district some years ago land could be bought at 50 Rs an acre, you have to pay 200 or 300 Rs now; you must reduce the cost of land by giving greater opportunities for alienation (…) I think it is objectionable to demarcate village lands, separate them for present and future use and place them in the hands of trustees”. Fernando added that “the trouble is that different government agents have different policies, one will alienate lands which his predecessor had refused”. Finally he accepted the idea that big and small planters could benefit from each other “the peasant holders will plant their holdings while working in the large estates, and these as well as middle class capitalists will participate in the road making and medical aid work, which only the large capitalists can successfully inaugurate and maintain in the pioneer development of a forest area”. Madawela “remarked that almost every clerk who went to the Kurunegala kacceri or courts bought a small piece of land, thus making provision for life”.

The deputation of the Planters Association of Ceylon started with demands concerning local applications for land (notably in Uva) and then strongly opposed the proposals of the 3rd report. Their position was that “there is no real shortage of land nor any likelihood of shortage; the fault really lies in the villager’s lack of energy”. To that D.S. Senanayake and D.B. Jayatilaka objected that there was difficulty to find land for village expansion in the wet zone, which was contested by the planter Coombe who insisted that “planters who have bought land and put it in better use than villagers should not be dispossessed for the benefit of village population”. “I consider it a very serious matter, when the commission begins to talk of taking land away from estates and settling it on villagers”. Another planter, E.C. Villiers, affirmed that “we have never seen cases where villagers have actually been stranded, they still keep their paddy fields and they still have a certain amount of chena land round their villages, but they apparently prefer work in the neighboring estates to the precarious livelihood they make out of their own land”, while Coombe admitted that “there are villages in certain parts of the country where all the surrounding land has been sold” but that it did not justify a general policy of land redemption for villagers. Clarke, another planter, tried to prove that plantations and villages can ‘advance side by side’, taking the case of Uva where villagers worked on estates and increased the productivity of their paddy fields at the same time: “It is not a case of turning the villager into a coolie, he works for a part of his time on the estates and devotes the rest to the development of his own land (…) Are you going to penalize estates for the increase of population in the villages?” The deputation considered that the government should compel the villagers to develop their lands: “If the owner does not care to develop it, he ought to be dispossessed (…) we regard the land as an asset of the colony, and anybody not making proper use of it must be prepared to hand it over to someone who will.” Incidentally, a remark made by D.S. Senanayake during the session showed that the anti-Indian sentiments of the Sinhalese elite so conspicuous during the next decade predated the great depression: he proposed that financial aid from a State bank would be offered to the indigenous population but that Indians (notably enriched head kanganies) should be excluded to avoid attracting more Indians to the island “competing with bona fide villagers (…) There will be competition between Indians and middle-class Ceylonese” Opposing this position, the planters defended the principle that Indians were British citizens as well as Ceylonese.

The legal firm of De Sarams represented by Leslie de Saram gave evidence on 11.05.1928, on the Mahawalatenne affair at Waleboda, mentioning that there was a lot of bickering between the Ratwatte heirs. Jayatilaka then raised the question of litigation between private parties after settlement and De Saram confirmed that “As soon as the Crown is eliminated the field is clear for the speculator”. The question of the bona fide villager transforming the chena into a garden is then raised as opposed to the case of chena cultivation with the intention of asserting title against the Crown with a view to sale to outsider, and Madawela rehearses his theory of paraveni chena lands “there are well defined chena lands which are periodically cultivated as a matter of fact”

Next came the deputation of the Sabaragamuwa planter’s Association (A.W. Ruxton, L.B. de Mel, D.M. Berry, A.E.H. Trimer), who asked for the acceleration of settlement and land sales with a settlement officer under their control. The discussion then opposed the planters who stated (with veiled satisfaction) that the villagers no longer cultivated chenas which did not pay and preferred work on estates and having a small garden, and the Ceylonese members (Wickramanayake and Jayatilaka) who objected to “driving the villagers into estates as coolies only without any land” and insisted that “the villagers must be given chenas”. De Mel insisted on speedy settlement or even no settlement at all: “The man who opens up the land will take the risk (…) What is the objection to a portion of a very large area being alienated to and being planted by anybody who is willing to spend the money?” Jayatilaka and Wikramanayake denounced land speculation at the cost of the villager, “who cannot fight the capitalist when he is backed by the chief headman. That is what we are out to prevent”.

The session of 27.06.1927 heard the deputation of the Low Country Products Association, led by H.L. De Mel and C.E.A. Dias, who pleaded for “a complete alteration of the system of Crown land sales” in order to release more lands for development, in small and large blocks; the idea being that it would provide employment to the neighboring villagers, who would in their turn open small holdings – a trickle-down effect.  The long exchange of arguments during these two sessions revealed the rift between the Goyigama-Buddhist minded Ceylonese such as D.B. Jayatilaka, a staunch defender of paddy cultivation and idealized village life, and the big Karawa capitalist minded Ceylonese planters, such as L.B. De Mel, insisting that “paddy cultivation cannot be carried out on a business basis”. The interests of the big Ceylonese planters were the same as those of the British planters and the section of the colonial administration which backed them, while the position of the nationalist leaders converged with that of the reformist administrators: witness the evolution towards land reformism of D.S. Senanayake, who in the early 1920s was supporting the planters interests and changed his mind as a result of his experience as a member of the Land Commission.[27]  

A more radical position was defended before the commission by Kandyan representatives, who denounced the ‘hemming-in’ of the villages by the big estates up country, and the land grabbing activities of outsiders, specifically Muslim traders and enriched kanganis (estate foremen of Indian origin)[28]. H.W. Mediwaka, the English educated son of a chief headman of Bintenna, member of the staff of Trinity College, socially minded, gave a very long evidence on two sessions. He had made a study of ‘low-caste’ villages near the ancient capital Gampola,  surrounded by estates which came close to the paddy fields: “the estates thus formed a ring round the villages, cutting off the villagers from the unopened lands beyond the estates” “I found that there was practically no room between the paddy fields and the estate, even for the purpose of building houses. Houses were often in a string one by the other, and the coolie lines were often shoved right into the center of village properties”. A tank was included: “every part of its bed was now covered with rubber trees”.  “Under the old system of government, if the property was confiscated from a Kandyan it was given to another Kandyan. Now the position is different when it comes to chena lands; it is granted that the government has a right to sell the land to anybody it likes, the land goes out of the hands of the Kandyans, the Tamil kangani maybe comes in and buys the land”. Mediwaka asked for the possibility in the case of necessity for Government to redeem land sold to outsiders, accusing the settlement system set up by the Ordinance of 1897 to have made the tenure of lands insecure with the result that the Kandyans have sold their lands before settlement instead of risking confiscation: “speculators realizing this position make the most of the situation”

According to a memorandum presented to the Commission by the ‘Kandyan National Assembly’ (“Land policy in the Kandyan kingdom”, by M.B. Galagoda), there was no Crown land at all, since the gabadagam had been sold, the nindagam and koralegam belonging to the people and the Crown had no right to sell the highlands of the people. “The government of H.M. sold most part of the forest and chena lands, which formed part of the purappadu [reserved for the increasing population] and malapalu [devolved on the state as the result of extinction of families] lands to foreigners at nominal prices on the plea of developing the country and used the money realized in opening roads and building bridges for the purpose of enhancing the value of the properties so sold”. The memorandum denounced the arbitrary confiscation of Temple lands and the appropriation of chenas of koralegam, and “suggested that all land alienated to foreigners by Government within village boundaries will be repurchased by government and set apart to the gam to which they originally belonged” and that the laws prohibiting the sale of land to outsiders be enforced. [29]

The critical reactions of the colonial administration[30]

The Revenue officers who were asked to comment on the proposals of the Commission were generally critical. Some of them held views similar to those of the planters: Hobday, Assistant Government Agent at Kägalla, minimized the situation of landlessness: “In the district, the great majority of villagers have land in spite of extensive alienations. In the more remote parts of the district, especially in the Peak Wilderness country the villagers would be greatly benefitted from the opening out of a few large estates. It would in my opinion be improvident and arbitrary to prohibit completely the sale of any more Crown lands to capitalists. After all it is the capitalist who makes good use of the land and the peasant who spoils it. One cannot but suspect that where commissioners speak of ‘peasant proprietors’ they have in mind a type which does not exist in Ceylon and has never existed. The Ceylon villager or at any rate the Kandyan villager will never exert himself to make a prosperous ‘small holding’ out of a chena allotment. He will grow enough to keep himself alive and that is all. It is often the case in this district that the more land a villager has, the more primitive and miserable is his existence. The best off is the man who supplements the small return of his paddy land and chena with good pay from a neighboring estate”. Regarding the proposed sale of land to middle class Ceylonese: “I fail to see why this class should receive preferential treatment. My experience is that they know very well how to look after themselves. They have indeed been concerned in some of the worst cases of land grabbing (…) The benefits derived from contact with ‘men of culture and position’ are apt to be obscured when the middle class proprietor lives in Colombo and his estate is left in charge of a Tamil conductor”. And regarding prescription as regard to chena “there would be great danger of some influential person possessing himself of communal land by this means to the detriment of the very class which the commissioners are most concerned to protect”.

The Assistant Agent at Puttalam, Wadia (of Indian origin), held similar opinions: “Chena land alienation has in my opinion been entirely beneficial to the villager. He has obtained a price albeit small, for something which did not belong to him, and the value of the ancestral land retained by him has increased by leaps. The capitalist has brought the village within the confines of civilization for better or for worse, and has introduced the seed from which all may grow the flower (…) The abolition of the paddy and grain tax constituted in the opinion of many a setback to agriculture in this country. Ceylon is probably the only country in the world which has no land tax and the question of its re-imposition on the basis of the value of the land and not its annual production is worthy of favorable consideration”. The Assistant Agent at Nuwara Eliya, Wooley, while recognizing the situation of landlessness especially in Kotmale, considered that “the only solution is for them to obtain employment on estates where there is ample work and pay is good. Hundreds of them do so and have done so for years. But recently they have got the idea that government is giving land away to all and sundry and I have been inundated with applications. The usual plea is that they are poverty stricken with large families, and have no land to build a house and cultivate. I sympathize with their desire to have a home but I see no reason why they should not work on estates”

The Settlement officers were less critical than their Revenue counterparts, but they had practical objections based on their field experience. Archibald, acting Settlement officer, considered that the recognition of the property of chenas on the basis of prescription did not correspond with the conception of the peasant: “A man does not say: ‘I claim Batahena because I had a chena there five years ago’. What he says is “Batahena lies within the boundaries of my pangu. My father claimed 1/24th share of the pangu. Therefore I claim 1/24th of all the chenas in the pangu”.  He also questioned the legal form suggested for settlement, that of a decision by the settlement officer open to an appeal, instead of a deal between the claimant and the Crown representative. His colleagues Hunter and Hughes objected to the definition of the appurtenances on a 3 to 1 basis: in the view of villagers, only pillewas and owitas were appurtenant to paddy fields, but the chenas  were claimed independently from the paddy fields and often by people who had no paddy fields at all “one might as well say that the chenas are appurtenant to gardens”. “One does find the whole future of a village has been prejudiced in the past by recognizing the rights of individuals to chenas (…) Settlement of a village on a 3 to 1 basis is often a jigsaw puzzle without any further scheme to provide for”.

Regarding the possibility to distribute inalienable land in new colonies, their colleague Bassett was skeptical, fearing that “the great majority of Kandyan peasants will not consistently work their lands (…) After an enthusiastic start, the villager gets tired of keeping his cultivation in order” “It has been my experience that after settlement quite 50% of the villagers immediately make every effort to sell the land to which they have got good title to capitalists, usually rich men from Panadure or Kalutara”. “In settled villages, villagers unable to sell their new settlements are going to live in their new lands and selling their old gardens to capitalists. In unsettled villages, now that speculative sale of chena land is prohibited, villagers are selling old gardens and even fields to capitalists. In villages under settlement, villagers sometimes cannot pay for their settlements, however low the rate is charged. They therefore as they are not allowed to sell the land settled upon them, either allow the settlement to lapse, or sell an old garden to pay for it”.

The testimony of Mideniya Adigar (1867-1931), the chief headman who had closely collaborated with the British administration in the Kägalla district, and was himself involved in land speculation, is of special interest; he was backed by his son in law Francis Molamure, the elected representative of the district at the Legislative council[31]. In a letter and in his further evidence before the Land Commission, he described the colonial land policy in the Kägalla district as particularly permissive and developed arguments similar to those of P.F. Ondaatje, the lawyer of the land speculators, who fought in the 1920s against the presumption in favour of the Crown in the matter of highland property, adopting the notion of paraveni chenas developed by Madawela. According to him, in the past there had never been government interference in former gabadagam (royal villages) and koralegam (freehold villages “entirely owned by private persons”) with chena cultivation in all cases where lands were under cultivation within 20 years; only chenas cultivated with hill paddy were taxed,  and ordinance of 1840 required the production of wattoru (tax receipts) before the Crown could admit claims of private ownership, except for registered temple lands and nindagam (feudal villages) whose lords could prove their right to the soil by sannas or other grants by the authorities. The other highland grains were not taxed and it was customary to consider they covered an area two or three time that of hill paddy. On this basis the administration liberally distributed Certificates of quiet possession: as the paddy tax had been abolished no wattoru were being issued after 1892 and the ordinance of 1840 could no longer be enforced. But with the implementation of the new Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 by the Land settlement department “the Crown now claims those chenas which absolutely belong to villagers (…) There is no Crown chena, if you read all those things you will see that there is no Crown land, no villager would go and take any land of over 20 years growth, because they were presumed to be the property of the Crown (…) How can Government now claim chena lands which are of about 10 or 12 years growth? (…) Even after the Waste Lands Ordinance was brought into operation, Mr. Hill never took a chena land of under 20 years growth, they are all village lands (…) All chena lands are private property”.  Mideniya added: “The villagers in the wet zone do not now cultivate chena lands for chena produce as before. They are as a matter of fact cultivating permanent produce (…) The villagers may be allowed to open up the paraveni chenas on unsettled lands as heretofore. The policy of government is to go back to the land”.

A minority of members or former members of the colonial administration took the side of the peasantry. In the previous decade, the Settlement officer Fraser had opened the way to a reconsideration of the peasant use of the land and the practice of chena cultivation, and some of his successors, such as Stace and Sandys, had followed.  Two influent and controversial individuals  played a role at the time of the Land commission: a former Revenue officer, Freeman, and a visionary administrator, Brayne, who was to become the first Land commissioner in the next decade.

In defense of the peasantry: Freeman and Brayne.

Herbert Rayner Freeman (1864-1945) joined the Ceylon Civil Service in 1885 and retired in 1919, deciding to remain in the island instead of going back ‘home’; his last post was at Anuradhapura and he chose to run for the seat of representative of the North Central province in the Legislative council in 1924 and was continuously reelected until his death; he was very popular in his constituency and assertive as parliamentarian. He developed before the Commission a view of the history of land policy in the North western province, showing its lack of continuity[32]: “I have been connected with land matters in this country since 1885. Between 1886 and 1889 in the Kurunegala district. There chena lands were going into coconuts on a large scale and settlement was very much in advance of surveys – by settlements I mean encroachments. A feature in those days was the considerable number of lands regarded under the 1840 ordinance as encroachment because they were just going out of jungle and being planted up with coconuts (…) In those days the ‘appurtenance’ claims were well known and recognized (…) The difficulty was to make surveys, the department always said that it had too much work to make speculative surveys.  The upset price was 10 Rs an acre, later it went up to 15 Rs and lands were sold readily, numbers of best lands in the Kurunegala district were sold at this price (…) In circulars of April and August 1886 by Sir Arthur Gordon, there was an extension in the favour of the subject of the 8th section of ordinance 12 of 1840, the circulars made clear the intention of Government to settle with encroachers and not to eject them (…) Between 1889 and 1906 there was a period when a considerable number of Certificates of quiet possession for large areas of land were granted (…) on the payment of 2 Rs 5 an acre as survey fees (…) When I returned in 1906 to Kurunegala, I found that all land matters were being dealt with on a notice, the author of which was believed to be Mr. Ellis; the Government agent was directed to call on chief headmen to supply lists of lands planted with any permanent cultivation since 1890 (…) Well, the notice was unfortunately unsigned and it was undated and was stuck up in gansabhava and other buildings, on trees and various places, and difficulties of working it arose (…) There was a very great confusion about the matter, both in 1886 and 1906. Nobody knew which were actually Crown land, or which were private or appurtenances, or what are called paraveni chenas”. Freeman gave  an example of the confusion: if a villager had instead of fine grain planted coconuts (even which did not grow) on his land he was ordered to pay 20 Rs an acre, and was prosecuted and acquitted; Ellis then said he should have been dealt with under the Ordinance of 1897 and not of 1840: “Owing to the form of the notice of Ellis, it caused great confusion and ill feeling, and finally led to the public meeting of 1906 or 1907”.

In the dry areas of the North Western and in the North Central province, the restrictive land policy had catastrophic results: “Government Agent after Government Agent has given the people of the North Central province the character of the most law-abiding people in the island. How is it that they have become law breakers in the matter of their food supply? There is a very tragic misunderstanding of villages of the dry zone, because hardly anyone goes to the villages in these days of railways and motorcars (…) if you penetrate into jungles and hamlets and see the physical state of people you are very much struck by this assertion that these people are habitual law breakers in respect of chenas”.

Charles Valentine Brayne[33] (1877-1964) was the elder brother of Frank Lugard Brayne (1882-1952), member of the Indian Civil Service, author of ‘The remaking of village India” (1929), who came under criticism by his pairs and became the anti-hero of a study by Clive Dewey of the flaws of the Indian Civil Service, who painted him as a perfect Utopian led by a sort of missionary zeal. Charles Valentine was also considered by some as a visionary, by others as a lunatic, and was despised by his conservative colleagues who nicknamed him ‘Brainless Brayne’. He had entered the Ceylon civil service in 1901 and had been for some time Government Agent at Batticaloa, on the east coast, where he made an experiment at land planning. He apparently had the support of Clifford, who nominated him to the Legislative Council, but was strongly opposed by a majority of his colleagues. He was however able to extend his experiments to other districts as additional Controller of Revenue in 1927, supported by some of the Ceylonese members of the Legislative Council, and finally obtained for himself the creation of the post of Land Commissioner.  

C.V. Brayne had developed his ideas in a number of reports and memoranda, which have been bequeathed to the Cambridge South Asian archive. The most exhaustive document is an undated memorandum, ‘The protection of the village’, which is worth quoting:[34]

“Everyone will admit that in parts of the country under rapid development in rubber and other economic products, there is a danger of the village disappearing and the villager becoming landless. This has been put down by some to the Government selling land to capitalists without sufficient forethought for village requirements. This may have occurred in certain cases. There is however another far more potent factor at work, and one which presents a more complicated problem: Government has now ceased to alienate land to capitalists, except after the most careful precautions to safeguard the future needs of the villagers; the problem of the landgrabber has not however been solved.

Let us endeavor to analyze the trouble a little further. In most Kandyan districts, the villagers claim certain chenas in the village. These claims may in certain localities be communal, but in others become with time individual. Certain individuals claim certain areas. Definition of boundaries may be little vague, but the claims are individual. Under the strict letter of the law, ordinance 12 of 1840, the majority of these claims cannot be sustained. In actual practice the policy of Government has been as an act of grace to admit such claims as at least giving a right to purchase the land preferentially at a figure much below its actual market value.

Now, what has been the practical result of the Government’s policy and who has in the main profited? In many places, the land grabber has forestalled the settlement officer, bought up the villager’s right for a song, and in many cases planted the land. He is already there when the settlement officer arrives, and claims that the land be admitted as his private property or sold to him, at a low preferential rate. Now what the land grabber has actually done, I would submit, what were really rights to chena, that is the right to take a chena crop off the land at certain intervals which we may take at an average of ten years – he has translated these rights into rights to the permanent exclusive ownership of the soil, and pocketed the difference in value, we will say in good many times 9/10th. Naturally, land grabbing is an extremely lucrative operation, and there are many in the field.

The problem is: how can this sort of things be prevented and the villager’s interests be protected? It is obvious he cannot protect himself. In fact he is often for motives of a little temporary gain the chief agent in the ultimate destruction of his village. The present development is widespread and in the destruction of the village most mischievous. The remedy to be effective must be drastic.

Survey and settlement must necessarily be a slow process, they cannot, as at present carried out, be greatly expedited. However much they are quickened up, the land grabber will always be there first. Some quicker process is necessary to forestall him.

If ordinance 12 of 1840 could have been enforced for all it was worth, and the last pound of flesh exacted in the interest of the Crown, the present land-grabbing could never had gone on. The kernel of my suggestion therefore is that the presumptions of this ordinance should be tightened up, strengthened and further defined and exacted to the full, not in the interest of the Crown, but in the interest of the village. Let us consider how this could be done.

My proposals with regards to presumption would include:

– the differentiation by law of chena rights and absolute rights of ownership of the soil, the former should not by any number of years of exercise be capable ever of being transmuted into the latter; although there might be difficulty in introducing this principle in the low country where prescription against the Crown is permitted, yet there seems to be no difficulty with regard to Kandyan provinces where prescription against the Crown is not permissible;

– no right to the ownership of the soil should be admitted except on proof a/ that the land is covered by a sannasa b/ that it has been permanently occupied by plantation for a 1/3rd of a century or c/ that it has explicitly been admitted by the Crown to be private property;

– that chena rights to any area can be commuted either by the village or the claimant for rights of absolute ownership to 1/10th of the area, or an equivalent payment in money, that is the village will be able to commute the rights of or buy out land grabbers on this basis;

– some provision would have to be made permitting more lenient treatment of persons who had bona fide acquired and improved land before the introduction of the ordinance.

My second proposal is that in unsettled villages, mapping-out should be carried as quickly as possible. The best method for doing his will to a certain extent have to be determined by actual experiment. The object aimed at would be to determine what land is reasonably required for village purposes, expansion in dwelling compounds and for permanent cultivation in small holdings, chena cultivation, pasturage, timber and so on. This area whether actually claimed by villagers or not, and considering the question of needs rather than the question of rights, would be definitely determined; in certain cases more than one village might conveniently be included in the area, area roughly defined by natural boundaries. It would not be necessary to wait for a survey if one had not yet been made. The area then be proclaimed as a protected village area under the ordinance. As soon as this had been done, the presumption would automatically come into effect, and all forest, chena, waste and unoccupied or uncultivated land would be presumed to be village land. I might suggest that Mr. Dawson, Mr. Archibald and myself should provisionally map out a few villages for the consideration of the commission.

The Government agent would be given power to protect village land as he has now to protect Crown land. Encroachment on village land would be punishable as a criminal offence. The Government agent as trustee of village rights should be given power to notice any person clearing or planting to stop further operation and produce evidence of his title. If not satisfied with the title he might make an order forbidding further operation or occupation of the land. Disobedience would be punishable by a Police court which would make final order for the ejection of the person pending proof of his title in a civil court.

 [Among practical measures] provision be made that land allotted to villagers or purchased by them from the village for individual permanent occupation might be given on a restricted tenure and registered to prevent alienation to outsiders” (…)

Towards a new land policy

A new policy was the outcome of the suggestions of the Land Commission, in a political and economic context transformed by the simultaneous advent of limited self-government based on universal suffrage, and of the economic depression affecting the planting industry. This new context accelerated a complex process which was outlined before the crisis: it combined a new conception of the role of the State in land matters – dispenser and planner, and a nationalist ideology aimed at village reconstruction and restoration of a self-supporting peasantry.

The first stage was to create a new administrative mechanism to supervise or eventually replace the existing practice of the Revenue officers. On 6.10.1927, the Land Commission addressed to the Colonial Secretariat a request to create a Land department, separate from the Revenue administration, headed by a Commissioner with a rank equal to that of the Controller of Revenue, arguing that it could undertake the collection of information to prepare an experiment at ‘mapping out’ selected villages in order to protect them from speculation and the inroads of outsiders[35]. The legal and theoretical basis of such a program was “the presumption to forest, waste chenas, etc., which now operates in favor of the Crown, should operate in favor of the village community, that is the settlement would proceed not on the basis of the Crown versus individual claimants. Within such areas it might be necessary to buy out the claims of outside purchasers to undeveloped land necessary to the well-being of the village. Land would be settled on village claimants on the new peasant tenure already provisionally approved by the Commission (…) What the Commission has chiefly in mind is the mapping out of unsettled villages, particularly in the Kandyan districts”. In a confidential minute of 13.02.1928, the acting governor (Fletcher) approved the creation of a Land commissioner but he was opposed at the Executive Council by senior Government Agents, especially Thaine (Western province) who argued that they had a superior knowledge of land matters – the same argument which was used against the Land settlement department two decades earlier.

On 11.05.1928, C.V. Brayne produced a confidential memorandum to explain what he had in mind; he began with a radical critique of “the old policy of application survey and sale or lease by public auction (…) The interests of the villager has in many cases been overlooked. The person desirous of developing land has naturally chosen the best land for himself and this was in a majority of instances the land immediately joining the village. The land was eventually alienated to him. The proximity of an estate stimulated in the villager too the desire to improve land in economic products and also put the necessary money into his pocket to enable him to do so. There was however by this time no land available as it had all been taken by the bigger man. The village was in fact hemmed-in, with no room to expand (…) In the alienation of land for economic products, the policy of government has been practically one of hand to mouth. The consideration whether land  could or could not in the interest of the villagers be alienated had to be considered by the Revenue officer under the pressure of urgent demand for land (…) In many cases he was compelled to depend upon the report of a chief headman  which may have been sound but in many cases was not” Then he explains his ‘alternative policy’ in anticipation of demand for land and preliminary to development and insists that “it is beneficial both to the villager and the capitalist”.

The comments on Brayne’s memorandum were very critical, even if some Revenue Officers recognized the problem, for example Walters in Uva: “Applications from outsiders to open land near villages are in many cases strongly opposed by villagers (…) Mapping out is wanted (but) the Government Agent is unable to find time for such a work (…) it should be done by the Settlement department”. Hodson (North Western province) was highly skeptical: “I am not aware that anyone seriously contemplate the gigantic task of setting right the mistakes of the past by the only possible method, viz: acquisition of land from estates and their re-sale to villagers. Mapping out before survey is putting the cart before the horse” “I do not consider the appointment of Mr. Brayne would be in the best interests of the colony (…) His policy tends too much to extremism, I think, faddism, for it to be safe to entrust to him the land policy of the island”. Hobday (Kägalla) considered that “to anyone familiar with local conditions, the outstanding fact is the great prosperity of the country rendered possible only by the land alienation of the last 50 years”. For Archibald, the Settlement officer, “these projects appear to be in the region of experiment”. The only enthusiastic supporter was Sandys, a former assistant settlement officer, now posted as Revenue officer at Matara: the project would remedy “the evils of the old system of laissez-faire in land matters”. The experience of mapping out started by his predecessor A.N. Strong in the Matara district, with a system of preferential leases, was positive and “intensely popular”. “As a rule, the villager is perfectly content to work on the tea or rubber land of others so long as he has his own small patch of native garden to build a house and settle on. It is clear however that progress will be slow and difficult without the assistance of large estates. I find that where these are in existence, the population has increased by leaps and bounds, while where they are absent, the increase is very slight. Apart from the employment they create, they alone have the capital to build metaled roads and drive back the jungle with its swarms of wild elephants and leeches that makes colonization so difficult”

To answer these remarks, Brayne produced another confidential memorandum (‘Note for the use of the Parliamentary undersecretary of State for the colonies’, 22.06.1928)[36] in which he recalled that the grief of the Kandyans re. the working of the Waste Lands Ordinance expressed in Council was at the origin of the Land Commission. He criticized the “haphazard and spasmodic development” resulting from private initiative: “the survey maps show the total lack of method in the survey of alienated Crown land during the last 80 years”. Admitting the temporary and tentative nature of his project, he insisted on the importance to start a mapping out experiment in Uva, and alluded to “certain obvious handicaps” he was encountering. On 19.10.1928, the Executive council, presided by the new Governor, Stanley, finally approved the proposed experiment, “work to be done by the Revenue officer under supervision of Brayne”, and two special Assistant Government Agents (Tennyson and D.B. Seneviratne) were entrusted to undertake mapping out in Uva.  

‘Mapping out’ and ‘village reconstruction’: the first experiments.

The idea of village development planning became popular in the 1930s but its origins can be traced to the first Settlement officers. In 1901 Fraser wrote: “In the rear of the Settlement officer should certainly come an officer to decide what land is to be sold, and what made into reserved and village forest. It is practically useless to declare land the property of the Crown, unless some use is to be made of them (…) If this is not done, the villagers will say: formerly we were allowed to chena these lands, but now government although it makes no use of them, refuses to allow us to cultivate them”. The concept of land development was already present in the reflections of Fraser in 1907: “The people were a miserable lot, spoilt by unlimited opportunities of chena. In several cases, I found coconut gardens allowed to go to ruin (…) It is rather too much to expect a villager of the type of this part of the country to observe the present regulations for obtaining land. He has to travel to Hambantota, to fill up a form of application always done through a petition drawer, and has to deposit his rupees with the prospect of having the lot put up for sale in 2 or 3 years, when he may get it ; or if as is probable any other bidders are about he may not, if he still wants land he can get his fees back and repeat the performance with another piece of land (…) It is no wonder he prefers to take what he wants and pay when he is found out. The remedy is for Government to every four or five years cut up a piece of land declared Crown into garden lots and to regularly advertise them once a year as near as possible to the village”[37].

The man who formalized the principle of ‘mapping-out’ was C.V. Brayne. After the settlement of individual claims, its principle was to reserve the remaining Crown lands to specific needs of the village community. The 3 to 1 system which recognized common property of paraveni chenas was in contradiction with the mapping out principle because it left practically no Crown land available for planning. The Settlement department as such was not in charge of the program but its knowledge of the village needs was a great asset to guide the work of the village planners. The Land Commission entrusted Brayne in September 1927 with the task to experiment the system he had proposed, against the will of the Colonial secretary who considered that the ordinary Revenue administration could do the job[38]. His mission evolved into the creation of a new authority, the Land Commissioner, who supervised these activities (1931) and eventually became empowered to effect mapping out (1934) by the Land Development Ordinance[39].

The first official experiment of ‘mapping out’ in the plantation areas was done by A.N. Strong in the Matara district[40]: “In the report of 1925, attention was drawn to the need for so restricting the alienation of Crown lands, where these were still available, as to provide for the future expansion of the village population and the needs of the middle class people who, under the existing scheme of public auction, are financially unable to make any pretense of bidding against a class of professional land grabbers. As a partial remedy, a scheme has been elaborated with a view to the settlement on preferential terms of landless residents (…) The scheme is very popular. At first numbers of applicants came forward, with some landowner behind them, obviously with a view to subsequent re-sale at a profit, but withdrew on learning that personal residence on the land was an indispensable condition and that neither alienation nor even sub-lease would be permitted (…) Each village is being taken up as fast as time permits and certain extents earmarked for various purposes, first for village expansion and the preferential leases above described, then for village forest reserves for fuel and building, then if land is available, for middle class leases, and finally in the less populated areas, for development on a larger scale by estates or other capitalist concerns (…) There is very little land left (…) and the question arises whether the effects of unrestrained and uneconomic alienation in past years can be remedied by anything but outright expropriation”

Another experiment was made by the Land Settlement Officer Bassett in Epitawala, a village of the Sabaragamuwa district[41]. There was a keen demand for land (66 applications) and in 1926 it was decided to issue leases of ½ acre lots for 99 years with a clause prohibiting sublease, donation, mortgage or sale. In 1928 the colony scheme was effective with lessees building houses and planting rubber, but in the meantime it had been decided to demand a contribution: “From experience gained starting a small colony of Vahumpura people at Epitawala, it appears that in that district at least, it is fatal to the success of a scheme to give the land free under any conditions (…) The colonists do not value land for which they have not paid and consequently make even less effort to cultivate it well. The colonists are regarded and openly laughed at by other villagers as ‘charity people’ unless they have bought their lands. This hits their susceptibility to ridicule very hard and they lose all heart in their work. The price charge may be very small, but any sum protects them from the two foregoing disabilities”.  

Quick enquiries associating Brayne with local Revenue officers were undertaken in December 1927 in the north of the Kägalla district[42], in two groups of villages (Paspolakanda, south of Alawwa and Dambullakanda, north of Rambukkana) whose forested lands had been preserved as fuel reserves for the railway;  in the Nawadun korale of the Ratnapura district where extensive sales of Crown land had taken place; in Magul Otota korale of the North western province; in Hapitigam korale of the Western province; and in Pasdun korale of the Kalutara district, where “among the Goyigama population of these villages, there is a desire to own land, even the smallest share, and be classed as cultivators and not as coolies. Enquiries however elicited that it was very difficult for villagers to buy land at all from the Crown as they were generally outbid by richer people; when they did succeed, the price was very high, running to as much as 600 Rs an acre; under these conditions, villagers were discouraged from applying for land”. But these enquiries led to nothing, for want of official support.

More extensive experiments were started in 1929 in the province of Uva, by a special officer  entrusted with the task, E. Tennison, working under the direction of the Government agent.  They  selected the area between Bandarawela – Haliela – Welimada, which was most congested due to the extension of tea estates and vegetable production. Mapping out the Crown lands was based on statistics of population increase, on the village needs expressed by the villagers assembled and written down, and the characteristics of lands available. The proposals for each village were made public and sketched. Once approval was given by the Controller of Revenue, land was allotted by the administration under the Peasant proprietor system[43].

At the same time, the condition of the peasantry attracted the attention of the young generation of the Ceylonese nationalist elite, like in India, and various unofficial projects and experiments of ‘village reconstruction’ were framed. The career of Wilmot Perera (1905-1973) is exemplary in that respect. Wilmot Perera belonged to an enterprising Karawa family allied with the Dias (A.V. Dias was his uncle) and de De Soysas, who were among the richest Ceylonese plantation owners. He was the son of Mahawaduge Abraham Perera, ‘rubber king’ of Panadura, who made a fortune by contracts with the colonial government and invested in rubber lands, and the grandson of Mathes Perera, an arrack renter. He inherited large estates around Horana when his father died. He first managed them as the other plantation owners, and was involved in the acquisition of chena land from villagers as an intermediary for a local British planter of Horana, Healey (Perth Estate). He confronted the Assistant Settlement Officer Bassett, first refused and but finally accepted his offer of settlement in the village of Paragahamaditta in the Ratnapura district: it seems that he was already conscious of the injury caused to the villagers by the land grabbing activities which were the source of wealth of his class[44].  Then instead of going to England which was the usual cursus in these new rich families, he chose to join Rabindranath Tagore in Bengal at Santiniketan and on his return initiated a replica of Santiniketan on his Horana estate. This led him to ‘discover’ the poverty of rural Ceylon and progressively turned him into a leftist. In 1932 he was still an admirer of D.S. Senanayake to whom he dedicated his book Problems of Rural Ceylon (Colombo, 1932) which gathered papers published in the Daily News, the organ of the anglicized bourgeoisie. He criticized the peasant colonization schemes started by the government in Rayigam korale, near Horana, and   attributed the failures of these experiments and more generally the poor productivity of peasant agriculture to social environment rather than to the supposed laziness of the peasantry ; he blamed the headman system as “the principal limiting factor in the betterment of the peasant” and pleaded for “village reconstruction” through the return to the supposed self-administration of the past and the development of practical education. He convened an All Ceylon Rural Reconstruction Conference at his Horana estate in May 1932, where S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike spoke, and initiated the first socio-economic studies of villages in 1934[45]. The Suriya Mal movement was launched at his residence in Horana in 1933, and this movement evolved into the socialist-trotskyite Lanka Sama Samaja Party, of which Wilmot was a member, He later became parliamentarian and ended his career as Bandaranaike’s ambassador to Mao’s China in 1957.

A new land legislation

In July 1930, the Governor had forwarded to the Colonial office in London a series of four ordinances to replace the existing land legislation (Ordinances of 1830 and 1897) after the Land commission recommendations[46]. A new legislation appeared necessary because the presumption of Crown property of waste lands was challenged and at the same time landlessness was increasing. But the question of chenas was “one of extreme delicacy and admitting only of a solution by compromise” and some of the proposals of the 3rd interim report “especially those dealing with the Kandyan chena problem, were not such as could have been accepted by Government. They were not repeated in the final report which entirely superseded the 3rd interim report (…) A compromise was reached consisting in the maintenance of the law practically unchanged while in the definite instructions of Government the fullest concessions are granted by the Settlement and Revenue officers to all reasonable equitable claims in the Kandyan provinces”. This included “the cases in which the claimants would have been equitably entitled to such settlement had the lands remained chena”. Practically this compromise could allow the settlement on outsiders in terms similar to those offered to villager, contrary to the regular practice of the department. Finally there was an urgent need to validate these measures because “there is no guarantee that the new State Council with perhaps a considerably changed personnel will understand these complicated measures or appreciate the labour and patience on both sides which has resulted in the present compromise. Should the controversy be opened on the old lines and an attack pressed against the existing law in the new council, the result may well have disastrous effects”.

The new State Council set up by the Donoughmore Constitution respected the compromise, but decided to reform the administrative system on the lines suggested by Brayne, who had gained the support of D.S. Senanayake: a Land Commissioner (Brayne) replaced the Controller of Revenue for land matters, communicated directly with the Settlement Officer and with the Government Agents, and served as counsellor for the Ministry of Agriculture, which was attributed to Senanayake. But the new policy was impeded by the economic depression which rendered the plantations unproductive and dried up the demand for land, and by disagreements regarding the forms of tenure and the categories of beneficiaries of allotments.  

It was found in 1934, during the malaria epidemic, that the legal basis for the new land policy was not systematic enough and a new bill was passed by the State Council and reserved for approval by London[47]. Its aim was to protect the villager against the outsider, the local against the general interests; to protect the natural environment; to plan the alienation of Crown land for specific purposes to specific categories of the population; to restrict the alienability of land by a system “which approximates to the tenure which existed in ancient Sinhalese times”; to make it impossible the minute subdivision of shares. Since the passing of the ordinance allowing the preferential alienation of Crown land to middle class Ceylonese [defined as residing permanently in Ceylon and drawing an income of less than 6,000 Rs a year], “considerable extents have been alienated to this class by lease or permit in anticipation of the bill. During the last five or six years large numbers of peasants and small holders have been put upon the land on permits which anticipate the passing of the bill. The extent of land involved is something between 60,000 and 70,000 acres and the number of persons waiting for the grants under the bill runs into many thousands”. The new regulations were opposed by representatives of Indian interests because they proposed a restrictive definition of ‘middle class Ceylonese’ which excluded enriched kanganis who were not considered to be ‘members of the permanent population of Ceylon’. The attitude of the Ceylonese representatives was “stiffened by the fact that the indebtedness of Ceylonese proprietors has during the recent period of economic depression resulted in not a few properties passing into the hands of their Indian creditors.  It may also be noted that the present epidemic of malaria has fallen principally upon the wet zone. It is recognized that the malnutrition of the village population has greatly aggravated the severity of this epidemic and delayed its reversal. This malnutrition cannot but be attributed in some measure to the poverty caused by the scarcity of land in numbers of villages. In these circumstances the attitude of the State Council in the face of possible Indian competition for land can very readily be understood and commands every sympathy”. The minutes of the staff of the Colonial Office on this dispatch show that they are prepared to resist the pressures of India and confront the Indian Office on this issue, which was to become hotly debated during the next five years.

Land policy at the ground level: the case of the Kägalla district (1931-1948)

In the early 1930s, unemployment resulting from the closing down of rubber and coconut plantations, and the pronouncements of political leaders, popularized by the vernacular press, on the reversal of the colonial land policy, led to an explosion of demands for land, especially in the Kägalla district. Landlessness was most acute in that district or at least the consciousness of it was most developed there, if one estimates it by the agitation which spread like a wildfire as soon as the opportunity to obtain land was known in the villages, and continued unabated. Villagers began to help themselves and occupy waste land for chenaing or gardening. The administration was compelled to expedite land redistribution schemes (what was called in the administrative lingo ‘land kacceri’) or simply recognize the fait accompli.

The movement started in Yatiyantota in August 1931 with a petition “to obtain land for chenaing in view of the depression; (…) several wanted lands on terms similar to the terms on which land is given to villagers in the Kalutara district. They had read of it in the Sinhalese newspapers; (…) some of the signatories did not want land for permanent cultivation but asked for leases of small extents of forest for chenaing”. It continued in the Bulatkopitiya area, where the demand for land was most pressing, especially in Welatuduwa and Wegolla, two Duraya villages, where after a limited distribution the beneficiaries cultivated more than they had received. In Uduwe palata, “a large number of villagers turned up and asked for land”. In all these localities, land sales by the Crown and by villagers had been heavy during the previous fifty years, there was very little cultivable land left, work was dependent on rubber tapping and processing, and the possibility of having recourse to chena cultivation in case of need had vanished, but the idea was still there. Near Kitulgala, the villagers helped themselves to 40 acres declared Crown “because there was a proposal to give out part of it under the Peasant proprietor scheme (…) the offenders were called upon to pay compensation and all pleaded poverty. True they are poor people, I [the Assistant Agent] gave them the opportunity of paying a fine of 5 Rs an acre and all agreed to do so”.  In Panawal korale east, there was a pressing demand of land for chenaing “so as to relieve immediate distress (…) the demand for land is so great that it is essential that the Crown should know what land is available for village and other purposes” . With the increasing poverty due to the depression, and administrative slackness, in the Kitulgala area “the villagers were most reluctant to abandon what they had cleared and pleaded they had nowhere else to go. I found some land had been mapped out for village expansion but the proposals to allocate it had fallen through”. The situation was especially severe in Mapitigama in 1934, where “the villagers are hard hit by the low prices of coconuts and rubber, and get very low pay for picking nuts, and there is no work for them on the rubber estates. They are living on one meal a day and appear in need of assistance”; and not surprisingly, this village would be one of the worst hit by the malaria epidemic a few months later.[48]

In Four-korales (the northern part of the district), where the experiments of Paspolakanda and Dambullakanda had taken place in 1928, the rural economy was less dependent on rubber, but the pressure was also very strong. The elected representative, E.A.P. Wijeratne, was open to people’s demands. He proposed a scheme for 600 acres available in Walgam pattuwa: land kacceries were held at Deliwala Walpola and Hewadiwela between October and December 1931: “there were so many deserving cases that it was very difficult to make selection (…) In Dombemada, most of the applicants were burdened with families of six or seven persons, but no land was available to satisfy their needs” In Walgama, “a large number of villagers appeared and stated that they were starving and had no lands; the headman recommended that they be given lands in Dumbarakanda where land had been previously allotted for food production”. In Tismalpola the village forest had to be used as a village expansion area”. But there were complaints by people of other villages who felt discriminated, and in 1933 a campaign of petitions was started: “A very unpleasant spirit in this area (…) poisoned by a virulent mixture of caste and anti-headman feeling”. Another hurdle was indebtedness: “most of the settlers in Walgam pattuwa have mortgaged (informally of course) their crop for year ahead to a local capitalist” The demand for land and the tendency for the more enterprising villagers to help themselves were also apparent in the Aranayake area, where land kacceries had not been organized: “these encroachments are continually taking place as few if any outright sales are allowed”.[49]

The lack of available Crown land, the persisting crisis of the plantation sector, and the growing political awareness of the peasant condition eventually led the authorities to consider acquiring abandoned or poorly managed estates for distribution to the villagers. The first operations were held in the Bulatkopitiya and Aranayake areas, where a population belonging in majority to Duraya castes – Panna, Batgama and Vahumpura, had been specially impacted by land grabbing by estates since the mid 19th century[50]. The first series of acquisitions were contemplated in 1938; they were located in Urumiwela and Tunbage (7.12.1940), 473 acres, where 200 families were given lands; then in Aranayake (17.12.1940, 492 acres, 250 families, then Seaforth estate (3.3.1941), 447 acres, 60 families; and Debatgama (28.9.1943), 144 acres, 152 families. The second series, after the war, comprised Knavesmire (4.12.1945), 777 acres, 326 families; Udagoda (5.12.1945), 496 acres, 49 families; Dickella (17.10.1946), 592 acres, 100 families; and Danagama (7.1.1947), 259 acres, 45 families: the colonists were recruited in specific villages around each colony, which are listed in the document.[51]

The acquisition of Knavesmire estate for village expansion in December 1945 gave birth to a political affair, in a context of tension between Indian and Ceylonese authorities about the status of Tamil migrant workers. The rubber and tea estate had been purchased from the European company by a Kalutara Muslim, Ibrahim Lebbe Marikar Hadjiar, in the early 1940s. The decision by Government to acquire it was taken in January 1944, the purchase was finalized in December 1945. But the Tamil resident workers refused to quit, although they were offered employment in neighbouring estates. They had the support of S. Thondaman, young defensor of the Tamil Indian workers, who was to become their representative in independent Ceylon, when the authorities prosecuted them in the Courts for squatting considering that when the acquisition was decided upon no opposition arose from any quarter, and that residence in an estate was not equivalent to residence in an ancestral village. In a lengthy report, D.S. Senanayake tried to the take-over of the estate and listed the villages which should benefit from the scheme (those which were affected by the land sales at the creation of the estate) : “The Kegalle district is one in which the sale of Crown land to estates and of private land by villagers also to estates has rendered the district particularly short of land for the genuine needs of the villagers (…) The claims of the villagers – genuine villagers – whether they are of the agricultural class or workers in other trades must receive prior consideration. Reference is also invited to the definition of the Ceylonese as a person possessing a Ceylon domicile of origin”. Thondaman contested “that villagers and estate labourers were distinct entities and only villagers were eligible to participate in the scheme” and predicted that “Knavesmire episode is an indication of things to come. The complete amity and good fellowship that exists between the Indian labourers of Knavesmire and the Sinhalese of the neighbourhood should be an object lesson to the protagonists of communalism who are in power today. It is a crying shame that such an amity on which a united nation can be easily built up is being destroyed. Mr. Senanayake would treat estate labourers and villagers living in mutual friendship as two different entities. His officers evidently under his directions are in search of domicile of origin to create division. Their object is that Indian labourers who have for generations contributed to the development of the country should be kept secluded as estate labourers and transferred as such from estate to estate if work is available, or repatriated across or into the sea”.  The controversy dragged on with an attempt to organize a hartal, until Nehru in the name of the Indian National Congress advised Thondaman to drop the matter, and the take-over was completed in 1950. [52]

Politicization of land distribution and poor management of acquired estates became a serious issue in the 1950s. In the words of the Land Commissioner Rajendra testifying before the Land Commission of 1956, land was distributed to all and sundry without method[53]: “the situation is today back it was before the enactment of the ordinance: planned alienation has been abandoned and the land is advertised according to demand”. The encroachments were no longer prevented by headmen who had lost their power and were afraid of the politicians. In 1954, the situation of acquired estates was reviewed in a report by the Assistant Government agent to the Land commissioner, defending the principle but recognizing the shortcomings of the project[54]: “Here in Kägalla, where every village is hemmed in by major estates, some of them 1000 acres in extent, the problem is an extremely difficult one. Every acquisition or proposal carries in its train objections, not only from the owners of estates, but also from certain other interests who review the question of land merely from loss or gain of income and not also from considerations of humanity. I do not think I exaggerate when I say that at least 50% of land in Kägalla belongs to uninterested outsiders, the majority of whom are foreigners. Lands which were normally chenas and available for the people have in the last 75 years disappeared and we have the strange situation of people whose traditions are rooted in the soil of Kägalla for hundreds of years, either having to starve, or having to be pulled out of Kägalla. This therefore is the strongest case for the acquisition of estates for village expansion purposes. (…) One might quite fairly point out that while Government sees with great caution and fear the dangers of the devastation of natural assets by alienation to villagers, it apparently viewed with equanimity till very recently a similar situation, where moneyed people, educated and not in want, do exactly the same thing in respect of estates they purchased under the normal system. I make bold to say that in this country there has been a greater loss of original assets on account of such people than were one to total up all the land that has been acquired and divided up among the villagers”.

According to the report of 1954, the results of the project varied according to the method of distribution and management of the lands. A category included estates acquired for alienation in small blocks, under village expansion schemes according to the Land development ordinance, with an allowance paid for house building: “the people were left to fend for themselves either to maintain their cultivation or to ruin it (…) for a short spell, the allotees enjoyed prosperity by eating into the capital of the land, and thereafter they reached a stage of poverty similar to that in which they were previously”. This group comprised Aranayake-Welhella-Rahala; Urumiwela-Tunbage; Seaforth; Malmaduwa; the program failed to do any progress in Debatgama (“utter unsuitability of this land for cultivation”).  The second group of acquired estates was to be run collectively: Kurundewatte/Fairfield, Digana/St Peters, Udagoda, Danagama, Dickella Colony, Mahakanda, and the rubber section of Knavesmire: there was no loss of capital nor income in that case, and the author pleaded for that solution against the criticism of those who considered that only company management could run efficiently a modern plantation. 

The detailed files on proposals of acquisition and on actually acquired estates are available in the Kägalla kacceri and show the extent of political patronage involved[55]. Some acquisitions were proposed by the Ministry of Agriculture or the Prime minister (D.S. Senanayake himself at Hunugala) or by parliamentarians (N.H. Keerthiratne in the area of Rambukkana); some by their proprietors (Mount Prospect); in many cases, petitions originated from enterprising villagers (such as N.W. Gunasekara of Pondape) or from rural development societies (as in Uduwe). Some estates were the property of big firms such the Grand Central Rubber Co., a few belonged to temples; but most medium size estates were more or less abandoned by non-residing owners who had purchased them from Chettiar creditors during the depression, often Moors or Karava businessmen of Colombo, or Burghers lawyers (Ondaatje in Godapola). The case of Berawila, one of the oldest estates above Aranayake, 360 acres, the opening of which we have recounted in a previous study[56], is worth quoting. In a petition dated 16 July 1949, residents of Aranayake, Pondape, Arama and Deiyanwela, wrote: “We are exceedingly poverty-stricken people, who have no land of our own even for cultivation and earn our living by working as laborers and cultivators. In these days of high cost of living we are unable to maintain with a poor coolie pay. Our children are underfed and subjected to suffering of illness”. The proprietors were O.L.M. Ahamed Abdullah and other of Norris road, Colombo, who wrote: “this land was purchased by us from a member of the Chetty community in the year 1946 for the sum of Rs 140000”: they were ready to sell it to Government because it was not remunerative.

The Kandyan peasantry commission of 1949-1950

Immediately after Independence, the government headed by D.S. Senanayake decided to set up a new commission to enquire into the condition of the Kandyan peasantry. It is quite significant that this commission focused on the Central and Uva provinces, excluding the North Western and Sabaragamuwa provinces: its underlying aim was to blame the British land policy in the tea districts for the decline of the Kandyan peasantry, while ignoring the impact of rubber and coconut plantations on the no less Kandyan peasantry of the mid-country[57]. The general tone of the report (dated 28.02.1951) blames the colonial system in general, the foreign plantation development and the two land ordinances of 1840 and 1897 in particular, for the situation of the Kandyan peasantry: “Apart from the direct appropriation of village land under these two ordinances, these laws were also indirectly responsible for much of the village lands being alienated by the villagers themselves. The presumption in favor of the Crown created by these ordinances led to a great degree of uncertainty among the peasantry as to their titles to their chena lands. As a result the peasantry sold what they regarded as doubtful title to speculators from other areas” (p. 73). Alienation of Crown land was systematically done in favour of planters, European and Low Country, and when the Settlement department was set up, its working was too slow, even after 1931when it was reinforced. The general feeling of the Kandyan witnesses (most of them belonging to the Goyigama-Radala class) was that of loss of land[58]. The registration of Temple lands led to temple domains being leased out to plantations and plantations or traders as successors of tenants paying a paltry sum in lieu of services. The danger of a loss of identity was specially feared by them: “these once proud and independent people were driven to a life on estates to be herded like cattle and to be made to work under a kangani from the coast”[59]. The theme of the ‘hemmed-in’ village was omnipresent: “a century of British administration had left behind hundreds of plantation-locked villages rigorously restricted to their paddy lands (…) the peasants were imprisoned in their villages” (pp. 71, 73). Landlessness was general and the solutions are difficult to find: “It is necessary to steer a middle course between national economic chaos that would result from a general break-up of the estates on one hand, and the perpetuation of a landless peasantry on the other” (p. 337). The report denounced discrimination in favour of the plantations in the matter of health, education and other public investments; destruction of village society under the impact of capitalism and land speculation; ecological impact, especially the drying of sources, silting of paddy fields from drains, and earth slips especially in Kotmale; and finally caste as a factor of backwardness. But among the memoranda sent by English speaking individuals such as one E. Navaratnam of Atabage one finds the reverse theory of the benefits derived from the estates by the Kandyan villagers (including women) in terms of employment as non-resident or even resident workers.

Uva, and in particular Udukinda, was the object of special attention, as the most depressed area, and the sessions held at Badulla, Bandarawela and Welimada, which were restituted in the form of a diary, are full of useful information at the grass root level.[60] A typical exposition of the hemmed-in representation was given by an upasaka (Buddhist lay devotee): “The Kandyan peasantry in the village are crushed on all sides by forces arrayed against them, Government on one side, estates on the other, and Tamils on top of them (…) Both within village areas and even in Badulla, all government employment is in the hands of outsiders – Tamils, all contracts go to non-Kandyans, the teachers are all outsiders”. The enquiry disclosed the lack of protection, rehabilitation and colonization schemes by the State (as compared for example with Kägalla); the influence exerted by non-Kandyans, especially Moors and Tamil kanganis; the situation of villagers settled on estates or going out to work in the risk of losing their Sinhalese identity, and the general lethargy prevalent in the villages. The abolition of rajakariya had deprived the villagers of the numerous temple village of their access to chena and pasture lands, which had been leased out to plantations, notably in the case of Raja Maha Vihare lands of Ketakele (near Welimada), which had been ‘acquired’ by Luckyland and Albion estates. This general picture of decline and abandonment is linked by the educated witnesses (typically Buddhist-nationalists) with the repression of the insurgencies of 1818 and 1848, and with the impact of the harsh extorsion of the grain taxes in the 1880s: “the village of Ketakele was specially neglected by the British as a punishment for their intense loyalty to the Kandyan kings”.  Several rural development societies of Udukinda gave testimonies which insisted on the lack of space for village expansion due to the proximity of estates, the drying up of streams diverted by estates, the power exerted by outsiders, especially Tamils who obtained Crown lands to develop vegetable cultivation. They reported the situation in the neighborhood of Diyatalawa army camp dominated by Sinhalese mudalalis (Abraham Saibo and A.M. Fernando). The case of Gorandiyakumbura, a low caste village partly absorbed by Aislaby estate, was mentioned as typical of the area: “D.K. Kiripuncha represents that the really landless and needy have great difficulty in obtaining allotments under the Land Development Ordinance. In almost fear and trembling, he suggests that this is due to the village headman being influenced by the well-to-do and upper classes (…) 90 acres of lands reserved for pasture are being almost fully appropriated by Aislaby estate”

*

The land reform laws of the 1970s resulted in the appropriation by the State of around one million acres of both productive and unproductive plantations; out of these lands only about 10 per cent was redistributed to landless villagers. The Land Commission of 1987 estimated that the situation after the reforms was as follows: the State owned in theory 13,347,630 acres (approx. 5,3 millions hectares), that is 82,3% of the total area of the island. The State had alienated between 1935 and 1985 2,052, 987 acres: 20% in the major colonization schemes, 43% for village expansion, 25% for regularization of encroachments (508,000 acres), 6,7% for middle class allotments. Despite the alienation programs, it was estimated that possibly 6% of the total land area had been encroached by about half a million settlers, notably in the Kandyan regions where the Land kacceries had been stopped in the 1970s and the land policy had become much relaxed. Political patronage had become the norm in land allocation. Alienation programs to landless villagers have not created a prosperous peasantry as expected by the first Land commission: “on the contrary the majority of these settlements had become pockets of poverty and areas of social deprivation. Many of them have become centers of turmoil in the current [JVP] crisis”[61].


[1] In Indian Economic and Social History Review XIV (3) July-September 1977, p. 341-362

[2] In Modern Asian Studies 23 (1), 1989, p. 179-207

[3] CO54/903/3 desp. 571, 16.07.1930

[4] ‘Speeding up sales of Crown lands’, SLNA 65 Colonial Secretariat file L362/1926

[5] ‘Alienation of a block of land in Pasdun east and Hinidum pattu’ SLNA 65 Colonial Secretariat files CF77/1926, and CF86/1926; on Dodampitiya, see also SLNA 65 L258/1927

[6] ‘Alienation of pastures in Uva’, SLNA 65 Colonial Secretariat file L2/1927

[7] SLNA 65, Colonial secretariat confidential file CF120/1926 

[8] CO54/886/11. The three annexed documents are ‘Some reflections on the Ceylon land question’ – papers presented to the Second Agricultural Conference (11.03.1927), printed by Cottle, Colombo, 1927; ‘Message by the Governor to the members of the Finance committee’; and ‘Memorandum on Government land Policy submitted for discussion at the Colonial Conference 31.03.1927’, printed as Colonial Office confidential print 386.

[9] Julius Hermann Boeke, Dualistische economie, Leiden 1930

[10] ‘Evidence given before the Land commission in response to the invitation in § 4 of the Third interim report’, Land commissioner department records, file 51 (C/R 1291); also in Land settlement department records, file 216, 2 volumes, including memoranda.

[11] SLNA 65 L62/1928 ‘Reports of the Revenue and Settlement officers containing their comments on the Third interim report of the Land Commission’: these reports were printed in a censored form but never published, for political reasons. See also SLNA LC784/1929 ‘synopsis of criticisms in the Third interim report’

[12] For example: SLNA 65 L309/1928 ‘Memorandum of the Kandyan National Assembly on the Land Commission proposals’; Land Settlement Department Records file 216: Mideniya Adigar to Land Commission, 17.04.1928

[13] Ceylon Sessional Paper 18/1927

[14] SLNA 65 L295/1927; 7.01.1926

[15] Ceylon Sessional Paper 2/1928

[16] 4th report, Sessional paper 5/1928; 5th report SP16/1928; 6th report SP 35/1928, 7th report SP 45/1928, 8th report 1/1929; 9th report SP17/1929

[17] Land settlement department records, file 216 and Sessional paper 16/1928

[18] Sessional paper 18/1928

[19] Times of Ceylon, 15.03.1927, in SLNA 65 L2/1927

[20] In SLNA 65 L2/1927, private letter of A. Wickwar to M. Fletcher, 8.10.1928

[21] SLNA 65 L288/1927 and Land Settlement Department file 216.

[22] SLNA 65 L1198/1927 incl. Executive council minutes of 5.03.1928. Archdale when the department took up the settlement of Nakkavita where he had purchased lands “through an enterprising deed broker, an ex-aracci” retained his arrogant position, saying to the settlement assistant officer (Diary Ingledow, 8.10.1937) “that his knowledge of land laws, thanks to a number of settlements made on him by Certificates of Quiet Possession, was considerably greater than my own”

[23] SLNA, 65 L650/28 minute of the Settlement Officer, 24.10.1928

[24] SLNA 65 L15/29, L780/28, L688/29; On Waleboda, see village file in Temple and ninda lands chapter. The affair dragged on in 1937 (Diary Navaretnam)

[25] SLNA 65 L395/29, CO54/899/13 ‘Sale of land to Grand Central Rubber Estates’

[26] “Evidence given before the Land commission in response to the invitation in § 4 of the Third interim report”, Land commissioner department records, file 51 (C/R 1291); also in Land settlement department records, file 216, 2 volumes, including memoranda.

[27] In the evidence of the Select committee of the Legislative Council on rubber restriction (1925) available in CO54/874, Senanayake criticized the land policy (as implemented by the Land settlement department) which restricted land sales: “I must say that in Ceylon there is no land at present suitable for the further cultivation of rubber, as the government is adopting the dog-in-the-manger policy. Ceylon would be far more prosperous if the government opens its eyes to the fact and releases land as much as possible. Ceylon can always compete with the rest of the world. In Ceylon labour is cheap, conditions are better, and I should say the yield is better”

[28] On this point, see Eric Meyer, “’Enclave’ plantations, ‘hemmed-in’ villages and dualistic representations in colonial Ceylon”. in E.V. Daniel, H. Bernstein and T. Brass eds, Plantations, Proletarians and Peasants in Colonial Asia, London, Cass, 1992 pp. 199-228.

[29] SLNA 65 L309/1928. On the opposite side, see the testimony of Hyadari, the Agent of the Government of India in Ceylon, and I.X. Pereira, representative of the Indian businessmen: “Indians came to help you (…) now we form a very large section of your middle class, we have lived here for a long time, we have traded with you, yet you have not been crowded by us”

[30] “Reports of the revenue and settlement officers containing their comments on the 3rd Interim Report of the Land Commission” SLNA 65 L62/1928: the original uncensored reports are found here; these reports have been printed in an edited form but have never been published as sessional papers because (as said in the minutes of the colonial staff) such a procedure could have adverse political implications.

[31] Two documents : ‘Letter of Mideniya Adigar to the Land commission on the question of chenas’, 17.04.1928 in Land settlement department records file 216, and ‘Evidence of J.H. Meedeniya on the subject of land settlements in the Kägalla district,’ 11.07.1928 in Evidence given before the Land commission in response to the invitation in § 4 of the Third interim report”, Land commissioner department records, file 51 (C/R 1291). Maduwanwela, Mideniya, Molamure, Ellawala were the main ‘new-radala’ families of the province of Sabaragamuwa who had been given land and titles by the British after the rebellions of 1818 and 1848.

[32] Testimony of H.R. Freeman, 27.06.1928, in “Evidence given before the Land commission in response to the invitation in § 4 of the Third interim report”, Land commissioner department records, file 51 (C/R 1291)

[33] The file SLNA 65 L1054/1928 is entirely devoted to Brayne’s projects ; private copies including his reports on Batticaloa (1925) are also available in Cambridge South Asian Archive, ‘Papers of C.V. Brayne.’ On his brother F.L. Brayne, see Clive Dewey, Anglo-Indian Attitudes, London, 1993

[34] Undated memorandum (1927) in Cambridge South Asian Archive, ‘Papers of C.V. Brayne.’.

[35] SLNA 65 L.1054/28: Letter of 6.10.1927

[36] in Cambridge South Asian Archive, ‘Papers of C.V. Brayne.’

[37] Diary Fraser, 23.11.1901 and 3.03.1907.

[38] See Brayne’s memorandum, SLNA 65 L1054/28, and Administration Report of the Land Settlement Department 1929, p. K4

[39] Administration reports of the Land Commissioner, 1931-1934. In a report sent to London, (CO54/926) mapping out was thus defined : “the systematic allotment of the available Crown land in a given area for various purposes according to the nature of the land and the needs of the community”

[40] Administration report Matara 1926 p. C27

[41] Diary Bassett, 13.10.1926, 2.03.1928, and Report on the 3rd interim report of the Land Commission

[42] Land Settlement Department file 268/2A(216) and Brayne Papers Cambridge South Asian Archive: ‘Notes on mapping out, studies on the Kägalla district, 1.02.1928; SLNA 30, Diary Kägalla December 1927.

[43] In Administration Report of Uva province 1929 p. H9-10

[44] Diary ASO Bassett, 13.09.1927 to 27.10.1927 “His age is 23 and his lawyer looks considerably younger” Wilmot made him understand that ‘If it had been his own business he would have signed [but] Mr J.A. Perera who came with him recited a short resumé of his arguments in the present Neluwana case and to assure me afresh that there was no such thing as Crown chena”.

[45] Wilmot A. Perera, A socioeconomic survey of the Raigam korale, study 1, Colombo, 1934

[46] CO54/903/3, desp. 571, 16.07.1930

[47] CO54/926 Governor to Secretary of State, 31.01.1935 n° 50 (23 pages)

[48] SLNA 30 Diary Kägalla 18.08.31, 18.09.1931, 10.02.1932, 5.02.1932, 15.03.1932, 18.03.1932,17.04.1932, 26.07.1932, 29.01.1934, 20.03.1935.

[49] SLNA 30 Diary Kägalla 5.09.1931, 27.06.1932, 12.09.1932, 21.03.1933, 22.11.1933, 22.10.1934.

[50] On this point, see Eric Meyer, “Landgrabbing by coffee estates in the Kägalla district : mid-19th century case studies” [https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/5090];“Highland Appropriation by the Plantation Sector in the Kägalla District (1870-1930)” [https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6273] ;“Historical Aspects of Caste in the Kandyan Regions, with particular reference to the non-Goyigama castes of the Kägalla District” Sri Lanka Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences, 40, pp. 21-54

[51] In 1948, a first assessment of estate acquisitions was done: Kägalla kacceri record room, File LD 180 Schedule of lands already acquired, 3.02.1948; see the entry in the Kägalla diary: 4.05.1938.

[52] On the Knavesmire affair, see the official correspondence with the Colonial Office: CO54/988/4, file 55569/14 and Kägalla Kacceri Land file LK 154 ; the version given by Thondaman (S. Thondaman, Tea and Politics, an Autobiography, vol 2, New Delhi-Colombo, 1994, pp. 26-30) and the article of  V. Samaraweera “Land, Labor, Capital and Sectional Interests in the National Politics of Sri Lanka” in Modern Asian Studies , Volume 15 (1) 1981 p.156-57. History of Knavesmire estate formation is given in my “Highland appropriation…” quoted above. In an interview I had in 1978 with Dr. N.M. Perera, the LSSP leader, he told me: “Knavesmire was not a serious attempt at village resettlement and was engineered by Senanayake to embarrass the LSSP thinking we will take the side of the Tamils”

[53] Development of land alienated from the inception of the Land development ordinance to the end of 1954 in B.H. Farmer papers, Cambridge South Asian Archive

[54] Report by the Assistant Agent Kägalla to the Land commissioner on acquired estates, 13.09.1954 in B.H. Farmer papers, Cambridge South Asian Archive.

[55] Kägalla kacceri record room, Files LD 180 (2 volumes) and 127, especially Udagoda and Dickella

[56] “Landgrabbing by coffee estates in the Kägalla district : mid-19th century case studies” [https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/5090]; see also on this area the monograph of Tamara Gunasekara, Hierarchy and Egalitarianism, Caste, Class and Power in Sinhalese Peasant Society. London, the Athlone Press, 1994.

[57] Report of the Kandyan Peasantry Commission, Ceylon Sessional Paper, Colombo, 1951, XIII- 520 p. The theories developed in the report have been criticized in the 1960s and 70s by historians of the Peradeniya University, notably Michael Roberts, who exposed their nationalist bias. The memoranda sent by various individuals and local societies, often written by teachers on notebooks, most of them in Sinhala, some in the form of village monographs, are kept in the Kandy repository of the National Archives (108/28). They provide a wealth of local information and offer a testimony of the state of mind of the swabasha-educated members of rural society who are going to come into prominence with the Sri Lanka Freedom Party electoral success a few years later in 1956

[58] See for example the memoranda and evidence of E.W.J. Rambukwelle, inspector of schools in SLNA 108/28/1

[59] Memorandum and evidence of M.B. Panabokke in SLNA 108/28/2

[60] SLNA 108/28/4, Records of the proceedings at the public sittings of the Commission in the Yatikinda and Udukinda divisions of the Uva province, 5 to 13 January 1950, 148 typed pages. See especially the evidence of Suddhamapala S.B. Ratnayaka of Kitulwatte, Bogoda korale.

[61] Report of the Land Commission of 1987, Sessional Paper 3 of 1990.

 

The Ceylon Land Settlement Department and its fight against land speculation from 1897 to 1930

by Eric Meyer

In the series of articles on agrarian history of colonial Ceylon, we publish a new study on the Land settlement department, based on the diaries of Settlement officers.

 

Land settlement in time and space

In colonial Ceylon, ‘settlement’ meant establishment and registration of land rights by a judicial or an administrative process set up by the colonial authorities, with or without the concurrence of the population. As such, it introduced full property relations in an agrarian society where they were inexistent or limited. There was a tendency along the years to extend its scope to a sort of planning of land use. In India, settlement was the basis for taxation of the regularly cultivated lands: no such mechanism existed in Ceylon, the meaning of the term was thus different [1].

The general policy of the British regarding land can be characterized by four periods: before 1840 there was no fixed policy; from 1840 to 1897, land administration was taken up by local Revenue officers through headmen; from 1897 to 1931, it was progressively centrally coordinated by a department with specialized Settlement officers; after 1931, the land policy became politicized through the creation of a Ministry of Agriculture and Lands.

During the second part of the 19th century, in the plantation areas, the colonial agents felt free to declare the property of the Crown under the 1840 Waste Lands Ordinance lands areas sought after by purchasers, usually European planters, but also locals, on the basis of ad hoc surveys, and without any general policy. There was no idea of planning. The first wave of plantation development was characterized by systematic official favouritism of the British planters. Until 1897, the system of indirect administration through the recourse to headmen selected by the colonial government meant that for land matters the Revenue officers depended on headmen and that these headmen were in position to manipulate the system to their advantage.  The institution of special officers distinct from the Revenue officers under the new Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897, and the creation of a separate department limited the power of the headmen over land, which was until then the basis of a sort of unspoken and unwritten political pact with the colonial administration; it opened the way to a form of direct administration, which was strongly opposed not only by headmen but by the rising land-based bourgeoisie; it set in motion a process which contributed to the drive towards independence.

When land grabbing by locals became an organized business which impinged on colonial authority, and when individuals started to contest every decision taken by the colonial State, land policy became stricter, at a time when the Ceylonese would-be planters of citronella, tea, rubber and coconut came into the picture. It was evident for the first nationalists that the new land policy was aimed at Ceylonese entrepreneurship, rather than at land speculation in general, even if European land speculators were also affected. The setting up of a distinct Settlement administration, in addition to the Revenue officer system to enforce the new Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 was a decision of the first magnitude taken by the governor West Ridgeway. It was immediately resented by the emerging Ceylonese bourgeoisie and by a section of the colonial milieu, and its working met with constant hurdles. The first three settlement officers working under the Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 were John Penry Lewis[2] (November 1897 to December 1900), Walter Edward Davidson[3] (January to September 1901) and John George Fraser (1901 to 1911)[4]. Before them, Leonard William Booth had been Forest Settlement officer in the early 1890s and his opinion on settlement work is also valuable. J.P. Lewis could not find the time to review the general policy because he was busy countering in Matara the claims of Le Mesurier and his followers. J.G. Fraser was the real initiator of the Land Settlement Officer way of thinking, distinct from the Revenue Officer ways: he systematized a conception based on direct administration at the root level bypassing the recourse to the headman system.

The Department was set up progressively during the first decade of the 20th century ordinance and impinged on the prerogatives of the local revenue officers and their headmen.  In the context of the second wave of plantation development, in which the British planters were partly superseded by local entrepreneurs, the activity of the department was resented more by the rising bourgeoisie than by the colonial plantocracy. With the emergence of a social approach among a section of the colonial administration and among the rising political class, the Department slowly evolved in the late 1920s into a tool of social redistribution. At that point, the emerging bourgeoisie changed its mind and used land administration as a tool to rule and the headmen system disappeared (but a part of the headmen class joined the ranks of the emerging bourgeoisie whose power was based on land control)

A spatial approach is necessary to understand the working of the Settlement Department: its activities did not extend to the whole of the island. The map produced in 1930 by the survey department provides a synthetized information on its first thirty years.

  • Its initial activities focussed on the Morawak korale of the Matara district, the theatre of intense speculation and opposition led by a former revenue officer, Le Mesurier, who attempted to subvert the official land policy
  • Then the Ratnapura and Kurunegala districts were taken up, together with parts of the Kalutara district, because these were the areas were land speculation for rubber was booming
  • Other districts such as Uva, where land hunger was intense, were also taken up at the same time
  • The villages of the coconut triangle in the North western province were then systematically settled
  • And finally, work was started in the extensive north central areas where paddy colonies were being set up in the dry zone.
  • The plantation areas of Kandy, Nuwara Eliya, Matale and Kägalla districts were practically left aside

The principle of individual property was initially the basis of the working of the department. It is only after many years that a section of the officers stared to think in terms of ‘commons’. No settlement was possible without a preliminary survey; the next step was for Government to recognise claims (of actual cultivators or of outsiders) or the sell (at low price) land to cultivators or would be cultivators. This process involved the fixation of individual property where before there was an undefined common usufructuary system controlled by the headmen.

The motive behind the new Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 was to block the extension of land speculation to the mid-country where new products – low grown tea, rubber and coconut, and new actors – Ceylonese entrepreneurs, local lawyers, small scale planters, Chettiar moneylenders, and a few European speculators, were at work. The position of the colonial administration was however ambiguous, because its aims were often contradictory: revenue considerations, economic development, European planting interests, preservation of the peasantry, preservation of natural resources. It was too late in many areas to stop land speculation: chena highlands in the Kelani valley, Kägalla and some areas of Ratnapura and Kurunegala, had already been sold out to land brokers through Ceylonese middlemen, to the final benefit of European planters. But there were large chena or forest areas where coconut and rubber plantations could be developed, in Kurunegala, Ratnapura and Kalutara districts, and the emerging Ceylonese entrepreneurs were prospecting these new opportunities, bypassing the colonial government control.

There was a contradiction at the core of the colonial system: the European colonial planters of the 19th century had initiated the land grabbing process; they were followed by the Ceylonese bourgeoisie of the next generation; the colonial administration which had set the alienation process into motion (or left it to develop) pretended to protect the peasantry at a later stage. The Ceylonese who resented the difference of treatment between the European speculators and the local speculators, turned towards a specific form of nationalism, and accused the colonial administration of hypocrisy when it pretended to protect the peasantry against the native speculators with its settlement procedures, but at the same time the nationalists were accused of hypocrisy by the colonial administrators when they pretended to side with the peasantry.

Initially, there was no question of interfering with claims and rights between villagers, but only to define the respective property of the Crown and the people. Ellis, when he was Government agent of the Western province, wrote in 1900[5]: “It is in every way better to leave the people to settle their own land claims rather than make any attempt to do this for them” Quoting the case of a garden possessed in common: “These people have up to the present lived quite peacefully, possessing the produce of the land by some system of division known to themselves. I can hardly imagine a more helpless task than that of an officer who undertakes to make in this garden a proper surveyed division based on the legal rights of the parties”. The settlement officer Fraser considered that it was outside the scope of the ordinance to assign the private property of a land to a specific individual[6]. But the experience of settlement work progressively put into question the principle of non-intervention, and led the Land settlement department to redefine its policy during the 1920s, on the basis of a new concept: land planning.

 

The sources: diaries and the other land settlement records[7]

From the 1880s, and especially during the governorship of Arthur Gordon, the members of the Ceylon Civil Service administering districts  (Assistant Government Agents) and provinces (Government Agents,) were required to keep official diaries which were sent to their hierarchy for reading and comment before being returned and kept in the record room of the kachcheri for the perusal of their successors[8]. With the development of specialized departments, the practice was extended to a few of them, and these documents were kept in their respective offices. The Settlement officers and their assistants, who were originally drawn from the same pool as the district administrators and had the same kind of field experience, adopted the practice which they found useful for the efficient functioning of their department. These semi-official sources are extremely valuable. Of course, their value depends on the personality of their authors, which they reveal[9], and they must be analyzed and interpreted in the context of power relations and often conflicting interests within the colonial administration. But they have the freshness and often the frankness which the official and publicized administration reports lack. This is specially the case with the Land settlement administration reports which are statistical lists of villages settled (for example the 84 page report for 1912-1913) and offer little information on the social history of the villages.

The diaries of the settlement and assistant settlement officers were meant to be read by their superiors (the Controller of Revenue, the Colonial Secretary or the Governor, and after 1931, the Minister of Agriculture and the Land Commissioner) who sometimes wrote marginal comments, and returned them[10].  

Little research has been done on the basis of these documents, which were difficult of access. Lal Jayawardena read and used for his unpublished Cambridge thesis[11] a certain number of them. I have myself examined all the diaries from 1897 to 1939 and noted the information of a general nature and the local information dealing with my research on the relations between the plantations and the villages. I propose here, using a selection of significant excerpts, to show the difficulties and oppositions encountered by these colonial administrators to define and defend a clear policy in land matters, and in a second part to follow the evolution of the Land settlement doctrine and practice in fighting land speculation until 1930. Of course, on the subject of the relations between colonial administration and the people at large, the partiality of the source should be balanced by the recourse to other sources and/or to inner critique – reading against the grain. 

Apart from diaries and administration reports, the departmental records contain the files of settled villages, the final village reports which were printed until the late 1930s: they are very detailed, giving population statistics, often information on caste, agricultural resources, land acreages; but they can be used only in specific cases and lack the vivid notations of the diaries. There are also special files regarding the work of such and such civil servant and the general correspondence of the department.

 

John Penry Lewis in Morawak korale of Matara district (1897-1900)

The Southern province had specific features which distinguished it from the Kandyan provinces: the Dutch impact was much deeper, especially in the registration of land and people. Morawak korale was the northern part of the Matara district, abutting on the Ratnapura district. The villagers of this hilly area, many of them belonging to minority castes, especially Vahumpura, were living on a mix of chena, paddy and garden produce, and had been the victims of bouts of chena repression by several revenue officers, in the 1860s-70s, and again in 1890, with the result that starvation conditions were often prevailing; an Assistant Government Agent, Elliott, had recognized the right of the peasants to cultivate their highlands on the basis of the ‘Dutch thombos extracts’, in order to settle the long standing distrust between the administration and the people, but he was disavowed by his superior[12]. By the end of the 19th century, under the impulse of Karawa entrepreneurs from the coastal areas, the cultivation of tea, citronella and rubber was developing in Morawak, and the colonial administration was confronted with a demand for land which it could not understand nor admit because in its conception, based on the Crown ownership of ‘waste’ and forest lands, land development was to be controlled by the State (and practically reserved to European planters), and any attempt at claiming private rights was suspect. For example, this is how in 1898 the Matara Assistant Government Agent described the process of land appropriation[13]: “A suitable extent of forest or jungle is selected, if possible with indication of its containing plumbago. A neighbouring villager is then persuaded that as the owner of a garden on the borders of the forest, the whole tract belongs to him. Or else an old family tradition that his ancestors at one time cultivated the land is revived. A claim thus springs up, a transfer in favour of a speculator is executed. Jak and other fruit trees which are found in nearly every jungle in the district are seriously pointed out as indication of a former cultivation, and the Crown (in stepping in to prevent the destruction of the forest) is loudly accused in the public newspapers of wholesale spoliation and oppression. The result of course has been demoralizing in the extreme. Fictitious claims have sprung up in the most unexpected quarters, and both villagers and speculators are intent on acquiring land at the public expense”.

The diaries of J.P. Lewis span a period beginning in November 1897 up to the end of December 1900. They offer an insight into an intensive land broking activity of a very unusual nature, because it was encouraged or rather engineered by C.J.R. Le Mesurier, an ex-civil servant formerly posted at Matara, who had been dismissed as a result of various provocations[14].  During these first three years, most of the time of Lewis was spent fighting the ‘spurious’ claims set up by Le Mesurier and his associates (Lewis 9.02.1900)[15]. The paradox was that the appointment of a special officer to enforce the ordinance of 1897 was done at the request of Le Mesurier himself.  The legal issues raised by Le Mesurier touched on the sore point of the colonial system in which the colonial agent was at the same time judge and party as defender of Crown interests (Lewis 27.06.1899), and he radically challenged the concept of Crown land, which was at the basis of the settlement work. The following quotations of the diary give an idea of these exchanges:

“Mr. Le Mesurier has told the people that the only Crown land in the island are Pidurutalagalla and Adam’s Peak” (Lewis 13.11.1897) and the growing number of claims is due “to the notion developed by Le Mesurier that the payment of 1/10th tax before 1874 meant that the land was private”. In the settlement of Atureliya village, (Lewis 21.01.1898) Le Mesurier appeared as agent of the claimant who promised to give Le Mesurier 1/3rd of the land to if he won: “this is a case of champerty”. Lewis was compelled to stay with Le Mesurier at the kacceri while the latter studied the wattoru (taxation lists) to find out which chenas were taxed at ‘private’ rate. Le Mesurier declared (Lewis 31.01.1898) “I do not even know where the land is. I claim it on public grounds and in order to prevent government from getting possession of it”. Lewis commented (14.02.98): “I have never seen a case more dishonorably conducted, even by the shadiest of proctors”. “Engaged in reply to Le Mesurier memo facetiously entitled ‘Spoliation of lands by the Crown in the Matara district’. It is a plausible but ridiculous attempt to show that the British government have by Ordinance 12 of 1840 dispossessed the villagers of their highlands. According to Mr. Le Mesurier there are no Crown lands in the Matara district, not even the primeval forests. He has put this theory into practice by setting up claims to half a dozen of the latter” (Lewis 16.01.1899).

Lewis depicted Le Mesurier as a dishonest land grabber, even at the time he was posted at Matara: Le Mesurier’s brother had started mining operations in the district while Le Mesurier was Assistant Government Agent, and according to Lewis he was just a front-man for Le Mesurier who paid himself the mining coolies (Lewis 6.06.1899).  At Talgahahena in 1893 as Assistant Government Agent he prosecuted a villager for illicit clearing, but the villager was cleared, he then put up a part of the land for sale at 10 Rs per acre, and when dismissed he purchased himself the rest of the land from another villager (20.02.1900). Lewis considered that the extensive land purchases at the beginning of 1890s at Asmagolla, Kotawila and Marambe by one Mr. Bultjeens for Mr. Creasy were actually for Le Mesurier who was then Assistant Government Agent and conducted the sales, and to whom the lands were transferred in February 19th 1896. The firm Julius and Creasy were the agents for T.N. Christie, an influent member of the Ceylon Planters Association, who was an associate of Le Mesurier during and after his Kägalla days[16]

Among the documents used by Le Mesurier and his associates to assert private property were the ‘Dutch Extracts’ forged by a local goldsmith, Don Salomon Wijendra, (who was rewarded once the claim was admitted) and certified by the notary B. J. Wijenayaka “who was prepared to write any act, the usual practice being to describe a chena as garden and a forest as chena”. Another actor in the land business was Jayasuriya, the son of a land registrar of Matara, who was using an old fiscal transfer of 1834 to assert private title (Lewis 4.12.1897), in competition with T.N. Christie : “It is a relief to have these landgrabbers quarreling among themselves”. But it appeared that Christie was acting for Le Mesurier to whom he sold back his claim as soon as it was admitted by the Crown by a Certificate of Quiet Possession for half the area claimed, and Le Mesurier transferred the property to his wife (Lewis 6.09.1898).  Another actor, Floris de Silva, was the schoolmaster of Urubokka (Lewis 22.03.1900): “nominally schoolmaster but his real business is acquiring shares in claims from the villagers”. He was the brother of Francis de Silva, a dismissed mudaliyar (chief headman) of Wellaboda pattuwa, who was behind most of the sales together with his brother in law, the division officer of Morawak korale (Lewis 3.03.1898): “I have been told several times that that the late mudaliyar of Morawak had examined the wattoru and had ‘made the land private’ (praveni karala).  Possibly it is from him that Mr. Le Mesurier got this notion on which all his claims are based, or it may have been the reverse. The mudaliyar was his agent in the plumbago business, and Mr. Le Mesurier was very much concerned to hear of his dismissal as he told me himself”. There were other schoolmasters involved, and the brother of the Rest House keeper of Urubokka (Lewis 25.03.98), Dias (31.10.1898) “trying to get into favour with the villagers by posing as an exceptionally devout Buddhist”. There was the case of an ex- village headman, who threatened to commit suicide if his claim was not recognized (Lewis 19.11.1898); in some cases, there are several actors who purchased the same land from a villager or ‘helped’ him purchasing it at an auction sale to grab it after. Local headmen or dismissed headmen were always involved in these land dealings (Lewis 16.12.1897). “I wonder whether there is any native official, clerk, registrar or headman in the Matara district who is not interested in some claim, either openly or secretly” (Lewis 3.10.1900).  What Lewis failed to clearly understand is that the power of headmen over highlands was the result of their giving permits to cultivate highlands at the demand of the colonial authorities. 

The diary leaves the impression that Lewis was obsessed with the defense of Crown rights, overwhelmed by the fight against land speculators, and unable to understand the real grievances of the peasantry. He was upset by the systematic attitude of the judges who usually discharged the offenders, and of the press, especially The Independent, that sided with Le Mesurier in February 1899, and The Times of London that published a letter of the same in April 1899. Lewis felt insulted by Rudra, Le Mesurier’s lawyer, and by the Chilaw Association which started its agitation against the Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 and also against that of 1840 by using the arguments of Le Mesurier (Lewis July 1899). His action was also impeded by the poor quality of many surveys, the lack of cooperation from the Survey department, and the corruption of young surveyors who accepted bribes (Lewis 17.03.1900). Another problem was the lack of cooperation between the Assistant Government Agent and the Settlement Officer, the former putting up for sale or settlement lands which the latter was going to proclaim under the Waste Lands Ordinance. And the worst point was that the kacceri and the district court administration themselves were “the headquarters of the land speculation” (Lewis 20.11.1900). Lewis felt betrayed by the position of the Supreme Court which considered as peasants notorious landgrabbers such as Dias; the clash between the judicial order and the executive was just the same as in Kägalla during the preceding decade.  

Lewis admitted genuine claims, but felt that the system did not preclude speculation (26.10.1898): “The villagers complain that when the lands are put up for sale they are unable to compete with the outsiders – rich fisher caste people and Moormen who want land for citronella cultivation. If the extents sold are small (3 or 4 acres only), the villagers are not likely to sell them to outsiders, as they prefer cultivating themselves than becoming the coolies of the citronella people”. In a Vahumpura village, Narawelpita, “noted both for their industry and for crime, especially cattle stealing”, but where there were many disabled persons “I found that the real explanation for it was want of land,  and I decided that it would be better not to proclaim this block, but to have it surveyed into small lots to be sold to the villagers” (16.12.1897). Progressively, Lewis became more preoccupied with the condition of the peasantry and the impact of the restriction to chena cultivation; he took into consideration that the local headmen had always admitted wattoru as proof of property. In the end of his diary (10 and 26.11.1900) he quoted the case of Alapaladeniya and Idandehita villages: “chena was allowed from 1885 to 1892 and in 1892 it was fully put a stop to. The people were then much better off than they are now, as there is not enough paddy land to cultivate. The men now go to Panagoda in Hinidum pattu to work in the plumbago pits (…) but all the people cannot get work at the pits. The headmen assure me that very few families in their division have more than one meal a day. Whether they tell a different story to the Assistant Government Agent I don’t know. I am told by the headmen that the people owing to the stopping of chena cultivation and the want of paddy lands do not get enough to eat. Yet the Administration report usually says that ’food was plentiful’ etc…”

 

Walter Edward Davidson as Settlement officer (9 months in 1901)

Davidson had an extensive knowledge of land speculation when he was Assistant Agent in the Kägalla district in the early 1890s[17], and was an efficient administrator, but his experience as Settlement officer was limited and his appointment of short duration. A practical and hard-working man, his future career as Colonial secretary in Transvaal, then Governor of Seychelles, Newfoundland and New South wales in Australia is a testimony for his value.

In his diary of July 1901, he gave an illuminating explanation of the working of the ‘Dutch Extracts’ system in the Matara district: “The Dutch made a record of all cultivated lands in private hands with a view to their taxation” “It became the custom for each native family to hold an extract [of the register]. The Sinhalese called it a ‘black letter’, or Dutch extract from the rolls, and we can see from the date of the issue of true copies by the authorities when pressure was put on them. It then became a mark of gentility to hold an extract, like a sannas in Kandyan district. I know of one case when a copper sannasa was made simply to forward negotiation for a marriage into a respectable family, to show that the suitor’s family was also respectable. These paper monuments have often been destroyed – damp, rats, white ants and so on. But the tradition in the village that your panguwa has held a Dutch extract was enough among easy going people. Then came Mr. Le Mesurier, and the land speculator’s period, and each family became anxious especially as government (very wrongly as I most deferentially submit) practically prohibited chena cultivation and absorbed chenas which the villagers bona fide believed to be theirs, and a desire arose for extracts. Ingenuity is never lacking in the forgery line in the Matara district, when a saleable article is wanted. So, two sets of makers of Dutch extracts appeared. The procedure was this: an agent found an anxious householder who either believed that the family had had an extract, or wanted one badly to recover his chenas. Enquiries by the forger’s agent ascertained what the householder believed to be his lands and elicited what more he would like to have. A suggestion followed that the extract might be traced and recovered for a consideration. The householder readily concurred. A few months later, an extract appears. It is very worn and aged, but it is taken to the village schoolmaster, and he traces triumphantly the name of the family and the names of the family’s fields and gardens and these coveted chenas. The body of the document was in an unknown tongue and did not signify. The bargain is then struck. One hundred rupees in cash if squeezable, if not cash down as much as possible and a pronote or assignment of half the chenas.”

“Then speculators appeared and bought conditionally the highlands for citronella cultivation. The difficulties arose. A painstaking officer, with highly developed antiquarian tastes [J.P. Lewis] arrived to settle this title to waste land. He peered into those easily acquired documents and found that the balance of the extract was gibberish, that a whole series contained the same type of errors, he collated them and called in experts in Dutch, brought the documents before the civil courts and had them declared forgeries (…) But an able and painstaking advocate, Mr. Bawa for instance, can convince a jury if he be strenuous enough (that) the expert is no clever than you and after all he knows very little more than we do about what happened about 150 years ago.”

Davidson attempted to win the confidence of the Wellaboda pattu villagers  (Davidson 20.06.1901) “If I am to do any good in the settlement of these valuable villages (…) it will be by a crushing defeat to the most prominent landgrabber [Don David Kulatunge](…) The people understand that while settlement is going on I am all patience and consideration. It is only the interloper who has cause for fear”.

When he left his post as Settlement Officer, he drew a program for his successor (Davidson 10.08.1901), in which he displayed his deep understanding of the peasant condition and the role of chena cultivation in the villager’s subsistence, his paternalistic attitude, and the opposition he encountered on the part of a section of the Ceylon civil administrators[18]:  

“Keep good relations with Government and Assistant Government Agents and never appeal to the government against their wishes. Consult Ellis [Controller of Revenue] personally, not on papers because he has a destructive genius and is an awkward person to disagree with. Spend time with Surveyor General and Government printer and give them full particular of what you require, never oblige a busy man to make reference and thus delay his answer. Work with the mudaliyar and headmen; the clerk Gunatilake wants to do too much himself. Continue to work on the lines of the panguwa or communal interest. It is true that in the Southern province the communal instinct has been dying out. Revive it, it gives the poor man and the stupid man a chance and it saves you the risk of doing the weaker man an injury. Hunt out men that should be claimants and let them come in at any time. Do not rule out claims for want of a paper title, but strive that every householder should have 5 acres of highland near his field or garden to do what he likes with. You will thus check illicit chena clearing and yet provide a man enough land to feed him.

Keep the man on the land. Let him have land sufficient to feed him and keep him honest. Your settlement will last twenty years, but then the people will be encroaching just as they do now. Then there should be a revision and a further apportionment of Crown land for nothing, for by then most of the chena given will have become garden lands. Begin before you ‘notice’ the land by a cursory inspection of the land and note then what you mean to give and what you mean to reserve. Speak firmly then to the villagers as to what you mean to reserve. By the time the three months are passed, no one will claim what you mean to reserve.

Your duties are merely to declare this or that land Crown or private. Never hesitate to exceed your duties. You will have occasional setbacks and be told to confine yourself to your duties. Don’t take much notice of that, always exceed your duties in these directions. When and where you can, declare a private land in favour of the persons who ought to have it. If you think a ‘Crown land’ should be devoted to any specific purpose (village forest, small allotments, sale to capitalists for plantation or plumbago, deniya for paddy, irrigation scheme etc.), attach a rider to your finding and convey the recommendation to the Government Agent…Always value the lands, undervalue per choice. The Crown does no want to lock up a lot of unproductive land, it wants it to go into cultivation. My scheme is good of apportioning a tract of Crown chena with permission to cultivate small extents, an acre a year, paying a rent of 1/10th to government. The Government Agent of the South Province disapproves it, but with all deference, he carries his horror of chena cultivation to extremes. A landless labourer is the lowest of all in the scale of happiness. A wanderer is a danger to the community. And you cannot make colonists of the weak and stupid and timid villager. Give him an opportunity to live and thrive in the village where he was born. The government did not definitely decide against me, it merely said it was not my duty to make such proposals. Remember that chena cultivation to excess is destructive, yet it is in moderation in some districts a necessity for bare livelihood, and it will be continued in defiance of you, if you do not make reasonable provision for villager to raise their food somehow. Keep the two registers I have opened out (…) This has the immediate advantage of interesting the government in your work and preventing your being forgotten (…) Get each report printed (…) it is the landraad roll of the village it should contain the description of the village” etc.

Davidson ended his diary with a personal note: “Both my present work and the Ceylon Civil Service I leave with the keenest regret. Starting life again at middle age I have doubts whether my wife and I will ever do such good work again and whether we will succeed in winning this regard and confidence of the Afrikaners as we believe we have won the real affection of the Ceylonese. In the East only custom and caste continue undisturbed. Individual influence may work largely for the time, but the work and name perish out of memory. It is something to remember for a year or two.”

 

Land Settlement under John George Fraser (1901-1911)

Fraser remained in his post for an unusually long period and was able to set up the principles and the practice of settlement on a firm footing, but his progressive views, partly inherited from Davidson, were opposed by a section of the colonial administration and he was prevented from implementing them. He was however critical of the idealism of Davidson (Fraser 24.09.1901): “The more I see of these villagers, the more I am persuaded of the fatuity of Mr Davidson’s hopes of re-establishing a communal system. That idea had passed away and individual possession is the aim of everyone”. His project was to develop a land settlement department with an island-wide approach and a strong staff, which would deprive the local Revenue officers and their headmen of a large part of their power, and to set up a sort of rural development planning – which actually took shape 30 years later.  With the passing of years, he became more interested in developing the strength of his department and his later diaries are less interesting for the social historian.

From August 1901 to June 1903, Fraser was special officer under the Waste Land Ordinance of 1897. In July 1903, a Department was set up by the Governor West Ridgeway with wider powers: “to settle amicably as between the Crown and subject the title to all land, cultivated as well as uncultivated”. It was staffed with one Settlement officer, one Assistant settlement officer and 18 employees. In 1911, the Department had one Settlement officer, 11 Assistant settlement officers, and 84 employees.  In the meantime, 1081 villages had been settled and 1357 were being settled, in spite of the difficult coordination with the Survey department.[19]

During the first two years, under the governorship of West Ridgeway, Fraser was busy trying to pacify the relations between the Morawak villagers and the Crown. His diaries from October 1901 to January 1904 are filled with remarks on the difficulty to deal with the headmen in the Morawak korale: “Settlement in this part of the country has been rendered more difficult through the action of a former mudaliyar who went about admitting chenas to be private whenever a 1/10th wattoruwa was produced (…) I have seldom seen a more worthless set of headmen than the vidane araccis and police officers of the Morawak korale (…) The great difficulty in this part of the country is that there is practically no documentary evidence and that most of the headmen side with the villagers when difference of opinion arises”. It is clear that the intervention of the colonial administration in land matters was strongly resented by the landed class – the headmen class, because it impinged on the basis of their arbitrary power. Apart from the questions of power, another problem was the organization of surveys, which “almost exclusively lay on the information of local headmen”. By 1904, Fraser seems to have succeeded in dispelling the distrust[20] : “Features highly indicative of the good relations have been the success of land sales held in course of the settlement of villages and the large number of applications made to the Settlement officer to purchase land. The latter is a new development not originally contemplated and is in great measure consequent on the special arrangements made by the Settlement officer to accelerate the surveys and thus curtail the length of time that elapses between the application for land and its actual sale” “The villagers first imagined that I was merely here for one of these numerous inspections made by Revenue officers which settle nothing. Now that they realize that the whole village is to be completed, they are becoming very anxious of amicable settlement” “A year ago, my operations were regarded with the greatest distrust, now the people willingly come forward and meet me half way in effecting amicable settlements (…) The success is entirely due to our living in the villages, inspecting each lot ourselves and coming into contact with the claimants who soon convince themselves that their distress is unfounded”. For example, in the case of Puwakbodaowita village, (Fraser 12.08.1902): “The claimants all except a landshark, C.A. Goonewardena by name, came before me and asked me to let them have the 6 acres of land I offered them in full settlement of their claims instead of referring them to court. I agreed and we sat down in a roadside hut and made our treaty. This deprives Goonewardena of all his props and we shall now crush him effectually”.

The new popularity of Fraser was also the result of his recognition of the value of chena cultivation in the subsistence economy of the peasantry of the hills; his critical remarks of the effect in Morawak of repressive government policy are worth quoting in full (Fraser 30.11.1901): “I drove to Urubokka Rest House. As I came along, I was forcibly struck by the miserable appearance of the villagers. I stopped my carriage occasionally and had a chat with some of the wayfarers, picking up some hints about their condition and about the geography of the place. They appear a simple-minded set of people, these Morawaka villagers, easily led, not as gentlemanly as the Kandyans in their instincts, but only requiring fair and considerate handling. Their great grievance is of course the restriction, or shall we say prohibition of chenaing. After hearing their views and considering the question without bias, I am of opinion that it is desirable to set apart certain areas of waste land useless for other purposes for chena cultivation in villages in which large areas have not been handed over to claimants. I further believe that the early introduction of some such system would tend to a great reduction in claims. What the people want is to chena. They do not want the land and will be quite content to cultivate on permits from the Crown, and I do not think any damage can accrue to government as such cultivation would only be allowed after all necessary reserves have been set aside. A careful enquiry should be made into the circumstances of each village by a sympathetic but firm officer. The main objections to chena cultivation are: a. That forests, a valuable asset of the community, were frequently ruthlessly destroyed; b. That climatic changes for the worse might follow on indiscriminate felling of forest and jungle; c. That the villagers set up title to the land in any case, clearing without permit; d. Ethical objections [Fraser omits the planter’s pressure to get land]. The first three objections will be surmounted by the operation of the Waste Lands Ordinance and by the constitution of reserved village forests. The ethical objection is that chena cultivation is detrimental to character in making the people lazy and improvident. But for my part I cannot see how the enterprise and exertion spent upon chenaing can be half as demoralizing as periods of enforced idleness and loafing. For it is not as if gardens and fields were being neglected for chenas. No, they are cultivated, in many cases over cultivated, planted with trees until production is impeded by overcrowding. Even if given new areas to convert into gardens, the people, destitute of money, must have a means of livelihood until the new gardens come into bearing. And this means can only be found in chena cultivation. Only by some such scheme will it be possible to introduce a little of the joy of life into the hearts of these dejected and poverty-stricken subjects. And I am sure the government will also reap its reward in the greater contentedness of the people and in the greater rapidity with which chena claims will be disposed of. Often when I ask claimants who have not a bit of evidence why they claim, they say: ‘What are we to do? We are not allowed to chena on Crown land. So, we must claim on the chance of getting a bit of land for ourselves to chena!”

 When Fraser undertook the settlement of the Middeniya area, further east, in the dry zone, he noted (Fraser 14.06.1902): “All the lands here, except a few tanks and fields, is waste land covered with thorny scrub jungle of no commercial value whatsoever. It is of vast extent and will take many years to plant it with permanent products, supposing they will grow in a country where there is so little water. Formerly the villagers used to cultivate large extents on permit from the Crown, paying share to the Crown. During that period, the title of the Crown was never questioned. Then the policy was adopted of restricting chena cultivation, in the hope that the people would then devote themselves to permanent products, especially paddy (…) If I am right that Government desires to foster a native peasantry, I do not think this policy is likely to have the desired results. There has been misunderstanding on both sides of course, and this chena question has greatly strained the relations between the Revenue Officers and the villagers. When chena cultivation was restricted, the villagers retaliated by clearing what they chose without permit, or clearing in excess of their permits. The Revenue Officer then prosecuted them. They pleaded guilty and were fined 4 or 5 Rs for each acre cultivated, instead of 1 Re per acre they used to pay as permit. They still laid no claim to the land in most cases. When the Revenue Officer saw his order disregarded in this way, and that he was hindered with large numbers of prosecutions, he began to forbid cultivation, to prosecute where it was persisted in, and to sequester the crops. This, the villagers say, drove them to desperation for they must live, and they then began to clear, claiming the land on any frivolous title, sure that in the Police Court the Crown would then be referred to its civil remedy. Finding that the result came up to their expectations, they then began to think their claims would hold water. It is in this way that a great many claims have originated. Now the Assistant Government Agent reports that the villagers refuse to acknowledge the Crown title or to take permits. This appears to be the net result of the present policy, according to the views of the villagers. The villagers yesterday spoke quite sensibly and said they did not want the land but only their immemorial right to chena (…) If the intention of the present policy was to protect Crown rights, it does not appear to have been very succesful. If it was to put a stop to a ‘wasteful system’ of cultivation, I fail to see how the present means of cultivating their thorny area can be termed wasteful. There is no doubt that these lands formerly produced an immense quantity of Indian corn and fine grain, whereas they now produce next to nothing. The ‘waste’ all seems to be on the side of the present system if the question is regarded from the economic point of view (…) To ask villagers to desist from chena cultivation is much the same as asking them to starve to please government, and of course if they are not allowed chena cultivation they will cultivate without permits. It is a question of life or death for them”.

Fraser reiterated during the next years his analysis and suggested a new policy, repeated in his Administration report for 1906, but his views were censored by Governor Blake, and it took practically two decades for the colonial administration to seriously reconsider its position with the Land commission of 1927[21]

“To the villager’s mode of thinking, there is nothing immoral in making encroachments on Crown property. Probably this is the result of former administration prior to the British administration. In Dutch times, the Company did everything to increase the area under cultivation and did not much object to encroachment, as every encroachment brought money to the exchequer. The Company had an interest in every land in its domains and maintained these interests by levying a share of the products. The people were content to hold their land subject to these taxes. The Dutch system may thus be said to have encouraged cultivation and as they had regularly kept thombos giving the particulars of each land, there was a very efficient check on encroachment or rather a check that encroachment did not escape payment of taxes.

The British system has altered most of this. The registers were allowed to lapse and gradually a period of chaos set in, the results of which are still being felt. Registers were kept only of Crown lands except in the case of fields. The tax on private gardens and chenas was relaxed and thus all the advantages of having a complete list of all the cultivated lands in each village with all particulars of extent, ownership and so on were lost. It is true that a tax was levied on private chenas also and that yearly statements of crops raised were made but this was quite another thing from the complete register of Dutch times. Now as then, the desire of the people is to have a land for cultivation. The average villager does not much mind whose land it is as long as he is allowed to take his crops. This is seen every day in the case of villagers who chena Crown lands without permit, knowing that they will be prosecuted and fined. They prefer to take this course to that of applying for a permit which may be refused. They are quite ready to pay a fine.

The policy of government has of late been to restrict chena cultivation. With this every right-minded person will agree. But have we substituted anything for it? Have we made it easy for the villager to take up permanent cultivation in place of chena cultivation? I think not. To ask the average villager, leading a hand to mouth existence, to purchase land at 10 Rs an acre and fees, is to demand of him an impossibility. Even if it were possible for him to raise this amount, it would mean that he would have to borrow it or that in paying he would exhaust his capital. Neither of these is desirable. We do not wish him to become indebted, neither do we desire to strip him of all his capital, for the result will be likely that the moneylender will reap the benefit of the villager’s labours by selling him up, and in the other case he will have no capital to enable him to develop his purchase.

What is wanted would appear to be a system of rent in perpetuity coupled with the power to purchase outright whenever desired (…) at a rate of say 50c or 1 Re per acre per annum (…) The result would be:

  1. A great decrease in the number of cases
  2. A development, probably immediate and enormous, of permanent cultivation`
  3. The majority of Crown land in populous villages thus disposed of
  4. The necessary register would keep alive the Crown title
  5. Sales on these terms would form a convenient introduction to a general land tax if it is even desirable to have one
  6. It would save the delays of a re-survey and the difficulties inherent in the constitution of communal chenas”


Formation of the Land Settlement Department: a political decision

The policy of the colonial government in land matters was subjected to recurrent reviews. It was the most intricate political issue encountered by successive governors, from West Ridgeway to Clifford. The contradictory imperatives were:

  • To support British colonial interests, especially interests of the planters
  • To preserve government control over ‘waste’ lands
  • To avoid social discontent and peasant unrest
  • To foster economic development
  • To delineate the respective roles of the Revenue Officers and the Settlement Officers

The Waste Lands Ordinance was the brainchild of Governor West Ridgeway and had met with the opposition of his predecessor Gordon (Lord Stanmore) and of a large section of the Revenue Officers, who considered that the creation of a distinct department would impinge on their prerogatives, that it bypassed the age-long hierarchical working of local administration based on the headmen system and introduced a system of direct administration. For some time, the Revenue Officers could still effect settlements under the Ordinance of 1897, but they could not devote sufficient time and expertise to that work, and they distributed chena permits without proper enquiries, in the view of the Settlement Officers (Fraser, 29.07.1907).

The long despatch sent to London in June 1903 by the governor West Ridgeway[22] paved the way for the formation of a Department (which he would put under the direction of the Controller of Revenue F.R. Ellis, the officers in the field being junior). West Ridgeway was about to leave his post and was anxious to establish on a firm footing a project which he had started in 1897 at the beginning of his almost eight years long governorship (February 1896 to November 1903): “I regard the success of this enterprise as the most important feature of my administration (…) for I have had ample experience of the fatal results of the absence of any systematic method of disposing of land claims which is the main cause of ill feeling towards government and discontent among the mass of people (…) I look forward with apprehension to what may happen during the first years of my successor’s rule, unless the department is placed on a permanent and satisfactory footing before I leave”

He painted the situation prevailing before his ordinance of 1897 as characterized by “a chronical state of hostility between the Crown and the villagers” due to the lack of survey and uncertainty regarding the status of unsettled lands. Hostility to his ordinance was reduced, but the settlement work had to be organized in a systematic way at an all-island uniform level, with a continuity in time. It was therefore impossible to rely on the Revenue Officer network for the task, because of the lack of continuity and the ever-growing multiplicity of tasks. Annexed to the despatch were four case studies (supposedly randomly chosen) with a commentary by Ellis: Baduraliya (Pasdun), Dankoluwa, Gorakawala and Puwakbodaowita (Morawak, along the Nilwala Ganga), to explain the working of settlement. The idea of village planning was present, the basic rule being that no sale should be allowed “unless there is ample reserve to meet the requirements of the expansion of the village for many years. If there is land available, it is desirable to allow capitalists to open an estate, as by this means money is brought into the village, and the people benefit greatly by the demand for labour. But this cannot be allowed if it would have the effect of excluding the villager from his own village”.

During the following years, the policy of the department, under the direction of the Controller of Revenue, F.R. Ellis, was to undertake the systematic settlement of certain areas – especially the coconut areas of the Kurunegala district and the rubber areas of the Ratnapura district, a task entrusted to the Settlement officer Fraser and his assistants; and to intervene where problems arose which could have political consequences, a task reserved to Ellis[23]. The Settlement department records preserve a collection of the cases settled by Ellis; some documents are also found in the Colonial secretary records, and the Colonial Office papers are also useful to follow the affairs. After the departure of West Ridgeway, as head of the department, Ellis effected personally the settlement of the most intricate cases involving European and Ceylonese land speculators, especially in the North Western Province, where the early 20th century witnessed a boom of coconut plantations. This led to an great amount of correspondence between the Settlement department, the Colonial secretariat in Colombo, and the Colonial Office in London[24].

 

The Settlement department facing land speculation by European planters in the Kurunegala  and Matale districts

The Kurunegala district is large and its ‘Kandyan’ identity is somewhat blurred because it is more connected with the maritime areas and the dry zone than with the hilly districts. The history of village land sales in the North Western province started with the bursts of anti-chena legislation in the years 1860-1870, like in Kägalla and Matara. In Kurunegala there were two very different facies of plantation development: in the hilly border areas adjoining the Kandy and Matale districts, especially in Madure korale, the demand for land was for rubber or tea estates by Europeans; elsewhere in the district, especially in the Katugampola and Dambadeni Hatpattus,  it was for coconut plantations and came from Ceylonese rather than from European would-be planters.

Before the ordinance of 1897, there was a general tendency for Kurunegala Government Agents to minimize the impact of village sales, especially when European purchasers were involved[25]. An example is found in the report for 1896 by Aelian King: “As far as the villager is concerned there is, I am convinced, but little room for alarm for he only sells generally speaking what he has a very uncertain claim to, namely some of the waste lands of the village more or less often cleared and sown with dry grain at intervals of from 8 to 15 years, perhaps at even a greater interval, probably not by himself but by the village in general. Defective legislation, or tenderness on the part of the courts, made it very difficult for the Crown to assert its rights. Consequently the village is in a position to offer a good deal of land for sale and the Crown is after all probability the only sufferer in the transaction (sic). No instances have come to my knowledge of villagers impoverishing themselves and rendering themselves homeless by such sales (…) These sales are only possible in the damp and therefore fertile parts of the province. In such localities chenaing is not a necessity to the people while it is certainly a most wasteful system (…) Few candid persons could hesitate to declare that it would be immensely to the advantage of their inhabitants that the desolate wastes should be put under permanent cultivation, bringing capital into their midst and opening up markets for their labour and for their produce. New areas of cultivation are consequently large, cultivation of coconut is advancing everywhere”.  But another administrator, Sewell, drew a different picture : “In many instances whole families have been turned out of the holdings so acquired, their houses broken down and the members left to shift for themselves – in some cases they have left the district, in others they remain about the villages as vagrants and having no occupation it is to be feared become criminals (…) It is also going on in the Katugampola and Dambadeniya Hatpattu to a large extent, chiefly among the invaders from the low country and European companies in search of coconut properties. [It is difficult to dissuade the villagers to sell] as their neighbours selling they are gradually squeezed out of their lands, they find their fields ruined by the wash from the highland opened for cultivation above them”. Sewell pleaded for an immediate legislation to stop sales “for the low country middleman or Moorman is making large profits by buying at low prices and re-selling to Europeans”, and “prevent the serious evils which must ensue from the displacement of a large a number or native landowners and their conversion into casual labourers”. He added: “It is notorious that the planters will not as a rule accept and work Sinhalese labour – especially the Kandyan villagers – and the inevitable result must be the increase of crime and theft of praedial produce”[26]

Madure korale had features similar to Kägalla district: it attracted the attention of European planters between 1890 and 1910. Its center was the upper valley of the Deduru Oya, from its springs to the well-known locality of Ridigama with its historical temple. It was partly inhabited by Kande minissu (Vahumpura), partly by Goyigama, with a few Batgam interspersed. The kandegam were considered as royal villages in the Kandyan times, the Vahumpura being in possession of highland chenas (often cultivated with älvi) for the service of furnishing jaggery and honey to the capital: all the highlands were still in the 1840s recognized private by the Revenue officers[27].

The whole Madure korale became the hunting ground of various land brokers, mostly Europeans (especially the Farquharsons), in association with local headmen (Palipana), who were acting for the big managing agency Finlay Muir, with the assistance of the legal firm De Sarams.  The process was quite similar to that which had taken place in the Kägalla district during the previous years, and was characterized by the considerable extent of gardens and even paddy fields included in the sales. The sales to Europeans for the years 1894, 1895 and 1896 were as follows: 3,149 acres of chenas sold 28,667 Rs (9.10 Rs an acre); 214 acres of gardens sold 5,157 Rs (24.07 Rs an acre); 84 acres of gardens and chenas and paddy fields sold 1,193 Rs (14.10 Rs an acre). And in addition 141 acres of paddy fields and 15 acres of houses and gardens. The large extent of gardens and paddy fields is to be noted, this was quite unusual in such circumstances[28].

In Madure korale, the largest land buyers were the members of a Scottish family, A.J. and R.J Farquharson, who were followed by other members of the same family, George Fraser and Francis G. Farquharson.  Niyangama, a Batgam Duraya locality, was totally absorbed by an estate: there  the Farquharsons purchased between July 1891 and April 1896 an area of 172 acres, allegedly for 5,010 Rs, which included 11 acres of houses and gardens, 31 acres of gardens, 11 acres of gardens and chenas, and 118 acres of chenas. The local headmen (the korala, Palipana Meduma Banda, and the ex-aracci and the vel-duraya) sold their lands and acted as intermediaries to sell first chenas belonging to Batgam people;  the estate later extended with sales of gardens and houses between August 1892 and July 1893 at a rate up to 100 Rs an acre (in the deeds, but probably much less). Further north, in the localities of Padeniya, Mahawela, Akolagomuwa and Madige Malbe, the Farquharsons purchased from May 1895 to September 1896 some 450 acres for 4,930 Rs, including 23 acres of gardens, 8 of fields, 84 of fields, gardens and chenas, and 334 of chenas. The sellers were Goyigama and Muslims in Malbe, and Palipana served as middleman, purchasing for 110 Rs chenas in 1893 and reselling them to the Farquharsons for 817.75 Rs Another Palipana, P.B. Palipana Ratemahatmaya, acted as intermediary in the sale of Bolagama (Goyigama village), Elawissa and Mayamulla (Duraya villages), which were purchased by him for 620 Rs for 364 acres (6 acres of fields and gardens and 357 acres of chenas sold 1.34 Rs per acre), between May 1894 and May 1896.

Another landgrabber was W.L. Strachan, also active in the Kägalla district. He purchased from the peasants and also from the local monk, between January 1894 and September 1896, 404 acres (including 4 acres of gardens) for 3,337 Rs in the localities of Moratuwa, Dunukewatta, Mitenwala. In Panagamuwa (a Muslim village), Rambodagalla, Ogodapola (Vahumpura), the purchasers were the North and South Sylhet Tea Companies which acquired 1,028 acres paid 11,859 Rs (10 to 15 Rs per acre), including 50 acres of fields and 94 acres of gardens, an enormous amount, between August 1894 and August 1896, from various sellers, including numerous Moormen, large Goyigama landowners (notably Tikiri Banda Delwita, 111 acres) and some Vahumpuras : the Delwita estate was as a result a patchwork : this is very characteristic of these estates made up entirely of village sales.  

Pitiakande estate was purchased from villagers by Edmund Scott and Frank Shelley who paid 3,079 Rs for 400 acres including 4 acres of gardens, between 1894 and 1896, from Goyigama villagers of Kotikapola and later Duraya villagers of Rambatta and Mitenwala, including a vel-duraya and a washerman. Another purchaser, J. Manley Power, had acquired 64 acres at 1,946 Rs, and this included 18 acres of gardens and 2 of paddy fields, near Kotikapola. In Ellagonna and Talahengoda 286 acres were purchased by F.W. Harper and F. Watson Davidson, including 62 acres of fields and 26 acres of gardens. And at Etagahawela, one A. Melville White purchased 216 acres (including 5 acres of paddy fields), through the intermediary of Alfred Gaspar Herat, for 2,595 Rs.

Delwita is one of the best documented cases of large estates built up by land purchases from villagers[29]. In 1904, the Controller of Revenue, Ellis, undertook a settlement of the estate’s claims. The Surveyor General sent his deputy, Ferdinands, to inspect Delwita; he was apparently in the best terms with the superintendent of Delwita, Long Price, and wrote that “the settlement should be an easy one with so many facilities placed at the disposal of the Settlement officer”. But Ellis was not prepared to be lax in the matter, and considered that “this is a typical case of large property formed by purchases from villagers, which should be considered as a test case of the working of the Waste Lands Ordinance”. The estate owned 1,846 acres, entirely purchased from villagers by A.J. Farquarson who resold them to the Finlay Muir business. As usual, De Sarams were managing the legal interests of the firm and they sent to the Assistant settlement officer Fox “a trunk containing the Delwita Estate deeds, there are between 500 and 600 of them, most date from 1894-1898”. The settlement proposed by Ellis recognized 597 acres of paddy fields, old gardens and reasonable percentage of appurtenances to be settled on Certificates of Quiet Possession and asked the estate to pay from 10 Rs to 20Rs per acre for the rest, adding that the Crown would not defend the estate against village claimants as it could not ascertain whether all village claims had been purchased by it. Finlay Muir transmitted the refusal of the settlement by the successors of Farquarson, but accepted to pay 17,507 Rs; however the Certificate of Quiet Possession was not issued until December 1912.

In a report of March 1906, the Kurunegala agent informed the government that the superintendent of Delwita was felling 400 acres of forest “apparently outside the settlement, in the village of Reddagoda”, that Farquarson was doing the same near Malbe, and that the superintendent of Nelahella was felling 100 acres of forest. He asked for a general settlement of the whole valley of Madure korale : “the rush for rubber land is so great that it is evident that planters and speculators are not going to wait any longer and are felling freely in all directions, trusting to luck as to the consequence. The land in Madure korale is about the most promising and valuable rubber land in the province.”

Finally, the Settlement department resurveyed in the 1930s several villages of the valley and found that most villagers were practically landless and lived on rubber tapping on the estates, which was curtailed as a result of the great depression[30]. Buluwalakanda was described as follows in May 1931: “One of the largest villages in the korale, a large part occupied by part of the Shakerley estate on title plans. The village lies on the slopes of a steep hill, land is very rocky. I think that the villagers might find it difficult to pay for their settlements because they depend for ready cash on employment in the estate which is now nearly closed. The villagers own no paddy fields. About half the village was sold 20 years ago to the estate”. A few years later, in Niyangama (Pinnapota hamlet), there was “little chena land in the village, ¾ of the village is paddy land, the highlands consist of old gardens. The area under notice was keenly claimed owing to the scarcity of any available highland. In one case, an extent of 6 perches was settled on 6 persons. Many of the villagers find employment in the neighbouring Keppitigala estate, Population 190 for 230 acres of which 150 acres are paddy, 45 families mostly of the Batgam Duraya caste”.

The position taken by Ellis had an echo in the nearby district of Matale, where two influential European land grabbers, Anderson and Malcolmson, who had asked for Certificates of quiet possession for land purchased from villagers, felt threatened. As Europeans, they believed they could obtain the indulgence of the colonial government. In the case of Anderson, the position of Ellis was uncompromising. The file ‘Anderson claims’[31] begins with a minute by Ellis (26.04.1904) dealing with the claim of James Anderson, the owner of Gansarapola / Bandarapola estates, which Ellis considered to be a test case.  “I advise that Mr. Anderson be informed that the Crown is not prepared at present to issue a Certificate of quiet possession (…) This is merely the precursor of much larger similar claims (…) Mr. Anderson has purchased these lands probably at a nominal figure, land which is really the property of the Crown (…) These purchases involved a double fraud: the Crown is deprived of its land, which properly belongs to it, and the people of the use of the land for chena and grazing purposes. If one villager sells land which was in this way occupied by himself and ten others, the latter have no redress, they cannot claim the land because it belongs to the Crown and no one therefore has a locus standi to eject the purchaser (…) There is some reason to suppose that in the past there has not been sufficient check exercised by government over the alienation by private parties of land of this description (…) The question is simply whether the laxity is to be continued. If it is, it will involve to giving up of probably half the land in the North Western province and three quarters of the land in Ratnapura. I cannot for a moment advise this wholesale abandonment of Crown right especially when it is borne in mind that the benefit will accrue no to the villager, who will in all probability sustain severe loss, but to foreign speculators, who will, not improbably, resell at a fair price when they had bought it at an inadequate one, and who will do this on the strength of a title which government, entirely disapproving of the sale, has given to them (…) Anderson  now asks government to give him a good title for his defective one, and thereby allow him to secure for himself the difference between what he paid for the land and its true value. It seems clear that the difference in justice belongs to the villagers and not to Mr Anderson [author’s emphasis]. I cannot see how the fact that a man has succeeded in inducing the headmen not to report a clearing, or the fact that the Revenue Officer has delayed in holding an inquiry into the matter, can in any way alter the occupant’s title.”

The other speculator, Joseph Malcolmson, was an Anglo-Irish Quaker turned missionary, who attempted to use his status to exert an influence in favour of the planter’s lobby. His exchange of letters with the colonial administration offers a typical example of the colonial discourse at the beginning of the 20th century[32]:  

“The action of Government in the North Western Province with regard to native lands has caused considerable disquiet amongst planters in this district, and will certainly do so amongst capitalists at home. Though I am now a missionary and I am not directly connected with business except so far as being owner of this estate [Clodagh], I have a great many friends and connections at home who are very considerably engaged therein, and I know how they and other possible investors will be influenced by the action taken. Not long ago I was spoken to regarding the possibility of one of the Cadbury family coming to the island and acquiring land for cocoa. The Cadburys have I believe cocoa estates in other countries and are as you probably know one of the largest cocoa firms in the world. I also know the heads of the firm of J.S. Fry and co, Bristol, and Rowntrees of York, both very largely interested in this product, as well as others who are very largely interested in tea; some of them are already owners of estates in the island. I am quite sure these men, who are cautious but at the same time enterprising men of business, could be greatly if not entirely dissuaded from investing in new estates in Ceylon by the fear that the government might step in and claim their purchase, when it is considered that land which costs say 20 Rs., takes 300 to 400Rs. to bring into bearing in tea or cocoa. There is a considerable amount of land in the Matale district suitable for planting cocoa, coconuts and rubber, but it is mostly in native hands and is of little benefit to anyone at present, being under chena cultivation only. I need hardly throw Your Excellency’s attention to the general benefit that arises when such land is opened up and planted. An estate of the size of this (800 acres opened) pays about 7,500 Rs a year in rail freights, in some cases more, say about 10 Rs per cultivated acre. I have paid during some years over 15,000 Rs per annum in wages to the Sinhalese villagers, apart from carpenters, carters and contractors employed, and Tamil coolies’ wages, which are mainly spent in the district. The villages adjoining the estate, when I came first, were exceedingly unhealthy, fever, dysentery, etc. constantly prevailing. Since the land has been opened, they are as healthy as any in the district (…)

No one can blame the Crown for claiming land which has been undoubtedly encroached on, but lands which have been held by villagers for generations without dispute, and have been bought in good faith for estates from them while the Government has been quiescent, ought certainly not to be subject to dispute and disturbance. I may say that my own investment here was on the faith of Sir West Ridgeway statement to the Matale planters eight years ago [1896]. His words are well remembered by me and can no doubt be referred to, “that bona fide investors and planters had nothing to fear from the Waste Lands Ordinance, that it was only directed against land speculators and middlemen; and that Certificates of quiet possession would be given without difficulty”. How difficult these are to obtain is well known and from the nature of the case it must be so. It would take the Assistant Agent some weeks to inquire into all my title deeds for instance of which I have some 300 to 400, though I believe not one piece of my land has ever been claimed by the Crown, except the Crown land I have bought in the usual way at the kacceri sales (…) As you are aware the largest portion of lands bought from villagers are held by them under piya uruma [ancestral heritage] and Government can easily dispute such title (…) I cannot conceive of anyone either purchasing for himself as a bona fide planter or acting in good faith for his employer, speculating as you suggest (…) If he was a man of any substance, he would rarely take such a risk, and I feel sure few Europeans would do so. I do not dispute that such may be done by Moor traders and Low country Sinhalese. I do not think I have ever come across a case of a Kandyan doing so (…) My position as a Sinhalese missionary [sic] brings me into close touch with the Kandyans and I can positively state that ancestral lands are well known to the people”.

Malcolmson pointed the problem resulting from the frequent change of Revenue officers “I communicated with the Assistant Government Agent and told him what boundaries I wished to buy within, and asked him ‘was any land belonging to the Crown?’;  he informed me that he would take no responsibility and that I must find out for myself. Mr E.B. Alexander was the first Assistant Government Agent that I could get information from and he came down here and took great pains to investigate doubtful pieces on more than one occasion (…) I would far rather buy from the Crown than from the villagers, but there is almost no good land in the hands of the Crown in this district. We are compelled to buy from the villagers or not at all.”[33]

Storey, Chairman of the Matale Planter’s Association, exchanged simultaneously letters with the Colonial Secretary in September 1904, who answered that intending purchasers could ascertain from Government if a land was Crown land, that after Kurunegala, Matale would be taken up by the Land Settlement department, and that “until each case has been considered on its merits, Government does not propose to issue Certificates of quiet possession”. Storey insisted that “if carried out to the letter, it will affect thousands of acres of land in the Matale valley, and the owners thereof could ill afford to pay even 10Rs an acre for such lands (…) In the case of the estates Muwagala and Owitikande (…) held mainly on native titles purchased in good faith by me (…) will you kindly give me a letter assuring me of government’s no intention of contesting our claims to same, similar to the document or letter given to Mr James Anderson on behalf of the owners of Gansarapola estate by Mr Im Thurn”.

Ellis, in a note to the Governor, developed his position: “Government is not prepared to depart from the policy previously communicated (…) It does not feel called upon to supplement the titles which capitalists have considered sufficiently strong to justify investment as the land has probably been bought below its value on account of the weakness of the title.(…) Mr. Storey’s letter is full of humour. He first states as a threat or warning that planters will cease to buy lands on native titles, this being the very object with which the circular issued. He then predicts the practical ruin of the villager”. Storey should send a schedule of his deeds and then trace the title to the original owner: “It is a common practice for low country men and other unprincipled speculators to go round the villages collecting signatures on native deeds which they use to form the basis of a subsequent transfer to the planter”

The enquiry of the Assistant Agent at Matale (25.11.1904) concluded that Malcolmson had paid a fair price for the lands but revealed that there were many cultivated lands included in the estate, just as in the case of Delwita: 348 lots purchased from 441 persons covering 1,075 acres, were paid 45.77 Rs. an acre. The larger lots, 165 acres in all, were purchased in 1897-1898, they were paid 41 Rs. per acre: “all appear to have been old gardens, some with coconut trees over 20 years old, except one claimed as appurtenance to a field; coffee had previously been planted on much of the land and there are on some lots old houses or sites of houses; as regards the other lots generally inquired into, it will be seen that they include fields.” Malcolmson had purchased mainly from Low country men and not from Kandyans: one lot from Abraham Appuhami, the schoolmaster of Kaikawela, his wife and other family members who themselves had house and coconut trees; another from Lokuge Alwis Silva who declared that he bought the land in 1873 from the (Kandyan) aracci Koralegedara Appuhami, another from Samuel Appuhami “It was old paddy field or small garden, purchased from 100 to 200 Rs per acre. These lands have been planted by me with tea and coconut and rubber at different dates from 1897 on”. Other intermediaries, Welgamage Simon and David Appuhami “bought the land to sell to Mr. Malcolmson, including small paddy fields (about 13 acres)”; and one Wickramasekere who claimed upon a fiscal transfer”. On the basis of this enquiry, Ellis was compelled to admit Malcolmson’s claims (minute of 10.02.1905) but added: “it could be noted that for a good deal of the land claimed by Mr. Malcolmson, title deeds have been issued by Crown (but) he apparently has no bought from the persons who received the deeds; this however is not a matter in which the Crown is interested”.  

In his annual report for 1905, Hellings, the new Assistant Government Agent, underlined the social effects of such the land sales[34] : “Sales of whole chenas by some of the shareholders only; many of these transactions occurred years ago; the chenas were recently cleared by the purchasers, and the co-owners who did not join in the sale found themselves compelled to accept such compensation if any as the purchaser chose to offer, or to enter upon a costly action at law against perhaps a wealthy company. This involved hardships on poor people. I did what I could to promote fair settlements”

 

The Settlement department facing land speculation by Ceylonese entrepreneurs : the first Kurunegala meeting (June 1904)

There was a geographical and historical continuum between traditional coconut cultivation in small holdings in the coastal areas (Chilaw / Negombo) and its extension in the interior (Kurunegala). But investment in large scale coconut cultivation was not a peasant activity: it became between 1880 and 1930 the main field of investment for the emerging bourgeoise hailing from the coastal areas, from Chilaw to Panadura via Negombo, Colombo and Moratuwa. Quite often belonging to the Karawa caste, these investors had accumulated a capital through arrack distillery or tavern renting, trade and the professions, and could hardly access the European banks. Rich Muslim traders were also in the field. Following their example, smaller investors, such as clerks and government employees, opened medium scale coconut estates with borrowed money. The Nattukottai Chettiar merchant bankers from South India (Chettinad) established at that time hundreds of small agencies in the district to finance the development of coconut estates. Their implantation in Ceylon dated from the mid-19th century: they acted as money changers for the coffee planters and the Tamil coolies up-country, and after the collapse of coffee by 1880 they partly converted their activity to money lending to Ceylonese on mortgage[35].

Among the pioneer Karawa entrepreneurs stand out the De Soysas, who had already entered the plantation business up-country in the mid 19th century during the coffee area, and continued to do so in rubber and coconut areas of the mid-country after 1900. The Lenawa case[36] offers an early example of the trend: in this remote area of Hiriyala (north of the Kurunegala district), the elder son of C.H. de Soysa, J.W.C. de Soysa, in association with one Mr. Whitehead, had purchased five entire villages (1168 acres) from Thomas Benjamin Lenawa in 1899, including paddy fields and chenas, and started planting on forest and chenas “claimed by the villagers on deeds as the paraveni appurtenances of their fields: no highlands were thus left to villagers who complained (…) They continue to chena and grow tobacco on highlands and dispute the right of De Soysa ». The Settlement officers therefore allowed the villagers some highlands (134 acres on the condition that they reach an agreement with De Soysa) – but they were opposed by the De Soysas who were influent in Colombo (“hopes to obtain better terms from H.E. the Governor”) and wanted them to lower the price they asked for the offer of a Certificate of quiet possession for the Lenawa estate (17,900 Rs for 998 acres)”.  In 1936 when the village was surveyed for mapping out there was absolutely no Crown land left: “Lenawakanda from which the villagers had been in habit of obtaining their fence sticks and creepers had been settled in 1906 on Lenawa estate”

The colonial administration was more alert to the activities of the Ceylonese land speculators in coconut than in the case of European land grabbing in Madure. The governors Henry Arthur Blake (December 1903 to July 1907) and Henry McCallum (August 1907 to January 1913) had to manage the agitation created by the government policy in the Kurunegala district. The starting point of the whole affair was a petition of “landowners and proprietors of estates” of the Kurunegala district led by Jacob de Mel[37], Clovis de Silva and others, dated 10.10.1903 (just before the governor West Ridgeway left), in which the petitioners expressed their dissatisfaction of the land policy of the Government Agent, S.M. Burrows, who attempted to control the sale of village lands as he had done a few years before when he was in charge of the Matale district. They asked – paradoxically, the government to bring the district under the Land settlement department and entrust the work to Fraser. The government answered that it would treat liberally the paraveni owners but strictly scrutinize the claims of “the persons who, by purchasing such lands, have ejected the original proprietors”.

A few months later, the Controller of Revenue, Ellis, went to Kurunegala to find out by himself the situation[38]. Ellis position was to defend Crown rights uncompromisingly, his approach was that of a legist and an accountant: “As far as I could discover, the land business in the North Western Province is in a more unsatisfactory state than in any other part of the island (…) Everyone seems to have taken possession of any land that he thought suitable for his purposes (…) The usual mode of procedure has been as follows: any person, native or European, who wished to become possessed of an estate and had a small capital, selected a certain block of land and obtained a transfer for it from anyone who was willing to sign the deed (…) The land was then cleared. If the matter was reported, the occupant forwarded his transfers and, in some cases, the Ratemahatmaya reported that the land was chena; this was considered sufficient to justify the tacit abandonment of all claims on behalf of the Crown. In many cases the cultivation was not reported, but the claimant himself when he had cleared and planted the land got it surveyed by a private surveyor and applied for a Certificate of quiet possession which in many instances was granted to him (…) In this way many estates varying in extent from 3,000 to 2,000 acres have been acquired without the payment of one rupee to government, by the simple process of giving a trifling sum to some villager who may or may not have had a small interest in the land.” In the area between Wariyapola and the Kurunegala-Negombo road – the heart of what was to become the ‘coconut triangle’: “the whole country seemed to have been planted within the last few years, say since 1896. On enquiring who were the planters, I found that with few exceptions they were non-residents who had taken possession of the land in the manner indicated above. Mr J.G. de Silva has already taken a Certificate of quiet possession for over 300 acres and now applies for 340 acres more”. Quoting the case of a Kurunegala shopkeeper, and of Mr Modder, a resident of Kurunegala, (“who had bought land on a writ issued against some Tamil man”) “it has I believe been the practice in Kurunegala tacitly to waive Crown rights with reference to chenas and to allow the villagers the temporary use either of chenas where the paddy crop was insufficient for their maintenance, or as appurtenance of their fields (…) this cannot however be constructed into the abandonment of Crown rights when the villagers have shown that the possession of these lands is in no way necessary to them”

Ellis concluded: “I advise that an offer be made to the occupants of a grant at 10 Rs an acre for all the lands planted prior to 1899 (…) For the lands cultivated or purchased since 1900, I would advise that 15 Rs be demanded for cultivated and 20 Rs for uncultivated land (…) For the future I advise that the Ratemahatmayas be informed that they will be held strictly responsible for failure to report at once any clearing (…) I believe from what I have seen that chena cultivation is much less extensive than it used to be, and if the land which I inspected were really old chenas, the representations made by scientists and others as to the injury done to the soil by this species of cultivation must be considerably exaggerated (…) The villager at all events can have no cause of complaint at the resumption by the Crown of land which he himself has already alienated.” Ellis failed to understand that only some of the villagers had sold, while all had use of the highlands; another factual element is that in the Kurunegala district there was a gradual transition between the intermediate zone, where chenas were a supplement to paddy and garden and the dry zone, where they were the main source of food especially when paddy crops failed: it was therefore difficult to impose a uniform rule.

In the case of the coconut lands of Kurunegala, the Governor decided to publicize the decision to settle lands at a price on the basis of Ellis advice: 3,000 copies were printed in Sinhala and a few in English together with oral instructions to headmen (“held strictly responsible for failure to report at once any clearing ”) but also with the recommendation to be lenient and use the ordinance of 1897 and not that of 1840. The publication of the notice created a commotion, but interestingly enough it is group of estate proprietors distinct from the petitioners of 1903 who reacted. Most but not all of them were anglicized Kandyans, their leaders were T.B.L. Moonemalle and G.E. Madawela, together with C.F. Markus, a Burgher lawyer.  They held a public meeting at the Kurunegala town hall (4.06.1904), and sent a resolution to the private secretary of the Governor, in which they made out that the unsigned notice distributed by the kacceri “will involve a large majority of villagers in absolute ruin (…) One question only for a series of years has disturbed our equanimity, namely the tenure of land in this district. It seems to have been a mistake from the beginning”. The ordinance of 1840 had never really been enforced in Kurunegala and the courts “recognized the distinction between Crown lands and private chenas” and often issued Certificates of quiet possession for the latter; this proclamation “has been flown among us like a bombshell (…) That you have opened up lands and planted them at great cost, increasing thereby the wealth and importance of the district, and that you have largely employed native labour, and put into circulation among them money, whereby their condition has been materially improved, will not be considered”. Commenting on the report of the Government Agent Burrows (15.06.1904) on this meeting, Ellis asserted that “there is no intention of government to interfere just at present with the system of chena cultivation”, but to prevent the alienation of highlands to outsiders. Another meeting was held on 30.07.1904 by the Kurunegala Planter’s Association which condemned the action of government ‘as unconstitutional’ in stronger terms[39].

Blake, under the influence of European planters whose interests in the Kurunegala and Matale districts were similar to those of the Ceylonese petitioners, finally gave an oral promise that the administration would recognize the principle of appurtenance of chena lands to paddy fields on a ‘3 to 1’ basis in the North Western province, and this offer was the starting point of a long opposition between the Land settlement department and the central government.

 

The controversial history of the “appurtenances to paddy fields” and the “3 to 1 settlements”

The introduction of the principle of appurtenance was the result of the pressure put on the Settlement department by the Kurunegala petitioners. The history of the case is given in a letter sent by the Settlement Officer to the Colonial secretary (12.10.1929), where he regrets that the issue has not been raised before the Land commission[40]. “The origin is a speech made by Sir H. Blake at Kurunegala on 6.02.1906. There is I believe no official record of this speech, but according to newspapers reports of this time, a deputation consisting of Mr T.B.L. Moonemalle, G.E. Madawela and T.B. Delwita waited upon H.E.” stated that “it had always been recognized fact that the owners of paddy land had from time immemorial possessed highlands as appurtenances to their paddy fields” and went on to urge that the people “be allowed to retain their highlands without payment of the high rates demanded and that a Certificate of quiet possession in respect of such lands be issued to them on payment of survey fees to Govt”. Blake answered that “all officers have been instructed to concede highlands in the proportion of 3 to 1 of paddy land”. “No such instruction had, as a matter of fact, been issued to this Department, and the method of settlement adumbrated in this speech was at that time wholly unknown and a complete innovation and I believe that the Settlement Officer of this period, sir John Fraser, had no previous intimation of a proposed change of policy. Therefore, until the present day, the 3 to 1 system has been in operation in those parts of the Kurunegala district (and not elsewhere: this is underlined by the papers of the 3rd interim report of the Land Commission quoting the letter of the Colonial Secretary to the Government Agent Central Province, 20.04.1912, excluding the Matale district from the benefit of the promise) where chenas are claimed. In the case the villagers prefer a 3 to 1 settlement, there is no survey and no individual settlement but a global area of chenas is allowed free to the villagers as a group. The application of the 3 to 1 system is the source of difficulties, because they have been clearly exploited by purchasers of land to develop coconut cultivation and that it gave rise to endless disputes. Among these purchasers of village title figure chief headmen such as C.E. Tennakoon (Devamedi Hatpattu), who acted as middleman for Mr. Dias Bandaranaike and Proctor Paul”[41].

The historical argument of the Kurunegala petitioners is corroborated by a few texts of the 19th century unknown to them. In discussions regarding the Waste lands ordinance of 1840[42] in which the Kurunegala agent said that “scarcely any land in this district is held upon sannas or grant, and more particularly of the original possessors. Many lands are held by deeds of purchase from the ancestors of those who have no documents whatever for the remaining portions of their lands. The decisions in these cases will therefore affect a very large proportion of the property in this district as it is only in the upper part that paddy has ever been cultivated on high ground which have been taxed (…) Each field has always been considered to have a certain portion of high ground attached to it”. In a further letter, Morris raised the issue of the kandegam – the villages inhabited by jaggery caste villagers, who had no documents to prove their ownership of highlands, but should be recognized by virtue of tradition.  In 1884 it was still accepted by the administration: “The jaggery caste people owned no paddy land and only occupied gardens as tenants of a Vellala landlord. Yet I have seen claims admitted to chenas claimed as appurtenant to the arambas of the jaggery caste people”.  In other districts, the principle of appurtenances was also accepted: in Madulla village, Nuwara Eliya, in 1869, the administrator, Braybrooke considered “that highland should be allowed in the village in the proportion of 2 to 1 or higher according to the local custom and the nature of the soil”; and in 1927 the Settlement officer finds that “there are evidences of settlements on these lines”. According to Hulugalle, Ratemahatmaya of Dewamedi Hatpattu the rule 3 to 1 was the result of an undated conference between Braybrooke, Government Agent Central Province and Kandyan chiefs, but in Kurunegala there was no fixed proportion. [43]

The appurtenance principle was always unpopular with the settlement officers. Fraser wrote in 1903[44] : “there being no such things as appurtenances to fields, the best basis in determining the land to be given is in ascertaining the area required to produce a sufficient supply of food for the claimants and their families”.  One year after the Blake promise, at the request of Fraser, Brodhurst, the Controller of Revenue, wrote to the Colonial Secretary to suggest that 3 to 1 settlements be no longer offered and that settlements should be done by the Revenue officers only in cases of great urgency and on the principles of the Settlement department: “The villagers are not so much interested in the question of appurtenances for ranges of paddy fields as in securing a clear title from the Crown for each individual holding (…) The general recognition of appurtenances, especially where they have been alienated, is likely to give rise to untenable claims and consequent dissatisfaction as there are cases in which rights to appurtenances did not exist”[45]. The government answered by the negative.

In practice, the Settlement officers advised the claimants to prefer either individual settlements which gave definite title to land, or chena reserves, but they often met with the opposition of the headmen and the reluctance of the peasants. Brayne, when he was Assistant settlement officer, vividly described the process:[46] “I was present at an interview between the Settlement officer and C.E. Tennakoon, the Ratemahatmaya of Devamedi Hatpattu, at which the Settlement officer carefully explained to him the two methods of settlement now definitely approved by Government in this district, viz. the grant of appurtenances – a concession in land; or instead an all-round concession in price. The Ratemahatmaya finally expressed his opinion that the terms were ‘more than liberal’. An old ex-aracci of Dehikumbura was the called in. He had no land of his own but seemed to consider he held a brief from his fellow villagers, and had petitioned government that they should be granted appurtenances. The Settlement officer carefully explained matters to him, showing him how in this part of the district where a great deal of land was planted the all-round concession in price was very much more to the advantage of the people than the grant of appurtenances. The ex-aracci pretended to think that the people might get appurtenances and an all-round concession in price as well. The SO made quite clear to him they he could net eat his plantain twice, and he said that his people would choose concession in price”. The story is recounted by Fraser in a private and confidential correspondence in which he mentions that Tennekoon had purchased from the villagers and sold to one Miss Wodehouse, and that the demand for a 3 to 1 settlement by the ex-aracci was “instigated by someone behind the scenes”. He suggests that “the concession of highlands to owners of paddy fields is made in the interests of paddy cultivation (…) if such lands are diverted from the purpose for which they were granted, the land is to revert to the Crown, for example if they are planted with coconuts they will cease to be appurtenances; and that when the demand is made by a majority of field owners for a settlement on the 3 to 1 basis, the whole village will be dealt with on that system and no application will be entertained to a reversion to the other system”[47] .

According to other settlement officers, “The more I see of the results of the 3 to 1 provision, the more I realize how unfortunate that promise was. In the first place, a large acreage is admitted private and the villagers have a heritage of disputes concerning the division, or else, as this is done in most cases, they sell the lands to some speculator who plants coconut. The villager has a temporary benefit as he receives a certain amount of money, but in 2 or 3 years he is worse off than he was.  Then, no chena at all. Consequently the 3 to 1 settlement is not in the interest of the villager. A chena reserve is Crown land and the villager enjoys the right of re-cultivation”. “From a government point of view, a 3 to 1 settlement is a sheer waste of time and money, for the villagers, it is the beginning of litigation and trouble”. Stace showed the class implications of the choice to the villagers and asserted the position of the colonial administration: “I explained in detail the options, between 3 to 1 settlement and individual settlements, the disadvantages of the former and the advantages of the latter. After I had finished two of the chief men of the village at once rose and demanded a 3 to 1 settlement. The others were silent. Then I pointed out to the crowd that it was in the interest of the two powerful men of the village to ask for 3 to 1 settlement since they could seize whatever chena land they liked and the other villagers would be pushed out. I said that this matter was not going to be decided by the wishes of the first two speakers but by a majority of claimants and I asked the rest what they had to say. With one accord they called for individual settlements and so it was decided”.[48]

In 1926, Madawela raised before the Legislative Council the question whether the Settlement Officer always offered the villager the 3 to 1 option.  Hodson, the Government Agent at Kurunegana, answered in an official letter to the Colonial secretary explaining the options offered: either 3 to 1 free, or 3 or more to 1 as chena reserve, or land sold in individual shares at 20 Rs maximum per acre. The last option according to him was preferred in the wet zone, and the second in the driest zone; the only case where the appurtenance system was regularly adopted was in the case of the pillewas close to the paddy fields. In his diary he reiterated his  position in favour of individual settlements and against the projects of communal lands: “ In a few cases, the villagers have sold to capitalists chena lands which were admitted private by the S.O. but as a rule they did not part with any lands to which the SO gave them individual title (…) A villager complained that 1 ½ acre of his land had been sold to a capitalist by another man, and the capitalist had forcibly fenced it: another Victor Corea case, but I hope to get the capitalist to disgorge without recourse to court”. The same Hodson, in his Administration report for 1928, wrote that “the villager is ready enough to part with his sometimes shadowy and always vaguely defined claims to unsettled land, but he is extremely loath to part with land settled on him to which he has good title. I have therefore found little need for using the ‘peasant-proprietor’ system in disposing of Crown land to villagers, except in a few cases where the village lands are hemmed in by estates which are anxious to expand”[49].

After the reforms of 1930, the social implications of the 3 to 1 offer were still apparent[50].  “All the claimants except an e-aracci preferred a settlement according to claims. The ex-aracci had recently planted up more than his share and would no doubt have continued to plant a further acreage, had a 3 to 1 settlement been made. It is interesting to note that the villagers are gradually opening up most of the chena land in permanent products and the only sales to outsiders amount to about 2 acres. In the surrounding villages most of the lands except old gardens and fields, and sometimes even old gardens and fields, have passed into the hands of outsiders within recent years”. In that case outsiders were taken away by the enterprise of ‘koulaks’.  But the domination of a few enterprising individual could lead to violence: “Villagers stated they had violent quarrels over land disputes and a 3 to 1 settlement would they said reduce their population quickly by the number of fatal affrays over land questions”. In April 1934, Rasaretnam noticed “the inclination of the average villager to ask for a 3 to 1 settlement. The reasons appear to be: 1. Poverty, 2. Desire to get land free 3. A mistaken idea that the Crown is benefitting pecuniarily from individual settlements 4. The desire of the rich landlord or bully to squat on more land than his lawful share 5. The desire of the unscrupulous villager to sell land for which he has no claim 6. The anxiety of the village capitalist to lay claim to village chena for which he has paid and to which he vendor has not a justifiable claim”. In his opinion,  3 to 1 settlements should be restricted to cases of real poverty. In 1936, the Ellepola wrote: “I am of opinion that the preference of 3 to 1 settlement is at the instigation of the more influential people of the village (Illukpitiya). On such a settlement they will continue to possess the land themselves to the detriment of the interests of the weaker and more ignorant among them. This appears to be how the land is possessed in the village at present (…) The complaint of inability to pay individual settlements seems a myth” He succeeded in convincing the villagers after 2 months that individual settlements were in their interest.

 

Charting settlement work: the second Ellis memorandum and the Fraser report (1906-1907)

After the Kurunegala meeting, the department continued to systematically organize its work in the coconut areas of the district and confront numerous speculative claims. In December 1904, the Settlement officer Fraser wrote in his diary[51]: “The usual North Western Province speculative type: 1,059 acres in 9 villages on either side of the Deduru Oya near the confluence with the Maguru Oya. Mr. Dandasekera bought these lands from the villagers and resold 1/3rd of it to Mr. Scott (…) who sold ½ of it to Mr. Van der Poorten”. In immediate proximity, the department had spotted another speculation[52]: “Gonagama coconut estate is claimed by H.H.J. Pieris on the basis of 30 acts (1895-96), 6 villages, more than 1,000 acres, one third or one quarter cultivated in coconut. Includes an old gangoda (village cluster). The land purchased includes old gardens and paddy fields, chenas and forest, but consists mainly of the latter two”.

By the end of 1906, Ellis, who was to relinquish his office, sent privately and directly to the Colonial Office a second long and detailed memorandum[53] including guidelines for his successor, in which he explained the settlement process, expressed auto-satisfaction on the success of the settlement operations (contrary to the persisting critique of the Kurunegala memorialists) and developed his views on the origin and nature of land ownership and the legal value of titles.  “Fiscal transfers, because they are executed by Government officers, are sometimes regarded almost in the light of Crown grants. Such view is totally erroneous. Prescription is established only by uninterrupted possession for 30 years, that is when a chena has been transformed into garden or field. The claims on the basis of ‘appurtenances’ are accepted by an act of grace, as a right to use and not as a right to possess: the ‘3 to 1’ rule (allowing 3 acres of highlands for 1 acre of mudlands) is just indicative and can be increased: in point of fact, the smaller the amount of paddy with the Kandyan family, the larger may be the extent of appurtenance which it may require for its maintenance (…) The extent of land which the villager has already alienated or converted into garden must be taken into consideration (…) and it is usual to make allowance to the requirements of the poorest by assigning to them limited extents”.

Ellis explained the working of the settlement: verification of titles, genealogies, determination of limits in the field, and then “fair offer by the settlement officer”, and noted that when the settlement was made by a revenue officer, reports by headmen instead of personal enquiries, were usually accepted as conclusive, which was absolutely unsatisfactory. The question of who effects the settlement depended on the nature of the claims. The head of the department took up cases “in which capitalists, whether European or native, have purchased lands alleged to be chenas from villagers”; Ellis quoted the Delwita case, in which the sellers admitted they did not know what they had sold; “in many cases, especially in Ratnapura, the villager has been careful to sell nothing to which he could set up any reasonable claim (…) in addition to this, the deeds obtained from the villagers are in the majority of cases defective and self-contradictory”; in such settlements work was made heavy : a mass of acts had to be analysed, private surveys usually inaccurate to be checked, erroneous decisions by former Revenue Officers to be accepted (“it would be unequitable to hold purchasers responsible for the carelessness or inefficiency of government servants”). The proposed settlement was finally submitted to the Colonial Secretary and to the claimant and if he accepted it, he was given a deed precising that the government does nor guarantee his rights against those of other native claimants: the settlement did not determine the right of one individual versus another, but only the rights of a family group (actually a panguwa) versus the rights of the Crown.

According to Ellis, who criticized earlier settlements by Revenue officers, cases dealt with by Settlement officers were usually well received: “The outcry raised on various occasions by interested parties, that Government was taking possession of the ancestral lands of the people, never proceeded from the villagers or from paraveni owners. It has emanated entirely from speculators who had purchased, frequently for a nominal figure, lands belonging to the natives, often the only lands they have, but had also obtained transfers of large extents of Crown lands to which people had never asserted any claims. Such settlements take time and require field inspections instead of headmen reports; there is no short and at the same time reliable mode of settlement”. Settlements by Revenue officers had hitherto proved almost total failures: the kacceries were full of unfinished enquiry files and the carelessness of the administration had encouraged the swelling of spurious claims and petty encroachments which grew from year to year with the complicity of ‘village proctors’. To get rid of these land problems, the Revenue officers distributed Certificates of quiet possession: “the insertion of the magic letters CQP in the plan or the record was the most effectual way of evading a land enquiry (…) Some Revenue officers are I fear unwilling to undergo the fatigue, exposure and hardship necessarily involved in a personal lot to lot inspection in remote villages and lack sufficient authority on headmen to impose the respect of the settlement by the villagers”.   

In 1906, H.R. Freeman, the Revenue officer at Kurunegala[54] recognized that “the law as what constitutes Crown waste land has not been enforced in the past: Certificates of quiet possession were given right and left on the recommendation of Agents and with the sanction of Government. Lands for which Certificates of quiet possession were given should have been settled on purchasers from villagers on payment of a fair settlement price to Government, and it required the intervention of Mr. Ellis in 1904 to indicate to everybody that land affairs were not what they should be”. He insisted on a speedy settlement of large claims[55]: “For years it had been said : the Settlement officer is going to the district, though, when he does come, it is not the burning claims, with few exceptions, which he undertakes, but block plans, where there is no particular hurry. He works I know on a proper method, whereas what is in the most insistent interest of government here is: Johannes de Mel’s claims in Gadolwakka[56]; another similar claim of the De Mels[57]; the new Delwita estate clearings; Mr. Holloway’s claim; Capt. Farquharson; Mr. Vanserslots. There is between 30,000 and 40,000 Rs of revenue in this list and possibly more”.

The same year Fox, the Assistant settlement officer, pleaded for wider powers to sell or lease Crown lands in villages already settled: according to him there was a great desire to purchase lands but the process when dealt with by the kacceri administration was impeded by the necessary recourse to headmen. In his opinion the settlement was useless if it was not followed by a continuous monitoring of village development through judicious land sales; the popularity of settlement depended on the possibility it offered the villager to obtain land when required. Such a plan would go “a long way to obliterate the recollection of the former antagonism that existed between the Crown and the subject” “The facility for the acquisition of land thus offered renders land settlement easier for us and more palatable to them. But on the completion of these villages, these facilities will cease to exist and would-be purchasers will no doubt encroach on Crown lands that they want for the cultivation of citronella and for the extension of their gardens” [58]. This proposal was opposed by most Revenue officers, notably those of the Southern and Central provinces, who felt that it would deprive their headmen of their authority, except Brayne (at Mullaitivu) and Booth (at Badulla) who stressed the necessity to have a large staff of settlement officers “ One of the most urgent needs of the colony is a speedy land settlement. The existing uncertainty (…) creates a feeling of irritation between the officers of government and all classes of the community (…) The settlement must be a fair compromise between the Crown and the subject, erring if at all on the side of generosity towards the latter”[59].

Fowler, successor to Ellis, aligned himself on the position of Governor Blake[60]: “I find that in the North western province it is generally believed that the policy of government is to prevent as far as possible the alienation of chena land, not because such alienation is illegal, but because it is desirable to keep the land available for chena cultivation. This is the sense in which the Government Agent, headmen and natives understand clause 11 of the notice of 1904. If this view is correct, I can only express my dissent from such policy, as I consider that there cannot be greater blessing than the conversion of chena into permanent cultivation of any kind. The contention that chena cultivators will become vagrants and pests carries no conviction to my mind when I see the results of the process of conversion in Kegalle, Ratnapura, Kalutara and many parts of the North western province, where chenas have been converted with plantations of coconut, tea or rubber. The people are far better off than before, with profitable employment at their doors and an improved and assured market for their field and garden produce. The people who become vagrants for the want of chenas are of the class already worthless, depending solely on desultory cultivation, and the absence of chenas is more likely than anything else to compel them to take to honest work and a settled life”.

The relations between the Settlement officer and the Revenue administration became again tense. In January 1907 Fraser sent to the governor a memorandum on the future of the Land Settlement Department which included paragraphs (14 to 26) omitted from the printed Administration Report for 1906, at the express request of governor Blake[61]. In these censored sections, he developed a strong critique of the colonial land policy: “The English government having upset or allowed to fall into disuse the land policies existing in his Eastern possessions at the time of annexation cannot escape the responsibility of substituting for these the most perfect form of land policy which our western civilization can devise. The present chaotic state of land matters in Ceylon is most unsatisfactory both to the government and to the governed”. “The question must be dealt with as a whole, the chief points being the making of the block survey, the settlement of whole claims between the Crown and private individuals, the preparation of plans showing such settlements, the gradual conversion of the block survey into a cadastral survey in connection with the registration of private title to land, the keeping up to date of the cadastral survey and the registers of titles, the question of a land tax”. Fraser finally respectfully demanded “a complete scheme for dealing with the lands of the colony” and insisted that his proposals outlined what could be the basis for “a homogenous and continuous land policy for the whole island” to prevent “the recurrence of the same deplorable state of things as has just been remedied” by the work of settlement.

The omitted paragraphs affirmed that the retransfer of settled villages to Revenue officers “would be a retrograde step”, that only a Land department, “a natural outcome of land settlement”, could manage settled villages in order to keep the settlement plan up to date, secure the protection of Crown lands, reserve certain lands and “offer business-like facilities for the purchase or lease of such areas not required as reserves” and organize land registration for the areas recognized as private. The cost of such undertaking would be upset by the reduction of land-related crimes and the creation of a land tax. This program was actually realized thirty years later under the ‘mapping out’ system developed by C.V. Brayne.

In his diaries of 1907, and his correspondence of 1908, Fraser looked back at his action, and tried to defend his views against the critiques which were expressed by the governor himself. In his diary of March 1907, entitled ‘the dawn of a new era’, he wrote: “It must of course take time to reintroduce the idea of purchasing land from the Crown after so many years during which everyone and anyone has simply helped himself to any land he fancied, and no one objected, least of all the headmen who were all in the swim”. In July 1907, according to Fraser, the peasants were rushing to purchase lands from the Settlement department: “If Government desires the ‘pacification’ of the North Western Province, the moment has now come for it. So take action. Large areas adjoining those now dealt with have been surveyed and these can now be settled and revenue of many million rupees gathered in if Government will give the necessary staff and equipment”. In August 1907, just after Governor Blake left his post, he expressed his hope that the new governor, Mac Callum, and his Colonial Secretary Hugh Clifford, would be more open than Blake: “I have endeavoured to demonstrate that it is possible to settle disputes as to the ownership of land on a large scale practically without recourse to litigation (…) As the time went on, I arrived at the conclusion that it was feasible to settle not only all waste lands, but all lands whatsoever in a village, and after much opposition on the part of the Revenue officers, my scheme prevailed and the Land settlement department was constituted. It was obvious to me at an early stage that encroachments on Crown lands had in the past been done as much to want of proper facilities for acquiring land in a legitimate way as to any desire to rob the community of its prosperity, and I succeeded in obtaining authority to receive applications to purchase land and to hold the sales. These facilities which I offer bring the people into personal touch with me, convince them in the long run that my intentions are honest, and result in the effacement of all bad feeling due to the long-maintained struggle in the past for the assertion of their claims. (…) It is true that my operations have hitherto been on a comparatively small scale and that their effect on the progress of the colony can therefore not be assumed to have been great [its extension is a matter of men and money] My appeals to government for assistance in carrying out this scheme have been numerous, the appreciation of the work by government considerable, the answers to my appeals entirely inadequate (…) One of the chief duties of the British in this island at the present moment is the establishment of a sound and consistent policy in connection with land, and I am confident that this will soon be a fait accompli”.

 

 

The second Kurunegala mass meeting (October 1907) and renewed agitation in the North Western province[62]

Kurunegala remained the focus of organized agitation against the land settlement policy. Opposition to the Settlement department in the North western province was led by the lawyers of the Chilaw Association and more generally by the interests of the landed bourgeoisie who was investing in the ‘coconut triangle’. They were vocal enough to have the sympathy of a section of the Colonial office, as in the case of their critique of the Land Registration ordinance of 1907[63]. Their argument was that land registration should be effected by persons independent of the government and with a legal background; enquiries should be made where there are lawyers and not on the spot : “a peripatetic court is altogether unsuited to the conditions of the people , it would always be less expensive and more convenient  to the people to have their claims taken up at places where they have been accustomed to go for legal redress and where the services of lawyers are easily procurable, that is in the towns where the ordinary courts of law are, than at places at which legal assistance will not be available although such places maybe nearer their own homes”

Another mass meeting (40,000 participants according to the organizers, 6,000 “peasants collected and brought in by their headmen” according to the Government Agent) was convened at Kurunegala in October 1907 by the same Ceylonese leaders as in 1904. At that date T.B.L. Moonemalle had been chosen as the first Kandyan member of the Legislative Council and his position was much stronger than previously; he had the support of Buddhist monks, headmen (Hulugalle Dissawe), and Low country plantation owners. They elaborated a memorandum (dated 29.10.1907) signed by Moonemalle, Madawela, Modder, Markus, Dodanwela, Jayasundera, followed by a question before the Legislative Council ‘on the Kurunegala land question’ (15.11.1907)[64]. Their thesis was grounded on historical arguments: that the kings had never asserted their proprietorship over chenas; that in 1840 the absence of a Kandyan member led to the acceptance of the Crown lands ordinance; that sannas “ were granted to immigrants from India and other places who desired to settle down in this country  and to that end sought the protection and patronage of the king”; that the provisos of the ordinance of 1840 were never strictly enforced in the North western province: “as regards chenas in this district, successive Government Agents who being on the spot foresaw the evil effects, doubtless informed the government as to the situation. As a result the law was not put in force as regards chenas (…) In this feeling of security the people periodically cultivated and sometimes planted (…) and the Crown gave certificates of no claim and purchased from villagers chenas for public purpose such as building of village tribunals …(…) While the Waste lands ordinance on 1897 was before the Council it was the cause of no small agitation among the people from the sense of insecurity it had aroused, and though the ordinance was passed, it was not put into operation in this district to any considerable extent.” The Governors (Ridgeway, then Blake) proclaimed that “the government wishes to make the people sure and safe in the possession of the land”. The memorandum mentioned the special case of the Vahumpura caste: “There is a section of the Kandyan people known as Kande Ätto (hill tribe) who live in the hills and whose chief occupation is the manufacture of jaggery. They have been known to live on and possess these hills, chenaing and planting them from time immemorial.” Finally, the enforcement of the 1904 circular “must undoubtedly have involved much hardship to the ordinary villager as he was totally unable to pay the rate demanded from him”, and its suspension by a circular of 10 September 1907 “aroused a feeling of widespread unrest” : “the government had not laid down a settled policy on the land question”.

The new governor (McCallum) and his Colonial Secretary (Hugh Clifford) were really upset by the situation and in a lengthy despatch they exposed in detail the problem to London in order to cover themselves in the eventuality of a serious political crisis[65]:  “in spite of the firm attitude which I have taken up in the matter, a very determined attempt is still being made by certain interested individuals to keep alive the excitement and to mislead the ignorant peasantry as to the intention of government (…) When I assumed the government of this colony I found that the Land settlement officer was engaged in settling claims in the North western province on equitable terms, irrespective of the above mentioned notification”. McCallum therefore decided to cancel the notification of 1904: “the immediate consequence of this action was a public meeting held at Kurunegala on October 5th , Mr Moonemalle taking the chair on that occasion (…) It may safely be predicated that any action which government may take in this matter, unless it be in the direction of abandoning all claims to Crown lands, will assuredly meet with more or less violent protests”. The attitude of Hulugalla Adigar encouraged the obstruction of surveyors, and the press published ironical letters attacking the colonial authorities, for example by Mr. Corea (who signed ‘Abhayaratna Vijayasekera Seneviratne’): “In this 20th century of grace Hon. members of the executive ask in derision and scorn how is it possible that this rabble horde of nigger, this canaille of natives, could ever had justly acquired the vast tract of land which they now so impudently claim”. Corea in his articles and Moonemalle before the Legislative council developed arguments which were reiterated in the 1930s during the depression: the owners had no money to pay for the settlements and were compelled to borrow from Indian Chetties who exploited them. Petitions received in 1907 had a xenophobic tone: “Ceylonese borrow money the interest of which they cannot pay, and the invariable result is litigation which ends disastrously to themselves, the alien Shylock-like moneylender grabbing their land”.

In 1908, the agitation eventually receded in the Kurunegala district, but other demonstrations against settlement were held in the deep South, (Beliatta, 22 May 1908), instigated by the chief monk of Mulkirigala and one Ratnayaka, which led to obstruction[66]. A result of the agitation was to define the principles governing the selection and action of Settlement officers[67]: “The work is of a somewhat unpopular character, and it is of supreme importance that the settlements arrived at should be accepted without question (…) I consider it would be unwise to select for such work gentlemen who have local ties, sympathies and connections”.  The Governor reiterated the official position in a minute on the Administration report of 1907 that the Settlement officer should not deal with the disputes of ownership between private parties, but only with the relations between Crown and private rights; Fraser answered in March 1908 that “where different  portions of what appears to be prima facie one block of Crown land are claimed by different parties, it is necessary to subdivide the block as originally surveyed in order to deal with the separate claims”.[68]

The success of direct administration by the Settlement department was underlined in a memorandum of 1909 by the Controller of Revenue[69]  : “Theoretically after paying the first one tenth instalment to the Settlement officer the purchaser should pay the balance 9/10th to the kachcheri, but this balance is almost invariably paid to the Settlement officer on his next circuit to the village (…) The purchaser naturally prefers to pay in the village as it saves him the journey to the kachcheri and back, the time occasionally wasted in obtaining a receipt, and other possible irregularities” – allusion to the widespread corruption of kachcheri petty officials.

But discontent in the North western province was simmering during the following years, and the relations between Settlement and Revenue officers remained strained. The clash between J. G. Fraser and W. E. Thorpe is an example of this state of things.[70] In April 1911, Thorpe, the new Government agent of the North-western province, in a letter to the Colonial Secretary, warned of numerous sales of so-called ‘paraveni’ chena lands, even of considerable growth, to outsiders for the plantation of coconut estates, with the assistance of headmen who regarded ‘paraveni chenas’ as lands not at the disposal of the Crown, “trading upon the apathy of the kacceri in years past”. He considered that the settlement system was too slow to take pace with the growth of the plantations. He quoted the case of Digana, a whole village sold through a Colombo middleman, Sundarasekera, to a German planter, Boysen. He proposed that villagers be noticed ‘by tom-tom’ that they have no right to sell to outsiders, that permits for chena must be insisted upon and delivered by chief headmen. The Secretary instructed him to “confine himself to prevent further encroachments and let the Settlement officer deal with land ownership”. Thorpe further requested government to let him deal with the chena question, stating that during numerous meetings the chief headmen “entirely accept the government view of the law and the baselessness of the paraveni chena claim”. He considered that the ordinance of 1840 should not have been superseded with ordinance of 1897, and that settlement should be undertaken by the Revenue officers as before and not by Settlement officers.

Fraser, in a personal letter (31.07.1911) to his superior Frederick Bowes expressed his apprehension: “We have had several interviews on the subject since Thorpe assumed duties as Government agent, but nothing has been in writing. I now wish to put on record that I believe the apprehensions that I have communicated to you verbally are well founded, and that unless great care is exercised by government, in restraining Thorpe’s well meant but almost fanatical zeal, you will shortly have a recrudescence of the whole land question in Ceylon (…) I understand that the people of the Weudawili Hatpattu are contemplating organized action which may result in the whole land question being brought up again, when the reorganized Legislative Council meets for the first time (…) The trouble is that Thorpe is persuaded that the action taken by him is absolutely in the interest of government, that such action is popular, and that no opposition will result. I advise the government to act on the safe side…”  As a result, the Secretariat sent a confidential mail to Thorpe censoring his “apparently unconscious inability to discern the natural feelings of the people”, and warning him of dismissal in case of any indiscreet further action.

In a long letter (22.08.1911) Fraser reviewed the policy concerning the application to ‘paraveni’ chenas of the 1840 land ordinance: “The Government had seemed fit to relax its application to some extent, and to undertake that in the Kurunegala district certain undetermined extents of chena proved to be the appurtenances of fields shall be regarded as private property: a class of chena lands has been created which, though falling within the definition of the chenas by ordinance of 1840, has been as an indulgence exempted from the application of that ordinance (…) A very difficult position was created for the officers of the Crown [and now] interference with such chena rights may give rise to very intricate situations” . The Settlement officers adapted themselves to the situation, and the smooth working of the settlement depended on “what I may call a truce”.  “To my mind matters have been allowed to go so far in the Kurunegala district in the past that it is exceedingly doubtful whether any commensurate result will be obtained from a belated attempt to deal with this class of land (…) I can see no object in exasperating the people with fines and prosecutions”. Fraser added that “the planting up of chena lands with permanent products is in my opinion a very desirable thing”. Fox, the successor to Fraser, was again attacked by Thorpe who wrote that the settlement department “deliberately exposes the administration to suspicion of corruption” and Thorpe was again censored in January 1912: “The Governor views your letters with much displeasure”

Criticism of the settlements and sales done by Revenue Officers remained frequent in the settlement diaries after Fraser left the department. Davies mentioned ‘extraordinary settlements’ by Thorpe, “the result of trying to settle land without personally inspecting it and examining the alleged documentary title”.  Settlement work was made difficult because some villagers objected to the headmen playing a role in the settlement sales: “This department has always found that the direct communication between the Settlement officer and the villager which is always insisted on in this department even in small matters, has entirely prevented this sort of grievance from arising”[71]. In other districts, the rivalry between Revenue and Settlement officers was common. For example, the Revenue officer at Matale, Saxton, considered that the government should not intervene in disputes between villagers and planters and that the time-consuming genealogical enquiries of the Settlement officers were useless, when a simple report by the chief headman could easily settle the matter. Fox, on the contrary, considered that it was unjust and unpolitical to leave the villager without support facing the planter’s raj. Similarly in the Sabaragamuwa province where the Government agent, E.B. Alexander, was notoriously pro-planter, Madampe Estate was asked to pay for his settlement 150 Rs per acre by Fox, for land purchased from villagers, and Alexander intervened to reduce the price at the instance of planters; he was followed by the Controller of Revenue, who disavowed Fox[72]. During the next decade, the Revenue officers were still considered by the Settlement officers as bureaucrats out of touch with the people[73]: “There must be scores of villages the Government agent never finds time personally to visit while under present conditions we have lot of departmental people going about the country whilst the Civil service sits largely in office” The nomination in September 1925 as settlement officer of a member of the revenue service, Frank Bartlett, former Government agent at Galle, was resented by the settlement department and finally Bartlett had to leave his post.

 

The Settlement department at war with Ceylonese land speculators in the 1920s.

In the context of the accelerated development of coconut and rubber estates after the first world war in the areas where settlement was in progress (especially in the Kurunegala and Ratnapura districts), Settlement officers fought against powerful Ceylonese entrepreneurs who purchased large extents of village highlands for conversion into plantations, generally in advance of settlement. These entrepreneurs followed the example set up by the European land speculators in the 1880s, with the difference that the colonial administration was equipped with new legal tools and was harsher against ‘native’ speculators in its paternalistic defense of the ‘native’ peasants, and that Ceylonese entrepreneurs could tap on the nascent nationalist movement to confront the colonial administration. The position of the settlement department was either to protect the rights of the villagers by forbidding the sales or forcing the purchasers to pay them a fair price – but it lacked the authority and the means to implement such a program, and consequently it more often tried to make the purchasers pay the highest price to the Crown in exchange of the legal recognition of their acquisitions.

Among the big coconut plantation investors stands out the powerful De Mel family from Moratuwa, who had made a fortune in plumbago mining in the Kurunegala district in the late 19th century. The H.L. De Mel company started acquiring extensive highlands in the same district for coconut and also in the Ratnapura district for rubber in the late 19th and early 20th century. The same De Mel company also tried to develop tobacco cultivation in the driest part of the Kurunegala district which was settled in the 1920s[74]. At Diyankonwewa (near Maho): “Villagers appear to be poor, their gardens and coconut being in bad condition. Several attempts have been made to grow tobacco but there has been sufficient water. Most of the chenas was high jungle. Was interested to find that the villagers had sold their rights in chena land about 10 years ago to one Peter Perera of Kurunegala and De Mel company. The villagers while admitting that they had sold all the chenas stoutly asserted that they had not received the full consideration which was promised on survey of the land (…) They described the visit of the brokers like martial law in the riots. People were paid 5 Rs for deeds transferring about 3 villages to which they had no paraveni claim, and some of the grantees had no claim at all. This method is of course common, but in this case the purchaser left behind his agreements, or rather receipts, which clearly show that the full purchase amount was not paid”. When Batugedara, a feudal village in Ratnapura, was settled in 1924, the department had to deal with the “extremely speculative claim” of H.L. De Mel “representing himself and eleven brothers and sisters”[75].

During the 1920s., the hostility increased between the Settlement officers and the coconut lobby represented by the Low Country Products Association, an extension of the Chilaw Association. In the settlement diaries there are constant allusions to the activities of the Corea brothers, C.E. and Victor[76]: “Ratmale, one of the villages claimed on the Pihimbiya sannas. Villagers had previously on the advice of Mr. C.E. Corea refused to pay for their gardens and wanted Certificates of quiet possession. They now greed to accept Crown grants in the absence of Mr. Corea, there was no difficulty at the sales. I feel sure the villagers would have accepted settlements long ago but for the intervention of Mr Corea who I believe told them he would get them all their lands without payment”. C.E. Corea was indeed very vocal against the British land policy, as member of the Legislative council: “There was a time when it was the proud boast of this country that every villager within its bounds was a landed proprietor, but thanks to the activities of a callous bureaucracy (…) I think that about 50 p.c. of our peasantry are coolies or vagabonds while their forefathers were independent freeholders”[77].

Land speculation through legal means was widely practiced by the Chilaw lawyers, especially the Corea brothers who were considered by the Settlement officers as their strongest opponents, especially because they adopted a nationalist stance, which was not the case with the De Mels who were strong supporters of the colonial government.[78]: “These speculations [in  Puttalam district] have been greatly encouraged by the success of the claimants in the Potukulama case which went to the Privy council and in which careless handling in Ceylon caused government the loss of about 90,000 Rs over the one claim”. The officer Davies pleaded for the nomination in this district of officers “as strong in character, numbers and ability as possible”, as for example “the total value of the land inspected this week is about half million rupees”. Local Mudaliyars (one Rajapaksa), local Tamils (Canagasabei) and several low country Sinhalese (A de Zylva) were together active in manipulating old deeds to purchase and re-sell large tracts of land[79]. Among the people dabbling in land for rubber before the ordinance of 1927, Francis Kotelawala was especially active in the Weudawili area (close to Madure korale, in a Vahumupura area) and his purchases disturbed the peace in the villages[80] (Puswelikanda, Puswella, Erepolakanda). D.D. Pedris, the most affluent and influential member of the Vahumpura caste, was himself active as a land buyer in the area, although the basis of his wealth was not plantation land.

Baladora korale (north of Hettipola) was already the scene of intensive land speculation in the 1910s: “proctors, plumbago merchants and ratemahatmayas have vied with each other in buying up large tracts of chenas; in some cases whole villages have changed hands and always at the rate of one or two rupees an acre (…) the aracci apparently buys at 2 Rs per acre and sells at 34 Rs perhaps the money will not pass until the land has been settled. The aracci has applied for a Certificate of quiet possession for more than 1,000 acres”[81]. In the 1920s, the scramble for land extended to Yagam Pattu, and finally to the whole district. The Government agents at Kurunegala were facing new methods of land speculators who took advantage of the recognition of ‘paraveni chenas’ by government in 1926[82]: “The settlement is difficult to carry out with any justice to the villager (…) There are usually several claimants, and advantage has been taken of the policy recently adopted in this district by persons whose claim is, to say the least, dubious, to submit applications for chenas. Another aspect which strikes villagers as an injustice is the fact that they have been compelled to submit applications for their chenas, while many estates equally held on village title in practice escape with immunity.”

In 1927, the Government Agent, asking for the proclamation of the totality of the district of Kurunegala under the new Land ordinance, mentioned that the most affected areas were Dewamedi, Hiriyala and Madure. His aim was to prevent speculative purchases before settlement “it had come to my knowledge that 800 acres of land at Kiribamuna, Hiriyala, had been purchased by an outside capitalist for a consideration of approx.. 2.50 Rs an acre and this was one of a number of other cases (…) In Madure which is being block-surveyed, land speculators are doing their best to get a footing. In unsettled parts of Dewamedi, all of which are suitable for coconut cultivation, I have considerable difficulty with capitalists who buy up unsound claim to a small share in a large extent of land and then put their men to take possession of the land. In Hiriyala a number of cases where extremely exiguous claims to chena have been sold to capitalists in Kurunegala and Colombo. Hitherto I have generally succeeded in protecting these lands from depredation, but my powers are limited and the capitalists know it”. The commission after hearing Hodson recommended the proclamation of these areas, in spite of the strong opposition of Madawela who feared that this measure would prevent the ordinary villagers of his coconut district to clear their ‘paraveni chenas’, and of Senanayake, who considered the measure to be unjust for owners who were in the process of opening their lands. The question of ‘paraveni chenas’ was specific to the North Western Province, and was since the beginning of the century the subject of a long-standing controversy between the colonial administration and the local members of the Legislative council, especially G.E. Madawela.[83]

Outside the coconut triangle, the settlement department had to deal with European as well as Ceylonese planters, and in many cases the Planters Associations played the same game as the Ceylonese entrepreneurs in the 1920s. For example, in the Kägalla district, where many rubber estates sprang up on lands purchased from villagers, a deputation visited the Colonial secretary in 1922, using the same arguments as those of C.E.Corea to circumvent the rules established by the Settlement department under the Waste lands ordinance[84] 

In the war between land speculators and the Settlement department, the latter was handicapped by the slow pace of its operations, which allowed the former to keep the initiative in purchasing land in advance of settlement. “The delay in settlement [in the south of the Kurunegala district] encourages the operations of the speculators, and leads to the available land passing into the hands of outside capitalists to the exclusion of the small local man and to the creation of a landless peasantry”. “Much harm continues to be done in unsettled areas by speculative capitalists who buy up shares of land on village title, often from someone who has no shadow of right to the land, and then endeavour to take forcible possession”. “During the previous two years speculators, mostly low-country Sinhalese, had been buying up village claims to unsettled lands on an enormous scale in areas which it was expected would in the near future be taken up for settlement by the settlement officer [in the Ratnapura district]. Whether his vendor’s claim was a genuine one or not was of little interest or concern to the purchaser. His object was to create for himself a ‘claim’ to cover his entry upon the land, which he would then proceed to clear and plant”[85].

This is how a fresh Settlement officer described the situation: “My first experience of the chaotic land grabbing in progress in the North Western Province. Half the chenas had been planted up since the surveyors left the village. There is no doubt that the Land Settlement Department operations are a powerful fertiliser of the soil here. Most of the encroachments were by big landowners. The notary of the place came to pay me a call. I found he was an ex-Badulla practitioner whom I had occasion to report to the attorney general for irregularities. Mr. Rajapakse, one of the late agricultural scholarship holders of the island, accompanied me on a couple of inspections, representing one of the estate owners for whom he is now doing agency work”[86]

In a report of 1926 which was perused by the Land Commission, Tyrell, the Government agent of the North western province, gave several examples of settled villages in Kiniyama korale around Dandagamuwa where land sales which were rife before settlement had ceased after settlement: “For this reason, efforts are always made by speculators to induce villagers to part with their rights before settlement. When the settlement survey is in progress, these harpies appear and carry on their propaganda. They tell the people that all the land will be declared Crown. ‘You will in any case lose your land, you may as well get something for it and transfer your claim to us for hard cash’.  On the same theme, Hodgson, the Government agent of Sabaragamuwa reported in October 1925 on the situation in Kukul korale: “The action of the Land Settlement department tends to accelerate the sale of village lands in undeveloped parts of the province, for example in the Kukul korale, by attracting speculators who hope to open the country in rubber or tea. But in the more developed regions such as Nawadun or Kuruwiti, I do not think that settlement accelerates or retards the sale (… ) The ordinary villager cannot command the capital required for the development of permanent cultivation, except on a small scale, and the idea of combination and cooperation does not enter his head (…) The chief benefit that strikes the villager is that he can sell lands with a Crown title at a considerably enhanced price” [87].

With the second boom in rubber demand after the end of the war, there was a rush for rubber land by Ceylonese investors in the wet zone, especially the Ratnapura district[88]. European speculators had started the process before the war. In the Karandana area there was initially “a large rubber estate set up after 1910 by a Mr. Fletcher through share purchases from villagers done in 1907 for about 600 acres, and resold in 1910 to the Grand Central Rubber company at a price of… 760 Rs per acre! When the area came under settlement 15 years later, the estate, property of the Grand Central Rubber company was of 900 acres. Wattoru I find cover only 690 acres, the rest is at law Crown land” As usual in such cases it was the De Sarams firm which was employed by the company to negotiate with the Settlement officers, and which said they would ask Fletcher to pay what was demanded (24 Rs. an acre…), but “Fletcher has retired to the remote fastness of Scotland in order to be safe from the Land Settlement Department”. Finally, the local representative of Fletcher, another planter, alleged that “in 1910 Mr. Fletcher applied to the Government Agent for a Certificate of quiet possession and was allowed to continue clearing and planting on the understanding that the SO would deal with the application after the block survey. These are the pleasant creations of Mr. Fletcher’s imagination”. But after the first world war, the most enterprising investors in rubber were Ceylonese. A very powerful concern, the Panadura bus company founded by W. Leo Fernando (allied with the De Mels) invested in rubber land in the Kukul korale, together with other ‘rubber kings of Panadura’ such as Abraham Perera. And the example set up by these big entrepreneurs was followed by smaller investors.

The settlement officers were confronted by 1925 with a spate of speculation which they found difficult to resist.  Stace described the process at work in the Ratnapura district: “In nearly all the villages, low country speculators, chiefly from Panadura and Moratuwa, had feverishly bought up just about the time of the survey (1922-23) and were excitedly rushing in and clearing and planting large extents of chena lands, evidently with the idea that if only they got extents planted up  before the settlement enquiries, the Settlement officer could be practically compelled to settle on them what they had planted. Warnings were sent through headmen and had little effect. These gentlemen gave solemn undertakings to stay operations pending settlement but after staying their hands for a few weeks they began once merrily burning down jungle and sticking in rubber plants (…) The Settlement officer cannot allow himself to be coerced in this way, and it may be necessary either to refuse to settle on these people considerable tracts of land actually planted by them, or have them declared Crown and sold by auction, or settle on them at prices which will teach them a lesson”. The same Stace noticed another trick to ‘fortify’ title: “every villager has sold chenas to each other villager (…) the result was that practically every single claimant produced stacks of deeds and then greatly complicated the enquiry”. “The most important of the causes which complicated the settlement and rendered a fair division of the chena land almost impossible was the growing habit, not only of speculators, but of villagers, to clear and plant up their chena claims in rubber just before settlement enquiry. Some plant and clear far more than they are entitled to, some far less or none at all”.

The case of the village of Nugadanda Kahandikele was typical of the difficulties encountered by settlement officers[89]: “Any rights to chena lands have mostly passed out of the hands of the villagers in the following way. They signed a deed to the late korala of the district, locally known as Toranagoda korala. This gentleman however, being a government servant, did not wish to appear in the deed, which was actually drawn in favour of a certain vederala whose miserliness, rapacity and meanness are well known in the district. The korala died almost at once, without paying the consideration on the deed to the villagers, or paying only small sums of 2,3 or 5 Rs each, the balance being promised at a later date. On the death of the korala, the vederala declined to pay anything further to the villagers, but sold his rights for fat sums of money to various low country speculators who have now planted up nearly the whole of the chena lands in rubber.  I do not think there are 50 acres of chena left. At the inquiry all the villagers claimed when it was pointed out that they had sold all their rights, they replied: ‘yes, but we claim because we were paid nothing’ I shall certainly do anything that appears possible to help the villagers in this case”

“I contrived to settle at least small areas on those villagers who had the best claim to consideration. Land settlement in Ratnapura is an odd business. It is so complicated and the claims so confused and muddled that no matter what you do, your decision is certain to be illogical and inconsistent with some other decision in the same inquiry. If the inconsistency is spotted by the claimant there is a howl at once. One becomes expert at reconciling irreconcilable principles, and making the illogical appear logical. The whole business is one of dancing among eggs.”. “The notorious landgrabber and forest thief, Mr. W.D. (Warusahennedige Daniel) Fernando, who was a large claimant in the village, received a block of 200 or 300 acres and is forming himself into a limited liability company and wants to hurry up the sanction of government for his settlement. The agents of the new company (Gordon Fraser and co) appear to have seen the Controller of Revenue, and I received letters from the Settlement officer and Gordon Fraser and a personal visit of Mr. Fernando. Incidentally he informed me that he was appealing to the Colonial Secretary against the decision in Ayagama calling him to withdraw his claim to forest. He hopes if the matter was referred to me that I should view it ‘with sympathy’”

The village of Hindurangala was the theatre of extensive purchases by the well-known ‘bus tycoon’ from Panadura Warusahennedige Leo Fernando; Stace wrote in his diary: “The most difficult settlement I have done. Nothing seemed to fit in. Every inch of chena feverishly planted up by speculators after the survey so that he village bears little resemblance with that shown on the plan (…) The biggest claimant was Mr W.A. Fernando: he told me in his evidence that he had planted up some 300 acres and that he had bought up the whole of a certain panguwa (…) It was shown on inspection that he had planted only 180 acres and that he had purchased only about 1/3rd of the panguwa (…) I decided to make him pay heavily in order to get him in the right frame of mind”. Stace proposed to sell him 100 acres and to retain 80 acres for the Crown, and Fernando “sat in total silence, unable to speak, beads of perspiration on his forehead”, then he proposed an enhanced price for the remaining 80 acres “which was that I had intended all along. He agreed with infinite relief (…) His statement that he had bought the whole panguwa was apparently his bona fide belief”[90]

In the village of Yatipahuwa, Stace met with what he called the machinations of Moratuwa speculators: “One group of lots had previously been sold to Mr. H.P. Dickman de Mel. It was afterwards found on the representation of a certain apothecary Jayaratne that he had obtained the settlement of these lands upon himself by what may be euphemistically called an omission to state the whole truth. I held full enquiry and settled them upon Jayaratne. In another group of lots the same De Mel figured. He and a certain Dr. Mendis had nearly come to blows and their coolies had actually come to bloodshed in their feverish endeavours to plant up in rubber certain chena lands in the village and to get them fully planted prior to settlement. I had both parties up about a year ago and they gave solemn undertakings to cease operations pending settlement. This solemn undertaking they soon broke, each clearing and planting, and each accusing the other of having begun it. They were warned many times. Now one block of this land has I found been declared Crown by the Government agent 20 years ago. I therefore put up this block for sale without of course bringing it under the Waste Lands Ordinance. At today’s sale I made these parties pay at the rate of 150 Rs per acre for this chena land since it had been declared Crown, I had them completely at my hand. It is a pleasure occasionally to be able to make the land speculator dance to the tune one sets”[91].

 

Land settlement, peasant indebtedness and peasant resistance

Critics of land settlement operations argued that they contributed to peasant indebtedness and eventually led to land alienation to outsiders. The argument was already developed by Moonemalle in his speech of 1907, and was regularly invoked by the nationalist leaders during the next twenty years. There was a definite tendency for members of the national elite to lay the blame of landlessness at the door of non-Sinhalese groups, especially the Chettiar moneylenders. In 1925, a Committee of the Legislative council on landless villagers, of which D.S. Senanayake was a member, collected evidence from Madahapola, Ratemahatmaya of Hiriyala hatpattu[92]:

Senanayake: “About 50 years ago the villagers owned much land, but now very much less. The chief offenders have been the coast Moors, Chetties and so on. Do you know that they tried to get undivided shares and harass the villagers and put them into court and so a man loses all his land?

Madahapola: “Yes, that is the chief cause of losing land that must be prevented if we want to make the people prosperous”

Senanayake: “What is the effect of the Waste Lands Ordinance in your district. Has it not helped the outsider to acquire title to the land?”

Madahapola: “When Land settlement is going on, they have to borrow money to pay. Then the outsiders make arrangement with the land owners and afterwards buy these lands. In certain cases they buy the land before the settlement. At the same time the settlement helps the villager to get away from litigation”

Senanayake: “After settlement will the villagers not get rid of the land?”

Madahapola: “Before settlement outsiders buy the land at the rate of 10 to 25 or even 35 Rs an acre. The villager will not sell the land after settlement unless he gets a very good offer”

A couple of years later, the evidence collected by the Land Commission, especially the testimonies of Mediwaka, of Jayatileke and of Leslie de Saram, together with the diaries of the Settlement officers, suggested that the working of the sales and settlement under the Waste Lands Ordinance had encouraged land litigation and land speculation, and the large scale transfer of land from peasant cultivators to absentee coconut landowners in the North Western Province. In his comments on the proposals of the Land commission[93] the Assistant Settlement Officer Bassett considered that 50% of the lands settled on peasants were resold, and that if the resale was forbidden, the villagers would sell their fields and gardens to pay for the settlement; in his diary[94] he wrote: “Now that villagers may not sell lands settled upon them, a certain hardship has arisen (…) If a very poor villager gets the settlement of perhaps 3 or 4 acres at even 10Rs an acre, he cannot pay for it. If he could sell one acre, he could do so (…) the remedy is for villager’s settlements up to about 5 acres to be given free. There is a present marked increase in the sale by villagers of fields and old gardens, partly to meet this difficulty, although to a great extent the increase in this disastrous practice which was rare before the prohibition of unsettled lands, is due to the necessity for ready money which the villagers used to meet by the sale of chenas on doubtful title”.

The diaries of other Settlement officers are full of similar stories: “The general complaint is that the villager cannot afford to pay. It appears that previously he was prepared to pay because as soon as he got a settlement a capitalist was ready to buy up the land or a portion of it settled on him at a much higher price, and thus he raised the money to pay. Now he cannot sell. This is one of the drawbacks of ordinance 8 of 1927 as the villager has to deal with his garden or paddy field to raise the money”[95]. “One result of the overlavish settlement of chenas on ancestral claimants: quite a number of lots sold in Mangulagama were at once transferred, before the ink of the land register was dry, to the proprietor of a large coconut estate, who was there waiting for his prey. These lots would have been of inestimable value for future village expansion. Instead of that they have in effect been alienated at slightly over 10 Rs an acre to an outside capitalist”. “A villager [of Karaulla] who purchased [at settlement sale] was already so heavily in debt that he wanted me at once to enter the name of an outsider. This is a direct infraction of the spirit of ordinance 8 of 1927 to prevent improvident alienation, but very difficult to prevent, unless the debtor can be put on his legs to start afresh, it is doubtful whether he will have the energy, enterprise and the capital required to make his land pay. He certainly cannot do it by drawing merely 50 to 75 cent a day as an estate coolie”[96]. “Two women appeared and asked me to allow them to sell the greater part of the land I had just settled on them. One of them I know head over ears in litigation and debt, the other an old cousin completely under her influence (…) If one consents, they will lose most of their chena lands; if one refuses, their planted and dwelling lands will be sold up for debts and they will be ruined hat way. It is a choice of evils. They have not paid for the lands yet, and are not likely to be able to pay for it. One sometimes wonders whether it is possible to rescue the peasant from his own innumerable weaknesses”[97]

“The sales may be divided into two classes: to outside capitalists / to villagers. The capitalists in most cases paid the full sale value, but the villagers were unable to even pay a first deposit, that is 1/10th price of their lands. In such cases, a few hours’ time was given to them to make the payment, which they did during the course of that day. There were two instances where the villagers on being told the sale value negotiate with outside capitalists who were present, and obtained from them the necessary sum. In these latter cases, it is surmised that the villagers arranged to sell their lands to the capitalists.”[98]. “Sales on applications by landless villagers about 2 or 3 years ago. There is reason to believe that quite a number of these applications have been made at the instigation of third parties who intended subsequently to get hold of these lands. Several of the applicants who appeared before me asked permission for the deed to be drawn up in favour of a third party, who was in no way connected with the applicant. In some cases the third party was some big landowner owning lands adjoining the allotment or some representative of him. Such cases were turned down”.[99]

The link between settlement sales and indebtedness is suggested by the extension of the activities of Chettiar moneylenders in the North Western province. In the diaries of the 1930s, there were very numerous cases of villagers either indebted before settlement to Chettiars, who needed titles to repay their debts, or who mortgaged their land to Chettiars as soon as it was declared private. The obvious correlation between the rapid development of Chettiar agencies in the North Western province and the advance of settlement will be explored in a further study[100].  

It is difficult to assess the depth of peasant discontent and resistance using the settlement diaries as a unique source: when such cases of opposition occurred, the colonial authorities usually explained them by the peasant ignorance of the real working of the settlement, and by the influence of outside agitators, speculators affected by the working of the settlement. On the other side, complaints against settlement were often aired in the Ceylonese press by nationalist writers but not by peasant themselves. What cannot be doubted is that opposition in land matters was the most sensitive issue encountered by the colonial administration. There was a tendency for settlement officers to see land speculators everywhere, and on the part of the villagers, to see administrative demands as potential expropriation and/or greed for taxes. As late as after 1931, when the department was manned by young Ceylonese officers, distrust or diffidence was not far away: “Villagers here seem to regard land settlement as land grabbing. A villager presented a petition, it mentioned that there was a rumour that the Crown intended to take away from the villagers a considerable extent of their land, which they had owned from the time of the Sinhalese kings. It was an unalienable right of the villager to till his paddy field and clear his chena. The Crown had therefore no right to interfere with his land”[101]. Even when villagers accepted to collaborate with the Settlement department, “I was struck by the intimate knowledge the villagers had, especially the elder ones of the village, and by their usefulness in settlement work. They show you round out of sheer willingness to help you, but have a certain fear that some of their lands may be taken away from them”. “I found the villager an extremely courteous man, a characteristic which should not be confused with subservience” [102].

The most common form of resistance was delaying acceptance, refusing to collaborate, pleading poverty and refusing to pay for settlement, as in the case of Welipitiya (Hambantota district): “the failure to pay is due not so much to the want of money as to a conviction that if they do not settle nothing will happen”, wrote the Settlement officer[103]. According to his subordinate, C.V. Brayne, the difficulty to settle in the region of Walasmulla was due in part to poverty, in part to organized resistance: “The people are poor and very obstinate, and repeated visits at short intervals will be necessary to complete settlement (…) They are under the influence of one Don Lewis Appuhamy of Dikwella, a pretty scoundrel who was the only claimant under the old notice and had no real claim”. Another young officer, Wedderburn, displayed a typical colonial attitude in his description of the confrontation: “Crusade against the villagers who refuse to pay and plead poverty. I assisted the crusade by being mistaken for a police superintendent. The chena headman joins the crusade. The villagers show a more reasonable frame of mind and a number of settlements are effected”[104]. The settlement officers were often confronted by these amaru karayo, acting for their fellow villagers as ‘jungle proctors’. But popular forms of defiance or opposition were also expressed through rumours. For example, in 1908 in the Matara district, “there is a curious rumour prevalent among the uneducated classes (sic) that the Japanese are to take over Ceylon in a few years with a view to the improvement of Buddhism, and that is the reason why Government wants to collect as much money as possible through the sale of lands before the transfer takes place”.[105]

 

 

Self-critical views of settlement work in the 1920s.

After the first world war, a new generation of Settlement officers such as Hughes (1924), Stace (1923-1932) and Sandys (1929-1930) produced diaries or memoirs in which they questioned the aims and impact of settlement work and exposed its practical and structural difficulties. In the 1920s, at least in Ceylon, colonial paternalism began to be undermined by a section of the officials who denounced its inefficiency in fighting land speculation, questioned the legitimacy of the colonial interference upon the socio-economic structure, or pleaded for a redistributive policy.

The first pages of the diary of Hughes show how a candid Settlement officer discovered field work in the Ratnapura district: “The long and tedious work of inquiry into genealogy is apparently necessitated by the intention to deal mildly with the villager, and settle land at upset price on claimants who have an equitable, if not legal claim. Some knowledge of the rules of equity as established by settlement officers is common in the villages” “It looks like a jigsaw jungle, first getting applicants into genealogical groups according to the panguwa and then fitting their reduced demand into the available lots. The settlement officer has to be the historian and geographer of the village (…)  but the original necessity for chena cultivation had passed to a great extent with the development of the district and the demand for other forms of labour”. Interference by the Settlement officers with the balance of village society is another problem: “To raise the question of ownership occasionally store up a hornet nest of petitions (…) Once you propose to sell land to a villager, others will remember all sorts of occasions on which their ancestors took a crop off it or helped him to cultivate. The enquiry then becomes one of settlement of family disputes rather than waste lands proceedings” [106].

In the village of Batugedara, Hughes came across an “extremely speculative claim. It is astonishing to find a highly placed Ceylonese family (Sir H.L. de Mel’s family) involved in such a transaction. The unmasking and defeating of such sales appear to be a strong justification for the existence of this department”. Later, on inspection in the North central province: “One feels rather an intruder in these villages where for years the villagers have cultivated their chenas and planted up land with coconuts undisturbed by the claims of the central government; and in many cases to charge them for their land cultivated with recent but permanent cultivation appears as harsh as squeezing a man struggling from poverty. In the case of these jungle surrounded villages, struggling with survival where so many have succumbed, I should like to have discretion to recognize the fait accompli and charge up the villager only with the cost of survey”. In the margin of the diary E.B. Alexander, then acting Controller of Revenue, wrote this patronizing comment: “Mr. Hughes ideas will probably be considerably modified after a year or two of work in this department”. In the wet areas of the south-west Hughes questioned the status of deniyas and owitas (wet/marshy areas where cultivation was possible)[107]: “It is clear  from the attitude of the people that although they often claim them, they really regard them as Crown lands which they occupy temporarily from year to year for their own purposes, usually with impunity, unless the headman, for some particular reason, brings in a prosecution. This is however a very rare occurrence” Hughes decided to admit these private or settle at low rates instead of reserving them as Crown, because “land would probably be sold hereafter at auctions at which outsiders from Ambalangoda would buy out the villagers” and that “it is very unsatisfactory having a large number of small pieces of Crown land scattered about in the village”

  1. T. Stace in his manuscript Notes on Life in Ceylon offers an uncensored vision of the working of the colonial administration, and of land affairs[108]. According to him, the colonial government was “wholly paternal and undemocratic” and the Revenue officers were left without any training, although they had “to deal with the land [which] is to deal with the heart of the people”. The Settlement officers were working close to the people without depending on headmen, especially if they could speak sinhala. Stace admitted that the land settlement system could appear unjust because the government compelled villagers to pay for their lands “but in fact the claimants usually welcomed our enquiries and decisions because a Crown grant put an end to all private disputes”: because of the system of undivided shares (complicated by polyandry up-country), in the absence of individual settlement, “the land would go out of cultivation altogether and revert to jungle because if any individual tried to cultivate his share he would be attacked by others who disputed his right”. Stace put his fingers on the result, a settlement between villagers, which was not the initial intention of the Waste Lands ordinance: with the passing of time the settlement of claims between private parties became de facto the main raison d’être of these operations and the reason why they were accepted. “There was scarcely a villager who did not claim to be a part owner of some of the lands included within the boundaries of his village. There were indeed a few landless villagers but this was a recent condition produced mainly by large estate owners, many of whom were European firms, who largely bought up village claims for a song in order to get the land they needed for tea and rubber plantations. Lipton’s Ceylon tea, known to everyone, has usually this sort of background. But in my day in Ceylon this process of dispossessing the villager of his land, though well advanced, still left perhaps 80% of the land in the hands of the peasant proprietors. And this left plenty of work for the Land settlement department to do”.

In his diaries written on the spot, Stace offers a much less optimistic view of settlement work, pointing the lack of money to pay for the auctioned lands and the resulting indebtedness[109]: “How auction sales hit the villager: practically all the sales in this circuit were small village lots, mostly of planted lands (…) As a rule it was found that the influential village applicant had succeeded in suppressing bids, while the poor man with no influence in the village had to bid high and generally lose his land to an outside applicant. The excessive price of land in the Kalutara district rendered it practically impossible for the poorer villagers to get even an acre of land, so long as auction rules are applied. The fat mudalali from Bentota or Kalutara, replete with combs, watch chains and sandals, come on the scene, his pocket bulging with 100 rupees notes, and snaps up even the one acre for which the villager applied and paid his survey fees, often 5, 8 or 10 years ago”. Almost ten years later, another Settlement officer, Abhayakoon, noted that in a North-western province village, Malabendiyawa, where “villagers had bought large extents of land from the Crown, some of them are still in chena: the villagers in some cases exhausted all their resources in paying for the land, and have no means of improving the land a present”[110]

The finality of settlement operations was also questioned by the young M.K.T. Sandys when he undertook field work for a rather short period (1929-1930) in the Dandagamuwa/Kuliyapitiya area of the Kurunegala district[111].  He was a strong critique of the method of settling land according to the genealogical rights of the claimants: settlement according to claims based on tax receipts and genealogical position tended to enhance inequality and favour the more assertive claimants:  “The drawbacks of accepting the inheritance principle in the matter of what is presumed to be Crown lands are obvious. [Some villagers] inherit too little to support them and have to emigrate or starve. If one could treat the land on a different basis, they could all have a new start. I do not mean that one could prevent the subdivided inheritance principle from operating thereafter. The only way to do that would be to adopt the leasing system”.

Sandys was upset by the arbitrary character of the settlements: “I tremble to think what will be the result if a board is ever appointed to review our settlements. What is wanted is more finality about it, not less. In these congested regions where the chenas are in an inextricable muddle, it is impossible to give reasons why one settles the fraction of an acre more on this party than on that; legal considerations are not the only ones and one feels that if one came to a decision on purely legal grounds it would generally be wrong. For example a man gets into debt and sells the whole of his vague ancestral share, but his widow and children go on living there and from time to time, without taking he slightest notice of the sale, help themselves to the chena. Other villagers living in the neighbourhood do the same. 10 or 20 years later, it is impossible to say that the purchaser who bought 10 acres is now entitled to have anything like 10 acres settled on him”. In August 1929, Sandys considered that the possibility to revise settlements as suggested by the Land Commission would nullify the benefits to the poor villager to escape from endless litigation: “What is wanted is a reasonably speedy and final decision, not a slow and revisable one that is theoretically equitable”. He also noted that confusion regarding land rights was common in the villages of the North western province, as is the case of Akkarawatte, where “the villagers had been leaving fallow for several years a relatively large tract of their own paddy fields under the belief that they were Crown”. In Denawaka Udakada (Ratnapura district), he noticed a similar situation: “It was quite a new experience for me to find a number of small lots settled on villagers some years ago but left uncultivated and still in jungle. A good illustration of the advantages of the lease system over a system of outright sales”[112]

In a perspective of social justice, Sandys envisioned that settlement work could be a tool of redistribution: “One claimant said: ‘the fact is we have not the least idea which chena is which or what the extents are’. The names vary from time to time and some people call them by one name, and some by another[113]. The same kind of remark could be applied to almost every chena tract in Ceylon, yet it is on this shifting, variable, unreliable basis that all so-called village title rests. Why should we lay such exaggerated stress on paraveni claims, thereby ignoring the point of view that Crown land should be given not to those villagers with the biggest claims but to those whose needs are greatest?” “There is a regrettable lack of finality about the whole business. In this part of the country, which is seething with litigation, I am frequently asked by parties in whose favour I have decided in settlement and who have paid for the lots or shares settled on them, to save them from the legal machinations of the defeated opponents. There are unfortunately no satisfactory means of doing so. The Crown is thereby exposed to a charge of breach of faith in that it has raised hopes whereof it is unable to secure the realization” (…) “One family claims 2/3rd of a village and another family 1/3rd (but) it was found that the second claimed 10 acres more than the first” because they had been more enterprising. “Morale: grab as much land as you can before settlement (…) It is practically impossible to discover what each individual possesses; they possess in most cases not as individuals but as groups and what share of each ‘group possession’ (old gardens) the individual owns is an unknown and unascertainable quantity” [114].

The position of Sandys was that it should be better for both the administration and the villagers to abandon the tedious work of genealogical reconstruction and distribute land according to the needs of each villager and not to his pedigree, especially in the North-western province where the landless outsiders are numerous. “but this would be unorthodox”. His critique of settlement work was that it creates private property and inequality “The villagers before settlement wander all over their neighbour’s lands, whether planted or not, because the title is vague and uncertain and few are in a position to forbid them. But after settlement all is changed. Title becomes stronger, and the exact position of the land is known. Barbed wire fences spring up in all directions. The villagers do not have plans before them and often cannot realize in advance that their easiest route to the tank or for their children to go to school is liable to be cut off by settlement”[115].

 

The Settlement department and the Land commission of 1927-28. 

The decision to review the land policy of the colonial government of Ceylon was taken by Hugh Clifford, governor from November 1925 to June 1927, as the result of a combination of often contradictory factors: to answer the criticism of the land by a section of the westernized bourgeoisie adopting the nationalist stance and at the same time investing in the plantation economy; to remedy the lack of coherence and vision in the management of land matters; to protect the peasantry in a context of growing landlessness. A Land commission reporting to the Legislative council sat in 1927 and 1928, collected extensive evidence and proposed substantial reforms. The Land settlement department was in the spotlight, and using the platform offered by the proceedings of the Land Commission and the debates at the Legislative council, nationalist critics renewed their attacks against the department, which answered by accusing its detractors of double standards, and defending the fairness of their decisions. G.E. Madawela, member of the Legislative council and leader of the Kurunegala demonstrations before 1915, accused the Settlement officer of arbitrary behaviour in favour of European planters: “The Settlement officer has prostituted the ordinance to squeeze money out of the villager (…) It is not possible for a man to pay 15 Rs to 20 Rs.  for an acre without getting into debt (…) It was Mr. Fraser who commenced this policy, he gave to European planters and to Messrs Finlay Muir land in Kurunegala at 7.50 and 10 Rs an acre. He also gave to other capitalists at that price”[116]. Madawela, together with other witnesses at the Commission such as Mideniya Adigar, defended his thesis that the ordinance of 1840 did not aim at koralegam (freehold) but only at feudal villages, and that prior to the ordinance of 1897 the government regularly recognized the existence of private ancestral (paraveni) chenas by the issue of Certificates of quiet possession. Repeated pronouncements of the Kägalla administrators, and admission under pressure of the appurtenance principle (3 to 1) by the Revenue officers, in spite of the opposition of the Settlement department, were according to him sufficient proofs of his thesis.  He therefore proposed that a new legislation compel the Settlement department to recognize paraveni chena rights.

Wait, Controller of Revenue, retorted: “In the Kurunegala district in which the mover is most interested, the settlement of the village is really a compendious series of partition cases on a system which most villagers well understand and appreciate, and which they generally prefer to the 3 to 1 alternative”. Wait defended the ‘case on its own merits’ approach of the Settlement department; according to him: “the claimant pays no legal fees whatsoever, and gets the land demarcated and settled on him at a less cost than he would have had to pay for a mere survey of the same extent in a partition case in a civil court. If the motion is accepted, it will lead to a scramble in which the honest villager will go to the wall, ousted by the more unscrupulous trafficker in paper titles”.

In his official report for 1929, Stace considered that the proposed rules would deprive the Settlement officers to decide ‘according to the merit of the case’ and finally benefit the capitalist speculators[117]: “The settlement has usually consisted in a mediation or compromise between the two sides, the village claimant buying from the Crown whole or part of the chena lands claimed at a low rate such as 20 Rs per acre. This purchase constitutes the ‘settlement’ of their claims. The land might often be worth 100 Rs an acre, but the lower rate was the recognition of the equitable right of the claimant. It represents the price paid for the bare legal right and the good title conferred upon him”. According to Stace, the new instructions concerning ‘bona fide ancestral village titles’ to be settled gratis except survey and title fees (about 10 Rs more or less) would not affect the fundamentals, but established the right of every claimant to obtain a settlement for the whole of his claim, and the principle that it is not the price of the land, but the price of the title to land, which is paid by the claimant: hence the Crown is no longer the proprietor of uncultivated highlands as in 1840, but the administrator of these lands for the benefit of the people if the people recognize this role by signing the settlement. But as regards the outside claimants, until then the rate was fixed by the Settlement officer according to the merits of each case (usually from 25 to 100 Rs an acre) but “in future, the capitalist claimant will know beforehand exactly what rate he will have to pay – the same whether the land is valuable or worthless, whether he has paid the villager handsomely or meanly. The rates have been fixed by the Governor in council as follows: Sabaragamuwa and North Western Province, 24 Rs per acre, North Central Province 10 Rs per acre, Central Province 20 Rs per acre, Uva 22 Rs per acre. On the whole, the capitalist claimant will get his land settled on him at considerably cheaper rates than he did before.”

In their unpublished diaries, the settlement officers denounced the collusion between the promoters of the proposed legislation and the land speculators: “Many lawyers have stated that there is considerable prospect of very nourishing fees in the latest Waste Lands Ordinance” [118]. One went so far as to cross out some sentences in a manner which made them readable[119]: “A large amount of clearing by low-country landsharks, a good deal of which forests. The position is bad enough now, but it will be worse if the proposals of the Land commission are put into operation. If these proposals which in matter of private and Crown title must surpass the landshark’s wildest dreams meet with the politicians’ approval, government will find it difficult to adopt proposals less favourable to them which have not been discussed, and the political and landgrabbing classes, if they are not identical, have a great deal in common (…) Some of Mr. Madawela’s ad hoc historical pronouncements seem to have been swallowed without condiments (…) The method of arriving at conclusions first and recording evidence later appears a novel one, but is perhaps dictated by political exigencies. Apparently one side is prepared to stomach the peasant tenure scheme, if the other will refrain from regurgitating the former historical notions”.

Among the land speculators denounced by the department were G.E. Madawela and his father in law C.E. Tennekoon: “Mr Madawela, a staunch upholder of villager’s rights, appeared in office on behalf of Mr Tennekoon, a speculator”. After the passing of the new legislation recognizing paraveni chena rights, Tennekoon claimed entire villages, some of them uninhabited, on no other title than “having by the more or less illegitimate use of his great influence as Ratemahatmaya, forced the villagers to yield 2/3rd of the produce” and the settlement officer was compelled to settle on him large extents owing to the new legislation based on the Land Commission recommendations recognizing as private ‘paraveni chenas’[120]. Madawela’s expertise was sought in the whole island: he was considered as the authority able to oppose the Settlement officers. In the case of the village of Paranagama where the leading family held a sannasa apparently never produced and had sold most of their lands for rubber, the headman “had consulted the Hon. Mr. Madawala about the sannas some 2 or 3 years ago and the fee he demanded was too high for them to pay”[121]. Other nationalist leaders followed suit in the 1930s.: for example, in Hitgoda Wapola village (Kandy district) in 1933, “M. George de Silva appeared and wished the sales postponed with a view to his making representations to have lands involved declared private. I declined to allow a postponement. The villagers however sensing the presence of a champion in their cause brought the old cry of ‘no money’, thus bringing things to an impasse. Mr Winter too and Mr Halloway, local planters and purchasers of land from the villagers, declined to pay anything more than 6 Rs. per acre. I wonder how far all this had to do with the electioneering campaign that was going on in the area at the time”.[122] 

The new land policy which was the outcome of the recommendations of the Land commission and was framed by the State council instituted by the Donoughmore constitution and its Minister for agriculture and lands, D.S. Senanayake, will be the subject of a further chapter. It put the Settlement department under the control of the Land commissioner and organized land development from above with the ‘mapping out’ concept.

 

Appendix : the testimony of Frank Leach[123]

In his interview with Michael Roberts and in written answers to questions posed by him, Frank Leach recalled his experiences as Assistant Settlement Officer in the Kurunegala and Badulla districts and gave detailed descriptions of the working of the settlement team and of the speculator’s tricks. The working of the department depended on the character of the officers who started with ‘easy villages’: some worked on a day to day routine, others (like him) had a wider vision of the future. It depended also on the type of villages settled: in small villages of the dry zone without much speculation the work was simple, but in the estate areas it involved a lot of preliminary research “it was surprising how the extent of a piece of land grew with the number of transfers made”. It depended also on the quality of the survey

Leach confirmed the role played by Kurunegala proctors as land brokers, their stratagems in preventing claimants to appear before the settlement officer, and the preference of the villagers for allotments, which saved them disputes, and opened the possibility for paddy-less villagers to obtain land, instead of undivided chenas given on a 3 to 1 basis. He listed as land speculators Victor Corea, Van der Poorten, Charles Batuwantudawe, Madawela, Berry, Henry de Mel. Chief headmen, such as Madahapola, who claimed half the villages north of Kurunegala along the Dambulla road, induced the surveyors to demarcate more land than what was given by the settlement; but the simple village araccis had less lands than village traders who advanced paddy upon mortgage and became petty landlords. The result of the extension of coconut plantations was to make the villages dependent on coconut and to block the extension of subsistence agriculture: “they were no longer agriculturists, except for their own little garden”.

Answering supplementary questions by Michael Roberts, Leach mentioned the frequent recourse to courts by speculators “who wanted to get full credit for dubious paper title often deriving from diga-married women (…) They would purport that the woman was not married in diga but in binna”. “It was common for a large land speculator with probably a mixture of good and bad village title to institute a partition case to get his portion defined by the courts. Having taken the initiative he stopped anyone else taking a case, and then he would take a minimum of action. If the judge insisted on getting on with the case, it would usually be found that one party had died and so the case would be postponed (…) meanwhile the speculator’s rubber grew and the other claimants were powerless to do anything short of murder”

Leach disagreed with the view that “selling the land to its occupant, even at a nominal price, meant selling it to the speculator”, because according to him the villager had time to save enough money to pay by planting one or two crops on the land or pledging valuables. He added that “one must not forget that in sophisticated areas such as the estate areas of Uva, Sabaragamuwa and Kandy, many of the villagers were rogues themselves in land matters and were not above engineering claims and selling on no title (…) but not so much in Uva where Crown title had been more rigorously defended”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

[1] Research on the working of the land settlement department before independence is practically inexistent, except a chapter in the unpublished thesis of Lal Jayawardena, who made use of the Settlement diaries. The Agrarian Research and Training Institute (Colombo) had published in 1976 under the title Land Settlement in Sri Lanka, 1840-1975 a review of the writings on the subject which offers little information on the British period.

[2] J.P. Lewis (1854-1923), author of the Manual of the Wanni, ended his career as Government Agent of the Central Province in 1906, and was an active member of the Royal Asiatic Society

[3] W.E. Davidson (born in Malta, 1859, died in Sydney, 1923) had an Oxbridge education, and a brilliant career of colonial administrator, ending as governor of New South Wales; a representative of the progressive-paternalistic approach, his diaries display a witty frame of mind and a deep understanding of the Ceylonese society

[4] John George Fraser, junior of the three, was born in Edinburgh in 1864, and died in Launceston, Tasmania in 1941; a Scotsman, married to a German lady; he came as cadet in 1887 (Jaffna) and was Assistant Government Agent Chilaw in 1899. Wrongly qualified of pure bureaucrat by Bowes (Bows and Arrows p. 43), he was a sensible person who did his best to understand the people and a serious administrator who put his department on a firm footing. He was in 1903 assisted by Howard Orme Fox (born in 186, Cambridge educated, Assistant Government Agent Matale in 1899), and in 1907 by Walter Ernest Wait, son of a tea planter in India, cadet in 1902, and member of the Ceylon Rifle Corps (Arnold Wright, Twentieth Century Impressions of Ceylon, p. 135)

[5] Administration Report Western Province 1900, p. B9

[6] Diary  Fraser, 5.09.1901

[7] These land records were still kept in the Land settlement department record room and in the Old colonial secretariat record room in Colombo Fort area when I studied them in between 1979 and 1983; they are said to be now in the Sri Lanka National Archives repositories in Kandy and Colombo.

[8] The only published diaries are those of Leonard Woolf when he was Assistant Government Agent at Hambantota. The unpublished diaries are available in the Sri Lanka National Archives (SLNA). 

[9] The qualities of the Settlement officer are resumed by Frederic Lewis (not to be confused with J.P. Lewis) in his autobiography: he must have a flair for spotting tricks and falseness, and a gift to negotiate and convince.

[10] In his diary of 9.11.1937, the fresh Assistant Settlement Officer Ratnatunga writes: “Spoke to the Settlement Officer about diaries. He said we were the Minister’s eyes in the districts in which we worked. Our diaries should give an account of our observations, what we saw in these places”

[11] L.R.U. Jayawardena, “The supply of Sinhalese Labour to Ceylon plantations, 1830-1930, a Study of Imperial Policy in a Peasant Society”. University of Cambridge, Ph. D. Thesis, 1963.

[12] AR Matara 1872, p. 180 : see the controversy in my previous article on chena repression.

[13] Administration Report Matara 1898, p. E20

[14] C.J.R. Le Mesurier was a favourite of the former governor Arthur Gordon-Hamilton (later lord Stanmore) and in his various posts had acted as a sort of almighty benevolent despot. He pleaded for the abolition of the paddy tax and the defense of the peasantry, but was himself involved in numerous land speculations; his conversion to Islam in order to remarry in the face of the refusal of his first wife to divorce finally led to his dismissal. See Michael Powell “Fragile Identities: the Colonial Consequences of C.J.R. Le Mesurier in Ceylon” in Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History,11,1, spring 2010.

[15] The dates given between brackets or in footnotes refer to the entries of the diaries, preceded by the name of their author

[16] see “Abortive Chena Settlements in the Kägalla District during the late 19th and early 20th centuries” https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6432 (2024)

 

[17] See “Highland Appropriation by the Plantation Sector in the Kägalla District (1870-1930) https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6273 (2025)

 

[18] It is worth noticing that 27 years later, the Assistant Agent in Matara, A.N. Strong,  reproduced extracts from this entry in the diary of Davidson, with this commentary : “Compared with the state of affairs existing today, the truth of this prophecy is amazing (…) As a matter of fact, the villagers were too well looked after by the headmen to do much illicit clearing. Instead of that they either contented themselves with an adequate pittance (in Pittabeddara I found 180 shareholders subsisting on about ½ acre of village garden), or else eked out a living by precarious coolie work on other people’s land. The new policy came none too soon” (Administration report Matara 1928, p. C33)

 

[19] Administration report of the Land settlement officer Fox for 1911-1912, p. K1

[20] Administration report of the Land settlement officer Fraser for 1904, p. N1; Diary Fraser 26-27.01.1904

[21] Diary Fraser 31.10.1903; see also Administration Report Settlement Officer 1906; SLNA 65/Pending file 1684A ‘Formation of a Land Settlement Department’, Settlement Officer to Colonial Secretary. 9.01.1907

[22] CO54/682 n°240 of 17.06.1903

[23] Francis Robert Ellis (1849-1915) was a witty Irishman who was known for having “the gift of detecting at a glance anything that had the faintest scent of humbug or weakness about it” (Frederick Lewis, Sixty years…p. 317). A punctilious and painstaking administrator, his actions were resented by the young enterprising Ceylonese.

[24] Land Settlement Department Records, files on Ellis Settlement work: Anderson’s claims (1904), Land Settlement Work in the North-Western Province (1904), A uniform system of dealing with encroachments (10.02.1904). Colonial Secretariat records SLNA 65/Pending file 1075 (“Land settlement in the North Western Province”) for 1904-5 and Pending file 2537B (same title) for 1907-8. See also CO54/712.

[25] Administration reports North Western Province 1895 p. G1 to 5, 1896 p.G3, 1902 p. G9 .

[26] SLNA 59/Pending File 178 : Government Agent North Western Province to Colonial secretary, 13.11.1896

[27] SLNA18/2490 (Old chena file): Assistant Agent Kurunegala report, 26.10.1840: “There are in this district a number of hill villages called kandegam in which it is highly desirable that some measures should be taken to secure an equitable adjustment of the lands as regards the proprietorship of the inhabitants and the rights of government. The villages alluded to are situated chiefly on the ranges between Madure and Hewawisse, Tiragandahe, and Ganhaye korale, on which they occupy all the best portions of land such as would be preferred for coffee plantations. The kandegam were all royal, and their rajakariya was to provide jaggery and honey for the king’s store. The original proprietors are said to have been forced by the kings to reside on the hills for the above-mentioned service which was continued by their descendants until after the British possession, when the rajakariya was altered for road service, peeling cinnamon, furnishing cadjan and so on. On the abolition of the compulsory services and introduction of commutation, the holders of paddy land in the other royal villages were allowed to register them in their own names, and have since paid the same taxes as the other paraveni proprietors. The kandegam people, having no low grounds, were excluded from the registry, but the portion of high ground annually cleared and sown with paddy has always been taxed at the same rate as other paraveni grounds (…) The inhabitants of these villages claim the whole extent of lands included within the reported boundaries of the village and from which an extent sufficient for the wants of the inhabitants is annually cleared. The extent varying with the increase or decrease of the population. There can be no doubt of the proprietorship of these people to some portion of all these villages (…) in which I consider they ought to be quieted in possession as much as the other nilakarayas of royal villages. They, like almost all the proprietors of lands in the Seven korales, hold no sannas or document”.  

[28] SLNA 59/PF 178: correspondence and statistics on village sales in Weudawili for the years 1894-1896

[29] SLNA 59/ PF 1384 (Delwita estate settlement); “Land settlement work of F.R. Ellis”, file in the Land Settlement Department records; also Diary Fox, December 1904.

[30] Diaries of Cocks, May 1931 and Navaratnam, April 1937

[31] Land Settlement Department Records, file on Ellis Settlement work, subfile ‘Anderson’s claims’ (1904)

[32] SLNA 59/PF 1074 (Land settlement in Matale): Joseph Malcolmson to Governor, 10.08.1904; Malcolmson to Colonial Secretary, 9.09.1904 and 15.10.1904.

[33] Among the Matale agents, two opposite figures stand out: S.M. Burrrows, in 1896, was instrumental in bringing the issue of land sales by villagers to the attention of Ridgeway by publishing the description of the disintegration of village life written by Aluvihare Ratemahatmaya. And E.B. Alexander, who became after he left the service the head of the Ceylon planters lobby in London.

[34]  Administration report Matale 1905, p. B28

[35] On the Nattukottai Chettiar, see W.S. Weerasooriya, The Nattukottai Chettiar Merchant Bankers in Ceylon, Dehiwala, Tisara, 1973; David Rudner, Caste and Capitalism in Colonial India, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1994; Éric Meyer, Dépression et malaria à Sri Lanka: l’impact de la crise économique des années 1930 sur une société rurale dépendante. Paris, doctoral dissertation EHESS, 1980. On the Karawa elite, Michael Roberts, Caste Conflict and Elite Formation : the Rise of a Karawa Elite in Sri Lanka, 1500-1931, Cambridge, University Press, 1982.

[36] Diary Fraser, January 1906, Fox, September to December 1906, Administration report of the Land Settlement Department 1906, p. N22, Ellis Settlement Work file in Land Settlement Department records; Diary Perera 12.05.1936

[37] Jacob de Mel (1839-1919) from Moratuwa, a Christian Karava, plumbago mine proprietor, invested his fortune in large scale coconut plantations in the Kurunegala district; his son Henry de Mel (1877-1936) became the leader of the Low Country Products Association (founded in 1910) and a politician and died after being shot by a worker on one of his plantations. Clovis de Silva (1852-1916) and several other petitioners were also Moratuwites. The full list of the petitioners offers a fascinating catalogue of the coconut planters listed in order of importance, first those who write in English, including a few Tamils, then in Sinhala (about half their names being Kandyan); there is not a single Moor among them.  

[38] The Land settlement department file titled ‘Land Settlement Work of F.R. Ellis in the North-Western Province’ begins with a memorandum on encroachments dated 10.02.1904 (also found in SLNA 59/Pending File 1075 under registration number 03334) written after Ellis had “spent some days in the Kurunegala kacceri” while the Revenue Officers were on leave.

[39] SLNA 59/Pending File 2537B

[40] SLNA,65 L754/1929

[41] SLNA 6/374, RN 18393/1909 Settlement Officer to Controller of Revenue, confidential letter 3.11.1909

[42]  SLNA 18/2490 (‘Old chena file’) 8.09.1840 and 26.10.1840, letters of the Assistant Government Agent Kurunegala, William Morris, to the Government Agent Western province, Buller; Administration report Puttalam 1884, p. 100A.

[43] Diary Leach, 4.11.1927; SLNA 65, PF 1075, report Hulugalle of 4.06.1904

[44] Diary Fraser, 4.07.1903

[45] SLNA 6 box 15, 0107/1907

[46] Diary Brayne, 28.11.1909

[47] SLNA 6/box 374, RN 18393/1909 Settlement Officer to Controller of Revenue, confidential letter, 3.11.1909 Note that Charles Edward Tennekoon’s daughter married Godfrey Edward Madawela in 1903.

[48] Diaries Leach, 4.12.1924, Sandys, 3.09.1930, Stace, 1.07.1923

[49] SLNA L91/1926; SLNA L24/1928 3.02.1928; Diary Hodson, 6.08.1928; Administration report North Western Province, 1928

[50] Diaries of Seneviratne, February 1933 (Kahadenigama, near Kuliyapitiya), Abeyakoon, March 1933 (Ketiyawa), Rasaretnam, April 1934, Ellepola, April-June 1936

[51] Fraser, 9.12.1904, 05.1905

[52] Fox, 8.06.1904

[53] CO54/706, 16.11.1906

[54] Administration report North-western province 1906, p. F3

[55] Letter of GA Kurunegala H.R. Freeman to Colonial Secretary, 14.08.1906, in SLNA 59/Pending File 1383.

[56] Diaries Fox, 08.1906, Wait, 10.1906. Johannes de Mel had refused the terms of the Kurunegala circular in his numerous claims (Hendiyapola, Malattawa, Urapotha) and planted with coconut on the sole basis of village purchases

[57] Henry Lawson de Mel was a compulsive buyer of village lands, who was ready to settle with the Crown, but always at reduced prices. He became one of the biggest plantation owners in the coconut triangle: Diary Davies, 31.10.1907 (Nabeta), 12.12.1918: “Inspected Pallama, Pahala and Ihala Kolaeliya. In the list is a preposterous claim by Mr. de Mel, obviously a mere speculation in the hope of inducing the Crown too part with valuable land for less than its value; he has purchased from the villagers 300 acres of Crown forest”

[58] SLNA 59/ Pending File 1684A, Fox to Colonial Secretary, 1.07.1906

[59] SLNA 59/ Pending File 1684A, Government Agent Uva to Colonial Secretary, 8.05.1906; 

[60] Memo 8.09.1906 (SLNA 59/ Pending File 2226): the notification of 1904 is described by Fowler as “a bold attempt to create a new departure in the settlement of the land in the North Western Province, which proved a comparative failure”

[61] Fraser to Colonial Secretary, 9.01.1907, RN 0430/07 in SLNA59/Pending File 1684A

[62] SLNA 59/Pending file 2537B (‘Land settlement in the North western province’), CO54/712 (dispatch 740, 11.12.1907), Diary Fraser, 7-8.10.1907 

[63] CO54/709, dispatch 345 and 362 of 1907

[64] Burgher lawyers like proctor Modder of Kurunegala became experts in fighting the Settlement officers (Diary Fox, 7.12.1912).  

[65] CO54/712, 11.12.1907

[66] Diary Fraser, 27.05.1908

[67] CO54/718, 1.09.1908

[68] SLNA 59/Pending File 2226

[69] CO54/724, annex to despatch of 24.03.1909

[70] SLNA 59/PF 2059, April 1911. Thorpe was previously deputy collector of customs, and in 1901-1903 District Judge Matara, where he had already been in opposition with Fraser (Diary Fraser 15.02.1903)

[71] Diary Davies, 11.12.1913, 25.04.1914, 6.07.1914

[72] SLNA 6/ 761, RN 03961/1913 

[73] Diary Hughes, November 1924

[74] Diary Leach, 30.01.1924 and 8.12.1924

[75] Diaries of Wedderburn and Hughes, February 1924

[76] Diary Christoffelz, 8.05.1930

[77] Hansard 1931, p. 160 (17.02.1931)

[78] Diary Davies, 12.1918. Wright 20th Century Impressions of Ceylon… p. 749 ; SLNA 59 PF 2537B; See on Potukulama CO54/735 (20.07.1910)

[79] SLNA 6/483, Settlement Officer to Colonial Secretary, 2.04.1910; Diary Fox, 5 .12.1912

[80] Diaries Cocks, 15.05.1931 and Abhayaratne, 23.11.1933

[81] Diary Archibald, September 1915

[82] SLNA 65 L73 /1926: Government agent North Western Province (Codrington) to Colonial Secretary, 25.06.1926

[83] Diary Hunter, 20.05.1926; Government Agent North Western Province to Colonial Secretary, 25.11.1927 (printed in the 5th interim report of the Land Commission, SP16 of 1928).

[84] Diaries Wait, 30.03.1922 and Wedderburn, April and June 1922

[85] Administration Report North Western Province 1924 and 1926; Administration Report Sabaragamuwa 1927, p. I4

[86] Diary Hughes, 24.07.1926 (Walgam pattu)

[87] SLNA65  L295/1926 ‘Effect of Land settlement on the alienation of village lands’, Kurunegala, 7.01.1926; Ratnapura, 12.10.1925

[88] Diary Stace 16. 02 to 26.10.1925, Karandana area (west of Ratnapura) and May 1926 (Kiriporuwa village)

[89] Diary Stace, 11/1925, 01/1926, 05/1927

[90] Diary Stace, September – October 1925

[91] Diary Stace, 7.01.1926

[92] SLNA, Land Commission file 907

[93] SLNA 65 L62/1928 Reports of the Revenue and Settlement Officers concerning their comments on the 3rd interim report: “It has been my experience that after settlement quite 50% of the villagers immediately make every effort to sell the land to which they have got good title to capitalists, usually rich men from Panadure or Kalutara.

[94] Diary Bassett, 24.11.1927 (Akkarella, Ratnapura district)

[95] Diary Christoffelz, August 1928 (Lekamgoda, Ratnapura district)

[96] Diary Sandys, October 1929 and 16.07.1930

[97] Diary Aluvihare, 1.08.1930 (Kirindawa, near Kuliyapitiya)

[98] Diary Rasaretnam, 6/7 December 1932 (Kuliyapitiya)

[99] Diary Seneviratne, October 1933 (Niladure and Welanga, near Sinharaja forest); also 5.04.1932 (Wilattawa village)

[100] Diary Jansz, 12.03.1936; on the Chettiar moneylenders, W.E. Weerasooriya, The Nattukottai Chettiar merchant bankers in Ceylon, Dehiwala, Tisara, 1973

[101] Diary Ratnatunga, October 1938 (Nildandahinna, Walapane, Nuwara Eliya district)

[102] Diaries De Mel, January 1937 (Matale district) and Wijekoon (October 1937)

[103] Diary Fraser, 12.07.1909

[104] Diaries Brayne, 1910 and 1911, Wedderburn, February 1912

[105] Diary Toller, 14.11.1908

[106] Diary Hughes, January and February 1924, November 1924. 

[107] Diary Hughes, 18/19.11.1924.

[108] Walter Terence Stace (1886-1967) had an initial training in philosophy; he joined the Ceylon civil service in 1910 and retired in 1932 to become professor of philosophy at Princeton, where his influence was deeply felt. His unpublished Notes on Life in Ceylon are kept at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies, London (ms. ICS 100)

[109] Diary Stace, 25-26.01.1926 (village of Ratmale, Kalutara district)

[110] Diary Abhayakoon, December 1935

[111] Diary Sandys, August and October 1929, July and December 1930. Melville Kerverne Trelawny Sandys entered the Ceylon civil service in 1919 and ended his career as Government Agent at Ratnapura in the 1940s. Copies of some of his diaries (but not those of his settlement officer period) are deposited at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies, University of London [ICS 71]  

[112] Diary Sandys, October 1929

[113] This was already noticed by Fraser (diary November 1901 “It is therefore desirable that any alias should be recorded”)

[114] This view was shared by his superior the Settlement Officer (diary July 1929, Tabbomulla, North Western province): “This village will be almost entirely private by the time it is finished (…) I gather that when these sales are completed, there will still be quite a number of applications for land by those who have abstained from putting forward these preposterous claims, and there will be no land left for them. That is the worst of admitting these claims: it puts a premium on grabbing”

[115] Diary Sandys, 18.07.1930

[116] Hansard 1927, p. 139-163. He was seconded by Francis Molamure, who insisted that there had never been Crown chenas in Kägalla, and that wattoru and ninda registers should be considered as proof of private property and should be freely accessible, while recognizing “that Settlement officers are most fair and most considerate when dealing with the villagers”. Victor Corea supported Madawela with pseudo-historical arguments drawn from the Mahavamsa chronicle

[117] Administration report of the Land Settlement Department (Stace), 1929, p. K3-4

[118] Diary Luddington, 13.12.1927

[119] Diary Hudson, 12.03.1928

[120] Diaries Hunter, 23.01.1928, Leach, 26.02.1927, Stace, 25.04.1930

[121] Diary Christoffelz, 23.10.1930

[122] Diary Seneviratne, March and December 1933

[123] Frank Leach interviews with Michael Roberts and written testimony,1966, in Michael Roberts Oral History Project, Oxford and Adelaide manuscripts. Not to be confused with the anthropologist Edmund Leach.

HIGHLAND APPROPRIATION BY THE PLANTATION SECTOR IN THE KÄGALLA DISTRICT (1870-1930) by Eric P. Meyer

We publish here the 5th paper on the history of land appropriation by plantations in colonial Ceylon, after 

Gamperaliya (Village Upheaval) in the Kägalla district” [http://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/1354],

“Landgrabbing by coffee estates in the Kägalla district : mid-19th century case studies” [http://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/5090

“Chena (slash-and-burn cultivation) and its repression in colonial Ceylon”[https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6273]

“Abortive Chena Settlements in the Kägalla District during the late 19th and early 20th centuries” [https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/6432].

Further papers will be devoted to the history of the Land settlement department and to the new land policy adopted after 1927.

*

The Kägalla district has been the scene of a large scale and brutal appropriation of its highlands by planters of tea and later of rubber, beginning in the 1880s and until the late 1920s. The process started with the sale of blocks of chena lands which had been appropriated by the Crown under the block settlement system and it continued with the sale by villagers themselves, through intermediaries, of the lands which had been left to them under the same settlements or which had not been settled. This sudden extension was not anticipated by the colonial powers; after unsuccessful attempts to stop it, the administration was compelled to legalize these sales.

In the British colonial system of administration, at least during the 19th century, the civil servants were noted according to their ability to increase revenue. The sale or lease of lands appropriated by the Crown under the ordinance of 1840 was in the rural districts one of the main sources of revenue to the State, besides grain taxes and arrack rents. Crown land sales were considered in a purely revenue perspective. Before block chena settlements, Crown land sales in the Kägalla district were generally held in a haphazard manner, according to the applications of individual would-be planters, the lack of surveys was an impediment, and the annual reports lamented the poor revenue of the district[1]. Chena settlements had been started in the 1870s, before the coffee collapse, but at that time the district was not very attractive. When tea began to replace coffee, chena and forest lands of the wet zone were found to be adapted to the new product, and the chena settlements attracted the attention of the colonial investors.  The ‘opening’ of the country with the idea of planned ‘development’ found its way in the official documents during the 1880s, when the rush for tea land began, especially along the valleys of the Kelani river and its tributaries, and Kägalla became for a decade the most profitable district for the colonial treasury.

 

Land sales by the Crown

Block chena settlements made under the Ievers system resulted in putting at the disposal of the colonial government large extents of highland in compact blocks – exactly what the planters were looking for. During the tenure of the Assistant Agents Wace (in 1884), Le Mesurier (in 1885-86) and Price (from mid 1886), large auction sales of Kägalla Crown lands took place in Colombo and not in the district, which gave big European investors an advantage over local purchasers: F.R. Saunders, the Government Agent of the Western province which at that time included the Kägalla district, had close links with the Planters Association and the business firms of Colombo. These early sales resulted in consolidating the colonial appropriation of land, in spite of the uncertain legal status of the settlements, while leaving the peasants to fight between themselves to apportion the village block.

The chena settlements were organized distinctly with a view to offer accessible lands in the Kelani valley to planters as quickly as possible. The idea by the mid 1880s was to sell large blocks; the Surveyor general office proposed initially to put to auction 5,000 acres once a year[2]: “There is such a demand for land now springing up in the district that it would be as well for the Crown to adopt a regular system of selecting and putting up for sale a certain extent of land every year and not to advertise any block simply because it is applied for”. It could thus raise the price by competition (actually there was no such rise because prospective buyers made arrangements) and exclude “men with a small capital who are on the lookout and who apply for small lots in order if they get them to obtain the command of a larger bock hereafter or to make terms with an intending purchaser of such a block”. The Agent considered that “it is absurd to sell fine tea land at anything under 25 Rs an acre, but owing to lack of capital men make arrangements at sales and agree beforehand what lots they should buy and hence the upset price of 10 Rs per acre is the average (…) If the paddy is without complaint put up 40 Rs per acre I see no reason why the European cultivator should have a preference shown”[3].

The first large chena and forest land sales were held in 1884[4] : 3,517 acres of chenas and 1,783 acres of forest in Lower Bulatgama; 1,850 acres of chenas and 656 acres of forest in Atulugam korale, 1,462 acres of chenas and 5,902 acres of forest in Dehigampal korale, 2,960 acres of chenas and 566 acres of forest in Panawal korale. The Assistant Agent Wace played a leading role in proposing a list of lands for sale, and on the planter’s side, William Forsythe was the driving force, buying land for himself or for other investors at very low figures (for example at Pambagama at 10.15 Rs an acre). The result of these sales, in the area at the limit between Atulugam and Panawal, was the constitution of a block of continuous tea estates (Nahalma, Pambagama) later amalgamated to form the Sunnygama group, one of the most prosperous Kelani valley companies. Forsythe in his memoirs published after his death, gives a lively picture of the country and of his relations with the local villagers in the 1880s[5].

But on 17.10.1885 the alienation of lands of the Wace list was suspended at the request of the Surveyor general who considered that the legal value of settlements was too unsafe for the sales to take place. A new Agent, Le Mesurier, backed by the governor Gordon, would prefer to sell smaller extents to discourage ‘arrangements’ between prospective buyers. He would raise the upset price at 25 Rs an acre “the lowest value at which land in the hands of private persons can be obtained in the Kelani valley”. But these ‘arrangements’ were not avoided, and finally a good part of the lands was sold at 10 Rs an acre in the land sale of Panawal korale in February 1886, the best attaining 27 Rs. The same names of purchasers are found in every sale: W. Forsythe, W.W. Mitchell, H. Whitham, W.L. Strachan. In areas further north, some lands were sold at a higher price:  32 Rs per acre at Edurapola, in Lower Bulatgama[6]. In spite of these low rates, Crown land sales represented in 1886 56% of the revenue of the Kägalla district, which thus became the most ‘profitable’ district in Ceylon. But its population derived no benefit at all from the alienation of its lands to outsiders, because the expenditure was kept at a very low level.

From 1886 to 1888 the large auction sales continued in Colombo. At the sale of 20.10.1886 besides the usual buyers – William Forsythe (acting for J. Crickton) for Waharaka (282 acres) and Hinguralakande ( 412 acres), W.L. Strachan for Debatgama (73 acres), new names appeared: David Fairweather for Yatideriya (451 acres), and Waharaka (198 acres),William Anderson for Uduwe, (534 acres), H.A. Clarke for Indurana (258 acres), Waharaka (200 acres) and Pannila-Patberiya (228 acres). Another large sale was held in Colombo on 1.10.1888 where 3,210 acres were adjudicated at an average of 18 Rs per acre only[7].

The planters’ demand for land was so pressing that land sales at the initiative of the Western province kacceri (Saunders being Government Agent) were not confined to block-settled villages. This led to serious embarrassment for the successor of Le Mesurier, Price, who was the first administrator not to consider land sales from the sole point of view of revenue. In May 1886, he inspected 6,000 acres of Crown land proposed for sale near Bulatkopitiya, in the villages of Tunbage, Rangalla and Yatideriya. The area was traditionally chenaed without state interference under the control of the Uduwe korala family. His findings were as follows: “I am satisfied that Tunbage is a nindagama, copy of Service tenures register, exemption certificate and a tudapota produced. How this land came to be included in those selected for sale I cannot imagine. Especially as the adjoining village, Rangalla, land belonging to which is also included in the plan, is not even surveyed for chena settlement, much less settled. After this, I shall not be surprised at the Surveyor General proposing to sell any private land however good the owner’s title may be (I find now that I was wrong in attaching blame to the Surveyor General Department about this). Nevertheless, the case only shows how unadvisable it is to cut out thousands of acres for sale without reference in the first instance to the Assistant Government Agent”[8].  Some of these sales were so hastily organized that they disregarded the settlements: “The whole village of Dehiowita (settled) was surveyed as available for sale! If the Agent had not inspected the block, the lands granted to the villagers by formal settlement would have been exposed for sale probably, and the complications subsequent thereon – to say nothing of the hardships entailed upon the villagers – are obvious”[9]

Surveys for Crown land sales were frequently botched, to the detriment of villagers as in the cases of Batangala, a village finally absorbed in Woodend estate, where 50 acres were erroneously sold ; of Udabage where the planters encroached 40 acres ; of Morawatte where T.N. Christie erroneously purchased village gardens with the connivance of Le Mesurier (see my paper on “Abortive Chena Settlements in the Kägalla District during the late 19th and early 20th centuries”). Still in 1893, there were sales of blocks containing planted gardens in Rangegama which were finally stopped (the intending purchasers wanted to buy the whole land just excluding the gardens which would have been made inaccessible). After the sale, the planters did not hesitate to encroach on lands not sold to them and then come to the administration to ask it to sell them the encroachments. Price resisted their pressure, especially in the case of lands included in the projected Kelani forest reserve or in the densely populated northern part of the district, near Kägalla and Rambukkana: “It is very desirable to put a stop to the hole and corner style in which so much land is now applied for and sold – nearly always at upset price only”.[10]

The government agents and their assistants were constantly bombarded with requests by planters, usually made in unformal meetings or by private letters[11]. For example, William Forsythe wanted 1,000 acres near the Ritigaha Oya, and wrote to the new Government Agent Wace:

Forsythe to H. Wace, 27.10.1889. Nahalma Estate

“My dear Wace,

Any chances of a small land for sale this year? Say 5,000 acres (sic). With tea booming, the present would be a good opportunity for realizing high price, and I  know of a few would-be purchasers, myself among the number. I want 1,000 acres in the Bulatkopitiya side, well away from the Kelani Valley Reserve. The Surveyor General has lots of land blocked out, and a sale on January 1st 1890 would be time enough for opening. I will write you officially if you can hold any prospect of a sale.”

The letter bears endorsements which prove that the civil servant obeyed the request of the planter:

“Dear White, what surveys have been made? Send me any Preliminary Plans. What were last orders for Govt. on subject last year? – Mudaliyar: on this, Surveyor General referred to PP 10, Rangalla and Tunbage. This is not right, I want plans of lands between Ritigaha Oya ferry and Bulatkopitiya – Plans Lewala, Wegalla, Welatuduwa and Panawitiya are herewith submitted”.

Between 1890 and 1892, the demand for tea land boomed: “the leading planters are behind that demand”; and the Assistant Agent complained that such demands occupied most of his time while his staff in the kacceri was reduced, which he resented as “an incredible injustice”.  Planters pressed the Agents to offer land where they liked: “Orchard asks if I can point out any land. I reply certainly in the Kelani valley now at this moment surveyed and blocked out. No he does not like that, he wants the rich soil of Four-korales”. They often tried to extend by bits existing estates such as Ardross Estate, and Lavant estate, or to exchange abandoned coffee estates for fresh fertile land[12]. Any trick was good to obtain land, including spurious ‘land exchanges’. Strachan, a planter qualified by the Assistant Agent Davidson of ‘typical Mercator Britannicus’ threatened to cut for himself 200 acres[13] : “He has a high blown hilltop which he wishes to trade, acre per acre, for land which he wishes in a more favoured place. Urakande, his mountain, is isolated, it has already been once denuded with fatal results to the gentleman who planted coffee there, and it might be denudated again without affecting anybody but the experimentalist. I enjoyed the conversation, the upshot of which was that he would make his selection up to 1,300 acres in the Central Province and would persuade the Government Agent to give Mr. Strachan his fertile acres in order to preserve out hill top in Kägalla”. Another planter, Patterson, described the land he wanted to buy as ‘slab rock’, “the term by which planters describe government jungle when they want to buy it”.

When some Agents, such as Price and Davidson, backed the villagers to resist the pressure of the planters, they were accused by the colonial press and answered: “We hear much of the evil deeds of the ‘native’ who prosecutes the ‘planter’ with cases. The ‘planter’ is not wholly downtrodden. For instance, I do not pretend to have detected half the encroachments on Crown land by him, but I have around dozen proved cases in hand, and the amount paid in compensation to the Crown will be over 5,000 Rs before I leave the district. Again it might surprise newspaper readers to know that I have a list of 21 separate instances of encroachment by planters on seven estates on private lands, which are all a cause of heart burning to the villager who rightly or wrongly considers himself the downtrodden man”[14]

To satisfy planters, the administration launched new large sales of lands in the Kelani river valley, 2,800 acres in 14 lots, in July 1891 and May 1892, in the “hope that the sale of this land will tend to satisfy the wants of investors in tea, and so to diminish the activity of the land brokers whose dealings with village chena land for transfer to estates are so prejudicial to Kandyan life”. But the land reached only 22 Rs an acre because the big estates already established (such as Polatagama) bought adjacent lands with no competition. Davidson, the new Assistant agent, concluded: “This office is the busiest land office in the island. We have constant applications for land both from Europeans and natives. We sell more land than the rest of the island put together. There is a larger acreage put under ‘constant’ cultivation yearly here than in any other district and almost in each case encroachments are made on Crown reserves knowingly or through the plunders of clearing contractors. There is no district in which there is more imminent difficulty in the settlement of the land question, involved as it has been by the system of chena settlements”[15]

The sale of large blocks by the Crown encouraged the proprietors of nindagam (feudal proprietary villages) to follow suit: this is what happened in Udapota, in the Uduwe area[16]. This locality, a nindagama with a Duraya population living by the cultivation of chenas, had been the object of a chena enquiry in 1877: it belonged to the Uduwe korala who had a sannasa. According to the Assistant agent, “by virtue of a chena settlement, one of the earliest, 70 acres were taken to the Crown as excluded from the nindagama portion of the Uduwe korale’s lands (…) The korala’s son negotiated the sale of the whole village to Mr. W. Murray, superintendent of Ugieside Estate. The sale was detected and Mr. Murray, an old Rakwana pioneer of great shrewdness, promptly replied: ‘if it is Crown, sell it to me and I will buy from you too’. So we sell. But an avaricious neighbour steps in and says: give me a 9 acre lot or I will run you up to 1,000£. To the other land hunters Mr. Murray replied: I have already bought from the native landlord all his title to all the adjoining land except the precipice and the peak behind. So this block went to him for comparatively little, the 2,000 Rs obtained being the accidental result of the trick of an arrack renter who wished to establish a business as pirate attending land sales to be bought off.” 

Another means for planters to obtain highlands was to lease them, in the case of villages belonging to temples. In the Kägalla district there were a few large temple villages belonging to the Kandy Maha devale, such as Talduwa and Galpata, where all the highlands including those of the temple tenants (978 and 864 acres) had been leased at the initiative of A.B. Ratwatte, Basnayake Nilame and financier, who had acted “as the agent of the planter H.S. Saunders”, brother of the Government agent F.R. Saunders. The tenants protested and the Assistant agent was put in a difficult position to arbitrate between the planter, brother of his superior, and the villagers: “I hope he will now desist troubling the villagers (…) Mr. Saunders was in such a hurry to get his leases that he probably did not take the trouble to make careful enquiries as to what lands the Temple could lease, and the Basnayake nilame was in such a hurry to get Mr. Saunders’ money that he did not take the trouble to undeceive him”.[17]

In 1894 the colonial administrators attempted to resist the pressure of the big tea planters, to encourage the development of smaller estates, and to reserve forests for the use of the villagers: “there will be no large land sales effected. The government has wisely checked the extension of tea. There is lots of land available for coconut and plantain”[18]. In the diary of 30.06.1896, the available Crown land for sale (in acres) in the Kägalla district was thus tabulated:

                                   Crown land       Reserved     Settlt in course       Settled for sale    Unsettled for sale

Galboda-Kinigoda      7926                6668                                       889                 369

Paranakuru                 3912                1483                                        1255               1174

Beligal                        13933              3883                4989                1587               3473

Three-korales             17365              1230                9315                5817               1003   

Total                           43140              13266              14304              9548               6019

But it was too late to control a rush initiated by the colonial administration itself: land sales by villagers (actually through various intermediaries) had exceeded land sales by the Crown, and led the administration to promulgate in 1897 a new Land ordinance.

 

Sale of village lands in the Kelani valley after block settlements to planters

When Crown sales did not satisfy the new demand for mid-country tea land and where villagers were impoverished and affected by fiscal sales for arrears of tax, there was a sudden burst of sales of village lands. Colonial administrators (Le Mesurier in that case) were aware of the danger resulting from this conjunction, and proposed a policy in 1885[19]: “Legislation is required in the direction of prohibiting the alienation of village highlands to outsiders (…)  I have already mentioned the evils that result from the extended sale of lands for arrears of tax and these evils will be intensified if steps are not taken to preserve the village lands to the villagers themselves. So long as the planting enterprise was confined to the forests of the hill country, there was little or no interference with village interests. But now that estates are being opened in the middle of villages, and village lands are being eagerly sought after by planters, the case is different. If no check is put upon their alienation, the villagers, tempted by an offer of ready money, will be only too ready to part with their lands, and when their money is exhausted, will become with their families a portion of the vagabond population of the island. Whatever good the planting enterprise may do the district in the way of opening up land, distributing money and giving employment to villagers, it will certainly not counterbalance the enormous evil of floating and unsettled population (…) It is only of late years that the idea of an individual and alienable right in village chenas has sprung up. Hitherto they had been regarded as a species of communal or family property, and unless the village system is to be entirely broken up, it is advisable that this communal property should be preserved to it”. The first documented example is that of Hinguralakanda village, where in 1885 the Assistant agent was unable to effect a settlement, because part of the chena area “adjoins the estate [Nahalma] opened up by Mr. Forsythe and the villagers want it so as to be able to sell to him : they will then be without chenas and be continually in need and complaining. It is not I think advisable to encourage the sale of villagers chena to planters to tea estates. This village is also divided into two castes, Vellala and Jaggery, and this makes any joint possession difficult”.[20]

With the development of tea cultivation linked with the large Crown block sales effected during the time of Wace and Le Mesurier (held in Colombo until the creation of the new province of Sabaragamuwa in 1889), the arrival of big planters in the district put pressure on the local administration. The large land sales acted as a sort of ‘settlement by sale’ consolidating the block alienated to the planters, while the village block became fragilized. Once the movement was started, the Agent Price became conscious of the dangers but it was late and he had to fight constant battles in a position of weakness because the chena block settlements were not legalized. The administration was faced with contradictory injunctions expressed in the report for 1886[21]: “The demand among Europeans for land in the Kelani valley has caused much interference with village interests, and the sale of village chenas is open to grave objections (…) Indiscriminate alienation of Crown land is open to grave objection, but a judicious sale of chenas which are the property of the government is to be desired. Politic action in this direction would have the effect not only of largely adding to the revenue, but also of satisfying the demand for land which is at present productive of frequent complications. Investors in the tea enterprise are determined to have land in the Kelani valley, and if they cannot buy it from Government, they purchase it in fragments from the Sinhalese. The result of such transactions is disastrous. Native brokers make it their business to acquire chenas of the Kandyan villagers, who rapidly dissipate the purchase money and eventually become migrants. An extent of 16,700 acres of which 4,000 acres are in forest and 12,700 acres are in chenas is at present surveyed and practically available for sale”

From 1886 to 1896, two successive Assistant Agent, Price and Davidson, were constantly at war with land brokers and planters. The story of their fight is worth recalling in detail, as an example of the inner contradictions of the colonial land policy. In his diary of 13.02.1886, Price wrote : “I am constantly receiving queries from planters as to whether or not the Crown claims such and such lands – as in the latter event they wish to purchase them from natives – and I know of several instances in which negotiations are now going on for the purchase of such lands. If the Crown withdraws its claims definitely and there is no prohibition against alienation, the natives tempted by an offer of ready money will be only too ready to part with what does not really belong to them but to their families, and when their money is exhausted, will become a portion of the vagabond population of the district. Whatever good the planting enterprise may do in the shape of opening land, distributing money and giving employment, it will certainly not counterbalance the enormous evil of a floating and unsettled population such as would inevitably result from the wholesale alienation of village chenas”. In the margin, the Governor Gordon commented: “I agree”.

Price held idealistic views, shared by Gordon, and believed that village economy was still based on a communal principle. His successor Davidson was skeptical: “The question as to the rights acquired by Kandyans, based on the practice by families of cultivating certain specific ranges of highlands, to alienate those lands, is a matter of the gravest importance in this district. The Kandyan customs, in my opinion, did not allow individual members of a panguwa or family to alienate any portion of that range of hills which members had cultivated for generations. The members of the family had a life interest only in the chenas, and it was never contemplated that individuals of the family should have the power to transfer the right to cultivate the soil to strangers, to the detriment of future generations. Now, however, chenas have a money value, and are readily bought for tea cultivation, often without sufficient scrutiny as to the title of the vendors. The temptation to realize the money value of the lands has resulted in families being divested of their highlands for the benefit of a few unscrupulous members, who, at most, only hold a life interest in an undivided share of the range of chenas. The sale of these lands will eventually tend to make the Kandyan villagers landless, and being without trade or means of livelihood and without any predisposition to regular labour – even were it available – they may become a cause of danger to their neighbours and a source of anxiety and expense to the government”[22].

The year 1889 could have been decisive. Kägalla was delinked from the Western Province and linked with Ratnapura, to form the new province of Sabaragamuwa, of which Wace was put in charge. The influence of Saunders was reduced, but the power of the big legal firms of Colombo and of the planter’s associations was too strong to resist: by the initial chena settlement the colonial Government had brought the wolf into the fold.  Wace suggested a new ordinance to prevent the alienation of chena lands, but in spite of a decision of principle taken at a conference in 1889, the ordinance was never drafted in Colombo. The Attorney General, Layard,  in a minute (26.05.1891) wrote bluntly that “no legislation is desirable nor is required, all that is required is that a special deed should be drafted as occasion may require”, in his answer to a long letter written by Wace, who used the Teligama case to plead again for a new legislation: recalling that Ievers had “expressly recorded that his apportionment did not leave the villagers much chena lands and never contemplated the subsequent alienation of the area so allotted by him”, Wace noted that a few years later one third of the village block was already alienated by certain villagers to the detriment of the community. He was shocked at the idea that the Agent “whose duty and desire is to protect the villagers in the enjoyment of the settlements” was required to give a certificate of quiet possession “to the person who has induced a few villagers to break the spirit of the settlement for the advantage (merely temporary to them) of a few rupees”. It is useless to advise the beneficiary of a certificate of quiet possession that he is exposed to an action on the part  of the other villagers “for the land grabber knows perfectly well that the other villagers have not the means or the spirit of cooperation required to take legal proceedings” More generally, Wace considered that “it is no answer to say that the tea enterprise is to the benefit of the villagers who thus alienate their lands ; it is not so, the Kandyan villager will never take the place of the Tamil coolie on tea estates even assuming that the enterprise is of a permanent nature and the very existence and continuity of the village system is weakened and threatened by the evil I complain of (…) I beg that I may be authorized to suspend the issue of certificates of quiet possession for the lands so acquired”. His request was refused in the letter of the Colonial Secretary Swettenham of 5.06.1891. The question of stopping land grabbing was again raised by Wace in January 1892.  Swettenham in a memorandum (10.08.1892), criticized the chena settlement as “a very rude idea, imperfectly worked out without even thinking out the immediate and ultimate consequences” The principle of non-alienation of the village block “found no part of the original plan of the settlement”, and all the plans to give legal retroactive effect to the settlement were impracticable because “the settlements have been loosely made, often in the teeth of considerable opposition” and lacked “the scrupulous regard for fairness which would entitle them to become law without any appeal”. On the question of a new ordinance to forbid further alienation of chena lands, Swettenham put so punctilious and obstructive conditions that they discouraged any serious attempt at rendering chenas inalienable. At the conference held in Colombo in August 1892, the colonial government finally decided not to render chenas inalienable, nor to give retroactive effect to interdiction of sales already effected, but to resettle the lands under the Forest Ordinance and to apply ordinance 12 of 1840[23].

By that time the great legal firms had entered the game, a new governor, Havelock, had replaced Gordon, a new Assistant Agent, W.E. Davidson had replaced Price, and the powerful Kelani Valley Planter’s Association succeeded in imposing its law.

 

*

The detailed land files – some kept at the Kägalla kacceri, others removed to the Kandy repository of the Sri Lanka National Archives, make it possible to retrieve the alienation process in particular villages. The first villages to be affected were close to Ruanwella, where bazaar traders and tavern keepers from the low country were quite active. The Morawatte affair, studied in “Abortive Chena Settlements in the Kägalla District during the late 19th and early 20th centuries”, took place in that area. Another example is that of Mahalla which had been the subject of chena enquiries in 1873 and 1877 and of a chena block settlement in 1879. A.J. Bell (of Hakurugala estate) asked the opinion of the Agent about the purchase of village land; Price “informed him that in the present case the Government would take steps to call in question the right of the villagers to alienate their communal lands. I am glad of this opportunity to express the views of Government in a letter the contents of which will no doubt be made known among the caucus of speculators who are busy in this district”. Finally Bell purchased the lands and Price concluded that “the only sure remedy lay in the confirmation by the Forest settlement officer of all the settlements hitherto made”.[24] At this juncture appeared a land broker who was a well-known figure of the Kelani valley land business of Morawatta fame: “A certain Baron Perera also connected with this matter (he has like Mr. Bell bought a few acres of communal land) presented a petition asking ‘if the villagers might cultivate the lands allotted to them’ (he is not a villager, nor a Kandyan). Having some private information about this man, I read between the lines and told him to go to his lawyers if he wanted advice on the legal question that the land was the villager’s only to use and not to alienate ; and that he had better not come meddling with things which do not concern him”. The four pangu of the village eventually sold the whole of their block, 558 acres, to Baron Perera, who resold them to Bell, and the planter trespassed on other lands, a common behavior in such cases: “wanton damages by Mahalla estate on Mapitigama korala’s lands. The Mahalla superintendent has acted in an overbearing way, rooting up a village plantation without any notice to me or my headmen”[25].

Not far from Mahalla, Wahakula, a large forested Goyigama village located to the west of Ruanwella, was the theatre of extensive land grabbing activities in the late 1880s[26]. The village had been the subject of a chena enquiry in 1877 in which was produced a sittuwa (a donation on ola leaf) registered at Ratnapura in 1872, but later pronounced false, supposed to have been given by Mattamagoda Dissawe in sk. 1734 (1810 a.d.) to Ranatunga Appu kankanama of Wahakula, describing fields, gardens and appurtenances of the gamwasama.

The Wahakula sittuwa

In December 1879, the Assistant agent Ievers made a chena settlement by which the 6 families with 3 acres of paddy only were allowed 100 acres of chena, while large extents of forest were kept for the Crown, and were subsequently sold to a planter. In 1886, a local land broker, Hettirala, started to buy shares of two shareholders against the opposition of the eight others and sold them to the tea planter Thornton: “I am surprised that Ekneligoda Ratemahatmaya has not reported this, as he has strict injunctions to keep me informed. (…)  I know this man Hettirala, he gains his livelihood by buying and selling lands, and this year he has been very busy trying to buy chena lands on all sides from the villagers for transfer to planters (…) Mapitigama and Punahela korales are both aware now of the objections which exist to the indiscriminate transfer of land from the villagers to the planters (…) The case is a good example of the hardship which is entailed on poor and ignorant villagers by the land grabbers, the demand for land being great in the Kelani valley. I propose to the Government Agent that the eight defrauded shareholders should be told to take legal proceedings to oust Mr. Thornton and that a proctor should be retained and the cost being borne by government”. Price was unable to convince his superior at Colombo, Saunders, and Ekneligoda, the chief headman of Three-korales, to support him in the matter of the Crown land rights “but apart from the land there is no doubt that eight of the ten shareholders have been unfairly treated, by the aid of the Chetty land broker and the English purchaser”. Baron Perera and Hettirala were joined by other land brokers, such as Romanis Pieris “a provision dealer and storekeeper, and a man of much influence in the Kelani Valley”, whom Price tried to dissuade to engage in this trafficking. But the defect of the chena settlements was that the term ‘communal land’ was not legally binding to prevent alienation : “The sooner these settlements are legally confirmed the better ; negotiations are going on all sides between speculators in land for tea and village pangukarayo who wish to sell their blocks (or part of them) handed over to them by settlement”.

The case of Atalawa village is typical of an ecologically and socially fragile locality in the same area whose highlands had been sold to planters as a result of the land dealings of Ekneligoda, during the chena settlement operations[27]. In 1879, there were 8 pangu (lineage holdings) in the village, and 16 families, belonging to the Duraya caste (except one Muslim). There were practically no wet paddy fields: the village economy was dependent on chenas and gardens. The Crown asserted its rights to forests and chenas and had already sold 77 acres before December 1879, when the Ratemahatmaya effected the chena settlement, apportioning 350 acres for the Crown (the forest and a block of chenas, which were not surveyed but only “approximately estimated”) and 400 acres for the villagers, without taking into account the fact that some villagers used to cultivate the block taken by Crown and were disadvantaged : the villagers were left to sort the issue by themselves and the so-called settlement was in fact a major factor of unsettlement for village society. Five years later the Crown in the ‘Colombo large land sales’ sold 300 acres to James Gibson, 310 acres being chenas from 11 to 26 years, the rest forest. Gibson was in affairs with M.B. Ekneligoda, and those villagers who had rights in the village block started selling most of their chenas which the villagers who had rights in the block taken by Crown could not do. A part was purchased by one Bawa Lebbe Vedarala (a yunani medical practitioner residing in the village) and by local Muslim petty businessmen from Mattamagoda and Kannatota, established long ago as dealers of arecanut, the traditional major export of the area. Another part was purchased by Ekneligoda himself, who gave the land back to villagers as sharecroppers. A fresh wave of sales (often by women) occurred between 1895 and 1906, and a new land speculator, L.M. Sekku Marikar, trusted the sales, purchasing 65 acres with a view to resell the lands to a planter, which he did in August 1906. The area was much affected by anti-muslim riots of 1915, which were violently suppressed by British volunteers, most of them planters, and in 1931, in the context of the first democratic elections in Ceylon, tension erupted in the area between the superintendent of Atalawa estate and the villagers.   

On the road leading up-country, Yatiyantota was an active bazaar in a central position for the new tea estates opened on chena lands recently sold by the Crown. The case of Garagoda, which has been studied in “Abortive Chena Settlements in the Kägalla District during the late 19th and early 20th centuries”, was not isolated. In the nearby villages of Warakagoda and Polatagama, closely connected, the first cultivated by Duraya and Goyigama people, the second inhabited by Duraya people, land brokers were trying by mid-1888 to offer the village blocks for sale to the planters. The operation and the fight against land grabbers by Price, supported by the governor Gordon, is worth a detailed study: it may be one of the origins of the creation of the new Sabaragamuwa province[28]. This is the area in which Saunders had attempted in the 1860s to repress chena cultivation; it was surveyed and after a chena enquiry (1877) two block settlements were made, at Warakagoda by Ievers in 1879, at Polatagama by Murray in 1880, which decided that the people of Polatagama who used to cultivate chenas in Warakagoda should restrict themselves to Polatagama, and allowed large areas to the Crown. All the villagers did not sign the agreements, and land brokers began to purchase Warakagoda lands from Polatagama villagers for sale to planters in 1888 : Makevitage Baron Perera of Ruanwella, alias Morawatte Baba Sinno, qualified by Price as “head of the land grabbing concern” was reputed for having fought the authorities in the Morawatte case. He acted in association with Hettirala and Sanmugam Pulle “Tamil land broker, Chetti man of Karawanella”. They hired lawyers, C.J.A. Marshall, notary at Awissawella, Ferdinands, proctor at Kägalla, and even the Colombo firm of Julius and Creasy, and “applied to the Surveyor General for a copy of a plan of a chena lot in Warakagoda in view of obtaining from the Crown a certificate of no claim”. Price answered that the villagers themselves should ask for the certificate, and explained that as he had refused to give a certificate to Sanmugam Pulle: “now the interested parties try to get what they want through the intervention of a proctor (…) Certificates of quiet possession[29] for land in a village block of chenas should not, as I think, be issued in any case. In the present instance it is wanted in order to perfect a title to communal land offered for sale to planters”.

Apparently Price was not supported by his superior Saunders, who wrote on the 15th of July 1888, probably under the pressure of Julius and Creasy : “If the petitioner is entitled to receive a copy of the plan on payment of survey fees he ought not to be refused it, simply because he has made a purchase the validity of which only a court of law can settle”. If one reads between the lines, it looks as if Saunders was acting in favour of would be planters and thus protected land speculators. During the following months, Perera, Pulle and Ferdinands regularly and separately repeated their requests. Price commented in his diary: “The land brokers, finding that the intervention of their proctor had been of no avail, addressed themselves to the Surveyor General who answered them to the following effect: ‘the village of Warakagoda was surveyed for the information of Government ; as soon as the Government Agent has investigated claims and granted certificates of quiet possession, a copy of the plan may be supplied on payment of survey fees’. Baron Perera once more turned to Price and asked for a certificate. Price told him to put a statement of his title and wrote in his diary: “Careful circumspection is needed to prevent the alienation of these village chenas, and if once such alienation on a large scale begins or is allowed to begin, there is no knowing where it will end”. His position was supported by governor Gordon who wrote in the margin: ‘this is perfectly true and a matter of great importance’. A few days later “A petition reaches me from Sanmugam Pulle applying for a certificate of quiet possession for certain chenas in the village block. The applicant explains that he presents this petition as Mr. Marshall, his lawyer, and Baron Perera, his agent, both of whom have addressed the Agent on his behalf, have failed to get what is wanted. He states that he has taxation list extracts for these lands, and deeds from the vendors, but recites no other titles. Today a petition from of some of the villagers of Warakagoda (the Vidanelage) who complain that Sanmugam Pulle and others have bought chenas in which they have a share, against their will, and that these chenas are about to be sold for tea plantation, and they ask that sale may be prevented and the vendors may be ordered to prove their rights to sell”. The petition mentioned that “certain persons with the help of Ekneligoda are going to sell the petitioner’s lands”.

What was the role played by Ekneligoda Ratemahatmaya in the affair? On 26.11.1888, being apparently under suspicion, he reported to Price that “I only told them not to buy high lands. I never helped them at any time nor did I connive at their doings”. He recognized that “the signatures of certain Durayas were not taken to the settlement in the first instance (…) they signed subsequently”. He added “David Sinno of Gomaduwa has also purchased land in this village. The statement that those lands were purchased for me is wholly untrue”. In January 1889, Baron Perera had exhausted the resources of presenting petitions to government and of lawyers’ letters and the Agent triumphantly wrote : “I have checkmated him in his nefarious business of buying village chena (generally against the will of a proportion of the shareholders, always to the real detriment of all of them) in order to sell again at a large profit to planters”. But Perera was still active in 1891: “ Baron Perera, the leading land broker, happening to be present, I took the occasion to publicly impress on the people that they must not sell chenas forming part of the village blocks, pointing out the evil results of doing so, and explaining that the Agent would endeavour to satisfy from land at the disposal of the Crown the demands of tea planters”. In December 1890 and then in March 1891, the Vidanelage Govi family petitioned against Pulle, Perera and David Sinno; Ekneligoda again affirmed “I have not bought any land in the village, petitioner was never prevented by me from cultivating any of his lands”, and accused him of false testimony.  In May 1892, the new assistant Davidson compelled Ekneligoda to hold a gansabhava with all the local headmen, but in the absence of Vidanelage who pretended that he had not been summoned and in July, another gansabhava was held, in which the the Vidanelage family was given lands, which were immediately seized for a fiscal’s sale by Pulle who was their creditor.

Finally in May 1894, the actors behind the scene came into the open: the planter W. Mitchell of Degalessa, with the support of the big Colombo legal firm De Sarams, in a private letter on a paper headed Kelani Valley Planter’s Association, asked for a certificate of quiet possession for 299 acres he purchased at a fiscal’s sale of Pulle property; he complained that just after the sale, L.S. de Silva obtained from Polatagama villagers acts of transfer so that he could blackmail the planter; and Vidanelage petitioned to prevent Mitchell from seizing their lands; the Agent advised them to hold on “Mr. Mitchell on paper to the contrary not withstanding”, but could not go further.

William W. Mitchell, already active in 1886 as a purchaser of Crown land, was considered by Price as ‘an eminent member of the land grabbing fraternity’. In 1891 and 1892, he requested the Assistant agent to assist him in obtaining land in Gantune and Neluwakkana, where there were large gardens and practically no forests, and in Uduwe[30]: “Mr. Mitchell writes to ask me in effect to help him in the matter of buying some native holdings which adjoin his Glenalla estate. He requests me to tell him if the men who claim the land are in any way recognized as its owners by Government, and whither receipt for taxes which is sent with his letter would enable them to procure from the Governement CQPs. I reply that the document in question is not a receipt for tax on land in Uduwe, it is an extract from the Service Tenures Register for the village of Kekalapone which lies in a different direction. The land Mr. Mitchell wishes to acquire is part of the block allowed to the villagers of Uduwe for chena cultivation and I decline to its alienation for the purpose of cultivating tea”. Two days later, “Mr. Mitchell writes to me privately to ask me to expedite the issue of a certificate of no claim on the part of the Crown in respect of a piece of land which was bought from some villagers of Teligama. From the Government Agent a letter on the same question. To the Government Agent I send a copy of the particular chena settlement, in the preamble to which Mr. Ievers remarks that his apportionment ‘does not leave the villagers much chena land’. The necessary implication is that he did not contemplate the alienation of any part of it (…) The intention of these settlements was to grant the usufruct only of chena and not the right to alienate it. The Crown has abandoned its claim against the villagers of the village concerned, but taking into consideration the spirit of the dedication, I am inclined to suggest that if all other experience fail, the claim of the Crown should be treated as having revived in case where such land has been transferred to others from the pangukarayo of a particular village”. “Had interview with Mr. W.W. Mitchell, relating to his application to purchase lands from the Crown and from his neighbours. Also his information that villagers had chenaed Crown land near him: on enquiry it proved to be private land. Had also various complaints against him by villagers for encroachment on their lands. He admits an encroachment of 8 ½ acres for which he says he has settled to pay 50 Rs per acre: his experience in the Matara district has taught him how to handle his neighbours making them friends. Most managers merely accentuate by their manners the prejudice with which the villager views the strangers invading their hillsides. I told Mr. Mitchell that I exceedingly objected to his proposal to buy from a Moorman 120 acres bordering his estate for 35 Rs an acre. I pointed out to him that the Moor broker was rendering he villagers landless, and when the money has gone, they would be vagrants, and some of them criminals.”

Kitulgala was a large bazaar on the road to the Kandy district, where another powerful Chetti trader, Juan Pulle, was busy acting as intermediary for would-be planters, such as M. Rogers, who came to ask Price “in an artless way how he could most easily and securely buy land from natives”[31]. Close to Kitulgala, the village of Teligama had been the theatre of extensive land grabbing operations in 1888-89[32]: Ross Wright (Chertsey estate) after having purchased the Crown block started encroaching on the village block. He then asked the Agent through his lawyer, C.J.A. Marshall of Avissawella, whether or not the block settlement gave the villagers their lands in full property.  Price answered that it was the villagers and not the prospective buyer or his agent who should ask such a question, and noted in his diary that “the elements of this lawyer’s letter in this matter are objectionable and should I think be repressed in a politic manner (…) In all parts of the island where villages adjoin estates the same thing is going on. I think it advisable not to make more informal settlements at any rate in the neigbourhood of estates, or where estates may some day be formed”. The case was brought to Colombo, and after the Attorney General had advised that by the Ievers settlement the Crown has lost its rights on the village block, the government decided that it would give M. Wright Ross the certificate of no claim he was asking for, with the important qualification that “in issuing a certificate to Mr. Ross, warn him that the certificate will not protect him from any possible right of the villagers to eject him”. As mentioned above, W. Mitchell was himself involved in purchases in the same village in 1891-92.

Further south, a Muslim businessman of Colombo, Mohammadu Lebbe Marikar, was the only non-British purchaser of Crown land in the large sales of the Kelani Valley. He then wished to extend his Al Noor Estate by purchasing a part of the village block. Patberiya, a village bi-caste (Goyigama-Vahumpura) of easy access from the Ratnapura road, had been settled by Ievers in 1884: with 22 pangu, 51 families, 21 acres of paddy; and 1,700 acres of chenas; 341 acres were retained as Crown block, sold to M.L. Marikar in October 1886 and 1,365 acres formed the village block. “The number of pangu being so large made a division very difficult”; some Goyigama pangukarayo (Senanayake) lost all their chenas and complained in 1888 that the other pangukarayo refused to give them a share, and Ekneligoda pretended that until then the villagers had not asked for a repartition; a gansabhava convened in October 1888 failed to persuade the other pangukarayo to give a share ; another meeting was held in 1892 in which a compensation was decided, again to no avail. At that point, the pangukarayo had already started to sell their chena rights to outsiders, while the Alnoor estate superintendent encroached on stream reservations to build a factory, and Ekneligoda reported (24.01.1893), that Al Noor estate had purchased village chena land in 1891 from the panguwa which had been deprived of its lands and from Manuel Perera, who had acquired them from a Vahumpura panguwa. In 1897 the same Senanayake panguwa petitioned again: the Assistant agent was ready to recognize that the Crown had not kept its promise of compensation, but its superiors in Colombo censured him, arguing that the petitioners “did not make any protest against the sale by the Crown of the land taken over which seems to indicate that they were content to abide by it (…) I do not see any evidence that the petitioners had any legal title to the land which the Crown sold”. Finally, the Governor himself decided in 1898 that compensation should be given in land, but there was not a single Crown land left in the village…[33]

Near Dehiowita, the proprietors or managers of large estates formed by Crown sales were also busy extending by buying village lands. “Mr. David Fairweather of Kanangama Estate wants 20 acres of the villager’s block for a firewood reserve for his property, and also applies for several other lots which form part of the villager block. He urges that the 20 acres piece is rocky and precipitous forest, and maintains that it would not be unfair to deprive the villagers of this piece of land – apparently because it is not fit for chena cultivation. But he perhaps forgets that the villagers want firewood as much as he does, though for a different purpose – to say nothing of fence sticks. It cannot be”. Kanangama, a large village, located to the east of Dehiowita, was first the subject of a chena enquiry (1877) which allowed the villagers small lots on the basis of a detailed survey, and then block-settled by Ievers  who noted that it contained 308 acres of forest ‘nearly all sold’, 1570 acres of chenas, 30 acres of mudlands. Finally the successive settlements created a mess which was finally exploited by land grabbers and the village lands were entirely sold by the beginning of the 20th century to R.J. Mackenzie and the sale legalized by the colonial administration[34].

 

A freak case: the formation of Yataderiya and Knavesmire estates

The hilly area between the We Oya, Ritigaha Oya and Gurugoda Oya valleys was a remote part of Uduwe korale of Lower Bulatgama, which attracted the attention of planters who were established upstream since the time of coffee estates and had extensively encroached upon the highlands of the local high caste families who were in the process of losing their authority. In the 1870s it was a forested area with good land, a road close by, and coffee estates further up; it was therefore selected by prospective planters of new land for tea when coffee collapsed in the early 1880s. Ievers, the assistant agent in 1885, had foreseen difficult relations between villagers and planters in that area: “Uduwa, Yatideriya, Dedugala, Kekulapone adjoin Genalla, Gangwarily and Rangalla estates, and I am disposed to allow villages a good extent of chena land to form a good ring fence (so to speak) round the villages to prevent encroachments and raids on their gardens from Tamil coolies”. In the north, accessible from Undugoda, the village of Yatideriya had a Goyigama and Vahumpura population, while Diyahitiyawala was a multi-caste feudal village belonging in part to the Ranasinha Mudianselage family who held the post of Uduwe korala. In the south, near Bulatkopitiya, Pilawela, Wiyalapitiya and Rangalla were also mixed caste villages where the Dissanekge family was influent. On the other side of the river, Edurapola was a Goyigama village without paddy fields.  

In May 1886, the Colombo authorities, without informing the new assistant government agent Price, proposed for sale to planters some 6,000 acres in Tunbage, Rangalla, and Yatideriya; on enquiry, it appeared that only Yatideriya was settled, while Tunbage was a nindagama, and the sale was restricted in October 1886 to the Yatideriya lands[35].   The Yataderiya [sic] estate was established in 1889-90 by James Richard Fairweather, and it was extended in January 1891. James Richard Fairweather (1861-1910) and his elder brother David Fairweather (1859-1922) were typical colonial Scottish adventurers, who developed extensive interests in Ceylon[36]. There were thereafter constant incidents between the planter and the villagers: encroaching, cattle trespass, silting, and difficult relations with Tamil coolies. Fairweather had cut a road across village land, which had affected a house wall, felled timber on a land which he has not yet purchased from the Crown, refusing to obey Price orders, and finally succeeding in purchasing it when Price on leave was replaced by Bertram Hill who was in better terms with planters: “ The superintendent of Yataderiya was very anxious to buy a block of 46 acres that lies between his store and the main portion of his estate. The block includes village chenas the owners of which are however unwilling to sell their lands. It would save future trouble if they can be induced to part with it. The superintendent is not a desirable neighbour for them” On his return, Price noted: “M. Fairweather is in the high degree unpopular with his neighbours, and it is quite impracticable to settle the matter out of court. The kacceri has done all in its power to help the aggrieved Sinhalese; it has now retained lawyers and has instituted a case in the District Court, the result of which will I hope bring Mr. Fairweather to his senses”.

J.R. Fairweather was noted for his brutal management and his miserliness. For example, in 1894, the Assistant agent Davidson wrote in his diary: “A bill for one rupee was sent in to the superintendent of Yataderiya in the ordinary course for treatment of a Mr. David who died in consequence of the wounds which he received in his bungalow on the estate at the hands of culprits as yet undetected. The poor man was brought to hospital and died the next day. The superintendent now returns the bill and suggests that I should proceed against the estate of the late Mr. David for the recovery of the amount as ‘he was removed to Kegalle by the orders of the medical officer, the case then being in the hands of the police’. Words fail me. I have paid the miserable rupee myself rather than stoop to argue with people capable of such a suggestion, but the less said the better”[37]. Finally, Yataderiya was rounded to form a very large estate (1,865 acres) comprising 1,118 acres of tea, 740 acres of rubber, and 7 acres of paddy, which was extremely profitable, “earning for its shareholders dividends amounting to an average of 25 per cent, for eighteen years”.

In the early 1890s, J.R. Fairweather was also involved with his associate Gallway in the development of Knavesmire estate, in conditions which caused a serious embarrassment to the colonial administration[38]. The story begins in 1872 with a petition of low caste (Duraya and Henaya) villagers of Rangalla and Pilawela who complained that the high caste Dissanekge family pretended to be the proprietors of Rangalla, Wiyalapitiya and Pilawela on the basis of a forged sannasa. Ten years later, the same Dissanekge began to fell forests to assert their title but were defeated in court in 1884; they contested the judgement which went to the Supreme court, they lost the case in 1887, and their lands were sold at a judicial sale in 1889 to a straw man, who immediately resold them to Ekneligoda, the Chief headman of Three-korales and Lower Bulatgama, before C.J.A. Marshall, proctor-notary of Avissawalla, a well-known member of the ‘fraternity of land grabbers’. Ekneligoda was early involved in land dealings in the area he was administering.

Chena settlements of Rangalla, Wiyalapitiya and Pilawela were made hastily on 4.03.1890 by Price and Ekneligoda, under the pressure of a tea planter, Gallway, who was promised land in that area in exchange for land he gave up in the Nuwara Eliya district: the villagers were allowed 1,000 acres and 420 acres were reserved for the Crown for the exchange with Gallway. 32 villagers of the 3 villages signed the document, including the Dissanekge. But immediately afterwards a petition by the Dissanekge and some Durayas complained that the lands left to them by the division were being cleared by the superintendent of the ‘Galgadiyana’ estate. Ekneligoda reported that these lands were declared Crown “and given to Mr. Gallway” and that a division would be made by holding a Village council meeting to give the Dissanekge in exchange a portion from private lands; this was done one year later and the headmen decided to reallocate the chenas to answer the claim of the Dissanekge with the conclusion : “not a single pangukaraya is a loser”. Then Gallway was accused of having encroached on the village block but Ekneligoda reported that these lands were declared Crown and sold to Gallway. In January 1893, Davidson, the new Assistant agent, asked for a report on the purchase by Gallway from villagers of 24 acres which were included in the Crown block by settlement, but were not given then by the Crown to Gallway, and which the villagers considered private as they remained unsold ; Ekneligoda reported that the Dissanekges, the Badahelas (potters) of Wiyalapitiya, the village headman of Rangalla and the Durayas of Rangalla had sold these lands to Gallway. In March 1893, Davidson met J.R. Fairweather, representative of Gallway, who said he was prepared to buy this time from the Crown the same lands, and he reported to his superior Wace that Fairweather was bona fide and that the aracci and the korala were also persuaded that the lots were private as they had not been sold by the Crown. But Fairweather pushed his demand further and asked to purchase 54 acres from the Crown (instead of 24 acres) and the Agent answered by the negative. These 54 acres were actually sold by villagers to the planter according to a report of September 1893.

The affair became unpleasant at that juncture : the Government Agent Wace insisted that his subordinate Davidson should warn the villagers to return to the estate the money they got for the sale of lands belonging to the Crown, as “to allow the villagers to retain possession of monies recovered by them for sale of Crown land appears a distinct encouragement to evade and disregard the past and present chena and forest settlements (…) I cannot regard it as a matter of ‘no official concern’ and I must beg you to take action to compel the refund of such monies”. The position of Davidson was on the contrary that “the question is one between the estate and the villagers and is officially no concern of mine: I have no legal power to compel restitution.  My contention has been all through that the managers not only of this estate but of several others buy up any native pretentions as a preliminary to pressing the Crown title as well. These things are done by managers with their eyes open. The superintendent of Knavesmire could have seen by a tracing from the Surveyor General office that the land was Crown by settlement”.

The villagers, when asked by Ekneligoda (who was probably involved in the deal), refused to appear and refund the money, except the Rangalla aracci. Davidson then went to Bulatkopitiya (13-14.11.1893) : “A very unpleasant job, much against my will, trying to frighten Duraya villagers with refunding to an unscrupulous estate manager money he paid them for land bought behind my back from the villagers who had no right to sell it as it was Crown land. The Crown is going to sell it and the estate may buy it if it pleases. But I have no power to recover the 400 rupees paid by the estate to the dishonest villagers and I would not try if I had any choice”. During two days, he led his own enquiry, and the truth appeared[39]. The Dissanekge brothers had received only 3 Rs in cash and the rest (18 Rs 87) “in chits on the store, about 3 bushels of paddy”; they could not repay in cash but were prepared to work twenty days each on the estate. The Badahela (potters) admitted to have received 10.75 Rs in cash and undertook to repay. Others had received 8 Rs in cash and some rice, others were old and infirm but also ordered to pay or face prosecution. The gamaracci paid 22.50 Rs under threat of dismissal. Most Dureyas refused the terms proposed, that is free work on the estate.  Finally Davidson wrote that “if the proprietor wishes to recover the money he must do so himself by process of law; I repeat that he deserves to lose it for his superintendent negotiated this transaction surreptitiously: I myself discovered the fraud by an accident”. And Wace agreed to let the matter drop. The affair must have impressed durably the people: according to the local tradition collected by me in 1978 on the spot from a descendent of the Uduwe family, the villagers were paid “with dry fish on the estate store”.

A new light was thrown on the affair when Ekneligoda was replaced by Mideniya in March 1895. Ekneligoda petitioned the Governor saying that he claimed chenas in Pilawela purchased from a fiscal’s transfer but sold by the Crown to Knavesmire. Mideniya reported (22.08.1899) that these lands were those of the Dissanekge which were declared Crown at chena settlement which Ekneligoda signed. As to the subsequent division and repartition of land by gansabhava “no one seems to have observed the decision of the meeting”. In May 1901, there were new encroachments by the estate and by the Dissanekge who had regained power in the village of Rangalla by having its aracci Mohotti, a family member, on their side. Anonymous villagers backed by Ekneligoda and by the late korala Punahela Mudianse accused Mohotti of buying everybody, his power coming from selling arrack in his own boutique. In March1903, one Fernando, carpenter at Bulatkopitiya purchased shares ‘private by settlement’ in Rangalla to resell to Knavesmire, and in August 1906, villagers continued to sell lands out of the village block to Fairweather.

Knavesmire remained a hot spot for the following decades, during the riots of 1915 and much later during the JVP insurgencies. Its acquisition by the State was contemplated in 1938 to settle villagers hemmed-in by the estate; it was purchased in December 1945 for distribution to villagers of Rangalla, Wiyalapitiya and Pilawela, at the initiative of D.S. Senanayake, Minister of Agriculture who wrote in a report (17.05.1946): “The Kegalle district is one in which the sale of Crown land to estates and of private land by villagers also to estates has rendered the district particularly short of land for the genuine needs of the villagers (…) The claims of the villagers – genuine villagers – whether they are of the agricultural class or workers in other trades must receive prior consideration. Reference is also invited to the definition of the Ceylonese as a person possessing a Ceylon domicile of origin”. The Tamil coolies, supported by their union leader Thondaman, refused to quit the estate they were working on for generations. Thondaman declared (4.06.1946): “Knavesmire episode is an indication of things to come. The complete amity and good fellowship that exists between the Indian labourers of Knavesmire and the Sinhalese of the neighbourhood should be an object lesson to the protagonists of communalism who are in power today. It is a crying shame that such an amity on which a united nation can be easily built up is being destroyed. Mr. Senanayake would treat estate labourers and villagers living in mutual friendship as two different entities. His officers evidently under his directions are in search of domicile of origin to create division. Their object is that Indian labourers who have for generations contributed to the development of the country should be kept secluded as estate labourers and transferred as such from estate to estate if work is available, or repatriated across or into the sea.” The controversy dragged on with an attempt to organize a hartal, until Nehru in the name of the Indian National Congress advised Thondaman to drop the matter. The take-over was completed in 1950 with the tea lands on which 175 families were settled[40]

Estates resulting from the land sales of 1886 other than Knavesmire and Yataderiya did not attract similar public attention: in such cases there was at work what contemporaries called ‘a silent revolution’. Among the blocks of chena lands sold by the Crown in 1886 in the Bulatkopitiya area, those of Edurapola, amounted to 1,200 acres: ‘Ederapolla estate’ was thus formed, and the small Gamage local family emigrated and sold in 1896 the 600 acres left to them by the chena settlement but not clearly demarcated. But in this case the transactions were controlled by a member of the family (Appuhami, the Dombepola korala) who managed to sell the same lands to two different purchasers, a low country Karawa ayurvedic doctor and a Muslim bazaar keeper who fought against each other to take possession of the land, while the Crown attempted to assert its title to a portion unsold in 1886.[41]

 

Davidson facing the planters.

When the idealist Assistant Agent Price left the district into the hands of Davidson, he wrote what he called ‘Friendly notes’[42] in which he instructed him to distinguish two parts in the district, one left to the planters – the south, Three-korales and Lower Bulatgama, the other reserved to the villagers – the north, Four-korales: “Restrict further sale of land to Three-korales and keep Four-korales as the Garden of the East – with a prosperous peasantry untainted by the civilization [sic in text] of Scotland and Mincing Lane”. The dualistic theory which was at work at the village level in the system of chena block settlements imagined by Ievers, was translated at the district level in the system imagined by Price to protect the traditional values embodied by the peasantry.

Davidson, who was a modernist and a realist, shared his concerns but questioned his assumptions[43]: “My predecessor strongly held that the remedy for the present evil lay in legislation ‘to prevent the alienation of holdings intended to be communal’. Although I sympathize with the spirit which led him to advocate this course, and although I apprehend the difficulties that may arise with a landless and indolent peasantry, I cannot see my way to recommend legislation to restore the communal character of village holdings after the practice of alienation has been countenanced for so many years in the Supreme Court of Ceylon. No legislation can at this stage in my opinion arrest the progress of the decay in Ceylon of the communal village system, where that system runs counter to the temporary interests of the villagers and the interests of the European element, and I am disposed to think that when the process of transition be past, with its misery and attendant crime, the Kandyan villagers will develop into as honest and industrial a race as the Sinhalese of the Europeanized portions of the southern province, or the Tamils of the Jaffna peninsula. Meanwhile I advocate that the Government should not countenance the alienation of the village lands and should refuse to make surveys or grant Certificates of Quiet Possession [CQP] to purchasers, and thus devise a means to make the transitional stage between the old time Kandyan usage and the Europeanization of the hill country as slow and gradual as possible”.

In his diary Davidson was more straightforward in arguing against the granting of CQPs[44]: “Let it be granted that the Crown is not directly concerned, and that the survey (for CQP) gives remunerated occupation the Surveyor General Staff (planter’s motive). The object of the planters is to get a title deed from the Crown. It is true the Crown certificate is of no value in itself. But it is notorious that whereas the borrowing power of a whole sheaf of native title deeds is nil, yet the mere appearance of a Crown certificate gives so respectable an air to the document that the banks will make advances on them (…) Hence I maintain that no encouragement should be given to purchases from villagers by the estates and that, when a CQP is asked for, the Agent should refuse to certify it for survey if he finds out that it is applied for merely to strengthen the estate title. I could name a dozen estates off-hand which are now negotiating to get CQPs under these conditions. It does not matter to them what belongs to the people”.

Several papers appeared in the Colombo newspapers in July 1893 commenting and criticizing Davidson’s administration report, arguing that “it would be hardly just and honest for the Government to refuse surveys and deeds of quiet possession whilst all along acknowledging that it has no right to prevent the village owners from selling”. Davidson reiterated his belief in progressive change[45]: “I believe that the present reckless alienation of village land for tea cultivation will make its own cure speedily, for in some instances I believe that European purchasers have, under misrepresentation, purchased land with unsecure titles from the villagers. The vexation and expense caused to these purchasers in having to defend their title or to buy off claims will serve as a deterrent to others who may wish to acquire land at a trifling cost on a risky title”.

Two years later, Davidson found that sales of village lands had increased instead of cooling down, for a simple reason: “Tea estates can no longer expand by the purchase of Crown land. So they expand by the purchase of native holdings. I do my best to stop it, but no lessons will deter the planter from taking the risk and no consideration of the future welfare of the native who sells his land will stop either the purchaser or the vendor”. He annexed a list of Kelani Valley planters who had come to ask for CQPs : Smith for Walpola (Sapumalkande), Wright for Maha Oya and Pelellegama (purchased entirely from private holders), S.L. Harries for Kahanowita purchased entirely from private holders, Tottenham for Dickella/Digalla as addition to previous estate, Dankin for Aludeniya purchased entirely from private holders, Grigson for Densworth addition to previous estate, Hayes for Maldeniya addition to previous estate. He added a few planters who purchased village lands in Four-korales (“ Mr. Price hoped to keep the Four-korales for the Kandyans but where there is profitable investment for the Europeans and cash down for the natives nothing will stop expansion”) : L. Stuart for Dampelgoda, W.L. Strachan for Debatgama, T.N. Orchard for Udagoda, Golledge for Ettie in Udumagama.

In January 1896, Davidson seemed resigned: “I believe that, do what we will, the whole of the Three-korales will shortly be a sheet of tea with gardens and a few silted up paddy fields interspersed”. “Planters are keen on getting more land; as there is very little Crown land going, they are buying right and left from the villagers and giving good prices too, 30 Rs and forward for chena! Unfortunately it is not always the original village owner who gets this. He has often been previously cajoled out of it by some of these low country sharpers at anything down to Rs 8 an acre or even less. However the extension of tea is without doubt fastly increasing the general prosperity. The Three-korales, which was the poorest division of the district, is fast taking its place among the richest”. “The Three-korales, owing to the upheaval of all titles to land arising from the enhanced value of chena lands, is the busiest and most responsible rata in the Kandyan country. The Ratemahatmaya there, Mideniya, knows exactly what to do, and does it with industry, tact and judgement. Twenty years ago, a villager got no value on his highlands, now they are worth 40 Rs an acre. The temptation to realize a large sum on a land he still has no use for is tempting. Yet they most of them realize the horror of being landless and déclassé. I have often discussed with them the misery of the transition stage between their present un-monied ease and the Europeanized condition of the Southern province where each man has to work for his living. But a great deal of lands is nevertheless changing hands and going to tea cultivation and serving as such to maintain large numbers where few could get a living before. The Ratemahatmaya consequently has 200 petitions which he dealt with while I have been away, settling rival titles amicably and blocking fictitious claims. In this work the Forest settlement is of great benefit, though of course by defining Crown and private titles it directly conducts to the alienation of private lands by clearing them of Crown claims” [46]

But in his official report he insisted on the necessity to restart Crown sales to prevent village sales through Ceylonese speculators[47]: “With a view to supplying the demand for land from European investors, a class of native speculators has arisen, who secure a profit in buying up doubtful titles at low figures and reselling some of them at high prices (…) I would point out that 412 native deeds conveying title to 116,323 acres of native lands in parts of Three-korales have been registered during 10 months in 1896 (…) The total in native hands within that area does not exceed 60,000 acres (…) The average price, is 1.64 Rs per acre, when it is known that Europeans would pay 50 Rs per acre (…) Enormous extent of business transacted at the Kägalla Land Registry Office arising from these wild speculations in village lands: number of deeds registered : 6,485; of properties affected (sold or mortgaged) : 12,003; amount secured by mortgages: 1,712,032 Rs ; value of properties transferred by sale: 2,386,405 Rs (…). Beyond illustrating the activity in the land market, these figures are of little value for in many cases lands are overvalued for the sake of ostentation, and in others undervalued to avoid stamp duties. I estimate that over 10,000 acres or so of village land have passed into European hands during the year 1896, fully 9/10th of it being in the Kelani valley. The nominal extent of land bought up by speculators for sale to Europeans must exceed 150,000 acres but very little of it has really changed hands. Where the vendors were not in possession the land brokers have in many cases retransferred the lands to their vendors. The speculative mania has been stamped” [This was wishful thinking: the retransfers were a tool to fortify title.]

By the end of 1896, with the gradual extension of the alienation of village lands to the north of the district, which had been partly settled by Booth under the Forest Ordinance (see previous chapter), the relations between Davidson and the planters reached a critical point. In October, he issued a circular printed in Sinhala and distributed in the villages. The original text is not available but only its English translation; it reads as a defense and illustration of the traditionalist/dualistic view of village life and could have been written by Price[48]:

“In the Four-korales there are as many Kandyans as the fields will grow food for. Therefore there should be no strangers introduced. If you sell your chenas you will lose part of your food supply, and the rest of your food supply will be destroyed through the fields being silted up from the drains in the highlands. If you sell your chenas, you will lose your lands and will some day soon have to work as daily labourers for other people who have obtained possession of your lands. You are happy now because you have only to work for yourselves to provide yourselves with sufficient food. When you lose your lands you must work as daily labourers and must always work whether you wish to or not, and/or whether you are well or sick; for if you do not earn your wages you will starve. You will be cheated by kanganis who will keep back part of your wages or who will get you into debt by giving you advances on high interest. When once you have got into debt you will never escape: as, if you go away, you can be brought back on warrants. Furthermore, your children will learn the vices of their masters: you will see your children learning to drink strong drinks and to fight and to swear. They will copy the vices of the Europeans and not all their manly virtues. So, do not be persuaded to sell your lands but keep your ancestral lands to yourselves and let the Four-korales remain what it has always been, the most favoured garden of the Kandyan provinces. There is plenty of room for tea plantations in the Three-korales and up in the hills where there are no paddy fields and only a few villages”

Davidson commented in his diary: “I hope it may help to stop the reckless sale of village land in the prosperous and thickly populated Four-korales ; we have no need of tea plantations here ; they do good where the land is not settled or fully occupied, but the harm they would do is infinitely greater than the good”. The circular attracted the attention of the pro-planter Times of Ceylon newspaper which argued that land sales would liberate the villagers from the grip of the moneylender, and that it gave a false image of the labour relations on the estates and thus discouraged the villagers from taking employment on the plantations. The Governor then requested an explanation from Davidson who answered that “Agents commissioned to buy lands have penetrated into every village: and what is already taking place on a small scale, if it were not checked, would assume in a few weeks huge proportions. In proof of which I am prepared to prove that titles to more than 100,000 acres of village lands has changed hands within 6 months of this year in the adjacent divisions of the Three-korales, Sabaragamuwa and Kurunegala. The harm done in Four-korales would be greater than that caused elsewhere because the soil already carries a heavy population which maintains itself on the produce of its own fields and chenas, and there is practically no waste land”. Davidson explained that he “decided to issue warnings (1) to the members of the Kelani Valley Planters Association not to buy lands without bringing their intention to my notice and without a certificate of no claim from the Crown (2) to the notaries not to execute deeds conveying more than 50 acres of lands on titles based simply on the assertion of hereditary possession (3) to the villagers not to sell lands. The Governor Ridgeway (who had succeeded Havelock in February of the same year) censured Davidson, considering that while the intention was good, Davidson had used an unproper language referring to planters and kanganis.

Davidson in his diary insisted on his good relations with the planters: “ I met Messrs. Forsythe, Steward, Jones, Kingsford, Brace, Raffin and Oliversand. Despite the press attacks on my conduct in a recent incident, my social relations with the Kelani Valley planters remain as excellent as they always were (…) I shall be curious to see if there is any manifestation when the Kelani Valley Planters Association (KVPA) meets (…)  It is odd considering the abuse reported in the Times to have been showed at me at the meeting of the KVPA of 7 December, that the only communication received by me subsequently should convey the thanks of the Association to my letter”. He recapitulates his actions and underline their results : 18 applications for Certificates of Quiet Possession in the case of Kelani Valley purchases covering 6,000 acres, “letter from Mr. Golledge giving up the attempt to buy behind my back (this attempt was the most serious) and pay directly “30 Rs per acre to those villagers who have spare lands”; notaries being warned, “ the whole land broking middlemen business is at a standstill and one at least of the two notaries will be broken over glaringly bad cases: now the villagers petition for the Certificate and get it readily if they want to sell, and the Certificate just make their lands worth ten times as much” . He recognized that he “greatly appealed to the prejudices of the Four-korales villagers, judging that common sense appeals would not win against the chink of rupees, and that the tone of that appeal was indiscrete and was deservedly censured”. Davidson considered that that his action succeeded in arresting to extension of the land grabbing activities out of the Three-korales ; he added – wishful thinking – that henceforth “now that the mania has subsided, and the methods to be adopted in transfers are recognized by both sides, the extension of the tea industry will proceed on sound lines, only chenas the clearing and opening of which will not destroy the fields, will be sold; only the chenas which the village vendors really own will be sold, only chenas which the pangukarayo in gansabhava decide to be more than they want will be sold, and when sold the chenas will realize 30 Rs per acre, not the Rs 1,71 they did average. The price realized will go to those who really own the lands which are sold. The purchaser will not have to buy off half a dozen different claimants later. The peasantry will still have their fields and arecanut groves as their main source of subsistence and can increase their income or not, as they like, by working on the neighbouring estates and in practice, the Europeanization of the district which we cannot arrest will be made as slow and as easy as possible”.[49]

In July 1897, Davidson was replaced by Bertram Hill and the tone of the official correspondence became purely factual, listing village sales, the names of middlemen, and showing the extension of their activities to the north of the district. Hill commented the lists by these words, which signed the defeat of the interventionist policy of his predecessors: “I am not of opinion that any action is necessary”. In 1897, 8,000 acres “were sold to middlemen or capitalists for tea, and there is no reason to doubt that vendors are as reckless as ever in disposing of lands to which they have insufficient title” and in 1898 “7,500 acres of chena land have been sold by the villagers and 80 acres of gardens, in many cases land was disposed of to which vendors had little or no title”. By the beginning of the 20th century, the demand for tea land in the Kägalla district slowed down: “sale of lands by villagers have been rare” [50]. One of the successors to Hill, E.B. Alexander, produced another piece of wishful thinking (or hypocrisy), praising “the success of the policy pursued by the previous Assistant Government Agents in preventing the villagers selling their lands and jealously resisting the invasion of European capital and the immigration of Tamils, Moormen and Low-country men. It has prevented the swamping of the Kandyans and gave them time to develop their resources gradually. I don’t think that even a boom in rubber would make them fool enough to sacrifice their possessions now”[51]. Actually the rubber boom of the beginning of the century did just that, and the result was a wave of Certificates of Quiet Possession. The power of the plantocracy was to prevail over the attempts of the administration for the next thirty years.

 

Kelani valley planters and the Certificates of Quiet Possession (CQPs) until 1913[52]

In 1897, under the Governor West Ridgeway, to replace or rather supplement the ordinance of 1840, a new Waste Lands ordinance had been enacted, which eventually led to the establishment of a Land settlement department with extensive powers. The failure of the Kägalla settlements was one of the motives for the new legislation, others being the urge to curb the rise of the land grabbing activities by Ceylonese planters, and the provocative attitude of the former civil servant Le Mesurier who played the game of the land grabbers to ruin the authority of government. An added element was that with the abolition of the paddy tax in 1892, it would be impossible in the future for älvi (hill paddy) chena cultivators to prove title to highlands by the production of wattoru. “Since 1890 [sic] the tax on all fine grain has been abolished and ord. 12 of 1840 sect. 6 can no longer be used as a test of private right to chena land. It has been customary here to admit the right of villagers to clear chena under 20 years of age when they can prove that they have paid tax for a certain portion of them. Clearings of chenas under 20 years of growth are not reported to the kachcheri. Mr. Booth in his settlements allowed three times the extent shewn in the claimants’ wattoru as private to make up for the absence of wattoru for amu and kurakkan [millets]”. The local agents pleaded for a settlement of the district with the new tool at their disposal: “obvious advantages would be gained by defining once and for all the at present vague and debatable limits of Crown rights (…) The findings of the Assistant Government Agent or the payment of a fine is no evidence of the Crown title in a civil proceeding and even the admission of a claimant would not bind others, for villagers frequently dispose of a chena to which they have a real or imaginary right to planters and low country Sinhalese speculators who have not the Kandyan’s respect for the law (…) The policy of systematic settlement has long been recognized in this district. Mr. Booth has been engaged in work in Beligal korale and Kelani valley as a Forest settlement officer. Mr Ievers and the other AGAs have made settlements of whole villages. Questions of title arise daily and the same Crown is gone over again and again (…) Unless a special officer is detailed for duty in this district, the complete settlement will be the work of years; a beginning should however be made, and the existing policy continued under the protection of the new ordinance”[53].

However the colonial administration was unwilling to apply the new ordinance to the Kägalla district: on a mild interpretation one might justify it because it was too late to control village land sales, and because enquiries at the village level would be time consuming ; I would rather suggest, on the basis of the documentation available, that it was avoided because it would affect British planters and expose the profits derived from the mechanism of land speculation, in the context of the rubber boom which impacted a large area comprising the west of Ratnapura district, the east of Kalutara district, the whole of the Kägalla district and the borders between the Kurunegala and Matale districts.  The process of acquisition of village highlands for the planting enterprise was subsumed under a profitable business of appropriation of land value by a succession of intermediaries. When the stakes were high, huge profits could be cashed, but it required the concurrence of influential legal firms to obtain certificates from the administration which could enable the entrepreneurs to float big companies on the London sterling market: only the British-funded managing agencies were able to do that. The CQPs enhanced the value of the land and gave the estate openers access to the British share market. They were therefore eagerly sought after, with the assistance of local and Colombo lawyers. These ‘settlements by CQP’s[54] were therefore preferred as a novel manner of obtaining lands by planters after the failure of the block chena settlements and the forest settlements, in a context of heavy demand first for tea, and in a second phase for rubber land.

The settlements under CQPs in the Kägalla district dealt after 1897 with three categories of village lands purchased by outsiders: 1. lands of the village block recognized as belonging to villagers under chena settlements;  2. lands allowed for chena cultivation by villagers under forest settlements; 3.unsettled lands. A first series of CQPs concerned lands purchased to extend the estates sold by the Crown for tea in the late 80s and early 90s in Three-korales and Lower Bulatgama. A second series concerns lands sold in the Four-korales, most of them in Beligal korale, especially during the first rubber boom (first decade of the 20th century). The last series concerns the sales in the Kälerata after 1910, but in that case the system was generally replaced by settlement under the Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897, and monitored by the Land settlement department.

The history of the systematic and massive use of the CQPs as a mode of settlement with planters who had purchased land from villagers started with the outcome of the Davidson circular affair: he advised the Kelani Valley planters who had purchased village lands to ask for CQPs. A list of the CQP demands in the district at the date of January 1897 was prepared, covering 7,889 acres[55]. Some ‘openers’ were more active than others in the game: J.A. McAlistair for Pannila-Imbulpitiya and Urapola (1,140 acres), J. Patterson for Polpitiya and Punugala (630 acres) and Seymour Luce Harries, a close associate of W. Forsythe, who had purchased lands in ten villages, with a total of 2,513 acres, forming the Sapumalkande group; Kahanavita (123 acres), a block settled village, entirely sold, Hatnagala (355 acres), Lakmana (400 acres), a nindagama of the decadent Eheliyagodas totally dismembered later between Yogama estate (J.P. Anderson), Rangegama estate, Woodend estate, Panawatta (464 acres) a part of Udaramba which was the subject of ample information and was block settled, Talapitiya (241 acres) not settled, Dikella (83 acres), Kudagama (208 acres) another Eheliyagoda nindagama, Uda Yogama (173 acres) block settled by Ievers, Maha Oya (210 acres), Walpola (256 acres) block settled. 

A section of the administration objected to the easy delivery of CQPs. The Surveyor General wrote to the Government Agent Sabaragamuwa in 1899[56] : “In many cases, applications for CQPs are not bona fide, the real object being to secure Crown land and I therefore trust that some checks will be provided on applications for survey of this nature”. At the same time, the rationale behind the Forest settlements of Booth was questioned by the authorities in the case of Bambarabotuwa, Madampe and Gilimale villages (located in the nearby Ratnapura district) where a quantity of chenas were sold from 1901 onwards, after the Crown had abandoned its rights to highlands in former gabadagam by letter of 14.05.1897. In October 1903, the Controller of Revenue F.R. Ellis (1849-1915) underlined the urgency to decide on the issue in the Ratnapura district where the demand for land was enormous. He considered that by the decision to allow chena cultivation the Crown lost its authority on land, keeping a purely theoretical ownership of high lands and could no longer prevent the villagers from disposing of their chena lands, and that the Forest settlement blocked any attempt at permanent cultivation : “No house can be built, no garden can be made, the chena if irrigable cannot even be converted into a paddy field. A chena it is, a chena it must remain (…)  The settlement is an effective and complete bar to improvement of any kind”.

The new governor, Henry Arthur Blake (December 1903-July 1907) undertook to review the land policy of his predecessors in the context of a booming demand of land for rubber cultivation. He expressed his opinion in a minute (9.12.1903) which can be considered as a master text of the colonial policy: “It appears to me that the question to be first decided is: do we wish to encourage or to repress individualism? The village system seems to me so far as I can judge by the reading of these papers akin to collectivism, and the proposed reservation of Crown lands with chena rights is as Mr. Ellis points out a bar to all progress. I do not know enough practically to offer a valuable opinion, but it appears to me that the speculator is a bugbear that loses its stems on close examination. What if he does buy the land for a song from a village community? He takes the land out of the unprogressive system of primitive civilization and endorses it with the magic of individual ownership. Without cultivation it is useless to him and it may be expected that permanent crop will take the place of the wasteful exhaustion of the communal system (…) No matter how produced, I think each additional cacao or coconut tree is an addition to the wealth of the island, and even though the speculator may disproportionately prosper, the island at large is a gainer”.

His subordinates were more cautious. The Colonial secretary (Im Thurn) made the following comment: “We do nothing to prevent the speculator from acquiring the land legitimately. It is only his illegitimate acquisition of land, say from one member of the community, to which we object. Moreover even legitimate acquisition on anything like a large scale would saddle us with a peasantry unattached to any land, which is always a bad thing”. Ellis added: “What H.E. says is quite true (…) Two questions however have to be considered : 1- the speculator, if he cannot purchase the villager’s chena at a nominal figure, will buy Crown land at a fair price : the Crown thereby secures a double advantage : it promotes progress and increases the revenue which is devoted to the advancement of the island in other respects; only one of these ends is attained by allowing the purchase of chenas 2- why do we give the villager a chena ? because his paddy field is insufficient to provide him and his family with maintenance ; what then will the villager do when the speculator has obtained possession of the village chena ? he must either undergo the privation from which the chena was intended to forestall him, or he must cultivate Crown chenas either with or without permit, most probably the latter ; he may be prosecuted and punished, but we have already seen in the North Central Province how formidable passive resistance may become ; the only way of avoiding this is to discourage for the present at all events the sale of these lands (…) If the sale of these lands are recognized, speculators will begin to buy in the whole waste land of the island ; only a small portion will be cultivated, the rest will be held on the deeds executed until the price of land rises and they will be sold at a large profit”[57].

During the following years, Ellis continued to deprecate the easy issue of CQPs[58]: “the only safe title is that based on purchase from the Crown. Cases in which land has been bought from villagers must be decided on their own merits but it is not as a rule intended to issue CQPs. Government does not feel called upon to supplement the titles which capitalists have considered sufficiently strong to justify investment as the land has probably been bought under its value on account of the weakness of the title”. But the pro-planter lobby – the Planter’s Association, the big Managing agencies and firms of lawyers – successfully stifled the move, probably with the support of governor Blake. In any case, the aim of the colonial administration was no longer to prevent land sales by villagers, but to make the planters pay to the exchequer a share of the value of the land by raising the requirements for issuing CQPs.

In Kägalla, the Assistant government agents who succeeded Hill, especially E.B. Alexander, had close relations with the planters and were ready to encourage rubber development without objections: “In Three-korales and Lower Bulatgama, Mr. L. Bayly is negotiating for the purchase of 400 acres of private jungle at Lewalla, and Mr. Harries has bought 400 acres near Deraniyagala, 100 acres at Walpola and 150 acres at Mahinkanda for rubber cultivation. The private title in all these cases is sound. The Ratemahatmaya reports that there is a large demand for land suitable for rubber cultivation”[59]. Vaughan, another agent, wrote in 1906: “In every part of the district except in Galboda and Kinigoda, considerable extents of high land have been sold by the villagers to planters for rubber cultivation, and will no doubt effect a marked change in the ordinary Kandyan village. The villagers have not as yet taken to selling their fields and gardens, and so long as they do not part with them, the replacing of the chenas by rubber estates will I think on the whole prove beneficial” [60].

The attribution of CQPs was simple when the chena settlements had recognized as private all the highlands of a village. Near Patberiya, the Vahumpura hamlet of Kotunna[61], recognized entirely private by Ievers settlement, was sold by villagers, share by share, in 1896-1898, to the usual group of land speculators, Karpen Chetty, Don Salomon Appuhami, K.A.D. John Perera, and C.J.R. Marshall. They asked for a CQP in late 1905, and resold in November 1906 to the Durampitiya Rubber Company. The government admitted 179 acres as private by settlement, but asked payment for 72 acres not covered. The Assistant Agent Stevenson in a comprehensive memo on the attribution of CQPs in the district (27.11.1907) pointed out that it was the rule to charge only 10 Rs an acre for CQPs “where the AGA is satisfied that the transaction is bona fide and where the consideration paid is thought as adequate (but) it is only recently that cases of chena lands sold by villagers to European planters have been taken up for settlement and CQPs issued on payment of 10 Rs an acre for Crown claims. Before 1905, the practice here was to recommend issue of CQPs for all chena blocks without any payment”.  

When the chena settlements were more complex or when there had been no settlements, the colonial administration, willingly or not, took the side of the planters rather than of that of the villagers. We give here the details for some of these villages, in which were often involved three leading planters of Atulugam korale, William Forsythe, Seymour Luce Harries, and J.P. Anderson. In that area, the sparse population was often settled in small villages dominated by one lineage belonging to the Goyigama caste, considered since the time of the kings as land owner, so long as it rendered  services such as clearing the roads, hosting and feeding the Dissawe (provincial governor) in visit, and assisting in the elephant kraals. Such a domain was called gamwasama and its chief, the gamladda or gamarala, could employ pelkarayo to cultivate his chenas, and got only a very small proportion of the crop, but the pelkarayo had not to perform any service to him as in a nindagama. The special status of the gamladda was recognized by the other villagers and the headmen, as being the result of a will of the Dissawe, but there were no formal documents, and the colonial administration was at a loss to define the rights of each claimant. Most of these villages, such as Udarambe, Walpola, Wattegedara, Maldeniya, Digala, Pannila, Kehelwala and Udabage, were located at the periphery of the large blocks sold for tea plantations after the block settlements of Ievers, many had not been settled, and they attracted the greed of land speculators, especially of S.L. Harries, who employed as middlemen tavern keepers and bazaar traders.

Udarambe (Uda Arambe) and Panawatte[62] were two small Goyigama villages on the south bank of the Kelani Ganga. Land sales to planters started early, in 1874, and the Pennycuick settlement of 1877 allowed many chenas to the villagers, who sold them with the connivance of local headmen. In October 1897, S.L. Harries who had acquired before the notary C.J.A. Marshall of Avissawella 453 acres of land (actually, shares) from various low country, Kandyan and Muslim middlemen, asked for a CQP from Bertram Hill, the successor of Davidson. Harries pretended that according to the villagers, the whole village of Udarambe had been settled ‘by Ievers’ as private, while the village of Walpola had been taken by the Crown (and later sold to the planters).  In a private letter (26.10.1897) written to his ‘Dear Hill’ he asked him to lend him the local chena plan (which was refused). In a second letter (7.03.1898), he told his ‘Dear Hill’: “Do you think you can arrange to get me one CQP for the whole lot, Panawatte and Udarambe? They all join each other and there should be no difficulty as regards Udarambe as it is entirely chena lands. I wish you could help me in this matter as my partner Mr. Forsythe is going home in April and is very anxious to have all the deeds fixed up before he leaves”. ‘Going home’ was the grand affair of these colonial entrepreneurs whose business it was to have their plantations taken up by sterling companies with unassailable deeds…

In April 1898, he asked for a further CQP for 66 acres already planted in tea in the locality of Panawatta. In June 1898, the chief headman Meedeniya reported that Udarambe was not a settled village contrary to what Harries pretended, and the CQP was refused because the plan was inexact. In December 1900, Harries wrote again to his ‘Dear Hill’ to ask him to expedite the CQP: “I want to get it very much before I go home in January and if you can hurry it up for me I shall be greatly obliged to you. Do please try and let me have the CQP this month without fail [in text] as the non-receipt of it may very seriously inconvenience me. I am sorry to trouble you but if you can do this for me you will really be doing me a very great favour and I trust you will arrange it for me.” He insisted in a last letter dated 16.12.1900: “Mind in those hard times one does not get a chance of a sale every day, and if I don’t get a CQP I shall lose my chance of selling”. Hill finally wrote to the Government Agent and the Surveyor General in favour of Harries.

Between 1905 and 1907, A.B. Smeaton (who succeeded Harries), acting for the Panawatte Tea and Rubber Company, added a request for a further CQP concerning a series of lands (431 acres including a few acres of gardens) in Panawatte already planted in rubber which were not included in the first CQP; they had been sold by the same middleman, Kolonda Kader Thamby, with the usual numerous sale and resale of shares to fortify title, effected between 1.06.1895 and 7.11.1905, in most cases before C.J.A. Marshall.  The middleman had himself acquired some shares of the land from the Gamarallage people of Udaramba who were indebted to him. The CQP was supposed to extinguish the claims of those villagers who had not or pretended not to have sold their shares.

Walpola[63] was a small Goyigama hilly village of Atulugam, between Dehiowita and Deraniyagala, which had been sold to the Sapumalkande estate after having been settled by Ievers, partly by the Crown, partly by the gamladda who claimed a portion of it as a gamwasama. Village chenas were sold by the gamladda family from 1891 onwards to Kader Thamby, who resold to Harries. In 1906, the Agent, Stevenson, proposed to give him a CQP on very easy terms. Six years later Smeaton, successor to Harries at Sapumalkande, purchased land from Kader Thamby who had got it from the gamladda, before the notary C.J.A. Marshall, and although all the shares had not been purchased, the CQP was given free of charge….

Pelellegama [64], located close to Udarambe was settled by Pennycuick in 1877; the village lands (25 acres) were not demarcated from the Crown lands (78 acres) and the villagers had not respected the settlement: “they regularly cultivated the chenas, and obtained wattorus for land before declared Crown”  S.L. Harries wanted to extend his Maha Oya estate: he employed a Muslim, Ana Lebbe, as intermediary, and purchased “all the village”. Ellis wrote in a memo dated  2.12.1904 : “the case is a typical one and the same procedure can be adopted when the circumstances are similar (…) it was impossible to protect the Crown land (…) there was no correspondence between the plan with dotted lines of Pennycuick and the actual extent (…) It is I think worth taking some trouble to meet Mr. Harries views because he has adopted the course which is desirable that all planters should adopt before buying lands. Sales by villagers have been checked if not stopped, settlements have been completed, Crown land paid for, and the present case shows that planters are prepared to take up a fair and reasonable attitude. This should I think be encouraged in every way”. In this case, the government decided to give him not a CQP, but a Crown grant without guaranteeing the title against the village claimants : 25 acres gratis, 78 acres at 10 Rs an acre, and forest at 20 Rs an acre  “it is understood that you undertake to settle native claims to any portion of the area in question”. Harries, not content to be given this Crown grant, tried to evade the payment of survey fees (180 Rs) and the government answered that the private plans were often ‘grossly inaccurate’. He sold his estate in 1906.

Wattegedara[65] was another gamwasama, close to the small Deraniyagala town, purchased by S.L. Harries. The Controller of Revenue, Ellis, considered the case as a test in his attempts to control land grabbing in Atulugam korale and led himself the inquiry in November 1904. The testimonies of the villagers give a precise image of the peasant economy and society. According to Ellis, it is the issue of CQPs on easy terms by the Assistant agent Vaughan “which started the whole business”. The village was unsettled; it had been founded in the 18th century by two brothers in law who married two daughters of the local gamarala. Their sons either married in binna (uxorilocally) or in polyandry. Their descendants at the third generation sold their shares in 1895, and some left the village. The middlemen, Domingo Perera and Joseph Peris, resold to K.D. John Perera who resold to S.L. Harries, while Bastian de Silva sold to another planter, on the basis of an arrangement of 1897. Harries, with the support of Mideniya, the chief headman, argued that the special status of a gamwasama gave to its owner the full property of its highlands, while Ellis considered that the Crown had retained its rights, and asked Harries to pay for the lands.

Padugama[66] was another a small unsettled village where S.L. Harries purchased land for Polatagama estate: the village  (172 acres including 34 acres of forest, 6 of gardens, 3 of owitas) was sold to him by Edwin Francis Mapitigama (then korala of Galboda) at the rate of 40 Rs per acre, and the CQP was issued to the planter at the rate of 10 Rs per acre for the areas not covered by wattoru. But villagers who had planted trees on supposed Crown land in the same village were required to pay at half improved value between 25 and 100 Rs per acre.  When the Settlement department took up the area in 1933 the village was “extensively planted up in old rubber by estate companies and there is not much land left to settle”. The double standards of the colonial administration are evident, and CQP just like the previous systems of settlement was open to corruption especially because the correspondence between the wattoru and the actual lands was, like in the first chena settlements, ascertained by headmen and kacceri clerks who could be bribed to expedite the matter, to admit forged wattoru, or to alter a decision[67].

Further south, Pukunuwala[68] was a very small Goyigama village in the interior of Panawal korale, in the heart of what was to become one of the largest estates of the Kelani Valley, the Pambagama alias Sunnygama group. Its alienation to planters became the subject of several cases involving W. Forsythe and big planting interests. Contrary to Pelellegama, the village was not settled under the chena settlement nor the forest settlement. Pambagama estate began to purchase it in 1898 from the Ranwila Vidanelage family and a CQP was issued in 1900 without serious enquiry. In further reports, it appeared that Ekneligoda, the former chief headman, and the decayed aristocratic Eheliyagoda family were involved from the beginning together with various other middlemen. In 1917 the final purchasers of Pukunuwala (the Pambagama estate and J.P. Anderson for the Panawatte Tea and Rubber company) were refused a CQP by the Settlement officer Fox, who criticized the laxity of the local administration (report dated 10.09.1917):  “Settlement of large extents of land in the Kegalle district should not in my opinion be recommended except after personal inspection of the lands by the Assistant Government Agent (…) He has not carried back the title completely to the original title by inheritance as desired by government (…) the planting of rubber began in 1912, that is before Panawatte Tea and Rubber Estate had any interest in any of the lots (…) Neither the Government Agent nor his assistant has made out any case for settling any part of the land to Mr. Anderson”. He concluded that it was unadvisable to recommend the settlement of these lands to J.P. Anderson, and asked for the detailed notarial deeds to check the extents given in the documents. After years of litigation, in which the interests of the planters were defended by the legal firm of De Sarams, the Controller of Revenue was compelled to accept a settlement: in a letter dated 10.03.1919,  he wrote to the Colonial secretariat: “About two weeks ago, Mr. W. Forsythe, who has recently returned from England and is the principal director of the Sunnygama Co., interviewed me on the subject of his claim which is now being dealt with in the District court Kegalle 4944. Mr. Forsythe stated that it was not his wish that his Company should litigate with Government and suggested that the question of a settlement should be considered. From the Solicitor general I learnt that the evidence was not at all favourable to the Crown case. There are wattoru which cover portions of each of the 4 chenas involved”. As a result, Forsythe had an interview with the Controller of Revenue, the Settlement Officer and the Solicitor General, and of course in such cases, a gentleman agreement was found and the case was dropped…. Finally out of the 64 acres, 56 were sold by government at 75 Rs per acre [the villagers had been paid about 24 Rs an acre] “It was understood that this settlement is in no way to act as a precedent to the settlement of other claims either by Mr. Forsythe or anyone else but that each such case must be settled on its own merits”.

Dulgalla, Narangalla, Denawakawatta, and Kendawe, in the Bulatkopitiya area, were solid Duraya villages whose chenas, regularly cultivated, but interspersed with small forested areas, had been admitted private in various settlements by the end of the 19th century[69]. With the rubber boom of the early 20th century the villagers progressively abandoned chena cultivation and sold their lands to a middleman (Arnolis Baas) who acted for the planter R.H. Brodie, linked with Finlay Muir and Aitken Spence firms, and locally represented by the lawyer Philip Ondaatje; there were more than 100 notarial deeds. In 1908-1910, a CQP was asked for 758 acres, but as all the shares had not been purchased and as the wattoru produced covered only 100 acres, the government was unwilling to give a certificate. The investors in London (The Doolgalla Rubber Estates Ltd) became nervous and asked De Sarams to intervene, and the Crown finally refused to deliver a CQP but instead delivered a grant in January 1914 with a special provision refusing to guarantee the purchaser against possible claims of a third party, for the sum of 9,268 Rs. This form of settlement distinct from the CQP system became frequent when the legal status of the land had been entangled by numerous sales. The administration attempted to compel the planters to purchase all the shares and protect the weaker members of the village society.

In the same area, Lewala, Wegalla, and Welatuduwa were also Duraya chena villages totaling 2,362 acres, which had been settled by the Booth Forest settlement. Three years before, in 1889, Wace, as Government agent Sabaragamuwa, had attracted to these villages the attention of W. Forsythe who was himself connected with J.P. Anderson[70]. In their reports on the forest settlement (5.04.1892 and 8.08.1892), M.B. Ekneligoda and L.W. Booth established that “the Crown does not claim any of the chenas in those villages, the growth of jungle on which is less than 20 years; the chenas belong to the villagers and have been cultivated by them and by their ancestors for generations”. The control was limited to the small patches of forest scattered all over the highlands, and to älvi cultivation (taxed at the rate of 1/14th when notice was given in advance, or 1/10th if not). The villagers were submitted to services in the time of the Kandyan kings, but since the British accession they were owners of their lands without any conditions, as in any koralegama. They had proved title to 1,305 acres of chenas and owitas, 95 acres of gardens and 53 acres of paddy fields, so that only 908 acres of scattered forests were reserved to the Crown by settlement. As a result, the situation was not conductive to the formation of a large estate in compact block from Crown sales, but as all the chenas had been recognized private, and as the attention of land speculators had been attracted to the area, the villagers began to sell their highlands to J.P. Anderson, before any survey was done, so that it appeared that about 100 acres of reserved forests had been planted with rubber in 1899.  In the highlands of Urumiwela, another Duraya village close by, 600 acres were similarly purchased through a Muslim middleman by William Forsythe and planted in 1902.  Between 1899 and 1903, the case was shelved, and when it was reopened it appeared that a part of the so-called forest was in reality chena with tax receipts. In August 1908, a CQP was applied for by J.P. Anderson with the project of integrating Lewala and Urumiwella lands into a group (1,081 acres), and the certificate was issued at the pressing request of Anderson in April 1910 on easy terms: as a result, the Grand Central Rubber company was incorporated in July 1910[71].

 

The struggle between the planters and the administration over CQPs (1913 to 1926)[72]

The above mentioned cases must be understood in the context of a shift in the land policy of the district: with the support of the Land Settlement officers and the Controller of Revenue, two Assistant Agents, Codrington (July 1911 to July 1914) and Burden (July 1914 to July 1917), attempted to clear up the backlog of CQP cases, in a context of pressure exerted by the demand for rubber land in the populated areas of the district. Most of the new plantations partly or entirely made up of village chenas since the beginning of the century were located in Four-korales, and after the Crown decided in 1916 to cease selling land, there was a further rush to purchase village chena lands, which continued until 1927 [73]: “There is a great demand of land for rubber planting but there is very little Crown land available for sale. Large areas of unsettled chena lands and lands allowed for chena cultivation are being bought by capitalists with a view to obtaining a settlement with the Crown. Numerous complaints have been received from the villagers with regard to these purchases. It is not an unusual thing for a capitalist to buy up a few shares of land and then clear the whole land. The only remedy is a vigorous campaign of block survey and settlement, but unfortunately (sic) this does not seem likely to materialize in the near future”.

In a memorandum dated 4.09.1913, Codrington listed the plantations in the Four-korales “owners of which should be called upon to produce deeds” : Arandara Estate (Kottepola, Boyagama), Ambanpitiya estate, Asideniyewatta (Balapane), Higgoda (Lahupone), Markville (Alawatura), Atale estate, Puspane estate, Panane estate,  Pallegama estate, Mayfair (Algama), Etna estate (Etnawala), Barrington (Kempitiya), Yatiwela, Kovilakanda (Mahantegama), Mahaganga (Dodantale), Mattamagoda, Kannatota, Algoda, Denakantota, Gonagama, Maragalla, Hendagama, Debatgama estate, Gankorahene estate (Makure), Paranagama, Uduangama, Gantune, Yatideriya estate (Wadiyakanda, Kudelanpota), Dickella and Godapollawatta (Paragammana), Loolpola estate, Narangalla estate, Hatbawe (Rambukkana). The three largest estates made up of village lands in that area, Madeniya (Dorawaka), Golinda (Haloluwa) and Karandupone, were not mentioned in this first list. They appeared later in the list made by Burden in 1916 of pending cases, with the names of the legal firms involved:  Kempitiya (167 acres, De Sarams), Digala (111 acres, De Sarams), Karandupone (231 acres, De Sarams and Ondaatje), Lewala (60 acres De Sarams), Walpola (152 acres, De Sarams), Kapuella (236 acres, Whittals), Berannawa (217 acres, Ondaatje) , Golinda (337 acres, Ondaatje), Bodawela (126 acres), Udahenkanda (345 acres, De Sarams), Meneripitiya + Patberiya (226 acres, Whittals).

The Kägalla lawyer Philip Ondaatje (himself the owner of Godapolla estate) had been entrusted by the proprietors of several estates, including Karandupone and Golinda, to represent them, and he discussed the matter in April 1914 with Codrington and Thaine (the Government Agent of Sabaragamuwa). In continuation of this interview, he defended in a letter of 9.04.1915 arguments which Albert Alfred Wickremesinghe, another local lawyer, the proprietor of Madeniya estate, later developed in a booklet published in 1924[74]: “The rights of the villagers in chena lands, provided that they have not developed into forests (i.e. where growth on it is over 20 years) have been recognized since the British occupation of the Kandyan districts. For instance in this district, the majority of land cases heard and decided in courts are suits in which the title to highlands or chenas are in issue (…) Further, on writs issued from the courts, chena lands belonging to judgment debtors are seized and after due notice and publication sold in satisfaction of writs. Thereafter fiscal’s conveyances are granted to purchasers under the hand and seal of the Government Agents. It cannot therefore be urged that these adjudications (…) are in respect of lands to which suitors have no title (…) In this district, the Government has recognized the rights of the villagers and estate proprietors by acquiring the same for public purposes (railway lines, hospitals…)” “The title to most estates in this district will be found to be partly by purchase from the Crown, and partly by purchase from the villagers, the Crown generally putting up for sale forest lands by public auction and when they have been acquired by estates, these estates proceed to buy up intervening blocks of highlands or chenas which government has not put up for sale by reason of these lands belonging to or being in possession of the villagers”. Ondaatje omitted to mention the case of estates made up exclusively of village lands, such as Golinda, Madeniya and Karandupone. He quoted the Administration reports of Hill, Vaughan and Alexander as a recognition by the administration that “when chena cultivation can be proved within the last 20 years the land is allowed as private”, and added that in some districts the soil being not favourable to the cultivation of älvi, and the other grains not being taxed (“by some oversight or mistake”), no wattoru were available to prove title under ordinance 12 of 1840; with the abolition of the paddy tax in 1892, the ordinance of 1840 became invalid: “the abolition of the tax has the unforeseen and immoral effect of confiscating to the Crown all the highlands and chenas in the Kandyan provinces after a lapse of 20 years after 1892”. He finally asked what proof of possession could be accepted in lieu of wattoru “on behalf of the estates noticed and also Golinda and Karandupone estates”. The Assistant Agent answered that he was not prepared to reopen the question.

Then the legal firm De Sarams, acting for the Managing Agency Whittalls and Co, sent a letter (3.05.1916) recalling the arguments of Ondaatje, requesting the administration to give them CQPs under the same conditions as heretofore and criticizing the publication in the Government Gazette of ‘Sale and Settlement’ notices (which might encourage “possibly frivolous and vexatious claims, the enquiry into which may delay and embarrass the issue of CQPs.”), adding that the question of the relations between estates and third parties was not the affair of Government. In his diary, the Assistant Agent Burden recognized the contradictions of the land policy[75]: “The whole difficulty of chena CQP settlements is due to the fact that it is not possible to decide what are Crown and what private chenas without a survey (…) If government insists on its own legal rights it will make estate owners very shy of opening up fresh chena lands and therefore the development of the district will be severely prejudiced (…) There is one aspect of the question which is of some interest : the fact that the estates buy up many hundreds of acres of chena lands paying the villagers a fair price [sic] before applying for a CQP prevents any contest or disagreement between government and villagers regarding the chenas which the Crown may be found to have a legal right to (…) In view of the complicated state of the chena question (…) coupled with the desirability of encouraging the opening up of chena lands in permanent cultivation, it is expedient that the terms of settlement offered be no harsher than they have hitherto been.”

In his official report (15.08.1916)[76], Burden reviewed the general question of private chenas from the legal point of view, stating against Ondaatje that a fiscal sale transferred no property right but the debtor’s title, good or bad, and that it was too late to argue against the non-taxation of amu and kurakkan. He added critical remarks regarding the laxity of CQP settlements with the planters: “it would be natural to expect that the Crown claims would have been more strictly enforced. This however was not the case and I find [in settlements] prior to 1905 that the fact that chena was under 20 years of age was considered sufficient grounds for allowing private title”. Until 1905, CQPs were given out without reference to the central authorities (i.e. the Controller of Revenue and Colonial Secretary), and on the simple testimony of the chief headmen, who had all facilities to influence the result. After that date, the ordinance 12 of 1840 was adhered to and the planter made to pay about 15 Rs an acre for chena lands without taking into account the fact that the growth was under or above 20 years. But the ordinance was not clear regarding the date of the cultivation and the proof of limits. The wattoru lists were discontinued only in 1911, although the paddy tax was abolished in 1892: “It was clearly wrong to admit these lists after 1892. After the repeal of the tax there was no incentive to put in false extents as cleared. These lists after 1892 therefore show larger extents than the earlier lists. Now these recent wattoru are no longer accepted, and when chenas of the same name appear more than once only one wattoruwa is recognized as proof, while in the older CQPs all the wattoru were added of whatever date! The equivalent to one amunam is now 4 acres and not 8 acres as formerly (…) In 1878 at the time of Mr. Ievers report the value of chena lands was only 2 Rs per acre; with a chena land at this price, strict settlement was not a matter of importance. But with chena lands at 40 Rs per acre, it is obvious that a lenient settlement may mean considerable loss to revenue”.

Lahupone village provides a documented example of such a laxity in the delivery of CQPs, by the exploitation in this case of the flaws of the Forest settlement, which had recognized 255 acres of chenas and gardens as private on the basis of wattoru, but had failed to demarcate its boundaries[77]. Between 1902 and 1905, Vaughan, the Assistant Agent, who considered that “the best way of dealing with these old settlements awaiting final proclamation is to survey merely the unclaimed land and proclaim it”, had sold two small plots to the well-known land speculator and estate opener D. Fairweather, who asked him what was the status of the surrounding lands; he answered that they were all private, and on the basis of this assertion Fairweather undertook to purchase them to form the Higgoda rubber estate which became the property of the Kegalle Rubber Company, a director of which was W.W. Mitchell (now Sir William) another big planter above mentioned in several cases, and the representative of the mercantile community at the Legislative council.  In 1912-1913, Codrington on the basis of the deeds which covered areas outside the 255 acres allotted to the villagers, proposed to make the estate pay at the rate of 100 Rs an acre for the excess lands. At that stage Mitchell interviewed Booth, then acting Colonial Secretary, and Fox, then Settlement officer, to challenge the rate, and during his enquiry at Kägalla in April 1913 Fox was shown by Ondaatje the letter written by Vaughan in 1905 “which must have encouraged the predecessor in title of the Company to buy from the villagers the land for which the Crown now demands 100 Rs an acre”. As a result the CQP was issued at 15 Rs an acre… but the authorities were not concerned with the rate payed to the villagers.

In the case of Kempitiya estate[78], opened by two speculators, Hawke and Siebel, in the 1890s, and sold in 1911 by them to a company, Hatbawe rubber estates Ltd, the Settlement officer Fox demanded that the lands be put up for sale instead of being given a CQP, because the wattoru produced were forgeries and all the rights of the shareholders had not been purchased. The legal firm De Sarams argued that “the Crown is not concerned in any question that may arise as to title between third parties and the Company” and that “the means for ascertaining [villager’s] claims by the advertisement of the Company’s lands constitutes a slander of the company’s title (…) The company claims a right to have a CQP granted upon due enquiry, but without any suggestion or invitation to third parties to put forward what may be frivolous or/and vexatious claims leading also to unnecessary delay”: the company needed a quick CQP to fortify its title and complete the payment to its vendors.

Meneripitiya[79], a large Batgama village located at the limit of Panawal, was the theater of an intense speculation which led to the formation of a plantation belonging to the Grand Central Rubber Company.  The land broker was a Muslim, Lebbe Sinna Podian, late town aracci of Parakaduwa, the large local bazaar, and the acts were certified by Marshall. In order to obtain a CQP, the services of De Sarams and Ondaatje were required, but the administration was reticent to deliver the precious sesame.  In a letter dated 5.11.1912, De Sarams wrote: “All the deeds are deposited in safe custody at a bank here; the deeds are several thousands in number”: a precious collection! The case dragged on and was finally submitted to the Settlement Officer by letter of the Government Agent of  Sabaragamuwa (25.06.1919) “in view of the tricky attitude taken up by this company which asks for a concession and then interprets a proposal made by the Government Agent discountenanced by the Controller of Revenue to grant them more favourable terms (…) all the Ratemahatmayas will be instructed to report forthwith with any clearings of chena lands made by this Company so that prohibitory actions may be taken against them forthwith. They will also report whether they are undertaking any negotiations for the purchase of chena lands in your district”. The Settlement Officer Fox answered (5.11.1919): “Each case must be dealt with on its own merits. When the Pambagama case was settled it was stipulated that the settlement was not to be treated as a precedent for the settlement of other cases”. The CQP was finally issued at 100 Rs per acre.

Boralankada[80] was a sparsely populated hilly Vahumpura village (700 acres) which had been chena surveyed in 1877 but had not been settled nor included in a forest reserve. It became the hunting ground of several land grabbers trying to build up title by purchasing shares from the various members of the Manannalage family, descendants of the founder of the village. A CQP was asked in 1897 by a local planter, Smeaton, to whom a Muslim middleman offered 71 acres adjoining his estate, but there was an adverse claim which led the planter to apply for another CQP in 1905, by the intermediary of Marshall, the notary and proctor of the Kelani valley planters, while a third party, a Sinhalese entrepreneur, Simon Baas, tried to encroach on the same lands. A second attack was led on a larger scale by J.C. Mitchell (Sir William’s son) of Degalessa estate for the Sapumalkande rubber company. He employed in 1914 as land broker one Aron Fernando of Karawanella to purchase land belonging to the Manannalage family, but over a disagreement Fernando instead sold the lands in 1916 to a local Muslim, S.M. Mohammadu Lebbe, who asked for a CQP which was refused by the administration in 1921. The case was finally taken up on behalf of J.C. Mitchell by A. A. Wickremesinghe, the Kägalla lawyer, who in November 1923 produced a detailed report based on a complete genealogy of the Manannalage family showing the shares of each member, and on an exhaustive list of some 40 land transactions by them to several successive outsiders with the object of ‘fortifying title’ and resulting in a jungle of intertwined acts.

The case of Berannawa signaled the decline of the CQP system of settlement. Berannawa was a small village of chena cultivators up in the upper We Oya valley, surrounded by the Dolosbage/Yakdessa estates. (Kandaloya, Halgolla and others). It was populated by people locally considered as Väddas and the name of the country, Yakdessa, points to its place in the representation of the region as the abode of demons [81]. These peasants were free from any service to the kings, provincial governors and local chiefs, because the area was of little economic and strategic value, and they could keep their high status of hunters and forest people. The village was registered in the Service Tenures Register as a gamwasama, (a nindagama without services), although it did does not appear in the lists of the Commissioner, and was later considered as a koralegama. The case was taken up in 1912 by the erudite Assistant Government Agent Codrington, who relied on the Settlement Officer Fox expertise rather than that of the chief headman Mideniya before giving out a CQP[82]. Two planters, Arthur Watt and W. Russell Scott had requested a CQP for 263 acres purchased from the villagers “for an adequate price”, upon wattoru which after enquiry by the Ratemahatmaya were considered to cover half the area, 133 acres. The sale was realized through two intermediaries who purchased from villagers and happened to be minor officials: Hendryk Appu (a low country man), aracci of Dombepola, and Brampi Appuhami, registrar, and Ondaatje was employed by the planters to sort the case and collect wattoru. The Land Settlement Department insisted in a long exchange of correspondence on personal inspection and checking of the Ratemahatmaya’s reports; this being done the area covered by wattoru was reduced to 82 acres: the difference was therefore the profit expected by the planters. Mideniya apologized, explaining that it was a ‘clerical error’.

 

The formation of Karandupona, Madeniya and Golinda estates

The formation of these large estates in the populated and easily accessible parts of the Kägalla district at a relatively late date raises a series of questions, which the documents available cannot entirely answer. In each case, it appears that the erratic administration of the land legislation, and the failure of the Booth Forest settlement, opened the way to the appropriation of extensive areas with the concourse of astute lawyers, and that the long delays in making surveys and taking up the CQP applications resulted in a sort of settlement by prescription.   

Located close to Kägalla town, Karandupona estate[83] was started in 1898 on about 300 acres of land sold by the Crown, to which 230 acres were added later through purchase from villagers. Uda Karandupone village had been a thorn in the side of the successive local administrators since the 1870s: originally a nindagama belonging to the ancient Elapata family which had lost its feudal authority, inhabited by numerous Vahumpura and a few Goyigama families, its highlands had been extensively chenaed, escaping government interference. When the Crown attempted to assert its rights to forested areas under a settlement arrived at in 1888-89, it met with the stiff resistance of the villagers led by their headmen (“a set of regular lawyers”), who refused to agree to the proposals of the Forest settlement officer Booth to exchange lands to constitute two blocks. The final settlement in 1894 allowed 247 acres to the villagers and reserved 206 acres for the Crown but as these were “scattered in small blocks all over the village and are for that reason not worth reserving, those adjoining the streams may be kept but the others might be sold”. This was done before 1898 and the estate was formed with lands purchased from the Crown in Kägalla, Uda and Palle Karandupone and Attanagoda, to which were added private lands from these and other villages such as Diwela, a former royal village. The estate tried to obtain a CQP in 1911 through its legal adviser Ondaatje, then left its demand to expire and in 1922 the administration, desirous to get rid of this tangle, admitted that the plantation company had prescribed over any possible counterclaims and requested it to pay for its title only in unsettled villages.

Madeniya group (about 1,140 acres) was principally formed by the sale of the Dorawaka village lands which had been affected by contradictory settlements (see my paper on Kägalla settlements). Dorawaka was originally a very large, prosperous and densely populated gabadagama (royal village) whose muttettu (reserve) lands had been sold by the Crown after 1833, while the tenures had been recognized the property of former tenants, belonging to the Batgama caste. The villagers regarded their chenas as their property and until the Ievers settlement the colonial administration had not interfered with chena cultivation, but considered that in former royal villages, the highlands still belonged to the Crown and attempted to tax älvi crops at 1/10th instead of 1/14th in the district. In the same area, Maha Pallegama village had a similar history and a plantation had been opened with the tolerance of the administration: “as the settlements proceeded on different lines, there has been considerable confusion since, practically all the highlands in the village having been chenaed. My predecessors Mr. Alexander and Mr. Vaughan both recommended that the Crown claim in this village should be waived” [84].

Madeniya was the first large estate of the district opened by a Sinhalese lawyer, Albert A. Wickramasinghe (1877-1941), who was involved from the start in land speculations and acted not as a middleman, but as a prospective landowner.[85] He was only 29 years old when he started purchasing village lands in Dorawaka, at a judicial sale in 1906. These chena lands were in the eastern part of the village which had been declared private in the first chena settlement by Le Mesurier but not in the following settlements. Strictly speaking, the subsequent Forest settlement by Booth affirmed the Crown property of the chena lands in gabadagam, subject to a right of user by the villagers, and if followed it would have prevented the village sales; but the slack attitude of the colonial authorities who failed to demarcate the Crown lots, and to proclaim the settlement, nullified the intentions of Booth. A CQP was asked by Albert A. Wickramasinghe for 800 acres of lands in March 1907, and the Assistant Agent suggested to give a CQP only after receiving the plans approved by the Surveyor General and checking if all the shares had been purchased, on payment of a flat rate of 10 Rs an acre for chena lands, the forests being assessed separately: “Mr. Wickramasinghe agrees to this and I think that such a settlement would be very satisfactory as far as the Crown is concerned, for in view of the settlements already attempted the Crown would be in a unsatisfactory position if we went to Court”.[86] But in 1911 the survey department rejected the plans; afterwards, “several abortive surveys were made and the new plans were only received in September 1918 ; they cover 900 acres, which with the exception of about 20 acres of forest, were all chena at the time of the application. They are now nearly all planted”. In his practice as lawyer, Albert A. Wickramasinghe was in touch with Philip Ondaatje who was entrusted by most planters to represent them for their CQP applications, and he published in 1924 a book in which he systematized a theory of land tenure opposite to that defended by colonial administrators such as Codrington:  “No Crown chena lands ever existed or exist now in the Kegalle district (…) Whatever lands held by the Crown must be forest and cannot be chena”[87]. The situation remained untouched for years, when finally a survey was made in 1926 and the plan issued in 1929 by Jonklaas, a private surveyor. Dorawaka village was the subject of an inquiry by the Land settlement department in 1933.  At that time, there was practically no highland left in the village; the Madeniya group comprised 733 acres in Dorawaka itself, 228 in Makurugala, 198 in Tennehena, 23 in Warakapola, 159 in Ebidi/Rabidigala, 133 in Kongoda, and apart from rubber and tea it included about 21 acres of paddy and almost 100 acres of gardens, which was a very unusual situation.[88]   

In a previous article[89], I have analyzed in detail the history of the micro region, south of Kägalla town, where Golinda estate was carved out by the early 20th century, and my field study in 1979 tried to elicit the villager’s view of the process and the role played by different families of the five villages involved (Haloluwa/Getaberiya, Damunupola, Atugoda, Talewala and Malawita); I shall focus here on the formation of the estate itself, which had been entirely made up of village sales piece by piece, and on the role played by land agents in the process. The first official chena surveys were made in 1880-1881 in Malawita and Talewala by Philip Francis Ondaatje, then chena surveyor, at the demand of two British planters, for 67 and 28 acres; these lands were sold by the Crown much later, in October 1886. In 1884, the Assistant agent Wace applied for a survey of Damunupola, a registered feudal village claimed by Haloluwe Kiri Banda, which he thought could not be in entirety the property of an individual, for want of a sannasa; a judicial sale of Banda’s property (including the services of the tenants), for debts to a Chetty had been held in 1873[90]. This demand produced an exchange of correspondence with the Surveyor General, who was reticent to undertake a task which he thought unremunerative if it could not lead to a Crown sale: the affair was given publicity by the unusual quotation of the case in the Administration report of the district for 1888, and one can suspect that a land grabbing operation was already in the making. At the same time the land market in the area was dominated by the activities of Appuhami, a headman belonging to the Renapane family hailing from a nearby village, who purchased at fiscal sales some of the paddy fields of the Haloluwe family;  in the 1880s he was active in extending chena cultivation on forests which the administration wanted to preserve; he did so openly and the case was given a large publicity in 1891-1893 when it was brought by the Assistant Agent to the local court and went up to the Supreme court[91]: “Renapane Appuhami concocts bogus deeds giving himself Crown forests. He then clears, crops them. His position is very strong. The Supreme court is so strong against the Forest ordinance that convictions cannot be sustained before it in appeal”. For this case, the government retained the services of Philip Ondaatje, then advocate, who was to become its regular opponent in further land cases in the area and may have been initiated by this very exercise… During that period, three members of the Haloluwe family (Kiri Banda, Punchi Banda and Ukku Banda) started purchasing shares of village lands; their land grabbing cautious strategy was managed or supervised by Ondaatje from the beginning: they undertook also to purchase from the Crown several small patches of forest, from 1895 to 1905. By these legal as well as unofficial purchases they accumulated a capital of scattered lands which added to the Damunupola lands they considered as their ancestral possessions, which were however claimed by the Crown and by their former Duraya tenants who had ceased to recognize their lordship. According to the testimony of the villagers collected in 1979, there was ‘a gentleman from Kägalla’ (Ondaatje) who in association with Ukku Banda went round the villages to gather wattoru and obtain deeds of purchase of chena lands.

In 1905-1907, the applicants for small patches of forest Crown lands in the various villages were no longer Kandyan villagers, but a British planter, C.D. Hunt, and in 1908 his successors, Fellowes and Harper. To these piecemeal lands were added a quantity of chenas purchased from villagers, including the Haloluwe family. Fellowes and Harper opened in March 1912 an estate which they called Golinda [92]. Philip Ondaatje, acting for the planters, immediately asked for a CQP. But it took eleven years to settle the matter, which involved the collection of a huge amount of documents, a voluminous correspondence and belated surveys. The planters were influent enough to make the Colonial secretary instruct in 1912 the provincial and the district agents to expedite the matter in spite of the absence of a survey: “Golinda estate is entirely made up of lands purchased from natives. To effect the formation into a Company, a clear title is required (…) As the Surveyor General cannot undertake a survey of the area without very serious detriment to his other work, and as it is not desirable that an application of this nature should be met by Government with a mere expression of its inability to give the required information, the Controller of Revenue suggests that the Assistant Government Agent should make as careful and minute an enquiry as possible without a survey into the respective rights of the Crown and the villagers with a view to arrive at an approximate valuation of the claims of the Crown. When this has been done, it may be possible to arrange with the promoters of the Company for its purchase by them of the Crown rights and thereafter to issue to them a CQP”. The provincial agent, E.B. Alexander, strongly pro-planter, wrote to his assistant Codrington at Kägalla in February 1913: “I gather that the Company is anxious to get a Crown title quickly. I should not waste much time over tax receipts (…) The one thing to be careful about is that the villagers have not any claims which are averse to the estate; if they have, the Company should settle with them before Government can settle with the Company”. Codrington informed him of “that the existence of a private plan was concealed by the estate when asking for CQP” and was censored by his superior for the tone employed in his letter. Codrington had an uphill task described two years later in the diary of his successor Burden[93] : “The estate was in a frantic to get a CQP, as a company was in process of formation, and through their representations, my predecessor had to cover the whole ground and make a report as to the probable settlement, in the absence of the Surveyor General’s plan. This he did relying on the estate plan. I have now to go over the whole ground again with a plan issued by the Surveyor General. All this land is now planted up with rubber, and there is nothing to distinguish the land purchased from villagers from the land purchased from the Crown. However with the assistance of the individual who acted as intermediary between the estate and the villagers when the lands were purchased, considerable progress was made.” Meanwhile, the Duraya villagers of Damunupola had petitioned against Haloluwe Ukku Banda, accusing him to claim a share of the lands they were going to sell to the estate, and other villagers followed suit, while the estate purchased several other chenas without including them in an application for CQP. Thus tea and rubber flourished everywhere in the area, while the legal status of the lands was in a total mess.

With the disruption caused by the world war and the riots of 1915, the case was shelved. In the early 1920s there was a certain number of pending cases of CQP, including Golinda, and an ultimate attempt was made by the Kägalla agent to settle them[94]: “Mr. Philip Ondaatje came to see me in connection with several pending land matters. During the rubber boom many chena lands were bought up in this district by estates and CQPs were applied for. Many of these cases have dragged on for years and at the present time the estates are not so anxious to obtain certificates. In the meantime however the lands have been cleared and planted and in some cases the rubber is now over 25 years old. A plea of prescription will doubtless be set up if the Crown waits much longer before asserting its claims, though whether that plea will succeed in the case of lands which were originally chenas is open to doubt. I have unearthed many files which have been sheltered of late years and am endeavouring to get these claims settled by degrees, but the work which has to be faced is too much for my present staff”. In June 1922, the administration requested Ondaatje to furnish a list of the lands correlated with the deeds of purchase and the official survey plans of Golinda. He answered that “it is not possible to reconcile or identify the names and extents of lands appearing in the CQP plan with the names and extents of the chenas purchased by the estate on their several title deeds, nor do the blocks as they appear on the CQP plan correspond either in name or extent with the original title plans on which the lands were purchased”. The kacceri land clerks were directed to connect these documents with the wattoru copies for about 100 chenas, but concluded that wattoru were useless because they were not certified. Finally a list of 50 lands was advertised in the Ceylon Government Gazette (20.10.1922), and the 1st of March 1923, the CQP was issued for 338 acres, at 20 Rs an acre for the 270 acres for which the purchasers could not prove private title, and free for the 68 acres covered by tax receipts.

But this settlement covered less than 30% of the estate, which according to the Ferguson’s planting directory finally consisted of 689 acres in tea and 484 acres in rubber: this means that the colonial administration turned a blind eye to the ulterior transfer of lands to the estate. E.B. Alexander who had then been promoted Controller of Revenue made the following comment: “this is a piecemeal settlement but better than none at all (…); in view of the long possession by the claimants, I consider the price per acre fair”.  The result was in any case quite remunerative for the estate company, with a capital subscribed of 81,275,000 Rs, which distributed handsome dividends in the 1920s (22% in 1924, 40% in 1926, 15% in 1928)[95].

The patchy collection of 37 Golinda estate deeds still kept in the estate office in 1979 show that Ukkubanda was paid a commission on most village sales, plus batta (allowance) of 1 to 1.50 Rs a day, or sometimes a measure of rice, and that Philip Ondaatje supervised all the sales, which span a long period, from 18.09.1894 to 8.10.1919 for the main portion of the estate, but extend until the end of the 1920s for Atugoda village. The amount paid was 10 Rs an acre in the beginning but rose to 45 Rs for the last sales. According to the testimony of Kiri Ukkuwa, an old villager born around 1900, whom I interviewed in 1979, the first Atugoda sale was in 1915, he himself sold in 1928, Ondaatje acting as legal adviser and one ‘Wanumara Nilame’ (a nickname for Ukkubanda, meaning something like the forest killing squire) as middleman, getting 12 Rs and a bushel of rice per month. But all the villagers did not sell all their lands: some Duraya families in Atugoda and Damunupola resisted the temptation of easy money, transformed their chenas into vegetable and fruit gardens and invested in the purchase of lands still available the profits obtained from the sale of these products on the Kägalla market after the second world war.[96]

 

The formation of estates in the Kälerata and the end of the CQP era.[97]

Atulugam korale east, alias Kälerata (Forest Country) was the last area to be engulfed by the growth of estates. After 1910, there was little other land available elsewhere in the district, the system of settlement by CQPs was being replaced by the strict procedure of the Land settlement department which intervened for the first time in the Kägalla district, and with the rubber boom Ceylonese investors were looking for land. The major part of the area had been settled by Booth in the 1890s under the Forest ordinance, and in many cases, a right of user, but not of ownership, had been recognized to chena cultivators on the highlands: neither the Crown, nor the villagers, could alienate them to planters. Land speculators were looking for devices to circumvent the rule. Mideniya Adigar who assisted Booth in settlement operations was best placed for the task, in association with lawyers such as Ondaatje and Wickramasinghe, and they obtained the implicit or explicit support of a section of the colonial administration, led by E.B. Alexander, acting Colonial secretary in 1926.

The question was raised at the Colombo level and led to a tense exchange of correspondence[98]. The Controller of Revenue Jackson wrote to Alexander in July and September 1926 about the problem of the lands allowed by Booth for chena cultivation but not alienable, which had been planted in rubber after alienation by villagers: “the question of these settlements under pressure of land hunger often presents considerable difficulties (…) The outside speculator who comes in should be charged full value. Claimants who are descendants of the chena rights holders should receive liberal terms for the purchase of the soil rights, or where for any reason they are unable to purchase, they may be allowed a small extent free of charge”. In November 1926, Brown, the Assistant at Kägalla raised the case of an investor in Magala village who “asked what attitude government would take up if the chena rights of the villagers were bought up ; this information is naturally required before any money is spent in negotiations made with the villagers”; he recalled that the usual way of dealing with such lands was for the Crown to sell them under the Waste lands ordinance (WLO) of 1897, and said that “if any radical change in the policy of government is contemplated, I consider it advisable to give the matter wide publicity in the form of a press communiqué”. In forwarding this letter to the Colonial Secretary, the Controller of Revenue wrote : “I think Government should take the line that it will discountenance all traffic between outside speculators and villagers in buying up such chena rights (…) These lands were set apart for the villagers to ensure that their needs were sufficiently protected. It was specially laid down that the chena rights should not be alienated without permission. The available Crown lands in the district have been alienated to such an extent that if these chena reserves too are bought up by capitalists, the villagers will have no other area to meet their needs”. Alexander retorted: “I know Sabaragamuwa well. A press notice will be absolutely futile. It might deter one or two honest men who, as proprietors, would treat the villagers decently. But it will deter no one else. I believe that it is true that there is not an acre of Crown land suitable for rubber up to the top of Adam’s Peak that is not claimed upon some spurious deed. The villagers themselves have become speculators. The only thing that could have prevented these spurious claims and wholesale speculation was early settlement under the WLO, but the boom in rubber since 1904 caught the government unawares”. Brown argued in answer that “in the past, the custom has been for the Crown to take up the position that rights to the soil could be purchased for ½ value of the bare land by anyone who could prove he has bought the chena rights of the villagers (… ) The Crown took action which extinguished villagers’ chena rights. The position which I gather government wants to take up is that the Crown will not alienate its rights to the soil and when land is used for purpose other than chenaing it becomes entirely vested in the Crown (…) The Crown formerly abetted, it now intends to prevent traffic by outsiders in such land. This complete change should be widely published in order to deter would-be bona fide purchasers of chena rights. Unless this is done, persons who, considering past customs, would look for government assistance in obtaining good title, would unexpectedly find themselves baulked by their former ally”. In January 1927, at a conference held at the demand of Alexander, with Jackson and the Settlement officer, “it was agreed that nowhere in the Forest ordinance of 1885 was there any provision to preclude successful claimants of chena land from transferring their rights by sale or otherwise”, that the rule followed by the Settlement department was to consider claims on their own merits, and that a press communiqué would be counterproductive. In forwarding his reply, Alexander blamed the terms used by Brown as “entirely inaccurate, wholly unwarranted and grossly improper”, but his assistant took the defense of Brown, saying that “it was a bona fide description of the position as it appeared to Mr. Brown and not being in any sense a public pronouncement and that the point which he wished to make was quite a legitimate one”.

*

Before 1900, the hilly upper valley of the Magal Ganga and its tributaries, above the small bazaar of Deraniyagala, along the ancient path to Sri Pada, was largely forested, with very few paddy fields, and scarcely populated. The main valley was occupied by the Maliboda nindagama belonging to the decayed Eheliyagoda family and by the Magala village, while the southern valley (Miyanawita Oya) was a Vahumpura area, and the northern valley was Goyigama ; in the hills to the north of the Magal Ganga there was a group of betel-delivering (bulatgam) very poor Panna Duraya villages (Pandaha, Haradaha, Panakure, Hingurana).

The whole area was hardly administered, until various commissions and settlement operations decided to ‘reserve’ it but at the same time ‘opened’ it to outside influences. The Kälerata being difficult of access had been spared by the large land grabbing activity of the tea planters in the 1880s. It was selected by the Government to experiment the Forest Ordinance of 1885 because it was largely forested: the idea was to form a Forest reserve where “the government decided to sell no land whatever and to remove gradually and judiciously any squatters who may have entered it”[99]. In 1894, the governor Havelock, in reply to a deputation of Kelani Valley planters, had pledged that the Government would not sell more land for tea cultivation in the Kelani valley, both for ecological and economic reasons: “It is true that there is a large reserve, in extent I think about 30,000 acres, but it became the fixed policy of my predecessor, and I think that it was a very wise policy, that these reserves should be kept inviolate and that the Crown should not sell a single acre of it. At present that is the firm intention of government. Of course I cannot answer for what my successor may do, but as long as I am here I think you may rest assured that the Government will not part with a single acre of the Kelani valley reserve”.

However the Booth Forest settlement, started in February 1894 and completed in March 1897, attracted the attention of the planters and of various intermediaries. Booth, in his manuscript report on the Kelani Valley Reserve (§ XVI), anticipated land sales by villagers for plantations and mentioned advances made to the Eheliyagoda family for the purchase of Maliboda nindagama[100]. The chief headmen Ekneligoda and Mideniya made themselves acquainted with the minute details of the area because they acted as translators and they became involved as intermediaries or even actors in covert land transactions. In 1897 Davidson, Assistant Agent at Kägalla, produced a report for the new Governor West Ridgeway, which argued in favour of the sale of 4,000 acres of Crown lands now that the work of the Forest settlement officer was almost over, leaving 26,743 acres for the Crown, 15,095 acres allotted for chena cultivation, and 7,523 acres private (including the Maliboda nindagama)[101] He considered that forest should be preserved only at elevations above 3,500 ft (1,066 m), and that Crown land sales in the thinly populated Kälerata would protect the heavily populated Four-korales from speculation and ecological disaster, and develop a backward zone. The Executive Council decided to effect the sale, against critical comments by the Colonial Secretary (“The custodians of Kegalle used not so much to favour the introduction of European influence and associations in this markedly native district (…) The absorption of villager’s lands will still go on by those desirous of extending existing estates”) but with the support of the Governor (“I am altogether opposed to any grandmotherly policy as regards tea in the shape of restrictions”). Finally the sale was postponed in June 1898 “in view of the depressed state of the tea industry”, and the question was again raised in June 1899 although the opening of such a large area “followed as it is almost certain to be the case by the opening of a large extent of private land in the same locality” would lead to environmental consequences.

Meanwhile in August 1898 the indebted Eheliyagoda family had proposed his Maliboda nindagama for sale and Bertram Hill, the Assistant agent, commented[102]: “Messrs. Davies and co. of Colombo offer for sale some 5,000 acres in the Kelani Valley suitable for tea. 3,000 acres are in the Kegalle district at Maliboda, 14 miles from Dehiowita, and no road. No one is likely to buy the land at any price”. The situation changed during the next decade. In 1904, the Kägalla Assistant E.B. Alexander – notoriously pro-planter, described the Kälerata in his diary: “A beautiful but poverty-stricken district now. The people have very little to eat. Rice and salt are luxuries. The villagers own large tracts of chena land. There is a good story of a man who owned 1,000 acres being bought up for default of payment of road tax: he was ordered to pay 3 Rs, he could not find it, he would have gone to prison but the headmen subscribed the amount among themselves. In the not very distant future this country promises to be the center of a large rubber growing district: and Mideniya Ratemahatmaya has already selected the site of the future race course! There are over 20,000 acres of Crown forest lying idle. Wanted a road, or a navigable river to them, or preferably both.”[103]

The sale of 5,000 acres of Crown lands (in 250 acres lots) of the Kelani Valley reserve, suggested by Davidson in 1897, was held in Colombo in October 1905 and February 1906; the decision was taken in view of the new rubber boom; the upset price was low: 15 Rs per acre, and after bidding the lands were sold at 25 Rs per acre; the lands, of easy access, were located near Deraniyagala, at Munagala, Udabage, Lassegama, Kehelwala and Muddagala; most of the purchasers were Europeans, notably William Wilson Mitchell[104]. Some of these sales were muddled by the imprecision of the forest settlement and the manipulations of the headmen, as in Udabage[105]: a wooded lot was allowed as private by settlement but never used as chena by the villagers who believed it was Crown forest; Mideniya therefore recommended the sale of this lot by the Crown as had been done in a Colombo land sale of 1906 for a similar lot in another village sold to the planter Anderson. The Agent refused to put up the lot for sale as the same Mideniya had reported that the villagers had not enough chena lands and that there were wattoru for the land. Then the lawyer Marshall acting for Anderson asked in May 1908 whether the Crown had any claim to the land adverse to that of the ‘Udabage korala’, and the answer was that it was Crown land: therefore it could be sold, which was done in May 1909, against the protest of the villagers.

As could be expected, Crown sales were followed by village sales, first of lands recognized private by settlement, and later of lands reserved for chena cultivation. Lassehena estate[106] is a typical case of the first configuration: 207 acres had been purchased from the Crown in 1906, and 300 acres from villagers before 1908 “via an enterprising land broker, an ex-aracci”, but their status was not clear enough to justify a CQP, and an intermediary, H.O. Weerasooriya, asked the administration if a chena land allowed for chena cultivation by Forest settlement could be sold by the villagers. The case was still pending in 1937 when the Settlement department took it up and Archdale, the planter, lost 80 acres sold by the villagers for which they had no title. His reaction is thus reported in the diary of the assistant settlement officer: “After being informed by Mr. Archdale that his knowledge of land law, thanks to a number of settlements made on him by CQPs, was considerably greater than my own, I politely intimated that I was not prepared to discuss the matter further (…) the mentality of the gentleman in question is something new in my experience”.

The same intermediary, Weerasooriya, was involved in land dealings in the hilly village of Magala in the upper valley[107]. In May 1910, he wrote to the Colonial Secretary, with certified copies of the Booth settlement, “inquiring whether the Crown had any claim to the extent of 1,400 acres in Magala dealt with in the 14th § of his judgement (i.e. allowed for chena cultivation). If this extent is allowed to the claimants, I beg to inquire if a certificate to that effect will be granted to them. I am informed by them that in respect of the following lands which had been excluded in favor of the claimants in another inquiry similar to that, the Crown granted documents disclaiming any rights on the part of the Crown: 1. Lassegama lands taken by Lassehena estate; 2. Kosgahakande and Yatiwala taken over by Mr. Mitchell of Digalessa estate”. The Assistant agent reported: “it is true that CQPs have been issued in respect of such lands set apart for chena cultivation at Kosgahakanda and Yatiwala (…) 702 acres and 56 acres in the former, 10 acres and 261 acres in the latter. In the case of Lassegama no actual grant of CQP has yet taken place but my predecessor has admitted private claims to a large extent of chena land and was prepared to apply for a CQP on suitable plans being furnished by the claimants”. In 1922, the Assistant agent at Kägalla mentioned “Petitions of villagers of Magala and Yatiwala who have illicitly cleared many acres of Crown jungle notwithstanding the fact that the Forest settlement officer set apart for their use over 700 acres of chena land in each village in 1896. The fact is that they have sold to capitalists and landgrabbers the greater part of the land which was allowed them for chena cultivation and are now chenaing crown jungle which being entirely virgin forest brings them in good crops”. These sales continued in 1926, as shown in the correspondence above quoted of the Kägalla agent with the Colonial secretariat. When the Settlement officer Cocks inspected the village in 1935, he unearthed the speculation process: “A large purchaser of land, U.L. Siriwardena of Deraniyagala, has entered into an agreement to transfer a large extent of land in this korale to Mr. Van der Poorten, who has not appeared in the enquiry. In view of the size of the claim and of the extent of land involved, I decided to postpone the settlement to April 8th in Colombo (…) The claimant who has purchased large areas in Atulugam east and is bound by an agreement to transfer them to a capitalist, refused the settlement offered and it will be necessary to refer his claim to the district court”.[108]

The sale of the large Maliboda nindagama gave a decisive impetus to the plantation conquest of Kälerata and had a ripple effect. Mideniya, who had been bestowed the title of Adigar by the British administration, was behind the scene of land speculation in the Kälerata and had acted as middleman in the sale of the nindagama: he was entering the narrow circle of the elite through the marriage of his two daughters which was very expensive in terms of dowry. At the Forest settlement, James Eheliyagoda had claimed Maliboda, Pallepansiya and Ranwala as his nindagama. In the words of Booth, “The Ratemahatmaya Mideniya is anxious that an amicable settlement be arrived at. He says both he and the korala of Atulugam when giving evidence stated that Maliboda had always been considered a nindagama and dealt with as such, no taxes recovered from any of the chenas”. Out of the 3,535 acres of the nindagama, 735 were already admitted private, 773 were high forest, and Eheliyagoda accepted that 500 acres be reserved for the Crown in the north of Rangala, the rest (1,527 acres) being admitted private, including Piliwala and Potdenikanda hamlets. Maliboda estate was opened in 1918 on the lands admitted private by the Forest settlement[109] but “there is the question of the nindagama tenants. The estate has bought the whole village and while not willing to give deeds to the tenants for the lands occupied by them, has no intention of evicting them” “the people of Maliboda renewed their complaints against the superintendent of Maliboda Estate of depriving them of their ancestral lands”. Two hamlets, Ranvala and Telhitigala had been absorbed in Maliboda estate between 1911 and 1921, and between 1931 and 1946, the population had shrunk from 72 to 49.

The nindagama lands which had not been sold to the Maliboda estate had been purchased to form another estate, Dabar. The Settlement officer, Stace, visited the place in 1930 and wrote in his diary[110]:  “The villagers of Piliwala and Potdenikanda, which are part of Maliboda nindagama, had complained that the superintendent of Dabar estate, Mr. Smurdon, was cutting down all the old gardens and demolishing their houses to plant rubber on the sites. I found numerous old gardens completely devastated and one or two village houses demolished. In one place I noticed an old garden about 1 ½ acres in which there was a villager’s house. The estate had enclosed the house with barbed wire, leaving about 2 perches for the man to live in and including the rest of the old garden in the estate with the apparent intention of cutting down. The whole village presents an appearance of systematic destruction. I have never seen such a thing before in any other part of the country”. The Assistant agent at Kägalla had received a petition and “referred the villagers to their legal remedy”. The chief headman of the Three-korales, the son of Mideniya Adigar, was just as evasive: “His father Mideniya Adigar was the vendor of the nindagama to the estate (…) he believes that the estate has no title to the old gardens”; in Colombo, Mr. Maddox, manager of Harrison and Crossfields, the agents for the estate “believes that the estate is entitled to the old gardens, he says they have taken disclaimers of title from some of the villagers”. Stace made a confidential report to the Governor “on the subject of the extraordinary proceedings of Dabar Estate. One of the difficulties is that either the whole or some of the area was admitted private by the Forest settlement officer many years ago, but I doubt whether Government can sit doing nothing in a matter of this kind.” The Assistant agent at Kägalla answered that “it is difficult for the Crown to interfere in this case as all the lands in this wasama were admitted private by the Forest settlement officer. However I think the Company can be persuaded to give up a block of about 14 acres on the estate boundary where those who have lost their gardens can settle. The present claimants appear to be squatters of less than 10 years standing and have therefore no prescriptive title. The company’s legal title appears to be sound enough and any concession that is made will be purely on compassionate grounds”. Next year in May 1931, the Assistant settlement officer Northcroft inspected Piliwala and Potdenikanda and drew a different picture:  “there are numerous village plantations of rubber, cinnamon and tea besides the usual areca and jak gardens (…) there is ample chena and practically no sales to outsiders” ; he however took the testimony of villagers complaining of being hemmed-in by estates: “a large number of claimants stated that the deeds on which they relied were missing. On further enquiry I discovered that some enterprising individual had collected all the available deeds and was hawking them around with a view to selling them to an estate company. However nothing has come of the transaction, probably owing to the slump in rubber and tea (…) There has been some heavy selling and there are a good number of more or less landless villagers”[111].

D.S. Senanayake, who was in charge of agriculture and lands in the government established in 1931, decided in 1935 that the tenants of Maliboda nindagama evicted by Dabar estate would be settled on the other side of the river Magal Ganga, at the cost of Dabar estate, in lands belonging to Pandaha village[112]. The result was described by a settlement officer: “Allotments have been cut out for them, they have been generously treated. This treatment however seems to have had the effect of encouraging a number of other squatters from other villages to effect similar encroachments in the south east of the village. The extent of these encroachments came as a shock to me. Either the intruders will have to be ousted altogether which would entail at this stage a good deal of hardship, or the encroachment will have to be systematically surveyed and settled”. Another result was that the very poor original inhabitants of Pandaha, who belonged to the Panna Duraya caste, were thus deprived of a part of their lands, and they were at the same time pressed by land speculators (U.L. Siriwardena of Deraniyagala acting for A.J. Van der Poorten, represented by Aelian Ondaatje, Philip Ondaatje’s brother) to part with their chena rights in the rest of their village: the burden of land hunger was thus passed on to the weakest. When the settlement officers visited the village between 1937 and 1939, they remarked that “there seems to be very few men of ripe age in the village, half the villagers have parted with their rights, for what return seems extremely doubtful, most of the deeds being of ‘consideration already paid’. A woman vendor on one deed, consideration shown 200 Rs, informed me that she got 3 Rs only. I am inclined to think she was telling the truth”. The speculator, U.L. Siriwardene, who had purchased the rights of user to chena cultivation allowed by the forest settlement to the villagers for a trifle sum, tried to obtain from the administration the recognition of an extensive domain…

In the northern part of the Kälerata, the opening of Noori estate was also the result of the land grabbing activities of Mideniya and Van der Poorten[113]. According to the diaries of the Assistant agents at Kägalla “A land declared Crown by final order under Waste Lands Ordinances appear to have been purchased by Mideniya Adigar from a private party without any enquiry into the vendor’s title (…) The present case shows inexcusable neglect on the part of the chief headman”. The Adigar was acting as agent for and was indebted to the well-known land speculator, A.J. van der Poorten. He had purchased from villagers 968 acres in Dodawatte, Basnagala and Mudagala (which later formed the Noori estate), had mortgaged them to Van der Poorten, and was “endeavouring to obtain Crown title in order to sell to a Company. Most of the land was allowed by the Forest Settlement Officer for chena cultivation to the villagers and their descendants; it is extremely questionable whether any particular villager had the right to sell any portion of it”. But in 1927, the Agent showed a singular leniency towards Mideniya: “The whole affair is merely a financial speculation on the part of the Adigar, who has already I am informed sold the land to the Colombo merchant Adamalee (…) I came to the conclusion that if the 1,000 acres claimed by the Adigar are settled on him there will still be ample land left for the villagers. They as a matter of fact are making little if any use of the land in their possession. They can make all the money they want by an occasional spell of work on the estates”.

The valley of the Miyanowita Oya, in the south of the Kälerata, was occupied by the village of Miyanowita, and by the kandegama of Kosgahakanda made up of a very large number of hamlets. Miyanowita was a multicaste village, looking like a temple village but not registered as such[114]. It came under the forest settlement scheme and the lands declared crown but allowed for chena cultivation were described as “allowed to the villagers” rather than “allowed for chena cultivation” by Mideniya when a CQP was issued in 1916 for a small extent to the benefit of a Colombo Burgher investor, Rosslyn Koch. Miyanowita estate was formed under the auspices of Mideniya by 1925: “The sale to the Company of these lands (part of which fall within the area originally tentatively reserved for the Colombo water supply) was negotiated by Mideniya Adigar. I hear that he is now thinking of extending similar operations to Magala. At present one estate, Kosgahakanda, belonging to Mr. D.R. Wijewardena [Mideniya’s son-in-law] has already been opened within this area on land allowed on CQP some years ago. There are also within the area village gardens and large extents of land allowed for chena cultivation”. Ondaatje was looking after the Miyanowita affair and the company expected to get a CQP for a paltry sum, 10 or 15 Rs an acre…But a third party appeared, a speculator who had bought land shortly before with a view to bleeding the company. When Miyanowita came within the enquiry of the Settlement department in 1937, “about half of the village was already planted in tea by an estate company who obtained a settlement by the Assistant Government Agent 4 or 5 years ago (…)  practically all the area claimed by the temple and I suspect a considerable area in excess of that had been sold to outsiders”.

Kosgahakanda, whose inhabitants, of Vahumpura caste, lived on the sale of jaggery and betel leaves, was also the theatre of land speculations following the Forest settlement. A large village (273 inhabitants in 1931, 60 families), it had only 7 acres of paddy but 223 acres of garden, mainly planted in kitul (sugar palm trees). It had been settled by Booth with the help of Mideniya, and in 1904 a CQP was applied for based on a “transfer from natives, executed in 1896 but only recently sent to the kacceri, covering 1,100 amunam of land or 5,500 acres. The survey of the village shows a total extent of 2,528 acres. There is something wrong here (sic)”. The claimants, D.G. and T. Perera, obtained a CQP for a portion of the village in November 1905, and the land was transferred to D.R. Wijewardena, the press magnate of Colombo, who married Alice, one of Mideniya’s daughters, in 1916.  The Kosgahakanda estate contained 335 acres of tea, 24 acres of rubber. But the Kägalla agent noted that there were still large gardens and chenas available in 1927: “This is one of the few remaining areas where good land is still to be had for planting, and it is receiving plenty of attention. It is all unsettled land [?], mostly claimed chena, and is suffering the usual fate of such land in this district i.e. the village claims are being bought up by capitalists and the land cleared and enclosed. The only remedy is for the whole area on both sides of the Deraniyagala Oya to be taken up by the Settlement Department. In another year or two it will be too late, and hundreds or even thousands of acres will have passed into private hands”. Ten years later, when the Land settlement department finally took up the village, the prediction had become true. In the words of Ingledow, the settlement officer, “All the lands appear to have been sold outright and the original owners have left. The proportion of outside speculative claimants appears roughly to be about 1 to every 15 villagers. Sales prolific. Some of the outside claimants had no idea whatever what or where their lands were and knew nothing of the source of title. While one is glad to help an ignorant villager who is in difficulty about his title, it seems rather off the mark that the settlement officer should be expected to act as a consulting lawyer for such claimants who can well afford to pay for legal advice (…) To several of these I put it plainly that I was here to adjudicate on a definite claim and not to try to ascertain for them what their claim was”. In the margin of the diary, the Minister of Agriculture D.S.Senenayake – himself a close associate of D.R. Wijewardene, commented: “it may be better to do both”[115]

*

The years 1927-1931 represent a turning point in the history of land appropriation by the plantation sector. The initial push was given in 1927-1928 by the recommendations of a land commission convened by the governor Clifford and comprising Ceylonese nationalist representatives, which reviewed the policy followed under the Waste lands ordinance of 1897: the stress was put on hereditary rights of the villagers to highlands, and on the need to protect them against foreign outsiders;  a preferential treatment was requested for middle class Ceylonese investors instead of big capitalist firms, but the foremost place of the plantation sector in the economy was upheld: the Ceylonese bourgeoisie had indeed invested in coconut, and to a lesser degree, rubber plantations. The impact of the great depression reshuffled the cards: the demand of new land for plantations collapsed and the slump led to the closure of a number of estates, especially those owned by Ceylonese who could not repay the debts incurred for the acquisition of lands;  but it is the village population which was worst hit: it could no longer sell its highlands to outsiders, and it lost the employment which the people who had sold their highlands could obtain on the estates. Finally, the representative system established in 1931 opened the way to a complete overhaul of land laws, taking land matters out of the hands of the Revenue Officers and headmen and introducing a sort of land planning at the village level. These developments will be the subject of further articles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] Administration Report (AR) Kägalla(Kä) 1867 p. 19; AR Kä 1881 p. 24A

[2] Diary Kä 12 .12.1885

[3] Diary Kä 17.05.1884

[4] AR Kä 1884, p. 22-23A; Diary Kä, 11.11.1884 (Wace)

[5] W. Forsythe in Times of Ceylon 11.02.1937

[6] Diary Kä January and February 1886; AR Kä 1886 p. 145A

[7] Sri Lanka National Archives (SLNA) 6/7333, SLNA 6/795, diary Kä 1.10.1888

[8] Diary Kä, 26.05.1886 and 15.07.1886

[9] Diary Kä, 16.06.1886

[10] Diary Kä, 21.07.1886, 26.04.1887, 28.01.1888, 7.07.1893, 7.03.1887, 25.03.1890

[11] Diary Kä, 14.11.1889, 7.01.1891. The letter of Forsythe to Wace is kept in the Kägalla kacceri records (Panawitiya file)

[12] Diary Kä, 8.07.91, 25.07.1891, 13.05.1891, 26.02.1892, 10.06.1892

[13] Diary Kä, 26.02.1892, 14.06.1892, 1.08.1892; also 4.08.1899 

[14] Diary Kä 3.06.1893 

[15] Diary Kä, 14.07.1891, 25.05.1892, 10.06.1892 

[16] Kägalla kacceri records, Udapota village file, 17.02.1877 ; Diary Kä, 7.07.1893

[17] Diary Kä 20.11.1885, 17.01.1886, 7.02.1886

[18] Diary Kä 16.10.1894 and 7.03.1895

[19] AR Kä 1885, p. 167A-168A

[20] Diary Kä 26.03.1885 and 13.08.1885; see also William Forsythe memoirs (Times of Ceylon 11.02.1937)

[21] AR Kä 1886, p. 147A-149A

[22] AR Kä 1892, p. J6

[23] SLNA 65/173

[24] Diary Kä, 6.05 – 24.06 1886

[25] Diary Kä, 28.07.1886, 8.09.1886, 10.09.1892

[26] Diary Kä, 2 and 5.10.1886, 13.12.1886, 15.07.1887; Kägalla kacceri records, village file PP98, 4.12.1879

[27] Kägalla kacceri village file; Diary Kä, December 1879, November 1884, January 1885, September 1931; SLNA 65/958 (24.10.1884); SLNA 30/514

[28] Diary Kä, 24.06.1888, 3-14.11.1888, 17.01.1889, 21.01.1891; AR Kä 1888 p. 49A; Kägalla kacceri village records, chena settlement files PP 78 and 115; SLNA 30/572; SLNA 65/173. There is a local lore in two different versions regarding these two villages : “Warakagoda belonged to Dehigampal korale until one day 27 heads of cattle belonging to king Rajasinha I of Sitawaka were drowned in the We Oya, in consequence of which he gave to 9 durayas of Polatagama [Lower Bulatgama] the village of Warakagoda, transferring Badullawala to Dehigampal korale as compensation for loss of territory” (SLNA 6/10989 RN014496, G.A. Sabaragamuwa to Colonial Secretary, 18.09.1897) “The durayas of this village carried the palanquins of Dodantala Dissawa. There is a tradition that when the Sinhalese kings were reigning at Sitawaka, when it was represented to the kings that the cattle of Polatagalma were washed down, permission was given to the villagers of Polatagama to put up a cattle shed on the land now known as the village of Warakagoda” (SLNA 30/572, Ekneligoda report 25.11.1888).

[29] A Certificate of Quiet Possession (CQP) or Certificate of no claim is an official document issued by the colonial administration attesting that the Crown does not claim the ownership of a particular land.

[30] Diary Kä, 30.01.1886, 8-10.01.1891,01.1892, 5.09.1892, 19.04.1894

[31] Diary Kä, 25.06.1886

[32] Diary Kä, 2.11.1888 to 21.08.1889, 10.01.1891, SLNA 65/173 (minute of 5.12.1890 and exchange of letters between the Colonial Secretary and the Government Agent of Sabaragamuwa), SLNA 30/519, Administration report Kägalla 1889, p. J28.

[33] Kägalla kacceri records, village file Patberiya, SLNA 30/424, SLNA 30/482, Diary Kä 3.11.1891

[34] Diary Kä, 15.04.1891, Kägalla kacceri records series A, 25.10.1882, SLNA 30/502.

[35] Diary Kä, 18.03.1885, 26.05 – 15.06. 1886, 11.10.1889, 20.01.1890, 24.04.1890

[36] The detailed biography of David Fairweather is offered as a sort of colonial model in Arnold Wright ed., Twentieth Century Impressions of Ceylon, Colombo 1907, p. 875-877: “In the circumstance of this gentleman’s career we have brought into striking prominence the spirit of enterprise and adventure which has contributed so much to the success of the great planting industry of Ceylon”. After an experience in Assam, he contributed to popularize the cultivation of tea in Ceylon, but left the island to lead an exploration in east Africa, launched enterprises in South China and Java, before returning to Yataderiya.

[37] Diary Kä, 26.04.1894

[38] SLNA 30/573, 30/471; Diary Kä, 12.11.1872 and March to December 1893; Knavesmire is the name of a marshy waste land where the gallows were erected in the city of York…

[39] Kägalla kacceri, Rangalla village file, penciled notes of enquiry, 14.11.1893 ; Diary Kä, 13.11.1893

[40] CO54/988/4, file 55569/14; Kägalla Kacceri Records, Land file LK 154. See also the autobiography of S. Thondaman, Tea and Politics, Colombo, Vijitha Yapa 1994, vol 2, p. 26-30.

[41] SLNA 30/444 and 496 (especially report of 9.07.1907)

[42] SLNA 30/2246, undated manuscript. Ferdinando Hamlyn Price (1855-1942) was described by Leonard Woolf as “a terrific snob”; while in Kägalla, he built for himself a walauwa, tried to uphold Kandyan traditions and behaved as an aristocrat. Walter Edward Davidson (1859-1923) was a brilliant administrator and man of action, an independent mind, who ended his career as governor of New South Wales in Australia. He resented the meanness of the colonial administration and he wrote in his diary (21.07.1895): “I have been treated harshly in several matters lately, and I wish I had never entered the Ceylon Civil Service, and I shall leave it as soon as I can afford to do so”

 

[43] AR Kä 1892, p. J6

[44] Diary Kä, 3.12.1892

[45] AR Kä 1893 p. J12-13; Diary Kä, 25.08.1895 

[46] Diary Kä 3.01.1896, 18-19.03.1896

[47] AR Kä 1896 p. J16

[48] Diary Kä 30.10.1896; SLNA 59/178, RN 015233/96; Times of Ceylon, 17.11.1896.

[49] Diary Kä, 25.11-31.12.1896

[50] SLNA 6/10983, 10988, 10989. Administration Report Kägalla 1897 p. J11, 1898 p. J12. The diaries for 1897 are missing from the Archives.

[51] AR Kä 1902 p. J19, Diary Kä 4.12.1903

[52] There is an extensive documentation available on the subject: 1. at the general level, voluminous ‘pending files’ of the Colonial secretariat including correspondence, reports and decisions of the administration: SLNA 65/1187 and 1288; Land Settlement Department Records, file on ‘Land settlement work of F.R. Ellis’; SLNA 30/868 ‘Crown rights to chenas sold by villagers and planted up by capitalists’. 2. At the local level, all the certificate of quiet possession cases kept in the SLNA 30 series.

[53] SLNA 6/10988, encl. to Government Agent Sabaragamuwa to Colonial Secretariat, 30.08.1897; SLNA 6/10990, exchange of correspondence between AGA Kä, GA Sabaragamuwa and Colonial Secretary 29.07.1897.

[54] The administrators used themselves the word ‘settlement’ instead of CQP, as in AR Kä 1912 p. I24.

[55] SLNA 6/10983 (Minute paper 02392/97)

[56] SLNA 30/462, SG to GA Sab, 6.03.1899. Surveys for CQPs by private surveyors are constantly criticized as most unsatisfactory in the successive administration reports of the Surveyor General (1923 p L17, 1924 p. J9), but the recourse to private surveyors is the result of the shortcomings of the survey department; the major private agency involved in CQPs is the Moratuwa Survey Agency headed by Charles Peter de Silva

[57] SLNA 65/1187

[58] SLNA 65/1074, Minute by Ellis on a letter of the planter Malcolmson to Governor, 10.08.1904

[59]  AR Kä 1903, p. K21. E.B. Alexander became President of the Ceylon Association in London after he left the Colonial service.

[60] Diary Kä 31.03.1906 (in 1906, there was an outburst of CQP direct demands by planters, rubber planting being maximal, followed in 1907 by a recourse to lawyers)

[61] SLNA 30/482

[62] Kägalla kacceri records PP106 ; SLNA 30/447, 491, 497, 518 ; diary Kä 17.04.1893

 

[63] Kägalla kacceri village file (PP 118 chena settlement 3.11.1877, report 15.05.1879), SLNA 30/505 and 542; diary  Kä 14.02.1884

[64] Kägalla kacceri records village file PP117, SLNA 30/448, SLNA 65/1352 (Harries land claims), and Land Settlement Department Records, Ellis settlement work : Harries claims.

[65] SLNA 65/1352 (Enquiry held by Ellis, 27.11.1904, memo 03318/1905, Executive Council minute 245/1905), and SLNA 30/449

[66] SLNA  30/495, Ceylon Government Gazette 31.07.1908, Diary ASO Northcroft, 7.04.1933

[67] SLNA 30/564, 18.09.1922, minute by the AGA: “There is plenty of evidence that the late land clerk has endeavoured to hookwind my predecessors into granting and recommending CQPs for Crown lands”

[68] SLNA 30/451, 30/550 and 30/552

[69] SLNA 30/508, 30/564

[70] Kägalla kacceri records, Lewala forest settlement and Wegalla settlement; SLNA 30/ 510 (Lewala estate CQP); Diary Kä, 9.03.1902, 11.02.1907

[71] The history of the Grand Central is given in T. Villiers, Mercantile Lore, Colombo, Ceylon Observer Press, 1940.  It was the first large scale transition from a rupee to a sterling company and the largest rubber enterprise in Ceylon. In 1904, J.N. Campbell discussed with J.P. Anderson, manager of the Panawal group, the perspectives of rubber development. “They decide to acquire a large tract of land suitable for development and they set to work to form a syndicate made up of the following gentlemen: J.N. Campbell, Joseph Fraser, W. Saunders, W. Forsythe, E.J. Weatherall, Tim Bayly, J.P. Anderson. Carson was the managing agency; by the mid 1910 ‘the concern had become so large that a flotation in London seemed desirable: in July the company was floated with capital of 1 ½ million £, the largest rubber concern in Ceylon; in 1912 it absorbed Weganga co., Southern Ceylon co. and Durampitiya Estate.”

[72] The main source is SLNA 30/868 ‘Crown Rights to Chenas Sold by Villagers and Planted up by Capitalists’. This is a file kept in the Kägalla kacceri following the request to produce their deeds, addressed by Codrington in 1913 and his successor Burden to the owners of new estates in the Four-korales, and the subsequent management of these affairs for the planters by Philip Ondaatje, A.A. Wickremasinghe and De Sarams.

[73] Diary Kä 8.09.1916 ; AR Sab 1916 p. I7; AR Kä 1926 p. I24, 1927 p. I29

[74] Albert A. Wickremesinghe, Land Tenure in the Kandyan Provinces, Colombo, Mahajana press, 1924.

[75] Diary Kä, 28.12.1915, 6.02, 25.07 and 12.08.1916

[76] In SLNA 30/868

[77] Kägalla kacceri records, village file Lahupone, settlement of 12.07.1893, Diary Kä (Vaughan) 23.06.1902, SLNA 6/814 : Letter Vaughan to D. Fairweather 5.06.1905, Diary Settlement Officer Fox 17-29.04.1913 ; SLNA 65/1187

[78] SLNA 30/544

[79] SLNA 30/545

[80] SLNA 30/445, 30/453, 30/578; see also my “From Landgrabbing to Landhunger: High Land Appropriation in the Plantation Areas of Sri Lanka during the British Period.”  Modern Asian Studies  26, 2 (1992) pp. 321-361.

[81] Diary Kä 27.04.1913 (Codrington): “M. Russell Scott tells me that when he came there 15 years ago the people lived often in caves; one old man still does so. It is one of the Vädda villages mentioned in the Kohomba Yakkunkankariya”. See G. Obeyesekere,  The Cult of the Goddess Pattini,  p. 304-305, quoting Kohomba Kankariya by C. E. Godakumbura, Colombo 1963, p. 90-91, where the ‘calling of the Väddas’ specific to Four-korales tradition enumerated the names of the villages from which the Väddas must come to participate in the devil ritual.

[82] SLNA 30/478

[83] SLNA 30/537 and 422b; Diary Kä July – August 1893 and April 1894; Kägalla kacceri records, Uda Karandupone Forest settlement file (1894)

[84] Diary Kä, 9.05.1907 cf. ibidem, 10.05.1871

[85] Born in Kägalla in a Catholic family, educated at Kandy, Colombo and Calcutta where he studied law, he became proctor in 1901. According to Winston Wickramasinghe, Albert’s son, in an interview I had with him in 1978, his grand-father Don C. Wickramasinghe, a notary public, had directed the attention of the young Albert to the documents of the Forest settlement kept at the Kägalla kacceri. Albert became a member of the anglicized Sinhalese bourgeoisie who invested in the plantation economy, and a moderate supporter of the nationalist movement in 1915  (he published a booklet on the 1915 riots); he was close to D.S. Senanayake but he failed to enter the political arena; a rich man, he built for himself a magnificent walauwa in Kägalla.

[86] Land settlement department, Dorawaka file, list of 99 deeds purchased by an intermediary, Egodawatte Araccilage Don James Perera Appuhamy (from December 1905 to April 1906); at a subsequent judicial sale (19.05.1906) for an amount of 20,000 Rs before the British District Judge Davies the deeds were transferred to Wickramasinghe; SLNA 45/1886 correspondence between Kägalla and Sabaragamuwa, 12.07.1906; Diary Kä 4.03.1907, 16.09.1918

[87] A.A. Wickramasinghe, Land tenure in the Kandyan Provinces (Colombo, Mahajana Press, 1924); compare with H.W. Codrington, Ancient Land Tenure and Revenue in Ceylon (Colombo, Government Press, 1938)

[88] My visit to the spot in 1978 elicited the following information: Madeniya had been the subject of constant recriminations by the villagers recalling the manner in which the lands had been grabbed, and violence often erupted between villagers and estate workers. The estate lands were squatted on, and in 1971 the rubber factory was occupied by the insurgents who established their headquarters there, and burnt down when they left ; then the estate was taken over by the State and the management was catastrophic ; violence continued during these years, and the Tamil school was burnt down in 1977.

[89] Gamperaliya (village upheaval) in the Kägalla district, https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/1354

[90] Ceylon Government Gazette, 1.02.1873, p. 147

[91] Diary Kä, 23.07.1884, 19.11.1888, 22.08. and 30.11.1892, 3.07.1893

[92] Survey department records, Chena plans 300, 218 and 219 (Malawita and Talewala); Sabaragamuwa  Preliminary plans 48 and 2428 (Damunupola), 727 and 1149 (Haloluwa), 1321, 1348, 1358, 1366, 1367 (Talewala, Haloluwa and Malawita); SLNA 30/615 (Chena case Haloluwa 1893-1898); SLNA 30/540 (Golinda CQP file)

[93] Diary Kä, 27-28.10.1914

[94] Diary Kä 17.07.1922

[95] SLNA 30/540 (Golinda CQP file); Ceylon Government Gazette 20.10.1922, p. 1366; Ferguson’s Ceylon Directory for 1937, p. 814

[96] The resulting upheaval of village society is described in Gamperaliya (village upheaval) in the Kägalla district, https://slkdiaspo.hypotheses.org/1354. I hope to publish later the full file of documents and interviews connected with the Golinda estate and its surrounding villages which I collected during my fieldwork (summer 1979); some of the documents kept in the estate office may have disappeared after 1989.

[97] Kelani Valley Forest Settlement Register (SLNA 45/1726), Report on the Forest settlement of the Kelani Valley Reserve and village cases (Kägalla kacceri records); SLNA 65/958 ‘Kelani Valley Forest Reserve’; Settlement diaries and reports of the Land Settlement Department in the 1930s

[98] Ceylon Secretariat file L205/1926

[99] Government Agent Western Province to Colonial Secretary, 16.12.1884 in SLNA 33/2476; Booth to the Government Agent  Sabaragamuwa 24.04.1893 in SLNA 45/3161

[100] ‘Report on the Forest settlement of the Kelani Valley Reserve’ (in Kägalla kacceri land records)

[101] ‘Projected land sale in the Three-korales’ 12.03.1897, Executive Council minutes 04251, 16.03.1897 in SLNA 65/958 ‘Kelani Valley Forest Reserve’

[102] Diary Kä, 15.08.1898,

[103] Diary Kä, 19.01.1904

[104] Diary Kä 30/03/1905, 26/02/1906

[105] SLNA 30/574

[106] SLNA 30/533; Diary SO Jansz, 6.05.1937, ASO Ingledow, June to October 1937:

[107] SLNA 30/533 and SLNA 30/431

[108] Diary Kä, 11.09.1922; Colonial secretariat file L205/1926; ASO Cocks, 14.01.1935 to 8.04.1935; A.J. van der Poorten was a Belgian planter-businessman who had settled in Ceylon by the end of the 19th century and married a Kandyan lady.

[109] Diary Kä 1.02.1918, 16.07.1918

[110] Diary of SO Stace, 18-25.02.1930; Diary Kä, 10.04.1930

[111] Diary of ASO Northcroft, May 1931, February 1932, April 1933.

[112] Diaries of SO, 5.09.1935, of ASO Cocks, 6.03.1935, of ASO Ingledow, 11-13.10.1937, 10.01.1938, of ASO Wijekoon, January 1938. Pandaha and Haradaha were two villages where, under dalamura tenure, the Duraya inhabitants had to deliver five and four thousands of betel leaves – hence their names.

[113] Diary Kä 4.06.1923, September to December 1925, 11 January to 22 June 1927, 15.09.1931. In 2013 Noori estate was the scene of a murder of the manager and great violence in the surrounding villages was unleashed by a local goon with political affiliations, who ruled the area as a private kingdom; a similar state of affairs prevailed in Maliboda (Daily Mirror August 2013)

[114] SLNA 30/557; Diary Kä 19.02.1925; Diaries of ASO Northcroft, 8.07.1932 to 27.03.1933 and Ingledow, 12.01.1937

[115] Diary Kä,  23.12.1904, 1.07.1905, 23.12.1904, 19.02.1925, 22.04.1927 

The Sri-Lankan exception: a unique re-democratization process in South Asia and its geopolitical implications in the Indo-Pacific

Summary of a lecture given at Sciences Po (South Asia programme) by Eric P. Meyer (30.01.2025)

The overwhelming success of the National Peoples Power (NPP) in the Sri Lankan legislative elections of November 14th, 2024 (more than two thirds of seats, 61.5% of the vote) confirmed the popularity of President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, elected on September 21st with 42.3% of the vote (55.9% after counting the preferential votes that serve as a second round), and of the team he put in place headed by Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya. This success contrasts with the 3 to 4% of the vote obtained by Dissanayake in 2019 and by his party in 2020. Beyond a simple rejection of discredited outgoing parliamentarians, how can such a meteoric rise be explained? And how was the democratic process not derailed in Sri Lanka, in spite of the succession of shocks which affected the country since independence – insurgencies of 1971 and 1987-1989, separatist war from the early 1980s to 2009, economic and political crisis of the early 2020s?

The great popular movement of 2022, the Aragalaya, initiated by activists who ‘occupied’ a public space in the heart of Colombo, brought into the streets hundreds of thousands of Sri Lankans hit hard by the economic crisis resulting from the disastrous management of public finances and agricultural policy, and the backlash from Covid. This movement, which bears some similarities with the ‘Arab springs’, denounced the corruption and the incompetence of the political class, and in particular of the Rajapakse clan which had dominated since 2006. It forced the resignation of President Gotabhaya Rajapakse, elected in 2019. Following the legal procedure, the Parliament appointed Ranil Wickremesinghe, an experienced but unpopular politician, as interim President, who put a stop to the movement.

His mission was to obtain the agreement of the International Monetary Fund (IMF), State creditors (mainly China, Japan and India) and international finance, to pull the country out of bankruptcy. The austerity measures imposed by the IMF in exchange for $2.9 billion in aid contributed to the decline of the living standards and gave the NPP arguments to assert its goals. Its activists, who had participated in the Aragalaya but were not its instigators, managed over the next two years to convince very diverse sectors of the population of their ability to radically transform the country’s political culture, through democratic means.

Dissanayake, who came from a modest rural background and had trained in politics since the 1990s in the People’s Liberation Front (JVP in sinhala language), a ‘guevarist’ movement that had organized two bloodily suppressed insurrections in 1971 and 1989, was able to both move the JVP in a democratic direction and rally the Sinhalese popular masses through his charisma and eloquence. Launching the NPP in 2019, he expanded his circle around the JVP core to include progressive intellectuals such as Harini Amarasuriya, social activists often belonging to minorities, young entrepreneurs looking forward to innovative change. On the other side, NPP’s competitors, led by Sajith Premadasa, the son of a former President, although critics of Wickremesinghe’s policy, lost popular support by their compromises with discredited politicians.

The other decisive element of the NPP’s success was the desire to turn the page on the civil war that ended in 2009 with the defeat of the Tamil separatists for which the Rajapakse brothers took credit, building their power on the instrumentalization of tensions between the Buddhist Sinhalese majority and the Tamil-speaking Hindu, Muslim and Christian minorities, relying on a police system that violated human rights, on pampered armed forces, and on organizations of political monks ; the Islamist attacks on Christian churches in Easter 2019 had served their propaganda well and allowed them to perpetuate a regime of exception. The Aragalaya, which was a multi-ethnic movement, had initiated change, in the context of the decline of Tamil separatist feelings in the north. The legislative elections confirmed this: the NPP displayed secularism and civil rule as its principles, and managed to win both the votes of the Sinhalese Buddhist majority in the south, those of the community of Tamil plantation workers in the hills, and to have a relative majority of representatives elected in the north, facing divided Tamil autonomist candidates. It was the first time since independence that a party based in the south was able to rally the votes of the Tamil minorities.

The sequence of events since 2022 demonstrated the resilience of the democratic system, after decades of “tribulations of an old democracy” – title of the article I published a quarter of a century ago in the volume edited by Christophe Jaffrelot Les démocraties d’ailleurs (Karthala, 2000). With 67% participation, an electoral campaign without major incidents, meetings attracting crowds with modest means, the absence of discredited political bigwigs who preferred not to run or were defeated, balanced political speeches given by activists who abandoned their weapons for ballot papers, monks less conspicuous than usual, an army staying in its barracks, few fake news, and the smooth functioning of a complex proportional list ballot with preferential ranking of candidates: in the global electoral landscape of our time, can we speak of a Sri Lankan exception?

Rather than re-democratization, the goal fixed upon by the NPP is the re-invention of a ‘clean’ political culture appealing to what Orwell called ‘common decency’, through practical measures aiming at reducing poverty, banning communal politics, dynamizing the administration, and ensuring the impartiality of justice. On the other hand, economic and political liabilities represent a very heavy burden for the new government and its room for maneuver remains limited. Its parliamentary majority gives it a free hand, and the improvement in the country’s financial state eases its constraints a little. But it must try to renegotiate the agreements with the IMF to alleviate the poverty of the masses, fight against corruption and mafia practices, monitor the change in political culture, strengthen coexistence between communities internally and remove the mistrust of the Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora.


Above all, in a geopolitical perspective, remains the challenge, for a small country in a strategic position, to keep an equal distance between India and China, and use international rivalries to raise the stakes and obtain direct investment, without further alienating the country’s sovereignty – considered as its most precious asset. The Rajapaksa regime, while pretending to defend Sri Lanka’s independence and unity, had mortgaged the island to Chinese economic-strategic interests. Wickremesinghe had attempted to reduce the imbalance and rely on the support of Western powers. Dissanayake is likely to follow a realist line: his first official visit was to India, the second to China. But in the case of five major projects the new government is confronted with difficult choices. The ‘Colombo port-city’ mega project, presented as a brainchild of Mahinda Rajapakse, but actually a link in the Chinese-engineered Belt-and-Road Initiative, is being developed as an extraterritorial enclave devoted to globalized business and leisure, on the Dubai model. Facing Galle Face, the hotspot of Aragalaya, the project has been severely criticized by the NPP, as a post-modern avatar of the colonial enterprise. So was the Hambantota port, located on the southern coast of the island, similarly built and financed by Chinese firms, which was leased in 2017 for 99 years to China Merchant Ports, because the government could not repay its debt; the connected project of a big oil refinery has been awarded to Sinopec in January 2025. On the north-eastern coast, the natural harbor of Trincomalee, where oil tanks had been built during WW2, is of strategic interest for India: it was central to the secret agreement imposed on Sri Lanka by India in 1987, which was vehemently denounced by the JVP; in 2022 a joint venture has been set up with Indian Oil Corporation to restore the oil storage facilities and build another refinery. Next year, the Wickremesinghe administration had approved a project by Gautam Adani, the Indian businessman close to Narendra Modi, to develop a string of wind turbines along the north-western coast, in Mannar and Pooneryn: the harsh financial conditions resembling those imposed by the same firm to Bangladesh, and the bribery charges levelled against Adani in India and USA, are calling into question the project. Back in Colombo, the extension of the port container terminal, another project partly funded by Adani with U.S.-borrowed capital, is similarly being reviewed. To quote the analysis published in The Diplomat (27 January 2025) by R. Kuruwita: “The Adani controversy transcends Sri Lanka’s energy policy. It is a litmus test for the country’s commitment to sovereignty and transparency in an era of great-power rivalry (…) For the NPP government, this is more than an economic dilemma: it is a chance to prove that campaign promises of integrity are more than rhetoric (…) As Sri Lanka navigates post-default recovery, its choices will resonate far beyond its shores. By prioritizing national interest over expediency, Colombo can pursue a policy that safeguards both its economy and its sovereignty, perhaps setting a precedent for other nations grappling with similar pressures. The world is watching.”

ABORTIVE CHENA SETTLEMENTS IN THE KÄGALLA DISTRICT 

DURING THE LATE 19th AND EARLY 20th CENTURIES

By Eric P. Meyer

The following paper completes the previous article on Chena cultivation and its repression in Colonial Ceylon

In the colonial Ceylon context, a settlement is theoretically a contractual decision arrived at between a representative of the colonial government (‘the Crown’) and a claimant, peasant or landlord, or a purchaser from them, recognizing private title to the land claimed or deciding the land to be ‘at the disposal of the Crown’. The ‘contract’ is generally unequal, the power of the Crown being stronger than that of the subject, but the judicial system offers opportunities for the latter to defend his rights. Settlement may be analyzed purely in terms of rational administration, a typical 19th century tendency which led European powers to introduce, instead of undefined customary rights, the concept of absolute property in their colonies after imposing it at home. But it can be understood as a tool legitimizing the appropriation of land by right of conquest for colonial purposes. The concept of land as territory with fixed boundaries, and not as a means of production, was implicit in the ‘Roman-Dutch’ law system imposed by the Dutch on the Low country of Ceylon, but was rather new in the former Kandyan kingdom, although in its border areas, such as the Kägalla district, the situation was more complex. Establishing the legal status of a land involved specific operations: surveying the land, naming it, measuring its area (and not estimating as before its ‘sowing extent’), mapping it, before defining its owner. These operations were never completed on a systematic basis for want of method, means and political will, and they resulted in a mess which suited the interests of the planting industry[1].

The starting point of all that is the policy pursued after the annexation of the Kandyan kingdom and the subsequent rebellion of 1819, at the initiative of D’Oyly, the first British resident at Kandy, to let the people (local and low country) fell the ‘forbidden forests’ (tahansi käle) which served as a bulwark for the Kandyan kings to develop guerilla activities against invaders. Hatarakorale (‘the Four counties’) and Tunkorale (‘the Three counties’) were essential in that respect, located as they were along the shortest route from Colombo to Kandy.

In the Kandyan times, the area was disputed between the Western powers (first Portuguese, then Dutch) and Kandy, and was therefore often depopulated and repopulated. A side aspect of the policy of the Kandyan kings was to employ several categories of ‘low caste’ people (collectively known as Duraya – the name given to their headmen and used as a generic) to guard the paths and to act as porters; among these people were Kande minissu (hillmen), local Hakuru, palm sugar tappers with a good knowledge of the jungle, and Panna living in hilly areas, distinct from Batgama, paddy cultivators attached to royal villages. The area was caste-mixed, the Goyigama being in the majority but many of them belonging to a lower stratum of the caste (naides – the term erroneously reserved for artisan castes by most authors was widely employed in Hatarakorale for Goyigama living in free villages – koralegam – but subject to service) ; apart from the various Duraya  and the Goyigama, there were a few Karawa and a few Moor villages, both engaged in trade, a couple of Salagama villages engaged in cinnamon peeling, and a few Berava/Nekati villages usually connected with temple property[2].  

In his diary of October 1916, the Assistant Government Agent H.A. Burden, after reading the diaries of his predecessors, wrote[3]: “During the time of Mr. Price and for about 30 years the chief source of worry to the Assistant Government Agents – as is quite apparent from a perusal of their diaries, was the alienation of their chena lands by the villagers and the creation of a landless and improvident class of people. There was therefore a continuous attempt to hedge round the chena settlements with such conditions as would tend to restrict the alienation of the chena lands. One of such conditions was to allow the right of chena cultivation only (…) These precautions have not prevented the alienation of many thousands of acres of chena lands settled in such a way. The attempt to make the Kandyan villager thrifty in spite of himself (sic) is not an undertaking which is likely to achieve much success”

That these ‘abortive’ settlements left deep traces in the minds of the villagers is shown by the note found in the diary of 1937 of the Settlement Officer Jansz regarding the village of Malwana[4]: “A number of villagers of the Batgama caste refused to sign agreements under the Land Settlement Ordinance of 1931. They profess not to be dissatisfied with the settlements offered but are unwilling to put their signature to any agreement. It is a recollection of the position following certain Forest settlements made by Mr. Ievers which they bring forward as reason for their refusal.” In this case as in others, the settlement (actually by Booth and not Ievers) had never been given official sanction.

Successive and contradictory settlements such are those of Dorawaka, Pallegama, and Edurapota resulted in a mess. In Edurapota, which was initially a feudal (saramaru) village[5] “The village was the subject of an informal settlement by Mr. Wace as Assistant Government Agent in 1884. The overlord and tenants repudiated this settlement which had no legal value and Mr. Price settled the village again in 1888 as Forest Settlement officer, which was slightly different from Mr. Wace’s. This settlement was duly proclaimed but owing to some irregularity was declared ultra vires. Proceedings were to be started again but the papers got lost and the villagers received instructions to cultivate any land to which they had title. After that date I find that several blocks of land declared private by Mr. Wace and Mr. Price have been surveyed and sold by the Crown”

The erratic land policy pursued by the colonial administration in the Kägalla district is a clear example of the contradictions of the system, which was actually driven by the wishes of the planters but candidly considered by some naïve administrators to function for the sole benefit of the peasantry.

In the years following the enactment of the ordinance 12 of 1840, government interference was limited to the rare cases when a coffee planter wished to acquire land in the mid-country, which was then considered a second choice compared with virgin up-country land: a kind of rough and arbitrary block division was made on the spot, with little regard to the claims of the local villagers: a typical case is that of Berawila, detailed in a previous chapter on land-grabbing by coffee estates in the Kägalla district. But there was no systematic attempt to survey and settle all high lands.

By the end of the 1850, the property of lands belonging to temples (especially to the Kandy Maha devalaya in the Kägalla district) was reviewed by Government and surveyed; the title of many lands given to the temples was rejected by the Commission and these lands were appropriated by the Crown, while large areas recognized private could be leased to planters by temple trustees.   

By the mid-1860s, when highland for coffee became scarce in the upper districts, colonial administrators such as Frederick Saunders envisioned the forcible appropriation of whole areas in the mid-country on the basis of ordinance 12 of 1840, and this policy was put into practice with much difficulty by his successors (Lee, King, Dowson, Pennycuick) between 1871 and 1877, on the basis of systematic surveys, especially in the Kelani Valley, but  it was then found that the ordinance of 1840 was unworkable without the agreement of the villagers.

When Saunders became Government Agent of the Western Province (from 1879 to 1890), an energetic Assistant Agent, Ievers, followed by Murray, Le Mesurier and Wace, backed by the new governor Arthur Gordon (later lord Stanmore) invented a new system of ‘block settlement’ which partitioned highlands on the basis of needs of the villagers and with their agreement (or rather that of their headmen) with little regard to the letter of the ordinance, and in a context of crisis of the plantation industry. The result was to demarcate two blocks of highlands, one which the Crown could sell to planters, the other which was supposed to be reserved for the use of the villagers.

During the next decade, with the growing demand of land for tea, the sale of Crown blocks was soon followed by the sale by villagers of their supposedly inalienable chenas. With the arrival of more ‘pro-peasant’ revenue officers, such as Price, Booth and Davidson, attempts were made to curb the process by applying the Forest Ordinance of 1885 which was not devised for that purpose.

By the end of the century, the southern part of the district (Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama) was practically left to the tea planters, but the administration still attempted to block the development of plantations in the more populous northern part and to enforce the reservations in the upper reaches of the rivers (the Kälerata).

This policy again ended in failure, in the context of a demand for rubber land, and the administration was compelled or chose to legalize the planter’s acquisition of village land by issuing Certificates of Quiet Possession (CQPs) on payment, except in the case of the Kälerata, which was settled with much difficulty under the Waste Lands Ordinance of 1897 by the Land Settlement Department in the 1930s.

Administratively speaking, the lessons drawn from the failure of the experiments made in the Kägalla district led to the 1897 ordinance and the setting up of the Land Settlement Department. But politically speaking, the whole exercise was doomed from the start by the contradictions of the colonial system, which at the same time arbitrarily vested land rights in ‘the Crown’, encouraged the planter’s enterprise and attempted to protect the local peasantry. In the drama there were three actors with shifting alliances, or rather four because the legal profession acted often independently from the actors it was supposed to support.

 

Chena surveys and settlements upon wattoru: 1873-1878[6]

The ‘chena question’ became in the early 1870 a major issue in the colonial administration of the Kägalla district ; the policy of Saunders in 1863-64 was a forerunner of what was to lead to a general ‘un-settlement’ of high lands in an area where they were integrated into the village ecology more than in the upper districts. This was the result of a convergence of factors : the new demand for land at mid-elevation by the planters, first of coffee, then of tea (rubber impacted the demand only during the second part of the 1890s) ; the inconsistent interpretation of the land ordinance of 1840 and the extension of älvi (hill paddy) cultivation in the district ; and the ‘victorian’ methods of the colonial administration : this is the period when the first population census was undertaken; the idea of ‘settlement’ became a driving force. But all these attempts at control ended in failure and the result opened the way to a large-scale appropriation of land by outsiders, which impeded in many cases the transformation of highlands into gardens and household plots by the local villagers.

The clumsy attempts at repression of chena cultivation between 1870 and 1873 under Lee and King had led to resistance and near-famine conditions especially in the Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama areas as explained in the previous chapter. It was then proposed by the Assistant Agent Aelian King and the Government Agent of the Western province to set up a regular mechanism of settlement based on systematic surveys. The Survey department, a colonial institution linked with the planters, was principally used to demarcate the blocks of lands sold by the Crown to planters, and was reluctant to undertake such an unfamiliar task.  The project was started in August 1873 in Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama (the Kelani river basin), beginning with the villages close to the roads accessible from Ruanwella, ‘with a young and inexperienced staff’ made up of private licensed surveyors specially recruited for the task : Kavanagh, Durnford, White, Philip Francis Ondaatje[7], De Silva, Willams under the direction of D.G. Mantell, and later Ondaatje, Ch Patterson, R. Langslow, J.G. Koch, W.H. Mackenzie, under the supervision of W.A.B. Fryers (the son of the Surveyor general…).

In practice, the surveyors were guided by the Ratemahatmaya (chief headman) M.B. Ekneligoda. In a first phase, every plot in cultivation was to be surveyed but this was soon abandoned for a block survey of chenas of different ages without regard to individual claims. The decision was taken “to survey chenas in blocks village by village wherever the chenas of a village are so distributed; to survey chenas of every age recording on the plan the approximate age of each”; and to demarcate rectangular blocks to avoid encroachments, while the real chenas were generally rounded[8]. In addition to the practical difficulties of demarcating the areas, some surveyors were not reliable (Kavanagh was so negligent and troublesome that he was suspended). The Administration reports of the Surveyor General show that while initially the survey was planned lot by lot it was later decided to block survey “for the settlement of such worthless lands”; the ‘rejected temple lands’ were surveyed at the same time with a view to put them up for sale. It became soon evident that survey work was done in the interests of prospective planters, who were connected with the Survey department: in the words of D.G. Mantell “7,000 acres of forest saved from destruction by chena cultivators will be purchased by planters of robusta coffee and of tea and were already visited by several capitalists” [9]. In November 1873, detailed surveys were restarted and Mantell complained of contradictory instructions in a letter to the Surveyor General.

An enquiry by the Assistant Agents followed the survey, but the instructions given were confusing. It was not initially to be a settlement with the claimants, but a decision from above by the administration. In practice, the first chena enquiries of the 1870s made under the Assistant Agents King, Pennycuick and Dawson (actually by the Ratemahatmaya Ekneligoda), and supervised by Saunders, former Assistant at Kägalla and now Government Agent of the Western province, show a strict application of the ordinance of 1840, with the clear intention of reserving as much lands as possible for the Crown with a view to sell them to planters, while recognizing the validity of wattoru (receipts of payment of paddy tax) as proof of ownership. When there were wattoru of less than 20 years (generally dated of the 1860s), the chenas were ‘allowed’. In some cases small chena plots were allowed as appurtenances to paddy fields: Kudagama (Dehigampal) offers an example of a chena enquiry of 1875 by Ekneligoda which appears to take into account the concept of appurtenance[10].

Another procedure was possible “in case of chenas generally possessed simply under claim supposed to be won by repeated occupation: 1. Find the number of families in the village 2. Find the extent of paddy land for each family and taking the admitted proportion of chena to paddy land, apportionate an extent of chena land for the whole village somewhat greater. If the survey be in excess of this, let it be reduced with regard to the adoption of the most well-defined boundaries, or with regard to the reservation of soil best suited for the growth of timber”. But this procedure was rarely followed because it involved an in-depth study which the administration was not prepared to undertake.

Regarding ‘old’ gardens, for which there were no tax receipts because they were not cultivated with älvi, the practice was to give a Certificate of Quiet Possession on compulsory payment of survey fees : see for example in the village of Kahanawita, lot 2237 “Old garden more than 50 years, fully planted. Certificate of no claim will be granted on payment of survey fees. Advertise if not paid” (signed Saunders).  Arbitrary decisions were frequent, under the influence of the chief headman, as in the case of the small village of Degalatiriya, near Undugoda, where claims to chenas were ‘rejected’ in 1873 for want of a sannasa, in spite of the village being registered as a nindagama. The decisions were delivered in an abrupt way, like those of the Temple lands commission, without taking into account the position of the villagers: they were not in the nature of settlements. A question constantly raised in these chena enquiries was that of the ‘new gardens’ which were created as an answer to demographic growth. When there were wattoru for the chena on which the garden was created, the land could be allowed as private but when there was no tax receipt (for example for rejected temple lands), the administration usually demanded the sale at half improved value. The files of the ‘chena cases’ kept in the Kägalla kacceri show a systematic refusal by the authorities to recognize the rights of the villagers in the case of recent transformation of chenas into gardens, and the theoretical assertion of Crown property over most of the chena areas. But the system was soon found to be not only unjust, but also unworkable.

In December 1873, it was also decided to select special headmen to look after chena cultivation, and the Assistant Agent Dawson, successor of Aelian King, published a series of rules relating to their role in distributing licenses and seizing crops “illegally raised on Crown lands” – an unworkable bureaucratic mechanism[11]. These headmen were selected with the idea that they would act in surveyed villages. But further correspondence in 1874 admitted that “the appointment of these headmen has not prevented or checked forest clearings to any extent”, and that their authority ran parallel to that of the regular headmen, which complicated things[12]. The administration reports for 1874 and 1875 are quite clear on the impact of the repressive policy which had become much harsher with the progress of surveys[13]: “The people compelled by a strict enforcement of the orders of government to abandon to a great extent the cultivation of chenas, gave more attention to their fields”. “In Pata Bulatgama, there must have been a scarcity of food, but it was relieved, I hear, by emigration to the neighbouring coffee estates of much of its adult population during the year, and so avoided calamity. The cultivation of high lands in this division should I think be liberally regarded.”

Regarding the settlement work, the same reports noticed that “the people have not responded willingly to the notice of government to attend and prove their claims. Very many absented themselves and their claims were in consequence rejected”. Pennycuick in the report for 1876 noted that the progress of the survey was too slow and that settlement was often difficult owing to confusion in names ; it is only in the report for 1879 that his successor Ievers considered that, with the help of Ekneligoda, the chena enquiries were accepted and even sought for by the villagers. The poor quality of the surveys sometimes gave rise to contestations by the villagers: the case of Kappagoda sales in 1872 is very typical[14]. In this ‘rejected’ temple village inhabited by Duraya and Muslim villagers, some of whom had sold their lands to a certain P.G. Fernando mudaliyar, the surveyor had included as Crown lands for sale paddy fields and gardens “because he could not take the proper bearings”

A regular difficulty was absenteeism of the claimants, especially of Duraya villagers as in the case of Dannorukanda; they were supposedly ‘noticed in advance’, but as the notice was delivered by high caste headmen, one can suspect that it was often not properly done: then the land was declared Crown and these headmen were in a position to point them to planters and pocket benefits for themselves: this is probably how Ekneligoda (and later Mideniya) became affluent. It is quite clear that corruption was the result of colonial interference in land matters, and not the cause of poor performance of the administration in land matters. The case of Narangala, a remote Panna village in Pata Bulatgama, settled by Dawson in 1874, is an example of the repressive policy pursued by the administration and of the resistance of Duraya villagers: Vikrampedige Goma petitioned against the chena headman who failed to notice him : because he was absent for the enquiry, the rocky highland adjoining his paddy field “never sown with paddy but with amu seed which is used by the meanest and poorly class of people every two or three years” was taken to the Crown. This chena had been converted by him into ‘peasant’ coffee: proof of the enterprise of these villagers living in contact with planters of the Dolosbage district; finally the enquiry was reopened and the land was given to the claimant on payment of ¼ share. Another case of resistance in the same area was that of Badahela (potters) and Vahumpura villagers of Pilawela and Rangalla: they opposed the claim of a high caste clan, the Dissanekge, who pretended that the highlands of these villages belonged to them on the basis of a sannasa. The document was found by the Courts to be a forgery, but it is the Crown and not the villagers who appropriated the lands which were subsequently sold to a planter[15]

Many high caste villagers were not better treated,  especially along the road leading up-country along the Kelani river where early purchases by colonial administrators and by low-country traders were frequent:  in Gomanduwa, a small Goyigama village near Yatiyantota (“2 pangu, 5 families, only 6 pelas of mud land”), most of the chenas were declared Crown in the 1877 chena enquiry and many gardens were sold at half improved value: “the land to the south of the road belongs to Mr. Anstruther (…) who is said to have bought it from Mr. Power who bought it in 1841” (Both these gentlemen were government servants). Another village in the same area, Karawudeniya, a rejected nindagama, has been sold by the Goyigama to Moors after a dramatic flooding.

In a critical analysis of these settlements on wattoru[16], the Assistant Agent Ievers posted at Kägalla in 1878 reported that the extent to which title was shown was only a small proportion of the whole chena area, impossible to locate and broken in small patches: the settlement was on paper, and assented to in so far as the villagers knew it was not put into practice. “I believe the existing system to be absolutely useless as a settlement” The report gives an history of the chena surveys, (first chenas were surveyed separately, then range by range), and describes the procedure: “on the day of the enquiry, all the claimants being present, I proceed to decide what chenas are private property and what are Crown (… ) the burden of ownership lies on the claimant, he may show title in four ways : by producing sannas, by producing deed of gift or purchase giving a prescriptive right, by custom which gives an appurtenance of highlands to a paddy field, by proof of payment of tax within 20 years ; practically only this fourth proof is adduced (…) but the full tax is hardly ever paid owing to the venality of the assessors who underassess the extents actually cultivated (…) When the claimant gives notice that he is about to clear a chena, the Ratemahatmaya permits him to clear the extent given in the list, but the claimant then goes and clears as much as he pleases and wherever he pleases, as the village headman is sure not to make any objection, or if he does, his scruples are easily removed (…) Nothing remains but an elaborate settlement on paper (…) If by chance the Crown is sufficiently ill advised to go to law, a recent decision of the Supreme court (…) will send the defendant triumphant to his village” “The present survey is quite unremunerative (…) The land declared Crown cannot be put up for sale, mixed up with private land (…) The present system is fruitful in irritation and an objectionable feeling of insecurity and unsettledness among the people, who finds the chenas which they believe to be theirs partly ‘become Crown’. The Crown decides against their title but cannot enforce its own possession (…) To decide according to the strictest letter of the law has proved useless and has only been acquiesced in by the people because the decision has been a dead letter and allows them to do as they please.”

 

Chena block settlements, or the contradictions of ‘dualism in action’.

Ievers was the first in the district not to restrict himself, like his predecessors, to legal considerations, and to devise a form of planning taking into account socio-economic factors (a process later formalized by the Land Settlement Officers as ‘mapping out’). He was initially supported by Layard, Government Agent of the Western province, and later by Gordon (later Lord Stanmore), Governor of Ceylon from 1883 to 1890, but Saunders, who succeeded Layard, was rather skeptical: “all this money and time are absolutely thrown away unless the agreements are made legally binding”[17]

Ievers experimented his plan in the remote village of Welihelatenne[18]:  “I admit that the claimants can show title to a very small portion of the chenas, that in fairness they must be given sufficient for the support of their families and that consequently, the Crown will allow them more than they can show title to. I proceed to find out how many families there are in the village, the extent of paddy lands and gardens, and the extent of the chenas. From these data I decide what extent of chenas they should be allowed, taking everything into consideration. Where paddy fields are very few and comparatively unfertile, the people must of necessity cultivate chenas, but it should be the object of government to restrict such to the narrowest limits. After the agreement is signed by the headman and the family heads, the Crown block is demarcated”. The settlement of Hatnapitiya (Tunkorale)[19] provides a precise example of calculation of villagers’ needs in a small Goyigama village of the Panawal korale: 7 families have 3 acres 20 perches of irrigated paddy and a chena area of 825 acres; each family needs 2 pelas a year of chenas x 10 years (the interval between two cultivations) x 7 families = 140 pelas = 280 acres, considered as ‘a most liberal allowance’: the balance of 545 acres is taken as Crown land.

The difference between the early ‘settlements’ on wattoru and the new chena block settlements imagined by Ievers are clear from the case of Paradeniya[20], a small village with 14 houses, one Goyigama panguwa of 4 families and one Vahumpura panguwa, near Mattamagoda. Paradeniya was settled three times: under the old chena enquiry system by Pennycuick (7.07.1877); under the block chena settlement system by Ievers (24.04.1884); under the Forest settlement system by Booth (26.05.1893). The detailed settlements lot by lot in the first settlement show the results of a settlement upon wattoru, which decided to be Crown all the highlands even those regularly cultivated such as owiti (wet valleys) because owiti and chenas cultivated with amu and kurakkan did not pay taxes ; even coconut gardens of less than 5 years were declared Crown ; coconut gardens of less than 20 years growth were also settled at half improved value. In the block settlement made by Ievers seven years later, it was decided that “a block of 127 acres in the north will be sufficient as the Crown land in this village”, and the rest was allowed to the villagers; this was confirmed nine years later in the Forest settlement.

The major innovation was to divide village land into two blocks, with the idea to give the Crown the possibility to sell a compact part of the village highlands to planters: the ideology behind the move was that of ‘dualism’[21]. Ievers was still of opinion that the object of government was “to restrict chena to the narrowest limits and prevent the hitherto desultory and nomadic cultivation”. He thus justified his plan: “Land is now in much request and is daily becoming more valuable in the Tunkorale, applications are numerous, as the soil and climate are eminently suitable for tea, liberian coffee and cocoa. Several estates have already been opened and are very promising. But land remains tied up, owing to the present impossibility of settling the native claims, and planters will not purchase small isolated pieces”. That this consideration was always in the background when settlements were made on these lines is clearly shown in the diaries, as in the example the Patberiya settlement[22] : “I took as Crown block a piece of about 200 acres divided off from village on east by Gomala Oya and adjoining the Crown block at Hatnapitiya. The two together make a fine compact block of about 750 acres which will be very valuable some day for tea”. In the margin, the Governor Gordon, who read the diaries before returning them to their authors, wrote: “good”.[23]

But the settlement process imagined by Ievers, which requested the acquiescence of the villagers, soon ran into problems. The vivid details given in his diaries show how difficult it was to explain to the villagers the rationale of a system of settlement imagined from above which was so much at variance with the land practices of the Kandyan peasants: “It takes at least three hours patient talk and reiteration before a village settlement can be made and the same points and explanations gone over and over twenty times before they really understand”[24]. In practice Ievers was assisted by M.B. Ekneligoda, the Ratemahatmaya of the Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama, whose integrity was soon suspected by the villagers. A major problem arose in villages where the settlement deprived certain pangu[25] of the area in which they used to cultivate: “pangukarayo would disagree between themselves and if they decline to accept a compact block of chenas in place of their small scattered pieces scattered all over the village mixed up with Crown land, the officer making the settlement could not compel them”. There was a basic discrepancy between the actual chena practices (varying according to localities) and the rational system of surveys and establishment of property rights implied by the colonial logic. The Ievers settlement system totally ignored the fact that in many large villages, each panguva used to cultivate chenas in specific ranges, and that no collective decision by a gansabhava (village council) always convened by high caste chiefs often opposed by coterie rivalries could be imposed.

Ievers was replaced momentarily by Baumgartner, who mentioned that chena surveys had been stopped when he took over. He added: “The apportionment of the private block among all the claimants was left to be settled by the Ratemahatmaya and the village council (…) In not a single instance has the Ratemahatmaya of Tunkorale been able to effect a settlement owing to the refusal of those in possession of the block assigned to the villagers to give any share of it to others. In the case of 27 villages referred to him, he had to report in September 1881 that in every instance there were people who objected to a division, the very people who had signed the agreement at the time of the enquiry. There being no legal power to enforce the written agreements, it was useless attempting any further settlements”[26]. Other unresolved issues were the question of mortgages or leases on lands included in the Crown block, of people who had not signed the agreement returning to the village, and more generally of the arbitrary and extra-legal character of the settlement process, which could not be legalized by an ordinance.  The result was again that the authority was jeopardized and that only the hard fact of plantation clearing would enforce these paper settlements.

Returning to the district, Ievers in his report for 1882 defended his plan saying that “the conflicting claims of the villagers and the Crown had been arranged in 71 villages, 15,020 acres recovered as Crown property, and already 1,977 acres sold ; the villagers with a few unavoidable exceptions are satisfied with the settlement (…) capital is attracted into the country and barren wastes of jungle are formed into flourishing tea estates. During the year under review, I have only made settlements where the villagers asked me to do so, or where the planters applied for tracts of chena land partly claimed by the villagers”. In the first settlements effected by Ievers after 1883, he explained his method to the Governor Gordon, as in the case of the village of Pannila: “In making chena settlements one of two courses must be pursued : 1. To treat all claims from the strictly legal point of view and only admit title to such lands as it can be shown that the customary tax has been paid within 20 years or by virtue of a Crown grant or sannasa [It is how Dawson and Pennycuick worked]. 2. To treat the claim upon a communal basis and give a fair share to the pangukarayo, defining accurately the limits of the communal lands. I have made the chena settlement of this district upon the latter basis as I consider the former to be inequitable, and the villagers in fact in almost every case have agreed to my settlement (…) It is to avoid constant disputes between the villagers and the Crown claims, where neither can definitely say “this is Crown” or “this is communal land” that I have made these settlements, and the system has worked very well. If the agreement be cancelled, each man must produce his wattoru before the Ratemahatmaya, after giving notice to the chena headman of the extent he means to clear, and if he clears more than what appears in the wattoru, he is liable to prosecution if he clears any jungle over 20 years old ; and in fact the want of settlement gives rise to constant worry and annoyance both to villagers and headmen and the Assistant Agent”[27].

In his Administration report for 1884 the new Agent Wace made a case for pushing the settlement of the district[28] : “The definite settlement of village claims has too long be deferred already, to the great damage of Crown lands and the demoralization of the villagers (…) Government rights are necessarily in suspension as long as such claims remain undecided and the private capitalist is shut out as he is between two claimants he does not know with which to deal. The wealth of this district is in its gardens and highlands and it is a policy attended with loss both to the Crown and the public to neglect any longer the definite land settlement of their district. I would commence with Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama, where villagers are chiefly dependent on älvi for food supply, and where the demand for government land is greatest.”

But when a village was large, multi-caste, divided between rival families, and prospected by would-be planters, such as Pannila, it was difficult to reach a settlement[29]. As early as March 1872, Goyigama villagers had petitioned the Governor against the first wave of chena repression and the answer of the colonial administration was:  “the petitioners be informed that there is no intention to interfere with their property in chena and that they are perfectly at liberty to do as they please with their own. It is necessary however to impose a check on the promiscuous occupation of crown lands and the wanton destruction of timber for worthless purpose, and with this view, chenaing any such land without a license cannot be permitted”. Twelve years later, Ievers  undertook to settle these chena lands and reported: “Pannila is a large village with flourishing fine gardens and people in good sort ; but mud land in this korale is very little (…) Great difficulty in making settlement : 7 pangu, 26 families, 1555 acres : 20 acres of paddy, 69 acres of garden, 1191 acres of chenas,  273 acres of forest ( 3 large pieces in the east), so to preserve them I took a block of about 200 acres (actually 354 acres) surrounding them. Had to talk for about 2 hours before I could get a few recalcitrants to sign agreement. These settlements whenever they are made legal should be sufficient if 4/5 of the pangukarayo agree. I now have to get unanimity and this entails great loss of time in talk before they can be convinced.”   “The 837 acres allowed as private was divided between 3 gamwasam and the Vahumpura panguwa; one of the gamwasam received 500 acres and none of it was taken to the Crown. On the other hand, one of the gamwasam was entirely taken to the Crown. As a compensation, when the 350 acres of the Crown block was settled under the WLO, 37 acres was allowed out of the Crown block to the gamwasama entirely taken”. But the representatives of the Mahagamarallage alias Mahagamwasama panguwa “of the class known as village proctors”, who would lose 8 amunam in the division out of the 11 amunam of chenas they claimed, refused to sign the settlement. In their petition of 27.09.1884, they affirmed that their right to cultivate chenas as members of a high caste family who rendered feudal services was registered in a lekammitiya, that they paid tax at 1/14 for their chenas, that they could not pay survey fees. They recalled that in 1872 being obstructed in the cultivation of their chenas they petitioned the governor and apparently obtained satisfaction. The Governor Gordon commented on this report: “I quite agree with the principle enunciated in this very clear and full report, and am anxious that these communal chenas should be established if consent can be obtained. But a general consent is necessary to the working of the system successfully. I do not agree except in a very restricted sense with the opinion expressed in the minute of 1872 and the villagers should be made to understand that while the chenas may be ‘their own’ to use, they are not their own to alienate”.  The end of the story, according to the Kägalla kacceri file, is characteristic of the failure of the process of settlement in this case. In 1887 the gamwasama panguwa petitioned again and the new Assistant Agent Price reported that “cases of this description have frequently occurred in these unformal settlements which provide for the decision of all disputes by a reference to a gansabhava. If the petitioners are unable to obtain redress in that manner, they must wait till the Forest Settlement Officer deals with Pannila”. In November1889, Price reported on another petition of the Mahagamarallage panguwa which complained that a larger area of chena lands was taken from it than from other pangu; the Agent considered that there was a real grievance but that the expression of their hardships was as usual in a petition largely exaggerated. In 1896, Pannila Mahagame Appuhami re-petitioned and said that in any case the panguwa would cultivate these chenas taken by Crown. This time, the Vahumpura panguwa made a similar request, recalling that they had signed the settlement on the condition that they would be given other lands. In reports of 28.03.1896 and 19.05.96, the new chief headman Mideniya confirmed what they said and “failed to settle the dispute” even by holding a gansabhava. Shortly afterwards (12.06.96), the Assistant Agent Davidson wrote to A.J.R. de Soysa, a well-known land speculator: “I have been informed by certain villagers of Pannila that it is your intention to buy from a dismissed aracci of Pannila, Punchirala, a range of the village chenas. These chenas were especially reserved with villagers for chena cultivation. It is to my personal knowledge that the distribution of chenas based on this settlement has been made impossible in its operation  by the ex-aracci Punchirala, and the deprivation of their shares of this chena is calculated to turn some of the villagers into vagrants and thieves”  But Punchirala meanwhile sold on 25.08.1896, to various intermediaries (KDJ Perera and S Velayden Chetty about 150 or 200 acres, and 280 acres to Thomis Appu, another shopkeeper), and Davidson wrote to them that the sale was invalid; they waited until a change of Assistant agent and in  September 1906, they resold the lands to two British planters, G. Talbot and L. Bayly, who asked the government for a Certificate of Quiet Possession in April 1907.

In the case of Morawatte, a village located close to the town of Ruanwella, the situation was still more complex because influent planters, local land brokers, and a possibly unscrupulous civil servant were involved[30].  The first settlement had been made in 1879 by Ievers, but “in defiance of their agreement and subsequent decisions of the gansabhava, the villagers who were in possession of the village block declined to allow any portion of it to those who gave up their lands to the Crown (…) It seems that some village proctors among them have advised the others to resist”. These Crown lands made up of numerous small lots were sold by auction by the Assistant Agent Le Mesurier in December 1885 and were aggregated to form Ruanwella estate. The purchaser was T.N. Christie, the chairman of the Ceylon Planter’s Association from 1885 to 1888, who had been previously in affairs with Le Mesurier. One of these lots was an old coconut garden erroneously included in the survey, another a new garden which the villagers failed to keep to themselves, trying to bid against Christie. In spite of petitions against the sale, Christie attempted to take possession of the land and tried to obtain from government that the adverse claims be compensated and silenced; the offer was refused by the villagers: they were supported by a contractor formerly employed on the estate, called Baron Perera, who bought their rights and fought in court ; then government asked Christie to desist after being reimbursed, which he refused “because it will impair the value of his estate”. Cases ensued which were won by the villagers. Meanwhile Christie, himself a land speculator, had resold half his estate to one Mrs. Drummond-Deane in 1887. They both brought the affair before the Colonial Office in London and were finally awarded handsome damages. Le Mesurier was later accused of being the real owner and Christie a figurehead.

In 1884, block settlement was undertaken in Beligal, a section of Hatarakorale (Kiraweli and Kandupita pattu)[31]; population was denser, chenas lands were more scattered and the planters were less pressing to obtain fresh land than in Tunkorale. The project soon ran into difficulties. Some land had already been sold or appropriated by the government, as in Pindeniya, (21.04.1884). In Nikapitiya the village obtained all its remaining high lands in view of the fact that most its chenas had been seized and sold by the Crown after the Temple Lands commission. When the paddy land was extensive and chena land was not, all the chenas were recognized private on the principle of appurtenance (Digogedara, 2.04.1884, Bopetta 7.04.1884). When Crown blocks were demarcated they were generally much smaller (Kiridena, Epalotutuwa, Kinigama, Kanatuwawala, Harigala, 22-23.04.1884; Naranwatte 17.05.1884). When fields, gardens and chenas were mixed, settlement was difficult and might be abandoned (Tambadiya, Kanatuwawala, Kinigama: “any block settlement would be very difficult. I think none is necessary and the Crown claim to chenas might be abandoned as the extent of high land in proportion to mud land is not excessive”. “I do not think any block of Crown chenas can be formed in this village. There is no forest in the village nor in adjoining villages. I would recommend that claims be allowed.”  In Lahupone the settlement was abandoned until 1893. All these villages were inhabited by Goyigama and Vahumpura peasants, who cultivated chenas separately: block settlements created problems between the two groups as in Epalatotuwa, where the Vahumpura panguwa felt discriminated against by the decision of the gansabhava, saying that they had lost 17 acres in the process, while the other pangu have benefitted.

The case of the large village of Maha Pallegama (25.04.1884), populated by Goyigama and a few Vahumpura peasants, was singular: on the basis of the former status of the village as royal , “the people desire a settlement to have the chenas alotted to them without Crown claim” ; and indeed on the appurtenance basis all chenas could be recognized private. In this and the neighbouring villages Kuda Pallegama (entirely Vahumpura), Udagama, and Pelpita, Crown blocks of about 50 acres were carved out but the settlement was finally abandoned.  

Disputes between owners and tenants made settlements impossible or difficult in formerly feudal villages such as Malwana (24.09.1884), a large nindagama given by the British to a Kandyan chief who collaborated with them after the 1818 rebellion, and later purchased by another collaborator, Edward Wijesinghe, who had usurped the prestigious name of Molligoda and was not recognized as landlord by the Batgama peasants. A similar situation prevailed in Edurapota (29.10.1884) given by the British in 1821 and resold to a Low-country Christian mudaliyar, C. Perera Samarasinghe: the settlement was constantly contested because the tenants (Goyigama and Vahumpura) and the proprietor were at war: “From time to time the tenants have shown themselves very obstructive and have repeatedly refused to obey the decisions of the gansabhava on the division of the village block (…) The landlord wrote a letter formally repudiating the agreement of 1884. Both tenants and landlords being decided in their determination not to observe the terms of the settlement, the Crown may also disown it”[32]. Even in small high caste ‘simple’ villages with 3 pangu only, such as Basnagoda, settled by Ievers in 1879, the situation could be very tense. One of the three pangu had lost ‘its’ chenas included in the Crown block which was sold and the other pangu refused to let it cultivate chenas in ‘their’ range of highlands. As late as 19.07.1898, the chief headman Mideniya failed to solve the dispute, which lasted since 1884.

Pata Bulatgama differed from Tunkorale. In these narrow valleys going up to the former Dolosbage coffee estates of the Kandy district, the impact of the plantation system was felt before 1870, and the connivance between the colonial administration and the planters had deprived the locals of the control of their highlands. In the upper Ritigaha Oya valley, a declining aristocratic clan (Ranasinghe Mudianselage) still exerted its authority, but highlands had been sold by the Crown to Dolosbage coffee estates (Gangwarily, Glenalla, Dedugala, Kelvin, Doteloya). The whole area (Dedugala, Yatideriya, Tumbage, Kekalapone, Udapota) was claimed by the Mudianselage extended clan, which held the post of Uduwe korala and possessed a sannasa for the whole valley. Dedugala was a remote Goyigama village, possibly originally Vedda; a large part of the land was rocky chena or patina (grass land). There were three pangu, two belonging to the Ranasinghe Mudianselage clan (Ihala walauwa, Pahala walauwa) and one Mullilage. Kekalapone was a large, mainly Vahumpura village situated above Dedugala, which was registered as a nindagama belonging to the Ranasinghe clan, with 8 nila (service) pangu and 12 families. After initial Crown sales in the late 1860s, the Gangwarily planter, Drummond, had attempted to grab Dedugala and Kekalapone village lands to extend and ‘round’ his estate. In January 1876 he wrote a letter to the Assistant Agent Dawson, asking to enter into possession of a land adjoining his estate but claimed by Dedugala Ranasinghe, arguing that “in a governmental point of view, no doubt the land is much more valuable in my possession than in the hands of the natives; for I will cultivate, they will not. In the like manner, the natives put in a claim for a considerable portion of the present estate, but Mr. Worthington did not recognize their title to it some seven years ago”. At the chena enquiry of Dawson in 1876, it appeared that the survey contained errors, that the surveyors had made no enquiry from the headmen, and that the genuine sannasa of the Uduwe family was interpreted as covering only a part of the land: “the korala claimed the greater part of the Gangwarily estate on the same sannasa, but his claim was disallowed”. Again in 1884,  Drummond “applied for 278 acres as a free grant”; the Assistant Agent at the chena settlement recommended that “half the remaining chena (of low growth) be allowed to villagers and the rest (old chenas and forest) be marked off and sold (…) These villagers deserve to be liberally dealt with, as in Gangwarily are included several old gardens and one paddy field, all of which with the surrounding chenas and gardens were sold by the Crown in 1868 or 67. Some small compensation was given for the paddy field but none for the gardens”. The governor Gordon asked in the margin of the diary: “How this came about?” The Agent answered that he was unable to find the papers relative to this sale, and concluded: “I am disposed to allow the villagers a good extent of chena lands to form a good ring fence (so to speak) around the villages to prevent encroachments and raids on their gardens from the Tamil coolies – even at the sacrifice of a little more land than usual in these cases. At Dedugala and Kekalapone their need is so considerable as so much was sold to Gangwarily estate in 68 or 69”. In 1885, when the settlement enquiry was held, Kekalapone had 11 acres of paddy, 37 acres of gardens and 128 acres of chena “the remaining lands in this village have been sold to Gangwarily”. The Assistant Agent Wace concluded : “I do not think it advisable to take any portion in this village for Crown, lots 388 and 389 are the only large lots left between the village and the estate” [33].

In 1884 the planters’ demand was in full sway and Wace was constantly pressed for land[34] : “It will be observed that these settlements have reserved for the Crown a very considerable extent of so-called forest and chena lands (…) The question now is how much of this land may be offered for sale? That it will sell well to tea planters is certain. I have received several applications for land for tea estates and am continually being pressed for information (…) It should be remembered that the village chenas (and many tea estates already opened) adjoin these portions reserved for the Crown, and that consequently it is difficult to protect them as in spite of the settlement they will assert a claim by wattoru or even cultivate without claim (…) So much land has already been sold in these villages that together with the private lands of the villagers it is impossible to secure any considerable unbroken extent of Crown forest, and I therefore submit that it is desirable to offer the remainder for sale. The question is one of pressing importance to this district which already enjoys the reputation of being the best suited for tea cultivation in the island.”

Chena block settlements made under the Ievers system in Atulugam and Panawal korales allowed the Government to sell large blocks of chenas and forests to planters in the 1880s, resulting in the creation of a large planting district generally known under the name ‘Kelani Valley’. In the process, the solidity of the Crown block was rarely questioned, while that of the villager block was constantly jeopardized by the problems of redistribution between the pangu. This situation contributed to the sale by villagers of their chenas to neighbouring estates, generally through middlemen such as contactors, bazaar traders and tavern keepers.

A typical case was that of Hinguralakanda, a bi-caste locality located close to the pioneer tea estates of the Kelani Valley at the limit between Panawal and Atulugam. Wace was unable to effect a settlement, because part of the chena area “adjoins the estate opened up by Mr. Forsythe and the villagers want it so as to be able to sell to him: they will then be without chenas and be continually in need and complaining. It is not I think advisable to encourage the sale of villagers chena to planters for tea estates. This village is also divided into two castes, Vellala [Goyigama] and Jaggery [Vahumpura], and this makes any joint possession difficult”. This complex Hinguralakanda settlement made Wace to suggest the legalization of the chena settlements under the new Forest ordinance: “it would further prevent the alienation of village chenas. It often happens now that after settlement the villagers decide to whom a land shall belong and they sell it off to outsiders. The title is weak, but the Crown having withdrawn its claim the purchasers are willing to risk a claim by anyone else, whereas in a settlement under the new ordinance the village portion would be reserved for village chenas and its alienation effectively prevented. Nor would the reservation affect the right of the Crown to sell any of the portion reserved to it, for the government can always withdraw the reservation either wholly or in part”[35].

The judicial system of Ceylon appeared as obstructive to the colonial administrators. In their Administration Reports[36], Wace and Price had insisted on the necessity to legalize settlements and render impossible the sale of shares in the chena block without sanction by other community members and the administration: “Under present circumstances it is impossible to entirely prevent the sale of such lands to those who are interested in the cultivation of tea. It is equally difficult to obviate the hardships which the poorer class of shareholders in such lands frequently suffer in consequence of sales which may have been effected without their knowledge or against their will”. As long as a villager can sell his share “the chief object and benefit of the chena settlement policy will be lost. It has been due to the settlement work pursued so steadily in the Kägalla kacceri during the last ten years that the district has advanced so rapidly and that the villagers themselves have so largely benefitted by the introduction of European capital and the opportunities afforded them of estate labour. But the conditions under which such settlements were made must be observed if the same advance and prosperity is to be continued. If the result of the settlements is to enable the villagers to deprive themselves and the village of their highlands allotted to them for one purpose for the immediate attraction of a few rupees, their agricultural condition will hardly be ultimately improved. All that is necessary is to pass an enactment that land so settled shall not be alienated except with the consent of the whole village and the Crown”. Chena settlements were perhaps adapted to the period before the tea boom but “will not stand the scrutiny of the law courts”.

Davidson, a new Assistant Agent, took a slightly different position in 1892[37]: “My predecessor strongly held that the remedy lay in legislation to prevent the alienation of holdings intended to be communal. Although I sympathize with the spirit which led him to advocate this course, and although I apprehend the difficulties which may arise with the landless and indolent peasantry [sic], I cannot see my way to recommend legislation to restore the character of village holdings after the practice of alienation had been countenanced for so many years in the Supreme Court of Ceylon. No legislation can at this stage arrest the progress of the decay of the communal village system, where that system runs counter to the temporary interest of the villagers and to the interest of the European element (…) When the process of transition be past, with its misery and attendant crime, the Kandyan villagers will develop into an honest and industrial race as are the Sinhalese of the Europeanized portions of the South or the Tamils of the Jaffna peninsula. Meanwhile I advocate that Government should not countenance the alienation of the village lands and should refuse to make surveys and grant Certificates of Quiet Possession to purchasers, and thus devise the means to make the transitional stage between the old time Kandyan usage and the Europeanization of the hill country as slow and as gradual as possible”. The alienation of lands from the village block will become the main preoccupation of the administration and eventually lead to the Waste lands ordinance of 1897, which will be the subject of another study.

The aim of the settlement was to obtain land for planters without ‘legal uncertainties’ and in this it succeeded, but it failed to preserve village interests. It is when planters who had acquired Crown blocks started to extend their lands by purchasing in the village block that the settlement was contested. These purchases were later legalized by the Government conferring Certificates of Quiet Possession under the pressure of the planters and of their legal advisers, actually nullifying the work done by his own agents. Another weakness was that these settlements were conducted with meagre means, very quickly: the British agent visited the village with the headmen and decided in an abrupt way to cut into pieces the village land. As soon as these intelligent peasants or some of them, the so-called village proctors, began to understand the game, they started to contest the colonial authorities with its own arms – the legal apparatus.

 

A new system of chena settlement under the Forest Ordinance[38]

 

A Forest ordinance had been enacted in 1885 following the report on forests of Ceylon made by a member of the Indian forest service, D’A Vincent, who had pointed the difficulties of working the ‘chena survey’ whose object was “reclaiming large areas of Crown land which have been cleared for chena and in which individual proprietary rights have grown up under ord. 12 of 1840. The land originally either communal or Crown, is now cut up by plots claimed in individual right, and although the joint area of these claims may not be 1/10th of the whole, in the interest of the Crown and to permit of the land being sold, it is desirable to come to an equitable settlement with individual proprietors” but it requires the unanimous assent of the villagers and “has only the sale of land as an object” and not forest conservation.[39]

To overcome the shortcomings of the Ievers system, a new Assistant Agent, Price, proposed in 1886 to undertake the chena settlements on a new legal basis, using the Forest Ordinance of 1885 instead of the Ordinance of 1840, following a suggestion made by his predecessors Le Mesurier and Wace[40]. It could prevent the alienation of village chenas: “under the present system it often happens that directly Crown has withdrawn its claim, the villagers decide to whom a land shall belong and they sell it off to strangers. This was of course not the intention of these settlements. The lands should be, as laid down in a minute of H.E., ‘the villagers to use but not to alienate’. The title is weak but the Crown having practically given a Certificate of Quiet Possession, the purchasers are willing to risk the very remote chance of any other villagers ousting them by due course of law”. In June 1887, Price wrote to Saunders, his superior in Colombo, to expedite legalization of the chena settlements on the basis of the Forest Ordinance, but Saunders was not prepared to press the matter, probably because it would freeze the land market, contrary to the wishes of the planters with whom he was closely connected. The first attempts at applying the Forest Ordinance to the old chena settlements were made by Price in Edurapota in November 1887, and his diary was annotated by the governor: “I think this is a most excellent suggestion if there is no legal impediment”. Price was nominated as Forest Settlement Officer (26.10.1888) but nothing official was done because the Forest department opposed it, considering that it was a misuse of the ordinance to allow chena cultivation instead of protecting the forests[41].

The Forest Ordinance of 1885 had been enacted to constitute Forest Reserves in the still uninhabited or very sparsely inhabited parts of the island. In the Kägalla district, the only area which could be considered to correspond to that definition was the eastern part of the Atulugam Korale, commonly called Kälerata (Forest country). The initial plan was to give villagers the right to cultivate chenas in certain areas under the control of the forest administration, but not the right to alienate these areas: “The demand among Europeans for land in the Kelani Valley has caused much interference with village interests and the sale by villagers of chenas which should be theirs only to use and not to alienate is open to grave objection  (…) Indiscriminate sale of Crown land is open to grave objection but a judicious sale of the chenas which are the property of government is to be desired (…) Investors are determined  to have land in the Kelani valley and if they cannot buy it from the government they purchase it in fragments from the Sinhalese. The result of such transactions is disastrous. Native brokers make it their business to acquire the chenas of the Kandyan villagers who rapidly dissipate the purchase money and eventually become vagrants”. The same message was repeated in 1887, with the precision that the main victims were the shareholders who had not sold their shares, and Price began to put his idea into practice, and extend its application to other districts as well: “The people of Digala asked for a chena settlement. But I pointed them that in view of the obstructive action of the people of Morawatta, Garagoda, and other settled villages, I was not prepared to make any more informal settlements which could not be legally enforced”. The announcement of a new settlement must have raised an alarm among the population, once again. In his diary the Agent mentioned that he had to tour his district to allay the fears of the villagers : “All that the government wants is settlement (…) They must not conclude that because they may not be able to prove title they will therefore be mercilessly deprived of all means of cultivation and subsistence (…) I think that the distrust which the enquiries of the Forest Settlement Officer have, I am told, created in the past, will now disappear”[42].

The Forest Department considered that it was not his job to make chena settlements. Initially the aim was to form a forest reserve in the upper reaches of the Kelani Valley basin – the east of Atulugam korale, above Deraniyagala, unsurveyed and unsettled. It is only in early 1887 that after a lot of evasiveness a captain Walker had been posted as Forest Settlement Officer in Three Korales.  He was tasked to report on which chena rights could be admitted in the reserve: he proposed to base them on wattoru, but the Agent considered it should be extended, as amu and kurakkan were not taxed, on the basis of population. He raised a series of questions regarding the use of wattoru which underassessed the extents actually cultivated, the existence of joint ownership (which was denied by the Assistant Agent who wrote: “Chenas are never held in common amongst different pangu; the tenure which the Forest Settlement Officer calls as communal I should define rather as tattumaru – rotating”), using the example of Ballahela village, and the position to take in the case of sales to outsiders : “The people seem to have sold their property or any title or claim they may have had to it for a mere trifle and then left the village for good. In many instances the vendors are dead.”[43]. Price suggested that the ‘Forest settlement’ should be done by the Agent himself and not by a Forest officer, and that the chenas of the village block should be declared by him ‘village forests’ at the disposal of the village community, and those of the Crown block ‘lands at the disposal of the Crown’; he added that people could object that “the intention of the chena settlement was to hand over to the villagers an absolute and unconditional right to the village block” but that in his opinion the holdings were considered as “communal and beneficial only”. At that point, the Government Agent of the Western Province disagreed and considered that it was not proper to deny full rights of highland property to individuals : “there can be no doubt that for years in the Kandyan districts persons have been allowed to hold them absolutely and they have feely exercised a right to dispose of them by sale”.

But in 1889, the Governor decided to de-link the Kägalla and Ratnapura districts from the Western province and create a new province, Sabaragamuwa, with Wace as Agent: the explicit intent was to reduce the distance between the administration and the people, and the implicit object was to remove these districts from the influence of Saunders[44]. At that juncture, the repressive policy was found to be unrealistic and practically abandoned. In the words of Wace: “Since 1815, the private title of villagers in highlands has been enjoyed without interruption and in every part of the Kandyan provinces chena lands have changed hands repeatedly on notarial deeds; it has been held by the Supreme court that the payment of tax constitutes a good title against the Crown, and wattorus establishing proof of such payment could be produced for the greater part of the chena lands in these settlements. I believe myself that this individual right among members of each pangu existed in village life even under the Kandyan dynasty, and that it was recognized even in gabadagam”. Communal lands should be settled on villagers “strictly prohibiting the alienation of such lands to other classes or for other purposes. I have repeatedly pointed out how greatly Kandyans have suffered from the failure of their coffee gardens; if in addition they lose their chenas they will certainly have no visible means of subsistence left and will become vagrants, and a serious burden on the general community, as soon as the small sums acquired by the sale of their chena lands have been consumed.”[45]

In 1892, it was decided to assign to a member of the Civil service (and not of the Forest department) the task of expediting the Forest settlement of the Beligal korale. L.W. Booth was appointed in June 1892, and his instructions were to abandon the block principle and settle according to the ordinance of 1840.  18 villages in Kiraweli east (a section of Beligal) were selected; 16 were already block settled and there was in this district a tendency to repudiate these settlements (for example in Elamaldeniya and Narangoda). All these villages had a population belonging in majority to the Vahumpura caste and formed a compact block, on the western side of the Gurugoda Oya, north of Salgala monastery, 5×2 miles, 4,800 acres of forest and chenas. Another group of villages was added later on the eastern side of the Oya, in Kandupita south, around Pindeniya, a multicaste area (Goyigama, Vahumpura, Batgama) with several plumbago pits. Most of these villages had been block-settled on the basis of surveys made north of Ruanwella and they were already eyed by land speculators, although they were not considered fit for tea cultivation, and the Crown blocks had not been alienated; in almost all these villages the Crown block was less than 100 acres. In the first series of villages (Kiraweli east), the aggregate area was 5,161 acres, with 175 acres of gardens, 201 acres of fields, 3,297 acres of village chenas, 1,259 acres of Crown chenas and 229 acres of Crown forest.

The systematic work of L.W. Booth was first hailed by the colonial administration as a great success but eventually ended as a major failure. The Assistant Agent commented favourably on the advance of the surveys in his diary[46]: “The decisions are fair: there would be no appeals; they follow very closely the chena settlements (identical in 13 cases, very different in 4 cases where the chena settlement was flatly rejected). About 2,800 acres are the absolute property of the Crown, the Assistant conservator of Forests must have his say; I suggest 1/10th as village forest, 2/10th sold for village gardens, 3/10th sold in large blocks for estates, 4/10th reserved for timber supply”. But the Conservator of forests in a letter of 22.06.1894 wrote that it was not the job of a Forest Settlement Officer to advise concessions to villagers but the job of the Revenue Officer. The Administration Report of the Kägalla Assistant Agent for 1896 still described it in optimistic terms: “During the years 1893-1897, Mr. L. W. Booth settled in this district an extent of 70,644 acres, settling finally I hope the long continued disputes between the Crown and villagers over an area equal to 1/6th of the whole extent of the district. A permanent settlement of this nature followed by a block survey is one of the greatest benefits to all parties which the government has ever carried through. One appeal only was taken from Mr. Booth decision, and his decision was upheld in the Supreme Court. The universal acceptance of his settlements is the highest testimony to the fair and liberal spirit which characterizes his work.” The following year the picture was less optimistic: “It is most important that the work of the settlement officer in Beligal korale and the Kelani valley should be completed. The boundaries between the Crown and private chenas still remain to be demarcated before the necessary proclamations can be published. Beligal was settled in 1895 but only 22 out of the 46 villages have been proclaimed under the Forest Ordinance”[47]

The Forest settlement soon ran into difficulties in Beligal korale[48]. Between December 1894 and March 1895, the settlement was contested by petitioners who after accepting the chena and forest settlements: “allege that they have not enough to live upon”. Upon enquiry, the Government agent found that “it is not the limited extent they demur to as much as the arbitrary location of the highlands at points which do not suit their convenience or are not in keeping with their tradition”. Contrary to the situation which prevailed in Atulugam, in the densely populated area of Beligal, each panguwa cultivated chenas in specific areas and the settlements failed to recognize that practice. The high proportion of Vahumpura caste villagers, who had a tradition of fighters and were more than others dependent on chena cultivation, may have contributed to their resistance. Their discontent was increased by the high-handed attitude of the surveyors, who misunderstood the tracings made by Booth and cut into chenas in cultivation, as in Hinwella (petition of 29.05.1895), while the villagers themselves might have ignored the delimitation of the Booth settlement in opening their chenas. The Agent eventually decided that they could cultivate their chenas “irrespective of the lines now being cut by the chena surveyors”. “To my thinking the method pursued in giving effect to Mr. Booth forest settlement in this district has been injudicious (…) The fundamental error has been in construing Mr. Booth tracing as absolutely accurate (…) The villagers throughout the settled area have upon legal advice from Colombo deliberately proceeded to clear all land on which the growth was less than 20 years, whether decreed to them or not, in order to have possession on their side”. Booth recognized that “the villagers will not consent to take their lands in solid blocks and I must admit on consideration that the Government Agent is right in saying that I probably exceeded my powers in so arranging them thought it did not occur to me at the time”.

According to the Assistant Agent Davidson, these villagers were manipulated by “mischievious advisers”  and undertook willfully to cut chenas in the Crown sector in Narangoda, Kurunegoda, Welhella, Kiwuldeniya and Elamaldeniya: “The villagers throughout the area have upon legal advice from Colombo deliberately proceeded to clear all lands upon which the growth is less than 20 years, whether decreed to them by the Forest Settlement Officer or not” “The stupid [sic] villagers instigated by designing persons and encouraged by the consistency with which the Supreme Court sets aside all convictions under the Forest Ordinance have cleared these lands to see whether the Crown can maintain its own rights. If the Crown fails, the villagers will fell every stick of forest which has been reclaimed from chena clearing for the last 30 years and under the good of a consistent policy which has curbed promiscuous clearing”[49]. Davidson sought the assistance of the renowned advocate Bawa to defend the Crown: “the issues are very serious ; there is a risk of an organized attack on the settlements not only in the Beligal korale, but also in the Three Korales ; the benefit of the policy of the last 18 years, which has led to a marked afforestation of the hills bordering the western province, will be swept away if we fail to secure a conviction. The villagers have organized a fund and will be represented by the leading lawyers of Colombo”. Among the lawyers involved was the young advocate Aelian Ondaatje, who was to become a staunch adversary of the colonial administration in land cases: he argued that a land having been cultivated three times during the last 30 years gave the cultivator a presumption against the Crown.

The hostility of the villagers focused on the surveyors as had been the case in the first decades of estate development up-country. The Surveyor General received petitions and the district surveyor of Sabaragamuwa, Snowden, wrote in a report to his superior who annexed it to his letter to the Government Agent of  Sabaragamuwa (23.11.1895): “the surveyors cut trenches through standing hill paddy and this occasioned a great outcry ; so to pacify the natives I gave it up with the understanding that they cut the trenches themselves where indicated when the paddy is harvested. The natives had no objection to my surveying the boundaries but they said after I had finished that they would clear where they liked. They would not touch the forest but the chenas belonged to them and nothing will induce them to give them up to government. They have employed counsel in Colombo who advises them to say that when signing the agreements on 18.11.1880 they were under the impression the land was being consigned to them”. At the beginning of 1896, tension increased and the administration forced chena cultivators to pay the ‘ground share’ (1/5th) to the Crown, in Welhella, or prosecuted and forcibly removed the crops (in Kiwuldeniya).

By the end of 1896, it appeared that the survey plans were no longer valid for a legal proclamation, that the lack of cooperation between the settlement officer and the surveyors was fatal to the exercise, and that the cost of detailed surveys could not be recouped by the sale of small lots to enterprising villagers, as Wace was contemplating in 1895. Finally, most of the Beligal settlements were never proclaimed. The Surveyor General proposed in October 1902 the abandonment of these ‘useless surveys’: his department was obviously unwilling to do any other survey than block surveys of forests, and in January 1903, the Agent answered to the Surveyor General: “It appears to me unnecessary to survey and define on the grounds the limits of each separate chena”.[50]

After these successive, often contradictory, and never legalized settlements, the situation was in an incredible mess in many villages of the Kägalla district: “A certain block of chena was declared Crown, another private; the pangu whose lands were declared Crown were compensated by lands of other pangus out of the private block. When the people who had thus received lands had planted them, the original owners took a case against them and ejected them. The original owners of the Crown block then began to clear the Crown block”. In other cases, two or even three successive settlements did not fit with each other: the villagers followed neither and no further settlement was possible, as in the case of Amitirigala (a Vahumpura village) where the original owners of the village chena block ejected the people who had been settled in ‘their’ lands and the latter then fell back on their original chenas.  In 1905, dealing with what remained of the ‘old settlements’ and connected intractable land cases in the village of Paradeniya above mentioned, the Assistant Agent Vaughan concluded: “The sooner the land is sold the better”[51] .

The final failure of these various settlements was due to the fact that they contradicted the legal system, that they depended on the honesty and diligence of headmen, and that they could not resist the pressure of the land demand of the planters coinciding with the sudden shift from coffee to tea, and later to rubber. One may even consider that they were self-defeating, in that they attracted planters close to the village. It resulted in a pressure exerted by the planter’s interests in favouring, first block settlements to obtain continuous blocs of lands sold at cheap prices by the Crown, in the line of what was done up-country during the coffee days ; and secondly in purchasing through intermediaries lands in the village block by asserting the rights of alienation by the villagers. As soon as the Crown had sold its block to the planters, the villagers saw no reason why they should not sell their block as well.

 

The case of Dorawaka[52]

Colonial land management in Dorawaka village offers a typical example of what Swettenham, a member of the governor’s staff, called ‘chena un-settlement’. Dorawaka was a very large and prosperous ancient gabadagama (royal village) in Kiraweli section of Beligal, disputed for centuries between the hill country kingdoms and the low country kingdoms and subsequent colonial powers. It is said to have been depopulated in time of war and repopulated by Duraya (Batgama) people after having been degraded and deprived of its original name of Mawatagama (‘Village of the road’). These people were settled by the kings on the land to cultivate paddy, carry burdens and act as foot soldiers and the village was organized to furnish rice, coconuts and arecanuts, under the control of high caste officers. It was especially prosperous, well-watered, with excellent coconuts and extensive chenas. According to the thombo (land roll) of 1614, there were then 100 amunam of paddy (26 for the muttettuwa (royal domain cultivated by the Duraya) 1 for the vidane (high caste overseer), 31 for 15 Duraya families, 18 ½ for 30 service coolies, 6 ½  for 4 dancers, 3 for 4 lascarins (soldiers), 10 ½ for 11 natives (i.e. Goyigama, living in the separate hamlet of Ganegama), and each of these categories had coconut and arecanut gardens. The leading Duraya family (Meragal) had a sittuwa (written act) from the time of the last Kandyan king. After the British accession, the muttettuwa was sold to locals, and paddy cultivation was still controlled by the high castes in 1861. During the chena enquiries of 1871 and 1874, “people represented that they considered the chenas theirs and paid tax for älvi at 1/14th rate” and highlands were therefore “allowed on long possession”, without being demarcated. But these enquiries began to unsettle the ancient order, and in 1876 the Goyigama accused a Duraya family of “possessing Crown land called Bulatwatte – formerly the property of the Kandyan kings – without paying tythe to government, by planting coffee, coconut and plantain”.

In 1880 the village was surveyed, and in July 1885 it was settled for the first time by the Assistant Agent Le Mesurier who found that it contained 190 acres of paddy, 137 acres of gardens, 1,000 acres of private chenas and 964 acres of Crown highlands: “After a long and troublesome debate, the villagers at last agreed : I gave them 1000 acres for their chenas and confined them to the western side of the village”. This settlement did not meet with universal approval, the representatives of some of the pangu refusing to sign the agreement because these chena tracts were too far from their houses. According to a report written 20 years later, “the greater majority however of the pangukarayo accepted the arrangement and chenaed or converted into gardens the lands allowed as private; on the whole however the settlement was unsatisfactory as some pangu had not been fairly treated”.

In March 1890, a second settlement, orthogonal to the first, was effected by Price, giving the villagers the northern lands, closer to the houses of the Durayas, about ½ of the village to the south being taken as Crown property; but it was immediately contested in a lengthy petition by a few Goyigama cultivators of chenas living and chenaing in the southern part ; Price commented : “It is impossible to find boundaries to suit everybody, the very small minority must give way for the general good”. According to the report above quoted, “this was a good settlement, and met with approval among nearly all the villagers, only 2 pangu out of 36 refusing to sign the agreement. There is little doubt that matters would have been satisfactorily arranged on the basis of Mr. Price settlement, but unfortunately another settlement was undertaken under the Forest ordinance. By this settlement, about 1,600 acres were allowed to the villagers to practice chena cultivation, and the balance 500 acres made up of isolated strips throughout the village was set apart for the Crown. The portions taken by the Crown under this last settlement were never demarcated, and at present hopeless confusion reigns”

This third settlement made by L.W. Booth as Forest settlement officer at the end of 1893 and detailed in a report of January 1894 was based on the proved claims to chena and actual practice of the 83 different family groups. And what emerged was that the villagers had from time immemorial “chenaed in all directions of the village” [53], over an extent calculated as 1,358 acres : “This it is submitted is by no means an excessive quantity of chena for the [increasing] population, 785 in the last census, while the settlement of 1890 was on the basis of the census of 1881, only 674 persons. The village being a gabadagama, I have held that only well-established gardens of long possession and regularly cultivated fields are the absolute property of the people, and that their interest in the highlands is limited to a right to practice chena cultivation upon them, the soil of such lands belonging to the Crown. The effect of this is : 1. That the people cannot sell such lands belonging to the Crown or in any way dispose of their rights to do so ; 2. That several pieces of chena which have been planted as gardens [26 acres] are the property of the Crown subject to the planter’s interest on them”. Booth clearly stated that point 1 preserved the communal character of the village chenas, and that point 2 could evolve in full property of the newly planted gardens “on payment of survey fees or other easy terms ; this liberality will lend to secure cheerful acquiescence in the settlement, a very desirable object, and to encourage industry in bringing waste land under regular cultivation.” Booth recognized that “the settlement had not done much to secure valuable property for the Crown but [it is hoped that] it will put an end once for all to the frictions between the authorities and the people which have existed for such a long time past”.

This Booth settlement was severely criticized by the Controller of Forests in a letter to the Government Agent of Sabaragamuwa (21.06.1894), in which he pointed out that its result was to reserve an infinitesimal area as Forest reserve : “This settlement cannot honestly be called a Forest settlement (…) and I would again suggest that the Forest Ordinance be used only for bona fide forest purposes. In 1885, half of the land was given over to the villagers to destroy, and in 1890, half of the remaining half was likewise conceded to them, and now the depredation over ¾ of the area not having proved to be sufficient, some fresh areas out of the remaining quarter have been opened out to them. Speaking generally, Mr. Booth settlement report appears to be more the proposal made by an advocate on behalf of his clients – the villagers – than those of an impartial judge, dealing with the claims of both sides. He also makes proposals which are not part of his business regarding the sale of certain lots of land to people who have lately started illicit cultivation (…) and states that there can be no objection to the villagers helping themselves to fence sticks etc.”. The Assistant Agent Price recommended “that no proclamation be issued at all; let the required demarcations be effected at once, let the large blocks be subdivided into small lots each ranging from 5 to 10 acres roughly, let the assistant conservator of forests cut out all the available fuel. And I will then offer for sale the whole Crown land in the village with the exception of lot 6674 ½”.

The Booth settlement affirmed the principle of Crown property of the chena lands in gabadagam[54]. It recalled that in the early days of British rule, “nilakarayo had no paraveni right in their pangu but were maruveni tenants removable at pleasure (…) The nilakarayo were from time to time chiefly between 1819 and 1826 relieved of the duty of cultivating the crown muttettu fields which were either farmed out or sold by the crown, and their fields were subjected to tax in lieu of such services. By the present time, hereditary rights have come to be practically conceded in the case of regularly cultivated fields and well-established gardens, but not in the case of waste and highland chenas which have not been under continuous cultivation. The Crown has never abandoned its claims to such lands (…) and has often asserted it (…) For the above reasons I find that all highland chenas in gabadagam are lands at the disposal of the Crown”. But the slack attitude of the colonial authorities who failed to demarcate the Crown lots, and to proclaim the settlement, nullified its intentions. We shall study in a further chapter how this state of things attracted a land speculator, Albert A.Wickramasinghe, who purchased the village chenas to form Madeniya estate around 1906, how this estate became the subject of constant recriminations by the villagers, how violence often erupted between villagers and estate workers, and how the factory, especially during the insurgency of 1989.

 

Forest settlement in Pata Bulatgama

The area, especially its Uduwe division, had attracted the attention of the colonial authorities at the time of Saunders and had been the theater of the first movement of discontent in the 1870s when the administration attempted to repress chena cultivation, with severe food shortage as a result. Twenty years later, another attempt was made, this time under the Forest ordinance, and under the pressure of the planter’s demand of land. In the diary for November 1871, the area between Bulatkopitiya and Welihelatenne was described as “almost continuous chena with here and there a forest or an occasional arecanut grove”. Already in 1874, a series of chena cases were instituted in Wegalla and Welatuduwa and on enquiry by the Assistant Agent Dawson it appeared that many chenas had been transformed into gardens five to seven years before; the chenas were allowed by Dawson ‘on account of long possession’; a few areas had been purchased by Muslims but their presence remained marginal. Wegalla, Welatuduwa and Lewala were three localities on the southern bank of the Ritigaha Oya: here subsistence depended on the cultivation a few paddy fields and of extensive chenas and gardens producing arecanuts and betel leaves (hence the name of bulat gam – betel villages) by peasants belonging to the Panna Duraya caste.

The Forest Settlement file of Lewala (including the other two villages), dated 8.08.1892, offers a detailed analysis of the history of these bulat gam and of chena cultivation practices in that area[55]. Detailed information is given in the statements of the Ratemahatmaya Ekneligoda (5.04.1892), confirmed by Uduwe korala Punahela Mudianse and in individual cases, for example that of Mutugalpedige Unga Duraya (n° 49). The first characteristic is that “the Crown does not claim any of the chenas in those villages, the growth on which is less than 20 years. The chenas belong to the villagers and have been cultivated by them and their ancestors for generations”. Chena cultivation until 1873 was totally free without having to ask permission, and since that date, älvi was taxed at 1/14th when permission was asked, and at 1/10th  when it was not “as a punishment but not because the Crown claimed the chenas”.  “In the time of the Kandyan kings the occupants of lands in these villages were liable to be called upon to supply adukku (provisions) to the higher chiefs when travelling, to carry messages and render other services; they had also to attend when called upon to work in Kandy to collect timber, to supply guards etc. Since the British accession, such services have been abolished and the people in such villages have possessed their lands absolutely as their own without any condition”. “In the time of the Kandyan kings, some of the lands in the koralegam were paraveni (hereditary), and others were held on the condition of performing services but since the accession, no distinction has been made in koralegam between paraveni and service lands, all the lands possessed by the villagers are now paraveni”. The peasants had therefore acquired full land rights and their personal status was the same as that of high caste villagers. Gardens, owita, and pillewa regularly cultivated were never taxed, chenas when cultivated with älvi at long intervals were taxed; untaxed “amu and kurakkan chenas belonged to the villagers”. Owiti were often transformed into gardens.

In the final settlement of the three villages by L.W. Booth in 1892, out of a total of 2,362 acres (302 lots claimed by 113 persons), 95 acres of gardens, 53 acres of paddy fields, 1,305 acres of owiti and chenas were recognized as private; 908 acres were “at the disposal of the Crown, out of which provision will have to be made for village forest, supply of timber and other forest produce”, but this Crown land was scattered in small parcels and impossible to make into one block and therefore difficult to sell for estate development.

In these villages, chenas were individually cultivated and possessed. The case of the Mutugalpedige panguwa in Lewala shows the structure of an extended family farm: out of a total extent allowed after settlement of 66 acres, the panguwa possessed three permanent irrigated paddy fields (kamburu) totaling  2 acres 1 rood 9 perches, three recently irrigated paddy fields (asweddum) totaling 4 acres 1r 8p, one threshing floor (kanatiya) of 2r. 19 p.; two gardens with houses totaling 5 acres 2 p.; three fields cultivated at short intervals (2 to 4 years) with amu and kurakkan (owiti) totaling 4r. 29 p; and seven chenas totaling 40 acres, cultivated with älvi every 12 or 13 years, or with other grain at shorter intervals like the owiti, including 5 acres left fallow for more than 20 years.

In the same area, the villages of Tunbage and Urumiwala had similar features, while Panawitiya had a Goyigama population. The extensive chenas of all these villages were coveted by planters established further south. The private correspondence between Wace, the Government agent of Sabaragamuwa, and Forsythe, one of the pioneer planters of the Kelani valley, bears testimony to the influence exerted by the planters on the colonial government[56]:

W. Forsythe to H. Wace, 27.10.1889. Nahalma Estate

My dear Wace,

Any chances of a small land for sale this year? Say 5,000 acres. With tea booming, the present would be a good opportunity for realizing high price, and I know of a few would-be purchasers, myself among the number. I want 1,000 acres in the Bulatkopitiya side, well away from the Kelani Valley Reserve. The Surveyor General has lots of land blocked out, and a sale on January 1st 1890 would be time enough for opening. I will write you officially if you can hold any prospect of a sale.

The letter bears endorsements which prove that the civil servant obeyed the request of the planter:

Dear White, what surveys have been made ? Send me any Preliminary Plans. What were last orders for Govt. on subject last year ? – Mudaliyar : on this, Surveyor General referred to PP 10, Rangalla and Tunbage. This is not right, I want plans of lands between Ritigaha Oya ferry and Bulatkopitiya – Plans Lewala, Wegalla, Welatuduwa and Panawitiya are herewith submitted.

In the decade following the Forest settlement, the planters laid their hands on the area. Intermediaries were already at work in 1892: Moor traders (Lebbe Marikar) who had purchased land from villagers and planted extensive gardens (coconuts, arecanuts, banana) ; village headmen and the chief headman Ekneligoda himself who had purchased land from the Durayas ; even the Vidane duraya Devatapedige Pina (village headman of the Duraya caste) was busy “getting people to sell him their shares including the other shareholders shares”. The Lewala estate was created on 200 acres of village land and 40 acres of Crown land by the notorious land speculator J.P. Anderson (of Glassel estate) with Marshall of Avissawella  as notary and Saibu Lebbe of Mattamagoda as middleman, for the Grand Central Rubber Company, in very dubious conditions[57] : the Forest settlement had not been respected, the survey was made after the settlement. In 1899 there was already an encroachment of 99 acres on reserved forest which had not been clearly demarcated by the survey department; actually it was found that that area included old chenas covered by wattoru and that there were only 16 acres of forest. There was a further extension of area clearings of about 150 acres. The company asked for a Certificate of Quiet Possession through the advocate Aelian Ondaatje and the legal Colombo firm of De Sarams in February 1907: “the estate has encroached upon a considerable portion of Crown land; some of the lands encroached upon have been unreserved and sold by Crown. There is nothing for it but to unreserve the rest and sell them to the estate at a high figure” concluded the Assistant Agent of Kägalla (11.02.1907) who advised to sell the forest land not covered by wattoru (37 acres) at 200 Rs per acre, which was raised by the Colonial Secretary to 400 Rs an acre, that is half improved value (15.04.1910).

 

The case of Garagoda

The Forest settlements were unable, for want of legal strength, to solve the problems raised by previous settlement, especially the sale of chenas from the village block to planters. An early and typical case is that of Garagoda village, a Tunkorale locality very close to Yatiyantota, with a mixed Muslim and Goyigama population, which had been settled for the first time by Ievers in 1879: out of 1,046 acres, 800 acres had been taken and sold by the Crown to establish Degalessa estate and the remaining 246 acres left to the villagers were composed of fields, owitas, gardens and chenas.

After enquiry held in May 1892, the Forest settlement officer Booth reported on the intractable situation created by the block settlement and subsequent sale to the planters[58]: “The villagers successfully established their title to their chenas (by wattoru at private rate of 1/14th) and the records of the chena settlement effected from 1879 to 1886 show that these areas were admitted as private by settlement”. But the villagers as elsewhere in the area undertook to sell lands from their village block to the nearby plantation : “The idea of those who initiated the Forest settlement was not to obtain a reserved forest proper, so much as to procure the apportionment of the chenas among the villagers for communal purposes and so prevent their alienation to the proprietors of the adjoining tea estate. This object was no more attainable than was a reserved forest. The Forest Settlement Officer has no power to take away any private land from their owners and redistribute them (…) This is not the first attempt that has been made to arrange the possession of the land in Garagoda according to a preconceived ideal. There was first the chena settlement of 1879 which considerably curtailed the extent of chenas previously possessed by the villagers. By it several lands which had formerly been enjoyed by a portion of them were declared Crown property and afterwards sold as such, other lands possessed and claimed by other villagers being assigned to them in lieu of those taken away. The original possessors of the lands so assigned in many cases refused to make room for the incomers, and this gave rise to a good deal of discontent which is still simmering and to many disputes among the villagers themselves (…) Next, and probably due to the unsatisfactory state of matters subsequent to the chena settlement, came in 1888 the Forest settlement of Mr. Price who attempted to arrange the possession on a satisfactory basis on the lines of the chena settlement ; his efforts however proved abortive, and the settlement effected by him was cancelled. (…) The present settlement had done nothing to effect what are the legitimate objects of all such undertakings (…) It has tended to revive the old discontent which followed the chena settlement of 1879 and has raised vague hopes that in some way or other the lands then taken away were about to be restored or compensated for (…) The settlement will perhaps also tend to hasten the process of alienation by the villagers of their lands to the proprietors of the adjoining Degalessa tea estate, which it was wished to prevent. The latter will certainly be now more ready to purchase village lands than they would have been if the villagers had not been publicly put to the proof of their title and had not successfully established it”.

The subsequent history of the lands is given in the diary of the Assistant government agent Price under the caption ‘Nabboth Vineyard’[59]: “Mr. Wilkins of Degalessa Estate has written to ask for ‘a little information with regard to a small block of land adjoining his property which was settled some years ago upon a native, who is now willing to lease it to Mr. Wilkin’s company ; the company is helpless in the matter without a plan or tracing of some kind’ so Mr. Wilkins says ‘help us in the matter by letting me have a tracing of your office plan or even the number of the lot’. Not so. I reply to the effect that the usufruct of the land to which Mr. Wilkins refers was conferred on the Gallatgamage pangu of the village of Garagoda, that no right of alienation was implied in the grant, which was made for the purpose of chena cultivation ; that a revision of the entire settlement is required ; that blocks of chena land are not given to the villagers with the view of their being alienated for purposes of tea cultivation.” The estate however continued to press the administration as is very clearly shown in the following entry of the diary for 5.09.1892: “Had interview with Mr. Mitchell, manager of the Degalessa estate, relating to his application to purchase lands from the Crown and from his neighbours. Also his information that the villagers had chenaed Crown land near him: on enquiry it proved to be private land. Had also various complaints against him by villagers for encroachments on their lands. He admits an encroachment of 8 ½ acres for which he says he has settled to pay 50Rs per acre. His experience for very many years in the Matara district has taught him to handle his neighbours making them his friends, he says. Most managers merely accentuate by their manners the prejudice with which the village views the strangers invading his hillsides. I told Mr. Mitchell that I exceedingly objected to his proposal to buy from a Moorman 120 acres bordering his estate for 33 Rs an acre. I pointed out to him that the Moor broker was rendering the villagers landless, and when the money has gone, they would be vagrants, and some of them criminals.”

Several other cases of forest settlement resulted in the rapid alienation of village chenas in spite of the restrictive condition allowing villagers to cultivate but not to alienate. A later example is that of the Mahabage Forest Settlement (1896)[60], a Goyigama village located to the north of Kitulgala, close to the abandoned coffee estates of Yakdessa. In February 1897, three months after the settlement, three middlemen acting for the aracci of the nearby town of Kitulgala, Juan Pulle (a Chetty land speculator who tried to pass as a Kandyan under the name of Mudianselage) started to offer village lands to a planter (Protheroe, superintendent of Ingoya). In 1904, the Ceylon Tea Plantation Company acquired the land, which had been allowed for chena cultivation: according to the report of Mideniya, the chief headman “this was communal land, and the original owners thereof, possessing some more communal lands, have set apart for each some definite land out of the communal property” and his subordinate the korala had signed an attestation to the effect that “there was no dispute to the land, either from Crown, or from his villagers to his best belief and knowledge”. A few years later, Mideniya, who had assisted Booth in the Forest settlements as Ratemahatmaya of Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama and was therefore well informed of the situation in these villages, became himself a land speculator specializing in the sale to planters of these chenas allowed for cultivation by a Forest settlement which had not been given legal authority.

 

The ambiguities of forest settlement in the ‘Kelani Valley Reserve’[61]

In remote areas with extensive forests and limited land speculation, such as the west and south of Adam’s Peak (called Kälerata), the Forest settlement could have succeeded in reserving forest areas while allowing villagers to carry on subsistence cultivation on highlands, realizing the wishes of the governors Gordon and Havelock. But the ambiguities of the colonial policy which at the same time wanted to protect the peasant society and ecology, and to promote modernity and planting interests, and the dependence on headmen for settlement enquiries, resulted in a failure to fulfill the initial project.

After the short-lived attempt of settlement in Atulugam by Captain Walker in 1887, another forester, W.H. Clarkson was posted, this time to settle the large hilly villages Bambarabotuwa Gilimale, Eratne, Morahela and Madampe in the Ratnapura district, with the project of protecting the Kaluganga valley. He wrote in his memo dated 26.08.1889 “the general maxim is that there can be no such thing as a right to a wasteful and destructive user of another’s property”. His successor Frederick Lewis, in his memoirs[62], recalled the unpopularity of the Forest officers: “The nature of my work was of a character that was intensely displeasing to many classes of people : to the natives I was a constant source of irritation as I hindered him greatly with his chena cultivation when I found the forest destroyed; to the land speculator I was an unmitigated nuisance because I thwarted his designs as I knew too much to suit his particular book; to the illicit plumbago miner I was to be more hated than the plague; to the timber trader particularly disliked the way I insisted on his having a permit to remove timber; to the planter I was obnoxious because I did not agree with him that it was right to cut down forest that did not belong to him about which he thought ought to”. The findings of the Forest Settlement Officer were generally disregarded, and these areas of the Ratnapura district were engulfed by rubber estates during the first decades of the 20th century.

The forest settlement of the upper Kelani valley could not be started before 1896, as Booth was busy with the Beligal korale villages. Meanwhile the governor Havelock, in answer to a deputation demanding the extension of the Kelani railway, had declared in 1894 that there was no Crown land to sell in that area and that regarding the reserve “it became the fixed policy of my predecessor, and I think it was very wise policy – that these reserves should be kept inviolate and that the Crown should not sell a single acre of it. Of course I cannot answer for what my successor may do”. Two years later, the planters launched a fresh offensive and the Government Agent of the Sabaragamuwa province explained to the new governor Ridgeway that Havelock was under the pressure of up-country planters who feared that the extension of low country producers would overstock the market, adding that “the result which these gentlemen feared has not been prevented for the attraction of large profits has merely caused investors to buy land from the native owners instead of from the Crown”; a change of policy was possible if the Forest settlement was sped up.

A series of 34 villages was taken up for settlement by LW. Booth assisted by Mideniya Ratemahatmaya in August 1896, and completed in February 1897. The forest settlements distinguished private lands, crown lands subject to the right to practice chena cultivation, crown lands on which this right was strictly limited, crown lands on which this right was disallowed but on which villagers had the use of water and right of way, and forbidden crown lands.

Contrary to Ievers, Booth followed ordinance 12 of 1840; even when there were wattorus paid at ‘private’ rate, when the extent could not be ascertained, he rejected property rights and allowed the right of cultivation only, as in the case of Nakkawita, a small Goyigama village on the Maliboda path on the Magal Ganga : regarding the chenas, “the claim to the soil has not been established (…) but the claimants have established their right to practice chena cultivation [which] has been permitted from time immemorial and must be allowed to continue (…) The right above admitted is common to all the claimants, their heirs and successors, and may be exercised by them individually” [63].

In March 1897, the Assistant Agent Davidson after the completion of the Booth settlement raised the question of the 26,743 acres now at the disposal of the Crown[64]: “the announcement of the intention of Government to sell Crown land (…) will tend to check the large purchases of private land, and may lead to a suspension of any further alienation of land now by Kandyan villagers”; in his opinion forest must be reserved above 3500ft (1066 m.) for ecological reasons, but can be felled at lower elevations: the Kelani and the Ritigaha are already silted and unnavigable, the We Oya will soon be bordered by estates, only the Sitawaka and Gurugoda are yet unexploited; in any case, a railway will replace the water way “and the vested interests in the boat trade are trifling”; and the possibly of floods inundating the lower Kelani basin is possible but not likely to occur.  In other terms, Davidson was ready to sacrifice Gordon’s project of Kelani reserve in order to ‘develop a backward area’. His arguments were based on a dualistic view: in order to save the colonial capitalist enterprise it must be limited and concentrated in specific zones; in his view, the Hatarakorale had a balanced and self-sufficient peasant economy which might be preserved, and the only means to do it in the colonial system as it was, was to channel the capital towards the Tunkorale: “this district has 165,000 persons on 420,000 acres; of this total 115,000 live in one half, the Hatarakorale, and 50,000 in the other half (the Tunkorale). It is manifest that in an agricultural country with no townships of any size a population of 350 to a square mile is as much as agricultural land can bear, it being remembered that there are no industries and no pauperism and that the soil produces all that the peasantry depends upon. It is manifest that if that peasantry alienated much of its holdings, it will be left untrained to support itself by the fruits of its labour for others. If an outlet is not given to capital elsewhere, this peasantry will yield to inducements to sell its holdings, and such is the lies of the country of the Hatarakorale that the clearing and draining of the high lands will lead to the destruction of the low-lying lands which are now paddy fields. I hold it to be a very strong administrative argument that capital should be led elsewhere, and whither it could be better led than into that poor country where excluding the 28,000 imported Tamil coolies the indigenous population is still so meagre as to represent only 64 persons per square mile. And more so in the Kelani valley with 4,481 persons, 50,000 acres and 26,743 acres for the Crown”. He therefore proposed to sell 6,379 acres (4,000 acres immediately) from the reserve or nearby, all in the vicinity of Deraniyagala, and detailed the lands village by village, giving time to the investors in London to prepare for the acquisition. As regards the sale of the lands allowed to villagers, the policy of Davidson was also dictated by the same dualistic approach[65]: “In the Hatarakorale where the population is numerous, long settled and well to do, I have used my personal influence and checked almost altogether the alienation of village chenas. In the Tunkorale and Pata Bulatgama, i.e. the Kelani Valley where the population was sparse and underfed, I contented myself with vigilantly guarding the Crown interests and impeaching on all occasions the folly of selling for less than the ultimate purchaser was willing to pay, i.e. something between Rs 25 and 50 per acre. Furthermore, I stopped persons of family and consequence from alienating their family holdings without special sanction from me”

On 16.03.97, at a discussion on the subject held at the Executive council, the Colonial secretary wryly remarked that “the custodians of Kägalla used not so much to favor the introduction of the European influence in this markedly native district (…) The absorption of villager’s lands will still go on by those desirous of extending existing estates”. But the governor Ridgeway declared: “I am altogether opposed to any grandmotherly policy as regards tea in the shape of restrictions in order to protect existing forests. The Treasurer, Lee, who knew Kägalla in the 1870s, commented that  “It is only since the prohibition of chena cultivation that the trees were grown up upon these lands and they are now, I understand, covered with heavy jungle, but when I knew the country 25 years ago, there was little or no forest on it. It was all chena”. It was decided by the Executive council in June 1897 to wait until the railway was decided upon. In June 1898, the project was abandoned: “in view of the depressed state of the tea industry at present, it would be well to indefinitely postpone the sale”. But in June 1899, Booth, then in charge of Sabaragamuwa, considered that in view of the rise in tea prices it might be time to resume the project, but that if the land was not demarcated no sale could take place.

The Forest settlements were never legalized, for want of political will, and because the judiciary system opposed it: “The findings of the Forest Settlement Officer are too vague for any definite action to be taken (…) I am in worse position than if no settlement had been made at all”, wrote Bertram Hill, the successor of Davidson[66] The only possible solution would have been another resettlement under the Waste Lands Ordinance  (WLO) which had been enacted in 1897: “What I want to do is to be able to proclaim in one notice all the chena land and forest and waste land in one village. There would then be absolutely no difficulty in making a settlement and there would be some hope of getting the whole district settled”. “I shall now proceed to settle the district village by village working from north to south”. Five years later, nothing had be done: “It would be advisable to have many of the former settlements in this district resettled under the Waste lands ordinance. The proclamations under the Forest Settlement Ordinance are so imperfect that no court would uphold them, and besides the Supreme court has held that the decision of a Forest Settlement Officer under the Forest Ordinance is not binding as to title”.

The failure of the Kägalla successive settlements is one of the origins of the Land Settlement Ordinance of 1897, and the lessons of the experience framed the future land policy of the island. At the level of policy making, while initially the ordinance was presented by Governor Ridgeway as a means to give the Crown more land to sell, the Colonial office requested him to rectify the position and present it as a tool to prevent “the growing practice of villagers unable to resist the temptation of a little ready money, to sell chena land, and even gardens and homestead, for some trifling sum to middlemen, who now roam the country with purses in their hands tempting the people to sell their inheritance, and thus veritably transform a population of landowners into a proletariat of wage earners”.[67]

Meanwhile, as the settlements were not given legal strength, the lands allowed to chena cultivation but not alienable began to be treated as villager’s properties and eventually offered for sale to planters by various intermediaries, including Mideniya. A typical example is that of Malalpola, close to Halgolla Estate[68]: “The villagers have sold all their land to Halgolla estate and now have the impudence (sic) to claim the Crown lot. They will not withdraw their claim and must be referred to court”. In 1924, the Agent at Kägalla concluded[69]: “Most of the lands in this district allowed for chena cultivation in the 1890s have now been planted up and are the subject of partition cases, fiscal’s sales, testamentary actions, etc.” The situation was discussed by the end of 1903.  The outcome was the publication of a circular which opened the way to what could be called the system of settlement by Certificate of Quiet Possession in the case of former settlements. One should note that it was not proposed to use the ordinance of 1897. A few ‘WLO enquiries’ were held in specific localities of the south of the district such as Welangalla and Udapota, but these localities which had been settled under the old chena settlements were already encroached by planters. In Welangalla, a multi-caste village, the ‘village block’ of Ievers settlement had been partially sold through the usual speculators (Kader Thambi, Velaiathan Chetty, K.D.J. Perera) to Fern Lands Tea Company, represented by proctor Marshall of Avissawella. Marshall attempted to effect an unofficial settlement of private lands of the village parallel to the official settlement by the Revenue Officer and with the consent of him. But they met with the opposition of an old woman who refused to sign an agreement “in spite of the objurgation of proctor Marshall” – a late case of peasant resistance.[70]

To understand the failure of the Booth settlement, one must take into account a series of factors: the imperfection of the surveys and their discrepancies with the findings of the Forest settlement officer; headmen interested or corrupt who pointed the boundaries; the usual lack of professionalism of the surveyors, their frequent hostility towards the villagers and partiality in favour of the planters; the Forest and the Survey departments the last to be relied upon for a pro-villager policy as they were the most repressive in the matter of villagers rights; the skeptical,  hostile, or lackadaisical  position of the administrators who were posted after Booth.; and the rubber boom of the early 1900s which led to a new burst of land hunting.

Settlements in the Kägalla district had been undertaken with the Ievers project of establishing a dual economy at the village level, protecting the traditional village sector by admitting chena cultivation and fostering the development of plantation economy. They concluded with the Davidson project of establishing a dual economy at the district level, protecting Hatarakorale, the “garden of the East”, and leaving Tunkorale to the European tea planter’s rule. Both projects failed because in the colonial context the power and attraction of the plantocracy surpassed the authority of the Raj. We shall study in the next chapters how the local administration attempted to clean up the mess in the Kägalla district by distributing Certificates of Quiet Possession and how the new Settlement department attempted to curb the speculative activities of rubber and coconut planters, most of whom were members of the rising Ceylonese national bourgeoisie, who were not as powerful as the European planters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 



[1] See Ian Barrow, Surveying and Mapping in colonial Sri Lanka, 1800-1900. New Delhi, O.U.P., 2008

 
[2] E. Meyer “Historical Aspects of Caste in the Kandyan Regions, with particular reference to the non-Goyigama castes of the Kägalla District” Sri Lanka Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences, 40, (2015) pp. 21-54
[3] Sri Lanka National Archives (hereafter SLNA) /30/37, diary of the Assistant Government Agent at Kägalla (hereafter Diary Kä) 3.10.1916
[4] SLNA, diary of the Settlement Officer (hereafter Diary SO) 28.06.1937
[5] SLNA/30/37 Diary Kä 29.08.1916
[6] The question has been briefly treated by Michael Roberts in History of Ceylon volume III p. 129-130, who describes the chena survey of the 1870s, without giving any information on the further settlements which were attempted for about 30 years
[7] The fact that Philip Francis Ondaatje (1860-1938), elder brother of Aelian Ondaatje (1874-1942) was chena surveyor for a long time strongly suggests that the work of the survey department contributed to start the whole land grabbing business in Kägalla. Philip Francis was the father of Philip Mervyn, an alcoholic planter, and the grandfather of Philip Christoph the Canadian billionaire and of Michael the novelist, who recalled his childhood in Kägalla in his novel Running in the Family. Lawyer specializing in land cases, Aelian Ondaatje (whose Christian name was that of the Kägalla Agent at his birth), married an English woman who had inherited a share in an old British grant in Nuwara Eliya, and he pursued the claim against the government. He was behind most of the land litigation in Kägalla after 1900 and opposed the government policy of restricting plantation development in Hatarakorale.
[8] Administration Report (hereafter AR) of the Surveyor general 1873 II p. 14; Diary Kä, 7.09.1873
[9] AR Surveyor general 1875, app. L, p. 11; 1876 II p. 10A-11A.
[10] These ‘chena cases’ are available in the ‘village files’ kept in the Kägalla kacceri records, series Y and Z (consulted in August 1979). The cases quoted in the next pages are all taken from these records
[11] SLNA 30/612, 8.12.1873.
[12] These headmen were still in existence in 1886, when Price wrote to Saunders that the system “only added to the difficulty of the question” because the village headmen rejected on them their responsibility and vice versa.(Diary Kä 28.10.1886) ; but Saunders answered that they should be retained « and absorbed into the ranks of forest rangers » ; as soon as the Sabaragamuwa province was created, Price reiterated his demand, which was accepted by the GA Wace in 1889.
[13] AR Kä 1874 p. 23-24 and 1875 p. 65-66:
[14] Diary Kä, October 1872
[15] Kägalla kacceri records, chena case Narangala, and Diary Kä, 12.11.1872 and 31.01.1887.
[16] AGA(Assistant Government Agent) Kägalla to GA (Government Agent) WP (Western Province) n° 916, 12.12.1878 as annexure to Burden report, SLNA 30/868; same report a draft in the Kägalla Kacceri records together with the chena settlement files.
[17] AR WP 1879 p. 21; letter GA WP to the Colonial Secretariat, 15.02.79.
[18] Settled on 29.08.1878 “without special enquiry into the claims to chenas and gardens” ; resettled under Forest settlement but a lot of land had been sold to Lavant estate and according to the diary (8.01.1893)  “this village has been a good deal cramped by the sale of the large Crown block in this village and around it”
[19] Diary Kä, 1.04.1884, Chena file Hatnapitiya at the Kägalla kacceri (see also copy annexed to Burden report 1916)
[20] Kägalla kacceri records, Paradeniya file, PP 91
[21] Later theorized by Julius Hermann Boeke (1884-1956) in Dualistische economie. Leiden 1930

 
[22] Diary Kä, 3.04.1884
[23] When Gordon became Governor in December 1883, he compelled his provincial and district agents to keep a diary which was to be sent to him and which he read and annotated personally. These diaries are therefore much better kept than the previous diaries, and provide a fascinating source to observe the day to day administration of the district; note that Ievers could speak fluent Sinhala and was interested in the sociology of Ceylon (he later authored a Manual of the North Central Province) 
[24] Diary Kä, 1.4.1884. (village of Uda Yogama)

 
[25] A panguwa (plural pangu) is a share of the village territory belonging to a group of families having a common ancestor or common caste affiliation and common economic interests or/and service obligations; its members are called pangukarayo. The term gamwasama (plural gamwasam) is employed for a high caste panguwa and may cover the whole of a village if it belongs to the upper Goyigama caste.
[26] AR Kä 1881 p. 25A-26A
[27] Kägalla kacceri records, Pannila village file, and Diary Kä, 3.04.1884
[28] AR Kä 1884, p. 22A-23A
[29] Kägalla kacceri records, village file Pannila ; Diary Kä 1884 ; SLNA 33/2497 (‘Forest settlement in the Kägalla district’)

.
[30] SLNA, Diary Kä (Le Mesurier), 15.01.1886; CO54/610 Governor to Colonial Office, 5.11.1893
[31] Diary Kä for April – May1884
[32] Diary Kä, 23.06.1887
[33] Diary Kä, 18-19.03.1885
[34]  SLNA 65/ 958, letter 829, 30.12.1884 Wace to GA WP
[35] Diary Kä 26.03 and 13.08.1885
[36] AR Kä 1888, p. 43A, 1889 p. J28, Sabaragamuwa 1890 p. J2, 1892 p.J4
[37] AR Kägalla 1892 p. J6
[38] SLNA 65/ 173 ’Forest Settlement in the Kägalla district’ ;  SLNA 65/ 958 : Kelani Valley Forest Reserve ; SLNA 45/1866,67,68,69,70. (for Beligal settlements) ; SLNA 65/1187 (on the failure of the Forest settlements) ; Land settlement work of F.R. Ellis (Land Settlement Department Records). SLNA L205/1926 : Forest settlements
[39] Sessional paper 43 of 1882, § 65
[40] Letter AGA Kä to GAWP, 13.08.1885; Administration Report Kägalla 1886 p.147A-149A
[41] Diary Kä, 12.12.1887 and Administration reports Kägalla, 1889 and 1890
[42] Diary Kä, 19-21.02.1887
[43] SLNA 65/ 958 ‘Kelani Valley Forest Reserve’: letter of Walker to Colonial Secretary, 31.01.1887, and letter of Price, AGA Kä.to GA WP, 5.03.1887
[44] Saunders was distrusted by Gordon, who wrote in a private letter to the Colonial Office (CO54/653, Stanmore to Lucas, 9.03.1898): “My reasons for distrusting Sir Frederick Saunders’ judgement it is unnecessary to state. It may suffice in this connection to say that as Government Agent of the Western Province, when that province included Sabaragamuwa, he was always in favour of placing the harshest and strictest interpretation of native land claims, except indeed in a few cases where he showed singular indulgence.”
[45] SLNA, 65/173, Forest Settlement in the Kägalla district, report by Government Agent Wace, 30.01.1889

 
[46] Diary Kä, 19.05.1892, 28.07.1893
[47] Administration reports Kägalla 1896 p. J9, 1897 p. J11
[48] It was the subject of a quantity of reports and correspondence collected by the administration: SLNA, 65/ 1167, see also SLNA 45/1867, 45/1868 and 45/1869 (Davidson report, 8.10.1895)
[49] Diary Kä, 4.04.1895, 9.04.1895, 31.08.1895, 12.09.1895, 10.04.1896, 5.06.1896
[50] Diary Kä 5.06.1902, SLNA 45/1870, correspondence between the Government Agent Sabaragamuwa and the Surveyor General, October 1902 to January 1903
[51]  Diary Kä 3.01.1905, 18.01.1905, 15.05.1905  
[52] Diary Kä, 10.05.1871, 27.07.1885,20.03.1890, 3.03.1906, 4.03.1907; SLNA 45/1866; Land settlement department records, Dorawaka file, Booth report (annexure to letter of GA Sabaragamuwa to Controller of forests, 22.01.1894); Kägalla kacceri records files Y2/46 and Y99, Old chena plan PP269 (1880); “Kiraveli Pattuwa 1614”, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Ceylon Branch 36:4, 1947

 
[53] Five Duraya pangu in the North West corner, three Duraya pangu in a small tract in the East, the majority of the Duraya pangu cultivating a very large undivided area in the East, the rest of the Duraya pangu cultivating a large tract in the South West, and the Goyigama cultivating a smaller tract in the West.
[54]  ‘Findings on the question of title to highland chenas in gabadagam’, Land Settlement Department Records; another copy as annex to Burden report in SLNA 30/868.
[55] Lewala Forest Settlement, Kägalla kacceri record room, series Y

 
[56] Loose documents included in the unnumbered Panawitiya village file, Kägalla kacceri record room.
[57] SLNA 30/510 (CQP series)
[58] Kägalla kacceri record room, Forest settlement report by L.W. Booth, 19.05.1892
[59] Diary Kä, 2.05.1891 and 5.09.1892  
[60]Mahabage Forest settlement (1896), Kägalla kacceri record room; SLNA 30/434; SLNA 30/480 (Certificates of quiet possession, Mideniya report, 22.05.1905)
[61] SLNA Colonial Secretariat 65/ 958 brings together the correspondence relating to the proposed Kelani forest reserve from 1884 to 1898; Report on the Forest settlement of the Kelani valley reserve, original signed by L.W. Booth, Kotagala, 9 April 1897, kept in the Kägalla kacceri record room in the series called ‘Booth Settlement’ together with the different case studies of each village; Kelani valley Forest settlement Register, SLNA 45/1726; for the Kaluganga project, Administration Report Sabaragamuwa 1889 p.J4.
[62] F. Lewis, Sixty-Four Years in Ceylon, p. 224-225
[63] SLNA 30/868, Burden report, 15.08.1916; the chenas of this village were eventually sold to a land speculator, Van der Poorten, with the help of Mideniya.
[64] SLNA 65/958, report 04251, 12-13.03.97; see also Executive council paper 680/97 
[65] SLNA 65/178, RN 012857, Govt Agent Sabaragamuwa (acting) to Colonial Secretary, 3.10.1896 
[66] Bertram Hill, Davidson’s successor, in Diary Kä 15.06.1898, 14.10.1898, 13.03.1899; 21.04.1903
[67] SLNA, 65/1187 (GA to CS, 26.11.1903, circular n° 4 (12.01.1904); CO54/639, Ridgeway to Chamberlain 349, 15.10.1897
[68] Diary Kä 24.09.1900  
[69] Diary Kä, 22.08.1924
[70] Village file Kägalla kacceri, 30.11.1878 (Ievers settlement); Diary Kä 10.10.1905, SLNA 30/509 (6.02.1907).

Sri Lanka is the only country in South Asia that has some political hope: Jayadeva Uyangoda

A lengthy interview of Prof. Jayadeva Uyangoda on the future of democracy in Sri Lanka published in Frontline:

https://frontline.thehindu.com/world-affairs/sri-lanka-presidential-election-2024-politics-npp-jvp-sinhala-economic-crisis-democracy-corruption-south-asia/article68897944.ece

CHENA (slash-and-burn) CULTIVATION AND ITS REPRESSION IN COLONIAL CEYLON by Eric P. Meyer

“Asking villagers to desist from chena cultivation is much the same as asking them to starve to please government”

John George Fraser, Ceylon Settlement Officer, diary, 16.02.1902.

 

Chena (slash-and-burn) cultivation is commonly regarded as characteristic of the dry zone of Sri Lanka; its technical, economic, and social features have been analyzed by anthropologists doing field studies in that area, such as Leach, Yalman, Brow, Kloos and Spencer, the best informed of them all; most of them allude to the repressive policy pursued by the colonial raj against chena (so vividly pictured by Leonard Woolf in The Village in the Jungle), and to the discourses and myths used to justify it, especially by contrasting chena  with paddy cultivation.[1]

The purpose of this study is to complete the analysis by focusing on chena cultivation in the wet and intermediate zones of the island (Central, Uva, Sabaragamuwa, North Western provinces and the northern fringe of the Southern province), mainly during the period 1830-1930. This is the area and the period in which plantation economy reached its maximal development, eventually wiping out chena cultivation, which was vital for the peasant economy before plantation growth. It is possible to argue that repressive practices and discourses aimed at chena cultivation in the dry zone originated or at least took their compulsive strength in the experience of chena repression to make room for plantation growth elsewhere in the island. Repressive attempts were passively or even actively opposed by the peasantry; this policy may be analyzed as a major failure of the colonial administration, always creating discontent and sometimes famine conditions. In a further study, the focus will be narrowed to the emblematic Kägalla district.

 

Economic and social aspects of chena cultivation in the wet and intermediate zones

“All have not watered land enough for their needs, that is, such land as good rice requires to grow in; so that such are fain to sow on dry land, and till other men’s fields for a subsistence.  These persons are free from payment of taxes; only sometimes upon extraordinary occasions, they must give a hen or a mat or such like, to the King’s use: for as much as they use the wood and water that is in his countrey. That is if find the duty to be heavy or too much for them, they may leaving their house and land be free from the King’s service, as there is a multitude do, and in my judgement they live far more at ease after they have relinquished the King’s service than when they had it.”[2]. The situation described by Robert Knox by the end of the 17th century was still valid two centuries later: the contrast between state control and taxation of settled wet paddy cultivation, versus freedom and tax evasion of unsettled highland cultivation, is a structural feature of the wet and intermediate zones of Sri Lanka.

I shall first try to draw a picture of the Ancient agrarian regime, which is of course an artefact and should not make us lose sight of the very real changes which occurred during the 16th to 18th century period. But one can call it ‘Ancient regime’ in view of the ‘Revolution’ which followed. In this system as it prevailed in the wet and intermediate areas controlled by the Kotte and later the Kandyan kingdom, the availability of space and the diversity of resources made it possible for the peasant to minimize risks ; this does not mean that the village was self-sufficient or that the system was working smoothly: except in out-of-the-way areas of the dry zone, a certain amount of trade contributed to the balance of rural economy: areca nuts, jaggery (palm tree sugar) and various garden produce were bartered for rice, fish, salt and textiles.

 

A vital or a minor resource? The place of chena in ‘Ancient regime’ economy and society.

Contrary to a common view, chena was not a minor or subsidiary resource in the wet and intermediate zones, but was central to the survival of large sectors of the peasantry: their choice of chena cultivation was rational in socio-economic terms in a context of limited population, space availability and resource diversification. This is the kind of rationality which is branded the ‘safety-first’ approach by J.C. Scott in his analysis of the subsistence ethic of the Asian peasantry.[3] 

The flexibility of the system resided in the ability of the peasantry (and especially the young people), to mobilize peripheral resources in case of need. And chena cultivation was the major resource of that kind, certainly more than forest as such. The problem raised by Jayawardena and Roberts is one of quantification: they argue that these resources “were only of marginal utility to Kandyan village ecology”[4]  By marginal, they seem to imply unnecessary; my view is that in a context of scarce, irregular and diversified resources, marginal means necessary. Besides, there were several categories of villages, some in which chena was the major resource for all the inhabitants at all times, others in which it was complementary, but nonetheless necessary to specific categories and/or in specific circumstances. Spencer convincingly suggests that the general under-reporting in official and ethnographic literature of chena cultivation results from the convergence of colonial dislike for its lack of accountability and the cultural valuation of the sole paddy cultivation by the Sinhalese[5].

‘Chena villages’ were not found only in the dry zone, where the local conditions make irrigated paddy cultivation dependent upon irregular weather or elaborated hydraulic techniques. They were also common in the wettest parts of the south-western hills, where marshy or narrow valleys could not be properly ‘asweddumized’ (= converted into irrigated paddy fields). Sometimes älvi  (hill paddy) was sown for two years in owita (unirrigated wet land at the bottom of valleys); afterwards millets and other fine grain were cultivated for a couple of years, and the owita was left fallow as grazing ground for three years.[6] More often hill paddy was cultivated in highland areas where moisture was sufficient and the cultivation cycle could be as long as 10 to 20 years.  Älvi was sown the first year in June and reaped in December (sometimes paddy seeds were mixed with millet or oil plant seeds);  millets or yams were sown the second year, then wood was allowed to grow for a decade or more.[7]  The pattern was typical of Kukul and Pasdun East, on the border between Ratnapura and Kalutara districts; of Atakalan, Hinidum and Morawak on the border between Ratnapura and the Southern province; and of the vast area south and west of Sri Pada, in the Ratnapura and the Kägalla district, where it was called Kälerata (the forest country).

In these sparsely populated localities made up of small scattered hamlets, chena cultivation with hill paddy provided the only source of grain, but it was supplemented by hunting, food gathering (fruit and honey) and kitul (sugar palm-tree) tapping. The enquiries of the settlement officers in these areas (upper Kelani valley hamlets and villages of Gilimale and Bambarabotuwa in the 1890s, Kukul korale in the 1920s) together with descriptions such as those found in the diaries of the Assistant Government Agent Ievers for 1884  and in the memoirs of Frederic Lewis, provide a wealth of information on the local ecology and society of these areas.[8]

A good half of these villages were inhabited by members of the Vahumpura caste (often locally called Kande minissu – people of the hills).[9] Under the service system imposed by the Kandyan kings, they were required to provide jaggery sugar  and cakes (hence their other name: Hakuru) and more generally cooked food, and occasionally to act as bearers and soldiers guarding the hill passes; although fully integrated in the caste system (in the upper strata of the lower castes) and now proud of their Buddhist identity, this community had some features similar to those of the Indian Adivasi and could possibly claim the same antiquity as the more celebrated Vedda. Some chena villages were inhabited by high caste people (some of them being locally called Vedda) and others by members of lower castes such as the Panna Durayi (pastoralists and grasscutters, initially distinct from the Padu who lived in large irrigated paddy villages, with whom the Panna were later amalgamated under the name Batgama)[10].

Chena villages were characterized as such by the peasants and distinguished from rice villages[11]. Among several typical cases in Ratnapura and Kägalla districts one can quote the locality of Bambarabotuwa studied by Fred Lewis: “an instance of what happens when there is a limited population and an unlimited land supply, which being out of sight was out of control”: the absence of State interference and inaccessibility being added factors: peasants were close to a food-gathering economy, settlement in hamlets was sparse and unstable and the only paddy fields “in reality were only swamps roughly turned into paddy lands”[12]. Gilimale, immediately to the west, had more diversified resources owing to the presence of small paddy fields, to the trade linked to Sri Pada pilgrimage, and was characterized by the presence of a seigneurial family. However when settlement was effected, the Settlement Officer defined the village ecology as follows: chena are indispensable, there are no paddy fields, no estate employment, no money to pay for individual settlements: “they seem to have no idea beyond chena…what they want is to be allowed to chena as heretofore”. In the Kägalla district, the villages of Atulugam east, the area close to Adam’s Peak, called Kälerata, and of the Uduwe korale, close to Dolosbage, were practically devoid of paddy fields.[13]

But the most common type found in the Kandyan hilly areas and in the lowlands of the Kurunegala district was the ‘mixed farming village’: there, chenas were associated with gardens and irrigated paddy in variable proportions according to the local ecological conditions. The necessity of chena cultivation in combination with wet paddy, although less evident than in the former category, was generally recognized  and the legal concept of ‘appurtenance on a 3 to 1 basis’ (a highland area three times the acreage of the irrigated area) was later constructed by the British to cover what was initially the acknowledgement of a technical complementarity; but a careful distinction must be made between highland areas close to the paddy fields, which were necessary to wet paddy cultivation itself (pillewa), or for dwelling and growing vegetables (gedarawatta), and the chena  area itself. According to the Assistant Settlement Officer Hunter,  “appurtenances” only included pillewa  and owita , and  “in a large number of cases the claimed chenas are claimed by people who are not paddy field owners, and that calling these as appurtenant to paddy fields is to deny the claims of persons who are not field owners (…) one might as well say that chenas are appurtenant to gardens”.[14]

The colonial administration taxation policy produced a mass of official documents which could have biased the knowledge of agrarian economy. In 1880, a general review of the taxation of crops other than wet paddy was done[15], which showed that only älvi was always taxed, other dry grains being taxed only in North, East and South provinces, and in the Kandyan provinces only when cultivated on Crown land. In the North Western Province in 1880, the Government Agent, Allanson Bailey, distinguished regularly cultivated untaxed chena lands, and chena exceptionally cultivated for älvi, which were taxed. In areas where älvi was regularly cultivated, a detailed analysis of the wattoru (tax registers), such as those for the village of Pannala in the Kägalla district (1858-59 to 1889-90) yields similar results: some large henyaya (chena tracts) were cultivated each season, while others appear only two or three times.          

The necessity of chena cultivation has to be understood both in economic and sociological terms. If wet paddy crops failed owing to bad weather, pests or other troubles, chena cultivation of millets in yala season (April to July) season was the only means to tide over until the next maha season (September to February). Some villages were mixed caste localities, where the lower castes had a limited access to irrigated paddy land and relied more than the high castes on highland cultivation. Moreover, specific groups of any caste had a limited access to irrigated paddy: especially young men and women while paddy fields were in full control of the elder generation; widows or separated wives with children returning from their husband’s village; also people who had lost their rights through indebtedness, family feuds and disputes with more powerful neighbours: these categories could rely on chena cultivation for a couple of seasons. Among these groups, it is likely that women played a major role in dry grain (especially kurakkan) cultivation, while paddy (including älwi) was a male occupation[16]. Another factor was population growth resulting in minute (and usually mortgaged) shares of paddy land, which led enterprising and individualistic people to turn to a form of cultivation where interference by family members or the usurer was not similarly felt.

Chena therefore acted as a safety valve, which prevented a breakdown in the village socio-economic balance, and eventually allowed the peasants to postpone the decision to migrate.

 

Technical and quantitative aspects

Identifying patterns is insufficient to assess the actual role of chena cultivation in the Ancient Regime. But any attempt at quantification is hampered by the paucity and unreliability of general statistics: a slightly better information is available for the 20th century only and can document the gradual disappearance of chena cultivation; it is therefore impossible to quantify the contribution of chena cultivation to peasant resources[17]. Blue book statistics on millets are pure guess, and paddy tax data on hill paddy must be used with care, tax evasion being much more frequent than in the case of wet paddy cultivation[18]. Taxation records suggest that hill paddy cultivation was extremely variable from year to year: as an example, for the period 1852-1878 in the Kägalla district, the data shows peaks (in 1859, 1866, 1873 and 1876) which might be explained by weather conditions favouring älvi cultivation, and a minimum for the period 1867-1872, which is connected with the period of maximal repression as we shall see later.[19]

At the local level, a study of tax receipts checked on the spot by the settlement officers shows that älvi  cultivation was undertaken on a regularly recurrent basis in the large potion of the village highlands, and exceptionally in other parts which were left untouched for longer periods or were usually cultivated with untaxed millets: this does not mean that the latter were ‘unnecessary’ chena  fields.

Slash-and burn cultivation operations in the dry zone have often been described: cutting, firing, digging with mammoty (hoe), sowing, second digging to cover the seeds, fencing and watching. They were the same in the wet zone, except that the interval between cutting and firing was much longer, and that some care was taken to leave tree belts on the slopes to prevent soil erosion.

An analysis of crop timing in the Kägalla district[20] confirms the major differences between hill paddy (älvi) and kurakkan millet: the former was cultivated in maha season (July to February) like irrigated paddy: it was therefore a substitute for irrigated paddy ; kurakkan was cultivated in yala (March to August) only and was therefore complementary with paddy (hill or wet); but amu (another kind of millet) could be cultivated in maha as well. A combination of paddy (hill or wet) and different millets and other chena crops could keep the peasant busy all the year round. Amu and kurakkan therefore acted as a survival crop: contrary to hill paddy, they were not taxed, they grew in a few months, they might be cultivated at shorter intervals than älvi and might follow älvi on the same field; these millets, rather than hill paddy, were the poor people’s crop. They were usually sown mixed with various other grains or pulses, which were ripe at different periods and minimized the risk of loss. The difference between garden and chena laid in the permanent or temporary character of cultivation but the same crops could be found in both, especially spices, vegetables and roots. And even in the Ancient regime, commercial crops were not unknown in temporary fields: tobacco and ‘peasant’ coffee were often cultivated, especially on Uva highlands, but early in the 1840s, “tobacco cultivation has almost entirely disappeared since the natives have been prevented from encroaching upon the Crown lands”[21]

 

Chena cultivation: individualistic? collective? egalitarian?

There is a certain amount of imprecision or even contradiction in the literature on chena cultivation as a social activity. Colonial authors used to describe it as a communal form of cultivation, because they could not discern rights of ownership but only rights of user, and that according to their European experience, individual enterprise was equated with property rights: they viewed chena areas, like pastures, as a local equivalent of the British commons. According to R.E. Lewis, “the work is generally conducted by the inhabitants of the village together, who share equally in the produce; the women do their share of the work in weeding and harvesting, also in carrying the brush off the land to be used as firewood; the labour of two men will produce sufficient for the subsistence of three persons”. On the other hand, many ethnographers who studied dry zone villages analyze chena cultivation as a rather individualistic activity, based on the work force of the nuclear family in opposition with paddy, a definitely social activity, involving “the intricacies of ownership”.[22] Of course there were there were local variants, and in the dry and intermediate zones the ‘wheel chena’ communally organized around a central place was the dominant model. Another explanation of the contradiction could be that in the course of time chena lost its communal character: this is the position taken by Codrington who notes that the claims to individual chenas ‘above the mountains’ appears by the 18th century in the Kägalla district: according to the lekammitiya of Dedigama village, each panguwa has a number of chenas attached to it but without names or extents”. “In the Kandyan coffee districts, ignorance of the real tenure has led individuals being allowed to encroach upon the common property to so large an extent, or even to sell portions of it to coffee planters and other outsiders, that there are probably very few villages in which the common right has not been almost entirely extinguished”[23] (Administration Report of Davids for 1871, Nuwarakalaviya district). This situation still prevailed in the Ratnapura district (villages of Bambarabotuwa, Gilimale and Nagoda) and in the Kälerata by the end of the 19th century – with the difference that the colonial taxation and legal system attempted to introduce rigid categories in a basically flexible practice. When the colonial officer L.W. Booth settled the remote village of Miyanowita, he noticed: “In no single instance has payment of tax been proved for any defined potion of land, the wattoru [taxation lists] give no boundary, each entry merely states the name of the chena, its cultivator, and the quantity of grain sold; each chena is undefined in position and extent, varying in the latter respect at each successive cultivation as the wattoru show”. And almost 50 years later, in the same area, chenas were still held in common[24]

In the South-west, the tracts of temporary fields (henyaya) were organized according to pangu (territories belonging to a lineage) : “In the Ratnapura district a man does not say: ‘I claim Batahena because I had a chena there 5 years ago’ but ‘Batahena lies within the boundaries of my panguwa, my father claimed 1/24th share of the panguwa, therefore I claim 1/24th share of all the chenas in the panguwa”.[25]   Cultivation in the 1840s is described as collective by R.E. Lewis, but it must be understood as collective inside the same lineage: of course when a small village was inhabited by members of only one lineage, cultivation was fully collective.  “Chenas are never held in common among different pangu, although they are frequently so possessed by the various offshoots or families of one panguwa. The tenure which is called communal I should define rather as tattumaru (rotating right of use)”[26].  When a henyaya was cultivated by somebody from outside the lineage, the rights of user of the local family were recognized by the payment of a very small rent (1/20th), later evolving towards the classical 1/4th ande system; if these outsiders permanently settled in the village, they might have either remained tenants, or be given their own highland tract, according to the power relations they had with the original family[27].

In the wet zone the general model in the larger villages was that particular areas were cultivated by particular lineages:  the difficulties encountered by highland block settlements bear ample testimony to the fact (see next section). A detailed analysis of chena cultivation in a very large former royal village of the Kägalla district, Dorawaka, where the original Batgama population had remained on the spot, yields the following results: there were two very large henyaya where a majority of the families cultivated, and some of which were in the 1880s in the process of conversion to gardens; and three smaller tracts where some of the families had supplementary rights.  But in other villages the pattern seemed quite anarchical, at least in the eyes of outsiders who described chena as “scattered all over the villages”. The case of Ampe is quite significant by comparison[28] : Ampe was also a royal village with low caste tenants at will (maruveni) and a few Govi families to manage the estate in the time of the kings: the fragile socio-economic fabric was disrupted by the fall of the monarchy and outsiders, mainly Muslim, came in, asserted property rights and ousted most tenants: the result was that there being practically no established lineage in the village, cultivation was on an individual basis and chena fields scattered, but nevertheless strictly controlled and eventually taxed.

In the hilly district of upper Uva, it seems that chenas were individually appropriated and were fenced with stone walls, even by the beginning of the 19th century, but on closer examination it appears that in these particular areas cultivation was almost permanent, with rotation on a three years basis. And in the North Western province, at least in the 1930s, “the pangu system was not prevalent and chena had to be separately located”[29]

Finally, chena cultivation was certainly more egalitarian than wet paddy cultivation in a context of availability of land and lack of outside interference: it was undertaken by the household, on land accessible to all the members of the community, with minimal capital requirements. “It provides few opportunities either for monetary profit or for the elevation of one villager above his fellows”, according to Brow[30]. But caste distinctions and power relations were reproduced in chena cultivation: in the example of Anhettigama, a village in the Kälerata, the dominant lineage could cultivate chenas anywhere in the territory, while lesser families were assigned specific chena areas. In other cases, outsiders were allowed to cultivate chenas belonging to villagers giving them a share of the crop[31]  Moreover, its dependence upon the good will of authorities (especially in the colonial context) diverted a part of the resources obtained from it to the benefit of headmen and others: to please the colonial authorities, headmen reported ‘illicit’ chena clearings of rival families and of powerless villagers, especially those of low castes.

 

Chena as a space of freedom

Chena cultivation was not only an answer to ecological and economic conditions. It also represented a specific mode of social life, where certain groups could find a recognized space. It was an unbound and changing zone, an area of temporary dwellings, with no stable property and family relations, as opposed to the defined, bounded, policed paddy-cum-house area.    

It is extremely significant that chena cultivation was an un-ritualized activity: R.E. Lewis rightly emphasized that contrary to paddy cultivation, kurakkan and other dry grain cultivation was performed without any rite. In a sense, it was a kind of forest cultivation and as such can be understood in the context of the traditional opposition in Indian thought and rituals between grama (village) and aranya (forest), bound and unbound, so nicely analyzed by Charles Malamoud.[32]

In the chena temporary relations could take place. There young couples could be made and unmade: in the traditional Kandyan villages, the practice of trial unions was common, and such unions were described in a typical sentence: geniyek henata geniyanava (to take a woman to a chena)[33].

Chena cultivation was perceived as a fringe activity between gathering and producing, in constant contact with the jungle, a dangerous but rewarding enterprise which required residence on the spot for purpose of watching against predators.  In chena cultivation, young men could work together, family control over resources was minimal, it was therefore a means to escape from the intricacies of paddy land subdivision. It was also exempt from rajakariya  (king’s service): the refuge for people who tried to shake off the burden of taxes and services, as suggested by Robert Knox quoted in introduction. It was unpoliced, beyond control of the higher authorities – the king and his superior headmen, and therefore the refuge of outlaws or of ordinary villagers in periods of trouble (this is well documented for the 1817-1818 period, and again in 1848, during the anti-British rebellions). It is not clear whether the kings discouraged or not chena cultivation, except in tahansi käle (forests reserved for strategic purposes) in which it was expressly prohibited.

Conversely it was the major area where the arbitrary power of local families could be asserted either against the policy of the State or over the lesser peasant families, who had to bargain for cultivation rights. In ninda (feudal) and temple villages, access to chena was at the pleasure of the lord, while in villages of the royal demesne (gabadagam/bisogam) it was controlled by the vidane (steward). But in freehold villages (koralegam), the majority, it could become a stake in power rivalries between local families, inasmuch as it was less defined than the paddy area, and therefore easier to forcefully control. As soon as the colonial authorities attempted to check chena cultivation, power relations of village families with nominated headmen became the key to have access to highlands.

But chena was also a temporary area which could be converted into permanent gardens – the first step in village expansion process. In a sense, it could be argued that paradoxically it was more dynamic and evolutive – in other terms more modern – than paddy cultivation. In any case, it was the economic, social and political safety valve of the Kandyan peasant regime, which gave it a certain amount of flexibility. It was soon to become a major target of the British colonial policy.

           

Chena as evil: colonial discourse under the British Raj  

 

Chena cultivation epitomized everything the Victorians considered as evil: unrestricted freedom as opposed to responsibility; desultory, temporary and nomadic as opposed to settled activity; laziness as opposed to exertion; imprecision as opposed to visibility. All the available evidence suggests that, in spite of ecological, financial and ‘moral’ justifications, the main motive behind the repression of chena cultivation in the wet and intermediate zones of Sri Lanka under the British raj has always been the demand of land by the planters; in the dry zone, where the planters had no stake, the protection of timber reserves was another factor. The British colonial administration created a legal frame after 1840 with the presumption of Crown property of all uncultivated and temporarily cultivated lands, while before the coffee boom, Turnour, a colonial authority in the matter of Kandyan customary laws, still considered that highlands were private, except reserved forests and highlands of former royal villages.[34]

The Administration Report of the Government Agent of the Southern Province for 1872 is typical of the colonial discourse: “In an oriental and uncivilized country, it is incumbent on the rulers to think for the people and to exercise in some sort a patriarchal sway over them. In no way is the necessity for this shown more than in interposing to protect for them their native land and to prevent its being ‘reduced to a desert’. The objection to chena cultivation may be thus summarized: it is wasteful; it engenders a nomadic and improvident habit among the people and retards civilization; it is ruinous to the general welfare of the country; and it is in reality but a poor means of support, for though the crop produces from 20 to 40 or 80 fold, the grain is so extremely small that the produce is of small bulk” [35]. In 1884, the Agent at Puttalam wrote (note the implicit relation between laziness and women and children’s work):  “Chena is a lazy kind of cultivation in which women and children take part, it introduces lazy habits, the work is easy, the crops are large and the result is a supply of poor indigestible food”.[36]

Chena was branded the lazy man’s crop.  The myth of the lazy native was general throughout the colonial milieus of Asia and Africa[37].  In the Ceylon case, it was  deeply entrenched in the mentality of the planting community, that viewed chena as typical of the native Kandyan laziness as opposed to the energy displayed by the European-cum-Tamil estate production. In 1867, in a critical pamphlet, a Burgher journalist, Leopold Ludovici, denounced the myth of native apathy afloat in colonial circles, quoting governor Robinson [38]: “The wants of the native population of the island are few and easily supplied by an occasional day’s work in their own gardens or paddy fields; their philosophy, their love of ease and indolence, or their limited ideas – whichever may be the real cause, render them perfectly content with what they already possess, and it is therefore futile to expect that they could by any mere outlay of government money, be ever brought to supply with food an immigrant population [the Tamil coolies], whose presence in the island is mainly rendered necessary by their own apathy” Ludovici then analyzed the racial component of the myth and its power implications: “the acknowledged value of his [the planter’s] enterprise to the country gives him such an importance in the eyes of the government as to qualify him to assert his claims with an amount of self-confidence unattainable by a native” . He suggested that the myth was connected with the experience of the European himself and his fears: “Even the European in this country soon yields to the enervating influence of the climate (…) and he soon enough takes to the fashion of damning the climate and speaking of the natives as a lazy apathetic race(…) This belief in native apathy has become fashionable, it has had a prescriptive existence of above half a century and the members of government seem to cling to it as a venerable article of faith in their code of political science”

Although field observers were well aware of the difficulty of the task of chena  cultivation, the myth was so deeply rooted that it survived the failure of the policy it tried to justify. As late as 1911, the governor Mc Callum, who made efforts to help the planters get Sinhalese labour, minuted as follows on the proposal by Leonard Woolf, then Agent at Hambantota, that chena cultivation should be allowed in his district[39] :“It is the proper policy of government to discourage the chenas, which has only been the means of bringing up our people in an atmosphere of idleness and dependence of the government, while the ruin to the country has been incalculable… If chenaing is prevented everywhere and in every province including Uva, there will be no need of villagers leaving one district for another except to find work; and if they only work instead of spending idle life, depending on government and damage to Crown land, it is immaterial whether they are in one district more than another” 

Chena cultivation was also viewed as a dangerous activity by a class of vagrants as opposed to the tightly controlled estate coolies  : “The love of a wandering life which it engenders is one of the greatest evils and we shall never improve the character of the people till we induce them to settle on their legitimate property and devote their energies to a more permanent cultivation in gardens and paddy fields”[40] A typical description is found in the diary of the Assistant Settlement officer Davies for the dry zone village of Talewatte[41]: “The people were a miserable lot, spoilt by unlimited opportunities of chena. In several cases, I found coconut gardens allowed to go to ruin, because the people preferred to cultivate unlimited Crown chenas instead of keeping their permanent cultivation in order (…) It is rather much to expect a villager of the type of this part of the country to observe the present regulations for obtaining land. He has to travel to Hambantota, to fill up a form of application, always done through a petition drawer, and has to deposit his fees with the prospect of having the lot put up for sale in two or three years, when he may get it, or as it is probable any other bidders are around he may not. If he still wants land he can get his fees back and repeat the performance (…) It is no wonder he prefers to take what he wants and pay up when he is found out”

            This discourse was similar to that on the poors/vagrants in 19th century Europe, with the same arguments and the same object: repressing chena cultivation for developing plantations was the same thing as enforcing industrial discipline among fresh unsettled migrant workers. But it was given a further emphasis linked to the spectacular features of slash and burn cultivation represented as a criminal activity carried on in the heart of forests, practically a form of arson or of theft of government property. This kind of pre-ecological discourse was common in 19th century romantic as well as positivist literature: for romantics, the forest was sacred. For example, the French writer Blanqui gave an apocalyptic description of slash and burn (brûlis) cultivation which he compared with a volcanic eruption.[42] 

The opposed myth, that of ‘noble’ paddy cultivation, attained its full development with the nationalists who never attempted to rehabilitate chena  cultivation, except for polemical purposes[43] Paddy and chena cultivation were considered as antagonistic and mutually exclusive: suppress the second and you will develop the first by diverting peasant exertion to paddy. In the North Western Province, the abandonment of many villages was attributed to the neglect and breach of tanks, and concomitant development of chena cultivation: the question whether slash and burn cultivation was the cause or the effect was not seriously considered[44].

In the wet zone, accusing chena of ecological disruption was an easy means to shift the focus from the responsibility of plantation growth in the same process. Chena, destructive of forests, was supposedly disruptive of ecology, and especially the cause of repeated droughts: the equation of drought with fire was obvious; the imagined sequence was chena cultivation > disappearance of forests > droughts > failure of paddy > increased recourse to chena.

In the view of the colonial administration, chena cultivation which was generally an untaxed activity brought little or no money to the exchequer; it was  wasteful, unproductive, technically backward, a primitive form of exploitation.       Chena cultivation was considered as a collective activity based on the feudal idea, and the ‘progress of civilization’ based on the development of individualism was the rationale behind the whole colonization process. In all cases, the moral discourse of the raj was used to legitimize a repressive policy and offset its disruptive impact.

On the contrary, a few traditionalist civil servants defended chena cultivation together with feudal structures, such as J.F. Dickson in 1870[45]: “If a comparison be made between service villages and any adjoining village held by peasant proprietors and not liable to service, the results will be in favor of the former. This is admitted on all hands and is attributable in a great measure to the greater security the service tenants possess from the settlement of the village boundaries in reference to the hen (chenas or commons), which, though cultivated in the most rude and primitive way, are of the utmost value to the poorer classes (…) In the hill country, every field has its appurtenant hena and in some villages the peasants live entirely on the produce of their hen, but it is often difficult to determine where the private hena and the Crown forest begin. The peasant constantly try to encroach on the Crown forest, while the Revenue Officers in their anxiety to preserve the boundaries of the Crown property occasionally lay claim to and stop the cultivation of private hen (…) To refuse to allow the cultivation of hen altogether is often to condemn a whole village or district to starvation. And yet this has been attempted at times, in complete ignorance of the real state of the case. On one occasion, the temporary administrator of the government publicly told a deputation that the government was determined to put down chena cultivation, as the chena plant was a most obnoxious weed which exhausted the soil and so on. Fortunately the deputation did not understand English, and the interpreter failed to explain the reasons of the temporary Head of the government.”

 

The colonial repressive policy and its impact until the end of the 19th century

 

Under the Dutch domination, which affected only the coastal areas, the policy concerning chena cultivation was erratic. As soon as shifting and even garden cultivation impinged on cinnamon collection, the authorities put pressure on the peasants: “The V.O.C. justified these restraints by the arguments that slash and burn agriculture would lead to soil exhaustion; that the clearing of land for chenas would inevitably result in the destruction of cinnamon plants; and indeed that cinnamon seeds scattered by winds and birds would not take root in chena lands cleared of their forest cover” While some governors, such as Van Imhoff, encouraged garden cultivation, others, like Van Loten and Schreuder “ordered the destruction of peasant holdings, gardens in particular, if the cultivator could produce no legal title”, and displaced villages to make room for cinnamon. Peasant resistance eventually led his successor Falck to ease the pressure and set up a kind of cultivation system encouraging cinnamon plantation on a part of village lands.[46]

During the first decades of the British domination, the official policy was laissez-faire or even encouragement of chena cultivation for strategic purposes, so as to ‘open’ the country and destroy the forest belt used by kings and later by rebels for guerilla attacks. In the words of a local chief of the Kägalla district[47]: “The government had observed on many instances the rebellion people had concealed themselves in forests, it is therefore thought that it is a good method to allow to cultivate them into chenas and did so, the Kandian people then entered into all the preserved forests and cultivated them into chenas even the part of Kadugannawa forest and several others have cultivated and now claim their private property.”

Before 1840, there is not a single document suggesting any excessive tendency to ‘illicit felling’ of forests. Forest administration, which is always repressive, was inexistent. Revenue administration was not really concerned. Älvi (dry paddy) was theoretically taxed since 1818 in the Kandyan provinces, and millets were taxed only in the Matara district. But it was done quite unsystematically: as suggested by Ron Herring[48], expropriation of surplus from chena was unremunerative and never insisted upon.  At that time, ‘waste land’ (except for highlands situated in ex-royal villages –  gabadagam), was tacitly or expressly recognized as private property by most British Officers, including Turnour who was to become by 1840 a firm advocate of chena  control. There were no definite rules, and this very imprecision became an insuperable obstacle in the eyes of the would-be planters: hence the famous ordinance 12 of 1840.

The period of 1840 to 1860 saw the rapid development of coffee cultivation on a large scale by British planters, first on former chena lands which were already ‘opened’, then on virgin forest land at higher elevations: the belief that former chena lands were unfit for coffee cultivation became general among the planters by that time. During that period, legal appropriation was followed by unsystematic repression. The ordinance 12 of 1840 (framed by the Turnour) established a legal presumption of highland property in favour of the Crown, with the possibility to assert private title through production of Kandyan grants (sannas), British grants, or proof of payment of tax (i.e. proof of älvi cultivation since only paddy was taxed: this worked to the detriment of millet cultivators). The purpose of the ordinance was to give clean titles to the planters, in the areas where they developed their estates: for example in Uva, the repression led to the abandonment of tobacco cultivation on chena, and in nearby Walapane, according to the testimony of  villagers, while before the coffee era they cultivated kurakkan, maize and chillies, “the Crown afterwards claimed the land and sold it to be converted into estates, all was claimed except a small extent bordering the villages, but these chenas are not fertile as they have to be cleared after intervals of two to three years”[49].

However the ordinance was never systematically applied before the 1860s. See for example what the Matale agent wrote in his report for 1853[50] : “Forest the natives know they have no right to fell. But every man had his chena and the natives cannot understand and never will understand that all chenas with respect to which the evidence required by ordinance 12 of 1840 cannot be adduced are the property of the Crown. Sannas were only granted to families of consideration, yet the owner of almost every paddy field however small claims his chena, and I have never yet met with satisfactory evidence of boundaries of chenas. The only taxable product of chenas within the Kandyan provinces is älvi. On many chenas älvi is never sown but kurakkan. The accident of situation therefore makes the difference. While the law remains as it is, every agent must know that it is utterly impossible to protect the right of the Crown as it should be protected for every headman himself possesses tracts of such chena lands”. According to the Matale agent in 1859, the legal claim of the Crown was not insisted upon:[51] “When it is proved that on many successive occasions the same land has been cultivated even with crop which pay no tax, then I believe government has invariably or almost invariably withdrawn all claim.”

In specific occasions, the arbitrary power of the raj and its local agents could be pushed very far under the pressure of influent planters connected with colonial administrators. A typical example is found in the comments of the Kägalla kacceri mudaliyar (translator for the local British agent) on the validity of älvi tax receipts for a low caste village, the chenas of which that very agent was about to illegally purchase under the name of a friend, to establish a plantation, in 1863: “A practice exists among the natives to cultivate high lands as well as low lands either forest or jungle for anda share which was occasionally done without the knowledge of the owner…At the time of harvest if a person happens to claim the cultivated land…the cultivator quietly gives the claimant’s share of the produce, but in case he finds no claimant (which generally happens when the land is Crown property) and as the headman neglects to report on such matters to government except when called for, the cultivator fraudulently endeavours to establish his claim…and when once taken a receipt on produce he finds no difficulty afterwards to maintain his claim. Therefore I think having tax receipts such as these which are imperfect or possessing once or twice the produce of a chena land by a native would not sufficiently bar the claim of the Crown to a high or chena land if no documents as gifts or transfers written on olas (which were formerly held as valid as notarial deeds are now) were produced in proof of having possessed and devolved from the father to the son” [52]

Some Revenue and Judicial officers were conscious that the implementation of the ordinance was unjust and unpractical. According to the Agent in Kandy, “in their desire to do their duty [i.e. implement the 1840 ordinance], I do not hesitate to say that not unfrequently a grave injustice is done to an individual by the Agent or his headmen”[53]. In the view of Bailey, another Agent who wrote detailed reports on the issue: “the only source of discontent among the Kandyans is the uncertain tenure on which they hold chena lands (…) Every year this fruitful source of litigation swells the work of the courts and the wealth of the proctors (…) This state of confusion is to be attributed to the fact that the law and the custom regarding chenas are diametrically opposed”. In a further report, Bailey rightly defined the legal status of chena as different from that of paddy ownership and characterized the British legal policy as follows : “We appear at once to have done away with the subtle distinction between the right to cultivate and the title to the soil”[54]. Gillman, the district Judge of Kurunegala in 1867, recognized that “ without desiring to add unnecessarily to the vexed question of chenas in this country (…) in a case between the Crown and a claimant in certain parts of this district, it is all but impossible as the law stands for the claimant to have even a chance of gaining his case (…) Grants and sannases are very rare, chenas are rarely ever cultivated with tax paying grain in this district, the claimant is therefore almost absolutely shut out from proof of his title, the only title he holds being possession in such cases”[55].

It was then suggested by some administrators that the ordinance of 1840 could not be strictly enforced and that chenas could be allowed as appurtenance to private paddy fields[56]: “The chena question is one, the settlement of which retards the advancement of the country, from the uncertainty of title – created by the ordinance of 1840 in great measure. It might be settled to some extent by a waiver of claim by government to high land adjoining paddy fields, in proportion of 3 acres of the former to 1 of the latter, provided some slight evidence could be adduced of the owner having had such appurtenances to his property. All other highlands should be declared the property of the Crown, save upon production of sannas or title; [if no survey is effected] authority might be given to rent out chenas claimed by the Crown at a rate of 3 or 4 shillings per acre (…) this arrangement would in itself determine many claims”

The years 1855 to 1864 saw the beginnings of a systematic anti-chena policy, which started in the Batticaloa district, on the east coast. At that time European interests were anxious to secure coconut land there and after settling on the coastal line they may have imagined that they could extend coconut cultivation further inland in chena areas[57]. According to an official, the Auditor general, “repeated complaints of the extensive and wanton destruction of valuable Crown forest lands for the purpose of chena cultivation have reached the Government from the European settlers and others, and it seems expedient that some measures should be adopted to discourage and repress a practice so injurious to the interest of the Crown and comparatively so profitless to the people.” The local agent decided to tax chena produce at one half instead of 1/10th as usual. He was supported by his superior, Morris, but censored by the governor Ward, who wrote the following minute: “If the people of Batticaloa were not the most quiet, orderly and submissive people in the world, the conduct of the Agent must have produced and would almost have justified open resistance to his measures, which appear to me to combine the most characterized imprudence with the grossest injustice. For a nominal increase of land revenue Mr. Morphew has sacrificed the character of government for good faith and plain dealing upon which depend all its relations with the people (…) what one gentleman would scorn to do in dealing with another and could not do without vitiating his bargain, cannot be done by the Queen of England – and it is in her name that we are acting in dealing with a dependent people”. But Morphew was later exculpated, and Morris in his successive posts in the Southern and the North Western province imposed on his subordinates an extremely repressive policy.  

After 1864, repression of chena cultivation depended upon the land requirements of the coffee and later tea planters, who began to abandon their preventions against chena lands for want of fresh forest land, especially in the Kägalla district, but also in Ratnapura, Matara, and later in the Kurunegala and Matale districts. It depended also upon the personal predispositions of the successive governors and the ability of planter’s pressure groups to influence them. Most repressive governorships were those of Hercules Robinson (1865-1872) and much later of Henry Mc. Callum (1907-1913). Among subordinate administrators, a majority was following a repressive policy, some of them in a quasi-military manner such as Saunders and Morris, but a few tolerated or even defended chena cultivation, either by realism or by traditionalism.

By the 1880s, a powerful argument boosted the control of chena cultivation under the governorship of Arthur Gordon, later Lord Stanmore (1883-1890) who, reversing the policy of his predecessors, gave the priority to the preservation of forests. This is analyzed by Frederick Lewis, who was at that time employed by the Forest department[58]: “At the time there was an idea in Government circles that much might be done to lessen the enormous loss of land involved in what is called ‘chena practice’. Thousands and thousands of fine forest land had been destroyed by this wasteful culture that year after year was increasing. It had long been known that the area of regularly cultivated land  was entirely out of proportion to what was in chena, and it was also becoming plain that the people who wasted the country in this way were only too ready to sell to land speculators the very land that they had destroyed”

The case of the Kägalla district is best documented. Even before the development of plantations, timber merchants from the low country (especially Karawa carpenters from Moratuwa, Kalutara and Grandpass) pushed highland cultivation for speculative purposes in the Kelani river catchment area, which was quite close to the active south-western coast. A new burst of repressive policy developed by the end of 1864, with the passing of an ad hoc new ordinance against illicit timber felling, which coincided with a growing demand of highlands by planters for coffee cultivation: in the words of the acting Governor, “it was found that encroachments were made in the very depth of forests which were tolerated if not encouraged by the headmen of the place, and frequently it was only by accident they were discovered”[59]. The detailed source of this statement is to be found in the diary of the Assistant agent for Kägalla, Frederick Saunders[60]:

“As I rode in the Three Korales (the southern part of the district) it appeared to me strange that with so much fine timber forest, so easy of access, not one application for a permit to fell government timber had been made at the kachcheri since I had held office (…) But as  I penetrated further the reason was apparent. The jungles on all sides bore traces of having been from year to year ruthlessly destroyed. Chenas of all ages – of 30, 20, 10 years and of today are seen cut out of the center of blocks of virgin forest presenting an appearance of wasteful destruction such as Batticaloa in the worst days of chena clearing never exceeded. To every enquiry I received the same reply, that in the Three Korales forests and chenas were all regarded as native property”.

The diary includes a collection of documents relating to this affair:  reports by three headmen: Ellawala, Mapitigama korala, Uduwe korala, list of chena permits issued by the Dissawe, enquiries on the spot, translation of olas, and report by Saunders to the Government agent of the Western Province. Mapitigama stated that “Timber felling had always been permitted and the Dissawe was in the habit of giving permits to whoever applied without any reference to him or the other koralas”, that “it is customary to apply for permits to Dissawa when the timber has already been felled”. Ellawala (who was a close collaborator of the British) stated that “in the Four korales and Saffragam lands of this description are generally considered Crown property, unless there were parties who claimed them under special grants”. He hinted that timber was purchased by the rest house keeper of Yatiyantota and a Muslim, Mamalla Marikar. Uduwe korala (who belonged to the dominant local family) gave a complete list of people involved in timber felling, village by village, pointing out that most lands were abandoned chenas whose owners sold the timber to intermediaries, except in the case of the Kendawe/Tunbage duraya, Marasinghe Unga, who explained that he went to Colombo twice a year to sell about 10 timber logs.

The villagers were summoned at Ruanwella in December 1864 and they stated that their chenas were private (this was actually recognized 30 years later by the Forest settlement) and were sold and purchased before notaries (Meeragalge Gunaya said he owned 60 amunam of chenas and 1 ½ amunam of paddy and cultivates 1 or 2 am. of chenas each year). Uduwe korala himself recognized he owned a chena in Yatideriya. It is quite clear that in that particular area – the Uduwe korale, the Duraya population had customary rights on highlands recognized by the dissawes: they were not given written documents by the powers, but oral recognition; and the new headmen, collaborators of the British, such as Ellawala volunteered to deny these rights to please their masters, while old local families, such as the Uduwe, were compelled to do so.

Saunders decided to repress chena cultivation in order to control the sale of timber to low country carpenters and furniture dealers, and to reserve high lands for sale to coffee planters ; at that stage, there was no question of settlement, but just the harsh implementation of Ordinance 12 of 1840: “ I have now given the most stringent and positive orders that no permits whatever shall be granted to remove timber from private lands without reference to me, and have directed that no chenas whether claimed as private or not should be cultivated without notice be given to the kacceri and permission received. Some decided steps should be taken to settle and register all the native chenas in the Three Korales”. Saunders prosecuted timber fellers, among whom one Moratuwe Puran Appu and one Muslim figured prominently, together with a number of Duraya people employed as ‘shareholders in cutting’. He tersely concluded: “This species of cultivation must be put a stop to”, adding: “some new estates are being opened and are said to be doing well. I think all this land will soon sell as coffee land and I shall strongly recommend its being at once surveyed”. It was apparent that the headmen (and their head Eheliyagoda Dissawe, who ran the Three Korales as his personal estate, just like his predecessor Mattamagoda) were involved in the traffic and in the habit of distributing permits to remove timber without reference to the kachcheri. Saunders concluded: “The large and remote districts of Three Korales and Lower Bulatgama should no longer be left under the sole control of the Dissawe (…) Without sufficient local supervision the exertions of a local Assistant Government Agent are almost useless and I again beg to recommend that a Ratemahatmaya may be appointed.”

A similar policy was initiated by the Agent of the nearby Ratnapura district, Birch, who mentioned that the villagers “claimed as paraveni the entire highland, chena or forest within the limits of the village”. This was not new: already in 1840, in a petition dated 3 November 1840, the local headmen had insisted on the dependence of the inhabitants on chenas dreading “in the event of the ordinance being enforced, no less than the actual horrors of famine” Birch argued that the extension of kurakkan cultivation was due to its not being taxed, and proposed to tax all the chenas. He decided to check the tax receipts himself instead of relying on headmen.[61]  A few years later Saunders was posted at Ratnapura and after noticing the discontent created by his repressive policy he changed his mind (at that time, the planters began to consider that it was much easier to buy chena lands from villagers than from the Crown):  “Much dissatisfaction is caused throughout the district by the suppression of chena cultivation, a proceeding which operates with greater hardship owing to the non-settlement of native claims to waste lands…Indeed I consider it would be better at once to surrender the presumed right of the Crown to all chenas or waste lands other than forest, say over 20 years old, rather than allow this uncertainty to exist, an uncertainty under  which no man knows what land he may safely buy, sell or cultivate”[62]  A way out of the uncertainty of title was of course what could be called settlement by sale to the planter.

In spite of these repressive fits, until 1870, the practice in the Kägalla district, or at least in its southern part, was not to interfere with chena cultivation where trees were under 20 years of age and admit the land as private[63]. But in 1870, upon orders from above, a new systematic offensive was launched against chena cultivation. The renewed attempt at strictly enforcing the ordinance of 1840 in the Kägalla district and controlling chena cultivation was linked with the new demands of the planters: Aelian King, one of the Agents, was a regular visitor of the planters, like all his predecessors: he mentions in his diary (28 June 1873) that “he often visited Whitham, the Narangalla planter, for private business”. The actual working of the chena policy in the Kägalla district was largely an affair of persons: the turnover of Assistant Agents left a large power to the chief headmen who remained in charge for long periods, especially in the Three-Korales[64]

 

The attempts at restricting chena cultivation immediately met with resistance of the villagers. In 1871, the Agent, Lee, pointed out to his superiors the dangers of such a policy[65]: “Dissatisfaction is felt among the people at the action taken by me (under orders) with reference to hén (chenas). The ordinance of 1840 vests the title to these lands in the Crown, unless the claimants are able to produce a sannas or grant. The entire cessation of hén cultivation would lead to dire distress in several parts of the district and in Three-korale especially, where the paddy fields are few and not productive. I therefore arranged that licenses should be granted on application, and that a tax of 1/10th should be levied, 1/14th being the tax on private lands. The people however appear to consider that they have acquired a title if they have cultivated the land once or twice within the past fifteen hears, and they decline to accept any compromise. It cannot be denied that the people feel strongly on this subject, and are dissatisfied with any action which tends to weaken their hold on the hén. I do not think the lands are worth the discontent, and recommend that the claims of the Crown be entirely abandoned. By so doing, the Crown would lose perhaps a little by way of royalty on plumbago, but would gain much in the hearts of the people”. In a letter dated 30.08.72, Lee explained the opposition he encountered in applying the instruction of his superior given in a letter of 27.04.1871 : “I have warned the people that they must take out licenses for chena cultivation, and told them that I cannot admit their right to chena unless they can produce sannas. As I reported to you by letter of 21.05.1872, the people altogether declined to consider that chenas are Crown property, and they will not take out a license for cultivation of chenas which they deem theirs”. Lee added that on inspection in Atulugam korale and Pata Bulatgama, the chenas cleared appeared as landu [woods and bush resulting from the regrowth after chena] and not forest. Finally, on 19 September 1872, in reply to a petition sent by ‘certain inhabitants of Atulugam and Panawal korales’ who complained of their chenas being deemed Crown property and taxed at 1/10th, the Governor “informs the petitioners that there is no intention to interfere with the cultivation of chenas, where undoubted proprietary rights exist, but that in every other case, persons cultivating chenas without license will do so at their risk”[66].

 

In the Ratnapura district, a similar offensive was launched in 1872[67]: “The principal subject which engaged my attention was the pernicious system of chena cultivation which has been destroying the district and demoralizing the people leading to encroachments and litigation  (…) The question has to be dealt with cautiously as a great portion of the chena land was claimed and had been held from time immemorial as appurtenances of paddy fields. Even in royal sannas and grants the names of the fields only are mentioned, although 6 times the extent the extent of high lands is generally granted as appurtenances of the fields described. The ill effects of this uncertain tenure encourage encroachment and litigation (and) affords a means of extortion by headmen, whose services must be secured whether the land is Crown or private”. 

In both districts, uncertainty and discontent were widespread. Upon the orders of the Government Agent of the Western province, the Assistant Agents of Kägalla and Ratnapura issued a circular on 5.09.1872, which was supposed to allay the fears of the people and laid down the policy to be implemented by the headmen:

  1. No tax on fine grain
  2. No Crown chena to be cultivated without license
  3. Private chena cultivated with älvi taxed at 1/14th (except in proclaimed villages)
  4. The question of private right will be dealt with liberally. Lands generally to be treated as private when cultivated regularly and at stated intervals.
  5. Forcible entry on Crown land promptly prosecuted and crop confiscated
  6. Licensed chena taxed at 1/5th for paddy and when exceptionally allowed to be cultivated with fine grain to be subject to a moderate rent in money
  7. Attention of headmen specially directed to the necessity of discouraging fine grain cultivation on Crown property, especially in the neighbourhood of forests and on land fit for coffee cultivation
  8. No license on forest land
  9. Necessity to cultivate wholesome food.

In the Kägalla district, the sudden publication of these instructions and of another circular issued to headmen warning them to be very careful in the matter of chena, and that they will be held personally responsible for any illicit clearing, “caused general dissatisfaction. The very liberal treatment which the question is receiving [proof of tax paid within 20 years of the time of the claim being made ; recognition of the principle of allowing appurtenances to mud lands] is gradually dispelling this feeling in the Four Korales, but in the Three Korales, where the inhabitants are less capable of understanding the action of government, and more thoroughly dependent upon this kind of cultivation for subsistence, there is still and will be for some time much discontent”[68].          Chena restriction resulted in severe shortage of food in some areas. This was recognized by the administration but its effects were minimized during the following years[69].

 

Aelian King, who took over the administration of the Kägalla district in September 1872, tried to lay the blame on his predecessor, while insisting on the unreliability of the headmen[70]: “Ekneligoda Ratemahatmaya had instructions from Mr. Lee, who evidently misapprehended the meaning of certain correspondence on the subject, to suffer no chenas whatever to be cultivated without a license from the kutchery and to give the people to understand that a tax of 1/10th would in every instance be exacted”. He therefore in November 1872[71] tried to reassure the chena cultivators and reported that all the chiefs had applied to him on the subject and that there was “a good deal of misconception about the intentions of government”. In order to cool down the public spirit, he proposed to tax the chenas at 1/14th as in previous years (that is at the ‘private’ rate), reserving “the right to reclaim any chena which he may hereafter deem to be the property of government”, and reported to his superior in Colombo, who answered (letter of 9.11.1872) that he had decided to send a surveyor to Three-Korales “to define the limits of such lands as have been generally treated as the common lands of the villagers of that district” and come himself to Ruanwella next month “to initiate a settlement on the principles of the annexed memorandum which you will in the meantime follow as closely as possible”.

 

King was no less repressive than Lee, if one judges by his ‘Memo for the information of each Ratemahatmaya and Korala in the Kägalla district’, of May 1873[72] : “You are hereby warned to be more than ever careful of the Government rights in the matter of chenas throughout your charge. You will send me at once a list of all the chenas being cleared in your jurisdiction and you will carefully report in the case of each as to whether the land belongs to the Crown or to private parties. You will be held personally responsible in cases where you report that the Crown has no right”. An annexure gives a form on which must figure “the name of fields of which chenas are respectively claimed as appurtenances” – this clearly excludes recognition of the property of chenas in village with no or little paddy fields. In his diary from October 1872 to August 1873, one finds several cases of land (including in the town of Kägalla) proclaimed Crown after very summary enquiries. In 6.07.1873, in the case of Alagalla lands, he wrote that “prescription by virtue of intermittent assertions of right as in chenaing and regular cultivation and occupation is different”.

In the Ratnapura district, Atherton, the Assistant Agent, published a victory bulletin which is a piece of wishful thinking [73]: “I am glad to report that the rules proclaimed last year to prevent the destruction of forests have succeeded beyond my expectations”. He then described the lamentable state of things in the Kukul korale, which according to him had become, after ages of chena cultivation, “an unfruitful wilderness which barely supports the few people who exist in it, a sickly useless set like the land they inhabit [sic]”. In the same breath, he mentioned the existence of a large untouched forest at the northern boundary of the district “in every way suitable for coffee and tea cultivation, soil fair, climate pleasant…At present it is the hunting ground of the Galagama villagers who collect large quantities of horn, honey and bees wax.” His next report was more explicit: “There are valuable and extensive tracts of forest which in a few years would realize high prices when the lands in the center of cultivation are exhausted. With a view to their preservation I have put a stop to chena cultivation in their neighbourhood to prevent the depredations committed some years since in the Kukul korale. It is no hardship to the natives who have sufficient lands surrounding their villages, which on account of their being frequently cleared are unfit for coffee cultivation and would only grow cereals.”

Aelian King was instrumental in giving visibility to what he called ‘the chena question’. The ‘chena question’ was discussed at length in the Administration Reports of Kägalla for 1872 and 1873, and the correspondence between the Government Agent of the Western Province and his assistant at Kägalla between September 1872 and February 1873 was published as sessional paper for the information of the Legislative Council[74].  Aelian King began his reports with descriptions on the model of those of Saunders during the previous decade : “The reckless and defiant system in which chena clearings are carried attracts the attention of every traveler (…) the frequent and often audacious encroachments under cover of a chena claim (…) The government is here to a considerable extent at the mercy of its headmen, and frequent changes in the higher and more responsible officers of the Crown afford the greatest facility for gradual and insidious annexations of this sort  (…)  The headmen as a rule endeavor to support native claims to chenas, being themselves highly interested, and therefore desirous of an indulgent treatment of the question. There is much injustice in the partial and erratic consideration of the question whereby numbers of unsound claims are left unnoticed while a few cases are severely dealt with (…) Nor it is in instances where large forest is felled that the greatest injury is done: small jungle containing the germ of future valuable timber is constantly and of course with much fewer chances of detection felled and destroyed. It is highly demoralizing that property apparently worthless for the growth of timber or for any other purpose from which government might derive benefit, can be appropriated with so much facility”[75]. “Once when on circuit through the district shortly after assuming charge, I had occasion to go on foot for some considerable distance in company with a subordinate headman. After accomplishing several miles through jungle, chena and paddy fields, my companion came to a sudden stand, and with the air of a man conscious that his intimation must impart sincere gratification: this, said he, is Government land”.

 

He proposed a general and systematic policy: “It is high time that Government should take active measures to lead to a general and systematic protection of its own rights, while affording to the people a uniform method of dealing with their claims”. The question was before treated in a “highly inconsistent and spasmodic manner”.  The report pointed the contradiction between “the popular notion that every land which do not bear high trees is prima facie the property of the people unless the contrary can be proved” and the idea behind the ordinance of 1840 that all highlands are prima facie the property of the Crown unless the contrary can be proved. It added that « the universality of private claims (…) has frequently led to the sale of much doubtful property by the Fiscal (…) the usual means of parting has been the Fiscal’s department, an execution debtor finding that he could satisfy a writ by surrendering his chena, has naturally done so in preference to losing his paddy field”. Other difficulties experienced by the colonial administration laid in the confusion in the names of the chenas which did not correspond with a precise plot of land but rather to a range of lands where chena was practiced. And in the interpretation of the instructions given by the authorities to tax ‘private’ chenas cultivated with älvi at 1/14th and ‘crown’ chenas at 1/10th  (in that case, taxation is in the nature of a light rent) ; and the interpretation of the ‘equivocal’ 6th clause of ordinance 12 of 1840 itself : “Is a sannas in every case absolutely necessary, or is it to meant that a private claim to be admitted must be either supported by a sannas and proof of boundaries, or by a proof that the land has been taxed as a private land for a certain fixed period ?” And which period? Finally there was “much injustice in a partial and erratic consideration of the question, whereby numbers of unsound claims are left unnoticed, while a few cases which come prominently before the notice of the Assistant Agent are severely dealt with (…) and harassing that parties are frequently submitted to by being required over and over again to attend the kacceri to produce what evidence they can afford”.

           

The case of the Matara district offers a different example. Being a section of the Southern province, and not of the former Kandyan kingdom, it was not legally ruled by the same sections of the ordinance of 1840, but the repressive policy was similar. Morris had become the Agent for the Southern Province, and in a situation of failure of paddy crops, his assistants at Hambantota and Matara asked for a relaxation of the rules limiting chena cultivation to enable the cultivators to avoid famine. Morris refused and in a letter to the Colonial Secretary dated 12.11.1867, he argued against chena cultivation in Matara with the interests of planters in view, attributing the climatic changes to the felling of forests “not only for coffee estates, but to an infinitely greater extent for chenas”, and adding: “in the immediate neighbourhood there is ample employment with liberal wages for the very men who are anxious to clear chenas, viz on the coffee estates, which are now worked with foreign labour, because the local residents prefer to work Government lands on their own account”. He complained that “both these gentlemen were undisposed to act in accordance with the strong opinion held by me on this question” and he accused the headmen to be the principal instigators and profiteers of chena cultivation.[76]

Elliott, his subordinate in Matara, who “finding that Mr. Morris was extremely opposed to the measure, was reluctantly obliged to drop the matter” “Very great distress has been the consequence, especially in Kandaboda pattu where the people have not had a moderate harvest since 1862 and where in 1866-67 between 9 and 10 p. c. of the population were carried off by fever and connected ailments, greatly aggravated by the want of proper food… Dr Anthonisz (the Colonial surgeon) has been shocked by the prevailing misery; the fever is intensified and the death rate magnified by all the horrors of semi-famine (…) the supply of food being much reduced by the prohibition of chena cultivation on Crown lands”. According to Elliott suppression of chena  cultivation “is a mistaken policy and calculated to do immense injury, and I submit that the present order for its suppression should be cancelled, the practice acknowledged… Elliott considered that the principle of Crown property of highlands implied that the British should exert this right “as the fathers of the people”, and that under the Dutch rule it was “usual to allow the cultivation of these waste lands on permission being asked, and a nominal portion of the crop reserved for government (…) while under the term kanuis paraveni many families held a limited hereditary interest in large tracts of chena lands; but claims under this tenure have for some years past not been recognized”. He added that large extents were fit only for chena cultivation “providing a supplementary supply of food for the people” through the system of mixed cultivation. Government should authorise it: “the most effective way of securing this would be to choose blocks of chena lands in central positions, conveniently situated for access from different villages and well away from forest and other valuable land ; these should be cut up by the survey department into 5 acres lots and cultivation permitted on payment of survey fees”. He concluded: “chena cultivation is indispensably necessary for the well-being of the people, as is shewn by the undoubted misery caused in the neighbourhood by its indiscriminate suppression”.[77]

In spite of Elliott’s arguments, Morris four years later carried on his policy:  “I am aware that Mr. Elliott entertains a strong opinion of the benefits of chena cultivation…I would encourage the planting of gardens but in the Matara district I consider that fine grain cultivation ought to be put an entire stop to. There are abundant demands on the estates, the roads, the irrigation works and by private individuals for labour which has now to be imported from India, whilst our own available population is engaged in destroying the country.”[78] When Elliott left Matara his successor Fisher fell in line with Morris, recommending a total prohibition: but “so wedded had the people become to the occupation of chena cultivation that I found the sale of 1/2 the crops had no effect on unlicensed clearing and I accordingly ordered the prosecution of all offenders…These harsh measures have had the desired effect and entirely put a stop to the practice”.[79] Later Elliott became Agent of the province and rules were relaxed from 1885 to 1892, since it was impossible to enforce the control owing to the connivance of headmen, and he considered that in the hilly part of the district (Morawak), chena cultivation was necessary to the survival of the population and could not be detrimental to forests[80]. Afterwards another assistant agent, Le Mesurier, adopted a more repressive policy upon the orders of his superior, who wrote in his report for 1897: “Soon after I assumed duties I obtained the sanction of government to interdict chena cultivation in the Morawak korale and if possible in the Hambantota district. There is such demand for labour throughout this district that there is really very little necessity for chena cultivation as a means of food supply” The assistant wrote: “The only division in which this prohibition is really felt is in the Morawak korale, where the extent of paddy land is quite insufficient for the requirements of the population. The people must however learn sooner or later to find a livelihood independently of Crown chena land, and the sooner they begin the better…however it is desirable that all private claims to chenas be enquired into and dealt with in a liberal spirit.”[81]. Le Mesurier had to quit the Civil Service and started perverting the system by collecting deeds of highlands in the very district he administered before, on the pretense of helping the villagers fight the administration: hence a new repressive fit aimed that time at Le Mesurier but falling on the villagers as well. Finally the colonial administration was compelled to tolerate an amount of chena cultivation which it tried to keep in narrow limits[82]: “For many years past, practice to allow chenas for persons who cannot otherwise maintain themselves, on a nominal rent of 2 Rs per acre and on a scale of 1 acre for a man, ½ acre for his wife and every child over 5. My predecessor only allowed chenas on lands where growth was under 10 years”.

When Morris became Government Agent for the North-Western province, at the border between the wet and dry zones, he carried on his repressive policy. In his view, there was “a steady and rapid desertification of the country by the destruction of forest and jungle for chenas, and the consequent diminution of the rainfall”, and food shortage in 1874 was the result of the sequence chena cultivation > disappearance of forest > drought > failure of paddy cultivation. He inferred from this theory that chena cultivation should not be exempted from tax, and be stopped at once – as if it was to restore rainfall at a stroke![83] This officer went so far as to write leaflets printed in Sinhala “to explain the ABC of the question”, and condemned the laxity of his predecessors : “For years this wasteful cultivation has been far too widely permitted until of late almost all attempt at repression seem to have been abandoned”. Famine was according to his view the result of drought, itself the result of chena cultivation, and paddy cultivation was abandoned because chena cultivation was so much easier… In 1877, a witness explained that stoppage of chena cultivation by Morris three years before had resulted in that in the Wanni “many people died from want of food or from disease brought on from the use of unwholesome food, such as jungle leaves, roots, fruits and so on”. Morris then “told the headmen to allow the people to cultivate chenas, saying that he did not meant to prevent the people to cultivate their own chenas, but only meant to prevent their encroaching upon Crown lands (!!!)* and since then the chena cultivation is continued under many restrictions and great fears of prosecutions by the Government Agent”[84].

After years of more relaxed administration, the extension of private land sales for coconut plantations in the North Western province led to a general revision of the policy by F.R. Ellis (Controller of Revenue) and to an alternation of repressive and permissive fits. During Mc Callum’s governorship, in 1911, a fresh Government Agent, Thorpe, decided that “permits for chenas should be insisted upon” and he was going to proclaim by tom-tom beating in the villages “what the government view of the title to land is”. The then Controller of Revenue Fraser, in a private letter, warned the Colonial Secretary: “Unless great care is exercised by government in retraining Thorpe’s well-meant but almost fanatical zeal, you will steadily have a recrudescence of the whole land question in Ceylon. I understand the people of Weudawili are contemplating organized action… I see no object in exasperating the people by fines and prosecutions”.[85]  In other terms, whatever strong the legal position of the Crown, the only sound policy was to maintain the good feelings of the villagers by expediting amicable settlement: as that time, as we shall see later, a new and on the whole more successful highland policy was being set up by the Settlement department.          

The situation was the same in the nearby the Matale district, where after a long period of rather lax enforcement of the law, there were repressive fits in the 1870s: but the permissive pattern was so well established that the Agent lamented that: “it appears to be the firm conviction of every Kandyan that all forest land belongs not to government but to the natives and that the fact that a man has cleared without the knowledge or with the connivance of the headmen a jungle once or twice at intervals of 7 to 10 years and sown kurakkan gives him a right to claim the land as his own.” Similarly in 1912 and 1913, the Agent (Southorn) noted that the sudden repressive policy pursued by his predecessor (Tyrrell) had created a serious tension – after years of laissez-faire. Tyrrell acting on the orders of the governor McCallum, had decided to enforce the 1840 ordinance  and not to follow any more the practice of recognizing village claims to ‘paraveni chenas’ and allowing highland ‘appurtenances’ to paddy fields, in order to check private land sales to outsiders, especially to European rubber big firms.[86]

The colonial policy as described by J.C. Scott in the case of South-East Asia was at work in Ceylon [87]: “The narrowing of subsistence options 1. forced the peasant family further out of production for his own use and further into the market. Bamboo and firewood had to be purchased (…) Buffaloes for whom there was not enough pasture had now to be rented (…) The peasant might not be poorer but he was increasingly vulnerable to price fluctuations outside his control. 2. The loss of these free gifts of nature together with the decline of labour intensive handicrafts eliminated many of the possibilities for village poor to remain independent. A life on the margin was more difficult. The only route to survival within the village led to a permanent dependence on those who hired labour. 3. Rents and taxes that had been tolerable only because this margin of subsidiary options remained open, became more intolerable once they were closed”.

 

Peasant resistance, administrative tolerance and final extinction of chena cultivation in the wet and intermediate zones

 

Chena repression has been analyzed as “the only source of discontent among the Kandyans” (Bailey 1857). Cases of open opposition occurred and these are by definition well documented: sending petitions and memorials, protesting before grain tax commissioners or settlement officers. But resistance generally took passive or covert forms, with the connivance of headmen: non-reporting of chena clearings, pleading destitution, using forged tax receipts, under reporting of extents were common means open to those villagers who had good connections with the headmen and could eventually bribe them[88]. One should be aware that a large part of the official reports on the subject are pieces of wishful thinking, and that colonial administration was largely self-deceptive in the matter: this becomes evident when comparing official reports with local evidence.

In a report dated 5.03.1887[89], Price, the Assistant Agent in Kägalla, explained that the change of the system of tax assessment in 1880 led to a rise in taxation : “Even as regards älvi, the extent indicated in the tax receipt or the wattoruwa is – if of a date previous to 1880 – generally much smaller than the actual extent which was cultivated . The discrepancy is explained by the fact that before 1880 chena crops were taxed by officers appointed for the purpose and known as wibadde lekam. These headmen were paid at a fixed rate of 37c a day, the number of days allowed for the work in each division being subject to supervision in order that a fair amount of work be ensured. As a consequence the wibadde lekam were, it is believed, not too scrupulous on assessing the extent of the crop, depending on the gratitude of a cultivator whose taxation was liberally reduced rather than on the small stipend which they obtained from the kachcheri [now the assessment is done by the korala who] is paid by a commission of 5% on his collection, it is accordingly to his interest to make as high an assessment as is compatible with justice”.

As early as 1840, the leading headmen of the Ratnapura district submitted a petition on the fate of chena cultivation under the new law[90]: “The greater part of the inhabitants of this district being entirely dependent on their chenas for their subsistence, they dread… no less than the actual horrors of famine and the concomitants of people labouring under want and increase of crime”. The governor replied that there would be no interference with regular chena cultivation, even when no payment of tax was proved. But soon afterwards, by 1848, the Ratnapura headmen found it necessary to write down a chena lekammitiya (register of highlands, in sinhala, still extant) which however was never admitted as proof of title by the administration[91]. In 1847, Kandyan chiefs “complained that Government claimed all uncultivated lands, but there were chiefs who had lands in different parts which they cultivated at intervals. Others had reserved the higher lands on purpose for timber, others did not cut down the timber in some parts of their lands for fear the rivulets and water courses should become dried up by exposure. If the government claims these as forest lands, what was to become of them all?” [92]

Peasant resistance combined with the inner contradictions of the repressive policy led some civil servants to question its relevance before the end of the 19th century. D’A Vincent, Forest Commissioner reported in 1882: “For 10 or 15 years it has been held that in compliance with an order from Government, chena cultivation could be stopped, but the impossibility of stopping the cultivation of grain on which the poorer people depend as much or possibly even more than on paddy, and the inability of any administration to carry out order in opposition to the mass of the people and likely to inflict hardship, unless supported by the law, have not been considered. The issue of the order and its occasional repetition appears to have satisfied the conscience, especially when it has met with an occasional assurance that the order was being carried out and that chenas were stopped.(…) It has been frequently pointed out that if the wants of the people are considered and chenas are allowed in moderation, the people are easy to manage; if chenas are forbidden absolutely, they get exasperated and when owing to some excuse of famine, the orders of government are suddenly relaxed, the forests are devastated wholesale”[93].

It is likely that chena repression led the villagers to lay claims which would not have occurred to them, by a process of reification: such was the case in the Matara district[94]: “Formerly the villagers used to cultivate large extents on permits from the Crown, paying share to the Crown. During that period the title of the Crown was never questioned. Then the policy was adopted of restricting chena cultivation in the hope that the people would devote themselves to permanent products, especially paddy; this may be good policy where paddy land is available in a village, and the people have the means to acquire it. But if the people have no money, they cannot buy it and can only work as coolies or go to a big irrigation work. This chena question has greatly strained the relations between the Revenue officers and the villagers.” The Revenue Officer fined the villagers who disregarded his orders and when he found that they continued, he forbade cultivation and sequestered the crops: “This, the villagers say, drove them to desperation for they must live, and they began to clear, claiming the land on any frivolous title. It is in this way that a great many claims have originated. Now the villagers refuse to acknowledge Crown title. The villagers spoke quite sensibly and said they did not want the land but only their immemorial right to chena” [95]

By the end of the 19th century, peasant resistance began to be assisted by local lawyers, scornfully dubbed by the Bristish ‘jungle proctors’: the method was to play the game by laying claim to huge areas. Hiring lawyers, generally with the help of interested parties such as low-country speculators, and refusing to obey orders, became a general practice, especially in the Kurunegala and Matara districts. As late as 1928, H.R. Freeman, an ex-Revenue Officer with a long experience in the intermediate zone, could question the colonial policy in his testimony before the Land Commission: “How is it that these law-abiding villagers become law breakers in the matter of their food supply ?”[96]

Peasant resistance combined with Le Mesurier’s provocative attitude in Matara contributed to the enactment of a new ordinance on waste lands in 1897 and compelled the administration to set up a mechanism of systematic land survey and settlement. starting work in the Morawak area. Three successive prominent officers, J.P. Lewis, W.E. Davidson and J.G. Fraser were entrusted to the task, and being on the spot they soon realized that chena repression was counterproductive. Lewis described thus the result of the repressive policy : “At Alapaladeniya, chena cultivation was allowed from 1885 to 1892 and in 1892 it was fully put a stop to; the people were then much better off than they are now, as there is not enough paddy land for them to cultivate. Men now go to Panagoda in Hinidum pattu to work in the plumbago pits…but all the people cannot get work at the pits. Nearly everywhere in the district I am told by the headmen that the people owing to the stopping of chena cultivation and the want of paddy lands do not get enough to eat. Yet the Administration report usually says that “food was plentiful”[97]. Davidson, who remained in duty a few months only, had to face the Government agent who criticized his proposals[98]: he wanted to declare Crown all the highlands but to allow chena cultivation to a limited extent and on payment of a 1/10th share to the Crown. His analysis is worth quoting: “The more I see of the condition of the people of Morawak korale, the more I realize that chena cultivation is a necessity for their existence. I did not wish for motives of policy to allow claims which were not really sound. My compromise of allowing the villagers to practice chena cultivation over a defined area of chena while paying 1/10th as rent to the Crown was a solution which pleased the people. Fraser again was struck by the miserable appearance of Morawak villagers, and “after considering the question without bias” he found that “chena cultivation must be allowed. What the people want is chena. They do not want the land”

The situation in the nearby Hambantota district, which lies in the dry zone, was different, but the result of chena restriction was similar[99]: “the land is useless in its present state, no better than when under chena. Why then not allow chenas under certain conditions of re-afforestation (…) Claims are largely put forward because chenaing is forbidden (…) Chena is bad, but no worse than allowing land to remain under scrub”. The situation was described by Leonard Woolf who was posted there in 1908 and by the settlement officer Wait, who criticized the refusal to give chena permits in settled villages of East Giruwa pattu[100]: “the enforcement of such an order must mean either the migration or the starvation of the inhabitants. These people are absolutely dependent on chena cultivation for their supply of grain. Formerly they have chenaed at their own sweet will, tempered with the fear of a fine if they did not obtain permits (… Judging from the number of young gardens and encroachments in nearly all these villages between Talawa and Kirana, the population is increasing and the increase is largely due to people drifting inland from the more crowded population near the coast. Gradually more land will come under permanent cultivation and the spread of coconut plantations will no doubt in time diminish the amount of chenas required. But this gradual growth will be at once checked if a reasonable amount of chena cultivation is not allowed, at all events for some years to come”

The natural process of conversion to permanent cultivation is well documented in the diaries of the settlement officers of the early 20th century, in spite of their colonial prejudice[101]: in the southern province where population pressure was maximal, “the villagers have helped themselves to what they wanted (…) The usual modus operandi of the villager appears as follows. In the 1st year he clears a chena, perhaps on permit, perhaps oftener without one. Along with his chena crop he plants a few fruit trees in the corner. Next year he plants sweet potatoes, sugar cane and plantains and builds a hut. 2 or 3 years after he puts in more fruit trees and some coconut seedlings, and claims his encroachment as a paraveni garden. Where he has a bona fide garden he generally puts his fence out a few yards every now and then till he has taken in a considerable amount of Crown chena” (…) “A villager squats on an acre of land, clears it, puts up a hut, sows fine grain and puts in 6 to 12 coconuts. At the end of 2 years he abandons this portion and opens up another acre or two not adjoining it but in the vicinity. This goes on perhaps for 8 to 10 years and by this time a number of isolated parcels of land containing each one or two coconut plants, the survivors of successive plantations, have been created. Some of the coconut trees in the 1st clearing then come into bearing and became of value in the eyes of the cultivator.  He then clears round them and erects a house of a more permanent nature and then proceeds to carry a fence round all the patches of cultivation so as to enclose them as also the intervening waste land. A coco tree, jak and so on grows up and the waste land is cultivated at times with fine grain”.

But subdivision among shareholders tended to slow down individual peasant enterprise in the view of colonial administrators[102]: “One man starts a new garden and gradually extends it little by little till when he dies there is a thriving plantation of perhaps several acres. By the time the trees are decaying there are it may be 10 or 1é descendants who in the midst of their family squabbles all hold fast to their shares of the fruits of the garden. Ergo when anyone wishes to start with a new garden, he is generally careful to choose a piece of what even the villagers acknowledge to be Crown land. At all events he is free from the claims of importunate relatives or connections by marriage, and if it is an out of the way place and the headmen are complaisant, the tiresome formality and expense of obtaining a Crown title are dispensed with.”

Modernist administrators such as Davidson considered chena doomed by progress but were prepared to encourage the process of conversion to permanent cultivation: “The fixed policy of government is in favour of the extension of permanent garden cultivation. With this end in view, endeavours are being made to limit the area held under the panguwa system of land tenure and now wholly devoted to the destructive methods of chena cultivation. The government hopes thereby to be able to sell small allotments of land to villagers under Crown grants, thus facilitating the transfer of land from the family to the individual”[103]. “Chena cultivation is the result of the communal system of holding highlands in vogue in the Kandyan provinces, and as a method of agriculture it decreases and disappears before the growth of wealth and the security of a personal title in land. I can illustrate this by means of a table in which are placed the korales of this district in order of wealth and population, showing how in the more favoured places the population has grown up to the capacity of the paddy fields to feed it, and the leisure to turn the highlands into gardens instead of being compelled to cultivate them with grain (…) As soon as the peasantry has a margin between it and hunger, it will improve its lands permanently, and chena cultivation will tend to decrease.” [104].       In view of the very general obsession of a release of a vagrant population, everything had to be done to avoid the prospect of an uprooted rural proletariat: the object of most planters was therefore antagonistic with the views of government, which tried to avoid what they called a silent revolution. The best – actually the only means to prevent it, was to keep the peasant on the land, admit any form of cultivation including chena, and then encourage conversion to garden (or small-scale plantation). The alternative was not between chena and paddy, but between chena and garden. Chena cultivation was indispensable for a successful transition to permanent garden cultivation, especially in the intermediate zone as it offered resources until the trees bore fruit[105]: “Gradually the population is increasing, gradually more land will come under permanent cultivation and the spread of coconut plantations will no doubt in time diminish the amount of chenas required in the less arid parts of the district. But this gradual growth will be at once checked if a reasonable amount of chena cultivation is not allowed, at all events for some years to come (…) A liberal chena policy is necessary for the preservation of health and even existence. The undue restriction of chena cultivation, until the villager has learnt to go in for garden cultivation, can only result in the impoverishment and gradual extinction of villages”.

The dramatic increase in garden cultivation and concomitant development of rural markets in the whole of the island during the first decade of the 20th century was noticed by every observer. It started even before in some areas such as the north of the Kägalla district, where 1500 acres were planted in one year[106]. The process of conversion from chena or even patana (grass land) to permanent cultivation is conspicuous in Uva and Sabaragamuwa, where the administration gave up its control over regularly cultivated highlands, and the settlement officers were at a loss ‘to deal with such encroachments’. In 1935 “large number of plots used exclusively for vegetable plantations, lands planted in rotation, hence also they presented to the eye the appearance of chenas recently cleared; they were in reality old vegetable gardens with periods of cultivation extending to over 30 years”[107]. Some areas eventually specialized in market products for urban consumption, as plantains in Kägalla, and vegetables in Rakwana and Uva. In the north of the Kägalla district, garden development was the result of the development of a banana market created by the Rambukkana railway station, of the un-reservation of Crown land previously reserved for fuel supply, and of the enterprise of Batgam and Vahumpura cultivators combined with Moor and Karawa traders.

But of course the larger part of chena land in the wet and intermediate zones had been alienated for estate plantation development, and the reports for Kägalla in the 1920s all notice that “most of the lands traditionally labelled chenas are chenas only by name, growing for the most part rubber, plantain, papaw, arecanut palms”; “chena cultivation seems to be dying out, the villagers preferring to work for wages on the estates and buy imported rice in the bazaars.”  However the transformation of shifting to permanent cultivation was not an easy task and the return to chena was attempted during food crises : “No form of cultivation is so dear to the villager as the chenaing of high forest and when the crisis opened up such vast possibilities he was not slow to take advantage of them”[108]. At the local level, conversion was either through the sale to outside planters, or through the formation of small-scale plantations by the villagers themselves. The question is whether the large-scale sale of chenas to outsiders prevented the development of village gardens and/or of village plantations.  

Conversion of wet zone chenas to rubber and intermediate zone to coconut plantations accelerated during the first two decades of the 20th century. At the island-wide level, it is documented by census statistics collected by Patrick Peebles[109]: between 1921-24 and 1946, areas cultivated under the chena  system in the whole of the island were reduced by 42%; in the dry zone, the reduction was only 32% in the North Central province; in provinces including dry and intermediate/wet areas it reached 37% (Central Province), 40% (North Western Province), 42% (Uva); in the wettest areas it was as high as 75% in Sabaragamuwa, where the rubber boom practically wiped out chena cultivation in the 1920s. But in the dry and intermediate zones, chena cultivation was still practiced besides coconut cultivation, and there were fits of repression, which however were pointed out as abnormal in the context of politicization of the 1920-1930s[110]

                       

Rehabilitating chena cultivation

In colonial circles, there were timid attempts to defend slash and burn cultivation, and critiques of the colonial policy, such as Ludovici, recognized that chena cultivation was complementary and not contradictory with paddy cultivation: “Enthusiastic Government Agents with visions of imaginary forests sprung from the chena looming in the future, have prohibited chena cultivation as to this they attribute the decline of paddy cultivation. We fail to see in this connection the cause and the effect… If ever a paddy field is abandoned it is from causes other than choice… Wet and dry cultivation are not carried on simultaneously…Chena cultivation far from interfering with paddy cultivation, is only intended to supplement the produce of the former.” [111] According to another author, the chief headman Mahawalatenne, the choice was not between locally produced rice and chena products: if chena was forbidden, the people would subsist on imported rice.

Others questioned the reality of its ecological nuisance and noticed that chena cultivators were careful to protect water supply: “The chena system is undoubtedly responsible for a large amount of preventable erosion, but it is possible that the damage is not so great as is often thought. The chena cultivator does not introduce drainage systems into his land, but on the other hand he does not keep the surface of the soil so scrupulously clean as the estate owner, and the very presence of weeds assists in preventing soil wash”[112].       Others defended the cultivation on the ground of its profitability and adaptation to a traditional society: kurakkan cultivated on new clearings yielded much more than paddy; and the nutritional value of älvi was superior to that of wet paddy.

Several observers were conscious that chena products were the poor man’s, and not the lazy man’s crops: chena made the difference between destitution and survival and was the most reliable source of food.[113] The condition of ‘feudal village’ cultivators was considered by some as much better than that of others because they had unlimited access to chena[114]: “If a comparison be made between service villages and any adjoining village held by peasant proprietors and not liable to service, the results will be in favour of the former (…) This is attributable in a great measure to the greater security the service tenants possess from the settlement of village boundaries in reference to the chena  which, though cultivated in the most rude and primitive way, are of the utmost value to the poorer classes(…) To refuse to allow the cultivation of chena  altogether is often to condemn a whole village or district to starvation. And yet this has been attempted at times, in complete ignorance of the real state of the case. On one occasion, the temporary administrator of government publicly told a deputation that the government was determined to put down chena cultivation, as the chena plant was a most obnoxious weed which exhausted the soil and so on. Fortunately the deputation did not understand English, and the interpreter failed to explain the reasons of the temporary head of the government.” However there are numerous examples of feudal villages, especially devalegam, where chena cultivation was controlled or forbidden by their proprietors or trustees who wanted to sell them to prospective planters[115].

These early attempts at defending chena cultivation on the basis of a rational understanding have never been analyzed nor systematized in the literature on Sri Lanka. But I want to direct your attention in this respect to the brilliant defense of ‘swidden’ cultivation in Indonesia by Clifford Geertz in the second chapter of his classical Agricultural Involution[116]. According to Geertz, ‘swidden’ farming is integrated into and maintains the general structure of the preexisting natural ecosystem; contrary to the man-made and highly artificial wet paddy cultivation, its rationale is to reproduce the multiplicity of plants and resources found in the original tropical forest (which is itself the ecosystem with the highest diversity), eliminating the useless plants and adapting itself to a shallow soil which can only be regenerated with ashes and subsequent growth of trees; but intensification is impossible in such a system, and this is precisely why it has been condemned from the start by outside observers and revenue collectors.

Finally, the lucid analysis by the Settlement Officer Fraser underlined the contradictions of the government’s position. In a report to the Colonial Secretary in Colombo on ‘the chaotic state of land matters’ which was later censored on the order of government from his annual Administration Report, he put it bluntly[117] : “The English government having upset or allowed to fall into disuse the land policies existing in his eastern possessions at the time of annexation, cannot escape the responsibility of substituting for these the most perfect form of land policy which our western civilization can devise.”

“The policy of government has of late been to restrict chena cultivation; with this every right-minded person will agree. But have we substituted anything for it? Have we made it easy for the villager to take up permanent cultivation in place of chena cultivation? I think not. To ask the average villager leading a hand to mouth existence, to purchase land at 10 Rs an acre and fees is to demand of him an impossibility. Even if it were possible for him to raise this amount, it would mean that he would have to borrow it or that in paying it he would exhaust his capital…The result in one case will be that the moneylender will reap the benefit of the villager’s labours by selling him up, and in the other case he will have no capital to enable him to develop his purchase.” [118]

“The ethical objection to chena cultivation is that it is detrimental to character in making the people lazy and improvident. But for my part, I cannot see how enterprise and exertion upon chenaing can be half as demoralizing as periods of enforced idleness. For it is not as if gardens and fields were being neglected for chenas. No, they are cultivated, in many cases over cultivated, planted with trees until production is impeded by overcrowding. Even if given new areas to convert into gardens, the people, destitute of money, must have a means of livelihood until the new gardens come into bearing. And this means can only be found in chena cultivation.”    “There is no doubt that these lands formerly produced an immense quantity of Indian corn and fine grain, whereas they now produce next to nothing. The ‘waste’ all seems to be on the side of the present system if the question is regarded from the economic point of view (…) Asking villagers to desist from chena cultivation is much the same as asking them to starve to please government.” [119]

 

Annex:

Analysis by Assistant Settlement Officer L. L. Hunter of land use in the Kandyan villages (1928)[120]

“I do not agree with the proposition that in Kandyan villages the ownership of paddy land carried with it the right to cultivate chena in the village (…) The only land linked with the ownership of fields are what are known even to the present day as pillewa and owita. When a peasant is asked what lands are appurtenant to his fields, the invariable answer is the pillewa – a narrow strip of highland, chena or waste land, adjacent to the paddy field (…) With the exception of the pillewa, the remaining chena in the village was called paraveni chena. In a large number of cases, these paraveni chenas are claimed by claimants who are not paddy field owners. To call all these chenas ‘appurtenances to paddy fields’ is to deny the claims of persons who are not field owners. One might as well say that chenas are appurtenant to gardens.

The extent of the chena does not depend of the size of the family. Where a large extent of chena was cultivated by a village, the inhabitants of which decreased in numbers, the extent of the chena remained the same, the only effect being that the chena was cultivated at longer intervals.

I agree that all the chenas were originally held and cultivated on a communal basis. All the chenas of a village were cultivated by the inhabitants of the village, and individual families cultivated yearly an extent of chena as was sufficient to provide them with dry grains and vegetables for the year. Where the chena land was insufficient or worked too frequently, inroads were made in the adjacent forest which consequently became chena in the course of time. These chena lands were considered suitable only to the production of chena crops in due rotation; they were not considered the property of any particular villager; no claim by any particular villager was admitted, and no villager prescribed against any co-villager by the mere fact of his chenaing a particular area of chena.

When, as a result of the expansion of the gangoda, or the zeal of a particular villager, a portion of this chena was converted into a garden, the village as a whole rose up in arms against the encroacher, though, if he was able to resist his opponents and continue to possess his garden, the communal claim disappeared with the passing of time. The best example of the communal system of chena is to be found in the North Central Province and in the province of Sabaragamuwa, with this difference between the two that while in the North Central Province no claim to chena is made against the Crown, and the entire extent of chena is worked communally by the whole village, in the Sabaragamuwa district, portions of the chena are worked communally by a panguwa of the village, and the chena is claimed against the Crown. In the North Central Province, no claim has been put forward, to the best of my knowledge, by a villager to any particular portion of a chena, based on the fact that a particular chena was worked by him. The chenas in the North Central Province are and have been admitted the property of the Crown, subject to the right of the villager to ask for permission to clear and plant yearly such an extent of chena that will satisfy the needs of the village. This, I take it, is the origin of all chena cultivation in the Kandyan districts. That this practice has changed in parts of the Kandyan districts, due to a demand for land, or the failure on the part of the Crown to exercise its paramount title to chena, does not alter the fundamental principle on which chenas were cultivated by villagers, namely that the land was Crown with the limitation that villagers were allowed to eke out their requirements by cultivation of the soil at regular intervals.

[Hunter misses the point that it is the taxation system together with the nature of the grain which made the difference: where älvi was cultivated, that is in the wet zone, the paddy tax and its written apparatus led the cultivator to claim an individual right to a particular portion of chena; while in the dry zone, where kurakkan or amu only were cultivated, there was no tax on chena, but only the issue of a verbal permit by the headmen. It is essential to study the process by which chenas were appropriated to find out when and where taxation applied to hill paddy: it is likely that Three korale and Sabaragamuwa stand out and that the ordinance of 1840 did not contemplate the use of wattoru to prove title]

 

[1] E.R. Leach, Pul Eliya, Cambridge 1961, esp. p. 289-291; N. Yalman, Under the bo tree, Berkeley 1967; J. Brow, Vedda Villages of Anuradhapura, Seattle, 1978, esp. 100-104; P. Kloos, ‘Agricultural policy in Sri Lanka; the views of a 19th century colonial elite’, Focaal, zomer 1988, p. 56-79; J. Spencer, A Sinhala Village in a Time of Trouble , Delhi, O.U.P., 1990. Strictly speaking, a chena is a temporary field, which is again cultivated after years of fallow during which natural vegetation is allowed to grow; when uncultivated, the area is generally called landu (see Diary Settlement Officer, 7.02.1928).

[2] Robert Knox, A Historical Relation of Island Ceylon, London 1681, p. 43. Reprint with additions, Dehiwala, Tisara Prakasakayo, 1989.  Knox lived in wet zone villages for two decades by the end of the 17th century

[3] J.C. Scott, The Moral Economy of the Peasant, New Haven 1976, p. 15; in the description of swidden cultivation in Indonesia by Conklin , a similar distinction is made between “supplementary swidden farming” and “established swidden farming”

[4] M. Roberts, ‘The Impact of the waste lands legislation and the growth of plantations on the techniques of paddy cultivation in British Ceylon: a critique’, Modern Ceylon Studies 1970 p. 160; Lal Jayawardena, “The supply of Sinhalese labour to Ceylon plantations 1830-1930” PhD Cambridge 1963.

[5] Spencer 1990, p.105-106

[6] On owita, Colonial Office Records, Kew (hereafter CO) 461/2 Replies from the Agent at Ruanwella, and U.A. Gunasekara, ‘Land Tenure in the Kandyan Provinces’, B. Litt. thesis, Oxford, 1959, p. 28; also Sri Lanka National Archives (hereafter SLNA): Diary of the Assistant Settlement Officer (hereafter ASO) Hughes, September 1924: ovita is considered either as paddy or as highland “They may be regarded in an old village as paddy land on the margin of cultivation” (Godamuke village)

[7] R.E. Lewis, ‘The rural economy of the Sinhalese, more particularly with reference to the district of Sabaragamuwa, with some account of their superstitions’ Journal of the the Royal Asiatic Society, Ceylon Branch  II, 4 (1848), p. 41-42

[8] F. Lewis, Sixty four years in Ceylon , Colombo 1926, esp. p. 198 sq (village of Bambarabotuwa); SLNA 30 and 45: Diaries of the Agents of Kägalla and Ratnapura Districts ; diaries of the Settlement Officers (hereafter SO); also ‘Ievers on hen cultivation’, quoted in R. Pieris, Sinhalese social organization , Colombo 1956 p. 86.

[9] Diary of SO J.P.Lewis 18.12.1897: in the village of Narawelpita (Morawak) “chena is the only means of subsistence for depressed Vahumpura villagers”; this pattern was also common on the borders between Kurunegala and Matale districts, for example in the village of Moratihe Gabadagama (Diary ASO Abhayaratne, November 1933)

[10] Eric Meyer, “Historical Aspects of Caste in the Kandyan Regions, with particular reference to the non-Goyigama castes of the Kägalla District” Sri Lanka Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences, 40, pp. 21-54

[11] examples: Polatagama defined as a ‘rice village’(batgama) vs Denawakawatta defined as a chena village’(henagama), SLNA 30, Diaries of Assistant Government Agent (hereafter AGA) Kägalla, 12.8.1872; ASO Abhayaratne nov 1933 on Moratihe Gabadagama as compared with Moratihe Viharegama.

[12] F. Lewis, Sixty… p. 198

[13] Diary of the Settlement Officer, January and February 1931

[14] SLNA, Comments by ASO Hunter on the 3rd interim report of the Land commission (1928), p. 10; (quoted in annex to this chapter); Sessional Paper (hereafter SP) 22 of 1880 (Dry Grain Commission Report). In a document of the 1830s (CO 416/2 Replies of the agent at Fort King to the questions of the Colebrooke-Cameron commission) the term appurtenance to paddy fields is restricted to permanently cultivated fruit and vegetable gardens with houses

[15] Sessional paper 22 of 1880; from a revenue point of view, the most tax producing districts were Kägalla for älvi, Hambantota and Matara for other dry grains

[16] as suggested by Joke Schrijvers in Mothers for Life: Motherhood and Marginalization in the North Central Province of Sri Lanka, Delft, Eburon, 1986 and personal communication. Freeman, as Government Agent of the Eastern province in 1908, made the same remark in his Administration report (hereafter AR) for 1908, p. E3: widows with children depended on chenas in his district

[17] P. Peebles, Sri Lanka: a Handbook of Historical Statistics, Boston, Hall 1982 p.  111 & 118-119. (see next section)

[18] On tax evasion see Burden report 1916 in SLNA 30/868

[19]  See annex to chapter on Chena unsettlement in the Kägalla district; AR Kägalla 1878 p. 72

[20] AR Kägalla 1886 p. 146A; also CO 416/2 Colebrooke Cameron commission, replies from Ruanwella         

[21] R.E. Lewis 1848, p. 41-43

[22] The Administration Report of the Service Tenures Commission for 1871 gives a vivid description of how the headmanship system developed in Wellassa. It negates the idea current at the time of an original village community “No trace appears to exist of the management of a village community by a council of elders, as in a Jat village community” “all traces of a joint possession is lost” “but the possession of hen [chena] land in common still remains (…) in many villages especially in Matale north the whole of the hen land is held in common and there is a strong ground to believe that prior to the acquisition of the Kandyan territories individual possession of hen land was unknown. So clearly was this recognized that in some of the early records of this government the word hen was ordinarily rendered as ‘commons’. See also R.E. Lewis 1848 p. 40-41; H.W.Codrington, Ancient Land Tenure and Revenue in Ceylon , Colombo, Government Press, 1938, p. 4-5. For modern ethnographers, see especially J. Brow, Vedda villages… p. 100-104: “In summary, chena cultivation is egalitarian it is undertaken by the household on land which is not individually owned and is equally accessible to all”, N. Yalman,  Under… p. 100-101; on the other hand, Codrington, Ancient…, and Leach, Pul Eliya,… when describing “wheel chenas” in the dry zone, insists on the communal organization of the cultivation; Before the Committee on landless villagers, Madahapola, the chief headman of Hiriyala Hatpattu, in the dry zone, says that “chenas are not appropriated to each man, but by pangu” (SLNA, Land Commission records 907). Codrington considers that “the growth of claims on the part of pangukarayo [co-parceners] of a is comparatively recent”

[23] AR Nuwarakalaviya, 1871 (Rhys Davids)

[24] Miyanowita Forest Settlement, SLNA, Land settlement department records.réf?; Diary of ASO Ingledow, October-Novembe1936 (villages of Helarambe and Koskandehena: “I find that chenas are still as a rule worked on a communal basis”)

[25] SLNA, SO Archibald comments on the 3rd interim report of the Land Commission 1928; also diaries of ASO Ingledow, February 1936, for the villages of Gilimale, Helarambe, Koskandehena, and the general definition given by Abeyakoon, the Settlemen officer, before the Land commission of 1956 of the paraveni chenas of each panguwa “well known to the inhabitants and only the rightful owners may cultivate them”

[26] SLNA 65/958, letter 5.03.1887 AGA Kägalla to GA WP.

[27] see the case of Wattegedara: in this small Kelerata locality, the only family employed outsiders called pelkarayo, leading a wandering life, to cultivate its highlands in the 1870s: SLNA 65/1352, Harries claims. In remote dry zone villages such as Kahambane (diary of ASO Wijekoon, August 1938), the evolution from that initial system may be observed:  in the 1930s, the gamarala was still considered as the master of highlands: “Villagers obtained his permission to cultivate any chena in his jurisdiction and gave him a share of the produce of that chena or in lieu of this helped to cultivate a chena for him.”

[28]Land Settlement Records, Dorawaka file. Kägalla kacceri records, Old chena plan 269, Chena settlement file 1880 and Forest settlement file 1894.

[29] CO 416/2 Replies from Badulla :”The chenas on high grounds for the cultivation of dry grains are all fenced”; Diary ASO Seneviratne, September 1933 and August 1935.; diary ASO L.J. de S. Seneviratne, 10.06.1935

[30] J. Brow , Vedda…p. 103-104

[31] SLNA 45/1726: Kelani Valley Forest Register, Anhettigama,. Nur Yalman, Under the Bo Tree, p. 82 shows that people belonging to different castes do not cultivate chenas together. 

[32] R.E. Lewis, The rural p. 41-42; Ch. Malamoud, Cuire le monde: rite et pensée dans l’Inde ancienne . Paris, La Découverte, 1989, p. 93-114: ‘Village et forêt dans l’Inde brahmanique’

[33] Nur Yalman, op. cit.

[34] CO 416/20, G11 Evidence of George Turnour before the Colebrooke-Cameron commission; see also CO 416/2, questions 40 and 69: in the reply from the agent at Fort King “the uncultivated land is used for pasturage and is private property (…) government do not possess lands in the district, to give grants to natives or others”; but on the contrary the agent at Kurunegala says that “all land are supposed to be the property of government, rented to the present occupier on condition of paying a certain annual tythe and performing services  (Turner comments that this is quite wrong); and the agent for Ratnapura “would consider the government as proprietor of all unclaimed waste lands (…) and the proprietors very frequently set up false titles to chenas or highlands which have perhaps become the property of government by the extinction of the family of the original proprietor”, while the chief headman of the dry portion of the same district, Mahawalatenne, , “does not consider the uncultivated land to be at the disposal of government, it is used in pasturing cattle”

[35] AR Southern province 1872

[36]  AR Puttalam 1884 p. 100A

[37] S.H. Alatas, The myth of the Lazy Native. London, frank Cass, 1977

[38]  L.Ludovici , Rice cultivation, its past history and present condition,  Colombo nd (1867) (opening address to the Legislative  Council 3.10.1866) In a letter of Colonial Secretary to Government Agent Colombo of 21.1.73, Ludovici is mentioned as a private surveyor of great experience who could be entrusted with the task of effecting the chena  survey.

[39] SLNA, MP 04261/1910, minute of Governor Mc Callum, 29.05.1911. quoted by L. Jayawardena.

[40]  Administration report of the Agent at Ratnapura, Birch, for 1864 (in House of Commons Parliamentary Papers p. 139); however other administrators were skeptical: see note by Fowler dated 8.09.1906 in SLNA 65/2226: “The contention that chena cultivators if deprived of chenas will become vagrants carries no conviction to my mind when I see the results of the process of conversion; the people who become vagrants for want of chenas are of the class already worthless”. The same representation was found in Europe where the settled peasant population was distinguished from the numerous unsettled mobile occasional workers living in woods and waste lands: Andrée Corvol, L’Homme aux bois, Paris, 1987, pp. 116 to 130

[41] Diary ASO Davies, 9.03.1907

[42]  Andrée Corvol, L’Homme aux bois , Paris, 1987, p. 280.

[43] The only (early) document defending it was a memorial on the Kurunegala land question dated 29.10.1907 in which influent members of the Kandyan aristocracy and low country new rich asserted the necessity of chena in the dry zone and for some groups such as Kande minissu.

[44]  Diary of ASO Hunter, January 1928

[45] Administration Report of the Service Tenures Commission 1870

[46]  K.M. de Silva, A History of Sri Lanka, , London-Berkeley, 1981, p. 173 and 163-165.

  1. Dewasiri, The Adaptable Peasant: Agrarian Society in Western Sri Lanka under Dutch Rule, 1740-1800. Leiden, Brill, 2008, p. 65-67; Davidson and Fraser, as settlement officers, held a slightly different view, insisting on the encouragement of garden cultivation by the Dutch (see my chapter on Land settlement)

[47] David Ratemahatmaya in a letter dated 24.12.1860 included in the diary of the Agent for Kägalla for that year (SLNA 30/1); see also report of the Government Agent for Kandy Braybrooke in CO54/345/D

[48] R. Herring, ‘Redistributive agrarian policy: land and credit in South Asia’, Ph. D. Wisconsin, Madison, 1974, p. 404

[49] RE Lewis 1848 p. 43 ; Great Britain, Eastern pamphlets 52, p. 34-35

[50] SLNA 10/177a: AR Matara 1853

[51] letter AGA Matale to GA Central Province 18.04.1859 reproduced in CO54/345

[52] Included in Kägalla diary for October 1863 (SLNA 30/1) ; the full story of these Dompelgoda lands is found in the diary for June 1871 and in the manuscript ‘Reminiscences’ of the agent, later Reverend, H. Mooyart (available at the Library of the University of Sri Lanka, Peradeniya). Had the village been high caste, there would have been such deeds and the position of headmen might have been more permissive

[53] Templar (Report on the Central Province for 1864, in House of Commons Papers for that year)

[54] CO 54/345, annexures: Memos on the Chena question by Bailey, 1857 and 1859

[55] AR DJ Kurunegala 1867 p;.182

[56] AR Kägalla 1868, p. 32-33

[57]  See CO 57, Executive Council of Ceylon minutes, 4.09.1855 

[58] F. Lewis, Sixty Four Years in Ceylon, Colombo 1926, p. 219

[59] CO 54/393, dispatch of 7.10.1864

[60] SLNA 30/3, diary of the AGA Kägalla, 1-5.10.1864 and 15.12.1864. Frederick R. Saunders was the son of a Controller of Customs, who joined the Survey Department after his return from India; his younger brother, Henry S. Saunders (1841-1919), was the Chairman of the Ceylon Planters Association in 1876-1878; he was associated with Ratwatte Basnaike Nilame regarding the lease of temple lands in Talduwa, and he had as manager of Yellangowry estate been involved in dubious dealings in Dampelgoda with the then Assistant Agent Mooyaart: in all these cases, low caste villagers deprived of land rights were victims of landgrabbing. The Saunders brothers offer a glaring case of close connections between civil servants and planters. In a private letter the former governor Arthur Gordon (then Lord Stanmore) wrote to the Colonial Office (CO54/653, Stanmore to Lucas, 9.03.1898): “My reasons for distrusting Sir Frederick Saunders’ judgement it is unnecessary to state. It may suffice in this connection to say that as Government Agent of the Western Province, when that province included Sabaragamuwa, he was always in favour of placing the harshest and strictest interpretation of native land claims, except indeed in a few cases where he showed singular indulgence.”

 

[61] Administration Report Ratnapura 1864 (in House of Commons Parliamentary papers 1864, p. 139),

[62] AR Ratnapura 1868 p. 18 and 22 (reproduced in Papers on Service Tenures, SP 18 of 1869)

[63] Diary AGA Kägalla, December 1869 (Magala village)

[64] EKNELIGODA Ratemahatmaya was in charge from 1864 to 1892: compare with the succession of Assistant Agents: Frederick SAUNDERS (02/1864-11/1865), George WORTHINGTON (11/1865-01/1867), George DE SARAM (01/1867-03/1869), George PATERSON (03/1869-09/1869), Lionel LEE (09/1869-09/1872), Aelian KING (09/1872-10/1873), Augustine DAWSON (10/1873-06/1875), Frederick Robert BILLS (09/1875-11/1876), Charles Edward PENNYCUICK (11/1876- 12/1877), Robert IEVERS (12/1877-08/1880), Collin MURRAY (09/1880-04/1881), George BAUMGARTNER (04/1881- 05/1883) Robert IEVERS (02/1884-12/1885) with WACE interim in 1884; Cecil John Reginald LE MESURIER (06/1885- 03/1886) ; Fernando Hamlyn PRICE (01/1886-11/1888 ; 01/1890-03/1892 ; 03/1894-02/1895) and Walter Edward DAVIDSON (03/1892 – 12/1893 ; 02/1895 – 12/1896)

 

[65] AR Kägalla 1871 p. 29-30; in the diary of 1870, several petitions against -the new chena policy are mentioned

[66] In the Kägalla kacceri, the file of the Pannila village in Panawal includes this petition of Pannila Goyigama villagers, (2.03.1872)

[67]  AR Ratnapura 1872 p. 27-28 (E.N. Atherton)

[68] AR Kä 1873, p. 117; Sessional paper 15 of 1873, letter n° 443 GA WP to AGA Kä

[69] AR Kägalla 1875 p. 65-66: “It appears that there must have been a scarcity of food, but it was relieved I hear by emigration to the neighbouring coffee estates of much of the adult population during the year, and so avoided calamity. The cultivation of high lands in this division should I think be liberally regarded”.

[70] Diary AGA Kä, October 1872

[71] Quoted in Sessional paper 15 of 1873

[72] Diary AGA Kä, May 1873

[73]  AR Ratnapura 1873 p. 111-112, 1874 p. 18-19

[74] AR Kä 1872 p. 32-35, 1873 p. 117; Sessional paper 15 of 1873 (Cultivation and Survey of Chena Lands)

[75] AR Kägalla 1872 p. 32-35. It seems that Saunders, who became Government agent of the Western province, impressed upon his subordinates at Kägalla and Kalutara to follow a most repressive policy

[76]  AR Matara, 1867  SLNA 11/471 

[77]  AR Matara, 1868, p. 232-33 (Elliott)

[78] AR Southern Province 1872 p. 149 sq.

[79]  AR Matara 1875 p. 19

[80] AR Matara 1886 p. 91A, 1896 p. E17; AR Southern Province 1888 p. 155A

[81] AR Southern Province 1897 p. E8, Matara p. E20.

[82] AR Matara 1904 p. D45

[83] AR NWP 1874, p. 125-127: he based his theory on the work of Col. Corbett from India

* in text

[84]  SP 16 of 1877, Grain Tax Commission report, appendix, answers to questions, J.G. Jayatileke, Kurunegala. This official report is one of the rare sources linking famine conditions in Ceylon in the early 1870s with the anti-chena policy

[85]  SLNA, 65/2059; Fraser to Bowes, 31.07.1911 and 22.08.1911.

[86] AR Matale 1872 p. 61, SLNA 65/1954A, and AR Matale 1911-12 p. B18-19 and 1912-13 p. B22.

[87]  J.C. Scott, The moral …, p. 64

[88] Peasant strategies were those analyzed by J.C. Scott in Weapons of the weak. Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. Newhaven, Yale University Press, 1985.

[89] SLNA, 65/ 958 (Kelani Valley Forest Reserve)

[90]  CO 54/345, Memorial of the inhabitants of Saffragam, 3.11.1840

[91]  SLNA, 65/2219, letter GA Sabaragamuwa to Col. Secr., 6.07.1908

[92]  CO 54 /238 Torrington to Secretary of State for the Colonies 12.08.1847 encl 2, Notes of the 1st conference held at Kandy 29.07.47 with a deputation of chiefs and priests of the Kandyan Provinces.

[93] Report on the conservation and administration of Crown Forest in Ceylon, Sessional Paper 43 of 1882, chap. 6

[94]  Le Mesurier, Memorial to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 12 June 1896, in SLNA, 65/570

[95]  Diary SO Fraser, 14.06.1902

[96] Freeman, elected representative of the dry zone peasants, raised the issue before the Legislative council (SLNA L563/27, 26.06.1927, and in his evidence before the Land Commission in 1928. 

[97]  Diary of SO J.P. Lewis, 21 November 1900.

[98] Diaries of SO Davidson, 18-21.06.1901 and Fraser, 30.11.1901

[99] Diary of SO Fraser, 10.11.1901

[100] AR Hambantota 1908 p. D19; Diary ASO Wait, 14.03.1909

[101] Diaries of ASO Wait, July 1906 (Murungasyaya), and SO Fraser July 1904 (Walgammulla)

[102] Diary ASO Wait 24.11.1906 (Katuwana area)

[103]  Kelani Valley Railway Commission Report, Sessional paper 22 of 1895 p. 46

[104] AR Kägalla 1896 p. J 17: see also report of 15.5.95 in SLNA 45/1868=65/1187, Kandupita Forest Settlement

[105] Diary of SO Wait, 14.03.1909., and Tyrrell, GA NWP, in his AR for 1924 p. F2, who had changed his mind when compared with his policy in Matale

[106] AR Kägalla 1891, p. J26

[107] E.B. Denham, Ceylon at the Census of 1911,p 467; Diary SO Fraser, July 1904, and ASO Wait, October 1905; AR Uva 1928 p. H9, Ratnapura 1928 p. I4; diary ASO L.J. de S. Seneviratne, 6.06.1935 (Kumarapattiya village, Uva)

[108]  E.B. Denham, Ceylon at the Census of 1911, Colombo, 1912 p. 467 (summarizing district reports). A.R Kägalla 1920 p. I15 and 1927 p. I 21; AR Sabaragamuwa 1914 p. I4

[109] calculated from P. Peebles, Sri Lanka… table VII p. 118-119

[110] For example, according to the diary of ASO Rasaretnam of October 1932, chena cultivation was not allowed in 1931 [in Ihala Otota country] but “the present ordinance does not prevent the villager from cultivating his paraveni chena, and where they requested permission they were told that as far as Crown was concerned they had no objection. It may be more than one year before the villager will know that he can cultivate his paraveni chena”

[111]  Ludovici, Rice cultivation… chap 1. Mahawalatenne report in Census of Ceylon 1901, vol 1, appendix F: “This much abused but little understood cultivation is in reality not so bad or so unremunerative as it is represented to be”

[112] In SP 3 of 1931, chap 3;  also Ellis (SLNA, 65/1075, Land settlement work in the NWP, memorandum dated 10.02.1904): “The representations made by scientists and others as to the injury done to the soil by this species of cultivation must be considerably exaggerated” . See contra: evidence of planters before the Commission on Soil denudation in the Kelani Valley (SP 42 of 1905), which blames ‘the wasteful and pernicious system” and pretends that “in mountain regions the rivers have a tendency to become naturally silted” !!!

[113] also 65/1187, GA CP to CS 20.01.1904: “the poorer villager who could hitherto get a permit for chena cultivation will be left to the tender mercies of his more powerful neighbour”

[114]  Report on service tenures AR 1870 p. 286 (by Dickson, who is however biased in his defense of the feudal system)

[115] In Kägalla, villages of the Kandy Maha devale; in Matale, case of Ambokka quoted by Lawrie, vol I, p. 42-43.

[116] C. Geertz, Agricultural Involution: the Process of Ecological Change in Indonesia.  Berkeley, 1963.

[117] SLNA, 65/1684A ‘Formation of a Land Settlement Department’, SO to Col. Secr. 9.01.1907

[118] Diary SO Fraser 31.10.1903

[119] Diary SO Fraser, November 1901 and June 1902.

[120] SLNA L/62/1928 Reports of the Revenue and Settlement Officers concerning their comments on the 3rd interim report of the Land Commission. Louis Lucien Hunter (1889-1959) was a first-class but modest Ceylonese Burgher colonial administrator with a grass root knowledge of the country who became a nominated member of the Senate after Independence. Educated at Royal College Colombo, he was initially trained as a teacher. He was free from any prejudices and theories, being neither linked with the colonial business plantocracy, nor with the self-proclaimed national bourgeoisie, nor with the Cambridge-educated progressives.

Coronavirus and politics in Sri Lanka

Nous attirons votre attention sur un article du professeur Jayadeva Uyangoda, qui fait le point sur la situation à Sri Lanka et sur les implications politiques de la crise sanitaire, que vous pourrez télécharger ci-dessous

(courtesy Sri Lanka Brief)

 

 

 

 

 

Les premières semaines du gouvernement Rajapakse

En l’espace de deux semaines, le gouvernement issu des élections présidentielles s’est lancé dans une série de règlements de compte visant ses adversaires politiques. Il a commencé par l’épuration des services de la police qui avaient été chargés d’enquêter sur les meurtres de journalistes et sur les affaires de corruption remontant à la période du premier gouvernement Rajapakse (2006-2015). A la suite du départ précipité à Genève, en compagnie de sa famille, et avec ses dossiers, d’un policier menacé, une employée locale du consulat de Suisse à Colombo a été séquestrée plusieurs heures par des inconnus qui ont récupéré de force les données de son téléphone portable, et des membres d’ONG en contact avec la Suisse ont été inquiétés. La reprise en main de l’appareil policier prélude à la reprise en main de l’appareil judiciaire.

Un article du New York Times analyse les implications de l’affaire de l’ambassade suisse:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/27/world/asia/sri-lanka-rajapaksa-crackdown

Rapport parlementaire sur les attaques de Pâques 2019

Le Parlement de Sri Lanka vient de faire paraître son rapport sur les responsabilités des services de sécurité sri-lankais dans les attentats de Pâques. Ce rapport confirme ce qui était suggéré dès après les attentats, à savoir la non-transmission à la police par les services secrets sri-lankais des informations fournies par les services secrets indiens d’une attaque imminente contre des églises et des hôtels, et la rétention par ces mêmes services d’informations concernant le groupe extrémiste musulman à l’origine des attentats.
Le rapport suggère que “de nouvelles investigations seront nécessaires pour comprendre si des personnes ayant des intérêts personnels n’ont pas agi consciemment de sorte à créer le chaos et l’incertitude dans le pays dans la perspective des élections présidentielles devant se dérouler plus tard dans l’année”. Sans le dire explicitement, l’allusion vise Gotabhaya Rajapakse, dont les liens avec les services secrets de l’armée sont bien connus, et dont l’appui constant aux organisations bouddhistes anti-musulmanes a contribué à attiser la violence en retour des extrémistes musulmans. La parution de ce rapport à quelques jours des élections n’est évidemment pas fortuite, et son contenu soulève suffisamment de questions pour qu’il soit versé au dossier

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