Question – poem in Tamil and English

https://polity.lk/question-cheran-rudhramoorthy-trans-anushiya-ramaswamy

Question – கேள்வி  

Cheran Rudhramoorthy (trans. Anushiya Ramaswamy)

 

The moon, shredded, hangs on
the fence; midnight.
Yama’s messengers,
who rend lives,
tread on the falling leaves.

Demons buried in the well
in the corner of the backyard
brace to emerge now.

On this night that dissolves in grief,
without losing to slumber,
I pluck my heart and
place it on the table.
The table trembles from
the loud groans dripping with blood.

The heart cools
in the external breeze.
I begin my poem from where
I had stopped.

I have never been grappled
by a poem, like today.
This poem wandered about
in the open space for a long time.

The very beginning of the
poem is a question;
A question about
friends who were murdered,
friends who disappeared.

This poem, born out of
a question,
leaves me suddenly;
As unwoven words and
passion, unstructured by the brain,
outpour,
this poem departs—

It goes around the two-storey house
that lies in the dark,
unwashed even by the full moon;
angrily slams the ancient doors
now locked,
listens intently from beside
the tightened windows.

It melts near the blood stain
smeared on the outer wall,
searches the voices of grief
still clinging to the tall trees;
in the nights,
it follows footprints
on the seashore;
gets drenched in blood
amid the Pandanus thickets.

It wanders over the waves,
prodding the overturned corpses;
Looking for eyes among the
corpses without eyes,
faces amid the corpses
without face,
it is enraged.

It stops hesitantly on a
single slipper thrown
into the street,
the glasses tossed
on the doorstep,
the overturned bike lying
on the street corner.

It is puzzled, unable to comprehend
the reflection in the marble eyes of babies,
born after their father’s death;
carrying the tears of the mothers,
it stumbles and falls down.

Under the gallows,
above the graveyards,
in the corners of camps,
on the tables,
near the pen that is open now,
like before,
in the unfinished lines of a letter,
on the pictures hanging from the wall,
clothes scattered in the room,
the flowerless Portia trees,
the wet Palmyra,
on a single flower on the hair,
it spins on like a top.

In the wind and the expanse,
the closed iron doors,
guns that leak smoke,
the poem slams and asks,
what happened to our children?

நிலவு கிழிந்து தூங்குகிறது
வேலியில்
நள் யாமம்;
உதிர்ந்து கொண்டிருக்கும் இலைகளின் மேல்
நடந்து திரிகின்றனர்
உயிர் திருகும் எமதூதர்.

அடிவளவின் கிணற்றுக்குள்
காலம் காலமாய்ப் புதையுண்டு கிடந்த
பூதங்களும்
இப்போது சிலிர்த்துக்கொண்டு
கிளம்புகின்றன.

துயிலில் தொலையாது
துயரில் கரையும் இன்றைய இரவில்
இதயத்தைப் பிடுங்கி
மேசைமீது வைத்துவிடுகிறேன்
குருதி சொட்டச் சொட்டப்
பெருகும் அதன் ஒலிக் குமுறலில்
கொஞ்ச நேரம் நகுங்குகிறது மேசை.

வெளியுலகின் காற்று வாங்கிக்
குளிர்ந்து போய்விடுகிறது இதயம்

அப்போது
விட்ட இடத்திலிருந்து என்னுடைய
கவிதையைத் தொடங்குகிறேன்

இன்றையைப் போல
என்றைக்கும் ஒரு கவிதைக்காக
நான் உழன்றது கிடையாது
வெளியில்
நெடுநாளாய் அலைந்தது இக் கவிதை

அதனுடைய ஆரம்பமே
ஒரு கேள்விதான்
கொல்லப்பட்ட நண்பர்களைப் பற்றி
காணாமல் போன நண்பர்களைப் பற்றிய
ஒரு பெரிய கேள்வி அது

கேள்வியில் பிறப்பெடுத்த
இந்தக் கவிதை
திடீரென்று என்னைவிட்டுப் பிரிந்துசெல்கிறது
நெய்யப்படாத வார்த்தைகளுடன்
அறிவால் நெறிப்படுத்தப் படாத
மிகையுணர்ச்சியும் சேர்ந்து
பிரவாகம் எடுக்க
இந்தக் கவிதை பிரிந்து செல்கிறது

பௌர்ணமி நிலவிலும்
ஒளி தோயாமல் இருளில் கிடக்கிற
அந்த மாடி வீட்டைச் சுற்றி வருகிறது
இறுகப் பூட்டப்பட்டிருக்கும்
அதனுடைய பழங்காலக் கதவின்மீது
மூர்க்கமாக மோதுகிறது
இறுகிய யன்னல்களுக்கு அருகே சென்று
உன்னிப்பாகக் கேட்கிறது

வெளிச் சுவரில் தெறித்திருக்கும்
குருதிச் சுவட்டருகில் நின்று உருகிறது
வீட்டின் வெளிப்புறம்
ஓங்கிய மரங்களில்
இன்னும் ஒட்டிக்கொண்டிருக்கும்
அவலக் குரல்களில் தேடுகிறது
இரவுகளில்
கடற்கரையில் காலடிச் சுவடுகளைப்
பின்தொடர்ந்து செல்கிறது
தாழம் புதர்களுள் ஒளிந்திருந்து
குருதியில் நனைகிறது

அலைகளுக்கு மேல் அலைகிறது
அவை புரட்டிவிடும் உடல்களைத்
திருப்பித் திருப்பித் தேடுகிறது
கண்கள் இல்லா உடல்களுக்குக்
கண்களையும்
முகம் சிதைந்த உடல்களுக்கு
முகங்களையும் தேடிச் சினக்கிறது

தெருவில் வீசப்பட்டுள்ள
ஒற்றைச் செருப்பின்மீது
வீட்டுப் படிகளில் வீசியெறியப்பட்ட
மூக்குக் கண்ணாடிமீது
தெரு முனையில் புரட்டி விடப்பட்ட
மோட்டார் சைக்கிளின்மீது
தயங்கித் தயங்கி நிற்கிறது

தகப்பன் தொலைந்த பிறகு
பிறந்த குழந்தைகளின்
பளிங்கு போன்ற விழிகளில்
எதிரொலிப்பது என்ன என்று தெரியாமல்
குழம்புகிறது
தாய்மாரின் கண்ணீர்த் துளிகளை
ஏந்திக்கொண்டு செல்கையில்
தலை குப்புற வீழ்கிறது

தூக்கு மரங்களின் கீழ்
புதைகுழிகளின் மேல்
முகாம்களின் கோடிப்புறங்களில்
மேசைமீது இப்போதும்
அப்போது போலவே கிடக்கும்
மூடப்படாத பேனையருகில்
முற்றுப் பெறாத கடித வரிகளில்

சுவரில் தூங்கும் படங்களில்
அறையில் சிந்தியிருக்கும் ஆடைகளில்
பூவாத பூவரசுகளில்
ஈரப் பனையில்
ஓரக் கூந்தலின் ஒற்றை மலரில்

நின்று பம்பரம் போலச் சுழல்கிறது

காற்றிலும் வெளியிலும்
மூடப்பட்ட எல்லா இரும்புக் கதவுகளிலும்
புகை கசியும் எல்லாத் துப்பாக்கிகளிலும்
அறைந்து கேட்கிறது
எங்கள் குழந்தைகளுக்கு என்ன நடந்தது?

1990.

 

Cheran Rudhramoorthy, professor in the Department of Sociology and Criminology, University of Windsor, is an academic, poet, playwright, and journalist.

Translated from Tamil to English by Anushiya Ramaswamy, professor in English, Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville, USA.

Image source: https://bit.ly/4hPRvmy

 

Note

Original poem in Tamil published in: Cheran. (2000). Nee Ippozhuthu Irangum Aaru [The River You Are Now Descending Into]. Nagercoil: Kalachuvadu Publications.

NR

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Words to Kill a Man, and Free a Man

https://polity.lk/words-to-kill-a-man-and-free-a-man-kanya-d-almeida

 

Words to Kill a Man, and Free a Man

Kanya D’Almeida

 

In the early months of 2012, I inherited two troves of literature. I had been hunting for one of them for years; the other arrived unsolicited.

The first was an archive of the journalistic work of my uncle, Richard de Zoysa, during his career—cut short by his murder in 1990—as a reporter for the Rome-based Inter Press Service (IPS) news agency. 

The second was the unbound, unedited manuscript of an American political prisoner, a former Black Panther named Russell ‘Maroon’ Shoatz who had been incarcerated in the state of Pennsylvania for nearly four decades.

I was a news reporter myself at the time, employed by the same agency that Richard had been working for when he was killed. I had recently been transplanted from New York City to a desk at IPS’ Washington office, where my bureau chief, an exceptionally sharp, veteran journalist—whose small room on the 14th floor of the National Press Club in DC was primarily occupied by heavy metal filing cabinets jammed with news cuttings and clippings from decades past— kindly allowed me to conscript him into my search for Richard’s dossier.

All my life, Richard had twirled above me like a mobile over a baby’s crib: shifting, wonderful, shadow-casting, and always out of reach. He and my mother, first cousins, had been raised as siblings in the same home. She had witnessed, perhaps more intimately than anyone else, his evolution from a precocious child (whose mind may have bordered on genius) to a kind of cultural titan in Colombo, his presence dominating the stage, his voice crackling through radio broadcasts, his face on television screens reading the evening news—and finally, his byline on the international wire, in dispatches from Sri Lanka.

I had read his poetry and paged through dozens of photo albums documenting his acting career (which began with a very professional adaptation and home production of Hamlet’s soliloquy To Be or Not to Be when he was nine years old) and I had heard stories about stories about stories—but never actually read his journalistic work.

All these articles, I would ask my parents, his colleagues, the Internet—that he was threatened for, followed for, murdered for—where are they?

            Gone? Lost? Scrubbed out?

It was with my excellent bureau chief, both of us huddled over his archaic desktop computer one afternoon, that we managed to extract, from the depths of JSTOR, one of Richard’s pieces entitled ‘Pride Stalks Beneath a Full Moon’. The dateline read “COLOMBO, May 22, 1989”. It was locked behind security passwords and paywalls. While my boss made stern phone calls to the relevant, automated authorities of that impenetrable digital library, I hurled abuse at the screen that kept telling me I lacked the required credentials to access my uncle’s writings.

What we ultimately ended up with—a small cache of articles constructed in the signature IPS style of an inverted pyramid with a buried lede and delivered in Richard’s sparse yet polished prose—felt to me like finding the missing shard in a fragmented family heirloom.

*

A few weeks later (or was it a few weeks earlier?), I received a FedEx envelope containing a 200-page document titled, The Making of a Political Prisoner by Russell Maroon Shoatz. An accompanying note from a recent acquaintance said only that he wished me to review the draft of this autobiography with a view to using it as the basis for a screenplay. The man whose life story was contained in that bulky envelope, my friend explained, was nothing short of jaw-dropping—he’d escaped prison twice in the 1970s, spent over 22 years in solitary confinement, and was a prolific revolutionary theoretician and scholar, revered by The Movement and despised by the authorities who had sworn to preside over his slow death in the Hole. The Hole. Shorthand among prisoners and guards for solitary confinement.

The name ‘Maroon’ was an honorific, a respectful reference to the many thousands of slaves who, on almost every continent, escaped the plantations, formed liberated communities, and lived as free people. His supporters and some of his family believed that a powerful biopic would help to ignite an international campaign for his freedom bid. After all, everyone loves a good story. It would require a significant commitment on my part: to interview Maroon himself, which was complicated by his status as a maximum-security prisoner; and to meet and speak with his tribe—children, comrades, counsel, co-defendants.

I was fresh and green—25 years old, with a ready pen, steeped in American cultural mythology (particularly such vague notions as freedom of speech, or the power of the people, organised and united)—and hungry for meaningful work as a writer.

I was also afraid. The twin revelations of Richard’s past and Maroon’s imagined future—with myself strung between—felt somehow double-edged: the sweet promise that words might be powerful enough to free a man were dogged by the horror that words were dangerous enough to kill a man. 

Both men were stunning writers, in very different ways. Maroon’s chapters read like spoken word, a beautiful language of the streets fine-tuned in the depths of isolation. He grew up in a gang in West Philadelphia, became a community organiser, joined the Panther Party, and stood trial for murder before spending most of his adult life in prison. But his story had no ending, whereas Richard’s seemed to begin at the end—with his own death—and then plough its way painfully backward in time through a dismal chapter of Sri Lanka’s history.

*

All of Richard’s articles I unearthed were published roughly in the first half of 1989 and ceased abruptly on 10 August with the publication of a piece entitled, ‘SRI LANKA: Nearing a Human Rights Apocalypse’. Still, after thirteen years and dozens of reads, the prophetic flavour of that pithy 899-word bulletin sends chills down my spine. The opening paragraphs need little explanation:

Residents of the seaside suburb of Mount Lavinia, three miles from the Sri Lankan capital of Colombo, were awakened at around 3:00 AM on Aug. 6 by gunshots.

As the night curfew in force throughout Sri Lanka ended one hour later, the bolder ones ventured out of doors. They found the bodies of six youths – five dead, one dying of gunshot injuries – their hands tied behind their backs, lying on the beach.

The injured boy told them he was from Ganemulla, a small town 25 miles from the capital. Mount Lavinia residents say he accused the Special Task Force (STF) – police commandos – of dragging him from his house, bringing him to Colombo and shooting him.

Killings like this happen daily in southern Sri Lanka, where the security forces are hunting down left-wing rebels from the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) in a major government drive to wipe out what it calls “subversion”.

This, in a nutshell, was Richard’s beat: piecing together, victim by victim, corpse by corpse, the story of the violent insurgency and still-more-violent counter-insurgency that throttled Sri Lanka in the late 80s. And it wasn’t the first time—the piece took its title from remarks delivered in Parliament on 9 August 1989 by the then-opposition leader Sirimavo Bandaranaike, demanding the creation of a parliamentary committee to look into arrests and indiscriminate killings, which had topped 1,000 just that month:

Bandaranaike, who crushed a JVP-led student insurrection when she was prime minister in 1971, yesterday chose to make a distinction between the JVP and the youth who support it in her apocalyptic statement in Parliament.

“These are our future generations. Why have they resorted to violence? Because they have no education — schools and universities are closed, they have no hope of employment, they see injustice and corruption all around them, she declared.

“If you have no answer except to meet indiscriminate killings with equally brutal reprisals . . . You will build up a monster no-one will be able to control”, Bandaranaike warned.

The article goes on to detail the particular horrors of that time, namely the lawlessness that rendered the entire population either victim or suspect, and the rest terrorised into silence:

Masked men travelling in vehicles without license plates were abducting young men from their homes. Human rights activists say most of the “secret” killings are carried out by plainclothes squads from the regular forces. The government closed down schools in Sinhalese areas in June and followed up by sending the military onto southern campuses July 11.

Members of the campus group “Students for Human Rights” say the 250 students taken into custody were the lucky ones.

“Most of those arrested on campus are still alive, although in detention”, says “Kumar”, a spokesperson for the group. “It is when the students go back to their homes that they are in the greatest danger. The local police or military come for them with a license to kill.”

The “tire treatment” is a common form of punishment meted out to suspected rebels. Villagers and townspeople alike have grown used to the sight of bodies smouldering on public roadways, charred flesh indistinguishable from burning rubber.

Other suspects were blindfolded, tied to trees or lampposts, and shot – often after being tortured.

Under Sri Lanka’s harsh emergency regulations and anti-subversion laws, police or military officers can dispose of dead bodies without autopsies and detain anyone for up to 18 months without producing them in court.

“We have filed hundreds of habeas corpus applications (calling on police to produce arrested people before magistrates) but under the law, the government need not do anything about these”, explained human rights lawyer Prins Gunesekera.

Gunesekera says he himself is in danger. He and another lawyer, Kanchana Abeypala, have been placed on an “endangered” list by the human rights organisation Amnesty International after they were warned to stop campaigning against rights abuses.

A third lawyer from the human rights lobby, Charitha Lankapura, was murdered – allegedly by the STF – in early July after returning home from a student demonstration.

Surely, no clearer prologue to his own death could have been written: abducted from his home without charge or warrant, shot, and his body dumped in the sea. No investigation, no explanations. For decades I have listened to my elders talk in circles of speculation as to the causes and culprits behind Richard’s murder—Why? On whose orders? For what?—without ever arriving at an undivided answer.

*

It is tempting to surmise that Richard’s clarity of analysis and reporting were reason enough for the government to remove him. In a dispatch from 22 May 1989, Richard notes:

Pride stalks Sri Lanka today, in a variety of guises. There is the racial pride of the Sinhalese, who make up 70 percent of the island’s 17 million people (mostly Buddhist), as well as the pride of the 1.4 million-strong Tamil minority.

There is also the pride of two fierce militant groups, one Sinhalese and one Tamil; the pride of two armies, one Sri Lankan and one Indian; and the political pride of their governments in Colombo and New Delhi.

He goes on to detail the political manoeuvres required to juggle multiple conflicts, with the government funnelling its armed forces into the “economically underprivileged southern belt” to root out the JVP while simultaneously directing a stream of soldiers to the Northern Province to wage war against the LTTE. All this, Richard notes, while the Indian Peacekeeping Force (IPKF), by order of Rajiv Gandhi, were half-cajoling, half-strong-arming the Tigers to a negotiating table, upon which lay the highly divisive devolution plan outlined in the 1987 Indo-Lanka accords.

“The JVP and the shadowy organisation suspected of being its armed wing (known as the Patriotic People’s Movement or DJV) [are] implacably opposed to Tamil separatism or anything remotely approaching it”, he wrote, adding that on the flip side of the coin, the LTTE remained hell-bent on the creation of a wholly separate Tamil homeland, despite a strong political tide amongst more moderate Tamil forces that would have accepted an agreement for regional autonomy. Richard concluded:

A triangle of power [now governs the country]. If [President Ranasinghe] Premadasa, a shrewd self-taught professional politician, wants his presidency to get off the ground, he will have to deal swiftly with two men who, like him, have simple origins – Tamil Tiger guerilla leader Velupillai Prabhakaran and JVP supremo Rohana Wijeweera.

The actions of this trio will determine Sri Lanka’s immediate future – as well as the fate, in life or death terms, of the country’s 16.4 million people.

It was the kind of journalism I aspired to: clean, clear, concise, and contextual, with a beating heart that seemed able to keep time with the louder pulse of the nation. Nothing seditious or revolutionary. No call to arms. Nothing but a writer’s quiet plea for sanity or humanity to prevail amidst a massacre. It was not, to my mind, the kind of blazing scroll that an artist might—even for the faintest moment—think they’d die for.

The unasked question being, of course, Was it worth it, in the end? These dispatches from Sri Lanka, written in a time of terror, delivered to an international audience that could do nothing to stop the bloodshed—was it worth it? How, really, do you value a human life against the value of his or her work?

Such was the diabolic arithmetic I was being forced to work out in real time as a small team of freedom fighters working on behalf of Russell Maroon Shoatz pressed me for an answer on the proposed assignment of working with a complete stranger to tell his life’s story. I read and reread Richard’s articles, and read and reread Maroon’s letters, which had begun to arrive in my mailbox on Georgia Avenue NW Washington, DC. I observed the words of both men fusing together in unnerving ways. Notions of duty, legacy, and artistic responsibility jostled in my mind with a dull, pervasive anxiety at the prospect of committing myself to a literary work with the highest possible stakes: another person’s life and freedom, and—if I was to follow the mad logic that resulted in Richard’s murder—possibly my own.

“Let’s say I write this book, with a high-security prisoner who’s accused of murder and who calls himself a prisoner of war,” I said to my father, trying to laugh off my deepest fears. “What’s the worst they can do to me? What’s the worst that could happen?”

To which he answered, quietly and without pause, “Deportation. Incarceration. Torture.”

I grieved that response for a long time, perhaps because it was the first time I had truly confronted the fear that the survivors of Sri Lanka’s violence—my own family, myself—carry with them, in their bones. I grieved also for these two men, one who had been killed, and the other who’d been sentenced to a different kind of death, which in the twisted parlance of the American justice system is known as Life. Maroon was serving back-to-back life sentences in solitary confinement. His letters to me were composed in the laboured hand of an old man with a youthful spirit who has been made to stare into the black abyss and see right through it, to the beauty and the hope.

I shared some of Richard’s work with Maroon, and told him, briefly, the story. He wrote back at once, soulful and wise: When we speak truth to power… When we speak truth to power… When we speak truth to power. It was, in a way, an answer to the question I had not asked, that my family have prowled around all my life, that Maroon had, I later learned, been avoiding and confronting for decades in the screaming quietude of a cage measuring five by seven feet: Was it worth it, in the end?

A year later I met Maroon in person, down in the dungeon of the State Penitentiary at Mahanoy, an all-male prison in rural Pennsylvania, in a visiting room bisected by a sheet of bulletproof glass. Throughout the visit Maroon remained shackled at the ankles and at the wrists, a bright-eyed, ageing, and agile man with whom I would collaborate for 12 years on his autobiography I Am Maroon. He did not live to see its release. It was published, posthumously, on 3 September 2024, nearly three years after Maroon died of cancer.

People often ask my family how we make sense of Richard’s life and death. It was not until I met Maroon and undertook a kind of doctoral degree in American studies under his tutelage, with his supporters acting as my academic advisors and the prisons of Pennsylvania serving as my campus, that I began to understand how legacies work: they must be allowed to live. Nothing finishes a person quite like memorialising them; nostalgia and romanticising will make quick work of whatever is left. Maroon did not suffer from nostalgia—probably because, I always assumed, it’s a deadly disease for a prisoner serving a life sentence. He was a great believer in living legacies. He mentored countless young men who were thrown into the penitentiary alongside him and saw many of them off into the free world while he continued to Do His Time. Dozens have said they regard him as a father-figure, as their greatest teacher.

As for me, writing together with Maroon, through the bars and over all the hurdles thrown at us—visits cancelled and monitored, our correspondence surveilled, letters destroyed or returned to the sender, threats and lawsuits—seemed like the most sensible way to honour Richard’s legacy in my own lifetime. Mainly because it helped me to do away with that blasted question: Was it worth it, in the end?

Turns out it’s not a question at all, but a slow reckoning with language itself, with these words that are strong enough to kill a man, and free a man. And what emerges from that reckoning is not doubt or unknowing, but a certain certainty, that you have to use words to make sense of them. You have to let them play, let them remake themselves: We are worth more than the ends they devise for us. We live, and live on, because we are worthy of life.

 

Kanya D’Almeida is a writer, and winner of the 2021 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. She is the co-author of I Am Maroon: The True Story of an American Political Prisoner, available now from Hachette Books.

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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

Interviews – spécialistes de Sri Lanka novembre 2024

 

 

https://www.rfi.fr/fr/asie-pacifique/20241125-sri-lanka-je-ne-pense-pas-que-la-population-srilankaise-attend-des-miracles

Entretien RFI

Sri Lanka: «Je ne pense pas que la population srilankaise attend des miracles»

Leçons d’une alternance avec Éric-Paul Meyer, spécialiste du Sri Lanka. Conversations sur l’alternance historique à Colombo, les priorités et les défis du nouveau gouvernement srilankais, les espoirs et les inquiétudes d’une population acquise à l’idéal démocratique.

Le nouveau président du Sri Lanka, Anura Kumara Dissanayaka,  à Colombo lors de son intronisation, le 23 novembre dernier.
Le nouveau président du Sri Lanka, Anura Kumara Dissanayaka, à Colombo lors de son intronisation, le 23 novembre dernier. © AFP
 
 

RFI : Le Parlement srilankais s’est réuni le 21 novembre, une semaine après les récentes législatives qui ont profondément renouvelé la représentation nationale. Comment s’explique le véritable raz de marée dont a bénéficié la coalition gouvernementale, le National People’s Power (NPP), dans ces élections ? 

Eric-Paul Meyer (*) : Le NPP ne détenait que trois sièges dans la précédente chambre. Elle a aujourd’hui 177 députés, 177 sur un total de 225, soit une majorité de plus de deux tiers. Les analystes avaient prédit une large victoire, mais personne n’avait imaginé une victoire de cette ampleur. On peut effectivement parler de raz de marée. Ce raz de marée traduit le rejet complet de la classe politique aux commandes à Colombo depuis quarante ans. Cela va au-delà du clan Rajapaksa qui a gouverné le pays depuis 2005, avant d’être chassé hors du pays par le peuple qui les accusait d’avoir mal géré le pays, d’être corrompus. La victoire de la gauche aujourd’hui est le contrecoup de l’exaspération qui s’est manifestée dans la rue pendant la crise économique et sociale que le pays a traversée en 2022 et qui s’est exprimée cette fois dans les urnes.

Le rejet de l’ancienne classe politique s’explique par l’attachement des Sri Lankais à la démocratie, qui est un phénomène ancien. Rappelons que le Sri Lanka a été le premier pays de la région à expérimenter, dès 1931, un système électoral fondé sur le suffrage universel des deux sexes. C’était avant même l’indépendance de l’île, qui date de 1948. Le peuple srilankais est passionné de politique. Il n’est pas rare, même dans le milieu populaire, d’entendre des gens discuter de la vie politique, de telle ou telle décision prise par les autorités. Tout cela n’est peut-être pas étranger au raz de marée électoral en faveur d’un président et d’un parti qui se sont faits les champions de la lutte contre la corruption qui mine le pays depuis des décennies.

Depuis les législatives, les médias srilankais évoquent régulièrement la nouvelle configuration de ce Parlement, qui affiche beaucoup de nouveaux visages.

En effet, deux tiers des députés sortants de l’opposition ne se sont pas présentés ou ont perdu leur élection. Ils ont été remplacés par des nouveaux venus. Le NPP, qui soutient le président, avait fait le pari du renouveau en présentant de nouveaux visages. Beaucoup se sont fait élire. Nombre de ces nouveaux parlementaires sont issus des milieux ruraux, qui des plantations, qui de la communauté des pêcheurs tamouls du Nord. Cela donne une chambre beaucoup plus représentative de la société srilankaise, alors qu’aux précédentes législatures le Parlement comptait plus de politiciens de carrière, dont certains étaient en place depuis une dizaine d’années.

Citons l’exemple d’Ambika Samuel, qui a travaillé dans les plantations. Pour la première fois dans l’histoire du Sri Lanka, une jeune femme tamoule issue de la classe ouvrière des plantations siège parmi les augustes parlementaires. Cette femme est sans doute une des personnalités les plus surprenantes de la nouvelle chambre. Une autre personnalité marquante de cette dixième législature est le docteur Rizvie Salih, élu vice-président (« deputy speaker ») du Parlement. Médecin d’origine musulmane, il a joué un très grand rôle dans la mobilisation de la communauté médicale pour une réforme en profondeur du système hospitalier srilankais. Certes, issus de la société civile, tous ces nouveaux parlementaires n’ont aucune expérience de la pratique politique. On les a vus à la télé le jour de l’inauguration de la session parlementaire, soucieux d’apprendre leur métier, et très impressionnés par le décorum et les formalités.  

Le siège du Parlement srilankais à Colombo.
Le siège du Parlement srilankais à Colombo. © Denis Sylvester Hurd in Wikipédia

Cette première séance du nouveau Parlement était particulièrement attendue…

Oui, les gens voulaient écouter le nouveau chef de l’État qui, comme le veut la tradition héritée du parlementarisme britannique, ouvre la session parlementaire. À cette occasion, il prononce un discours annonçant le programme et les priorités du gouvernement. Je rappelle que, contrairement à son homologue français, le président srilankais peut être présent au Parlement quand il le souhaite et prendre part au débat. On s’attend à ce que le président Dissanayake qui détient dans le nouveau gouvernement les portefeuilles clés de la Défense et des Finances, participe aux débats notamment sur le budget ou sur les questions de la défense.

Le discours du président était le clou de cette journée inaugurale du Parlement.

Ce discours qui a été transmis en direct à la télévision nationale a occupé l’essentiel de la séance inaugurale du Parlement. Le président Dissanayake a rappelé les principales priorités de son gouvernement qui vont de la remise sur pied de l’économie à la lutte contre la discrimination visant les minorités ethniques, en passant par le rétablissement d’un service public efficace, la généralisation d’aides pour améliorer le sort des pauvres, la relance des activités de la pêche dans le Nord qui touche directement la minorité tamoule et l’aide aux petites et moyennes entreprises. En revanche, le président n’a évoqué ni la question de la réforme constitutionnelle qui figurait pourtant tout en haut de la propagande de sa campagne électorale ni la mise en œuvre de ce fameux 13e amendement consistant à décentraliser les pouvoirs du gouvernement central. Cette façon très précautionneuse d’aborder ces questions laisse penser qu’il veut laisser du temps au temps pour ces sujets épineux, d’autant que c’est  typiquement le genre de questions qui risque de soulever des tensions, y compris à l’intérieur du propre camp du président. Pour le chef de l’État, l’urgence est visiblement ailleurs.

Ailleurs, où ?

L’urgence aujourd’hui consiste à vraiment sortir le pays de la crise économique, à améliorer la condition des populations les plus pauvres et à rendre à l’administration son efficacité. D’ailleurs le début de la session parlementaire a coïncidé avec la visite de la délégation du Fonds monétaire international (FMI) à Colombo. Il s’agit de la troisième revue du programme de prêts sur quatre ans, consentis par le FMI pour le sauvetage de l’économie srilankaise fragilisée par la crise du défaut sur sa dette publique. Pendant la campagne électorale, le candidat Dissanayake avait vivement critiqué le pacte passé avec l’organisation internationale et avait promis de renégocier certaines clauses sociales de l’accord. Élu président depuis, il a fait marche arrière au nom du réalisme économique, déclarant qu’il se ralliait à l’accord avec le FMI. C’est un recul, mais c’était sans doute le prix à payer pour obtenir le déblocage de la nouvelle tranche de prêts dont le pays a besoin pour la poursuite du rétablissement de son économie.

D’ailleurs dans sa déclaration, l’équipe du FMI a pointé du doigt les efforts consentis par le gouvernement pour ralentir l’inflation et améliorer la situation de la balance des paiements. Ces considérations prioritaires pour stabiliser les finances limitent bien évidemment la possibilité pour le gouvernement de mettre en œuvre une politique économique radicalement différente. Mais, en contrepartie, le gouvernement a obtenu le soutien des milieux économiques du pays qui ont été rassurés par la décision du président d’entériner le pacte avec le FMI. Comme l’a affirmé, Duminda Hulangamuwa, qui préside la Chambre de Commerce de Colombo, s’entendre avec le FMI est le seul moyen de remettre l’économie sur les rails.

Eric-Paul Meyer est historien et spécialiste du Sri Lanka.
Eric-Paul Meyer est historien et spécialiste du Sri Lanka. © Eric Meyer

Une autre grande priorité est sans doute la réconciliation avec les minorités, notamment avec les Tamouls dans le Nord ultramilitarisé où trente ans de guerre civile ont dévasté des vies, détruit le tissu social et politique. Rassurés par les promesses de campagne, les Tamouls ont voté massivement pour la gauche aujourd’hui au pouvoir. C’est historique, car jamais un parti cinghalais n’avait emporté les élections dans le Nord. Est-ce que les promesses pourront être tenues, cette fois ?

La réconciliation avec la population tamoule passe en partie par le redémarrage de l’économie dans le Nord, dans les régions tamoules qui, avant le conflit militaire, étaient très dynamiques sur le plan agricole et de la pêche maritime. Il n’est sans doute pas anodin qu’une personnalité tamoule ait été nommée à la tête du ministère des Pêches. Cela montre l’importance que le gouvernement attache à la réhabilitation économique de la région. Les Tamouls peuvent se targuer par ailleurs de compter deux ministres importants dans le gouvernement, la deuxième étant une femme ministre en charge de la condition féminine et de l’enfance. Celle-ci est connue dans le milieu des ONG où elle s’est fait un nom en tant que spécialiste de la santé féminine. Pendant la campagne électorale, le futur président a aussi promis de rendre les terres occupées dans le Nord par les forces armées depuis l’époque de la guerre civile.

Cette promesse a une valeur symbolique pour les anciens et c’est probablement ce qui a réellement poussé la communauté tamoule à voter pour la coalition présidentielle. Or, si dans certaines régions la concrétisation de cette promesse de restitution des terres se fait rapidement, comme dans la région de Jaffna, grande ville tamoule, où les camps militaires sont en cours d’évacuation, l’entreprise se révèle plus délicate ailleurs où le gouvernement se heurte aux réticences des militaires. Au Sri Lanka, comme ailleurs en Asie, l’armée est devenue une puissance économique, partie prenante dans des activités fortement enracinées dans l’économie locale. Il va être extrêmement compliqué de démanteler tout cela. Mais la volonté politique est bel et bien là.

Nous disions en commençant cet entretien que l’arrivée au pouvoir du président Dissanayake a suscité un extraordinaire enthousiasme dans ce pays insulaire qui s’est traduit par le raz de marée aux législatives en faveur de la coalition que le président a su bâtir autour de lui. Or les réticences, les contraintes, le pragmatisme précautionneux des gouvernants, malgré leur empathie sans doute réelle pour la population, ne risquent-ils pas d’émousser l’enthousiasme, détachant les Sri Lankais de la chose politique à terme ?

Je ne pense pas que la population srilankaise attend des miracles. Elle attend que des personnes, qui lui semblent honnêtes et efficaces, sortent enfin le pays du bourbier dans lequel son élite corrompue l’a plongée. En signant des accords avec le FMI, le prédécesseur de l’actuel président, Ranil Wickremesinghe avait commencé à tirer l’économie de la situation impossible dans laquelle elle se trouvait, mais il était issu du sérail. Trop marqué par sa collusion passée avec le clan Rajapaksa, il n’a pas pu inspirer suffisamment de confiance.

Quant à l’actuel chef de l’État, le président Dissanayake, fils de paysan, jouit d’une formidable aura grâce à son histoire, grâce à ses qualités oratoires, voire pédagogiques, mais il a très peu d’expérience de pouvoir. Avec sa Première ministre Harini Amarasuriya, ancienne universitaire, issue elle de la bourgeoisie, le duo constitue un centre de pouvoir inédit, mélangeant l’autorité et le populisme dans le bon sens du terme. Ils suscitent l’enthousiasme, mais une fois que l’enthousiasme sera retombé parce qu’il va forcément retomber, on verra qu’il y a effectivement des contraintes, des limites qui ne permettent pas de faire revenir la prospérité d’un coup de baguette magique.


* Eric-Paul Meyer est historien, professeur émérite à l’Institut des langues orientales de Paris. Il est spécialiste du sous-continent indien.Il est l’auteur de : Une histoire de l’Inde : les Indiens face à leur passé (Albin Michel).

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https://www.rts.ch/audio-podcast/2024/audio/revolution-politique-au-sri-lanka-28703059.html

Révolution politique au Sri Lanka

Radio Télévision Suisse – RTS

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New publication on Sri Lanka

Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Sri Lanka

Edited By Kanchana N. RuwanpuraAmjad Mohamed Saleem

2024, Routledge

ABSTRACT

The Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Sri Lanka offers a comprehensive survey of issues facing the island country and an overview delineating some key moments in the country’s contemporary polity, economy, and sociality.

This book outlines aspects and influences foundational to understanding a country defined by its economic and political turmoil, and rift with public distrust in today’s shifting geopolitics. Chapters by various established scholars highlight this book’s pivotal contribution in situating Sri Lanka’s turmoil and deprivation in this current conjuncture.

The handbook is structured in seven parts:

  • Nations and Nationalism
  • Politics, State and Institutions
  • Economy and Political Economy
  • Work and Life
  • Environment and Environmental Politics
  • Society, Social Systems, and Culture
  • Moment of Flux, Looking Ahead

Each part includes on average six chapters covering the social sciences and humanities to survey emerging and cutting-edge areas of the study of Sri Lanka. Multi-disciplinary in focus, the book also includes an introductory section and concluding section, which creates the space and platform for senior, mid-ranking, and junior academics to engage in dynamic conversation with each other about contemporary Sri Lanka. Including scholarship from Sri Lankan experts, the handbook creates academic output, which chimes with broader calls in academia on decolonising the academic landscape.

An important reference work, this handbook will be of interest to scholars and students from wideranging academic disciplines and a focus on Sri Lanka, Asian and South Asian studies, sociology, environmental politics, development, labour, management, political economy and anthropology.

Open access version available at: Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Sri Lanka | Kanchana N. Ruwanpura,

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The 2024 elections in Sri Lanka: political and economic prospects

Panel discussion organised by ODI, NUS, ISAS

The 2024 elections in Sri Lanka: political and economic prospects

Link: https://odi.org/en/events/the-2024-elections-in-sri-lanka-political-and-economic-prospects/#Speakers

Description

In April 2022, the Sri Lankan government announced a pre-emptive sovereign default on its external debt payments following a balance of payments crisis. The disruption of essential imports and prolonged power cuts led to mass stress protests, forcing the resignation of then-President Gotabaya Rajapaksa in July 2022. Subsequently, the new president-elect, Ranil Wickremesinghe, secured a US$3 billion Extended Fund Facility with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in September 2022.

Under Wickremesinghe, the Sri Lanka Podujana Peramuna (SLPP)-led government is implementing a stabilisation programme to meet the IMF’s conditionalities. Macroeconomic indicators have improved since 2022, with inflation having eased faster than forecasted and gross official foreign reserves having increased to US$5.6 billion by June 2024. However, the economic hardships faced by most people in Sri Lanka are still extremely high. Data from the World Bank reveals a stark increase in poverty rates, doubling from 13.1 percent in 2021 to 25 percent in 2022. This has added an additional 2.5 million people into poverty in 2022.

It is in this context that the 2024 presidential election is scheduled for 21 September 2024. This is the first election to be held since 2020 and the 2022 people’s protests. The three frontrunner candidates are:

– Ranil Wickremesinghe: Incumbent president, running as an independent candidate, backed by a majority of SLPP members of parliament.

– Sajith Premadasa: Candidate for the main opposition party, the Samagi Jana Balawegaya.

– Anura Kumara Dissanayake: Candidate for the National People’s Power (NPP), of which the Communist-Leninist Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna is the main party.

All three political camps back the IMF programme to various degrees. There is also some consensus among these parties regarding power devolution as a key means to resolve the ethnic question. There are other smaller political parties and factions, and these will influence the political discourse in the lead-up to elections and after.

This online panel discussion will discuss the various scenarios and anticipated developments in the lead-up to and after the September election.

Speakers

  • Dr Iqbal S Sevea

    Associate Professor Iqbal Singh Sevea (Chairperson)

    Director, Institute of South Asian Studies, NUS

  • Ganeshan Wignaraja.png

    Dr Ganeshan Wignaraja

    Visiting Senior Fellow, ODI and Non-Resident Senior Fellow, Institute of South Asian Studies, NUS

  • Dirk Willem te Velde.jpg

    Professor Dirk Willem te Velde

    Principal Research Fellow and Director, International Economic Development Group, ODI

  • Professor Nira Wickremesinghe

    Professor Nira Wickremasinghe

    Professor of Modern South Asian Studies, Leiden University, Netherlands

  • Professor C Raja Mohan

    Professor C Raja Mohan

    Visiting Research Professor, Institute of South Asian Studies, NUS

  • Dr Rajni Gamage

    Dr Rajni Gamage

    Research Fellow, Institute of South Asian Studies, NUS

@Rajni_Gamage

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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

“Gotabaya Rajapaksa, un politicien brutal au seuil du pouvoir sri-lankais” par Vanessa Dougnac

“Il est l’homme lié à l’un des épisodes les plus violents de l’histoire du Sri Lanka et du début du XXIe siècle. Celui qui fut le stratège militaire de l’anéantissement de la guérilla des Tigres tamouls, en 2009, arbore aujourd’hui un sourire jovial sur les posters de la campagne présidentielle. Moustache fournie et crinière cendrée, Gotabaya Rajapaksa a percé parmi un nombre record de 35 candidats et s’est imposé comme l’un des favoris du scrutin qui se déroulera ce samedi 16 novembre.”

via: Le Temps

“Le clan Rajapaksa consolide son emprise sur le Sri Lanka” par L’Obs avec AFD

via: L’Obs

“Sri Lanka elections | Unfair to attribute racist dimension to Tamil vote, says Sampanthan” by Meera Srinivasan

It is unfair to attribute a “racist” dimension to the Tamil vote in Sri Lanka’s presidential election, according to senior Tamil leader R. Sampanthan.

His remark comes a day after the results of the country’s biggest election were declared. The winner — newly elected President Gotabaya Rajapaksa — garnered his 52.25% vote share almost entirely from areas where the majority Sinhalese community is concentrated.

via: The Hindu

“Sri Lanka’s New President Gotabaya: The View From New Delhi” by Devirupa Mitra

From New Delhi, the picture on the Rajapaksas is mixed. There is lingering bitterness over friction in bilateral ties during the last few years of his elder brother, Mahinda Rajapaksa’s tenure. But those memories have now been superseded with the difficulty faced with Maithripala Sirisena in pushing flagship Indian projects forward

via: The Wire

“Sri Lanka’s Presidential Election: Healing the Wounds is the New Task” by Pr Jayadeva Uyangoda

Meanwhile, the pressures of big electoral victories are such that the new president and his family members, who will constitute the core of the new regime, might find it difficult to resist the temptation of giving into the wishes of their Sinhalese nationalist constituency. This is particularly so in view of the ethnic polarisation of the electoral verdict.

via: Groundviews

“The Rajapaksas are back in power in Sri Lanka” The Economist

“For nearly ten years the Rajapaksa family ran Sri Lanka. Now, after a five-year hiatus and a bit of a reshuffle, they are back. On November 16th an unprecedented 84% of voters turned out to crown Gotabaya Rajapaksa president, handing him well over half the votes in a crowded field of 35 candidates. Mr Rajapaksa had served as defence chief during the 2005-15 reign of his brother Mahinda. The latter, blocked by the constitution from becoming head of state again, is likely to serve as his younger brother’s prime minister.”

via: The Economist

“BBS to be dissolved after general elections: Gnanasara Thera” by Daily Mirror

The BBS announces that it is dissolving. After Gota’s election, Gnanasara says, “there will be nothing for us to struggle for. We can get involved in our other work and help to work for the betterment of this Sinhala Buddhist country. Now we have the full assurance after electing the new President. The ‘One country one law concept’ in his manifesto gave an assurance to our country.”

via: Daily Mirror