Dear friends, relatives and fascinated readers,

I have decided to enter the Globosphere, so this is my first Glob. Regular? (intentionally) but widely spaced (probably.) This is strictly between you me and the wallpaper. So don’t worry, I will not be globbing all over the internet, the stratosphere or the ionosphere you will be glad to hear. I am neither sufficiently technically minded nor hubristic enough to bore the rest of the world with my jottings. So don’t start looking on Face Book or U Tube for it. (Not yet anyway) I am a very slow one finger typist, or two if you count the one mostly hovering above the space key and shift bar, and bad at spelling. So who knows when the next text will appear? Well, for now here goes with…..  

GLOB 1
Whose Election Is It Anyway?



President of the Democratic (you have to believe it) Republic of Sri Lanka, Mohinda Rajapaksa (may the Lord Buddha bless his little cotton socks) in a post war atmosphere of euphoria and full of Churchilian hope of receiving his reward at the ballot box from a grateful populace, went to the country two years early. Elected four years ago on a ticket to exterminate the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelan) he narrowly defeated the opposition candidate Ranil Wickremesinghe, (whose policy of engagement, intellectual not physical, brought about a temporary ceasefire in 2002/3) in a still disputed Presidential race. Ranil derived most of his support from the business and intellectual classes from which he sprang, but was seen by the tuk-tuk drivers, from whom we derive our political education, as too namby pamby by half; and not looking for half measures against the fearsome tigers the common people, and the aristos, voted for the man with the common touch (and the one touched on the shoulder by outgoing President Chandrika.)

A little bit of history:

Ranil Wickremesinghe was Prime Minister under Chandrika Kumaratunga Bandaranaike from 2001. Her mother, remember, became the world’s first woman Prime Minister when her husband was assassinated by a gun toting Buddhist monk. As an old lady she became PM again twice for a time under her daughter; nothing like keeping it in the family, saves a lot of trouble.

A cease fire, the last of many, with the LTTE was brokered by the Norwegians and for a time a bright rose-tinted future beckoned on the horizon. It was during this period that checkpoints disappeared, many of the roads were opened and we were able go to Jaffna, the disputed northern peninsula. However, when Ranil was out of the country Chandrika, in the best interests of the country I am sure and with an admirably flexible attitude towards the will of the people (mother knows best!) replaced him with her own man: enter from far in the side wings, where he had been since his youthful time as a political hack, dar de dar…. Mohinda Rajapaxa!! Saviour of the nation!

To be fair Vellupillai Prabhakaran, the world’s best known and dedicated terrorist (or freedom fighter if you are an LTTE supporter) who had been fighting various governments since the early seventies, was not a man to be negotiated with. Every move he made every treaty, pact or agreement he signed up to was one small step, however much of a compromise/settlement it appeared to be at the time, towards his ultimate goal of an independent Tamil state, to be broken when it no longer suited him. Chandrika had tried the road of peace on a number of occasions offering a negotiated settlement, aid to the Tamils, and at one point a federal solution, which upset many of her Sinhalese supporters as it appeared to be one concession too far which would lead to a break-up of the country. But Chandrika despised Prebakaran, understandably when one considers that he had literally given her one in the ocular when shortly before the Presidential elections of 1999 a bomb intended to kill her took the sight of one eye.

In 2006 Chandrika decided to call it a day, put the future of the country to the people and retire, possible to her home in England, who knows. The Presidential race was run by the apple of her one good eye, Rajapaxa, man of the people and the tu-tuk drivers, and Wickramasinghe, man of the businessmen and chattering classes. The usual shenanigans followed and there are as yet many unanswered questions over that election. Fearing that the northern Tamils would vote for the ‘jaw-jaw’ rather than the ‘war-war’ candidate they were intimidated into not voting at all, by whom is a bit of a mystery, but if it was the big stripy cats looking for re-engagement and a chance to show off their newly acquired weapons then they obviously miscalculated. Then one of our friends, like many known campaigners for Ranil, lost his vote. He never received his poll card but was told it didn’t matter, his identity card would suffice. When he turned up to change the course of history; it was a different story: ‘no card no vote.’

So, with a new man in place a new offensive was launched in 2008 to finally destroy the LTTE and bring twenty five years of ethnic fighting to an end, which as the whole world knows, they did last year, but within a large fog of secrecy and many human rights issues unanswered. Oh well, you can’t make a Sri Lankan omelette without breaking a few eggs, or heads, whether or not they are the real culprits. During the end game the Tigers were trapped in a small sector of jungle in the north east along with many Tamil civilians, who they ruthlessly shot down if they tried to escape.

A last ditch assault on the capital was made last February when two light aircraft, packed with explosive, were spotted on the radar flying down the west coast from a jungle landing strip that had escaped the notice of the government forces. (They had already destroyed six) A total blackout of Colombo was instigated: lights, phones fixed and mobile. The planes were shot down, one ditching in a paddy field and the other, intended for the army HQ, hitting the tax office; probably the only time that the business community has had occasion to be grateful to the LTTE. It was indeed a lucky shot: the bullet severed the pilot’s wrist, with the hand poised on the button ready to detonate his bomb packed fuselage.

So in a final swoop the army obliterated the enclave and the remnants of the world’s most disciplined and fearless terror group (who along the way had given succour and training to the IRA and ETA) lay spread-eagled in the mud. Pictures of Prabakaran’s bloody and eyeless corpse were circulated around the globe and General Sarath Fonseka, army chief and mastermind of the final solution (if he is to be believed) emerged as war hero and saviour.


The time of reckoning:

So, after a suitable period of calm, restored order and restructuring, ‘to the country we will go’ thinks flavour of the month Rajapaxa. (Actually it’s after elections when parliamentarians and erstwhile supporters are sent on their hols, some gratefully to luxurious hotels, some reluctantly as they and their families endure Spartan fair in distant health resorts far from the fleshpots of Colombo.) Will he get an easy ride home from a star struck and grateful populace? He hopes so; he’d better do so. After all he had just issued a spanking new 1,000 rupee note with his image, in a sweeping gesture, arms akimbo in a show of bonhomie, welcoming his beloved people into his protective embrace: the first ever of a living politician. But no the show is not yet over, the cake is not yet cooked and iced.

Enter stage right the now ex-general Fonseka, saviour of the nation grade 2, (or should that be grade 1, depends on who you support) leader of a rather disparate group of parties in an alliance (known as the Freedom Alliance; funny how that word along with democratic, national and united gets bandied about in the nomenclature of Sri Lankan political parties) the chief of which is the UNP (United National Party) under our old friend Ranil Wickremesinghe. Strangely (to this writer at least) they also jumped into bed with the JVP, the neo-Maoist, Sinhala nationalist student group who caused terror and mayhem in the eighties. They are said to be reformed and democratic now but how much can, in this case a leopard change its spots?

The gloves are off. On Election Day we were in Galle, having gone down for the Literary Festival. We had intended to go the following day but were warned that it might not be safe to travel. (Can you imagine following a UK election being scared of setting out in the leafy lanes of Hertfordshire for fear of being caught up in the mayhem between jubilant and vengeful supporters of either Gordon or David?) By mid-day it looked neck and neck, with if anything Fonseka in a slight lead, especially in Colombo and the north. However, and from here things get very murky, fearing no doubt a Churchilian post-war defeat and in a bid to save the nation again, this time from an obviously un-holy alliance hell bent on splitting the country and driving it ever more into the jaws of the running dogs of western influence, election agents were driven out of the counting stations by gunpoint, Rajapaxa (allege the opposition) stopped the issuing of official results and courageously issued his own, carefully gathered, garnered and seasoned to taste no doubt, in which he came out with a decisive victory; fifty eight percent, the largest ever for an encumbent President.

Hurrah, hurrah cried the tuk-tuk drivers (well not so many this time around, well less than fifty percent by some accounts) theft, theft cried the middle classes.

In the middle of all this the election commissioner complained of threats to the lives of himself and family, that the stress of the whole process was too much for his aging bones and anyway he wasn’t up to the job; so saying he said that he would resign, until it was pointed out to him that the law didn’t allow him to. Fonseka and his politicos retired to lick their wounds in the splendiferous Cinnamon Lake Hotel in Colombo; where the security system had been turned off: so that their movements couldn’t be tracked as they made plans to take over the country and assassinate the president and his family in the event of political defeat, said the government. No no; the government is trying to assassinate us, said SF’s supporters. Troops surrounded the hotel: for their security said the government. The soldiers defending SF as he is known (Sri Lankan political reporting is constantly initialised and parties coalescing and changing their names so that it is very difficult to follow who belongs to whom ) Arrests soon followed, some escaped, the JVP initially sent its own security men to guard SF’s private house but since seemed to have ducked out and disowned him; and finally two weeks later the old warhorse himself having gone home, has been taken into custody; charged with an attempted coup and plans to do the work of the separatists for them.

Into a new dawn

Or will it be sunset and further dark doings with continuing corruption and nepotism: it depends on which papers you read; except that nearly all media is government controlled. Last year the editor of the Leader, the only truly independent newspaper, was murdered and his deputy has received threats on her life. Protest and mobs are even now on the streets of the capital and countryside and monks arrested by baton wielding policemen as people from all walks of life demonstrate against the arrest of (it is claimed) the most popular presidential candidate since nationalisation of the tea estates, while the incumbent disarms everyone, including the soldiers, within pea-shooting distance, and surrounds himself with a personal bodyguard with guns but no ammunition; clearly reflecting on the fate of Indra Ghandi, that other nationalistic champion of the people inclined to hubris and despotism.

So will Mahinda Maama as he is affectionately known, really prove to be a president for all the people as he claims, and bring reconciliation to this beautiful but fractured country? Personally, with a constitution which declares Buddhism to be the senior religion, I fear that ethnic differences will always bubble away beneath the surface. Next month Parliament is dissolved and another round of elections will doubtless plunge the country afresh into raptures of joy, despair, bonhomie and violence. Interesting times are ahead, but we won’t be here to see them.

Whatever: the cadres of the Rajapaxa camp will doubtless expect their rewards and the number of ministries will rise from the present world record of 116 (yes that’s right, not a slip of my finger) to include the few remaining un-portfolioed MPs. Obviously better a big fish in a small pond (Pop. Sri Lanka 20 million. Pop. UK 80 million, gets by with about 16 ministers.) Some English friends of ours were offered a lift into Colombo by a neighbour, an MP; but first he had to decide which of his six ministerial caps he was wearing that day, and hence which of his six ministerial cars, each with its own driver, he would be using. Maybe the British government could use this a model for bringing down the unemployment figures.

Makes the British Mps’ allowances scandal look like a mild ruffling of the political pond, ducks and all.

TTFN, I hear the fat lady singing.


Well that’s it for my first Glob. 
Disclaimer: these are purely my personal reflections on reading the papers and talking to my friends. I hope that any of my Sri Lankan friends, if they manage to get to the end of this, are not too offended by the doubtless many errors of fact and judgment. After all, as a newspaper editor once famously said ‘Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.’