Mini Skirt Ban in Sri Lanka

This post was written a while back, and the issues outlined may not seem as pressing as they did when I wrote it, but hey…

Image Courtesy of Cartoon Stock

Okay, so the details surrounding this impending ban on mini-skirts and revealing clothing in Sri Lanka has been very fuzzy. Some people claim that the whole story was fabricated by the JVP and UNP to discredit the government. If that is really true (and I sincerely hope not, because that would speak volumes about the joblessness of our politicians), then I only have one question for these politicians, “Is that all you’ve got?” I’m not able to connect the dots and see any relevance to basically anything, but whatever.

But if this story actually has some basis to it, and if we can derive the validity of such an impending ban from comments made by spokespeople and representatives from the Ministry of Culture, Ministry of Heritage, Ministry of “How-to-be-Sri Lankan” and Ministry of “I-can’t-deal-with-any-problems-in-the-country-so-let-me-fabricate-a-story-so-I-can-save-my-ass,” then it raises a lot of questions.
Sri Lanka is a developing country, we’re also extremely cultural, we are home to UNESCO World Heritage cities and a culture spanning so many years behind us. We’re an amalgamation of so many good things, including cuisine, dance, theater, performance and language that we managed to derive from the Indians, Portuguese, Dutch and most importantly, ourselves.
We’re not the freest of all societies, we face media repression, but for the most part, the urban, and more privileged societies in Sri Lanka, living in the posh suburbs of Colombo, Kandy and other relatively prosperous cities have been able to engage in a culture of their own. Undeniably, the influence of the West is creeping on us, and Bollywood continues to influence us much more than any derivation or version of “One-Shot-One” would do, and yes, at a time like this when we’re on a machine that’s making its way full throttle towards globalization and the amalgamation of culture, we need to stop and think, “But wait, I don’t want all this great Sri Lankan-ness to disappear.”
Don’t get me wrong, the coming together of cultures is beautiful. If my experience abroad has taught me one thing, it’s that learning about other cultures, engaging in them first hand, is one of the most enriching experiences in life. Marrying someone from another religion or ethnicity can also be a great thing. I’m not advocating marriage within our own races and castes and what-not so we can all remain one pure homogenous society. Boring. But, being conscious of our culture, our surroundings, whether we are in Sri Lanka, Somalia or Sweden is important. In our rush to learn English and put on our fake accents and thinking that we are a touch superior to all other fellow-country people because we speak accented-English and can carry out almost-haut-couture fashion with a passable level of validity, we sometimes forget to learn our own native languages, whether it be Sinhala, Tamil, or anything else. Sometimes, some of us learn enough phrases to ask how much a three-wheeler ride to Odel costs, and to tell our ‘chauffeurs’ to pick us up from school at 1.45 pm and no later (I say this all only with the uncomfortable knowledge that I, like so many others, have been guilty of such actions in some point or other of my life). In such a context, stopping to appreciate and engage in our culture could have a lasting effect not just for us, but for future Sri Lankan generations that follow.
Even if there’s no basis to the mini-skirt ban story, the fact that it has taken up any media space at all raises some important questions. Firstly, there is the question of aesthetics and the very deep space where conversations over the human body are held. I am no expert on this, but don’t our very own Veddhas wear sparse garments, and when we flock to Sigiriya every now and then on our ‘trips’ with disinterested cousins from England or Germany to look at the frescoes, do we prohibit our eyes from looking at the bare breasts of those maidens engraved into the rock? If this is what history tells us about the way Sri Lankans dressed, then isn’t it possible to argue that the idea of clothing, of covering our ‘private’ parts, is in itself, a very Western concept? And now we’re trying to counter the oncoming danger of ‘Westernization’ to maintain something that is essentially a very Western concept? I need a day to wrap my head around that concept.
But what I need a lifetime to wrap my head around is the idea that we can ask people to stop dressing or being some way. Using religion to form a basis for law is dangerous, as we have already seen in countless examples around the world. Religion in itself is another topic for lengthy debate, but the fact remains that the same religious text can be interpreted in 345 ways by 345 different people. And we want to codify that in to uniform laws? Impossible.
Asking us to wear longer skirts doesn’t make us any more pious. While I am the biggest advocate of regulating what we wear to places of religious worship, simply because they are sacred public places that call for the utmost respect of every other person in the vicinity, I am opposed to asking people to wear long Victorian style skirts, and underwear under our sarongs (I hope for the sanctity of every Sri Lankan, that that proposition was only a rumour and nothing more). People don’t like living in a repressive society that dictates everything we do, from what we say to what we wear.
Religious institutions and advocates of such a law need to understand that such restrictions cannot be implemented by the law. Those are choices that we make on our own. Remember the Prohibition Era in the USA, when alchohol was abundantly available and gangsters and cartels rose to fill the void that legal purchase couldn’t? Well, it may not be the best analogy, but just think of what repression does to society: it brings out their most enterprising, most desperate and most angry side of human beings in society.

Unrest in Tunisia

Image from Politically Illustrated

As the world watches on in anticipation of what is happening in Tunisia, and as we all contemplate on the possible long term ramifications of popular protests such as these in North Africa and Arab countries, I stumbled upon an excerpt describing the situation in Tunisia that I think even applies to us, even if what Sri Lanka is experiencing is not the same as the brutal, repressive and clearly self-proclaimed dictatorship of Ben Ali in Tunisia:

Written by Christopher Alexander for Foreign Policy:

The regime also lost some of its earlier deftness. Its methods became less creative and more transparently brutal. The government seemed less willing to at least play at any dialogue with critics or opposition parties. Arbitrary arrests, control of the print media and Internet access, and physical attacks on journalists and human rights and opposition-party activists became more common. So, too, did stories of corruption — not the usual kickbacks and favoritism that one might expect, but truly mafia-grade criminality that lined the pockets of Ben Ali’s wife and her family. The growth of Facebook, Twitter, and a Tunisian blogosphere — much of it based outside the country — made it increasingly easy for Tunisians to learn about the latest arrest, beating, or illicit business deal involving the president’s family.

It’s interesting how, while many people continue to complain about globalization and the depletion of culture brought about by such phenomenons as ‘Americanization’ and ‘Westernization,’ we are also experiencing certain powerful albeit young movements that are becoming potent in creating change and in advertising the voice of everyday citizens. Bloggers and citizen journalists around the world are daring to say what they would be afraid of publishing in a newspaper with their name as a byline. Even if they were not fearful, their content would most likely not have been published if the media is repressive and/or state run.

In developed countries such as the US, media is not censored per se, but heavily influenced by which news corporation  you choose to follow, each with a heavy leaning bias towards either the Democracts and Republicans. In developing countries, the case usually is that this partisan dialogue (as disturbing as parts of it may be) does not exist. Yet in both contexts, there has been a rise in the number of people saying, “Enough is enough, I can’t tolerate this anymore.” What has resulted is a growth in the alternate forms of media. Whether you follow Democracy Now, the Young Turks or Alternet in the US, or whether you are avid reader of Groundviews and the Sri Lankan Guardian back home,  or even if you choose to forego the ‘news’ route altogether and choose to get your dose of current affairs through blogs written by everyday people, you have made a conscious choice by discarding other more popular and common options for something that you are willing to place trust in.

The voices of dissent just got louder.

“Facts are facts and will not disappear on account of your likes” (Nehru)

Prageeth Eknaligoda

Important question, where is he?

Who is he? Prageeth Eknaligoda is a cartoonist and political reporter for Lanka eNews, a media organisation that extended its support to Presidential candidate and former army commander Gen. Sarath Fonseka.

The ‘About Us’ page on the Lanka eNews websites calls the journalistic initiative an online campaign for “Peace, Democracy and Governance” in Sri Lanka, aiming “to record and disseminate information which will strengthen human rights, governance and democratic process for conflict transformation in Sri Lanka.” In other words, a voice of dissent in a country whose approach to dissent has had a rather intimidating track record.

Which probably helps shed some light on the disappearance of Eknaligoda, who was abducted on January 24, 2010. If you’ve done the math, then a sad realization is probably dawning upon you right about now. Yes, it’s almost going to be a year since he went missing. Sandhya Eknaligoda, Prageeth’s wife has carried out various vigils for him in kovils, temples and churches across the island; she has also pleaded with higher authorities, writing letters and raising awareness of the predicament that she and her family are faced with. In a touching email that she wrote to the Committee to Protect Journalists, Sandhya talks about resilience and determination, displaying an incredible amount of dignity and grace.

An excerpt from an email she wrote to CPJ:

Even though Prageeth has been missing for six month, there has been no official statement from the government or any responsible officials. I have gone to courts. The last hearing was on July 21 where several witnesses were questioned. The defendants (the police) did not come, although the judge had issued notice they be present. The judge ordered that notice be issued again.

The police are expected to uphold law and order. Their failure to appear in courts is an insult to the judiciary and makes a mockery of the law and order they are expected to protect and maintain. An ordinary person can be ignorant, but it is sad when the police, tasked with upholding the law, break it.

This is why I have to go beyond the law and seek divine assistance. This is why I decided to go to kovils, temples, and churches and hold prayer vigils. I am hopeful that other women whose husbands or sons have disappeared will join me in my endeavor.

Reproduced from the CPJ website.

Why was Prageeth Eknaligoda arrested?

Because like many journalists who have been murdered or who have gone missing in the past, he was critical of the Sri Lankan government, extending his support to groups, people and causes that the government did not want to see supported. The CPJ Blog also has samples of Prageeth Eknaligoda’s work, which echoes a voice of dissent and criticism aimed at the current state of affairs and government actions. They are clever works of art, with clear messages: a combination of sarcasm and chilling, foreboding humour tinged with a sense of urgency.

As a 100 days, become 200 days, extending to a year and much more, Prageeth Eknaligoda’s disappearance will (and already has) become distant memory to many. Sensational headlines have already replaced his story, one which stands in stalemate as the legal process of bringing his killers to light has dragged on its feet ever since the day he disappeared. All this at a time when his family continues to live in the worst kind of knowledge: the knowledge of the absence of knowledge.

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“Torture is banned but in two-thirds of the world’s countries it is still being committed in secret. Too many governments still allow wrongful imprisonment, murder or “disappearance” to be carried out by their officials with impunity.”
Peter Benenson

Media in Sri Lanka: Bowed and Afraid? But why? Oh wait…

Every year, Freedom House, an independent watchdog organisation “that supports the expansion of freedom around the world” releases a report, ranking countries based on the level of media freedom in the country. The following is a map of the world, based on media freedom:

Image Courtesy of Freedom House

How well has Sri Lanka fared?

That’s right. We’re “Not Free.”

Based on information for 2010, Sri Lanka ranked 158th, falling under the rather ominous status of “Not Free.” According to the report, “Sri Lanka’s score declined two  points, to 72, due to increased harassment of media freedom advocates and the flawed  trial of journalist J.S. Tissainayagam, which resulted in a 20-year prison sentence.”

Excerpts from the Report, which can be found here:

Although  the  constitution provides for freedom of expression, it and other laws and regulations  place  significant legal limits on the exercise of this right (P 218).

The 1979 Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) contains extremely broad restrictions on  freedom of expression, such as a prohibition on bringing the government into contempt.  The  decades-old Official Secrets Act bans reporting on classified information, and those convicted of  gathering secret information can be sentenced to up to 14 years in prison. Although no journalist  has ever been charged under the law, it is frequently used to threaten them.

Senior journalist J. S. Tissainayagam, editor of the now-defunct North Eastern Monthly magazine, was sentenced to a 20-year prison term in late August 2009, a year after becoming the  first journalist indicted under the PTA. He had originally been detained in March 2008. A  number of reports noted serious judicial flaws in connection with his trial (p 219).

A number of journalists received death threats in 2009, while others faced attempted  or actual kidnapping and assaults. The victims included Poddala Jayantha, general secretary of the Sri Lanka Working Journalists’  Association; Dileesha Abeysundera, a journalist at the  weekly  Irudina; Frederica Jansz and Munza Mushtaq, of the Leader Publications media group;  and Upali Tennakoon, editor of the weekly Rivira. In the most serious incident, prominent editor  Lasantha Wickrematunga of the  Sunday Leader was shot dead by unknown assailants as he drove to work in Colombo (p 220).

On the positive side, the destruction of the LTTE ended severe restrictions that the rebels  had placed on media in their territory. These had included the seizure or banning of certain  Tamil-language newspapers, as well as threats and attacks against journalists and media staff.  However, threats from other Tamil factions continued.

On several occasions during the year, the  authorities confiscated editions of the Economist with critical articles as they arrived in the country, preventing their distribution (p 221).

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Disclaimer: All these excerpts have been derived from the Freedom House Report, available at the link above, and are not my content.

Lasantha Wickrematunge

Picture Courtesy of Lanka News Web

Growing up, I have memories of watching a man talk on tv. At that point, when politics really wasn’t my cup of tea,I didn’t pay much attention to what he was actually saying, but at times his voice would be so compelling and full of conviction that I would turn to look and pay attention to what Lasantha Wickrematunge was saying on Good Morning Sri Lanka on MTV.

Today marks his second death anniversary at the hands of murderers who are able to walk the streets freely today. Lasantha Wickrematunge was a complex man, and not one that I claim to be an authority upon. I have read his work briefly and have been interested in and inspired by his conviction and demand for transparency, but I am not completely acquainted with all his work and want to reserve judgement on his ideas for a point in time when I am well informed. I have read reviews of people who loved Lasantha and continue to love what he stood for: defiance of a system that needed improvement. I have also read online comments, blog posts and reviews of people bashing him for his rather one-sided arguments, supporting Ranil Wickrematunge and for using his contacts in ‘higher places’ to get his wife a job at the Sri Lankan Embassy in Canberra, Australia.

But what I do know is Lasantha Wickrematunge was a brave human being. No one was more aware of his impending assassination than he was. His posthumous editorial in his newspaper publication “The Sunday Leader” is to say the least, chilling. From beneath the ground, in his grave, Lasantha got the last word, pointing his fingers government-wards, blaming those whom we have trusted with safeguarding our lives (the irony of it!). While Lasantha may not have been a forensic science expert, or detective, and even if his accusations are not true, the important question to be asked is, “What provided him with the basis for his accusation, his resignation to a fate he knew wouldn’t be far off?”

The Sri Lankan media publication groundviews.org provides insight into the investigation process following Lasantha’s murder. His widow, Sonali Samarasinghe has been involved in many initiatives to bring her husband’s killers to courts, but to no avail so far.

What’s upsetting about these events, apart from the loss of a life that was valued by family and friends and the loss of a loud voice calling for redress in Sri Lanka, is the unfortunate reality that this is not a one time event. Journalists and media personnel continue to be targeted in Sri Lanka for speaking out against whatever the government doesn’t want them to be speaking out against. While it’s important to make sure that no fingers are pointed at those who are innocent and that it is unfair the accuse the government if it is truly uninvolved in these crimes, then we have to busy ourselves with the most important question, “Why haven’t most of these killings been brought to justice?” Surely, our state bureaucracy is not so weak? We managed to eliminate the LTTE; our government now carries the shiny title of a country that has successfully defeated the most resilient opposition forces of them all: guerilla forces. If we can achieve that Herculean task, why can’t we deliver judgement upon the killers of Lasantha Wickrematunge and other Sri Lankan journalists?

Hello world!

So, we all have identities. Some of us connect more with some identity traits over the others. Me, I am so many things, like I am sure you are too. If I were to die (which I know I will one day) and be buried in a graveyard, what would be engraved on my gravestone? Corny words, no doubt, but for the life of me I can’t think of an apt description that I wouldn’t regret two minutes into burial time. But one identity that I do connect with, and one with which I feel such an obvious and natural connection, so much so that I don’t need fancy engravings on fancy gravestones to make it known to the world (now we really don’t want logistical difficulties if I decide to be cremated), is with my nationality: The art of being Sri Lankan. Quite an art, even if I say so. It entails joy, happiness, Vesak lanterns, beautiful beautiful beaches, beautiful mountains, warm smiles, tea bushes, the boon of ‘patties’ and rolls and cutlets (we are truly a blessed isle, with our bakeries and short eats). It also entails confusion, anger, disappointment, media repression, human rights violences, travel barriers and divisions. Quite a package I tell you.

As I launch this blog today, I am not sure what exactly I want the outcome of this initiative to be. The driving force behind my action has been confusion: confusion because I have been able to take many a strong stance and maintain somewhat controversial points of view on a range of topics, beginning in Sudan, extending to Palestine and ending in East Timor. But when my thought trajectory looms above a certain island just at the tip of India, one that many call “the pearl of the Indian Ocean,” my defiance, confidence and slight arrogance begin to falter.

This is what confuses me the most. I am Sri Lankan: shouldn’t arriving at a conclusion about everything and anything related to my country be the proverbial piece of cake for me?

Apparently not. Perhaps the my short sightedness is blinding me, fogging my vision as I ask (or try to ask) pertinent questions. Perhaps years of conditioning, being told that complaining too much, or questioning the government will only lead to problems have made me less critical and less questioning of my own surroundings, while I wax lyrical about injustice in some far off region. Perhaps stories of men being kidnapped in white vans, of journalists being killed on the way to work or of suicide bombers blowing themselves up have instilled in me some kind of cowardish fear. Because I know that however controversial my opinion on the Rwandan Genocide gets, it is only an act such as questioning my own country that will bring upon me the judgement of fellow Sri Lankans – some of whom I know, and some of whom I love. I fear their judgement and disapproval.

But even in my short-sighted view, I know that we cannot afford to just sit in silence and let things play themselves out. As Sri Lankans, as citizens of whichever country in this world, or as stateless persons, we have an inherent responsibility to ask questions, to remind people in positions of power that they are here for a reason: to serve the majority. We have to make sure that ten years down the line, that the “democratic” in “Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka” still remains, not just in the title, but in reality as well.

No one can do it but us. Question is, will we?