The Real Citizens of Sri Lanka

essay response to a lecture given by Ranjith Amarasinghe, professor emeritus of political science at the University of Peradeniya

When I first began learning about the ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka--especially after Tissa Jayatilake's lecture--I immediately identified language as a key component of the problem. Without a common language, I wondered, how could a state ever hope to be united? America faces a similar problem, though to a lesser degree, especially in states close to the Mexican border. There have been attempts across the board to promote America as a mono-lingual, English-speaking country, and on the other, movements to use Spanish alongside English. Both stances have riled up the American people, and tends to be a polarizing issue. Unaccommodating and marginalizing as it is, I can understand the mono-lingual perspective. The people of a country need to be able to communicate with their government and with each other. Americans spoke English before Mexican immigrants arrived--though even that is a semi-fallacious argument. We're a nation of immigrants, and we all speak many different languages. Regional dialects of English can be so varied that some linguists argue that they are practically a different language. Even still, it would be time-consuming and expensive to officially accommodate other languages. Throughout our history, we've expected immigrants to assimilate and learn English. There is really no reason for Mexican immigrants to expect different treatment. Of course, this will all blow over the minute we have a new, common enemy that the American people can unite against to demonize.

Demonization aside, I feel like Sri Lanka is in a slightly different situation. The two groups that speak different languages both claim to be the "original" in habitants of the island. Both of their claims go so far back that the claims begin to blur the line between myth, pre-history and written history. And unfortunately, who holds the original claim to the island is still a current issue, which further outlines the disunity of the state. To add to this mess, they speak different languages, and in more than one way, as Professor Amarasinghe has pointed out. While they do literally speak the incompatible Tamil and Sinhala, the two groups also can't seem to find a common ground on which to stand. So not only was the ethnic conflict an issue of practical, communicative language, but one of finding their national tongue.

Official flag of Sri Lanka

Who are the citizens of Sri Lanka? Unfortunately, the Sinhala-Buddhist majority, in the time leading up to the ethnic conflict, proved time and time again they believed they were the only ones deserving of citizenship. They marginalized the Tamils (and everyone else that wasn't Sinhala-Buddhist) in legislative representation. They very literally portrayed what they believed to be the true state of Sri Lanka in a very iconic representation: the flag, which visually placed the Tamils and Muslims in an extremely periphery position to the Sinhalese, as represented by the green and orange vertical stripes of color. Then, there was the mother-tongue movement, which, in the end, granted Sinhala the position of the official language of Sri Lanka. The Tamils didn't even oppose the return to a native language, they merely were asking for some inclusion rather than total exclusion. But those in power made it clear that they were unwilling to share with any minority interest groups, and the requests of the Tamils again, went unheard. It became very clear to the Tamils (and others) that the state had no interest in representing them or their interests. Their list of grievances grew longer and longer, and political unrest grew within the Tamil population. Dissatisfied with the ineffectiveness of the past leaders, they finally took to arms. While Amarasinghe does concede that language played a role in the conflict, perhaps its significance was overblown. Not only that, but focusing on the issue of language ignores the deeper and more problematic issue of the state being unable or unwilling to include within its citizenry those who are just as deserving as the Sinhala-Buddhist majority.

Originally written 28 October 2011.

Foreign privilege and disadvantage: a reflection on my independent study project

University of Peradeniya, Gemba Canteen

As a component of my study abroad program here in Sri Lanka, I was required to conduct a month-long, independent research project. The topic that I chose, the privatization of higher education, is one that has garnered attention both currently and historically within Sri Lanka. Having spent a full one-third of my time thus far working on this project, I think it's relevant to reflect on what this research project has meant for me in terms of a larger picture: how it has shaped my experience of living in a foreign country, and what I’ve learned from it.

Looking back on this project, one of the largest obstacles I encountered was being an outsider. In some ways, actually, being a foreigner in this country gives you this certain amount of privilege that is very difficult to obtain as a local Sri Lankan. I brought this up to a friend who lives here and told him how surprisingly helpful people were to me during my project. Because I was a foreigner, people were willing to talk to me, help me and generally go out of their way for me to an extreme that would be unheard of in America. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and asked, "If I were to go to America, would people treat me the way the same way that you’ve been treated here?"

The answer to that question was sadly, no, and he had guessed as much. And if anything, being a foreigner in America grants you the privilege of being treated with suspicion and apprehension. However, the privilege that being a foreigner in Sri Lanka gives you, he believes, is a vestige of colonial days: the brown people must always bend over backwards and forwards to please the white people. Throughout my project, I became increasingly aware of how this affected me. The director of the private medical college in Malabe was unbelievably helpful and generous with his time when it came to my project. Without his help, a significant portion of my research would have been largely unattainable. I was offered the opportunity to personally interview S. B. Dissanayake, the Minister of Higher Education. I was given accommodations in a hostel at the University of Peradeniya for two weeks, at no cost to me, at a time when hostel rooms are at a premium. Be that as it may, I am in no way attempting to reduce the wonderful complexity of my interactions with people during my project by attributing their generosity merely to the color of my skin, but to make an observation that I was, on the whole, given not only respect and generosity, but privilege perhaps far beyond what I deserved.

However, one privilege that being a foreigner does not grant you is the ability to become intimately acquainted with such multifaceted complexities in the short time of three and a half months, much less a dedicated one month. This became even more apparent in light of the topic that this paper attempts to tackle, which is the privatization of higher education in Sri Lanka. Though Sri Lanka may only be a small island the size of West Virginia, it’s historical, political, social and cultural portraits are multifaceted in their intricacy; even native Sri Lankans don’t always know the best way to fix the problems that this country faces in a way that does justice to all its citizens. It would be simple-minded and naïve of me to believe that I could come here, conduct a month-long research project, and then offer solutions to a problem that has a history far older than me. Consequently, being a foreigner while undertaking this project was my greatest asset but at the same time, my largest obstacle.

As such, I feel like my paper, being a written culmination of a mere one month of study in only a few thousand words, falls far short of doing this topic a comprehensive justice in many ways. I was unable to cover the political aspects of this topic, and the economics were touched on so briefly as to be almost non-existent. I tried, however, to give voice to both sides of the issue, though I make no promises to being fair and unbiased. Most importantly though, among the requisite facts, figures, statistics and data, I have tried to weave in the narratives of the people who make up these numbers; the people who so open-heartedly shared with me their thoughts, their opinions, their dreams and their frustrations.

Self-Reflection and Awareness: Hey Sri Lankan Mass Media, You Should Try Them Sometime

Tissa Karalliyadda, Minister of Child
Development and Women's Affairs

Speaking of paternal benevolence, a headline in the News Feature section of the Sunday Observer caught my eye: "Media Should Protect Women and Children --Tissa Karalliyadda." The article, which covered a workshop on media and women, was written by Mr. L. S. Ananda Wedaarachchi. The spread featured four pictures: the most prominent and largest picture was of Mr. Karalliyadda, the Minister of Child Development and Women's Affairs. Below him were two smaller pictures of women, both quoted in the article. A similarly sized picture was one of almost all women seated around tables, looking like they were attentively listening to a speaker. Before I started reading the article, the inset quote from the Minister also caught my eye: "The mass media plays a vital role in changing the social and updating knowledge [sic]. It makes a great impact on the society at all levels. Media personnel should use every opportunity to ensure the well-being of women and children" (emphasis mine).

First off, the author of the article, Wedaarachchi, was making a rather large leap by translating the Minister's call to action of ensuring the "well-being of women and children" to ensuring the protection of women and children, as stated by his headline. That in itself reveals the overarching social attitude towards women: that they need protection. Not just any protection either, but the protection equivalent to that of children. The very fact that Karalliyadda's job lumps women and children together further cements that social attitude towards women. While women's issues and children's issues can certainly intersect, especially when it comes to motherhood, they are large enough affairs on their own that they could at least merit two separate ministers. That is not, in any way, to diminish the importance of women as mothers. But the problem comes when women are defined only as mothers, and not as women who are also working professionals, athletes, politicians, scientists or doctors. Women being defined with and by their children can lead to the dangerous assumption that they require similar protection, and are thus also victims, rather than agents. It's unfortunate that Wedaarachchi, a participant in and perpetuator of the very "media" he referenced in his headline, couldn't see the irony in his call to "protect women and children." His own words quite succinctly revealed the very real need for better media coverage of women's issues.

Dr. Subangi Herath, senior lecturer
of sociology at Colombo University

To only add to the irony, the workshop about which he was writing concluded exactly that. The three women quoted in the article, all either education professionals or journalists, commented that within the media, women are continually marginalized and discriminated against. Dr. Subangi Herath, a senior lecturer of sociology at Colombo University, pointed out that when it comes to women, there are too many articles about cooking and cosmetics and not enough coverage of serious issues, such as "women empowerment, safeguarding women's rights and interests or improving the lot of womankind." Wedaarachchi certainly made an attempt at what he must have thought was "serious coverage," but the quality of his article fell far short. He spent far too much time quoting the Minister on the current status of women, and not enough time covering the actual resolutions that the workshop adopted. The one solution that he did talk about took up all of one sentence in the second to last paragraph of his article, and his paraphrasing of the resolution was vague at best: "Motivation and training of media personnel including decision-makers on women empowerment was one of the resolutions in the larger interests of womenkind [sic]." If the media and journalists like Wedaarachchi were actually serious about improving the status of women, they should try devoting more of their writing to real solutions that would serve to inform, educate and thus empower the public—women included.

Based on Wedaarachchi's coverage of Minister Karalliyadda, it seems like this politician, too, suffers from lack of personal reflection on his words and actions. One quote from the Minister highlighted the role that "terrorism" had played in overshadowing women's issues. Women in the northern regions were especially affected with "numerous problems" and Karalliyadda categorically stated that "as such, it is incumbent on the authorities to seek solutions for them." Wait—sorry, aren't you the Minister of Women's Affairs? Shouldn't you be the authority on the numerous problems that women are facing today, and what can be done to help them? What other authorities are you calling to action? Perhaps my ignorance about what is being done in the northern regions and what the Minister has contributed to the issues is showing here. But anything that has been done or is being done, Wedaarachchi apparently didn't think it was relevant, which makes me wonder what exactly Wedaarachchi does think is relevant when it comes to women. Oh wait, that's right: their protection.

Unfortunately, male journalists like Wedaarachchi aren't the only ones at fault in perpetuating the lack of media coverage on serious women's issues. Like Dr. Herath pointed out, articles written by, for and about women revolve around subjects like health and beauty, fashion, make-up, celebrities or gossip. Examples of these aren't difficult to find, like the Daily Mirror's Women at Work (W@W) insert. A short magazine with only a few pages, its target audience is obviously women. In one issue that I read, the articles generally reinforced issues that are considered "women's issues," as defined by its women authors. One article talked about the author’s befuddlement with technology and with the husband's obsession over it. She talks about their new, large TV, or the "ultimate, all time, masculine, state-of-the-art dream machine" as being a "woman's worst nightmare and a man's biggest daydream." Referring to the TV once as a "thingamajig," she rather blatantly perpetuates the stereotype of technology being a "man's" domain, as well as something that is somehow naturally beyond the comprehension of women. She talks despairingly of wires and cables and subwoofers and being in an "e-hell." Being extremely competent in technology myself, this whole article made me absolutely cringe in horror. The ability to understand technology is not bound by gender, and men have no biological advantage that allows them to "get it" while women don't. Technology is a clear example of the social engineering of gender and its associations. While I'm glad that this female writer has found work outside of her home doing something she seems to enjoy, the level of journalism is far, far below par. In fact, the entire magazine seems to project an attitude of careless indulgence about fairly trivial issues, with numerous spelling and grammatical errors throughout. The one serious article, "Mental Illness is Nothing to be Ashamed of," provided any woman who read it with a nice fat helping of guilt, placing the burden of erasing the "stigma attached to mental illness in this country" squarely on the shoulders of women. Yet again, this article emphasized the traditional role for women as primary caretakers of the family. With articles on health and nutrition and a feature on a woman who enjoys making miniature furniture models, "Women at Work" is just one example of women engaging in gender policing and refusing to engage in serious issues within journalism.

This very critical issue of women and the media was covered by the workshop in Mr. Wedaarachchi's article. Because the media has the power to influence so much of our daily lives, extra attention needs to be paid to it, especially when it comes to women's issues. Unfortunately, though his article was an attempt to provide women's issues with serious media coverage, the low-quality journalism that he engaged in merely served to exemplify the poor coverage that women receive. His article's headline reinforced the stereotype of women as victims who need the protection of not just the patriarchal state, but the media as well. It's also very curious to me that the Minister of Women's Affairs is a man. I don't, in any way, mean to engage in a reversal of the usual gender discrimination. Men are certainly not incapable of understanding the affairs of women, but I wonder if Karalliyadda is really qualified for the job—yes, simply because he is a man. When it comes to the specific affairs of a specific gender, one would think you would be at a disadvantage if you were of the opposite gender. What would the world think if the Minister of Men's Affairs was a woman? Speculations aside, gender role reinforcement in the media doesn't just come from males telling females how to be a woman, but from women telling women too. As I was browsing the newspapers, a picture on the front page with the word "Zonta" compelled me to flip to C3. Now here, I thought, was going to be some serious coverage of a woman's organization whose explicit mission is to advance the status of women. Disappointed was I when I saw the heading at the top of C3: "Society Life with Kirthi: Zonta Fun." The short verbiage lived up to its headline, talking about a celebration the club held that was an "entertaining and joyous evening." Coverage of women's issues in serious journalism is in a sad state if even an organization specifically for advancing the status of women is used to perpetuate the stereotype that women care more about social happenings than anything else. It’s just one more symptom in a long list. Perhaps if Mr. Wedaarachchi’s headline had been “Media Should Promote Women and Children,” I could have some hope for the current state of affairs. Unfortunately, it seems the media has a long a way to go.

Cultural engineering

A picture I found on Google by
searching 'sri lankan folk rituals.'
Interesting side note: in the first
ten pictures listed in my search,
one of them was of ISLE

The other day, as I sat bored out of my mind and hot out of my clothes (Why isn't that an expression? It should be.) in a lecture about folk rituals of Sri Lanka, I began to wonder why people travel. The professor was talking about how every year he would get "locals" to come and perform folk rituals for the ISLE students. The rituals, in such a context, wouldn't mean anything. They would be performed purely for consumption by American students, who traveled to Sri Lanka for, presumably, exactly that. I wondered if that's why I came to Sri Lanka: to be a consumer of culture, to take and take and take, and give nothing; to watch, to "experience," and then leave.

Even if I can't quite articulate why I actually am here, I do know that the longer I'm here, the more I feel like I've been injected into this pristine cultural bubble. We take our classes with "Sri Lankan" professors--who teach in English, and have almost all been to and/or taught in the US at one point. We are given lectures on the ethnic conflict; on a post-ethnic state; on Buddhism; on the U.N. and human rights violations; and on art by upper-class, elite, rich, old--did I mention upper-class?--Sri Lankan men who are there to tell us what Sri Lanka is. They are also usually fairly prestigious, if not downright famous, Sri Lankans. Our Sinhala professor, whom we call "Amare," is an accomplished author of fiction and has received the Sri Lankan equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize. My attamma was scandalized when she heard me call him Amare. "You mean Professor Amarekeerthi, right?" Our Colonial History class is taught by Kingsley de Silva, perhaps the preeminent Sri Lankan historian. Our material culture class was taught by Sudharshan Seneviratne, who would casually mention, as we blithely inspected some ancient ruins, that he lead the site excavation back in the 90s. We would repeat this whole scene at almost every site during our Northern Tour. During a visit to the house of yet another U-P.E.R.O.S.L.M, we listened to about six different authors do some readings from un/published books. My host mother was shocked when she found out that I didn't get a signed book from one of them, and I can't even remember his name.

We don't take classes with local students. In fact, by the time we began taking our regular classes [1], all of the university students had gone on break. Not like it would have mattered anyway, because it's not like we have any opportunities to interact with them anyway. All of our classes happen either in the specially designated "ISLE PROGRAMME COMMITTEE ROOM" or in the only room in the entire Arts Faculty [2] building with A/C. Cultural immersion, amirite?

Traditional Kandyan dancers,
epitomizing true Kandyan culture.

Supposedly, our classes are "open to all university students!" As if any one of them would, of their own volition, come and sit in a classroom full of rowdy American students who speak too quickly and have funny accents. And during their fall break no less. It's a joke, really, and it gets funnier. After we have class at the university, we pile into our van (with our driver who waits for us while we're in class) to go back to the ISLE Center [3] for our "traditional Kandyan dance" class, where we're taught by the prominent Master Surasena. On a trip to his house for an extra dance class, we were trying to extract directions from our half-crazy, half-deaf and fully awesome driver, Sumanasena. When we asked him where to go after getting off the bus, he told us to just ask anyone where Master Surasena's house was and they would show us. I'm sorry, did I mention we were surrounded by elite, upper-class men? Just to complete the bubble, the dance performance will be done inside the ISLE Center, and the people in attendance are our host families, there to humor our "cultural activities" one last time.

The stifling auditorium at Kingswood for the
inter-high school debate

I've been in Sri Lanka for a full two months now. I have only just begun to forge real relationships with people here. I quit the Kandyan dance class and occasionally ditch my lectures because I've actually found some interesting things to do with my time. During the aforementioned house visit, I talked to one of the younger authors in attendance. After happening to meet again at the university, he asked me to sit on a panel for an inter-school high school debate. The room was stifling, the chairs were hard, awkward social encounters abounded, and I was sweating in that profuse way that only Americans seem to, but I loved every minute of actually doing something that hadn't been specifically engineered for me. But if that's what I really wanted out of my visit to Sri Lanka, then remind me again why I'm paying Whittier College $25k to be here?


[NOTES]

[1] My time in the ISLE Program is broken up into three sessions. Session I consisted of: 1 week of intensive Sinhala class; 1 week of intensive Sinhala class plus the lecture portion of my Material Culture class; 1 week of a Northern Tour visiting all the ancient city sites of Sri Lanka; and 1 last week of Sinhala class and writing our final paper for our Material Culture class. Session II, which is beginning to come to a close, is the most similar to a normal class schedule. We're taking two "electives" (I'm taking Colonial History of Sri Lanka and Images of the Feminine and the Social Experiences of Women) in addition to Sinhala II. We also have the opportunity to take a Kandyan dance/drumming class (which I'm not) and a Batik class (which I am, sort of). Session III is our independent study, where we choose a project, go out in "the field" and then come back and write a paper. [BACK]

[2] Departments are called Faculties here. They have a Medical Faculty, Science Faculty, Arts Faculty, Agriculture Faculty, etc. The ISLE Program is a part of the Arts Faculty on campus. Interestingly, each faculty has pecking order; Arts is at the bottom, while Medical is at the top. There is a student led protest on campus telling the Administrators to "Set Up the Faculty of Management" because apparently the students entering as Management had been promised their own Faculty and building. Unfortunately for them, they got put into the Arts Faculty instead. [BACK]

[3] The ISLE Center is located in a residential area not far from the university. The Center is, in fact, the old house of a presidential candidate, Gamini Dessanayake, who was assassinated in 1994 by a member of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). From my casual walks around the neighborhood, it is far and away one of, if not the richest and grandest houses in the area. [BACK]

An onslaught (of)/(on) human rights

essay response to a lecture by G.H. Peiris, professor emeritus of geography at the University of Peradeniya

When Prof. Peiris first began his lecture, he seemed to be overtly, unncessarily cautious in warning us that his lecture was not pro-West. He explained that his topic had been originally chosen as a joke; one that he had hoped would get him out of doing this lecture in the first place. He had, in fact, retired from lecturing a few years ago because he was getting older, becoming hard of hearing and beginning to lose the strength of his voice. But his cleverness only earned him a second's thought from Padma, before she smiled and agreed on the topic. Anyway, he hoped we would take this lecture to be only one man's perspective, and perhaps give us something new to chew on. At this point, I almost raised my hand to encourage him that we were, indeed, open-minded and forward-thinking individuals who could handle a critique of the actions of our country. We're not, after all, the ones who directly make decision on foreign policy for the United States, and we are certainly mature individuals who can approach a topic objectively. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, these reassurances went unsaid as he continued with his lecture.

And I say fortunately because my reassurances would have been nothing but blithe and naive. As Peiris went on to explain the detrimental effects of the unsolicited "human rights" interventions by the West, and how it was contributing to the denigration of Sri Lanka in the global community, I noticed a slow but perceptible shift in the room's atmosphere. A lecture that most had assumed they would probably check out of five minutes into turned out to be raising some hackles. As Peiris criticized the actions of the UN Secretary General, the contents of the Darusman Report, as well as "statistics" reported in mainstream Western media, I could see people shifting in their chairs as well as sidelong glances being tossed left and right. But this was not before I had caught myself instantly discarding some of his criticisms. How could the Darusman Report, a report ordered by the UNSG and completed by a panel of "experts," be wrong? How could they have grossly inaccurate statistics about the civilian death toll during Eelam War IV? Impossible, I caught myself thinking.

But then one girl asked Peiris what Channel 4's motivation would be to broadcast anti-Sri Lankan government propaganda, and I immediately realized something: not matter how infallible we believe our institutions to be, they are ultimately made up of people. It's a husband who's kid just got expelled from school who decided to run that broadcast; it's a young woman who's sister just got diagnosed with cancer who nixed that article from running on the front page. As many safeguards and rules and regulations as there are in place, there are just as many people who can override them. Having been in a position where I've had the power to make decisions about policies that affect thousands of people, I've begun to understand this. While people, I believe, are able to make decisions with integrity, they are just as equally able to make a decision based on personal reasons.

Whose world, again?

That's how I've begun to understand the things that go wrong in this world, and that's how I was able to give Peiris' viewpoint a chance. It's entirely possible that the Sri Lankan government, given the circumstances, did do as good of a job as they could have with 300,00 refugees from the North arriving overnight. It's also entirely possible that people were subjected to more suffering and brutalities by the government, and that their actions in dealing with the refugees constituted gross misconduct and human rights violations. What I've learned is that I don't know. What I've also learned is that no matter how impenetrable you think your defense against bias influencing your ability to be open-minded is, you're probably overestimating yourself. What I hope I did was take Peiris' lecture and carefully file away this new knowledge. Perhaps there is nothing I can do with it yet; no paper I can write, no action I can take. But if anything, I've accepted it as a valid perspective with the realization that no matter how hard I may find it sometimes to identify myself as a Westerner (and so eager to claim my Japanese heritage at these times), I am still an American, raised in America with American values instilled in me from the start. And I can say that now, perhaps for the first time, with real pride in my voice and without a hint of irony or criticism, nor a cringe in my eyes. Now... what exactly it means to be an American with such values, I've yet to discover or at least articulate.

Myths of purity

essay response to a lecture on ethnicity by Tudor Silva, professor of sociology at the University of Peradeniya

The question of ethnicity is a tough one. According to our talk today, ethnicity is comprised of one or more of these: shared history, culture or blood, although the last one is more heavily debated, apparently. And I would agree that if you use blood as an identifying factor, it begins to blur the lines of race, as well as history. For shared blood to be relevant, you need to go back into history and discover a common lineage. And I would suspect that if someone found two separate ethnic groups that, for example, became a single group of which they are a part of now, there might even be a split in the contemporary group to mirror the historical division.

Here, clean up that racial impurity.

Why is it that we constantly look to the past for our identities? Why is the future so inadequate in providing us with definition that we must "go back" to a time or history that is more "pure"? Why is a return to "the way things were" better than the way things are now? And why do we search in the past for present identities in time of crisis? It seems that when "bad" change comes, we tend to flee from it; stop it; try to suppress it in any way possible. It's what the Buddhist monks were facing when they wrote the Mahavamsa. It's what we all do. But, and I think Prof. Sudharshan would agree with me, these identities are all constructed: there's nothing that's ever "pure." Racial purity is a myth, as is ethnic, linguistic or religious purity. The present is constantly shaped by the the people who are living within it. The past too, influences the present, but only after it has been filtered through the contemporary lenses of the present people.

Contemporary Sri Lanka is not, I believe, in a post-ethnic state. This is a difficult thing for me to judge. I've been here for just over three weeks, and I've barely lived with my Sinhalese-Buddhist host family long enough to be comfortable with them. They're still reserved around me, and I around them. Seeing as they are my main source of interaction with locals, I cannot really use my experiences with them to contribute to empirical evidence. The only time we ever talked about ethnic differences was when I asked whether or not it was okay to lick my fingers while I was eating. My ammaa explained that licking your fingers was something kids do. It's not impolite, but merely unrefined. Those weren't her words, but that's what I interpreted what she was telling me. Then she added, as an afterthought, that Muslims lick their fingers. It wasn't said with any condemnation, but she was, in essence, comparing the cultural habits of Muslims to the manners of children.

Though they may not be as in a post-ethnic state, I believe that there are, perhaps, movements that can be made towards conflict resolution. The issue of solutions was fresh on my mind as I listened to Professor Hallisey's lecture on Buddhism in Sri Lanka. So when he talked about an early Buddhist monk who gave a sermon in two languages, and how being cosmopolitan was valued in early Buddhism, as were connections that were local, trans-local and historical, it jumped out at me. Here was a way that Sinhalese Buddhists could use the past for their present identity, but in a more inclusive way that both valued and upheld historical tradition. Because we all know how much better things used to be, back in the day.

Crash landing in Burma

essay response to a lecture on the current ethnic conflict by Tissa Jayatilaka, Director of the US-Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission

It seems like there is no hope for Sri Lanka. The LTTE was defeated, which was supposed to be the beginning of peace. The President had promised that he would start down the path of reconciliation with the minority groups in Sri Lanka, but what's been done by the political leaders in this country has been going in the complete opposite direction. Ostracization, not inclusion has been the attitude of the government. Today I realized the implications of the term "political leader." In America, I feel like we are told time and time again that in a democratic government ("like ours"), the government is the voice of the people. We believe that our Senators, Representatives, governors, and other elected officials represent us, and therefore do the will of the very people who elected them. While that in itself is fallacious (a person cannot represent someone without their consent, and silence--e.g. not voting--is not consent), the belief that the people somehow control the government is, perhaps, misleading.

Since the implementation of the 18th Amendment and the subsequent allowance for an indefinite number of terms of office for the president, the political outlook for Sri Lanka is very grim. The current President was elected by the majority, and continues to pander to the Sinhalese-Buddhist majority. Since 75% (?) of the population will agree with his politics concerning the foremost ethnic conflict issue, his reign seems almost guaranteed in Sri Lankan politics. His opposition, the UNP, has begun to crumble in the face of his continued term of office. What an awful predicament for this country. The Sinhalese-Buddhist majority would see no reason to elect someone else; certainly not anyone with Tamil sympathies. And the Tamil, being a population minority, lack sufficient voting power to even have a hope of putting someone more favorable in office. As such, they continue to be marginalized by the majority.

The minority/majority conflict seems to be the same story everywhere I go. In the States, at Whittier College, within the comfort of my campus and city, there too are concerns of minorities (not just ethnic) and disadvantages. There, I worry about growing up in a patriarchal society where male is normative and female is other. I worry about being Japanese-American in a hierarchical, dualistic society in which non-White, non-male, non-heterosexual, non-middle+ class peoples are marginalized. I worry about growing up in a hyper-sexualized society, where the female body is regularly dismembered by popular culture and media and where females are taught to place their self-worth in their physical appearance and then given impossible, unrealistic body type ideals. These are the things I worry about as I go to eat in the CI and throw away half of the food I take. These are the things I worry about as I complain that all we ever have for dining options is beef, beef and more beef. These are the things I worry about as I walk the streets of my town barefoot without having to worry about flatworms. These are the things I worry about as I casually stroll the sidewalks at 2 am in the morning because I need some fresh air. These, these are the things I worry about. Not contracting malaria. Not having to be home before dark. Not if I've had enough protein for the day. Not having to learn English so I can have a possibility at a higher education. Not where I can find clean drinking water because the tap water will make me sick. These... these are not the things I worry about.

As I was driven back to my host family's house, I watched the streetside stalls go by with their hanging fresh fruit. I watched as piles of trash that lined the street became a blur; a colorful line undulating in unison with the landscape. I thought of what I would come home to: a two-story house with real windows and doors, a car in the drive way, two refrigerators and running water. But also a kitchen that was consistently swarming with flies, a floor in which you cannot walk without incidentally killing at least five different bugs, and a cup of tea with a belly-up ant as garnish. A kitchen that uses the fridges to keep bugs out of the food, not to keep it fresh.

As I sat in the colder-than-comfortable air conditioning of the car, I realized how dangerous romanticization of other cultures and lifestyles is. When talking on the phone to a friend back home about Sri Lanka, I laughed about being sweaty all the time, taking cold showers and eating food that's been left out all day. I told him, with a knowing smile in my voice, that "It's just a different type of life style here. We may judge it as being 'developing,' but that's just because the climate is so different. Our lifestyle back in the States just wouldn't work so well here. Sure, there's poverty here, but it's not everywhere, and in all, it's not so bad." Today, I passed homes that were no more than huts--shanties really--with cardboard instead of drywall and only windows that were unwanted. How many times have I passed these on my way to and from school and not noticed? How many times have I characterized living styles here as quaint or seen this whole thing as merely an adventure? Oooh, I have to learn to deal with taking cold showers, what a challenge! Surely this will incite change and growth and development in my person!

Oh four-dollar-cups of coffee.

After five months, I'll return to the U.S. I'll go back to living my privileged life, with my own car. With a job that I do for fun. With more clothes than I ever wear. With shoes that I keep around just in case I feel like wearing them. With more food that I throw away than eat. With my own laptop. With constant access to the internet, television and news sources. With water clean enough to drink from the tap. With bottled water that I buy anyway. With four-dollar-cups of coffee. With dilemmas that cannot even begin to compare to those of people less fortunate than I. Yet I have complained, long and loud; to myself and to others about the horrible, awful plights of my life. I am privileged enough, as Larry Rosenstock once told me, to have problems of the existential nature, and not of the having-enough-sustenance-to-survive nature. That angered me at the time. How dare he compare my problems to ones that I would never have to worry about. My problems were important, and him and his third-world problems could go to hell.

The issue is always the same: how do you get the majority to care about the minority? How do you get the privileged to care about the disadvantaged? How do you get the rich to care about the poor?

On mustard seeds and bodhi trees

Buddha said that only ethical and moral factors differentiate people, and nothing else. But Buddhism arose within the context of the caste system in India, so the rejection of such markers makes sense. However, just because a religion is "created" (and religion is merely a highly developed and complex way of seeing the wold through a certain lens, so of course religion must be created), doesn't mean it isn't valid. An easier way of thinking about it is as a perspective on the meaning/purpose of life. And it is up to the individual to decide that for themselves.

I could come up with my own purpose and lens, maybe even create my own religion. Or, I could take the well-traveled path of choosing from what's available to me. There's nothing wrong with the latter, especially because I am a product of a specific socio-cultural milieu. I choose my life from sets of options. It would be a daunting task to create an entirely new life--one that has no parallels whatsoever. What we would see as a unique way of living is only in comparison to ways that we know how to live. Something entirely new would be so foreign that we wouldn't see it as "living" or even "human," I think. In fact, such a creation might be impossible, if without societies and people we are "speechless and mindless."

Yet we are not solely products of our environments, for we must have come into such a helpless condition (i.e. being speechless and mindless without others) by way of biology. I am sure there are some creatures who can survive without the nurturing of parents from their birth, and biology has made them so. Our own biology and evolution has made us so. Thus, we are shaped by our environment and by nature.

Leaf of a bodhi tree.

Anyways. More about Buddhism. Distinguishing people by their acts seems to be a much more practical way of looking at the world. Rewarding someone because of their faith has little application to our reality that we live everyday. And if it is solely on the basis of faith that you enter into heaven and are rewarded in the afterlife, Christianity is a religion of displaced reality. What about the here and now? While Christ may exhort them to respect their elders and not to covet or lie or steal, it is not on the basis of works that one enters into heaven. Christians use this as a point of reassurance for converts--even if you're a bad person, you can still get into heaven. For a thinking person, this should not be a point of reassurance.

What we conceive of as "fair" in this life is how appropriately proportionate the consequences of our actions are. And really, what else matters to us? We cannot even be sure of an afterlife; of a heaven or hell; purgatory or pearly gates. These things have been told to us, but we have no empirical evidence. We are beings of sense, are we not? We experience life through our senses, then process the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feelings and interpret them. That which we cannot know, we do not believe. We can make assumptions based on past experience, but we tend towards doubt if we have never empirically encountered something.

Why should we, as creatures of our senses, bound by reason and experience, force ourselves to be something we're not? Why should we believe in a deity whose being we cannot see, whose face we cannot touch, whose voice we cannot hear? If there was no punishment for unbelief, Christianity would have far less subscribers of its doctrine than it does.

In Buddhism, there is no punishment, only consequences for our actions: suffering. That, to me, is logical, practical, pragmatic, knowable, understandable, and every other synonym you can think of. And why shouldn't a religion/life perspective be these things? Why are religions illogical, non-empirical, difficult to understand, impractical? Living an ethical life should not be forced upon you by threats of hell and eternal damnation; it should be a practical, intelligent choice made by knowledgeable, logical beings.

Worshiping your elders

Second night with my host family. I still don't know their names, besides apacii, amma, nangii, loku malii and podi malii. And attamma of course. No serious mishaps so far, although I think I may have shown disrespect to my muttamma (grandmother's mother?). Even my attamma worshiped her, and I just stood there. In the car, attamma and apacii were talking in Sinhala, when attamma said in response to something apacii said: It is ok, she does not know the customs.

I know the only reason I feel uncomfortable groveling at the feet of another person is because in my culture, it's an absolutely pathetic sign of weakness and subordination. To debase yourself to the extreme that you would get down on your hands and knees in front of another is unthinkable to a person with any self-respect. Here, "worshiping" your elders is a way to show respect. I wonder what customs we have in America that are traditional signs of respect that would make someone else feel extremely uncomfortable to perform.

I'm still debating whether or not I should worship attamma or not. As much as I want to just be normal here, this is incredibly difficult. Sandamali said that it wasn't at all necessary to do so, but that I would become attamma's favorite if I did. But then that makes me wonder if I should do that for apacii and amma too, since they're also my elders. Does it show them disrespect if I don't? 

What extremes do you go to in order to assimilate into another culture? It makes a difference that I'm going home in four months. I'm not living here forever, so in  respect to that, it doesn't matter if I choose to ignore certain customs or traditions. But is it detrimental to my experience here? I say that I want to be immersed and fully experience a new culture, yet so far, I've refused to step outside my comfort zone. I speak in English, I don't try very hard to speak in Sinhala and I'm debating whether or not to go shopping with ammaa tomorrow or with the rest of my ISLE group. Choice of least resistance: ISLE group. Potentially awkward and difficult and emotionally draining choice: ammaa. Probably better in the long run? Ammaa.

Frumpity frump frump

Frumpy: the word has a negative, stuffy connotation. If you're frumpy, you're not sexy, or cute, stylish or sophisticated. Rather, you have the fashion sense of your grandmother and are clearly boring. But how can you tell so much about a person from just the way that they dress? It reveals more, I think, about how our society has trained women to place their self-worth in their image. We think a person can be judged from how big their boobs are, how sexy their ass is, how flat their stomach is and how toned their legs are. But not one person's true value or worth is determined by any physical, though we've trained ourselves to believe that.

Women feel insecure if they don't have some man's attention, and attention from men primarly comes from a physical appreciation of a woman. Certainly, their attention can grow into a deeper attraction, and they might enjoy spending time with that woman and getting to know her. But the primary initial attraction is physical.

However, in a culture like Sri Lanka, it's much more difficult to judge a woman by the shapeliness of her body, because much of it is covered up or indistinctive. Speaking from a personal standpoint, I realized I could focus more on being who I was, my personality, my friendliness and openness than having to spend the majority of my time worrying about how I look! It's amazing. I understand burkas now. They really make a lot of sense. However, my point still stands about having men dress conservatively too.

Sexuality

I wonder how much of this talk of ultra-conservatism and sexuality hyper-awareness is being created, and how much is reality. Rosemary talked to us about dressing more conservatively than the girls on campus do. Most of them wear short sleeves (practically tank tops; they're shorter than a babydoll cut) and skirts that flirt with their knees. Then she talked about not giving out your phone number or your address (makes sense), and maybe giving out your email. Unfortunately, I think a lot of the talk ended up having a negative impact on some of us when we met with the university students. Some of them felt like their personal space was being invaded because the students would lean in or talk at a close distance. One girl was even hesitant about giving out her email address. While certainly a lot of personal information can be found out through purely an email, it seemed like they were almost afraid of being sexually harassed just because a Sri Lankan boy knew how to write them an electronic letter. One of the girls even said, "Yeah, just give them your email but you don't have to write them back." What an indication of detachment! These students were real people, who, I would imagine, were merely in awe of interacting with Americans--something that doesn't happen regularly for them, if ever at all before meeting us for some of them, I'm sure. To blatantly ignore an attempt at communication and friendship seems... ignorant? sad? arrogant? All of the above perhaps.

Dressed like this, it's no wonder people
stare. Rosemary made me wear her pants
after seeing that I was, once again, wearing
those damn three-quarter trousers.

Another girl seemed intensely confused by our interactions with the university students. From her comments, it seemed like she had expected the males to only be interested in having sex with her, not with wanting to talk to her or find out about her. Weren't they supposed to like just sexually harass her? Instead they asked her about her studies, where she was from, and what she was interested in. It appeared, she noted surprisingly, that they just wanted to be friends.

It seems like the only thing that we've talked about so far is being hyper-aware that we're female and we have vaginas and all men want to do is stare at us and anything they say to us is a proposition for sex. Sure, we get a lot of stares, but even dressed conservatively and completely and utterly non-provocatively (even by local standards) we get a lot of stares. We clearly stick out like sore thumbs, even if we were to cover ourselves from head to toe and leave all to the imagination. We look different, we act differently, we walk and talk and interact differently--of course we're going to get stared at. And I don't think there's any shame in blatantly staring here either. They don't try to hide the fact, which makes it looks worse to us. If we "catch" someone staring at us and they quickly look away, we're flattered. If we find someone gawking, we call them a pervert and walk away in a huff.

Leave it to the imagination

I've been in non-Western clothing for 6 hours, and I'm actually kind of liking it. For awhile before I left, I entertained the notion that I would come back and only want to wear "traditional" Sri Lankan clothing. I could parade around Whittier in sarongs and saris, attract a lot of attention and questions, and be all the better for it. While it's probably too soon to tell, I don't really see that happening any more.

I was going to say that the clothing is uncomfortable, but that's just my jeans (which are too tight). The shirt that Lily let me borrow is loose and comfortable, and the leggings that I see her wear all the time look comfortable too. I wish I could wear my yoga pants with the shirt, but they're not full-length, so that won't be happening.

Rosemary told us that while we're on campus we should wear sleeves past our elbows, skirts past our knees, or full-length pants. If they're tight pants, our top should go to our thighs, or they should be loose pants. Kelsi seemed the least prepared for such restrictions--she was walking around the neighborhood in shorts yesterday.

Is it up to women to cover up parts of their bodies that excite men? Is that placing the blame or fault of mens' desires on women? What about men who wear clothes who fit well, like shapely jeans and a close-fitting polo? I've admired my share of Sri Lankan men, and in comparison to Sri Lankan women, a lot of them dress more provacatively. If the situation were quid pro quo, should the men as well dress in loose clothing, that cover their muscles and leave their packages to the imagination? Are they deliberately showing off? Do women deliberately show off?

I think in America, we get used to women showing off so much that we don't think of it as showing off any more. Wearing tight pants that show a woman's curves has become so normative that it's as commonplace as seeing a woman's nose. It's not provocative to us any more. But in a country like Sri Lanka, wearing tight pants is incredibly provocative. I was lying on the grass in front of the ISLE Center, wearing my yoga pants and a t-shirt, reading. At one point, I looked around, and saw three men standing some ways away from the driveway gate, clearly staring and talking about me. I wasn't sure how to feel, so I sat up into a cross-legged position. When I looked back, they were gone. Was their attention my fault because I was wearing tight pants? Or their fault, for having such desires?

Desire is the human condition. The immam at the mosque told us this yesterday. But the more conscious we are of god, the better our spriritual condition is. That is why they fast during Ramadan--to control our human desire for food, and become closer to god. Desire for food is unlike our other desires: the longer we ignore it, the more conscious we are of it. Sexual desire can be suppressed, as can other desires. That's why during Ramadan, they deny their desire for food. But I'm not super clear on the connection between it being the only one we can't ignore and why that makes it a good choice for becoming closer to god.

Palm trees with real coconuts

Finally arrived in Sri Lanka at 2 am local time, after thirty-one hours of flights and layovers. The currency exchange guys smiled at us a lot.

The "prestigious" airport advertising was bent on convincing us that mobile carrier Dialog would provide a "better Blackberry experience."

Emma didn't realize that she was supposed to tip the lady who gave her some toilet paper to dry her hands with. Awkward and sad situation.

I was trying to figure out what sorts of clothes the women wear here, and it seemed that there were so many more men than women.

Driving out of the airport in our two vans, we passed a lot of men and women in uniform, fully armed. We have the AC going on blast and the windows pulled back, but it's still hot, humid and sticky. It's too dark to see much past the illumination of the van's headlights, but there's a stark mix of thatched, roadside stands and neon-illuminated "Euro Star" hotels. We drive on the left side and "give way," vestiges of British influence. They also pass on the other side of the road with great abandon--we've already had a couple of close calls, even at 3 am in the morning.

The shop fronts remind me of local streets in Japan: small entryways, crowded together with more store signs than doors. Colombo reminds me of Japan in a lot of ways, so far. Small cars, humid nights; the constant chirping buzz of cicadas, crickets and frogs. Now that we're away from the exhaust-laden air of the terminal, breathing is easy and refreshing.