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.