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| Sunday, 6 April 2003 |
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Musings of a ghost from the past by Prof. Suwanda H. J. Sugunasiri : Change of attitudes Did I see any change of attitudes visiting Sri Lanka 3 years ago after 26 years? It was at a private hospital in Colombo that I watched a nurse, herself only Sinhala-speaking, treat unsophisticated-looking patients with the scantiest regard and greatest disdain. It would have not forced me to intervene, had they at least not had to pay for the service. Then, waiting to catch the plane at the airport, it wasn't a better treatment I saw meted out by the Stewardesses to rural-looking women going to the Middle East! So if I argued in my doctoral thesis a quarter of a century ago that it was a fallacy that English was the saving grace, I still haven't found any evidence to the contrary, at least in the living context of Sri Lanka. Despite my misgivings, from a distant land, however, I am open to be convinced that English has helped the country. Perhaps you can help me with answers to some of my nagging questions. Are Sri Lankans happier, healthier, and enjoy a qualitatively better life today after fifty years of Independence, when the nation's affairs have been run by an English-educated class? What percentage of our incomes are spent on basic necessities - food, clothing and shelter? Has the gap between the rich and the poor, both within the city, and between town and country, narrowed, or has it widened? What social, political, cultural, economic and spiritual stability has the country gained? Has there been any scientific breakthroughs, not necessarily of an international standard, but to make a difference in the life of the people? Has the country produced any geniuses in any field that can shine on the international stage? Are the names Martin Wickremasinghe and Sarachchandra international household names as are Chinua Achebe and V S Naipaul? Or Amaradeva as is Ravi Shankar? As I thank you for helping me, here's one more that baffles me: If English is the magic touch that it is claimed to be, then why is it that countries of the West Indies, that speak English natively, are still at the level of a Two-thirds World (my term for Third World, to capture the reality of population distribution) and not taken their seats among the rich nations? It is not that I lament change, even if it has been through a mind-colonizing language. Change, as both the Buddha and science remind us, is the only reality. But it is that change must promote human happiness, justice, fairplay, abundance, spiritual upliftment. Please forgive me if I have inadvertently hurt your sensibilities, and I want to assure you that this ghost from the past has not come to bury Caesar, ooops, English, but to point to the nudity of the Emperor, as it rides on the palanquin borne by the sweating masses to the drum-beat of the city, the boon and bane of a nation. It would certainly be preposterous on my part, living a life of comfort in a distant land, to suggest solutions. But perhaps Sir John Kotelawala's 'Sinhala hemin hemin' can be turned on its head. How about a new slogan, 'Ingirisi hemin hemin'? As appropriate, as needed to meet the developmental needs. Anandawardhena's aucitya again, but this time in the developmental field. Could China be a possible model. In a study I did on medical education in Canada some 3 decades ago, my research showed that China was, for the first 25 years of Mao's Revolution, totally unaware of any developments in the field of medicine elsewhere in the world. But then in the next decades, it caught up through a gradual introduction of English and access to western science. Alright, you say China is a big country. But how about Cuba that showed a similar pattern? In closing, I can't resist making a modest suggestion. How about establishing a Commission of Enquiry to explore the role of English in the country's development? Only make sure to include on the panel a farmer, fisherman, harbour worker, city beggar, writer, drummer, dancer, vernacular teacher, religious reps, youth and mothers. Make them the majority. And, oh, one more thing. Just make sure that none of them speak English. Drinking in development A reader of author Gamlath's work questions if the respected Prof. Sarachchandra did indeed go overboard (as appears to the questioner from the author's detailed descriptions of the professor's private and social life), in bringing about sensual gratification (p.111). But what piques my interest is not so much the personal but the social. In particular, it is the Sarachchandra soirees, held with his 'co-hearts' (I'm sure here that the literary reader sees me playing with sahrdaya, the term for 'appreciators') - from A to W, i.e., Amaradeva to Welikala. What jumps at me is the role of drinks served at these soirees, that seem to have served at least as part glue for the camaraderie. "The soirees often end with drinks," occasioning light-hearted comments from Professor Sarachchandra such as "So Bharata Muni is also an excuse for drinking" (p.66). It immediately made a link for me. In a Canadian context. It was in producing Dayananda Gunawardhena's Nari Bena in Toronto in 1980 (which, incidentally, was selected as one of the 10 best heritage-language plays of the year in the province of Ontario). I discovered, to my chagrin and horror, that some of my male actors - Christian and Buddhist (yes, the majority of my cast was Christian, with Buddhists not providing much talent) were in stupor .. alright drunk, while on stage! I was strangely reminded of an argument I had heard growing up - how it is a drink that perks the creative energy! Sure. I had seen at least one great writer, Martin Wickremasinghe, drink on the job - I mean, as he worked at his desk. And I have had any number of friendly tiffs with Dayananda Gunawardhena trying to encourage him not to reach for the bottle after rehearsals. But, then, it occurred to me, what explains the husbands of Canada drinking while the monks invited to the daane had not even finished? What creative energies indeed were they releasing? No daane in Toronto seemed to be complete without the men-folk. having a whiskey - no less, while the monks were being served meatless delicacies! Today, in these times of gender equality, women-folk seem to take a back seat only until the holy ones have departed! Yet another practice in the early years of Sri Lankans in Canada jumped to my mind. No party seemed complete without the drunken fist-fights of young prize-fighters, at least on one occasion a victim ending up in hospital! The question that comes to my mind, then, is whether the Sinhalese (other Sri Lankans, too?) have taken to drinking like fish to water. Let me make a confession here - to being a life-time teetotaler. And non-smoker. My sensitivity may have arisen from having as father an ardent amadyapa 'freedom-from-liquor' activist, the late Mr. S H Sauris Silva, the state-honoured Ruhunu Dance maestro, and author of books and articles on Low Country Dancing. I will also confess that, no, it is not because I have been shunned for the sin of not drinking, often enough, not just in Sri Lanka, but in Canada, too, by fellow Sri Lankans than by others. Personal feelings aside, I feel compelled to deal with the issue for some very interesting religio-cultural, and more importantly, developmental reasons. We all know the fifth Precept. (Suramayraya majja pamadatthana veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami). I take up the training principle.. Yes, that is the literal translation of sikkhapada, of Bhante Punnaji Mahathero, in off-'n'-on residence in Toronto. Yes, I take up the training principle of abstaining from.... But what does suramayraya majja pamadatthana mean? You've heard it explained. Supposedly tongue in cheek, but invariably accompanied with a guilty-laden sort of laugh. It means 'liquor to moderation'. Right? More literally, 'to an extent that alters consciousness'. Pamadatthana. Pamada here, of course, as the opposite of appamada (as in appamado amata padam, pamado maccuno padam 'diligence is the path to deathlessness, and non-diligence to death'). Or as in the Buddha's last words, appamadena samdetha. Strive with diligence. Is it, then, this interpretation - that is, not drinking beyond 'the point' (thaana) at which one is led to non-diligence (appamada), that has served as the license to drinking (no pun intended)? The term majja itself also might have made its contribution. It is not difficult for the average Buddhist to mistake majja, meaning 'liquor' in Pali, with majjha (with an aspirate jha like in jhana) meaning 'middle' (as between ucca 'high' and nica 'low'). |
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