I am what I am; I will be what I will be.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

University Autonomy and Governance: Towards a Dismantling of Institutionalized Mal-practice


(Invited Lecture delivered at the workshop, ‘University Governance, Autonomy and Accountability: Issues and Directions for Change’ organized by the University of Colombo, Sri Lanka Foundation Institute, Colombo, 3rd September 2015)[1]

If the oldest and perhaps the most established university in the country considers it necessary to organize a workshop of this magnitude on the theme, ‘University Governance, Autonomy and Accountability: Issues and Directions for Change’ with the participation of major stakeholders of higher education in the country, then, one has to assume that there is a serious and entrenched crises in our midst that can be understood within this theme. Unfortunately however, not too many of us have discussed such issues this openly until now. That does not mean that concerned colleagues have not whispered about these issues in the informal corridors of academia and sometimes spoken publically as well. But institutionally and collectively, we have not discussed these issues in public, and with the kind of urgency that they so deserve. In the words of Romila Thapar: “it is not that we are bereft of people who can think autonomously and ask relevant questions. But frequently, where there should be voices, there is silence.” (Thapar 2013). Closer to home, Savitri Goonasekere calls this the “studied silence of the university community.”[2] I see the venture undertaken today as a significant attempt to overcome our silence. In this context, I want to do two simple things, assuming this might help place the discussions over the next two days within a broader perspective. 

First, I would like to set forth some ideas on what ‘autonomy’ means to a university. 

And second, I will attempt to think aloud about what I understand as ‘governance’ in so far as universities are concerned. 

I leave it up to the technical discussions that follow to work out the details, modalities, and the legal frameworks within which ideals pertaining to these concepts might be achieved. Or in the very least, to figure out how it might be possible to come closer to these ideals than we are today. I have discussed some of these issues many times before, including during my address in 2014 to the colleagues in the Faculty of Arts, University of Colombo. To them, I apologize for some inevitable repetition. 

Autonomy and academic freedom

Let me first deal with the idea of ‘autonomy.’ In the detailed background note of this workshop, it is suggested that in Sri Lanka, autonomy in universities is understood in terms of two perspectives, one ascribed primarily to university academics, and the other to politicians and officials. 

The second perspective has, by far, tremendous political power in the Sri Lankan context because universities are imagined in much the same way as other government entities, and are seen within the ambit of direct state control. Talking about the same tendency in the Indian context, Arun Kumar notes that “universities cannot function like a bureaucracy or the police where orders are implemented without questioning; compliance is expected and dissent is a malaise – the anti-thesis of what academia needs. … Autonomy of the institutions and of the academics is so crucial for advancing knowledge generation” (Kumar 2013). 

While these two perspectives make sense when presented in this manner, their analytical utility disappears in the realm of actual practice. As all of us know quite well, there are many academics among us who have been touting the second-perspective on autonomy as if we are sales reps for the University Grants Commission and the Ministry of Higher Education. 

In talking about ‘autonomy’ in universities, I will restrict myself to academic freedom which obviously cannot blossom unless universities are truly autonomous. In 1992, in Sinaia, Romania, in a conference partially sponsored by UNESCO on ‘Academic Freedom and University Autonomy,’ the proceedings made the following basic but crucial observations: “History has shown that violations of academic freedom and institutional autonomy have high costs in intellectual regression, social alienation and economic stagnation. In light of profound social changes and new demands placed on universities, there is a need to forge a new understanding between universities and society. A reaffirmation and revitalization of the principles of academic freedom and university autonomy are imperative” (CEPES Papers on Higher Education 1992: 4). 

It seems to me that today, as we meet to discuss our own crisis, we are experiencing what these colleagues felt, thought about and attempted to break free from, at a much earlier moment in time and in another place. It should be clear that academic freedom, along with the very function of a university as a key source of knowledge, cannot be sustained unless these institutions are autonomous from destabilizing external and internal forces. 

As we know, all major universities in the world were conceived and established initially as autonomous zones of intellectual freedom, open to debate and uncensored production of knowledge. Concepts such as ‘academic freedom’ found their genesis in these contexts. In the United States, ‘academic freedom’ found its meaning within contentious political debates over a period of 100 years. In 1967, in a well-known case, Keyishian vs. Board of Regents, speaking on behalf of the majority of the US Supreme Court, Justice William Joseph Brennan made the following statement: “academic freedom --- is of transcendent value to all of us and not merely to the teachers concerned. That freedom is therefore a special concern of the First Amendment, which does not tolerate laws that cast a pall of orthodoxy over the classroom” (Perera 2005). 

In the Sri Lankan context, the Federation of University Teachers’ Associations in May 2013 reiterated this understanding of the university as a zone of freedom: “The fundamental role of a contemporary university is teaching and research based on the principle of the search for unbiased truth. This role is facilitated by intellectual freedom in carrying out teaching and research, autonomy of universities, evolution of various disciplines with inherent and independent standards/priorities and internationalism.”[3] While some of us may have differing views on the search for an ‘unbiased truth’ given the instability of the notion of truth itself, we can all stand behind the sentiment espoused through this statement. 

Our academic colleagues made these observations in the specific contexts in Sri Lanka when the general ideals of both autonomy and academic freedom were in the process of being seriously curtailed as a necessary requirement of the state. 

Autonomy conventionally ascribed to universities and the resultant freedom to pursue academic and intellectual goals have been restricted in recent times not only in our country, but in many other parts of the world as well, due to a number of reasons. Conventionally, universities were seen not only as producers of knowledge, but also as centers of critique, and the conscience of a society. But critique is increasingly not something that states appreciate. And this is particularly the case when it comes to a region like ours where democratic practices and institutions as well as ethics in politics have been steadily dismantled over the last three decades. 

It is in such a context that Terry Eagleton observes with reference to higher education in the United Kingdom, “what we have witnessed in our own time is the death of universities as centers of critique” (Eagleton 2010). According to him, the function of a university and the responsibility of academics beyond the transmission of subject-specific knowledge is the creation of a space for self-reflection and responsible critique. As we have seen from our own experience, this is not a role governments like ours with increasingly authoritarian tendencies would want its citizens or universities to play. Hence the urge on the part of the state to curtail the autonomy of universities as well as academic freedom which goes with it. Eagleton further explains that since recent times, “the role of academia has been to service the status quo, not challenge it in the name of justice, tradition, imagination, human welfare, the free play of the mind or alternative visions of the future” (Eagleton 2010). This redefined role of the university as a purveyor and protector of the status quo would naturally suite any government. It offers less resistance; no dissent; and therefore easier governance by any means. 

The ways in which university autonomy and academic freedom have been defined in discussions globally and by FUTA in our own context might seem to suggest that threats to these ideals invariably come from the state and from beyond academia. As self-evident from our own experience, however, we know this is only a partial truth. Much of the ability to entrench negative tendencies such as curtailing these freedoms comes from within, from the tacit support of colleagues for different reasons. Arun Kumar, with reference to deteriorating autonomy in Delhi University over the last five years, refers very clearly to these internal dynamics in the following words: 

The senior academics of the university are dependent on the university administration for many things and, therefore, prefer to hold their counsel and mostly take a cue from the vice chancellor (VC). Those academics who dare to challenge the VC are branded as trouble makers. Often they face systematic harassment ---. An example is set to dissuade others from following these independent academics.

The result is the silence of most academics and the dominance of the administration. --- The erosion of autonomy, growing bureaucratisation and growing outside interference in the universities in India have gone together. --- In India, politicians like to control institutions, and ambitious academics collaborate in this to quickly move up the ladder to gain power” (Kumar 2013).

This is about the erosion of autonomy in India’s premier central university, and of the role played by its own academics in generating this state of affairs. When I first read this account and had numerous conversations with colleagues in that university over the last four years, my immediate sense was that I was still in Sri Lanka. That this was Colombo, Peradeniya, Sri Jayawardenapra and so on. Across the board, ours is also a story of betrayal, lack of ethics, lack of common sense and a complete lack of vision and an infatuation with a hallucination of power. And much of this has come from within universities. 

This deliberation on autonomy naturally leads to a discussion of governance in relation to universities. 

Governance

In the proposal for this workshop, ‘university governance’ has been defined as a set of practices that entails two domains: (a) university-government relations, (b) governance within the universities.”[4] It further suggests that “the concept of governance should not be restricted to the narrow sphere of administration” and should necessarily involve “a normative framework built on the ideals of freedom, autonomy, accountability and democratic governance.”[5] Despite the exhaustive and inclusive nature of this specific understanding of governance, my own thoughts today will be restricted to one specific modality of governance that involves the university and the state as well as interactions within universities.

As an example that addresses both of these domains, let me refer to the practice of appointing Vice Chancellors to our universities, which is directly done by the state, and specifically by the President of the Republic. In theory, Section 34 (1) of the Universities Act - 1978 offers the legal provisions and the power to universities and the University Grants Commission to exercise autonomy when appointing Vice Chancellors. Very simply, this clarifies that the UGC must recommend the ideal candidate to the President, selecting the nominee from the three names recommended by the Council of the University. However, under the previous government and with the passing of the 18th Amendment to the constitution, unmitigated political power was vested in the office of the President. Under this general situation and the resultant extreme and crude politicization of the UGC, an extremely negative precedence was set of sending all three names to the president without a specific recommendation. This allowed him the sole discretion to select the Vice Chancellor of his choice within the obvious limits of his wisdom.[6] The debacle over the appointment of a suitable VC at the University of Colombo is but one example.

Compared to this, in all ‘developed’ societies in Western Europe, North America and the Far East, appointments of Vice Chancellors or Presidents to major universities is done by their internal governing bodies. It is strictly an internal affair that usually ends after the recommendations of a search committee is taken to its logical conclusion. This is done taking into account the university’s autonomy and its right to govern itself. 

For example, at Oxford University, whose model upon which many of the older universities in our part of the world were based, the Council of the University appoints a Nominating Committee for the Vice-Chancellorship to conduct the search for the Vice-Chancellor. To express an interest in the post of Vice-Chancellor, anyone with the required qualifications simply uploads the application to a specified website quoting a reference number. The university’s Congregation, which acts as the ‘parliament’ of the University, with over 4,900 members, including academic staff, heads and other members of governing bodies of colleges, and senior research, computing, library and administrative staff, approves the appointment of the Vice-Chancellor. It is a simple, transparent, fairly independent and democratic system.[7] This is part of their tradition. 

In most parts of the world with underdeveloped economies and dismantled democratic traditions however, the situation is very different. Edward Said, with reference to the post-independence Arab world, notes that state universities were seen as extensions of the national security states. In this context Said makes the following observations about the Arab academy: 
Alas, political conformity rather than intellectual excellence was often made to serve as a criterion for promotion and appointment, with the general result that timidity, a studious lack of imagination, and careful conservatism came to rule intellectual practice (Said 2001).
As all of us know quite well, Said’s description of post-independence Arab academy describes equally well the prevailing general situation in Sri Lanka as well as the wider South Asia region. In Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Nepal, Vice Chancellors are appointed by the President or the Prime Minister of the country. Appointments to similar positions in regional universities in Pakistan and India are made by provincial governors. In all cases, these are acutely political appointments where academic credentials are made to have little relevance. 

What is of relevance is an appointee’s proximity to political authorities which make the appointments. In Sri Lanka, this state of affairs has come about as a result of the state’s relentless intrusion into universities since the late 1960s with much vocal support from sections in the academia since at least the 1990s in the backdrop of out-migration of skilled academics to the greener pastures of the West, experimentation with neo-liberal policies of governance, and the long-term impact of war and political violence on the practice of democracy. 

When crucial appointments such as these are made on the basis of narrowly defined political ends, what happens to ideals of governance and autonomy? How does it impact upon the integrity of both academics and academia? The politically anticipated ‘responsibility’ of academics appointed to positions such as that of vice chancellors to serve one’s masters to ensure one’s own political survival. Can they be true guardians of a system whose original goals were far greater than the self-interests of the politicians who now appoint them? 

Let me offer some clarifications here. Even in the early 1970s, Vice Chancellors in Sri Lanka were appointed by the state. But these appointees were individuals with a very different kind of education with an emphasis on ethics, which enabled them to think independently and as scholars despite the political nature of their appointments. They were capable of not adhering to political diktats if they lacked reason and ethics. It would be naive to assume there are too many of such people left in this country due to the serious ruptures in our education system in general as well as in our collective civic sense. 

Even so, if one studies the process of appointing vice chancellors to our universities provided under Section 34, it is obvious that there are certain safeguards to ensure that political authorities cannot simply appoint anyone they want. However, due to the kind of ‘timidity and studious lack of imagination’ that Said talks about, and also due to the ‘silence’ of senior academics that Thapar, Kumar and Goonasekere refer to, which are traits that have been deeply institutionalized in our universities also, violating norms so blatantly becomes something of a second nature, with no repercussions. Savitri Goonasekere explains this state if affairs in our own context in the following words:
Though the Senate is the highest academic body according to the University Act, and the Council the governing body with the autonomy to choose the nominees for the post of VC, they all surrendered their responsibilities in the face of political pressure. The Deans and Senate nominees in the Council were a powerful voice on university governance in the past, since the official nominees represent only a majority by one in the Council. The erosion of a collegiate sense in the university, the passivity of academics on these bodies, and the professionals in the Council, legitimised abuse of power even in the matter of professorial appointments.[8]
What else can be a better example of dismantled governance? What else would explain that failures in governance and autonomy in universities come first from within, rather than from the relatively distant structures of the state?

Future

As you deliberate over the next two days, I hope you would take the time to work out the modalities of how to deal with and decisively address these internal contradictions that we have allowed to manifest within our institutions. I would now like to make a number of concrete suggestions on how some avenues for critical engagement on these issues might be opened: 
  • Regarding university autonomy, a careful re-thinking of the legal framework within which the present crisis in university autonomy is located, has become a necessity. Rather than re-inventing the entire legal framework, what is suggested is a critical engagement with the existing structure to re-formulate the areas that are of critical importance such as the appointment of VCs, in order to restore autonomy to universities. This would enable these institutions to be freed from the vagaries of party politics. I strongly believe that it is essential to establish an independent body to which all groups such as the UGC, ministerial administration, university-level administration, academics and even student bodies can appeal, in cases of mal-practice or doubt.
  • In terms of accountability and responsibility in governance at all levels within universities, a system of checks and balances that includes inter-departmental and inter-faculty collaboration within universities should be formulated to ensure that a culture of downward accountability is established and maintained. A mechanism to initiate periodic reviews regarding the following of good practices and rules at all levels is also very necessary.
     
  • Specifically in relation to the appointment processes of VC’s and Council Members, apart from the revision of legal provisions mentioned above, the establishment of broader councils that play a significant role in governance within universities is a necessity. There also needs to be strict guidelines on the appointment of council members and their qualifications, including the provision to have members directly elected by faculty bodies. Also, there needs to be a clear legal provision for the vice chancellors to be responsible to their colleagues in universities and not merely to those political authorities who appoint them.
For me, the bottom line is that the aim of these proposed mechanisms should be to make governance and autonomy two sacrosanct terms that can exist without contradicting each other, and without violating the basic principles of academic freedom and the broader goals of university education. 

Let me end by referring back to the breaking of the collective silence I mentioned at the beginning of my presentation. There is an essential quality of human life we need to urgently rediscover and live by, if issues such as university accountability, autonomy, freedom of expression, and governance are to be re-established. But this cannot be done through the enactment of laws and regulations. I am thinking of our dignity, self-respect and understandings of right and wrong which we have so readily compromised for lesser things. 

For too long, we have been mute and have begun to believe that if we don’t see a travesty, through our own self-induced blindness of convenience, that travesty somehow does not exist. In that sense we are very similar to Salman Rushdie’s character in the novel, The Enchantress of Florence, Alessandra Fiorentina. As Rushdie narrates, “Alessandra Fiorentina had long ago perfected the art of seeing only what she wanted to see” and , “If she did not see you, then you did not exist” (Rushdie 2010: 190). To me, this seems like most of us in recent times.

If we are serious about reforming our university system, which is an urgently felt need, we need to first cure ourselves from this Fiorentina Syndrome of Convenient Amnesia, which afflicts many of us. If we can do that, and rediscover our lost sense of human dignity, then half the battle would be won. 

It seems to me that to a certain extent, we have begun to come out of our collective silence, if this workshop is any indication. And that too, with the direct guidance of the Vice Chancellor at University of Colombo and with the direct and personal intervention of the former Acting Vice Chancellor of the same university, Prof Lalita Mendis. This is a very clear sign of the importance of decent people in troubled places. This is also a very welcome sign, and an act other vice chancellors should readily emulate. This would not have been possible prior to the political changes of recent times. But one can never be certain for how long such an opening up of the public sphere might continue. However, just as much as individual tyrants with no vision have dismantled our institutions to a great extent while we have watched in silence, individuals can also set things right with our encouragement and support. 

In that sense Professor Dissanayake, though you have inherited an unenviable mess, transgressing that mess is well within what you can achieve during your tenure. I hope this is the time for a reinvention of ourselves. I hope the leadership for that will come from the University of Colombo, and from the deliberations of this workshop.

I thank you for your time, and hope this initiative reaches its fruitful end. 

References

CEPES Papers on Higher Education. 1992. Academic Freedom and University Autonomy. Proceedings of the International Conference, 5-7 May 1992, Sinaia, Romania

Eagleton, Terry. 2010 (17th December). ‘The Death of Universities.’ In, The Guardian, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2010/dec/17/death-universities-malaise-tuition-fees (last accessed on 02 10/14).

Kumar, Arun. 2013. ‘Delhi University and the Crisis in India’s Higher Education.’ In, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. - XLVIII No. 24, June 15, 2013. 

Perera, Sasanka. 2005. ‘Dismantling Academic Freedom.’ In, Alternate Space: Trivial Wrings of an Academic. Colombo: Colombo Institute.

Rushdie, Salman. 2009. The Enchantress of Florence. New York: Random House. 

Thapar, Romila. 2014. To Question or not to Question: That is the Question (Third Nikhil Chakravartty Memorial Lecture, 2nd November 2014). New Delhi (http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/academics-must-question-more-romila/article6535612.ece; last accessed on 03 November 2014).

Said, Edward. 2001. ‘Identity, Authority and Freedom.’ In, Reflections on Exile: And Other Literary and Cultural Essays. London: Granta Books.


Endnotes

[1]. I acknowledge with much gratitude the help from Samudrika Sylva at University of Colombo in formulating this address in the relatively short period that was available.
[2]. Email communication from Prof Savitri Goonasekere, 1st September 2015.
[4]. Unpublished draft Workshop proposal, University Governance, Autonomy and Accountability: Issues and Directions for Change, University of Colombo ; September 03-04, 2015.
[5]. Unpublished draft Workshop proposal, University Governance, Autonomy and Accountability: Issues and Directions for Change, University of Colombo ; September 03-04, 2015.
[6]. I thank Prof Savitri Goonasekere for her comments and explanations on the workings of Section 34, and the politicization of the UGC and the process of appointing Vice Chancellors; email communication, 1st September 2015.
[8]. Email communication from Prof Savitri Goonasekere, 1st September 2015.

This presentation was was serialized in the Island, and can be accessed via the following links:
Part 1 (16 September 2015): 

Part 2 (17 September 2015):

Part 3 (18 September 2015): 

Sunday, September 13, 2015

The Inevitability of the Banana Republic



Sri Lanka has been a ‘banana republic,’ for quite some time, and clearly so throughout the oligarchy of the Rajapaksas. Formally, a banana republic is “a small country that is economically dependent on a single export commodity, such as bananas, and is typically governed by a dictator or the armed forces.”[1] But in our case, the fate of the citizenry is far worse than in most other banana republics. In Sri Lanka, all wisdom, action, dreams, hallucinations and the making of unmitigated profit came from the first family and then from its acolytes. They were essentially the centre of our universe as well as the structure that kept this universe in place in a very specific way. So, they were the ‘star’ rugger players of the nation; they were our ‘elite’ racing car drivers who made sure that lesser mortals had to stay locked up indoors until they raced around the city along public roads all night long; they produced the ‘ideal’ navy officers of the nation who could command the naval force of the country as if it was their personal army; they provided the next generation of ‘astronauts’ seemingly dedicated to take their ideology to outer-space so that bigger-than-life-size cutouts of the father figure could be affixed on the moon right next to Neil Armstrong’s forgotten foot print; it was their wisdom that built public toilets, playgrounds, schools, traffic lights, airports, municipal drains, harbors, bus stands and what not, according to the ubiquitous plaques installed at these places. 

They were the players of an expensive socio-political drama which all of us had to finance and were forced to watch. Sadly, some of us began to believe this to be the only possibility of life in our country. I am not talking of people who benefitted from being the main or part-managers of the banana republic, but ordinary people who gained nothing. They gullibly swallowed a cluster of myths with all of their contradictions. The bottom line seemed to be, “because He won the war, we have to tolerate all of His and His loved ones’ idiosyncrasies and excesses.” In this scheme of things, we allowed our country to transform from a faulty democracy to a fully functioning oligarchy with an omnipresent system of surveillance. We allowed it to become a fiefdom and a banana republic from a non-functioning-but-attmepting-to-function regular republic. In this context, like for many other sensible people I know, it was a relief to see the head of the oligarchy defeated in the presidential election in January 2015. From a distance, and without the right to vote, I admired the tireless work of disparate groups of people and individuals, some of whom I knew quite well, who tirelessly worked to ensure the emergence of what seemed like the end of an era. I was elated at the miscalculations of ‘royal’ astrologers and over-confident political pundits who also played a key role in making the change in January 2015 possible. 

And without much fanfare but with much expectations on the part of the people wanting change and the emergence of an era of ethics in politics, the new President and the newly installed government officially declared the beginning of ‘good governance’ through the dynamics of a ‘national government.’ That was in January 2015.

Now, in August 2015, where do we stand? Have we transgressed beyond the banana republic or have we established beyond doubts its inevitability? True, the seemingly sobering presence of Maitripala Sirisena and Ranil Wickramasinghe offered a breathing space that the country had not experienced in a very long time. That moment was necessary, if Sri Lanka was to entertain any notions of rebuilding its overly dismantled democratic principles and traditions. Very clearly, the public sphere was invigorated as a result. Open and critical debates on the country’s political climate ensued. But the challenges faced in getting the much needed 19th Amendment passed in parliament and the inability to get the crucial 20th Amendment approved, showed that the art of mature political compromise with the future of the country as the only consideration, was not within easy reach of our politicians. It simply did not manifest within their imagination. In the post-January 2015 power equation, the much anticipated process of justice and investigations into corruption of the oligarchy suddenly seemed to stall even though this is what brought the people who ensured Sirisena’s victory together. From a distance, it seemed to me that at the ground level, the pragmatic space between people’s legitimate expectation for justice and ethics on one hand, and the government’s necessity to stabilize itself in an environment of political hostility and intrigue on the other, was not readily appreciated by people at the time. Or more accurately, they did not want to let go of the breathing space they had carved out amidst immense difficulties. The voting pattern in the August 2015 general election, offering power – though not by a great margin – to the same equation that came to prominence in January, further indicates this continuing hope. 

But post-January politics also indicated other disturbing trends, which continue well into the present. It appeared that the President was a man with no political friends. He did not seem to have any control over crucial political decisions that the government was making including foreign policy, and appeared to be in a situation of political limbo. He spelt out some of these difficulties and his thoughts on these issues in a televised address to citizens, which further entrenched with much clarity his thinking and what was possible within the UNP-led government as well as in his own party. Within his own political formation, much of the difficulties the President experienced were due to the SLFP and UPFA being dominated by individuals across the political landscape of these entities whose loyalty is to the oligarchy and to the former president. And the Patriarch of the oligarchy and his band of not-so-merry men refused to leave the political arena. In this context, the President assuming the duties as Chairman of the SLFP effectively meant nothing other than making very clear his own lack of ability to manoeuvre in the dark and treacherous alleys of power struggle that the SLFP and the UPFA are now going through.

Given his lack of control and inability to act decisively to clean up his own party due to stated fears of bifurcating the party and the coalition into pro and anti-oligarchy segments, the SLFP showed clear signs of working like a drug cartel more typical of the bad lands of Mexico and Columbia than a political party responsive to the electorate. Rajapaksa chaired many of these decision-making meetings in much the same way as drug kingpins in South and Central America did with their cartels. As such, despite the rhetoric of the sovereignty of the nation and other seemingly lofty ideals emanating from the pro-oligarchy bandwagon, the entire nomination process of the SLFP and the UPFA was a matter of criminal and dubious elements within these entities being nominated to contest the August 2015 elections to ensure their own political and personal survival. The process that made this possible was completely deaf to the very vocal discourse against corruption, political violence and the clamour for ethics in politics that was consistently articulated by concerned groups and the media. The UNP, in this context, was able to come off as the better of the two necessary evils in a country where a viable third option does not exist. 

When the elections were actually held, many of these criminal elements from the SLFP-UPFA combination were not only re-elected to parliament by the people, but re-elected with significant majorities in many cases. Not only that, similarly dubious characters from the UNP albeit the fact that that they have not held state power for nearly two decades were also elected to parliament. So despite the expectations of justice, we can also see that a very large segment of our population is so incredibly illiterate in political terms. They seem singularly incapable of voting on principles and by taking into account established track records of individual politicians. The people who voted for the UPFA in large numbers also displayed their inability to see beyond divisive tribalist politics that the oligarchy-led UPFA spearheaded during the parliamentary election. It is this lack of political maturity that failed to bring in more reasonable individuals to parliament though there was some choice. It is this lack of political literacy that ensured the relative failure of the JVP campaign despite its program based on ethics and integrity. Even though some commentators have noted the defeat of extremist elements such as the BBS in the election, this is only a partial understanding. True, the political arm of the BBS, the BJP, lost heavily in the election. But the positions this entity entertained were also very squarely represented in the pro-oligarchy campaign. Of the 95 seats that the UPFA won, at least 60 are claimed to be in support of oligarchic politics and therefore the political virulence it represented. 

And now, after the results of the election have been declared, the National List of the SLFP has been re-formulated to bring back to parliament some of the worst enemies of democracy and decency, such as S.B Disssanayake, though they have been clearly rejected by the electorate. The argument of course is that they ‘lost’ because they ‘supported’ the President. If they supported the President on principled grounds and lost, that should have been accepted, and they should have gracefully left politics. If they supported him for personal survival and lost, why should the people who voted them out be affronted by their re-induction into parliament by legal but dubious means? This action, more than his relative inability to act decisively prior to the parliamentary poll, has seriously dented the President’s credibility as a leader who is guided by ethics. Obviously, he has shown that he can be more easily moved by political expediency. It also does not help that he publically offered the recently retired cricketer, Kumar Sangakkara, the position of High Commissioner to London, a typical act of the kind of patronage politics that have come to define the thinking of our politicians. Her experience in politics notwithstanding, the Prime Minister offering the same post to Rosy Senanayake a few days earlier can also be considered an act in the same vein. What a sad story of the idea of good governance and what a sad understanding of how the country’s Foreign Service should look like! To her credit, Senanayake is reported to have turned down the offer in the name of serving the causes she has committed herself to. One hopes that Sangakkara would exercise the commonsense and decency he has exhibited as a sportsman and not accept this crude political appointment. 

So we have had two elections at incredible cost to the country within seven months. We have indicated our hopes and aspirations for change and justice. We have also fairly loudly indicated our political immaturity by re-electing individuals to parliament despite their established track records of wrong-doing. As we move beyond August and horse-trading between political formations over the distribution of ministerial portfolios comes to an end, a new government will ultimately take shape. Whether its shape would be decided by issues such as ethics, justice and national interests or political expediency and personal survival of political power players remains to be seen. And it would be ‘seen’ even though many of our franchise-wielding voters unfortunately would not recognize it. Weather justice and war against corruption would be a reality or a convenient set of slogans used during elections and discarded soon after, also remains to be seen. 

Until our circumstances radically change with the emergence of political leaders guided by ethics and not by self-interest, it will not be possible for us to come into an era of civility in politics. Until that happens, our continued and inevitable imprisonment in the banana republic seems self-evident. That seems to be our karma – for the moment.

(also published in: http://groundviews.org/2015/08/29/the-inevitability-of-the-banana-republic/
and http://www.ft.lk/article/464769/The-inevitability-of-the-banana-republic)