Yes, we are able!
The nature and perhaps limits of our independence and dignity but
perhaps not our tolerance became apparent when Robert O. Blake, ex-US
Ambassador and current Deputy Secretary of State thought fit to lecture
us on how to run the Police Department. That’s as local and ‘grassroots’
as one can get when it comes to poking fingers in domestic affairs and
even ‘fingering’, someone might say.
Nothing that is done add up to ‘enough done’. Worse, some countries
can ‘do’ and say ‘we stand by our actions’ and deny others the same
privilege, even if what they ‘did’ amounts to crimes against humanity
and what those others did and do are misconstrued and misnamed as ‘war
crimes’. It’s an uneven world where proven fact is footnoted or erased
from agenda and a circus is made around allegations.
IDP facilities
I’ve heard people complain about the situation in Sri Lanka,
especially of Tamils in certain parts of the country. I’ve been to
countries which are ‘home’ to the complainants. I’ve seen the living
conditions. I’ve seen squalor, poverty, criminality, neglect,
marginalization, zero access to decent education, zero access to
healthcare and brutal terms of exchange that entrench disparities,
accentuate subjugation and perpetuate misery. In India, for example. In
the USA too. I’ve been to IDP facilities. I’ve been to the most
marginalized villages in this island. I am convinced this is heaven, in
comparison.
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New lease
of life for resettled children |
Does our neighbour’s squalor and his/her inability to clean it up
give us a license or a feel-good sense in being ‘squalorly’ ourselves,
or being happy with our relative neatness? No, obviously. We do what we
can, knowing very well that we will be vilified for not doing enough.
That’s Sri Lanka’s post-war story in a nutshell, take it or leave it, as
per your political preferences. I know that there are Tamils living
outside Sri Lanka who have helped in ways big and small, doing their bit
and a little bit more to make recovery of life and dignity less rough
than it is. I am pretty sure that very few of the chest-beating
agitators in Western capitals have not tossed even a penny in the
direction of their brethren in whose name they scream and on account of
which screaming they can continue to cling to their refugee status and
alleviate guilt.
Dignity and righteousness
No one seems to be happy. Not even the rich and filthy rich. And yet,
it’s all relative, isn’t it? A friend of mine, Theja, responded to an
article I wrote yesterday (‘Learning from disabilities’, Daily News,
September 20, 2011) thus: ‘The courage of children with disabilities and
the strength they produce to cope with their day to day existence puts
us to shame, each time we complain of slight inconveniences in our
lives. I know of a grandmother who started a school for hearing impaired
children after her grandson was found to be hearing impaired after
suffering from Encephalitis. She has been carrying on with the minimum
funds and now finally managed to purchase a building for her school.’
The name of the school is Narada Savana Padanama, ‘Narada’ being the
name of her grandson. ‘Years of training, coaching and requesting for
funds has gone into this project which started in 1999 and today runs a
pre-school to prepare the children for regular school; you can Google
for more information,’ she says.
Just can’t help thinking that this world is made of lovely people.
And some pretty bad ones too. We make our miseries, sure, but others
pile things on. And yet, we bat one, despite our disabilities. Or
perhaps because of them. There will always be complainers, crybabies and
hate-mongers. Their shrill objections notwithstanding there will always
be work to be done. There are children who need childhood, widows who
will not be consoled but nevertheless have to make ends meet, the
limbless who will continue to feel the itch in the body-part they’ve
lost but nevertheless have to get from A to B, now to death etc.
If we want inspiration, the fact that they are not all weeping is
empowerment enough.
Courage and tenderness
I don’t know about these the nuts and bolts of rehabilitation and
recovery, the dimensions of dignity and righteousness, or the how-to of
the getting-there, wherever ‘there’ might be for the relevant he or she,
but writing this article was delayed by a quick visit by a man and a
little girl: Senaka Edirisinghe and his daughter Jiwanthi.
Senaka used to work in the hotel trade but gave up his job to take
care of his child, whom the article referred to above was about. He
happened to be in Colombo, to show her to a physician and dropped in. He
had a story to tell. An epic, in fact. I will write it, I promised
myself.
He spoke of finding the little girl crying in school one day because
the class teacher had twisted her ear. He was in tears, relating the
incident and I find it hard to write it right now. I have never seen any
father being as proud as he looked when he told me how she had gone up
on stage one day to sing ‘I have a dream’ (ABBA) and how she sang
‘Master Sir’ (Neela Wickramasinghe) to the wonderment of the Governor of
the Central Province and well known actor, Rodney Warnakula.
As happens when floored by the talent, courage and tenderness of a
13-year-old child who is as innocent as a 6-year-old, I am left
speechless.
www.malindawords.blogspot.com ([email protected])
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