ABDF

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

So I finally have time to catch you up on the last three weeks or so of traveling I’ve done. This is gonna be a long letter, so bear with me. If you need to get a glass of water or run to the bathroom, you’d better do it now.

The last time I wrote a full letter was from Shangri-La, my friend Mallys’ guesthouse down south in Unawatuna. I told you about Jerry and me walking the ramparts of Galle Fort with my friend Sujit, and about what a great cook Dushanta has become. It seems a long time ago already, but it really wasn’t: this is when the swine flu outbreak first hit the news; for a full day many of us guests sat near the Shangri-La TV, listening to updates on what we knew would be the next great pandemic. This was also when, for those following the war here, all those human shields – some 100,000 – escaped from LTTE territory and waded across the lagoon to government lines. So it seemed like a lot was going on, and we all kept one eye to the TV. And ate Dushanta’s marvelous food.

The following week I spent four days in Colombo. Among other things I got my visa extended to cover my full stay. Have I ever told you about that nasty little man in the Department of Immigration and Emigration, where you get extensions? No? Well OK.

The extension process takes up to two or three hours, which is remarkably fast, considering. You fill out a form, go about getting various signatures, pay your money, and wait for your passport to be stamped. At one step you have to get the signature of the Assistant Controller. There are two of them, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get the fellow in room number 2-B. However, he to be only seems part-time, so you inevitably have to face the Terror of 2-A. This guy (I don’t know his name) is famous among expats and/or those who need extensions for other reasons, as the meanest, nastiest, rudest, most difficult official with whom you have to deal. How bad? The following mild confrontation happened to me last year; I’ve heard true horror stories:

Me, trying to be friendly: Good morning!

He doesn’t respond.

Him, after glancing at my application: Why do you want to stay six more months?

Me: I…

Him, cutting me off: I’m asking you a question! Why do you want to stay here? What are you doing here? You can’t stay here. I’m not going to sign this! Go!

Then he literally threw my paperwork at me from across the desk, hitting me in the chest. When it bounced back and landed on the desk, my letter from Minister Sivalingam ended up on top. When Mr. Nasty saw this, he reached over and snatched the application, actually looked at it this time, and then with a deadly glare, signed it.

To say I was angry was an understatement. I was livid. I tried to calm myself, saying that the guy sees hundreds of people a day, all of whom want something and are pushy and aggressive. I’d get burned out too. But what I really wanted to say was: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to deal with idiots all day. I’m sorry that you’ve been in the same nowhere position for years and never gotten a promotion. I’m sorry you’re burned out and so unhappy with life. I’m sorry about all this, and I understand. But I just paid over $300 for this service and it’s not my f*****g problem!” But getting angry and bitching at him wouldn’t change his attitude one bit, so why bother?

So as you can imagine, I approached this year’s extension with a certain degree of apprehension. I did learn from last year, however, to put Minister Sivalingam’s letter ON TOP of the application. I also knew that after Mr. Nasty signed, I would have to get the Controller’s signature, and she is a very pleasant lady to talk with. So I girded my loins for battle and went to the Department building.

And you know; it all worked out.

The nice Assistant Controller signed my paperwork without hassle. He then directed me to the Controller. It turned out that she was out of the office and I had to instead see the new Deputy Controller. And it was… you guessed it, Mr. Nasty! Yup the fellow finally got promoted! And he was in such good humor about it that dealing with him was actually pleasant; he was helpful, chatty, and signed right away. He even cracked a joke! I was floored by the change. I guess all those long years of hard bureaucratic harassing of applicants finally paid off. Well good for him – it made my errand much easier. And I got the extension in a record two hours time. Mission accomplished!

That Thursday (the 30th) I went Upcountry with my friend Shanthakumar to see two schools for our future English teacher’s project. You may recall that Minister Sivalingam has asked us to bring teachers into Estate Tamil schools. To start with, we’ve identified two schools; Highlands College and Kotagla Vidyalayam. I’d better explain.

Highlands College is located in the town of Hatton, an Estate Tamil majority town way high up among the tea plantations. It is the Estate school most successful at sending its graduates on to University. They offer English medium instruction, which means that certain subjects, math, geography, etc. are taught completely in English. This is opposed to most schools, which teach in the local language (Sinhala or Tamil) and give English classes in the way we have Spanish and French. The schools that have English medium are the most competitive to get into, for obvious reasons.

A word about “college.” It means something different than what we have in the States. Sri Lanka follows the British style of education, so school is taught in “streams.” There are five or six different steams, including Science, Commerce, Arts, and Tamil or Sinhala. In other words, the student gets all the normal subjects, but there is an emphasis on a certain subject area, and if that student goes to University s/he will study in that area. I don’t know if you can switch from one stream to another mid-stream, as it were, or if you’re stuck there, like it or not. This is how normal high school operates, and each school will offer maybe two or three streams. A college offers all streams, and hence the designation.

So Highlands is a college, not a Vidyalayam. Vidyalayam (vid-yah-LAH-yahm) is Tamil for “school” and denotes the more typical two- or three-stream curriculum. The school at Kotagala, located about 8 km (5 miles) outside Hatton, is one of these. Technically the school is known as a Maha (Great) Vidyalayam; which means it is the one school that serves the whole town of Kotagala.

Kotagala is a big school, having around 1,700 students. There are only four English teachers, three of whom are new teachers. So you can imagine what a struggle it is for them to teach their kids. The school is located at the end of Main Street and the tea fields come right down to the property line. It’s really quite pretty.

I spent a good deal of time at both schools, and I found the principals and staff very friendly, helpful, and easy to talk with. Their dedication as teachers was obvious, and I found it inspirational, given the difficulty of their work. But it was the kids that really got me excited about the project. The kids were all FANTASTIC. Not in the least bit shy, they had all sorts of questions and comments. At Highlands, when it came time for me to leave, they mobbed me, insisting that I autograph their exercise books. I never had been asked for my autograph before; now I know what Brad and Angelina feel like!

Hatton itself is about 4,000 feet above sea level, so compared to most of the island it’s cool and pleasant. It’s nestled in a valley with tea estates on all sides. It’s a beautiful place, and very convenient to the historically atmospheric colonial town of Nuwara Eliya, and the cultural center of Sri Lanka, Kandy. So I think whomever we get into those schools will not only have a great time with the kids, but will enjoy their surroundings immensely. Not to mention they’ll get to know Sri Lanka in an intimate way few foreigners ever have.

Speaking of Kandy, after visiting the schools, Shanthakumar and I drove to there. I myself had been to Kandy twice before, but only to transfer busses. So I had never really seen the place.

Kandy was the capitol of the last Sri Lankan kingdom to resist colonial rule. The Portuguese never could take the place, and the Dutch, well the Dutch were practical about it. They controlled the entire coast, so why bother expending the time, money, and energy to conquer the central highlands? The British, when they took over in 1813, decided that it would be easiest to deal with Sri Lanka as one unit, and by then Western military technology had evolved to a point such that by 1815 they vanquished the last king of Kandy.

The city is nestled in a bowl-shaped valley surrounded by mountains. The bottom of the valley has a long thin lake, around which the city was built. The British built a promenade around the lake, and in the evening it’s a popular place to stroll about. It’s a lovely setting, especially with all the old colonial-era architecture. And while not as high up as Hatton, Kandy is still around 2,500 feet, keeping the worst of the tropical heat away.

Kandy is also the cultural heart of Sri Lanka, and thus the true heart of the country. Buddhist temples abound, in particular the famed Temple of the Tooth, a major shrine containing a relic of the Buddha himself; one of his teeth. This makes Kandy the center of Buddhism in Sri Lanka. And I was fortunate to be in Kandy for the major Buddhist holiday of Vesak.

Vesak commemorates the three most important events in the life of the Buddha, all of which occurred on the same date: his birth, his enlightenment, and his death. Think of it as Christmas and Easter rolled into one and you get the idea of how important this holiday is in Sri Lanka. Vesak is also called “the festival of lights” and is celebrated accordingly. The streets of Kandy were decked out in strings of colored bulbs and traditional paper lanterns, some of which were huge and elaborate. Colored streamers festooned the streets as well, fluttering in the breeze. The effect was beautiful both by day and night, when everything was lit up. If you ever come to Sri Lanka, try to time it for Vesak in Kandy; you’ll be richly rewarded.

I stayed with a family who are friends of Shanthakumars’. Sara (sa-RA, short for Saravanan) is about forty, and has a wife and three kids. They all speak excellent English, and were extremely down-to-earth and easy to make friends with. Sara is a very wealthy jeweler, and their house was huge even by Western standards, and comes complete with servants. That took a bit of getting used to; we just don’t have servants in the States.

Sara and his family are Estate Tamils, one of the small minority that made it off the tea estates and became successful. They are Hindu of course, but they celebrate Vesak nonetheless. In fact, Hinduism in the Hill Country is rather different than what you find on the East Coast; the way Buddhism is practiced is different too. Let me illustrate.

On the evening of Vesak (Friday the 8th) the whole family and I went into town to go to the main kovil (Hindu temple). To my surprise and delight, I discovered along with shrines to Siva and Ganesh and the other Hindu deities, a shrine to the Buddha. It turns out that Hindus in the central highlands revere the Buddha as an avatar, or an incarnation of God, somewhat similar to how Christians consider Jesus to have been a divine incarnation on earth. This is why the Hindus here celebrate Vesak along with their Buddhist brothers. I was told that in the Buddhist temples you will also find images and statues of the Hindu deities. In fact, the Hindu kovils in Kandy are run by a joint committee of both Hindu and Buddhist priests.

This religious synchronization is typical of traditional Hinduism and Buddhism in Sri Lanka. Or rather that’s how it used to be before the rise of Buddhist fundamentalism in the South, and the ethnic conflict between Tamil and Sinhala. I was happy to see it still exists in the Hill Country; in the East you never see Buddha in the Hindu kovils, and in the South there are no Hindu deities in the Buddhist temples. Remember in my last dispatch I mentioned the Black July riots of 1983? In places such as Kandy and other Upcountry towns, the violence was far more limited. I expect this was due in part to this religious cooperation: familiarity between Hindu (Tamil) and Buddhist (Singhala) meant less fear and hatred. Sri Lankan society is very religious and the priests hold tremendous influence, both for good and ill. So Buddhist and Hindu priests working side-by-side in their temples and kovils can only be a good thing, yes? Perhaps this is one way out of the current nightmare.

That Vesak evening in Kandy was wonderful. There were the lights, of course, but also processions (both Buddhist and Hindu), firecrackers, and street vendors selling everything from ice cream to plastic toys from China (plenty of lead, I’m sure!) to religious tchochkies. In particular, the lanterns lining the lake were beautiful.

I spent a total of four wonderful days with Sara and his family in Kandy before taking the bus back to Colombo. Shanthakumar, who was with his family in Kandy, fell ill and couldn’t come back to Colombo, and I had business to attend to. So last Monday the 12th it was the Inter-City Express back to Colombo for me. Where it was hot as H-E-double hockey sticks.

The monsoon season on the west coast of Sri Lanka begins around late May or early June. For the month or two before, the heat builds up to a nearly unbearable level. Couple this with the unusual heat wave the entire island is currently experiencing, and even the locals were wilting. Even the normally cool courtyard at Barefoot was hot. My room at the Ministry office has no ventilation other than the door, which remains shut and locked during the day, and so at night it was probably close to 100 degrees, even with the ceiling fan going full bore. I’d lay there, sweat streaming down and soaking my sheets, and try to fall asleep. I did manage to sleep, but it was very light and not at all the deep sleep you need to feel really rested. So I always felt tired during the day. On the other hand, when I did laundry, my clothes dried in a snap. Always try to find the silver lining!

Currently I do all our work using a tourist visa. This isn’t the best way to do things, and one of my tasks before returning to Batticaloa was to begin the process of registering the ABDF with the government. However, I was warned by Minister Sivalingam that right now was not a good time to do this. At the moment the government is pretty xenophobic, and accuses foreigners of supporting the LTTE. Several governments have been singled out, such as Norway (which has been trying to facilitate peace negotiations for years), France, and the UK. Even the UN has come under fire by the Sri Lankan government. And the government has expelled several international agencies, accusing them of secretly aiding the Tigers. Those that remain are hanging in there by the skin of their teeth. So the chances of registering a new foreign group, especially one that operates on the Tamil-majority East Coast, are nil.

At Minister Sivalingams’ suggestion I contacted a lawyer friend to discuss our options. After talking for a couple of hours, it seems that the best idea is to create a guarantee company, which is the Sri Lankan equivalent of a non-profit organization like the ABDF. The Board of Directors would be Sri Lankan friends, and me. Once this local group was formed, we would have a Letter of Understanding between it and ABDF which would make it the ABDFs’ partner in Sri Lanka. This would solve my visa issue, and give official recognition to our work. It seems to me that this is the best of our current options, although before I do anything I will consult the ABDF Board.

The day before I went to see the lawyer I had my first incident of blatant corruption. One of reason we keep our projects small is so we can concentrate on the needful things that the bigger agencies ignore. The other reason is that it prevents the corruption typically found with larger projects: the amounts we spend are too small to make it worth anyone’s while to focus on us.

On this particular day, I was introduced by a friend to his friend; a man who shall remain nameless. We chatted a bit about ABDF, and about my desire to register with the government with specific regards to my getting a proper work visa. This man is a businessman, so it was thought he could give some advice.

He immediately said something like “Oh, it’s no problem; I can make you a Director in my company and the visa will be no problem.” Of course this was way too good to be true, and I knew there was a catch. There usually is when complete strangers offer you the world on a silver platter. Especially in a place like Sri Lanka. The catch came in the next sentence; “But I’m a businessman of course, so if I do something for you, what can you do for me?” I asked him what his expectations were, but he evaded answering me directly. He said “Well, you know how we do business here. If you have a project, and we know the cost is 100,000 rupees, we say that the cost is 120,000. That’s the way it’s done; it’s a simple fact.” Of course, he was perfectly right. That is how it’s normally done in Sri Lanka. But that’s not how I do it. I mean, if I hire someone like a mason or electrician, I expect him to make an honest, reasonable profit. And why not? But to just overcharge then skim it off the top is patently wrong.

When he heard that I’m building water tanks, his ears pricked up. But then I told him that our water tanks cost between $1,000 and $1,300 each, and we build them one at a time, he promptly deflated. I don’t know what he thought. I guess he assumed I was in charge of some big rich American agency with tons of cash.

I gently but firmly told him that our operation is small, our projects are small, and they will always be small; other agencies will take care of the big stuff. I told him that there really was no way to make a profit out of anything we do, that we do it out of love and compassion, NOT with an eye to enlarging our personal bank accounts. I thanked him very much for offering me a Directorship of his company as a way of getting a work visa, but it seemed that his priority and mine are different, and I would find a different way of getting my visa.

You’d think that after a little speech like that the fellow would at least have had the grace to mildly ashamed. But money is this man’s sole priority, I later found out, and so he didn’t blink an eye, assuming he even got my point. He merely said that if I knew anyone in the US who wanted to do business in Sri Lanka, to let him know and some arrangement could be made. Yeah, right - as if!

Well, I suppose at least he was honestly corrupt. Most folks would never tell you how they rip off clients and customers and offer to let you in on the action. At least he was up front about it. Of course I wouldn’t trust such a man to follow through with his side of the deal; someone like that’d double-cross you as quick as he cheats on his paperwork. After our conversation I felt like I had to go take a shower to get the dirt off.

The following day was last Sunday, the 17th, when the government declared victory over the LTTE. I wrote you about that, and how tense Wellawetta was that evening. To follow through: on Monday I took the day train back to Batti. That evening I talked with a Colombo friend, who told me that on that evening, there were several minor disturbances around Colombo, in the form of taunting and baiting Tamils, and throwing firecrackers at the front doors of Tamil households. And there was rumor – a rumor, mind you – of the arrests of a couple hundred Tamil men.

Then on Tuesday (yesterday) came the big shocker. I happened to be in a shop that had a TV going, and right at that moment there was a breaking news development. Prabakaran, the leader of the LTTE and the most feared/hated man in Sri Lanka, had been found dead in his bunker when the military captured the last few meters of Tiger-held territory. And then they broadcast a short video of the body. It was unmistakably him. He was in uniform, and a handkerchief covered the top of his head. I assume this means he shot himself.

The shop went dead silent. Then there was a ruckus as people from outside the shop flooded in to see the video. I had already finished my business and so quickly exited and came home.

To say that the news spread like wildfire would be an understatement. Everyone seemed to know instantly. Reaction was difficult to gauge, as most people in Batti had a love/hate relationship with Prabakaran and the LTTE. At the start of the conflict Tamils saw him as a hero, standing up for Tamil rights. But then the nature of the conflict slowly changed. Prabakaran became an absolute leader and his cadres followed his orders with cult-like fanaticism. Any Tamil who disagreed with LTTE policy was killed, if they didn’t manage to flee first. Then the LTTE began to “tax” Tamils. It quickly became extortion and those who didn’t pay up promptly and in full were punished. The LTTE also demanded (several times) that each Tamil family donate one family member to the cause and again, failure to comply meant punishment “with pistol,” as the term was. When manpower fell short, the LTTE would “recruit” children to train as soldiers. The Tamil population suffered greatly under the twin yolk of government oppression and Tiger liberation. All this hardship for a full generation, and for what? The Tamil community was decimated; those remaining aren’t much better off than they were before the conflict, and the country as a whole is 30 years behind in terms of development.

Tamil or Sinhala, love him or hate him, Prabakaran was always a presence in the background from which you could not escape. He seemed eternal, as if he would always be around. For more than a generation he was the single most influential person in Sri Lanka.

So you can see why the reaction to the news of Prabakaran’s death is a complex one for Tamils. On one hand, he represented an untold amount of suffering for the Tamil people. On the other hand, (and this is why if he is mourned, it’s for this), he started off as a liberator, encapsulating all the hopes and fears of the Tamil minority. Thus for many the sense of loss is for the loss of ideals, not the person per se. Tamils here are mourning for what might have been, for the way it was back when the struggle was a positive thing, not for the ugly monster it turned into. It seems to me that this is a very human reaction.

OK, so now what? That’s the $64,000 question. As I wrote you last time, it remains to be seen what sort of political settlement the government will offer the Tamils. I really, truly, hope that the President is able to come through on his promises. He needs to attend to the root causes of the conflict, not just the symptoms. If not, then 20 years from now there will be another war. No one really believes that all LTTE cadres have been captured or killed. The Wanni, as the region in the north is known, is thick with jungle, and is perfect for small guerilla groups to regroup and hide. It’s generally believed that there are sleeper cells throughout the north and east. If the government can really address the issues of the Tamil people, it will cut off support for such groups, and they will wither. And let’s face it; it’s a lot cheaper in terms of time, money, and energy to solve the situation this way. War is extremely expensive, does nothing to add value to the economy, and only stifles development. Tamils have the reputation for being smart and hard-working. Wouldn’t you rather have such a population cheerfully working for you rather than against? It all just makes so much sense.

Whew! That was a long one! I’d like to thank those of you who have stayed with me to the end, and commend your patience. In my next dispatch, which I hope to write very soon, I will give you some project updates, tell you about a coming of age celebration, and how I came to see one of biology’s most famous oddities and a tuning point in the evolution of life on Planet Earth.

B.

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