There's an article about Mark Warner on the Magazine at the New York Times. (Wish I knew how to link). He's being touted as the Anti-Hillary, in fact the choice to run against the incumbent, at least in the primaries. They'll have to announce by the end of next year their candidacy (or they could wait until Jan 2008 like Clinton and Wesley Clark)but fundraising suffers without the huge ramp-up as well as a lack of a national profile. Anyway, Mark Warner will NEVER win the nomination. Hillary has the nomination pretty much tied up- with a 10 year headstart on campaign finance (note that she and her husband are one of the VERY few politicians who now run in an race, whether senatorial, gubernatorial or presidential without being independently wealthy). Mark Warner, a Democratic Governor from red-state Virginia has a personal fortune of over 200 million. Go the little people! Even though Hillary is not really little. I agree that she needs a bruising primary so she'll go into the national elections ready, but Mark Warner is not the guy to put her through the wringer. He may go around brandishing his economic credentials, but 2008, like 2004 is going to be a social-issues election: such have the Republicans been successful in defining the agenda. Hillary is going to have a tough time in proving that she's not another shrill, angry, ticked off Democrat haranguing the stately Republicans like a terrier yapping at their heels (which is what they are already trying to paint her as, 2 years ahead of the primaries) but that she has real stature, policy stances and most importantly the means to BRING IT HOME. At the moment, its still too rocky to tell. I think 2008 is going to go to another Republican, but a Republican with crossover appeal, like McCain. I also don't personally think there is anything wrong with Republican values such as small government, fiscal conservatism, rugged individualism and live and let live with social policies. Hell, Hillary used to be a Republican nearly 40 years ago.
anyway. Watch this space. The race is about to begin. Right after the midterms this year.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
chronicling
Came back from a trip up north, the first in three months and the first since the talks have begun. It went by in a flurry of site visits, building monitoring visits. Stationed our engineer from Moneragala up there for a couple of weeks to hasten the completion of some much overdue projects. Had some confrontations and staged some interventions. Hotter than Hades up there. Sweltered in a two-bit cinema to watch a two-bit Tamil film one afternoon because there was nothing else to do. Only Elephant House's pani cadju saved the day. The schools are coming up, but ever so slowly. On Monday back out to Maskeliya and the tea country which will be a welcome relief. Over the weekend, a close cousin announced an impending marriage and the festivities continued late into the night. Apparently I'm next and the subject of much ragging from aforementioned cousins. I. Am. Tired. and the pace doesn't look like it will let up. Must do more, but oh, am so tired. also was the weekend of the big match in Colombo, the infamous Royal Thomian, a three day binge-drinking fest. I didn't attend as I was not up to it: old boys haranguing women, getting drunk, getting into fights and occasionally watching a bit of cricket. Big match season in Jaffna too. Johnians were out in full force on hospital road with red t-shirts tied around their heads and drums and loudspeakers. One boy stood dressed in a dress, with oil-slick sunglasses, on a motorbike. Sigh.
building
This is a paean to Sri Lankan architecture.
Traditional Sri Lankan buildings are integrated into the environment like few other architectural traditions. Nearly every house I have been into in Colombo has an intimate relationship with nature, its environment and all are built as sanctuaries. A house I stepped into yesterday was like a forest monastery. Walled gardens and secluded stone pathways were built inside the house and the ceilings were thrown thirty feet high. Hanging vines crept down trees and twined into the floor. Every now and then as we turned a corner we came upon unexpected wrought-iron benches, stone bowls to catch water. The house itself was a fortress, completely walled but glass-fronted from floor to ceiling to catch the vistas of the indoor gardens that were open to the sky. Wide eaves ensured that rain would slip off easily. Everywhere there was wood and stone and glass, indistinguishable from the trees and the rain and the sky.
Sri Lankan architecture is a mix of its colonial heritage, from the Arab influences, to the Dutch traditions, the Portuguese, the Indian and of course the British. All culminate to produce something unique, something instantly identifiable as uniquely Sri Lanka. Wherever I settle down, I shall build my house, as an outpost of Sri Lanka.
Traditional Sri Lankan buildings are integrated into the environment like few other architectural traditions. Nearly every house I have been into in Colombo has an intimate relationship with nature, its environment and all are built as sanctuaries. A house I stepped into yesterday was like a forest monastery. Walled gardens and secluded stone pathways were built inside the house and the ceilings were thrown thirty feet high. Hanging vines crept down trees and twined into the floor. Every now and then as we turned a corner we came upon unexpected wrought-iron benches, stone bowls to catch water. The house itself was a fortress, completely walled but glass-fronted from floor to ceiling to catch the vistas of the indoor gardens that were open to the sky. Wide eaves ensured that rain would slip off easily. Everywhere there was wood and stone and glass, indistinguishable from the trees and the rain and the sky.
Sri Lankan architecture is a mix of its colonial heritage, from the Arab influences, to the Dutch traditions, the Portuguese, the Indian and of course the British. All culminate to produce something unique, something instantly identifiable as uniquely Sri Lanka. Wherever I settle down, I shall build my house, as an outpost of Sri Lanka.
Monday, March 06, 2006
God Abandons Antony
God Abandons Antony
At midnight, when suddenly you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive - don't mourn them uselessly:
as one long prepared, and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, to Alexandria who is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen - your final pleasure - to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
Constantine P. Cavafy
At midnight, when suddenly you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive - don't mourn them uselessly:
as one long prepared, and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, to Alexandria who is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen - your final pleasure - to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
Constantine P. Cavafy
drink
So last night was a friend's birthday and we all trooped over to his house bearing imported liquor (Tanqueray, natch) only to be met by about 50 relatives and a priest! Formalities over with (birthday blessings etc.) we then proceeded to get very drunk. Someone busted out a guitar and drunks, and predictably, we descended into that oh-so-very Sri lankan ritual of singing when drunk. It was low-key, mellow and rather fun, especially when we broke into the 70s songs and all with some remarkable pitch and tone combinations.
Some interesting facts/urban legend:
a) Sri Lanka has the highest suicide rates
b) Sri Lanka has the highest liquor consumption rates (with an average of 200ml of pure alcohol per day! Statistics from the World Health Organization, as of 2002. Reportedly it's increased since the tsunami. This multiplies into 2.5 liters of beer per day or 1 litre of 40% vodka per DAY!!!! And this is an annual average and given the fact that about 60% of the population (about 80% of which are females and the rest of the males) do not consume alcohol at all, it can mean that the average alcohol-drinking male can consume up to 4.5 liters of beer PER DAY or 1.8 liters of straight vodka PER DAY.
Some interesting facts/urban legend:
a) Sri Lanka has the highest suicide rates
b) Sri Lanka has the highest liquor consumption rates (with an average of 200ml of pure alcohol per day! Statistics from the World Health Organization, as of 2002. Reportedly it's increased since the tsunami. This multiplies into 2.5 liters of beer per day or 1 litre of 40% vodka per DAY!!!! And this is an annual average and given the fact that about 60% of the population (about 80% of which are females and the rest of the males) do not consume alcohol at all, it can mean that the average alcohol-drinking male can consume up to 4.5 liters of beer PER DAY or 1.8 liters of straight vodka PER DAY.
(I was like, there is no way that would be true, because a) people can't afford it and b) we would all be dead if that was true but clearly I was wrong and this country has problems)
c) Sri Lanka has the highest number of holidays in the world. (The latter I can vouch for).
Now if you look at all these facts, you can see the same causal factor, or at the very least, some significant correlation. Do they drink because they're on holiday? Do they commit suicide because they are drunk? Do they drink/commit suicide because they're depressed (as a result of having too much time to think on holiday)?
People here drink a helluva lot though.
On another note, it's big-match season right now, with the Royal Thomian coming up this week. (It's a test match by the way, and all this time I thought it was an ODI, but then that would defeat the purpose of drinking as much as humanly possible with a legitimate excuse). Sigh.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
sl, men.
Being in Colombo is utterly dispiriting. It's local election fever right now and parties here are so indiscriminate, painting symbols on roads etc. that it's downright frustrating. Couple that with rumours of increasing recruitment up north, and superficial agreements in Geneva, well do the math.
Never a dull moment in this job though. One thing I would like to remark here about the average Sri Lankan man is that they are all, exceptionally so, really badly looking to get laid. From auto drivers, to restaurant managers, to NGO personnel, to friends of friends, there's this overriding synapse in their brain when they see a woman that shuts down every other receptor. Only one thought rules their minds, and that is how to get laid, in every position imaginable, as often as possible.
Beware the Sri Lankan man who isn't honest about this intention, it means he's got a bigger game going on that normal. I shouldn't be so goddamned disillusioned about men here, but it is pathetic to see how many are so unapologetic about their behaviour, especially in Colombo. The concept of a relationship, the concept of respect for a female professional, the concept of partnership is just nonexistent.
(I guess I'm really frustrated right now because yet another random person got a hold of my mobile number which is printed on my business card for all and sundry and called me up and asked whether they could meet up. You can't meet the men you want to meet, and arrgh).
Never a dull moment in this job though. One thing I would like to remark here about the average Sri Lankan man is that they are all, exceptionally so, really badly looking to get laid. From auto drivers, to restaurant managers, to NGO personnel, to friends of friends, there's this overriding synapse in their brain when they see a woman that shuts down every other receptor. Only one thought rules their minds, and that is how to get laid, in every position imaginable, as often as possible.
Beware the Sri Lankan man who isn't honest about this intention, it means he's got a bigger game going on that normal. I shouldn't be so goddamned disillusioned about men here, but it is pathetic to see how many are so unapologetic about their behaviour, especially in Colombo. The concept of a relationship, the concept of respect for a female professional, the concept of partnership is just nonexistent.
(I guess I'm really frustrated right now because yet another random person got a hold of my mobile number which is printed on my business card for all and sundry and called me up and asked whether they could meet up. You can't meet the men you want to meet, and arrgh).
Saturday, March 04, 2006
past, past
Isn’t it wonderful to discover the obscure, the forgotten, the sidelined creators and then one finds that though they are not part of the mainstream (thank god), yet they are still in their own ways, heads of a large movement. They are a counterpoint to pop culture. Which is in itself, sometimes, a reason to celebrate. Today’s focus is on Alberto Giacometti and specifically a painting of a small ship unmoored on a Swiss autumn night which I chanced upon approximately oh, eight years ago.
There’s something similar between phillip Pullman (dark materials trilogy) and ayn rand. I think its because of the whole overthrow-God plot and the same energetic way of writing, as though they were both striving upwards, for the best in man, the heroic.
I don’t know. I am probably babbling.
There’s so much to do and I wish I had the energy of ten men to keep going, keep exploring, keep working, keep creating. But last night I slept for 12 hours straight, embarrassing but true. I’d like to think that it’s because I use up so much energy during the day, but really it’s because I am soporifically lazy.
I miss taking the boat on the River Thames from Canary Wharf to the Savoy. Especially on cold winter evenings, as we pass the London bridge, the docked warship, the restaurants on the right bank, the massive modern FT building, along the grey, lamplit waters. And then getting off, huddled into one’s coat, loving the feeling of the galeforce wind cutting into your bones, up the ramp, crossing the Embankment and walking up into the Strand.
There’s something similar between phillip Pullman (dark materials trilogy) and ayn rand. I think its because of the whole overthrow-God plot and the same energetic way of writing, as though they were both striving upwards, for the best in man, the heroic.
I don’t know. I am probably babbling.
There’s so much to do and I wish I had the energy of ten men to keep going, keep exploring, keep working, keep creating. But last night I slept for 12 hours straight, embarrassing but true. I’d like to think that it’s because I use up so much energy during the day, but really it’s because I am soporifically lazy.
I miss taking the boat on the River Thames from Canary Wharf to the Savoy. Especially on cold winter evenings, as we pass the London bridge, the docked warship, the restaurants on the right bank, the massive modern FT building, along the grey, lamplit waters. And then getting off, huddled into one’s coat, loving the feeling of the galeforce wind cutting into your bones, up the ramp, crossing the Embankment and walking up into the Strand.
Friday, March 03, 2006
fyedye
I love it how most of my pictures have little to no relevance to my posting. These are two itty bitties studying to be monks and we are establishing libraries in their community centres, to be filled with BabySitter Club books and Star War novellas.So. It’s Friday. I’m still posting like a maniac but hey. A member of the Eisenhower family will be visiting our projects. Also, excitingly, one of our projects is dedicated to gary sinise, (the human stain, forrest gump etc) so there is a real chance that he could visit Jaffna for the dedication ceremony and this will be the closest I shall ever get to Hollywood!
Had an interesting discussion on the ethics of publishing those cartoons in that Danish newspaper and how someone had visited Sacramento and was horrified to discover pieces of Buddha, in an art installation in the middle of the town. Also met someone else with 35 acres of land in Batticoloa and looking for people to fund housing.
There should have been something to record today but there isn’t, suffice to say that I finished the Fountainhead, with a totally revised opinion of it. It is a confused polemic against mediocrity at best, but has no philosophy or original thinking to expound.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
the cinnamon peeler's wife
The Cinnamon Peeler
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under the rain gutters, monsoon.
Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.
I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...
When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said
this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.
You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.
Michael Ondaatje
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under the rain gutters, monsoon.
Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.
I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...
When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said
this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.
You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.
Michael Ondaatje
the cow
A cow standing in front of our half-constructed school. And then some itty bitties who will attend our new preschool!
in the morning
So I got up this morning with verve and dynamism. The sun streamed in, I finished a few more chapters in my third re-reading of the Fountainhead; I set off to work clean and glistening and I thought to myself, right now, right this moment, brief as it may be, I am happy. I caught myself being happy and it was so rare. (of course it had dissipated with the onslaught of work by about 5pm, but nevertheless...)
Then I had lunch with a colleague and a friend, a Mennonite (the most interaction I've had with their ilk was watching Witness, primarily for the romance between Harrison Ford and the Amish woman). Although I don't think that anyone would ever mistake me for a peacebuilder, yet it was interesting to exchange ideas on vegetarianism, travel, Sai Baba and nonprofit work. I was invited to stay with them when I head to the US in the fall for graduate work and I appreciate the intention if nothing else.
Then back in the office, I had to make a recording for the phone. Now no matter who calls, for centuries onwards, my voice will never stop haunting this place and I have stamped my identity somewhat!
Then just work, work and more work. An interesting fact today I learnt: about 10% of government revenues are generated by tax on Ceylon Tobacco Company, the monopoly subsidiary of British American Tobacco.
Then I had lunch with a colleague and a friend, a Mennonite (the most interaction I've had with their ilk was watching Witness, primarily for the romance between Harrison Ford and the Amish woman). Although I don't think that anyone would ever mistake me for a peacebuilder, yet it was interesting to exchange ideas on vegetarianism, travel, Sai Baba and nonprofit work. I was invited to stay with them when I head to the US in the fall for graduate work and I appreciate the intention if nothing else.
Then back in the office, I had to make a recording for the phone. Now no matter who calls, for centuries onwards, my voice will never stop haunting this place and I have stamped my identity somewhat!
Then just work, work and more work. An interesting fact today I learnt: about 10% of government revenues are generated by tax on Ceylon Tobacco Company, the monopoly subsidiary of British American Tobacco.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
a photo a day
(sunlight breaking through the clouds at a future school site in hatton)
A photo a day will keep the memories away.
So they say when I leave, my heart is going to cleave into two and my tears will line my path of exit. (What can I say, Sri Lankans!).
Came back from another visit to the South where a village is being rebuilt by a Texan Christian ministry (horror of horrors) and who need desperately a school. This is an interesting, if painful ethical/religious dilemma. As a nonprofit strongly committed to the secular ethos, one should be not be intolerant of any religion but tolerant of all. Yet tolerance, acceptance, embracing and devotion all mark different commitments. Though it is not an evangelizing organization, though it does not mandate like the Gideons, a Bible in every room, yet by consorting with the enemy if that, are we tainted by association? Will Christianity seep, insidiously through the wind that blows from Texas to Hikkaduwa? Will this organization reap converts by the dozen and ascend the stairway into heaven?
Secondly, if Christianity should seep purely by osmosis, who are we to stop an active choice? All we allow is the presence of Christianity. The choice as always is up to them. (This is an interesting Augustinian problem of choice in Christian platonism- both free will and determinism co-exist, God merely knows what choice you will make in advance, but that does not detract from your full opportunity of choice). I disagree in principle with organized religion. I believe any relationship with any god is a personal one. The congregation of people believing in the same conception of God is a negation of the individual human being by definition. Maybe I'm just being pompous. Certainly I believe Christianity thrives on guilt, a la Nietzsche. But it is also darkly, strangely appealing with its themes of sin, guilt, the individual, repentance and redemption.
Anyhow I digress. We stopped by the beach and ran into the surf with our socks off and our jeans rolled up and I stepped on a sea urchin and got a spine into my foot. It was the second time I'd been in the sea in the past year on work and the third time in the past year at all. The water was as turquoise as can be, till the very end of the horizon.
(I remember when I was in banking and we were driving to an offsite and we were passing fields of gold and I remarked to a colleague that it was beautiful where the corn met the sky and he retorted with, think you're a poet do ya? Well you work for MS).
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
becalmed
I'm posting like a madwoman in the attic today, but I feel like a witch in the turret to mangle my malaprops and so here is one last picture of how I feel, which I took a month ago, an elephant that's becalmed with someone on top of him, just able to hold his trunk out of the water and breathe. LOVE IT!
blu
Well today I was in a meeting with a bunch of graduating Sri Lankan architect postgrads, who're designing some buildings for us on the cheap, but legit. And as usual I was the only woman there and there was this really cute guy trying to be earnest as he made his business pitch and then he said so don't worry, from the first nut to the last paint I have it covered and I blushed! (I would have laughed normally but I didn't!). And everyone else laughed at me blushing! I think I have become way more conservative here.... which is interesting but shall work to my detriment outside.... And then the poor boy blushed too. So everyone else laughed only me. I couldn't help the blush, I couldn't meet anyone's eyes at the thought.
25
Well it was my birthday and I got myself (!) a sapphire and diamond pendant, the first and only piece of jewellery I have ever bought myself. The second is a picture of a painting that I bought in Vietnam and which now hangs in my office.
Jagdish bhagwati
Dear Bono,
Having worked in development for nearly 50 years, and on foreign aid for almost as long, I confess to a slight sense of déjà vu regarding your collaboration with Bob Geldof to increase aid flows to reduce poverty, especially in Africa. After all, one may ask, which big policy figure in the developmental field in the postwar years has not worked towards the elimination of poverty and demanded that aid flows be increased to that end? Yet, I do not agree with those who write cynically that the poor have done more for the rock stars than the rock stars have done for the poor. Your dedication certainly lends an extra edge to the efforts made by many over the years in this great cause.
But I am afraid that your energies have been misdirected when they are used to advance an aid agenda that is based on two obsolete and counter- productive premises: first, that aid for Africa must be spent in Africa rather than outside it and, second, that we must work to increase aid flows to a target of 0.7 per cent of gross national product.
The key problem in much of Africa is what has long been called the “absorptive capacity” problem: will aid be used productively or will it be wasted? This issue was understood by the pioneering development economists Paul Rosenstein-Rodan and Gunnar Myrdal. The former famously estimated aid requirements in the 1960s by reference to this notion. He calculated how much investment was required to help accelerate the growth rate of an aid recipient, based on an assessment of that country’s ability to manage such growth. Foreign aid would then be given to finance the investment, provided that the recipient made a matching effort to increase domestic savings as well.
But many economists became sceptical. They argued, with substantial empirical evidence, that when aid was provided, the recipients were likely to reduce, rather than increase, their own savings efforts. This was an early recognition of the “aid curse” that afflicts some aid recipients. Uncritical proponents of aid deny this effect even as they talk of the “oil curse”; as if largesse from the windfall of oil earnings is somehow more corrupting than largesse that comes from aid donors.
The large amounts of aid given to Africa and the small results that have generally accrued from them require us to look at the absorptive capacity question with a critical eye. We should disregard the hysterical charge that everyone who questions the effectiveness of a sudden and substantial increase in aid flows is a heartless reactionary. The increase in the number of democratic governments in Africa, and some bold initiatives by the African Union in places such as Darfur, have increased the absorptive capacity of a growing number of African nations. But that justifies a graduated increase on spending in Africa rather than a substantial and sudden one.
In addition, absorptive capacity is far less of a problem if increased aid for Africa is spent outside the country. Spending can be increased in the rich countries to develop vaccines and cures for diseases that severely afflict Africa, such as Aids and malaria. Research on cures for diseases such as yellow fever and sleeping sickness should be well financed. Since much of Africa suffers from huge skills shortages for virtually every developmental problem, education and training of African students in western universities could be vastly increased. They will mostly stay abroad. But then the west should develop and pay handsomely for programmes where they can contribute in other ways, such as short-term visits to train others, for instance. Until these shortages ease years from now (as they did in the 1990s in India; the “brain drain” was a big issue there in the 1950s) as more nationals are trained and find return attractive, surely we could send out more of our own. I have advocated programmes such as a Grey Peace Corps that would find our aged and retired doctors, engineers and other professionals jobs in Botswana, Zambia and other African nations.
But, if you have erred in allying yourself with the development experts who wrongly focus exclusively on aid spending in Africa itself, a greater folly is to have tied your initiative to the aid target of 0.7 per cent of GNP. This target goes back to 1969 and has not been met except by a tiny fraction of donors, essentially the Scandinavian countries. The problem is that the target relates to government spending. Fiscal spending is subject to what economists call “hard budget constraints”. There are always many demands on the government. The US, for instance, has just had a colossal increase in spending on the Iraq war and on Hurricane Katrina relief and reconstruction. Even Paul Martin, the progressive former prime minister of Canada, was most reluctant to sign on to this target last year at the United Nations.
Richard Manning, the head of the Development Assistance Committee at the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, recently expressed concern that the main European Union donors would fail to fulfil even proposed aid increases, way short of 0.7 per cent of GNP, pledged for 2010. With all the good intentions in the world, developmental aid will take the back seat against politically more pressing needs.
How, then, are we to translate the enthusiastic altruism that you have generated, dear Bono, into larger, sustained flows of aid? Surely the answer is to go after personal, rather than governmental, flows. Personal spending on aid typically runs into softer budget constraints. With all the charitable spending I do, I could always forego a dinner at Maxim’s and eat at McDonald’s instead, pledging another $100 to the Geldof-Bono aid fund. So, if you take seriously the estimated audience for Live8 concerts at 2bn, halve it for those who were there for a lark or are impoverished themselves, and halve it again for those who attended the concerts twice, you would have half a billion who could sign up for an average pledge of $50 a head as a supplement to their normal giving, yielding a net sum of $25bn outright. The money would be worth almost twice that amount in actual aid, since they would be grants whereas most aid consists of loans that must be repaid.
This would mean abandoning some of your current allies. But you can do nothing less if your efforts are to yield results. In a recent interview, you said that you expected your music would endure forever but poverty would have ended in a hundred years. I wish you good luck on your music. But not even a hundred years would suffice to end poverty if you fail to correct your course.
The writer is university professor of economics and law at Columbia University and senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations. He was special adviser to the UN on globalisation and is a member of secretary-general Kofi Annan’s advisory group on Africa
Having worked in development for nearly 50 years, and on foreign aid for almost as long, I confess to a slight sense of déjà vu regarding your collaboration with Bob Geldof to increase aid flows to reduce poverty, especially in Africa. After all, one may ask, which big policy figure in the developmental field in the postwar years has not worked towards the elimination of poverty and demanded that aid flows be increased to that end? Yet, I do not agree with those who write cynically that the poor have done more for the rock stars than the rock stars have done for the poor. Your dedication certainly lends an extra edge to the efforts made by many over the years in this great cause.
But I am afraid that your energies have been misdirected when they are used to advance an aid agenda that is based on two obsolete and counter- productive premises: first, that aid for Africa must be spent in Africa rather than outside it and, second, that we must work to increase aid flows to a target of 0.7 per cent of gross national product.
The key problem in much of Africa is what has long been called the “absorptive capacity” problem: will aid be used productively or will it be wasted? This issue was understood by the pioneering development economists Paul Rosenstein-Rodan and Gunnar Myrdal. The former famously estimated aid requirements in the 1960s by reference to this notion. He calculated how much investment was required to help accelerate the growth rate of an aid recipient, based on an assessment of that country’s ability to manage such growth. Foreign aid would then be given to finance the investment, provided that the recipient made a matching effort to increase domestic savings as well.
But many economists became sceptical. They argued, with substantial empirical evidence, that when aid was provided, the recipients were likely to reduce, rather than increase, their own savings efforts. This was an early recognition of the “aid curse” that afflicts some aid recipients. Uncritical proponents of aid deny this effect even as they talk of the “oil curse”; as if largesse from the windfall of oil earnings is somehow more corrupting than largesse that comes from aid donors.
The large amounts of aid given to Africa and the small results that have generally accrued from them require us to look at the absorptive capacity question with a critical eye. We should disregard the hysterical charge that everyone who questions the effectiveness of a sudden and substantial increase in aid flows is a heartless reactionary. The increase in the number of democratic governments in Africa, and some bold initiatives by the African Union in places such as Darfur, have increased the absorptive capacity of a growing number of African nations. But that justifies a graduated increase on spending in Africa rather than a substantial and sudden one.
In addition, absorptive capacity is far less of a problem if increased aid for Africa is spent outside the country. Spending can be increased in the rich countries to develop vaccines and cures for diseases that severely afflict Africa, such as Aids and malaria. Research on cures for diseases such as yellow fever and sleeping sickness should be well financed. Since much of Africa suffers from huge skills shortages for virtually every developmental problem, education and training of African students in western universities could be vastly increased. They will mostly stay abroad. But then the west should develop and pay handsomely for programmes where they can contribute in other ways, such as short-term visits to train others, for instance. Until these shortages ease years from now (as they did in the 1990s in India; the “brain drain” was a big issue there in the 1950s) as more nationals are trained and find return attractive, surely we could send out more of our own. I have advocated programmes such as a Grey Peace Corps that would find our aged and retired doctors, engineers and other professionals jobs in Botswana, Zambia and other African nations.
But, if you have erred in allying yourself with the development experts who wrongly focus exclusively on aid spending in Africa itself, a greater folly is to have tied your initiative to the aid target of 0.7 per cent of GNP. This target goes back to 1969 and has not been met except by a tiny fraction of donors, essentially the Scandinavian countries. The problem is that the target relates to government spending. Fiscal spending is subject to what economists call “hard budget constraints”. There are always many demands on the government. The US, for instance, has just had a colossal increase in spending on the Iraq war and on Hurricane Katrina relief and reconstruction. Even Paul Martin, the progressive former prime minister of Canada, was most reluctant to sign on to this target last year at the United Nations.
Richard Manning, the head of the Development Assistance Committee at the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, recently expressed concern that the main European Union donors would fail to fulfil even proposed aid increases, way short of 0.7 per cent of GNP, pledged for 2010. With all the good intentions in the world, developmental aid will take the back seat against politically more pressing needs.
How, then, are we to translate the enthusiastic altruism that you have generated, dear Bono, into larger, sustained flows of aid? Surely the answer is to go after personal, rather than governmental, flows. Personal spending on aid typically runs into softer budget constraints. With all the charitable spending I do, I could always forego a dinner at Maxim’s and eat at McDonald’s instead, pledging another $100 to the Geldof-Bono aid fund. So, if you take seriously the estimated audience for Live8 concerts at 2bn, halve it for those who were there for a lark or are impoverished themselves, and halve it again for those who attended the concerts twice, you would have half a billion who could sign up for an average pledge of $50 a head as a supplement to their normal giving, yielding a net sum of $25bn outright. The money would be worth almost twice that amount in actual aid, since they would be grants whereas most aid consists of loans that must be repaid.
This would mean abandoning some of your current allies. But you can do nothing less if your efforts are to yield results. In a recent interview, you said that you expected your music would endure forever but poverty would have ended in a hundred years. I wish you good luck on your music. But not even a hundred years would suffice to end poverty if you fail to correct your course.
The writer is university professor of economics and law at Columbia University and senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations. He was special adviser to the UN on globalisation and is a member of secretary-general Kofi Annan’s advisory group on Africa
Monday, February 27, 2006
because
Because this is what we do.
Anyway. I have decided to post more and more photos as I have only a few months left and lord knows there's enough to go around.
The sky is turning pink.
Two months ago, I was waiting in the porch of my office (we work in an ancient Sri Lankan house built in the 30s) and it was dusk and I saw something, an animal, large, violent cross the telephone wire from a nearby tree where it had been draped over a branch, to the roof. Shocked, I asked our watcher-man what the hell it was= after all, we live in Colombo, not in the goddamned Vanni jungle and he replied it was a pole cat. (This is the universe I live in people. Where polecats inhabit my office roof).
A month ago, one of my staff bought a rabbit that was destined to become glue. ( In Sri Lanka, temples and individuals have to buy an animal's freedom from slaughter, e.g. cows, rabbits and the like and it is a popular ritual of expiation). Anyway this tiny little black and white rabbit soon became a member of our family, and was found under desks, water coolers, (escaping narrowly being run over one day when a car reversed) and generally had us eating out of his hands.
Two days ago his body was found, decapitated.
To those of you that have forgotten RGS bio classes, decapitated is when something's head is no longer adjoined to its body. I got the story from our watchman. At night, little Brer Rabbit is put away in his box to escape the pole cats. Our watcherman forgot one night and came outside when he heard a noise, and he saw TWO polecats skirmishing over our rabbit! and when he came off, one bit Brer's head off and leapt over the wall and vamoosed.
HUH?
HUH? I say? Our rabbit is decapitated? Something bit its HEAD off?
Yeah peeps. I live in Sri Lanka. Even the rabbit has to fight for its life.
trip-end
So it has been the end of an absolutely exhausting week. I’m currently on life-support as I wave goodbye to a contingent of high net-worth, high-maintenance donors. The week was spent organizing project visits, while trying to ensure that no minivan breakdowns occurred, hotels functioned flawlessly, spa appointments were at hand as were beer runs (oh we passed a Carlsberg store, can we stop and get some beer as we drive past tsunami graveyards?) and the like. But every school we visited was inspiring, every child warm, friendly and evidently in some sort of a nurturing environment as well. Our CEO and some CEOs of accenture, ing etc. also wept during a couple of visits, openly. One organization was also keen on implementing a model to map value created by nonprofits and public sectors and I get to pilot it here in Sri Lanka which sounds like a fantastic research opportunity somewhat related to my graduate school ambitions and intellectual interests. It was an interesting trip as well to meet some of these individuals, some World Economic Forum people, etc. etc.
In the middle of it, I also turned 25. And there was a toast made by my fearless leader to the achievements of last year and it was touching, moving, inspiring and I think I teared and in many ways, that was the best birthday present ever.
In the middle of it, I also turned 25. And there was a toast made by my fearless leader to the achievements of last year and it was touching, moving, inspiring and I think I teared and in many ways, that was the best birthday present ever.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
tamil film
I was watching Thevar Magan yesterday and I was surprised by what an excellent film it was. I always thought that no Indian film could attain the intensity or poignancy of Maniratnam’s films, and even though this film was not shot well, it was still extraordinarily fine. I was weeping towards the end of it, when she comes back, to find him married to a village girl, to save the dignity and bloodshed of the village. And he has sacrificed more than her, and she does not know it, she cannot understand what draws him, a previously urbane, scholarly man, to give up everything to save his village, and it was not the man she loved, who has now gone. And then the scene after that, where he has committed to his wife, finally and he takes her hand, and she stops singing because she’s terrified and he lets her hand go and then she says no, and she shyly puts her hand forward, to be held. And of course the final scene where he inadvertently kills his nemesis, his brother, in a version of Cain and Abel and is now banished, to repent, to leave to die. Awesome stuff. Why don’t they make films like that anymore? Or why doesn’t the actor make films like that anymore. The current state of Tamil film is a sorry one.
Monday, February 20, 2006
aviss
have you seen,Iin the Mood for Love?
what it must be like, to be loved that much, at least once, and to have known it too .I don't know anyone who has been loved like that and that is sad for i know many who profess to know love, and none that i can point to (no doubt in my muddle-headed ignorance) who I can say,there goes a man, who has truly loved and been loved no matter how short it lasted.
anyhoo.
a major donor visit for which the weekend was spent preparing presentations and powerpoints and dealing with obscure formatting issues and how to print in high-resolution glossy prints without emptying the bank. but then all arrived, despite immense flight delays and the breakdown of the major luxe transport vehicle and were fed and watered and then transported the next morning to a school in the depths of rural Avissawella. All 300 children stood in neat lines towards the entrance of the school as we drove up in our gleaming chariots and there was a band and a dance parade into the library.
Then a class filed in and a speech was made in English by a 12 year old thanking the donor for the books and the library and a song was sung full of exercise and then the donors were paired off with groups of children to chill for a bit and then suddenly it was as though a switch had been turned off (or on) and all 65 children turned into hyperactive happy children and mobbed the donors, screaming and yelling , just happy to be near foreigners who had given them. Pictures were taken, books were read out to each other, everyone was happy and coconuts broken.
On the way to the school, we were leading the way with the entourage following and our Buddhist colleague decided to get out of the car and drop some coins into a temple as a ritual and a blessing for the trip ahead. Only when we got out, everyone jumped out of the van as well and then we had to sheepishly explain that it was a Buddhist blessing. (or something). the world never ceases to amaze.
what it must be like, to be loved that much, at least once, and to have known it too .I don't know anyone who has been loved like that and that is sad for i know many who profess to know love, and none that i can point to (no doubt in my muddle-headed ignorance) who I can say,there goes a man, who has truly loved and been loved no matter how short it lasted.
anyhoo.
a major donor visit for which the weekend was spent preparing presentations and powerpoints and dealing with obscure formatting issues and how to print in high-resolution glossy prints without emptying the bank. but then all arrived, despite immense flight delays and the breakdown of the major luxe transport vehicle and were fed and watered and then transported the next morning to a school in the depths of rural Avissawella. All 300 children stood in neat lines towards the entrance of the school as we drove up in our gleaming chariots and there was a band and a dance parade into the library.
Then a class filed in and a speech was made in English by a 12 year old thanking the donor for the books and the library and a song was sung full of exercise and then the donors were paired off with groups of children to chill for a bit and then suddenly it was as though a switch had been turned off (or on) and all 65 children turned into hyperactive happy children and mobbed the donors, screaming and yelling , just happy to be near foreigners who had given them. Pictures were taken, books were read out to each other, everyone was happy and coconuts broken.
On the way to the school, we were leading the way with the entourage following and our Buddhist colleague decided to get out of the car and drop some coins into a temple as a ritual and a blessing for the trip ahead. Only when we got out, everyone jumped out of the van as well and then we had to sheepishly explain that it was a Buddhist blessing. (or something). the world never ceases to amaze.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
hatton
Back in the muck again. Spent days on the Eastern border, in Trincomalee which was surprisingly violence-free, although tense, with checkpoints every five minutes and we were carrying cargo too. Then we went into the tsunami-hit town of Kinniya, a predominantly Muslim village and visited a local NGO there, who had scouted some schools for us, and spent the day going up and down. Met heads of mosques, muslim boy’s schools and the lot, all whom were surprisingly polite to me (I don’t know why I find that surprising). I guess it matters to have some authority after all, although I find titles abrasive. I spent Valentine’s day in this awful hotel with a male colleague who was new to the job and completely silent as a result, and a bizarre hotel manager with broken, taped spectacles,who had been there when the hotel was washed away by the tsunami and related to us the story of how he had lost everything and how he had to go to Colombo to get certificates of birth etc. in a sarong only with no slippers. Then we left the strange haunted place (there were a few foreigners there, some strange Germans who cornered me to talk to me about the state of the roads (bad) and how I should ensure there is some investment in road infrastructure there) and sped onto Nuwara Eliya, the hill country populated by over a million Indian Tamils, brought here since the late 1800s as slave labour by the British. Political Parties still carry the Indian flag as their symbol, despite having been in Sri Lanka now for over a 100 years. The Plantation tamils are ethnically, linguistically and culturally different from Sri Lankan Tamils, and have no political representation by Sri Lankan/Northeastern Tamils, who disavow any link with them.
They are also neglected by the Sinhalese population and as a result, have little political voice, little representation and little aid. Conditions are terrible, with alcoholism, incest, rape prevalent. Forced family planning a la Indira Gandhi has been instituted and as a result schools are shutting down due to dwindling enrolment. (As someone said in a movie: Just because they’re poor, they can’t have children?). Preschools are nonexistent, taking place in rusting corrugated iron sheds with close to no materials. But the country around the area is beautiful. Women are the major tea pluckers. The men run shops, or work as construction labour, on coolie wages. Managers are always men, and they pay salaries by cash to women. As a result, sexual harassment and poor human rights education prevail. The value of education, can never be discounted. We all take it for granted, but it can change, really change someone’s life, not only in terms of economic capacity, but in terms of knowledge, of self-esteem, of confidence, of the right to lead a free life and the ability to do so.
The sites are next to mountain temples and at every curve and bend of the road, there is a little stone altar, with a statue of Ganesh or Hanuman. Despite the lack of housing, sanitation or health or education facilities, the Minister of Plantation Industries has deemed it fit to allocate taxpayer money to a huge expansion of stone temples, cutting away rock and hillside to build. Who said god and politics would never meet? Such is south asian politics, and just ahead of local elections here, are how votes are bought. We saw trucks of supporters going to rallies (last day of nominations here), paid a 100 rupees, lunch and alcohol to wave a few flags and yell a few slogans. And it will never change.
They are also neglected by the Sinhalese population and as a result, have little political voice, little representation and little aid. Conditions are terrible, with alcoholism, incest, rape prevalent. Forced family planning a la Indira Gandhi has been instituted and as a result schools are shutting down due to dwindling enrolment. (As someone said in a movie: Just because they’re poor, they can’t have children?). Preschools are nonexistent, taking place in rusting corrugated iron sheds with close to no materials. But the country around the area is beautiful. Women are the major tea pluckers. The men run shops, or work as construction labour, on coolie wages. Managers are always men, and they pay salaries by cash to women. As a result, sexual harassment and poor human rights education prevail. The value of education, can never be discounted. We all take it for granted, but it can change, really change someone’s life, not only in terms of economic capacity, but in terms of knowledge, of self-esteem, of confidence, of the right to lead a free life and the ability to do so.
The sites are next to mountain temples and at every curve and bend of the road, there is a little stone altar, with a statue of Ganesh or Hanuman. Despite the lack of housing, sanitation or health or education facilities, the Minister of Plantation Industries has deemed it fit to allocate taxpayer money to a huge expansion of stone temples, cutting away rock and hillside to build. Who said god and politics would never meet? Such is south asian politics, and just ahead of local elections here, are how votes are bought. We saw trucks of supporters going to rallies (last day of nominations here), paid a 100 rupees, lunch and alcohol to wave a few flags and yell a few slogans. And it will never change.
Friday, February 10, 2006
hillary
I was thinking rather of Hillary Clinton, and what her life must have been like. As a woman, she represents a very human form of the platonic ideal, and therefore all the more laudable. I was thinking rather of what I respected her for? For sacrificing her career in the early stages to go to Hicksville and gamble on the political fortunes of her husband, for being a smarter policy wonk than her husband? for having grown in the last 12 years to be one of the smoothest operators and a giant on the American political landscape? For sticking by her husband, despite the public humiliations and the personal despair caused by his philandering, for holding it together? for being an early Goldwater conservative, under the Republican party and moving left later? For representing the best of American, and of women? For standing up for a cause? For being the future. But ultimately, for being a role model for women everywhere, to show that brains, idealism and a fierce sense of justice and loyalty reaps awards far beyond riches or beauty. And her private conversations with Eleanor Roosevelt who said "no matter how plain a woman may be if truth & loyalty are stamped upon her face all will be attracted to her...."
Thursday, February 09, 2006
sangeeth
The mehendi night tonight at the bride's house, which was a scene straight out of a Kollywood women. The house was full of brightly coloured, sari clad women. The bride sat, blouse-less but sari-ed on a throne-like sofa as two women attended to her hands and feet. The other women and friends had other assistants twirling, winding, creating mythic indian patterns in green henna on hands and feet and shoulders and arms. Then we all sat around, suspended, unable to move for 2 hours while it dried and people flowed in and out of the house. Almost everyone I met, I was sort of related to: "I saw you last when you were this high!/five years old"? Had to download my life history for everyone's gratification which wasn't as bad as I thought. Food flowed as well (no alcohol). Then the sangeeth happened, and the women got together with instruments and hours of carnatic music, holy, beautiful and above-all, well-sung wafted through the house. And it was nice, and tense and family-full. My parents made a surprise entrance, father dressed improbably in a twentysomething italian shirt, and mother in a bright sari and I thought to myself, my parents looked younger than me. (midlife crisis, enter party animals). Anyway the chatter flowed and the jaffna slang flowed and it was nice to hear everyone connecting the dots (aarrr you're Aruni mami's teacher's daughter's son-in-law from Kopai and you lived opposite Amma's house in the 60s. I remember. How is She?)
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
squid ink
So I am back at my parent's home again for a brief flying visit for the wedding of a friend, which needless to say, I am dreading solely because it is exactly the kind of Sri Lankan affair I have intuitively learnt to loathe from a young age, full of blathering relatives whom one hasn't seen since birth inquiring passive-aggressively about one's love life and career ambitions. Nobody has anything nice at all to say about each other and the post-mortem is spent dissecting what everyone wore and how terrible they all looked.
The flight was disastrous. I was next to a horrible man who kept drinking excessively and shouting and was eventually refused alcohol and then he spilt his whiskey all over me at 4am and I was not pleased.
But. Chin up. I am hibernating. I just want to hide somewhere. i feel like I've been beaten by a baseball bat by an extremely angry Danish-Muslim and left for dead in Damascus.
but I came back, slept and went straight to da paolo and bought squid-ink tagliatelle, feta and salami salad, grilled aubergines and potato salad, tomatoes, basil, yoghurt, mangoes, raw almonds, honey and Israeli persimmons and now I've had a bit of everything and what I really want is a Starbucks coffee but it is Too far away and I have no wheels.
I keep thinking that if I can get through this next minute without alcohol, maybe I can get through the minute after that and this is what my life has been reduced to, getting over every minute after the next. I am not sad, nor depressed. I just want to Not Talk for a very long time.
The flight was disastrous. I was next to a horrible man who kept drinking excessively and shouting and was eventually refused alcohol and then he spilt his whiskey all over me at 4am and I was not pleased.
But. Chin up. I am hibernating. I just want to hide somewhere. i feel like I've been beaten by a baseball bat by an extremely angry Danish-Muslim and left for dead in Damascus.
but I came back, slept and went straight to da paolo and bought squid-ink tagliatelle, feta and salami salad, grilled aubergines and potato salad, tomatoes, basil, yoghurt, mangoes, raw almonds, honey and Israeli persimmons and now I've had a bit of everything and what I really want is a Starbucks coffee but it is Too far away and I have no wheels.
I keep thinking that if I can get through this next minute without alcohol, maybe I can get through the minute after that and this is what my life has been reduced to, getting over every minute after the next. I am not sad, nor depressed. I just want to Not Talk for a very long time.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
anuradhapura
I went to Anuradhapura over the last three days on a field visit. We are looking to build schools there. Anuradhapura is overwhelmingly Sinhalese and Buddhist, with pockets of Hindu and Muslim communities (refugee pockets from the northern war). I understood very little of the trip, (imagine 3 days spent with people who don't speak your language) but it was peaceful and relaxing. Went to a lot of schools and preschools and sites and met communities that seem extraordinarily organized. Went to a women's development society that reminded me, rather inexplicably of the Convent in Toni Morrison's Paradise. Another thing in Anuradhapura, all the women were pregnant. I did not really see non-pregnant women. Apparently there is a common kidney problem amongst people there. Met some people from banks, who were intent on improving their village. Also went to the Twin Ponds, the 2000 year old site where kings and their concubines bathed. Anuradhapura has had a 102 kings in its history. It is well placed.
Finally went to the third highest ranking monk in the mrivisettiya temple with whom we're doing work. He tied a blessing-string around my wrist. And chanted. I love field work. I think I should have more stories and I'll try but I'm normally wasted by the time I come back.
Finally went to the third highest ranking monk in the mrivisettiya temple with whom we're doing work. He tied a blessing-string around my wrist. And chanted. I love field work. I think I should have more stories and I'll try but I'm normally wasted by the time I come back.
12 step
The Twelve Steps of Obsessives Anonymous
1. We admitted we were powerless over obsession — that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to obsessive compulsives and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
1. We admitted we were powerless over obsession — that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to obsessive compulsives and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
columbia
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,--and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of
wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless falls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor eer eagle flew--
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God
John Gillespie Magee
quoted by Reagan on the demise of the Challenger
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,--and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of
wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless falls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor eer eagle flew--
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God
John Gillespie Magee
quoted by Reagan on the demise of the Challenger
say
I should think that if it were me, I would want a particularly English romance, not too unlike the butler in Remains of the Day and the housekeeper, perhaps even to go so far as Christabel and Randolph, but approximating most Wimsey and Vane. That is, to be perfectly identified for the qualities that one prizes the most, restraint, fortitude, intelligence, justice and idealism with a singular disregard for the perception of the public, to be able to live alone, in quiet isolation, always working. Perfectly unromantically, pragmatically true. And no doubt there shall be many painful mistakes along the way, and quite truly it may never be realizable, but better is it not to fail in imagination than to succeed in imitation?
sunday times 29 jan
Where the awareness of the government of the operations of Non Governmental Organizations is limited despite the existence of a large number of such foreign funded NGOs in Sri Lanka
And whereas allegations have been leveled by numerous citizens to the effect that some such organizations are engaged in activities which are inimical to the sovereignty and integrity of Sri Lanka
And whereas it has been reported that these NGOs have been active in a manner detrimental to the national and social wellbeing of the country
And whereas it is reported that the activities of some of those NGOs have adversely affected national security as well
A Select Committee of Parliament under the Chairmanship of Mr. Nandana Gunathilake M.P. has been appointed to investigate the following matters relating to the operations and impact of those NGOs which are operative in Sri Lanka.
And whereas allegations have been leveled by numerous citizens to the effect that some such organizations are engaged in activities which are inimical to the sovereignty and integrity of Sri Lanka
And whereas it has been reported that these NGOs have been active in a manner detrimental to the national and social wellbeing of the country
And whereas it is reported that the activities of some of those NGOs have adversely affected national security as well
A Select Committee of Parliament under the Chairmanship of Mr. Nandana Gunathilake M.P. has been appointed to investigate the following matters relating to the operations and impact of those NGOs which are operative in Sri Lanka.
Monday, January 30, 2006
elephant
An interesting conversation with a true volunteer from San Diego, a kid of 21 who’s spent about six months in Sri Lanka, in the muck of constructing primary school upgrades, installing taps, gutters, building a community center, fundraising, doing all the unglamorous work in a remote village in Hambantota. A sweet kid, who’s really committed to the cause of education, children and development. We were exchanging stories yesterday of what it was like to work with old Sri Lankan friend. One of the villages he was working in had an elephant problem (where elephants routinely marauded and raided kitchens, school buildings etc. causing havoc for the sake of it). So he rounded up some barbed wire and erected a lamppost around his tiny community center as a makeshift barrier. The next morning he asked a villager whether they still had an elephant problem. Stoically the villager responded ‘ We don’t have an elephant problem anymore”. Friend rejoices. “but the neighbours now have an elephant problem’. Haha.
Also talking about a particular guesthouse in Jaffna, whose proprietor is slightly insane. I had gone there to visit a cousin once and gone up to his room to chat. The next day the proprietor had gone off on my cousin, in tamil, saying that this was not that kind of establishment and that such goings on were a disgrace to Jaffna! This friend had also met the same proprietor (who’s like 70) and had been told off by him: You are a stupid Yankee and an idiot. (slowly, enunciating each word). Friend horrified had refused to eat his food. Proprietor comes up and knocks on the door for 20 minutes saying: I am a diabetic and a heart patient. Please come and eat.
I tell you.
Also talking about a particular guesthouse in Jaffna, whose proprietor is slightly insane. I had gone there to visit a cousin once and gone up to his room to chat. The next day the proprietor had gone off on my cousin, in tamil, saying that this was not that kind of establishment and that such goings on were a disgrace to Jaffna! This friend had also met the same proprietor (who’s like 70) and had been told off by him: You are a stupid Yankee and an idiot. (slowly, enunciating each word). Friend horrified had refused to eat his food. Proprietor comes up and knocks on the door for 20 minutes saying: I am a diabetic and a heart patient. Please come and eat.
I tell you.
U2
"Stuck In A Moment"
I'm not afraid
Of anything in this world
There's nothing you can throw at me
That I haven't already heard
I'm just trying to find
A decent melody
A song that I can sing
In my own company
I never thought you were a fool
But darling look at you
You gotta stand up straight
Carry your own weight
These tears are going nowhere baby
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And now you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
I will not forsake
The colors that you bring
The nights you filled with fireworks
They left you with nothing
I am still enchanted
By the light you brought to me
I listen through your ears
Through your eyes I can see
And you are such a fool
To worry like you do
I know it's tough
And you can never get enough
Of what you don't really need now
My, oh my
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
Oh love, look at you now
You've got yourself stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
I was unconscious, half asleep
The water is warm 'til you discover how deep
I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall
It's a long way down to nothing at all
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if our way should falter
Along the stony pass
And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass
It's just a moment
This time will pass
I'm not afraid
Of anything in this world
There's nothing you can throw at me
That I haven't already heard
I'm just trying to find
A decent melody
A song that I can sing
In my own company
I never thought you were a fool
But darling look at you
You gotta stand up straight
Carry your own weight
These tears are going nowhere baby
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And now you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
I will not forsake
The colors that you bring
The nights you filled with fireworks
They left you with nothing
I am still enchanted
By the light you brought to me
I listen through your ears
Through your eyes I can see
And you are such a fool
To worry like you do
I know it's tough
And you can never get enough
Of what you don't really need now
My, oh my
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
Oh love, look at you now
You've got yourself stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
I was unconscious, half asleep
The water is warm 'til you discover how deep
I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall
It's a long way down to nothing at all
You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if our way should falter
Along the stony pass
And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass
It's just a moment
This time will pass
Friday, January 27, 2006
public transport
I’ve had some strange adventures in the backs of London cabs. Most of you know them already, but I have to admit, I have a particularly benign relationship with semi-public transport (that has manifested itself here in Sri Lanka too where Tamil auto drivers will counsel me on how to deal with the police and take me home and watch until I’ve latched the door, to asking me out for a drink (and offering to pay, natch) to talking about politics across the country). Anyway, this post is to record two adventures in London cabs (this excess of blogging is really to deflect any pangs of missing). And also an incident at Selfridges. As you can tell, I am feeling particularly low.
Where I am the Next Nina Simone
One drunken night, I hailed a cab outside Canary Wharf after post-work drinks, which for some reason went on all night, chiefly because all of us had nothing better to do really. As I get into the cab, (saying the address, Russell Square) the cabbie turns to me and asks,
Cabbie: Were you in Pop Idol love?
Me: Wot? Me? No.
Cabbie: I thought you were (in cockney twang). I thought to myself, as yer got in, that I’ve seen your face before and when I heard your voice, I thought you’d been singing love.
Me: I sing like a donkey. Wasn’t me. And in the shower I sing
Cabbie: I bet you can sing though. I bet you can. You have a lovely voice
Me: How would you know? I’ve only spoken two sentences!
Cabbie: I know these things. I run a recording outfit. We held the World Peace Concert last week, at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I’ve got lots of singers, singing for charity. Go on love, give us a song
Me: what? I cannot, repeat cannot sing
Cabbie: There’s no one else here but me, and we’ve got quite a ride left
Me: Alright, I’ll sing if you sing with me. I ain’t singing alone.
Cabbie: No problem. What you’re singing
Me; (in a fit of despondency), Nina Simone. Wild as the Wind. Do you know it?
Cabbie: Yeah. Lovely song innit. Alright. Whenever you’re ready
Me: (Wailing) Love me, love me, say you do. Let me fly away with you. ….
Cabbie: (joins in). You kiss me, I hear the sound of mandolins
Me: (finish. Silence in the cab).
Cabbie: you have a lovely voice. You should sing the gospel blues, strong black music with heart and character. None of this pop stuff for you. Why don’t you come down to the studio. It’s at the church
Me; (Staring out of the window. ) I reckon I’ll just stick to the day job hon. Even though I hate it. Thanks anyway.
Cabbie: Well here’s my card anyway. Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Liverpool Street, Sunday.
Where I meet ....
Another drunken night (yes I am noticing a trend here), I step out of a club after a night out with a couple of guys and Jules in some club that festered with Russians (this was the night that I met H and then I was rhapsodizing about what a cool classy cat he was until I found out he was a total bore). Hailing cabs desperately on Oxford St/Tottenham Court Road at 4am is quite obviously an exercise in futility (oh how I yearn for those nights when there was no surfeit of friends, things to do, or money and no surfeit of problems that were over-magnified and totally neurotic!). I hailed a cab, and as I crossed the street to get into it, four guys got into it from the other side. I paused in shock! How rude! The cabbie is talking to them wildly to say that I am a girl and I need to get home fast. But they’re like, we’ll drop her off. And the cabdriver finally hangs his head and says to me, get in love, (yes they all call me love. Its an English thing and one I sorely miss) I’ll make sure you get home.
So I get in.
Four American guys all dressed in leather except for one in a shirt look at me.
I sit down on the fold down seat.
Guy 1: So where are you from?
Me; (explain my history)
Guy 2: Who’re you working for now?
Me; Morgan Stanley. Boring American investment bank. Can’t stand the Americans. All they know how to do is fuck things up. Look at your president.
Discussion descends into an arcane political discussion about American politics and the Clintons.
Guy 3: You are one classy dame huh? 23 and you know this shit. Damn, I didn’t know they made them like you anymore
Me: Yeah well.
Me: So what do you guys do?
Guys: (look all around).
Guy 1: Heard of Offspring?
Me: Yeah I think so. Something to do with Rock right? I wouldn’t know
Guy 2: Who do you like?
Me: Chet Baker, Nina Simone. Old stuff.
Guy 3: The lady knows her shit
Guy 4: We just finished taping a session with Channel 4. Pop Quiz live or something.
Me: So you’re really like, a rock band?
Guy 3: Yeah, we’re staying at the Lanesborourgh. Want to come over?
Me: Nah. I need my sleep. Good luck though
Guy 2: Thanks! Great to have met you! Keep it real.
I descend. Was it the alcohol? Unfortunately Offspring doesn’t really matter to me.
Incident at Selfridges.
It’s a week to Christmas. Its 9pm and Selfridges are still open. I’m due to go home in a week and I’m standing on the escalator particularly depressed going from one hall to the next. Behind me an elderly gentleman all wrapped up in a very good quality British overcoat and muffler, with distinguished trimmed white hair coughs. I turn around. He comes up to me, on my step, pauses for a second and delivers the following:
You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Its’ alive.
I pause and stare in shock. My hair that’s a year late in rebonding and is all over the place? My hair? My secret passion?
And then he says Merry Christmas and walks on.
Thank you I say.
(marry me is what I want to say).
Do you think that they make’em like that anymore?
Where I am the Next Nina Simone
One drunken night, I hailed a cab outside Canary Wharf after post-work drinks, which for some reason went on all night, chiefly because all of us had nothing better to do really. As I get into the cab, (saying the address, Russell Square) the cabbie turns to me and asks,
Cabbie: Were you in Pop Idol love?
Me: Wot? Me? No.
Cabbie: I thought you were (in cockney twang). I thought to myself, as yer got in, that I’ve seen your face before and when I heard your voice, I thought you’d been singing love.
Me: I sing like a donkey. Wasn’t me. And in the shower I sing
Cabbie: I bet you can sing though. I bet you can. You have a lovely voice
Me: How would you know? I’ve only spoken two sentences!
Cabbie: I know these things. I run a recording outfit. We held the World Peace Concert last week, at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I’ve got lots of singers, singing for charity. Go on love, give us a song
Me: what? I cannot, repeat cannot sing
Cabbie: There’s no one else here but me, and we’ve got quite a ride left
Me: Alright, I’ll sing if you sing with me. I ain’t singing alone.
Cabbie: No problem. What you’re singing
Me; (in a fit of despondency), Nina Simone. Wild as the Wind. Do you know it?
Cabbie: Yeah. Lovely song innit. Alright. Whenever you’re ready
Me: (Wailing) Love me, love me, say you do. Let me fly away with you. ….
Cabbie: (joins in). You kiss me, I hear the sound of mandolins
Me: (finish. Silence in the cab).
Cabbie: you have a lovely voice. You should sing the gospel blues, strong black music with heart and character. None of this pop stuff for you. Why don’t you come down to the studio. It’s at the church
Me; (Staring out of the window. ) I reckon I’ll just stick to the day job hon. Even though I hate it. Thanks anyway.
Cabbie: Well here’s my card anyway. Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Liverpool Street, Sunday.
Where I meet ....
Another drunken night (yes I am noticing a trend here), I step out of a club after a night out with a couple of guys and Jules in some club that festered with Russians (this was the night that I met H and then I was rhapsodizing about what a cool classy cat he was until I found out he was a total bore). Hailing cabs desperately on Oxford St/Tottenham Court Road at 4am is quite obviously an exercise in futility (oh how I yearn for those nights when there was no surfeit of friends, things to do, or money and no surfeit of problems that were over-magnified and totally neurotic!). I hailed a cab, and as I crossed the street to get into it, four guys got into it from the other side. I paused in shock! How rude! The cabbie is talking to them wildly to say that I am a girl and I need to get home fast. But they’re like, we’ll drop her off. And the cabdriver finally hangs his head and says to me, get in love, (yes they all call me love. Its an English thing and one I sorely miss) I’ll make sure you get home.
So I get in.
Four American guys all dressed in leather except for one in a shirt look at me.
I sit down on the fold down seat.
Guy 1: So where are you from?
Me; (explain my history)
Guy 2: Who’re you working for now?
Me; Morgan Stanley. Boring American investment bank. Can’t stand the Americans. All they know how to do is fuck things up. Look at your president.
Discussion descends into an arcane political discussion about American politics and the Clintons.
Guy 3: You are one classy dame huh? 23 and you know this shit. Damn, I didn’t know they made them like you anymore
Me: Yeah well.
Me: So what do you guys do?
Guys: (look all around).
Guy 1: Heard of Offspring?
Me: Yeah I think so. Something to do with Rock right? I wouldn’t know
Guy 2: Who do you like?
Me: Chet Baker, Nina Simone. Old stuff.
Guy 3: The lady knows her shit
Guy 4: We just finished taping a session with Channel 4. Pop Quiz live or something.
Me: So you’re really like, a rock band?
Guy 3: Yeah, we’re staying at the Lanesborourgh. Want to come over?
Me: Nah. I need my sleep. Good luck though
Guy 2: Thanks! Great to have met you! Keep it real.
I descend. Was it the alcohol? Unfortunately Offspring doesn’t really matter to me.
Incident at Selfridges.
It’s a week to Christmas. Its 9pm and Selfridges are still open. I’m due to go home in a week and I’m standing on the escalator particularly depressed going from one hall to the next. Behind me an elderly gentleman all wrapped up in a very good quality British overcoat and muffler, with distinguished trimmed white hair coughs. I turn around. He comes up to me, on my step, pauses for a second and delivers the following:
You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Its’ alive.
I pause and stare in shock. My hair that’s a year late in rebonding and is all over the place? My hair? My secret passion?
And then he says Merry Christmas and walks on.
Thank you I say.
(marry me is what I want to say).
Do you think that they make’em like that anymore?
ms2r2r
Okay so I know this might be a trifle self-serving , but since i have an immense readership of like 3 people (you guys know who you are, but for the record, Cins, Jules and Rosh!) I thought I might post up the following since y'all don't know that much about my work and thought I would spread the gospel a little. (The following is an extract: basically Morgan Stanley, my ex-firm tracked me down and wanted to do a feature story on my work on the Alumni website (sadly, or fortunately, you need to be alumni to actually see the story!). So here I am, talking about my NGO and development! So that this blog remains off-radar, I have used R2R for what my NGO actually is).
What inspired you to become involved with R2R?
R2R's particular brand of passion, energy and dynamism in solving the educational problems of developing countries attracted me initially, especially its management team which then consisted of John Wood and Erin Ganju. Their method of working through challenge grants where communities work to invest in their own schools and libraries (by providing labour, materials, land etc) ensured a sustainable development approach by empowering local communities and giving them ownership of these resources. The low overhead ratio of less than 10% (meaning that more than 90 cents of every dollar go directly to targeted beneficiaries) also pointed to the rare NGO that was more focused on achieving development goals, rather than development rhetoric.
The flexible, efficient and non-bureaucratic modus operandi was also particularly attractive, as it replicated the environment at Morgan Stanley, where the focus was on getting stuff done .
How long have you been working for the organization, and what are your responsibilities in your current role?
I have been working for about a year with R2R Sri Lanka. As Country Director, I head up the Sri Lanka office and am in charge of all in-country program strategy and execution, focusing on school construction, library establishment, girls' scholarships, and children's fiction publishing in the local language across the southern and northeastern areas. In 2005 we focused on tsunami reconstruction and rehabilitation, and attempted to work fairly across both ethnic communities. In 2006, we will be continuing our work across the tsunami belt and also expanding into the interior tea plantation areas which have been historically neglected as well as the border villages between the government controlled areas and the rebel-controlled areas, which typically, also has been neglected. The escalating political situation and increasing armed violence has all of us tense, but we remain hopeful that aid agencies will continue to be able to operate without significant hindrances.
Can you share a specific story or two that would illustrate the impact Room to Read's school-rebuilding project has made in Sri Lanka?
Working in development can be at times extremely dispiriting and frustrating. The bureaucratic hurdles, lack of political will to implement policy change from the top, corruption, civil war can all act to seem overwhelming at times. Yet, the opportunity to interact with war victims, tsunami victims or abused individuals can provide the glimpse into why aid is important, why it gets it right more times than it gets it wrong, and how we all have a responsibility, as members of the developed world, and as of humanity, to give and receive humanitarian assistance whenever possible.
We get this grassroots experience every day as part of R2R. In Sri Lanka, we have built 39 preschools in 2005, through the cooperation of local communities. The preschools have provided an important start to early education and restored normalcy to many children's lives that have been affected by the tsunami. A semi-structured learning approach has given them the chance to focus on the road ahead and not the losses behind.
The training that we provide to the teachers provides these young women with a sense of achievement, of knowledge which they pass onto the next generation. By educating children, we are focusing on the age-group with the most potential for change, and therefore with the most potential for hope. By integrating training and workshops across the island, we have begun to build bridges across hitherto mutually isolated communities. Our work has sown the seeds of a peacebuilding dialogue at the grassroots level, and as such, both the goals of development and human security are attempted to be achieved.
We strive to set this tone of nonalignment and impartiality and fairness in all our work across this extremely divided island. With an all-local, diverse staff, we are able to cross cultures and be accepted in villages and communities of all ethnic and religious denominations. In addition, the incredible goodwill shown to us by the villages and schools and their unceasing work in the face of so much lack, has ultimately made our work possible.
When did your tenure with the company begin/end? Which office(s) did you work in? What was your position, and within what business group did you work? Also, is there anything in particular that you learned while working at Morgan Stanley that has helped you succeed in your new position?
I started as an Analyst at the Credit Department in London in June 2002, shortly after graduating from the London School of Economics with a Bsc in Government and Economics. I was chiefly assigned to working within the Commodities section in the Credit Department and got to interact with a very wide range of clients, internal groups and colleagues. The professionalism of colleagues, their eagerness to teach new analysts the ropes, and the positive attitudes to teamwork and achievements really helped me to hit the ground running at Room to Read. Particularly, my excellent mentor was the best example of how to run a team and achieve results exceeding expectations while always remaining gracious under pressure!
What inspired you to become involved with R2R?
R2R's particular brand of passion, energy and dynamism in solving the educational problems of developing countries attracted me initially, especially its management team which then consisted of John Wood and Erin Ganju. Their method of working through challenge grants where communities work to invest in their own schools and libraries (by providing labour, materials, land etc) ensured a sustainable development approach by empowering local communities and giving them ownership of these resources. The low overhead ratio of less than 10% (meaning that more than 90 cents of every dollar go directly to targeted beneficiaries) also pointed to the rare NGO that was more focused on achieving development goals, rather than development rhetoric.
The flexible, efficient and non-bureaucratic modus operandi was also particularly attractive, as it replicated the environment at Morgan Stanley, where the focus was on getting stuff done .
How long have you been working for the organization, and what are your responsibilities in your current role?
I have been working for about a year with R2R Sri Lanka. As Country Director, I head up the Sri Lanka office and am in charge of all in-country program strategy and execution, focusing on school construction, library establishment, girls' scholarships, and children's fiction publishing in the local language across the southern and northeastern areas. In 2005 we focused on tsunami reconstruction and rehabilitation, and attempted to work fairly across both ethnic communities. In 2006, we will be continuing our work across the tsunami belt and also expanding into the interior tea plantation areas which have been historically neglected as well as the border villages between the government controlled areas and the rebel-controlled areas, which typically, also has been neglected. The escalating political situation and increasing armed violence has all of us tense, but we remain hopeful that aid agencies will continue to be able to operate without significant hindrances.
Can you share a specific story or two that would illustrate the impact Room to Read's school-rebuilding project has made in Sri Lanka?
Working in development can be at times extremely dispiriting and frustrating. The bureaucratic hurdles, lack of political will to implement policy change from the top, corruption, civil war can all act to seem overwhelming at times. Yet, the opportunity to interact with war victims, tsunami victims or abused individuals can provide the glimpse into why aid is important, why it gets it right more times than it gets it wrong, and how we all have a responsibility, as members of the developed world, and as of humanity, to give and receive humanitarian assistance whenever possible.
We get this grassroots experience every day as part of R2R. In Sri Lanka, we have built 39 preschools in 2005, through the cooperation of local communities. The preschools have provided an important start to early education and restored normalcy to many children's lives that have been affected by the tsunami. A semi-structured learning approach has given them the chance to focus on the road ahead and not the losses behind.
The training that we provide to the teachers provides these young women with a sense of achievement, of knowledge which they pass onto the next generation. By educating children, we are focusing on the age-group with the most potential for change, and therefore with the most potential for hope. By integrating training and workshops across the island, we have begun to build bridges across hitherto mutually isolated communities. Our work has sown the seeds of a peacebuilding dialogue at the grassroots level, and as such, both the goals of development and human security are attempted to be achieved.
We strive to set this tone of nonalignment and impartiality and fairness in all our work across this extremely divided island. With an all-local, diverse staff, we are able to cross cultures and be accepted in villages and communities of all ethnic and religious denominations. In addition, the incredible goodwill shown to us by the villages and schools and their unceasing work in the face of so much lack, has ultimately made our work possible.
When did your tenure with the company begin/end? Which office(s) did you work in? What was your position, and within what business group did you work? Also, is there anything in particular that you learned while working at Morgan Stanley that has helped you succeed in your new position?
I started as an Analyst at the Credit Department in London in June 2002, shortly after graduating from the London School of Economics with a Bsc in Government and Economics. I was chiefly assigned to working within the Commodities section in the Credit Department and got to interact with a very wide range of clients, internal groups and colleagues. The professionalism of colleagues, their eagerness to teach new analysts the ropes, and the positive attitudes to teamwork and achievements really helped me to hit the ground running at Room to Read. Particularly, my excellent mentor was the best example of how to run a team and achieve results exceeding expectations while always remaining gracious under pressure!
peace
Open house of an INGO last night. The thing about hanging around with peaceniks is that they are all so darn weird. Its as though that organic apple juice that they drink is laced with shrooms and hashish, and as a result they float around the world, talking in their own impenetrable code of peace, human security and reconciliation with only an indifferent gaze to the hard political realities of the world. Realpolitik is a game they do not want to play and whereas I applaud most heartily their sentiments of peace, yet, I do not think that they are optimally strategically engaged in achieving their goal. But then again, what would I know. Also if I meet any more Thomians, I am going to scream. Also, the trick is, not to give into the thought.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
you talking to me?
"I came up with a new game-show idea recently. It's called The Old Game. You got three old guys with loaded guns onstage. They look back at their lives, see who they were, what they accomplished, how close they came to realizing their dreams. The winner is the one who doesn't blow his brains out. He gets a refrigerator. "
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.
Monday, January 23, 2006
and
So in life, sometimes these curveballs happen. You know what I'm talking about, when suddenly the universe deals you a card so unexpected you think that a coked-out ex-Miami Vice failed Hollywood screenwriter has suddenly got the rights to your life script. And he's churning it out in a series of insomiac, pot-filled nights, while howling at the moon.
Well it happens. I could talk about inexorable historical dialectics and attempt to uncover the reason, the truth, beneath this series of cosmic random occurrences, but in fact of course, there is nothing. Only faith, that somehow, because of convergence and relative-value theory, things will revert to the mean. (that belies my banker training).
I've been asked to be the best man. Chief among his/her functions are a) presenting the ring, and b) giving the speech. Won't it be fun? I can hardly wait.
By the way, this time, I am truly single again, and a chapter has closed. onward and upwards!
Well it happens. I could talk about inexorable historical dialectics and attempt to uncover the reason, the truth, beneath this series of cosmic random occurrences, but in fact of course, there is nothing. Only faith, that somehow, because of convergence and relative-value theory, things will revert to the mean. (that belies my banker training).
I've been asked to be the best man. Chief among his/her functions are a) presenting the ring, and b) giving the speech. Won't it be fun? I can hardly wait.
By the way, this time, I am truly single again, and a chapter has closed. onward and upwards!
Friday, January 20, 2006
hetti
Went down to Hettipola yesterday to a boy's orphanage run by a genuine Buddhist monk, to distribute some shiny new books over there to the boys. The home was clean, well-run and open to boys of all religious faiths and ethnicities, despite the Buddhist affiliation. The children are found from the Child Protection Authorities. The youngest member, (age unknown as he was found without a birth certificate) was found chained to a post, starving, beaten and mutilated. All his teeth have dropped out and there are scars on the wrists and ankles from the manacles. But he was the sweetest kid. Though I spoke no Sinhala, he took my hand and showed me around his room, and his bed. He couldn't walk very fast or run very fast, but he broke my heart. It was a reminder again that there are bigger problems in the world than my own minimal satellite explosions.
Monday, January 16, 2006
hero
So i've just finished 5 interviews with some really OLD buggers (one was 73 and another was 65)
1) Candidate No. 1 (73 years old, used to be the director of education at the ministry
: " These foreigners are totally useless working in NGOs today. Once, I took a Swedish consultant to a school in Pottuvil to observe the teachers in a primary school and it was an open hall with three classes being conducted simultaneously. Then the crows came to sit on the low parapet wall and after two hours the consultant walked out because he couldn't take the noise of the crows. So I told him: this country is not for you, better get back to Colombo and I was so angry I drove him back to Colombo myself.
..... This government is totally screwed up. It has no understanding of the importance of continuining teacher training.
...... I don't think I can do this job. I have no experience with construction, and I have done enough in my life and I need a bit of a rest now.
Me: So why are you interviewing for the job then?
Him: Because I had some free time and I wanted to find out what was this Room to Read.
2) Candidate no 2.: ( a bald guy with a few strands of white hair plastered onto his scalp with coconut oil and bifocal glasses and a tie that is steadily choking him age 65).
Me: So what do you think is the best method of inculcating reading habits in children
Candidate no 2: Can I have some paper please? And your pen (Draws a graph). One axis is children's ages. One axis is Amount of Play things. Draws a line going diagonally down. So according to this graph, children who are 1 years old need a lot of playthings. Children who are five need less. Children are attracted to colour. The key skill in reading a book is not literacy, but in fact, the ability to turn the page. So therefore if you get a toy that consists of a book with colours on each page, then the children will want to turn the page, to see a new colour and then they will learn to read.
Me: So how many years of experience do you have then?
Him: Forty.
why? why? why can't I interview people who are normal?
Here is a picture of one of my heroes from Jaffna. he's a community leader. I love the way he walks. This picture is on my desktop and every morning, I say hello to him
1) Candidate No. 1 (73 years old, used to be the director of education at the ministry
: " These foreigners are totally useless working in NGOs today. Once, I took a Swedish consultant to a school in Pottuvil to observe the teachers in a primary school and it was an open hall with three classes being conducted simultaneously. Then the crows came to sit on the low parapet wall and after two hours the consultant walked out because he couldn't take the noise of the crows. So I told him: this country is not for you, better get back to Colombo and I was so angry I drove him back to Colombo myself.
..... This government is totally screwed up. It has no understanding of the importance of continuining teacher training.
...... I don't think I can do this job. I have no experience with construction, and I have done enough in my life and I need a bit of a rest now.
Me: So why are you interviewing for the job then?
Him: Because I had some free time and I wanted to find out what was this Room to Read.
2) Candidate no 2.: ( a bald guy with a few strands of white hair plastered onto his scalp with coconut oil and bifocal glasses and a tie that is steadily choking him age 65).
Me: So what do you think is the best method of inculcating reading habits in children
Candidate no 2: Can I have some paper please? And your pen (Draws a graph). One axis is children's ages. One axis is Amount of Play things. Draws a line going diagonally down. So according to this graph, children who are 1 years old need a lot of playthings. Children who are five need less. Children are attracted to colour. The key skill in reading a book is not literacy, but in fact, the ability to turn the page. So therefore if you get a toy that consists of a book with colours on each page, then the children will want to turn the page, to see a new colour and then they will learn to read.
Me: So how many years of experience do you have then?
Him: Forty.
why? why? why can't I interview people who are normal?
Here is a picture of one of my heroes from Jaffna. he's a community leader. I love the way he walks. This picture is on my desktop and every morning, I say hello to him
Thursday, January 12, 2006
tissama
Went into the field after a long time, with some donors from a major American investment bank who were suitably thrilled with little children playing in the school that they had funded and sat on the seesaws and swung up and down with three children on the other side. Reminded me of how I was living in spiritual squalor during my old days. Then went into hambantota, where the fields were greener than green and visited some schools in tissamaharama, area of good rice production. Also stayed at an ayurvedic hotel in the absence of any other resting house and at night the wind blew so cold and the rain fell so hard that I might have been back in England. Met a local artist who was exhibiting at the hotel, his stuff would have gone for thousands of dollars in the West but here of course it was in the rupees and nothing else. Met a family who had adopted two sri lankan children here and who were here on a quest to find the birth mothers of these children. Stopped in Hambantota at a site where the tsunami had grounded a naval battleship and a year later, the govt, INGO and locals were unable to float it out to sea, digging underneath the ship. Stopped on the way at a village roadside stall to buy buffalo curd and coconut treacle and made myself sick on the stuff. Met the community people at the school sites, a cooperative of women who were slowly building a nearby community center. Wizened, smiling, skin blackened by the sun, under trees whose leaves shook with the winds that ruffled the rice padi fields. It should have been normal, but even after all these months, I am humbled.
Monday, January 09, 2006
transition
In a fit of post-partum? depression, I dined last night alone, on peanut butter brown bread sandwiches and half a bottle of red wine in my new light-blue hand-blown wine glasses that refracts the light in a thousand different ways. Existential questions crowded my mind. Where we are going, why I am incapable of a successful relationship, why is everyone getting married (another close friend folded, to be registered in three weeks), what is the point of being educated when a traditional Asian family only values marriageability and childbearing capability as a woman, in short, just exactly, what is the point of living as I was and am a complete failure in all these measures. I contemplated (in an academic manner) twisting the nearest breadknife in my throat, but the possiblity of post-life nothingness, in short, my lack of a devout life enables no real eternal future, stopped me dead (no pun intended). Yeat's poem reverberated in my head: A waste of breath, the years to come, a waste of breath, the years behind. Although I wasn't unhappy per se (okay, who was I kidding, I was deeply depressed), in the sense that I realized quite rationally that I was fortunate and lucky to have led my life compared to victims of violent crime for example, yet, I did not have the confidence that quite simply, I would ever get it right. Relationships offer a fleeting elusive (illusive/illusionary)surcease from the daily travails, but only for the first part, after which the sturm und drang ebbs and flows. Work is best described as bailing out a leaky boat with a thimble (no matter what we do it is not enough), coupled with the fact that I was recently told that this work does not validate me, and I am not good at the work that validates me, which leaves me exactly nowhere (or hell in a handbasket) to go. And if both love and work do not work then, what else is left? I felt old. Fought with my parents, stalked my boyfriend (ex), bore a stiff upper lip of not caring exactly what an old friend said, buried my head in bottles of red wine (two over the weekend), contemplated starting on the whisky, deterred only by the fact that it was locally produced and I would be in pain the next morning (i am also a wimp). It takes a lot of courage to live, it is not just a matter of breathing one breath after the next. Hamlet had it right. As did Camus (i think). The only real question is why is it worth living? And I don't really know anymore. I am not suicidal, nor is this an obscure cry for help in our post-modern web world. Its just that, I understand that I am of some value in this world, and have a network of people who value me for myself, but ultimately, my existence is not life or death for anyone and perhaps that's what matters.
And its only the first week of the new year over. Glorious.
And its only the first week of the new year over. Glorious.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
because I will always be an idiot
i carry your heart by e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Friday, December 16, 2005
jaff
Just got back from Jaffna on a quick pitstop to check in with projects. Apparently the reason why a claymore mine was blown up, killing six soldiers and putting everyone in town on alert was ostensibly because three youths who were decorating a store for Heroes' Day, the day celebrating the martyrs of the LTTE movement, were shot by unknowns in Jaffna, thought to be army people in civilian clothes. The government themselves may be trying to precipitate a war. Ranil too has joined forces with the government. What I wouldn't give for some intelligent analysis of the situation.
One of our contacts is an LTTE political officer, who has now been retracted outside of government controlled areas and is in the 'uncleared' area. We also went into the house of one community president, who had photos of Prabhakaran and himself, in his living room, and who had lost a son to the war already. Another official said, when asked about the war, that this is another Eritrea, that this is another Vietnam. The power of propaganda should never be underestimated.
Those whom we spoke to outside of the movement also expressed their views that this time, the fight would be decisive and that the decision had been taken to incorporate a larger, administrative role for the TRO. Who knows how it shall all end. I am tired.
One of our contacts is an LTTE political officer, who has now been retracted outside of government controlled areas and is in the 'uncleared' area. We also went into the house of one community president, who had photos of Prabhakaran and himself, in his living room, and who had lost a son to the war already. Another official said, when asked about the war, that this is another Eritrea, that this is another Vietnam. The power of propaganda should never be underestimated.
Those whom we spoke to outside of the movement also expressed their views that this time, the fight would be decisive and that the decision had been taken to incorporate a larger, administrative role for the TRO. Who knows how it shall all end. I am tired.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Another bomb in Jaffna this morning. Total hartal, banks, corporations everything is shut and apparently the army is picking people at random and interrogating them in Jaffna. The newspapers are talking about a declaration of war before the end of the year, and parties are urging the President to put Colombo and the South on a war footing. The situation is tense to say the least.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
kabuk
and so it is. Just like she thought it would be. Life goes on... sings Damian Rice in The Blower's Daughter.
A rather eventful week, culminating in a trip to a recommended laywer, deep in the heart of Pettah along this single lane winding off from the Chinese pagoda-like Supreme Court and in which every lawyer worth his ambulance has put up a shingle.
Walked into a 200 year old house, later informed, being built of kabuk, a paste of soil and stones which is naturally formed in the hill country and which is cut into blocks using skilled labourers. The art of kabuk making has been lost to the ages and now cheap cement rules the roost. I was impressed only by his bookcase, groaning under the statutory weight of Sri Lankan law books, but also with biographies of Mandela and Prabhakaran, placed perhaps not so incongruently side by side. Explained to him the complexities of our 'little problem', confidentiality forbids me from putting it up on this site and railing against all manner of dishonest, fraudulent, selfish, exploitative contractors playing with the lives of children.
I got a earful (have not been chastised like that since grade school) about our irresponsibility in the whole matter, but left having fallen a little bit in love with the 65 year old dry legal wit from Cambridge, under the 4 m high 2oo year ceilings with ancient whirring fans. I wondered what this house had seen, the street was apparently where Premadasa was assassinated and how much the nation had changed.
We rounded off with saying, well great, let's correspond over email over what kind of services we may require from you and he said, Madam, do not use the word services. You will have my assistance, which is free, at any time. I went out the swinging door, and into the sun.
A rather eventful week, culminating in a trip to a recommended laywer, deep in the heart of Pettah along this single lane winding off from the Chinese pagoda-like Supreme Court and in which every lawyer worth his ambulance has put up a shingle.
Walked into a 200 year old house, later informed, being built of kabuk, a paste of soil and stones which is naturally formed in the hill country and which is cut into blocks using skilled labourers. The art of kabuk making has been lost to the ages and now cheap cement rules the roost. I was impressed only by his bookcase, groaning under the statutory weight of Sri Lankan law books, but also with biographies of Mandela and Prabhakaran, placed perhaps not so incongruently side by side. Explained to him the complexities of our 'little problem', confidentiality forbids me from putting it up on this site and railing against all manner of dishonest, fraudulent, selfish, exploitative contractors playing with the lives of children.
I got a earful (have not been chastised like that since grade school) about our irresponsibility in the whole matter, but left having fallen a little bit in love with the 65 year old dry legal wit from Cambridge, under the 4 m high 2oo year ceilings with ancient whirring fans. I wondered what this house had seen, the street was apparently where Premadasa was assassinated and how much the nation had changed.
We rounded off with saying, well great, let's correspond over email over what kind of services we may require from you and he said, Madam, do not use the word services. You will have my assistance, which is free, at any time. I went out the swinging door, and into the sun.
Friday, November 25, 2005
life eh!
"Life eh Lord Russell? What's it all about?" As the cabbie famously said to the philosopher. The English. You've gotta love them, for some odd reason, they're just so numbingly pithy, so absolutely right in this undogmatic, unpretentious, obvious way. God save the queen. I know I'm supposed to be suffering under the yoke of imperialism and that half the problems in Sri Lanka were born when the British left (strange how the leaving and not the staying, was the catalyst) but still I can't quite help the twinge of the heart when I read something uniquely British and profoundly familiar.
So. Watched season six of the west wing back to back and have concluded (for probably the tenth time in my life) that I want to be Josh Lyman and I want to be with Josh Lyman. Strange how this sentiment only grows in intensity over time. I can't quite reconcile British politics with the American verve and dynamism (and rottenness) in politics, but still. There's this moment with Toby, when he's trying to formulate a constitution for the Belarussians, and he's trying to explain democracy, separation of church and state, checks and balances and the executive powers and he gives up and says: You know, you'd be better off with a parliamentarian democracy. There are 30 constitutional democracies in the world and very few of them work. Or something like that. He tells the Prof, that, it takes more than hammering out a document, it takes a democratic population and a collective will to live by the law. He's like 8 guys, the delegation from Belarus, isn't going to bring democracy back to a post-Soviet nation. Then the professor goes: its 8 guys, but (he goes through their personal history, and all of them are activists that have been jailed for their protests etc.) there's Madison, Jefferson etc. etc.
Of course in England, its a different story but still. I'm rambling at the moment, I don't know why. Met a random from the Nonviolent Peace Force and looks like he has bigger problems than me, managing the mandates of 92 member organizations all of whom affect decision making.
So to all you readers out there (all three of you that is), here's to England, King and Country.
So. Watched season six of the west wing back to back and have concluded (for probably the tenth time in my life) that I want to be Josh Lyman and I want to be with Josh Lyman. Strange how this sentiment only grows in intensity over time. I can't quite reconcile British politics with the American verve and dynamism (and rottenness) in politics, but still. There's this moment with Toby, when he's trying to formulate a constitution for the Belarussians, and he's trying to explain democracy, separation of church and state, checks and balances and the executive powers and he gives up and says: You know, you'd be better off with a parliamentarian democracy. There are 30 constitutional democracies in the world and very few of them work. Or something like that. He tells the Prof, that, it takes more than hammering out a document, it takes a democratic population and a collective will to live by the law. He's like 8 guys, the delegation from Belarus, isn't going to bring democracy back to a post-Soviet nation. Then the professor goes: its 8 guys, but (he goes through their personal history, and all of them are activists that have been jailed for their protests etc.) there's Madison, Jefferson etc. etc.
Of course in England, its a different story but still. I'm rambling at the moment, I don't know why. Met a random from the Nonviolent Peace Force and looks like he has bigger problems than me, managing the mandates of 92 member organizations all of whom affect decision making.
So to all you readers out there (all three of you that is), here's to England, King and Country.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink
In addition to my particular flood story, Colombo itself was flooded. Cows stood knee-deep in water. Vehicles churned mud. Potholes and bylanes were deluged as items of rubbish and random pots and pans came floating by. Children in washtubs floated along the water, shrieking with delight while office workers and sari clad women hitched up their clothes undignifiedly and waddled through the water. Aaahh the joys of living in a third world country.
There is a movement in Colombo University called 'X'. It promotes the natural expression of free sex and conducts talks and seminars across Colombo and rural hubs. It is of course led by a bunch of young male professors, increasing the notches on their bedpost, as they 'spread' the word. As young, female rural undergraduates return to their hometowns after having spent 4 years in Colombo and under the influence of the X movement, their homecoming is wrought with sadness, and anger. The price that they fetch on the marriage market is of course dependent on their hymen. The thing that gets me mad is that these same professors pound the pulpit on T.V, gathering support for Rajapakse, on a return to rural traditional, Sinhala Buddhist values and denounce Ranil for being liberal and modernist and not representative of Sri Lanka.
There is a movement in Colombo University called 'X'. It promotes the natural expression of free sex and conducts talks and seminars across Colombo and rural hubs. It is of course led by a bunch of young male professors, increasing the notches on their bedpost, as they 'spread' the word. As young, female rural undergraduates return to their hometowns after having spent 4 years in Colombo and under the influence of the X movement, their homecoming is wrought with sadness, and anger. The price that they fetch on the marriage market is of course dependent on their hymen. The thing that gets me mad is that these same professors pound the pulpit on T.V, gathering support for Rajapakse, on a return to rural traditional, Sinhala Buddhist values and denounce Ranil for being liberal and modernist and not representative of Sri Lanka.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
yesterday, all my troubles
Let me tell you how my day is going. Its a holiday again, to celebrate the melon or something (tajikistan actually has a national holiday celebrating the damn melon).
The monsoons have come. My roof is leaking and my living room is flooded. The rains have unleashed a biblical horde of cockroaches. I have finished my last bottle of Mortein manning the barricades. The fort is under siege. I've inhaled more Mortein than all the cockroaches have (body count: 17! yes! I'm a lean, mean, killing machine) and as a result am hallucinating while I bail out my living room with a leaky bucket, battle the flu and rewrite the thirteenth draft of my personal statement. My boyfriend calls me during lunch (while I'm trying to write an essay explaining in detail how I'm going to save the world) with an angst-inducing conversation of how I am apparently too detached (me! What does he want? a parasite in his bloodstream?) in this sanity-defying twisted relationship that I am currently in. If I screw up this app process, I am going to be flying cargo planes full of rubber dogshit outta Hong Kong.
Yesterday I went to a Buddhist ashram in search of peace. While being actively ravaged by mosquitoes I attempted to meditate in an open garden under a bo tree. Sadly all I could think about was what to have for breakfast. On account of the elections and the rains, the shops have closed. I have no food. I have no Mortein. I have no oxygen. I have no life.
This is a call to arms. Go to the mattresses! I need some help. Over and out.
The monsoons have come. My roof is leaking and my living room is flooded. The rains have unleashed a biblical horde of cockroaches. I have finished my last bottle of Mortein manning the barricades. The fort is under siege. I've inhaled more Mortein than all the cockroaches have (body count: 17! yes! I'm a lean, mean, killing machine) and as a result am hallucinating while I bail out my living room with a leaky bucket, battle the flu and rewrite the thirteenth draft of my personal statement. My boyfriend calls me during lunch (while I'm trying to write an essay explaining in detail how I'm going to save the world) with an angst-inducing conversation of how I am apparently too detached (me! What does he want? a parasite in his bloodstream?) in this sanity-defying twisted relationship that I am currently in. If I screw up this app process, I am going to be flying cargo planes full of rubber dogshit outta Hong Kong.
Yesterday I went to a Buddhist ashram in search of peace. While being actively ravaged by mosquitoes I attempted to meditate in an open garden under a bo tree. Sadly all I could think about was what to have for breakfast. On account of the elections and the rains, the shops have closed. I have no food. I have no Mortein. I have no oxygen. I have no life.
This is a call to arms. Go to the mattresses! I need some help. Over and out.
Monday, November 21, 2005
hacks
Post-election analyses and strategies are filtering in, from the man on the street, from academic intellectuals, from international election monitors and party faithfuls as well as the LTTE administration.
Rumours are floating around, some of which have more credibility than others. The assassination of the Foreign Minister Lakshman Kadirgamar approx four months ago is widely reputed to be a highly tactical maneouvre ridding the opposition of the only credible face to the international community. Mahinda Rajapakse would almost definitely have chosen as his Prime Minister the Foreign Minister, both taking an anti-terrorist stance. But Kadirgaman would have presented a credible face to the international community, and been a blow for the legitimacy of the LTTE. Rajapakse has the looks and demeanour of a thug, and will not be able to represent Sri Lanka adequately on the world stage.
It is interesting to note that this strategy was executed four months ago. It must have taken at least 2 months to plan. Meaning that exactly six months ago, the Tigers knew which presidential candidate they wanted to win (and thus would win), they would have been confident of their military capability since they had decided to actively pursue their separatist goals, and they took out the only credible leader of their opposition. Nobody could figure out why Kadirgamar was killed when he was killed. It seemed so random.
All this points to is an extremely visionary, highly strategic, ruthless, motivated and committed guerilla force. Compared to a shambolic presidential election and a mess of a coalition which will be unable to impose discipline on any peace strategy, it seems rather evident who has, for now, the upper hand. For better or for worse.
Rumours are floating around, some of which have more credibility than others. The assassination of the Foreign Minister Lakshman Kadirgamar approx four months ago is widely reputed to be a highly tactical maneouvre ridding the opposition of the only credible face to the international community. Mahinda Rajapakse would almost definitely have chosen as his Prime Minister the Foreign Minister, both taking an anti-terrorist stance. But Kadirgaman would have presented a credible face to the international community, and been a blow for the legitimacy of the LTTE. Rajapakse has the looks and demeanour of a thug, and will not be able to represent Sri Lanka adequately on the world stage.
It is interesting to note that this strategy was executed four months ago. It must have taken at least 2 months to plan. Meaning that exactly six months ago, the Tigers knew which presidential candidate they wanted to win (and thus would win), they would have been confident of their military capability since they had decided to actively pursue their separatist goals, and they took out the only credible leader of their opposition. Nobody could figure out why Kadirgamar was killed when he was killed. It seemed so random.
All this points to is an extremely visionary, highly strategic, ruthless, motivated and committed guerilla force. Compared to a shambolic presidential election and a mess of a coalition which will be unable to impose discipline on any peace strategy, it seems rather evident who has, for now, the upper hand. For better or for worse.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
election
Mahinda Rajapakse, the hawkish leader of a coalition of an extremist Sinhala Marxist party (JVP) and himself the current prime minister belonging to the SLFP (Chandrika's party) has won in a closely contested presidential election (with 50.3% of the vote)
The election was swung by the boycott (in some cases the forced boycott as the LTTE actively discouraged Tamils from voting at the polls) of the 600,000 odd Tamils whose vote would have almost all been for Ranil Wickremasinghe (who lost by 200,000 odd votes, garnering 48.4% of the vote). The LTTE's strategic boycott is widely interpreted as an intention to actively pursue their separatist goals again, as voting for Ranil would have almost certainly meant the resumption of credible peace negotiations and a secular foreign policy.
The SLFP-JVP won through pro-Sinhala Buddhist and pro-Marxist (anti-market, anti-open economy, anti-foreign NGO) policies. The local stock market tanked about 7% initially following reports of the victory. The return of Sinhala nationalism and an insular economic policy has dire implications for the next 6-12 years. The close margin of victory means that neither party can abandon the coalition, which in turn means a hash of pork-barreled populist legislation for the coming years, pandering to the Southern rural electorate. It is a sad outcome furthermore, for the peace process seems to be in imminent danger of collapse.
It was positive to see that a critically large mass of the electorate do want pro-peace, pro-growth policies, even if it has not materialized. However it marks the definitive return of uncertainty, perhaps even a return to the 90s, with bombs in crowded bus stations and airports and schools, and perhaps even the fully-fledged outbreak of war again. Over and out.
The election was swung by the boycott (in some cases the forced boycott as the LTTE actively discouraged Tamils from voting at the polls) of the 600,000 odd Tamils whose vote would have almost all been for Ranil Wickremasinghe (who lost by 200,000 odd votes, garnering 48.4% of the vote). The LTTE's strategic boycott is widely interpreted as an intention to actively pursue their separatist goals again, as voting for Ranil would have almost certainly meant the resumption of credible peace negotiations and a secular foreign policy.
The SLFP-JVP won through pro-Sinhala Buddhist and pro-Marxist (anti-market, anti-open economy, anti-foreign NGO) policies. The local stock market tanked about 7% initially following reports of the victory. The return of Sinhala nationalism and an insular economic policy has dire implications for the next 6-12 years. The close margin of victory means that neither party can abandon the coalition, which in turn means a hash of pork-barreled populist legislation for the coming years, pandering to the Southern rural electorate. It is a sad outcome furthermore, for the peace process seems to be in imminent danger of collapse.
It was positive to see that a critically large mass of the electorate do want pro-peace, pro-growth policies, even if it has not materialized. However it marks the definitive return of uncertainty, perhaps even a return to the 90s, with bombs in crowded bus stations and airports and schools, and perhaps even the fully-fledged outbreak of war again. Over and out.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
et puis
Election tomorrow. Cynical and disillusioned about the whole thing: reckon one's as good as the other at this point. Had a reel of stories to spin, but a bit deflated at the moment after spending the day at the insanely bureaucratic and xenophobic Bureau of Immigration to get a visa extension. Ridiculous how none of the front-office staff speak any language other than Sinhala, yet deal with the predominantly foreign, and tamil visa extendors....
Went to the hill country over the weekend, stayed at the Grand in the illustrious company of (leading) presidential candidate Ranil Wickremasinghe. (Meaning, I saw his departing back, and that of his wife, who's widely rumoured to be lesbian, with a partner in the faculty of the Colombo University). Imagine the thrill as Pajeros with tinted windows roared around the sleepy town (with unnecessary fanfare) and undercover secret service men with poorly concealed weapons thronged the doorways and halls... A rally going on in the plantation country under the pouring rain, umbrellas wedged thickly over one another as foghorns blared deafening rhetoric. Driving back stopped again at the banks of the river in Kitulgala. Made a halfhearted stab at app essays, before falling into a coma. There are other things, but too tired right now.
Went to the hill country over the weekend, stayed at the Grand in the illustrious company of (leading) presidential candidate Ranil Wickremasinghe. (Meaning, I saw his departing back, and that of his wife, who's widely rumoured to be lesbian, with a partner in the faculty of the Colombo University). Imagine the thrill as Pajeros with tinted windows roared around the sleepy town (with unnecessary fanfare) and undercover secret service men with poorly concealed weapons thronged the doorways and halls... A rally going on in the plantation country under the pouring rain, umbrellas wedged thickly over one another as foghorns blared deafening rhetoric. Driving back stopped again at the banks of the river in Kitulgala. Made a halfhearted stab at app essays, before falling into a coma. There are other things, but too tired right now.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
nee how ma?
And so it is. Or goes The Blower's Daughter.
Another day, another dollar. A local corporation has adopted a school reconstruction project on the Southern coast where we are also helping, and we hitched a ride down with two executives this morning. One is a half Chinese, half Sinhalese guy in his mid-40s, who looks totally Japanese. Cognitively dissonant to hear fluent Sinhalese issuing from his lips, but just goes to show you how confused all us Sri Lankans are. Stopped by the Kalutara temple where we all donated money (one Hindu, one Christian, two Buddhists), but that's just Sri Lanka where any religious shrine is venerated. Unlike India, our wars have not been fought on the basis of religion, but of language and ethnicity. Discussion in the car revolved around the upcoming elections; one member was an ex-committee member of a prominent party and Secretary to a local Minister; his veins purportedly run 'green' the colour of the UNP nationalists. The other resignedly said: if UNP wins, I have better contacts there, so it'll be great, but i'm not going to vote as it doesn't matter anyway. (back to the paradox of voting). There is a big: you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours mentality operating here. A story of how one of them was driving along Marine Drive a few hours ago when suddenly a woman stopped in front of his car and he knocked her over. The car had tinted glasses and a mob soon began to form. He central-locked all the doors and took off to the nearest police station only to find that the area where the incident had occurred did not fall under the jurisdiction of Police Station A. So he visited Station B and then finally got to the right station C (where he knew some people and pulled some strings) and he filed a report. Sure enough, the next day the people were at his door, demanding money: USD 250. He refused, but agreed to pay them USD 100. Then he asked the policeman to act as witness to the receipt of the bill and to close the case on them. He threatened them with action in the courts saying if they went to court, they wouldn't get a penny since he was better resourced.
Maybe this is what it all boils down to.
Another day, another dollar. A local corporation has adopted a school reconstruction project on the Southern coast where we are also helping, and we hitched a ride down with two executives this morning. One is a half Chinese, half Sinhalese guy in his mid-40s, who looks totally Japanese. Cognitively dissonant to hear fluent Sinhalese issuing from his lips, but just goes to show you how confused all us Sri Lankans are. Stopped by the Kalutara temple where we all donated money (one Hindu, one Christian, two Buddhists), but that's just Sri Lanka where any religious shrine is venerated. Unlike India, our wars have not been fought on the basis of religion, but of language and ethnicity. Discussion in the car revolved around the upcoming elections; one member was an ex-committee member of a prominent party and Secretary to a local Minister; his veins purportedly run 'green' the colour of the UNP nationalists. The other resignedly said: if UNP wins, I have better contacts there, so it'll be great, but i'm not going to vote as it doesn't matter anyway. (back to the paradox of voting). There is a big: you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours mentality operating here. A story of how one of them was driving along Marine Drive a few hours ago when suddenly a woman stopped in front of his car and he knocked her over. The car had tinted glasses and a mob soon began to form. He central-locked all the doors and took off to the nearest police station only to find that the area where the incident had occurred did not fall under the jurisdiction of Police Station A. So he visited Station B and then finally got to the right station C (where he knew some people and pulled some strings) and he filed a report. Sure enough, the next day the people were at his door, demanding money: USD 250. He refused, but agreed to pay them USD 100. Then he asked the policeman to act as witness to the receipt of the bill and to close the case on them. He threatened them with action in the courts saying if they went to court, they wouldn't get a penny since he was better resourced.
Maybe this is what it all boils down to.
Monday, November 07, 2005
wkned
Weekend spent leisurely fixing up DVD player to TV and watching in succession a series of B-style rom-coms, which were all predictably bad but nevertheless helped pass the time. Read academic journals on the dilemmas of humanitarian aid and all it was was sad, for the chaos it delineated had all happened before and will happen again. Must start writing app essays but somehow the urge left me and the balloon deflated. Crab and prawn curry and lobster pasta at the Gallery Cafe with tiramisu to end on Friday. This weekend back up to the hills. Finished reading A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry and although it's good, it isn't great. Somehow it seems to fail at the final step, at delivering the final pow. As a camera, though it is very good.
Friday, November 04, 2005
aid warriors
Eid Mubarak and our house owner came garbed in traditional attire, bearing gifts of ... vattalapam (YES!). Office emptied at 3 or 4pm as another week in Sri Lanka ends. Rains have begun in Colombo so the days and nights are noticeably cooler. Started reading some journalwork on international aid and the nexus between emergency relief, development and peace. The UN says development is peace. The Americans say leave Africa to Africans. The NGOs say, let's just relief. The funds and other resources that NGOs have are typically outsize in relation to their capacity for political analysis and manouevre. But aid is no longer a matter of possessing trucks and road maps. Instead it is a complex landscape of using aid as a development tool, creating sustainable methods of recovery and regeneration and empowering local communities to help themselves. The problems, as I am beginning to find out, are repetitive and unsolvable.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
to vote or not to vote?
"Perhaps the fact that we have seen millions voting themselves into complete dependence on a tyrant has made our generation understand that to choose one's government is not necessarily to secure freedom" von Hayek
Gearing up for the elections here. Talking to my next door neighbour in my ever widening informal poll about voting habits and preferences. Sri Lanka, like India is a highly politically aware and politicized country, no doubt a function of having a literate, active population with extreme anti-incumbent tendencies and volatile voting preferences as well as a poorly enforced election and political system rife with corruption and opportunism by all involved.
Curfews have normally been imposed on every single election day due to the outbursts of violence and rioting (and sometimes looting) that happens throughout the country. Families stay up through the night, even with small children, to herald a new dawn of political change that hardly ever materializes. Marches and rallies are conducted by blue-clad and green-clad (colours of the 2 dominant parties, UNP and SLFP) mobs, often accosting one another on the streets, subjecting each other to extreme verbal abuse. She grew up in a family that has traditionally voted for UNP while her husband has traditionally voted for SLFP. Not in the last election however, disgusted with the calibre of the candidates offered on the ballot pape, he crossed out all the candidates, wrote his name on the bottom, ticked it, dropped it in the ballot box and walked out. He tells his wife to think hard and vote, because their children's future is at stake. Anyone wants to bring up the paradox of voting? Take your theories and fly a kite.
Gearing up for the elections here. Talking to my next door neighbour in my ever widening informal poll about voting habits and preferences. Sri Lanka, like India is a highly politically aware and politicized country, no doubt a function of having a literate, active population with extreme anti-incumbent tendencies and volatile voting preferences as well as a poorly enforced election and political system rife with corruption and opportunism by all involved.
Curfews have normally been imposed on every single election day due to the outbursts of violence and rioting (and sometimes looting) that happens throughout the country. Families stay up through the night, even with small children, to herald a new dawn of political change that hardly ever materializes. Marches and rallies are conducted by blue-clad and green-clad (colours of the 2 dominant parties, UNP and SLFP) mobs, often accosting one another on the streets, subjecting each other to extreme verbal abuse. She grew up in a family that has traditionally voted for UNP while her husband has traditionally voted for SLFP. Not in the last election however, disgusted with the calibre of the candidates offered on the ballot pape, he crossed out all the candidates, wrote his name on the bottom, ticked it, dropped it in the ballot box and walked out. He tells his wife to think hard and vote, because their children's future is at stake. Anyone wants to bring up the paradox of voting? Take your theories and fly a kite.
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