a night devoid of stars

As the official war in Sri Lanka between the government and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) draws to an end; the question percolating now in Colombo and donor capitals is what next? Will the government use the considerable political capital it has gained through a successful war to embark upon a project of pluralistic nation-building? Or has the eradication of the LTTE as an immediate threat also eradicated the need for a political solution?

Without a political solution, many fear that the LTTE will find increased support both inside Sri Lanka and externally among the diaspora to mount an offensive further down the line. After all, that is the nature of a guerrilla war, to recede, regroup and resurge. Some say that the government's proposal to develop the North, provide jobs and kickstart the economy will reduce deprivation and erode support for the Tigers in their heartland. But the same program has been attempted in the East, and increased lawlessness and militarization prevail.

Unfortunately, a meaningful political solution with autonomy is unlikely given this government's nationalist allies. The prospects for successful post conflict reconstruction in Sri Lanka are grim. The lack of depth and breadth in horizontal ties between groups, the high political fragmentation, the absence of leadership in the Tamil community, the scrabbling over resources and power-sharing that is likely to ensue between all political parties, the uneasy shadow of Sri Lanka's large northern neighbor, the massive internationalization of the conflict with multiple donors and agendas, the muzzled press, the worrying ability of the Rajapakse regime to operate outside the law and the lack of true bottom-up representation likely point to a failed reconstruction process.

And sadly, amongst all of these competing narratives, it is those without a voice that suffer the most, the starving, the injured, the displaced, the forgotten. The mere absence of war, as has been oft-quoted, and in Sri Lanka, oft-proven, is not peace.

the arc of the moral universe

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square hole. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do." — Apple Computer Inc.

And then they came for me

The war is nearly over. Jaffna has been completely captured, the highway has been taken control of, and now the Tigers are confined to one tiny pocket. This is the beginning of a long slow descent into hell. As Martin Luther King said, “Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Last month, a leading editor of one of the few independent newspapers in Sri Lanka was assassinated. Assassinated and not murdered, because it was a political act, widely believed to be the long arm of the government, reaching out to punish those who had spoken against it. This editorial (excerpts of which are pasted below, link also below) is a poignant reminder of how journalism can change the world, of how truth is the only thing that can save us all, of how principles matter, even if, and especially if, lives are laid down for it. And I have to say, that in these days of cynicism, working from the vaunted halls of an international organization that is supposed to keep the peace, I am reminded that all it takes, is one human being, to make me believe that the right thing should be done.

The Sunday Leader
(http://www.thesundayleader.lk/20090111/editorial-.htm)

“No other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the course of the past few years, the independent media have increasingly come under attack. Electronic and print-media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed and coerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It has been my honor to belong to all those categories and now especially the last.

I have been in the business of journalism a good long time. Indeed, 2009 will be The Sunday Leader’s 15th year. Many things have changed in Sri Lanka during that time, and it does not need me to tell you that the greater part of that change has been for the worse. We find ourselves in the midst of a civil war ruthlessly prosecuted by protagonists whose bloodlust knows no bounds. Terror, whether perpetrated by terrorists or the state, has become the order of the day. Indeed, murder has become the primary tool whereby the state seeks to control the organs of liberty. Today it is the journalists, tomorrow it will be the judges. For neither group have the risks ever been higher or the stakes lower.

Why then do we do it? I often wonder that. After all, I too am a husband, and the father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities and obligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism. Is it worth the risk? Many people tell me it is not. Friends tell me to revert to the bar, and goodness knows it offers a better and safer livelihood. Others, including political leaders on both sides, have at various times sought to induce me to take to politics, going so far as to offer me ministries of my choice. Diplomats, recognizing the risk journalists face in Sri Lanka, have offered me safe passage and the right of residence in their countries. Whatever else I may have been stuck for, I have not been stuck for choice.

But there is a calling that is yet above high office, fame, lucre and security. It is the call of conscience.”

….
An example that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that of the German theologian, Martin Niemoller

First they came for the Jews

and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists

and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists

and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for me

and there was no one left to speak out for me.

If you remember nothing else, remember this: The Leader is there for you, be you Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low-caste, homosexual, dissident or disabled. Its staff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the courage to which you have become accustomed. Do not take that commitment for granted. Let there be no doubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make, they are not made for our own glory or enrichment: they are made for you. Whether you deserve their sacrifice is another matter. As for me, God knows I tried.

A.D.

Hearts will never be made practical until they are made unbreakable.
The Wizard of Oz

nov 4th

In retrospect, at least for the Democratic primary candidates, it seems inevitable that the political juggernaut of the Obama campaign, of the man, and the machine that brought him in unprecedented ways, to the attention of voters and those who had never voted before, would rise to the top. No candidate, including McCain, has run a better campaign. And no candidate was more unexpected, in every which way. For those who had planned Clinton’s campaign starting on the Wednesday after the election in 2004, - this was in every way, an eventuality that was totally unplanned for. And the weight of the expectations are massive, should Obama become President. (And survives in office.)

But more than that, I think that the past two years, which has led up to this moment, has shown even the most hardened cynic that politics matter, that government can make a difference, for better or for worse, that people can change, and are looking for hope, that the best in us can be brought out, rather than the worst in us. Whatever happens tonight, whether this is confirmed or not, the journey of the past two years, in this country, from small steel towns in Pennsylvania, to the carworkers in Detroit, to the mansions of Orange County, has given everyone pause, and a moment in which they have realized their commonality. And the mantra of hope amidst despair?

It reminds me of a quote from Camus: In the depths of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.

proof

Proof

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.\

That I shall love
always,
offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath
immortality.

This, dost thou doubt,
sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.

-Emily Dickinson

From: Poems by Emily Dickinson Series One
Edited by two of her friends
Mabel Loomis Todd and T.W. Higginson

today

Sometimes as I sit here, typing away at these offices in New York as an anonymous cubicle rat, looking for example, at the implications of the subprime crisis on microfinance markets, I can’t believe I used to have another life, as short as just 3 months ago, and then another life 2 years before that, and then another life 2 years before that. From the days of London where everything seemed touched in gold, with not a worry in the world, to Sri Lanka and feeling alive in a way that has never been matched, to school and the luxury of ivory towers to New York and a sense of transition, everything seems as though it has happened to someone else, and I feel as though I am suspended outside myself, waiting in chrysalis for the next, and hopefully final, transformation.

news

What a terrible news day. I am seriously considering adding chocolate as a major food group. First, the news from Sri Lanka is awful, and it seems as though there is finally going to be a conquering, with the Tamil Tigers about to be decisively wiped out. What will happen to Tamil civilians, Tamil IDPs is yet to be known. Only the vanquished remember history, someone said. Then news that the bailout was rejected and the Dow fell 5% in a day, in A DAY! If the bailout doesn’t succeed (and the problem does not seem to be the version of the bailout, but the principle of it, as many members of Congress seem ideologically opposed to it on both sides of the aisle), then the country, and the world is in for a serious, serious recession, approaching Depression-like proportions. And I don’t use the D word lightly. And what else? McCain seems to be up in the polls post-debate, and my personal life is also blowing up.

autun

It's been a busy few weeks in New York. The weather is changing too, with surprising rainstorms that bring the hint of autumn in the air. The city is waiting for the first nip in the air that signals fall, and certain trees in Central Park are already changing colour, heralding fall. Autumn is my favourite season of all, the kiss before dying (I am currently enamoured of that phrase).

Today I saw a trailer for Revolutionary Road, by Sam Mendes, with DiCaprio and Winslet, and it was set to my all-time favourite song, a spooky, ghostful rendition of Wild is The Wind by Nina Simone and it was the first time i've ever seen that song featured in any commercial movie, ad, tv serial whatever. I'm sad, because I thought it was all mine and now everyone is going to be downloading it off iTunes.

eat, pray, love

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. His purpose was to shake you up, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life.”

Eat, Pray, Love.

Again and Again

Again and Again

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall; again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Mr. and Mrs. Iyer

I watched Mr. and Mrs. Iyer last night, a Hindi-Tamil-Bengali movie directed by Aparna Sen, about a young Tamil Brahmin girl who falls in love with a young Muslim man during a bus ride through communal riots between Hindus and Muslims. Although it was slow at parts and the cinematography absolutely abysmal, it was absolutely moving, poignant and sad. Rahul Bose, where have you been all my life? This is the kind of movie I want to make, with actors that know how to act, and with a subject matter that deserves wide exposure, and that needs to be treated sensitively and analytically. More than the issue of religious intolerance, the poignancy arose from the forbidden affair between a married Tamil woman and a Muslim man, who shows her how beautiful life can be.

election

I vowed that I wouldn't blog about politics in Election 2008, as opposed to 2004, as faithful readers of my blog will no doubt remember (in fact I remember persuading one faithful reader to hold a sign in an election rally in Paris for Kerry-Edward). Because it's just futile and emotional and utterly useless.

But. The entry of Sarah Palin in the race is just so bloody infuriating, especially now that the Democrats have a real chance of losing. As Tom Friedman says in today's article: If John McCain can win after 8 years of Bush, and a terrible economy; then the Democrats deserve to lose. But I'm also tired of this logic: that somehow the election was Gore's to lose in 2000, Kerry's to lose in 2004 and Hillary's to lose in 2008. Guess what? THEY ALL FUCKING LOST. And what chance does a black man have against a redneck crowd?

I cannot imagine, but am terribly fearful, that it's real, that the Republicans are going to win for another 8 years. Another 8 years of the same kind of policies. (And for anyone who thinks that McCain is different from Bush, I have got an earful for you.). Jesus.


We're holding an Election Night party up here in Harlem. Time will tell if there're going to be tears of joy or sorrow, but there're definitely going to be tears.

random

I enrolled at the Digital Film Academy yesterday, for a sixteen week evening film making program, including some basic lessons in sound, lighting, cinematography and camera work, as well as working with some real actors (albeit struggling waiters). I have to conceptualize a ten minute work, so am looking for ideas, and if you have any, send them over! Am thinking about a five minute music video (set to Bollywood music of course), and a five minute public service announcement type of thing.... but we shall see.

Am also thinking of joining a writer's room, but it occurs to me, that I only have a finite amount of time in the next four months, and there is a limit to its elasticity. Other than that, have been traipsing about, discovering the new neighbourhood of Hell's Kitchen, (very nice), and of the Upper West Side. Very soon, I shall be reduced to blogging solely about my consumer experiences and nothing else.

Last night was a rousing night spent throwing popcorn at the television with my room mate, as we watched John McCain deliver his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention. Everytime we saw a black man or woman, or an Indian man or woman cheering, we'd say "Traitor!! Shut up and sit down!". But I have to say that Obama is soon going to have to face a decision over whether he is going to go into the gutter with them, or if he can win without it.

back

Back from London, where the rain and the wind blew into my hair, sent leaves scattering through the side streets of Notting Hill, and into the pews of empty churches. Flew into New York with a terrible cold chasing me, put myself promptly into bed, trying not to obsess about the events of the past week. And now there is no escape from the real world, from this future that awaits.

My new roommate is a journo, who's had a book out, and got into a furious discussion on Judith Miller (of Valerie Plame fame), who she termed as a "Thin Chick with a Serious Wardrobe" (room mate is also a Thin Chick, but without a Serious Wardrobe) and other discussions on what is age-appropriate dating. She's also dating a guy who's having an affair with someone in his office, and who's getting a divorce that's going to trial because his wife is having an affair with her Brazilian personal trainer. Welcome to New York.

festina lente

(hurry slowly)

Well, I have now moved to New York, and the city has swallowed me whole in the past four days, which were an uncharacteristic whirlwind of activity. How I long for the peaceful days of Cambridge, for red brick, spires and earnestness.

Freed

Today was marked by a lot of writing on Sri Lanka. It was exhausting. And I read How Reading Proust Can Change Your Life by Alain de Botton, a hilarious account of Proust's life, in a parody of a self-help version. I was laughing out loud, which I think to date, only Bill Bryson has made me do. (Then again, it doesn't take much to make me bark.)

Had a random lunch with a group of philosophy doctoral students, which of course, over lunch turned into an argument over free will and determinism, and the philosophy of action. It recalled the many discussions of political philosophy we used to have in the LSE corridors. My own view is one that more or less hews to St. Augustine's Christian platonic vision, although it does fudge the debate somewhat in that, individuals, who are fallen, do not possess true knowledge. Therefore, as far as they are concerned, they act with agency, freedom and direct their own life. Crucially, this gives them the capacity to choose between good and evil. God, on the other hand, is all-knowing, omniscient and has full knowledge of the entire life of every individual. He however, is not directive.

The philosophy of action though, which looks at what gives individuals the motive and intent to act, (or particularly, to act in causing harm to others.). This however is where I draw the line at philosophy.

play-ing

We watched the Importance of Being Earnest today by the Harvard Radcliffe Repertory Theatre, and I must admit, for an entirely student-run production, it was startlingly good, with a diverse cast, (except for some rather affected British accents; why is it that putting on an English accent represents the height of thespian power for American actors?!). It reminded me of the sheer hard work that goes into any production, of the technical aspects of lighting, story telling, directing etc. I have a friend who graduated from the Yale School of Drama who's premiering his play this weekend off-off-off Broadway (and it's called Finding Ways To Prove You're Not an al-Qaeda Terrorist When You're Brown), a one man brown act , which I think is going to be hilarious! After all, graduating from the school that bore such actors as Meryl Streep can hardly be a disadvantage. This young man also has the singular acquisition of the playrights to Shyam Selvadurai's Funny Boy, the story of a young, gay Sri Lankan Tamil boy growing up in a society that is fracturing. Oh, art and all its possibilities.

a true story

In 2006, the municipal president of Neza, a tough area of two million people on the eastern edge of Mexico City, decided that the members of his police force needed to become "better citizens." He decided that they should be given a reading list, on which could be found Don Quixote, Juan Rulfo's beautiful novella Pedro Paramo, Octavio Paz' essay on Mexican culture The Labyrinth of Solitude, Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude,and works by Carlos Fuentes, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Agatha Christie and Edgar Allen Poe.

Neza's Chief of Police, Jorge Amador, believes that reading fiction will enrich his officers in at least three ways. First, by allowing them to acquire a wider vocabulary. Next, by granting officers the opportunity to acquire experience by proxy. "A police officer must be worldy, and books enrich people's experience, indirectly." Finally, Amador claims, there is an ethical benefit. "Risking your life to save other people's lives and property requires deep convictions. Literature can enhance those deep convictions by allowing readers to discover lives lived with similar commitment. We hope that contact with literature will make our police officers more committed to the values they have pledged to defend.

"Words on The Street" by Angel Gurria-Quintana, in Financial Times, March 3, 2006, as quoted in How Fiction Works.

How Fiction Works

After a rough couple of days in which it was spectacularly apparent to me again that I have completely no clue what to do with my life, a small shining light was revealed in this fabric of night, and I received an email from the local bookstore, saying that the book that I had ordered had arrived.

I doubletimed it to the bookstore, handed in my order number and waited expectantly. The assistant came over to me, his eyes shining. Look at this, he said. it's so well done. The cover is straight out of the 20s, the font of the prose with its myriad footnoting is done in early nineteenth-century style, like Flaubert. I was holding a first edition, hardcover, in hot pink of How Fiction Works by James Wood, a Harvard professor of literature.

I'm halfway through, and I can't stop reading and at the same time I am pacing the reading, not too much at any one time, because I can't remember the last time I encountered such a dry, engaging, contemplative, passionate-about-good-literature, voice. And anyone who can reference Madame Bovary, Mr. Biswas and Robert Fisk at the same time has got my allegiance.

In reading it, I was also reminded of the fact that literary theory is often hijacked by dry academics who seek to impose rather developed discussions of philosophy, historicism and the old saws of culture and identity on a tract about human interaction. Wood's form of literary theory, is more basic, and truly exploratory, focusing on questions like What is a character? and acknowledging his own limitations on interpretativeness. While he is afflicted with a rather quaint adoration for Stendhal, James and Flaubert, and a well-appointed distaste for the postmodern (yay! another person who thinks Updike is a toolshed!), his observations are insightful, erudite and truly eye-opening.

It is an excellent, well-reviewed book (from The Economist no less, as well as the New York Times and I can't wait to continue reading it.