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by Tisaranee Gunasekara
“Tyrant, why swell’st thou thus, of mischief
vaunting?
…..Lewd lies thy tongue contrives…. Falsehood thy
wit approves…”
Psalm 52 (Translated by Mary Sidney
( November 4, 2012, Colombo, Sri
Lanka Guardian) Hell hath no fury like the Rajapaksas thwarted.
All
those who opposed the interests, whims and fancies of the Ruling Siblings in
the past know the hellfire of their fury. Students, workers, Tamil civilians,
Sinhala farmers, journalists, military personnel, Negambo fishermen and Colombo
poor, all know that to resist the Rajapaksa-juggernaut is a career-destroying,
life-eviscerating, and at times lethal, business.
Now it
is the turn of the highest court in the land to experience, at first hand, this
fundamental law of Rajapaksa rule: those who support the Siblings will thrive,
even if they wallow in crime; those who oppose the Siblings will suffer, even
if they commit no wrong.
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The Rajapaksas are launching their anti-democratic assault on the judiciary just as Sri Lanka’s UPR gets underway in Geneva. This demonstrates how little the Siblings care for Indian ire or Western displeasure. They seem to feel that nothing can touch them so long as they are safe in the prosperous embrace of Beijing. Are they right?
When
the Supreme Court refused to remove the constitutional roadblocks and give the
Divineguma Bill a free pass, it incurred the wrath of the Siblings. Seeing in
this mild expression of judicial independence a dangerous threat to their power
project, the Siblings resorted to their customary slash-and-burn tactics, to
clear their path of all constitutional and legal hurdles.
Lies and empty
declarations are part of the repertoire of any politician; the Rajapaksas make
use of these deceptive tactics more than most. When there was a public outcry
against the 18th Amendment,
the regime solemnly promised not to implement it; once the public focus
evaporated, the Amendment was pushed through via a politico-legal Blitzkrieg.
Similarly,
for weeks the regime denied media reports of a plan to impeach the Chief
Justice. When Minister Nimal Siripala de Silva was asked about an impeachment
plan, he said “No, there is no such idea. These are reports by various media or
hidden forces trying to set one against the other and destabilise the country
by spreading rumours or publishing reports on websites. Attempts are made to
create conflicts between the Executive, Legislature and the Judiciary” (The
Sunday Times – 14.10.2012).
The motion was probably being drafted, even as the Minister made his
mealy-mouthed declaration.
Let’s
face it; had the CJ been willing to violate the constitution on demand, there
would have been no impeachment motion against her and no corruption charges
against her husband. The only reason Pradeep Kariyawasam was charged was
because his wife refused to do the bidding of the country’s ersatz royals. Had
the CJ ignored the constitution and approved the Divineguma Bill, her husband
could have misused every asset of the NSB, with total impunity.
The
latest COPE Report highlights several ‘bad transactions’: the purchase of Sri
Lankan shares by the Peoples Bank for Rs.1,137 million; Central Bank’s
investment of US$15.6 million in Greek Bonds; IIFA accounts….. It does not
require any supernatural foretelling capacity to know that none of the authors
of these transactions will be charged before the law, so long as they do not
cause the ire of the Rajapaksa kith and kin. Had the Chief Justice been willing
to abide by the Rajapaksa dictats, she could have broken every law, in perfect
freedom – and perhaps even been rewarded by an appreciative executive with some
high national honour (Desha Bandu? Desha Manya?).
Just
as Gen. Fonseka could have stolen anything and murdered anyone, without losing
his rank, pension, or freedom, had he abided by the new First Commandment:
‘Thou shall have no other Leaders before Us; not the law or the constitution,
not even your conscience; if you obey Us, you will prosper; if you do not, you
will not’. Simple; easy to understand, but harder to obey for those who value
the law, honour the constitution or just cling to common-or-garden decency.
So
how will this tale end?
Will
the judiciary barter its independence for immunity from Rajapaksa wrath? If
that happens, Lankan democracy will be dead and the fate of all those who
resist the Rajapaksa-juggernaut will be sealed. But if the judiciary decides to
resist the naked attempts to subvert power-separation and turn it into one more
handmaiden of the executive, the anti-democratic drive might flounder, to the
benefit of all citizens.
If
the judiciary succumbs, the Divineguma Bill will become law next week. And a 19th Amendment, which will do to the 13th Amendment what the 18th did to the 17th, will soon
be unveiled. Incidentally, it is useless to expect the left and the minority
parties in the UPFA to resist this pre-meditated murder of devolution. Those
firebrands and powerbrokers of yesteryear may make a few sabre-rattling
speeches, but when the voting hour comes, they will bow their knees and raise
their hands, unwilling to risk the fire-and-brimstone of Rajapaksa wrath.
And
devolution will die, proving Vellupillai Pirapaharan right.
The
Rajapaksas are launching their anti-democratic assault on the judiciary just as
Sri Lanka’s UPR gets underway in Geneva. This demonstrates how little the
Siblings care for Indian ire or Western displeasure. They seem to feel that
nothing can touch them so long as they are safe in the prosperous embrace of
Beijing. Are they right? Is there nothing India or the West can do, apart from
denying visas or – at most - changing the venue of the Commonwealth Summit?
Will Beijing bankroll Rajapaksas, ad
infinitum, in return for Colombo’s willingness to become an obliviously
happy pawn in the unfolding regional and global power-games?
The Poison-Pen Rulers
Poison-pen
letter is a phenomenon ubiquitous in literature and in real life. Books, plays
and movies tell about the havoc wreaked by this chosen weapon of the cowardly
vindictive. Children are warned that a poison-pen scribe is a despicable person
who should be shunned, and that the only suitable place for a poison-pen letter
is the fire.
Clearly
the current Lankan rulers think otherwise. Last week, in one of the most
disgustingly bizarre incidents (in a country inundated by the disgusting and
the bizarre), a minister tabled in parliament a poison-pen letter sent to the
IGP. The toxic missive made inanely coarse allegations about senior members of
the judiciary. Only those who are inane and coarse themselves would have even
entertained the thought of using such a degrading tool to further their power.
The
poison-pen letter is no stranger to politics. For instance, the FBI used
poison-pen letters to denigrate Martin Luther King. William C Sullivan,
FBI’s assistant director in charge of the anti-King campaign, typed and sent an
anonymous letter which accused Mr. King of being a ‘colossal fraud’, an ‘evil
abnormal beast’ and a ‘dissolute, abnormal moral imbecile’. Devastated by the
FBI’s psychological war, Mr. King told a colleague, “They are out to get me,
harass me, break my spirit” (Judgement Days – Nick Kotz). Civil rights leader
Andrew Young felt that they were dealing with people who had “almost a fascist
kind of mentality” (ibid).
Poison-pen
letter has had a role in every kind of human drama, from village quarrels to
high politics; its victims have included the ordinary and the extraordinary.
But a minister tabling a poison-pen letter in a parliament is a truly unique
development. The Rajapaksas must be congratulated for scoring another
Historical First.
According
to psychologist Prof. Petruska Clarkson, “Poison-pen
writers….are in serious need of psychological attention” (BBC – 21.7.1999)
In
Sri Lanka, they rule.
