Truth or falsity, or is it the

communal divide?

Novem
ber 21, 2014
Any intelligent person will agree that communal politics have been the bane
of this country. Instead of looking at issues from a national point of view,
the communal perspective encourages a narrower approach, each group
claiming as large a piece of the pie as an entitlement, indifferent to the
consequences to the whole.
It reduces men to the lowest definition; their particularities are emphasised
while ignoring commonalities with the rest. The idea of a nation ought to
bind people together in a common identity. Communal politics on the other
hand weakens the ties of nationhood, every group harping on their
differences while following their own trajectory.
But when we look at an individual as an economic being, it is obvious that
he is not primarily this or that racial category, but only a human being
wanting to be happy during his short life on earth. His burdens are heavy
and sorrows many.
Who has benefitted from the divisiveness of communalism or for that
matter even from the tribalism inherent in party politics as practiced by

some? Have all these narrow definitions blinded us to the reality of the true
division, that of the powerful and the powerless, the only division that
matters in our society today?

Altaffs story
Recently I came across a young Muslim man whose story is typical of the
millions who live and toil in this country. Faith, language or even his
particular view of the world had little to do with his daily struggles. By no
means were the problems of his life exceptional or dramatic. In fact it is the
commonplaceness of his life which touched me. To my mind the courage
with which he went on had far more nobility than the puffed-up drama with
which our public figures are often portrayed in this country.
I will call him Altaff for ease of reference. What caught my interest first was
the devotion with which Altaff was attending to his work. He was a printer
by vocation and was working in partnership with a friend of mine who
owned the press.
I had given them some work which had deadlines to adhere to. Nothing was
too steep an obstacle for Altaff. He worked long and diligent hours breaking
only to go to a nearby mosque to pray and in the afternoons for lunch.
When the small printing machine ran out of ink, Altaff was immediately on
his motorcycle to Nugegoda looking for cartridges. When the machine blew
a fuse, Altaff was on the phone getting guidance from an electrician while
fixing it himself. On certain days he worked late into the night, without any
encouragement from either of us, only mentioning that he needs to earn

some quick money for a family need.

In the course of this work I came to know some aspects of the life story of
this 27-year-old young man, already a father of two. Like in any such casual
acquaintanceship, I do not have a complete picture but can only speak to
pieces of information volunteered by Altaff, willy-nilly.

Altaff is from Nittambuwa and is married to a

girl from Beruwala, where he resides now. Apparently he has a brother in
India studying theology with the idea of becoming a Muslim cleric one day.
Meanwhile, his mother developed a cancer which requires regular

treatment at the Maharagama Cancer Hospital. The father was not

mentioned and I assume is deceased. To work, Altaff rides daily on his
motorcycle from Beruwala.
One day he told us that his mother had come to the Maharagama Cancer
Hospital for treatment and that he would be taking her that evening to
Nittambuwa on his motorcycle. Later he would ride back to Beruwala. It
poured continuously that evening and we could only sympathise with the
plight of Altaff and his mother on their way to Nittambuwa.
On another day, Altaff had been stopped on the way to work by the Police
for, what I understood from his version of the event, an offence defined as
speeding on a pedestrian crossing. In the absence of any harm to a
person or property, I thought the charge extremely technical. But Altaff had
to sort it out in court in order to get his license back, time he could ill-afford
to lose.
Without appearing to be prying, I asked Altaff about the urgent family need
for which he was diligently collecting money. His brother in India had now
qualified in theology, and both his mother and Altaff were planning to
attend the convocation ceremony there. Travel required passports, foreign
currency and other expenses. For the Indian visa, apparently the applicant
must show a minimum of Rs. 50,000 in his bank account. The financial
aspects of the trip were Altaffs responsibility.
Who is the exploiter, who is the enemy?
Altaff is no different to the thousands of Aravindas and Aruls, the young
men of other communities, who struggle in like manner to make ends meet.
Only God knows how difficult their lives are. A third world wage is hardly
adequate to meet daily needs, even if they were basic.
Those like Altaff who are more or less self-employed live from jobs like
what I gave them. These are infrequent and there is cut-throat competition
among the service providers vying for these jobs. And, it is the Altaffs of the
world who face the realities of living in an underdeveloped country the
most: crowded roads, poor transport, shoddy services, an insensitive public
sector, corrupt officials and archaic systems.
So, who is the exploiter, who is the enemy? Is it the Altaffs, Aruls or
Aravindas who constitute the threat from the counterparts standpoint?
Altaff is only one among the millions of the grey figures we pass on the
road; irrelevant and unnoticed. Their private pains and anguish are given

little value compared to the lives of public figures blown up and lionised by
the popular culture. Dressed in immaculate white, travelling in convoys of
vehicles, surrounded by eager supporters, their engagements are the true
stuff of high drama.
This is where the American Dream of wealth, power and comfort resides.
Its characters whiz into places, get on stages, fondle babies, make rousing
speeches, then hand over things like certificates, food parcels, books, title
deeds, etc., to an ecstatic public and then back to their limousines and on
their way to the next drama.
It is not for them to have the small thoughts and ambitions of the Altaffs of
the world. Their preoccupations are of the big stage: Statecraft,
constitutional amendments, international pressures and the far-reaching
conflicts of history.
Ethos of the reigning political culture
Only the other day I noticed a large poster of the President on a CTB bus. It
was a message from a union affiliated with the ruling party, meant to be
from the elector to the elected. In Sinhala, the wording read, abject and
humble we know gratitude On a State-owned asset, run by a by a lossmaking, inefficient organisation, a political message was being carried
openly.
Looked at through the ethos of the reigning political culture , for them who
have reached the dizzy heights of power, divisions of philosophy, ideology
or even personal values are of no concern. As the recent Mangala
Samaraweera episode showed us, he has the option of being a minister
from either political party, the choice is his!
No one can claim that Samaraweeras political career has been a shining
beacon in a gloomy landscape. On the contrary, he is known as a certain
kind of political operative and a propagandist. Evidently these are highlyvalued capabilities.
Then we had Dayasiri Jayasekera, the Chief Minister of the Wayamba
province inviting members of the Opposition to join him, with the words
You can only criticise from the Opposition, come join us in the Government
and do some work. It is that simple.
The true division of our society is here. It is not communal. It is the division
between a simple sad truth and a gaudy big lie.
(The writer is an Attorney-at-Law and a freelance writer.)

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