Editorial

A Woman In Denial

For all her power and glory, Chandrika Kumaratunga seems to have become a woman the gods wish to destroy. One might have thought that in the final year of her presidency she might have wanted to recount her legacy and consolidate her place in history. After all, it is not to many of us that the opportunity is given to rule with absolute power over a nation for more than a decade. Ordinary citizens find themselves saying ever so often, "If only I were President, I'd do such-and-such..." Well, this citizen is President, and as the end of her presidency nears, she might have been expected to go all mellow and reflective, thinking about the deeds of commission and omission that together will go to make the legacy she will leave to posterity.

Well, she hasn't. Looking through her 1994 manifesto, it is not hard to see why. All she wanted was to get elected, not really to achieve anything - not, at any rate, for the country. Now, she has become a prisoner of her own rhetoric, a creature of the JVP, harried and pummelled into a sullen submission, hissing morose epithets at her adversaries and glowering angrily at her opponents. For after more than a decade at the helm of the ship of state, Chandrika Kumaratunga has discovered that her ship is still at anchor, securely moored to the quay of history. She has gone nowhere.

Ah, and how that must rankle. Bandaranaikes, of course, are perfect: they can do no wrong. So for the reasons of her failure she must look elsewhere. The whole of the past week, she has been lashing out at unnamed opposition party leaders, who she alleges are sabotaging her attempts to reconstruct areas affected by the tsunami. Aided and abetted by unscrupulous NGOs and media organisations, it is they, according to Kumaratunga, who have stifled her government's sincere efforts to bring relief to the people.

Well, ask the tens of thousands of displaced people, and they will tell you different. Indeed, many of them say that they have got nothing from the government: it is only those hated NGOs who have come forward to offer them aid and succour. Thousands of them have been forcibly prevented from returning to and rebuilding their homes - on their own, private property, mind you - because of Kumaratunga's infamous 100-metre rule. At the same time, political cronies of the government have already begun construction well within the restricted zone, all the way from Hikkaduwa to Hambantota. The 100-metre rule seems to apply only to perceived political opponents.

For all Kumaratunga's anti-opposition bluster, her real problems are with the JVP. For their part, the reds have become accustomed to the fruits of office - the foreign travel, the limousines, the cocktail parties - and have no intention of bailing out of the UPFA. They need someone to blame for the quagmire the government has got itself into, and have no choice but to criticise Kumaratunga, if only to save their own skins before the electorate. For her part, with the JVP controlling 39 seats of her parliamentary group, Kumaratunga has no choice not only to take all the stick the JVP cares to give her, but must also grin and give every appearance of liking the punishment.

This of course, she cannot do without a certain amount of pouting, and so it has become that she makes scathing attacks against "those in our own government" who have threatened to go. Well, she has told them, if you don't like it, by all means, get out.  For she knows full well that the JVP will not quit office: they have grown too accustomed to the perks. And no sooner had she shot her mouth off that Managala Samaraweera was out there saying that under no circumstances would the JVP go, making it look as if Kumaratunga has no idea what she is talking about, which in all probability she does not. That retort only had the President coming back with an allegation that the JVP wants to kill her even more than Pirapaharan does. This from a woman who not long ago, on her own admission, discussed the prospect of slaughtering an editor or two in the hallowed halls of President's House.

The cycle of wild allegations followed by straight-faced denials has become a hallmark of the Kumaratunga administration: the President has become a woman in denial. Some months ago, she alleged publicly that the entire judiciary was corrupt, going so far as to say that she had even told the Attorney General so. A prompt rebuttal from the Attorney General, followed by an outcry from the judiciary had Kumaratunga denying that she ever said such a thing and trying to wriggle out of her predicament by saying that she was only quoting a report by Transparency International. Of course, that was far from the truth.

Then she announced proudly that because of the tsunami, there would be no elections for five years. When the opposition went up in arms about that, she issued yet another denial, claiming that she had meant general, not presidential, elections. Well, even if so, the calling of the next general elections is the job of the Elections Commission (the appointment of which she continues to block) or the next President, who by law cannot be Kumaratunga. Thus, again, her denial is worth only as much as her original allegation: two wags of a dog's tail.

For their part, the JVP too, have now become liars. Virtually all the promises they made to the people have turned out to be lies. Their thousand tanks programme lies in shambles, clouded by allegations of impropriety and corruption. The government's privatisation programme is forging ahead, with the reds looking on aghast, unable to thwart it for fear of losing their jobs and precipitating a general election in which they fear the people's wrath. Indeed, the JVP is fast becoming a left-wing appendage of the SLFP, like the LSSP and CP did before it: Marxist ideology in public, la dolce vita in private. It doesn't take long for the public to latch on to that formula.

The JVP and Kumaratunga are now down to making each other the scapegoat for the UPFA's failure. And, with her back to the wall, and an irate public scratching at the door, Kumaratunga has once again declared a state of emergency, this time to save her own skin. As she did once before (when, indeed, she sealed The Sunday Leader's press for eight weeks until a court order negated her edict), plans are afoot to curb the freedoms of expression and association. Having ruled under cover of an emergency for well nigh a decade and gotten to like it, this great liberator of the people from the awful power of the executive presidency is poised once again to assert absolute power and silence her critics. It's the Idi Amin syndrome all over again.

Thus, it is that in the terminal year of her presidency, Kumaratunga, rather than laying the ground for a graceful and dignified exit, is digging the trenches to stick on at any cost. And stick on she will, unless and until she is hounded out of office. Bandaranaikes who have left office voluntarily are about as rare as those who have enjoyed honest employment and actually possessed an EPF account. Clearly, this one is not about to set a precedent. Indeed, her mother overstayed her welcome by two whole years and had to be smoked out of Temple Trees only with the greatest difficulty.

And so the nation awaits the next hysterical outburst from its all-powerful President, to be followed, as night follows day, by yet another denial.