By Vishwamithra –

“In the carriages of the past you can’t go anywhere.” ~ Maxim Gorky

At last the proverbial egg was broken. In the unique circumstances of massive demonstrations of people’s power, without a stone thrown and a weapon brandished, raw power of numbers performed the most uncommon of all revolutions- a revolution without violence. Sheer numbers played their fundamental role- overwhelm the smaller ones. In the face of close to a half a million men, women and children, a couple of hundreds of security men did not matter. Raw arithmetic proved its validity.

Armed with indomitable spirit and driven to extreme discomforts by starving stomachs and fatigued limbs, the people prevailed and the armed goons caved in. Teargas and rubber bullets and naked wooden poles would not deter a spirited army of civilians, hell-bent on realizing an end to two and half years of mayhem by one family. A family whose survival depended on scraping the financial barrel of a country to its bottom, a family whose self-centered indulgences so obscene even to whisper about them would have to be done under duress; their power-journey could not have gone on forever. Everyone around them did realize this unforgiving truth but dare not confront them with it. A drama of tragic dimensions seems to be coming to a harsh end.

The Galle Face Green was challenging its traditional closest neighbor: the mighty Indian Ocean. One, instead of beholding the light green splendor of the breaking waves and the crowded sandy shores, encountered an ever-flowing sea of heads that kept moving on rhythmic beat, chanting ‘Gota Go Home, Gota Go Home’.

As usual, in the early hours of the morning did not see what was to come. Whilst those who planned to commute to Colombo from far out localities such as Anuradhapura, Bandarawela, Kandy and Avissawella, had to argue and fight with the station masters of the respective railway stations. An artificially defined and falsely imposed curfew in the preceding evening was lifted at 8 in the morning. When confronted by lawyers of the movement at each railway station, the station masters did not have an answer but to commence the operations. So did they run the railway service, bringing thousand after thousand to the commercial capital of the country.

Thousands became hundreds of thousands and then the numbers reached benumbing quantities. A mind-boggling phenomenon was emerging from the grassy land of the Green; the surrounding streets became gravid with moving waves of humanity, determined to make their presence felt much stronger than their fatigued limbs could withstand.

When the midday hour reached 12 noon, the Green was full, hearty and warm. Field Marshall Sarath Fonseka was the first to greet the incoming protesters; his candid talk touched many an expectant participant and his appeal to the security forces must have sunk in for they too knew that if there were one man who could speak so honestly about sacrifice, they were looking at him. He was the sole politician who was, in fact, cheered and greeted in turn as one admired and looked up to. The real war-hero minced no words and he definitely scored well above the rest, if there were any who had the guts to visit the protesters on June 9, at the Galle Face Green. Rajitha Senaratne learnt his bitter lesson, his stupidity of timing on the one hand and his overestimation of himself on the other. Sajith Premadasa, as usual, was missing in action at the right time and for wrong reasons. Time after time Sajith has let his men and women down and June 9, 2022 was no exception.

When the full court press was applied by the protesters towards the President’s House, the Police and Special Task Force (STF) knew that there hours and minutes were numbered. The unrelenting force of the numbers could not be weathered by their meager quantities; in a game of the greater against the lesser the greater always wins when all other odds are in favor of the greater. A spirited community of men and women whose values have been warped by a culture over which presided the political goons who called themselves Presidents, Prime Ministers and Ministers, simply would not give up or give in.

When the sheer strength of the men and women who took part in this national push and shove broke the barriers to the President’s House in the twilight hours of the day, the ‘egg’ was broken. And this time, it was for good.

Aragala Karuwo (protesters), the cream of our youth, crossed that threshold of breaking the barriers and entered into the once-hallowed corridors of the President’s House; it was never traversed by their predecessor-generations; at that historic moment it may not have dawned on them that they crossed a boundary which had no space even in the wildest dreams of their forefathers. Yet they did it for the need for it was so overwhelming and the time was so pressing.

What crossed their minds at this time might well have been a jumble of unconnected thoughts; nevertheless, they willy nilly created history. For the first time in Ceylon’s political annals, this was certainly a ‘first’ of the highest order. Generations to come will talk so fondly about the plusses and minuses of this feat. A fresh chapter of national significance and national proportion was written.

But the job is only half done. The egg was broken, but the omelet is yet to be cooked. Who provides the pepper and salt, who lends the green chilies and white onions? That is the difficult part. Who is the most acceptable man to be interim President. Whom does the Cabinet comprise of? How many members in the Cabinet? Who will sit in the Speaker’s Chair in Parliament? Is it realistic to meet the puritanical expectations of the Aragala Karuwo?

The euphoria might continue for a couple of weeks. But one must come to terms with the brutal realities of the ground situation. What could not be achieved, viz. unity amongst all Opposition party members, surely cannot be attained in a couple of weeks.

But the pivotal role of the Aragala Karuwo cannot be understated. Their mite cannot be underestimated nor should it turn out to be a mirage on the burning horizon. Wisdom is the dire need of the hour and patience with speedy decision-making could make way for a brand new beginning. Seventy five years being inside the box has thwarted our enthusiasm and let out our stamina for fake sprints. Our country belongs to the youth of today. We elders have failed and let the youth show us the way…

Tagore’s beautiful words are most apt at this hour of need:

‘Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls……

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake’.

*The writer can be contacted at vishwamithra1984@gmail.com