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The Storm's Eye bu Prof.Rajiva Wijesinghe

Today is the 80th birthday of Ena de Silva, one of the most creative artists this country has produced in recent times. To celebrate the event the Lunuganga Trust, established by Geoffrey Bawa, published a book of essays and photographs that capture the contribution over more than half a century of a most innovative and inspiring character.

I have to confess to a vested interest in the subject, especially because I was involved in the production of the book - though it was of course the young artistic professionals working with the Trust who did most of the hard work, including the beautiful layout of text and photos. There is however a significant public interest factor in this effort, inasmuch as it arises from the recognition of a sad defect in public life. This is the failure to maintain records, in terms of both fact and analysis, that would encourage further development in arts and crafts.

The essays in the book then together make up a story that should be much more widely known. Barbara Sansoni for instance traces the development of a group of artists working in traditional fields but introducing vibrant new ideas - first and foremost Geoffrey Bawa, but also Laki Senanayake and Barbara herself and of course Ena. The English architect David Robson describes the status of her house at Alfred Place in the development of distinctively Asian modes of architecture. And, to make clear the contemporary value of Ena's innovative spirit, the Singapore ownership of the Twin Towers describes the decision to ask her to decorate a space in Singapore, with stunning results. But there was more to Ena's contribution than artistic creativity.

The former British High Commissioner David Gladstone describes her impact on the rural society in which she lives, while Radhika Coomaraswamy explains the importance of her work in feminist terms. And, in describing the role played by her husband, former Inspector General of Police Osmund de Silva, in her social contribution, Rudra Rajasingham, who was also IGP, indicates the imaginative concern for those they were responsible for that characterized the best of our public servants in an earlier era.

The book is a celebration, and does not seek to explain why we no longer produce such characters. But I would not be my usual lugubrious self if I did not try to extrapolate from all this, to try to shed some light on the sad situation in which we find ourselves now.

Some light seemed to me to come from Rudra Rajasingham's article, in which he described how Osmund de Silva was prematurely retired by S W R D Bandaranaike, to be replaced not by a policeman, but by a Civil Servant with no previous experience in the field. Of course there was a precedent, in that Osmund's predecessor had also in fact been a Civil Servant, to be precise Ena's father, Sir Richard Aluwihare. But that had been in the context of the government wishing to retire the British IGP, while the Ceylonese officers, Osmund chief amongst them, were just too junior to be given the top post then. And Sir Richard was a senior man by then, who was what was termed a War Civil Servant, appointed after his experiences on the Western Front during the First World War.

1959 was different. Bandaranaike wanted a man who would do his bidding, and hit upon the bright idea of choosing his old friend and bridge partner.

Sadly, none of the senior police officers dared to protest. It was only Rudra, then very junior, who dared to get up and make the point that this was a blow to morale, and certainly no way to develop the service.

From that date I think can be dated the decline of the police. Of the senior DIG's at the time who had acquiesced silently, Sidney de Zoysa and Jungle Dissanayake got involved in plotting a coup. That gave even greater credence to the theory that personal loyalty was more important than professional competence, and recruitment too began to take on a political tinge.

The Civil, or rather the Administrative, Service as it became was treated in the same way, culminating in the constitutional assertion of the impermanence for Ministry Secretaries - who all now automatically have to vacate office when the government changes. In theory they can be reappointed, but of course they are expected to seek this actively - with several others competing, even more actively - so they are unlikely to ever provide the independent advice and guidance that are so necessary, as politicians become ever more incompetent.

And meanwhile, this increasingly amateur state was moving further and further away from the capacity to recognize excellence. Perhaps the most startling factor in the book about Ena de Silva is the almost total absence from it of any mention of government. Now it may seem strange to draw attention to something that is not there but, like Sherlock Holmes' dog that did not bark in the night, this absence is profoundly significant.

In most countries, and in those developing countries that have actually developed, there is active recognition of artistic creativity. In Sri Lanka however this does not happen - except again with political patronage that has to be anxiously sought out, or after recognition abroad that cannot be gainsaid.So artists like Ena de Silva have to struggle on their own.

There are no schemes to use their talents to train succeeding generations. Ironically, she was herself a trainer on such a programme, but in the Caribbean. One cannot conceive of any Sri Lankan government funding an open ended Design Centre, where high quality designs could be studied and reproduced with the modifications that would ensure development. Instead, as bad money drives out good, bad batik has driven out the good, and the excellence of Ena's designs, at the Oberoi for instance (though even there the staff sometimes claim they belong to some much more prolific designer), can never be communicated to young aspiring artists.

The same, I am afraid, is true of the performing arts. Some excellent work is done by private training institutes, but the state stands aloof. This is not for want of resources. After all, there is a Tower Hall Foundation, there is state ownership of institutions such as the Art Gallery, the John de Silva Theatre, the Elphinstone. But what did even that otherwise admirable statesman Premadasa do, albeit in his younger less accomplished days? He appointed A J Ranasinghe to run the Tower Hall Foundation, before in time making him a Minister with related responsibilities.

What is it all for? Jobs and prestige, when it is not directly about profit. Independent standards, apart from political considerations, cannot exist. The irony is that, in such situations, these political considerations become self-defeating. The world will go on, Geoffrey Bawa and Ena de Silva will be recognized by those who understand such things in other countries, and the arbiters of good taste appointed by the state will be replaced by others even less competent.

So we might as well enjoy the splendour of those achievements we know about, and dismiss the rest, though sad, as of little ultimate consequence.

In that regard, the Lunuganga Trust publication is one of those immensely satisfying productions that restores one's faith in life, if not in the society within which we all have to function.

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