Fleeing the Insanity
I have to hurry. In a few hours I'm out'a here. Going on a field break. That sounds so much better than holiday, don't you think?
Things have really been heating up in Kandy this last week. Things have been heating up all over the island I suppose, despite the monsoon coming in. Yesterday in Colombo, police used water canons against marching bhikkus, and 3 of them ended up in hospital. Saffron against army green. Surreal. You would think that in times of trouble the Buddhist clergy would be the ones to argue for dialogue and peaceful resolutions. Not so in Sri Lanka. I wonder how Siddharta would have felt about this. Is this really Buddhism?
The "we're-not-giving-an-inch-away-of-our-Sinhala-Buddhist-island"-rethoric is prevailing. So what are they protesting? They say the proposed "joint mechanism", an agreement between the LTTE and the government for cooperation in tsunami reconstruction, will be the first step towards partition of the island. Wake up! This island was divided a long time a go! How would working together to help victims of a natural disaster divide it further? Is sending poor villagers to die in jungle warfare in the Vanni and in the East going to change things for the better? If you argue for war, at least be the first to sign up for service in the armed forces!
We had Chandrika (the president) visiting Kandy this week. It was a joyous occasion indeed. She was here for the momentous opening of Kandy's new 4-story car park. The newspapers printed full page advertisements with messages from the mayor of Kandy, the deputy mayor, and the leader of the opposition in the Kandy Municipal Council. They all proudly pointed out that they had been able to secure loans for 630 million SLR (ca 6,3 million USD and ca 41 million NOK) from the Asian Development Bank to go ahead with the building. I think the quality of politicians here is perceived to be directly correlated to the sums of the loans they are able to secure.
On this festive day a bhikku decided to go on a fast unto death, right outside the Dalada Maligawa (Temple of the Tooth). Why? The monk, Ven. Sobitha Thero, a member of parliament from the Jathika Hela Urumaya political party, said he would fast unto death unless the president rejected the JM. A podium was set up opposite the temple where Sobitha and his disciples were in plain view for people inside and outside the temple grounds. A crowd had gathered around to show support or maybe to satisfy their curiosity. A few passer-by's on the lake promenade were stopping, too. A pineapple salseman was providing snacks for the show.
For most people though, life went on as usual. That is, until yesterday, when Sobitha was on his 5th day without food or water. The Sangha (temple order) had ordered all shops downtown to close. Newspapers today reported it was done out of respect, but I believe there was a fair amount of intimidation involved. Police were patrolling the streets in such numbers that there must have been a very real chance for civil disturbance. As it turned out though, all the action was in Colombo. I wonder if there were any police left in the rest of the island.
The newspapers today further wrote that the JVP, in a bid to increase the pressure on the president, has set a deadline for her to reject the joint mechanism (or the P-TOMS as it is often called now: Post-Tsunami Operations Management Structure). If she fails to do so by midnight on June 15, they will withdraw from government on the following day.
Just checking the news I see that Sobitha has broken his fast. I wonder if there is as much substance in JVP's threats to leave government as in this monks "fast unto death".
Enjoy the insanity! I will be back in a couple of weeks.
/haakon/
11.6.05
The 1520 Books I Never Read
"Two books a week is a normal ration, three not unusual: and this goes on throughout one's life. From children's stories and fiction one slips unselfconsciously into biography, travel, poetry, drama and ultimately into solid literature. This is the main part of the education of the undergraduate; and indeed a student who does not read at least two books a week ought not to go to a University because he lacks education, no matter how many examinations he has passed."
- Sir Ivor Jennings, the first Vice Chancellor of Peradeniya in "An Aspect of
Language Policy" from Jennings' File at Peradeniya University
Now that quote left me feeling about as sharp as a beanbag. I have never avoided books. But then again I was never one of those insatiable kids running amok in the library either. I have fond memories of being read to at night. I had a bookshelf in my room with old Hardy Boys-books that my father had collected when he was a kid. When he read he would change his voice with each character to fit his or her personality.
I was 11 or 12 when I read The Lord of the Rings for the first time. I loved the story, but hated reading it. At one point I gave up and the book lay untouched for months before I finally resumed reading where I had left off. Turning the last page I was crying, mainly because the ending is beautiful and sad, but partly also from relief at having finished (I was crying at the end of the final movie, too...).
As I became older I would chose random books for my parents' well stacked shelves, at times burning through them in no time, at other times letting them gather dust for weeks. I was never too critical about what I was reading, believing I could learn something from everything. I have the same philosophy still, believing it is important to be open-minded and that books can "cross-fertilize" one another.
Still, while traveling or living abroad, I prefer reading about the places I am at. Its a shame that there such a limited supply of Lankan English-language fiction. During my years at NTNU though, there has been little time for fiction. Now, that's not really the case, but after having spent a day reading academic stuff, normally the last thing I want to do is to open another book. I opt for a movie or TV instead.
I realize there are many holes in my literary upbringing. There are a number of classics, by Norwegian (Henrik Ibsen, Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson, Knut Hamsun and Silje thinks I should add Alexander Kielland etc.) as well as international (Franz Kafka, Fjodor Dostovjeski, Lev Tolstoj etc.) authors, that I would like to read but almost never stumbled upon. If I don't stumble upon them, reading them would mean having to make a concerted effort at buying them or borrowing them from a library. Concerted efforts were never my strong side.
Which is probably why I don't read 2+ books a week. But does anyone in this era of Internet and satellite television? Aren't we all just waiting to be entertained by the mind-numbing media monsters? Or perhaps this is my character flaw. I can be lazy beyond belief and I am all too often content doing nothing. I envy those of you who feel restless watching daytime television, who would rather go for a walk or read a book than watch televised snooker. With me the guilt of watching TV only comes creeping afterwards, when I realize that I have done nothing remotely challenging all day.
At times like that I promise myself to change and say start reading 2+ books a week.
Let's do some math:
What Sir Jennings thinks I should have read:
2 books a week from the age of 8 to the age of 27 (my birthday is in three weeks):
2 x 52 x 19 = 1976 books
What I have actually read:
I estimate an average of 2 books a month for the same period:
2 x 12 x 19 = 456 books
Leaving a difference of 1520 books.
To catch up over a period of 10 years I will have to add 2,9 books a week to Jennings' quota, or if I give myself 20 years, 1,5 books extra each week. 3,5 to 4,9 books a week! Ayoooo!
And it has to be "solid literature", which I guess rules out the Hardy Boys... :(
/haakon/
31.5.05
Minutes but Worlds Apart
After having talked about it for a while, Stuart and went about exploring the Hantana range yesterday. We both have a beautiful view of it from our houses and it is there, beckoning me every time I catch a bus to and from campus. It is there to catch my eye when I'm on campus too, especially in the morning time when a mystical mist pulls through the pine forests in the hillside. No wonder the first Vice-Chancellor of Peradeniya, Sir Ivor Jennings, stated that the university has the most beautiful environment of any university in the world. I never really contemplated climbing Hantana though, until Stuart said he had gone a good bit up and that it was beautiful.
Apparantly there are a couple of different ways of climbing the Hantanas; from the south, that is Peradeniya and from the north, that is Kandy. Apparantly there are a few different Hantana peaks to climb too, or 7 as one student told me. We went off with no clear idea of which one to conquer, but Stuart, having looked into this, said it would be easiest to go up from the north. He had been told of a road going behind the government hospital and a good bit up the hill to a the Hantana tea estate. Getting started rather late, after first having been to campus, we opted for the easiest version of the easiest route. In other words: we went caught a threewheeler a good bit up into the hillside, and got off just before the estate. Only minutes away from Kandy it was as if we had entered another world. This is the upcountry, conceptually an eternity away from the bright lights of the (not so big) city, with Tamil women bent over tea bushes in just the same way I've seen them bent over tea bushes in so many other estates now. I had no idea I hardly had to leave my doorstep to see this. Must be one of Kandy's best kept secrets.
We strode on upwards, waving to yelling children playing cricket, and dodging overloaded buses going both directions. A stop for refreshing king coconuts and people we met en route, provided ample opportunities for practicing Tamil, something Stuart regretably is much better at than I, explaining why he still has an edge on me. Neither one of us had the necessary proficiency to ask for directions to reach the top, though, so we stuck to the main road figuring it was a good thing as long as it was climbing.
Reaching the National Training Institute (for what??!) we seemed to have come to the road's end, though. That is, we had passed underneath the peak we felt like climbing, and while the road went on we felt we should push for the summit. Acres of tea plants covered the lower part of the hillside, giving away to high grass and forest underneath the peak, and I suggested we should head up through the tea to see if there was a path from there. And so we did, while the sky was turning dark grey, mocking us for not having brought umbrellas. Looking back we enjoyed a spectacular view down a valley to the north.
It seemed a path led from the edge of tea fields into the neighboring forest. Feeling a bit Indiana Jonesy as we followed it in underneath the canopy, we came to a holt in an clear space, surrounded by boulders overgrown with roots, creepers dangling like curtains from the branches above us, adding to the mystical atmosphere of it all. It is the kind of place where one half expects to come across face-painted, bow-carrying men in loin cloths, chanting while performing ancient ritual sacrifices - at least if one has seen a few adventure movies too many. Or if you're a Lord of the Rings-fan; it would have felt very appropriate if Tom Bombadill had come skipping along, singing a song (Tom Bombadill doesn't ring a bell? Read the book you lazy bastard). It was as if the trees were consuming everything, luring us on into the midst of the laberynth, where we in turn would pay for our foolishness being unable to find our way back.
Enough of this mombojombo.
We eventually gave up on finding a way to the top, deciding instead to return another day to push for the summit. And we had no problems finding our way back, although the leaches did their very best to stop us, or maybe they were just wanting to catch a ride to town. Either way, I seem to be popular among the bloodsuckers these days. The walk back to Kandy took us just more than an hour. An hour away, but so far removed.
Speaking of different worlds. Stuart and I live 20 minutes apart, he staying with a Tamil family in the neigborhood immediately adjacent town on the western side of Peradeniya Road. It is an ethnically mixed neighborhood, with the quality of housing varying from simple shacks to large concrete structures. He has a difficult time going anywhere without being "interrogated" by curious neighbors who seem to have no sense of privacy. Compared to this I live in Posh Paradise. Well, the name says it all: "Pichaud Gardens", which I am sure, to most people sound exactly like "Too-pricy-for-you". The men who come to collect our garbage take the opportunity to do some begging, and we are targeted by all kinds of travelling salesmen. It is a neighborhood in which I am sure you do not receive permission to build unless the blueprints contain plans for servants' quarters. A nice place but boring as hell.
For some though, a street is just a street - always fraught with danger. A stray dog in our road had a litter of puppies recently. They have been all over the place the last few days, yupping excitedly as I walk by. But what is a dog's life worth? Coming down to Peradeniya Road today to catch a bus to town, one of the puppies was lying remarkably still in a pool of it's own blood, it's head smashed in. Disturbing to see, but not as disturbing as the one I saw in the side of the road, coming home from Batticaloa last week, still kicking but unable to move. People see, shrug and go on with their business. What can you do? A dog is just a dog. Strays don't last long anyway. These are the harsh realities of life we are so sheltered from in the Western world. A world apart.
/haakon/
After having talked about it for a while, Stuart and went about exploring the Hantana range yesterday. We both have a beautiful view of it from our houses and it is there, beckoning me every time I catch a bus to and from campus. It is there to catch my eye when I'm on campus too, especially in the morning time when a mystical mist pulls through the pine forests in the hillside. No wonder the first Vice-Chancellor of Peradeniya, Sir Ivor Jennings, stated that the university has the most beautiful environment of any university in the world. I never really contemplated climbing Hantana though, until Stuart said he had gone a good bit up and that it was beautiful.
Apparantly there are a couple of different ways of climbing the Hantanas; from the south, that is Peradeniya and from the north, that is Kandy. Apparantly there are a few different Hantana peaks to climb too, or 7 as one student told me. We went off with no clear idea of which one to conquer, but Stuart, having looked into this, said it would be easiest to go up from the north. He had been told of a road going behind the government hospital and a good bit up the hill to a the Hantana tea estate. Getting started rather late, after first having been to campus, we opted for the easiest version of the easiest route. In other words: we went caught a threewheeler a good bit up into the hillside, and got off just before the estate. Only minutes away from Kandy it was as if we had entered another world. This is the upcountry, conceptually an eternity away from the bright lights of the (not so big) city, with Tamil women bent over tea bushes in just the same way I've seen them bent over tea bushes in so many other estates now. I had no idea I hardly had to leave my doorstep to see this. Must be one of Kandy's best kept secrets.
We strode on upwards, waving to yelling children playing cricket, and dodging overloaded buses going both directions. A stop for refreshing king coconuts and people we met en route, provided ample opportunities for practicing Tamil, something Stuart regretably is much better at than I, explaining why he still has an edge on me. Neither one of us had the necessary proficiency to ask for directions to reach the top, though, so we stuck to the main road figuring it was a good thing as long as it was climbing.
Reaching the National Training Institute (for what??!) we seemed to have come to the road's end, though. That is, we had passed underneath the peak we felt like climbing, and while the road went on we felt we should push for the summit. Acres of tea plants covered the lower part of the hillside, giving away to high grass and forest underneath the peak, and I suggested we should head up through the tea to see if there was a path from there. And so we did, while the sky was turning dark grey, mocking us for not having brought umbrellas. Looking back we enjoyed a spectacular view down a valley to the north.
It seemed a path led from the edge of tea fields into the neighboring forest. Feeling a bit Indiana Jonesy as we followed it in underneath the canopy, we came to a holt in an clear space, surrounded by boulders overgrown with roots, creepers dangling like curtains from the branches above us, adding to the mystical atmosphere of it all. It is the kind of place where one half expects to come across face-painted, bow-carrying men in loin cloths, chanting while performing ancient ritual sacrifices - at least if one has seen a few adventure movies too many. Or if you're a Lord of the Rings-fan; it would have felt very appropriate if Tom Bombadill had come skipping along, singing a song (Tom Bombadill doesn't ring a bell? Read the book you lazy bastard). It was as if the trees were consuming everything, luring us on into the midst of the laberynth, where we in turn would pay for our foolishness being unable to find our way back.
Enough of this mombojombo.
We eventually gave up on finding a way to the top, deciding instead to return another day to push for the summit. And we had no problems finding our way back, although the leaches did their very best to stop us, or maybe they were just wanting to catch a ride to town. Either way, I seem to be popular among the bloodsuckers these days. The walk back to Kandy took us just more than an hour. An hour away, but so far removed.
Speaking of different worlds. Stuart and I live 20 minutes apart, he staying with a Tamil family in the neigborhood immediately adjacent town on the western side of Peradeniya Road. It is an ethnically mixed neighborhood, with the quality of housing varying from simple shacks to large concrete structures. He has a difficult time going anywhere without being "interrogated" by curious neighbors who seem to have no sense of privacy. Compared to this I live in Posh Paradise. Well, the name says it all: "Pichaud Gardens", which I am sure, to most people sound exactly like "Too-pricy-for-you". The men who come to collect our garbage take the opportunity to do some begging, and we are targeted by all kinds of travelling salesmen. It is a neighborhood in which I am sure you do not receive permission to build unless the blueprints contain plans for servants' quarters. A nice place but boring as hell.
For some though, a street is just a street - always fraught with danger. A stray dog in our road had a litter of puppies recently. They have been all over the place the last few days, yupping excitedly as I walk by. But what is a dog's life worth? Coming down to Peradeniya Road today to catch a bus to town, one of the puppies was lying remarkably still in a pool of it's own blood, it's head smashed in. Disturbing to see, but not as disturbing as the one I saw in the side of the road, coming home from Batticaloa last week, still kicking but unable to move. People see, shrug and go on with their business. What can you do? A dog is just a dog. Strays don't last long anyway. These are the harsh realities of life we are so sheltered from in the Western world. A world apart.
/haakon/
25.5.05
Back from Bloody Batti...
I was going to write about my recent trip to Batticaloa. I would have been bitchin' about the baking sun, ghostly invisible mosquitos, a heat rash, a broken watch and a caput mobile phone. Before I got around to writing the entry, though... tada! it was Vesak.
Vesak, yet another religious holiday, is the celebration of Buddha's birth, enlightenment and death. Well.. maybe they celebrate the first two and commemorate the latter. Anyway, I decided that in stead of writing about Batti, I would bitch about being alone during the holiday. I was alone because all my local friends' numbers are stored on the phone, and only there. The phone not working, I could only hope to meet one of them by coincidence, roaming the streets.
So I made sure to visit the downtown Cargills supermarket every day- sometimes several times a day. Jill and I have a way of stumbling upon eachother in the checkout counter there. It must have happened.. what? ...at least 4 times. I have a difficult time walking past Cargills without going in, anyway. Maybe it is the western consumer in me, taking control. That my sense of persistance is reliant on a neverending supply of commodities. That the beer, biscuits and peanut butter I buy is in fact an umbelical cord reaching back to Europe. Who knows? I know I didn't meet Jill or anyone else in there, though.
But then, Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the Vesak-lanterns by the lakefront, for as long as I could take.... Hm.. Timeout! I should take time to explain for you non-Lankans that a big part of Vesak is the traditional decorating of homes and public spaces with lanterns of various colours, sizes and shapes, some of them with undeniable artistic qualities, others.. ehm.. a bit tacky. I don't know about this, but I suppose the lanterns symbolize enlightenment. Makes sense, doesn't it? On the lake promenade a number of stalls had been erected, each stall for a separate lantern, and here people had unleashed their creative energies, competing in creating the most mind-blowing piece. Some of the lanterns, equipped with electromotors, were rotating, donning flashing lights, reminding me of robots or UFOs from 70s sci-fi movies. Others included figures of buddhist monks and Buddhas, or models of the Dalada Maligawa (Kandy's "Temple of the Tooth" where a tooth relic from Buddha is said to be kept). Some lanterns were huge and bulky - others done with exquisit detail, showing off intricate carvings and fancy shadow play. Some lanterns were just... uhm... tacky.
Alright, back to the story: Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the lanterns by the lake, for as long as I could take, I felt an urge for pizza. Pizza Hut-pizza is by no means a favorite of mine, but in Kandy one can't be picky when it comes to pizzas... or italian food... or foreign food at all. (I have seen a resturant called Milano, although a dingy and deserted interior has prevented me from giving it a go). Standing outside Pizza Hut I pondered wether to take away or to go in. The, for Kandy, uncharacteristic crowds made me take refuge inside. Lucky decission, for who did I meet there but Re(sri)becca and her friend Jeremy! A happy coincidence, in deed. Just the company I needed. And as if that was not enough Gavin and his girlfriend Christine arrived a few minutes afterwards. Vesak was saved, but I would have to find a new approach to writing about it.
Wednesday things were beginning to return to normal for me. The mosquitobites were itching less, though marginally, and I had picked up my mobile after having it repaired, (the display needed to be changed) a job that was quickly and successfully accomplished and easily worth the 7000 Rupees I paid for it. I would now be able to call Stewart, my American fellow-anthropologist (not one of the Fulbrights) who had recently returned from a month in India. Before I got that far though, he found me. We usually go the same place for using the Internet. Considering how much time I have spent here lately, calling that one a coincidence may be stretching it.
Today I've been visiting his field. I went with him to a Hanuman ritual in a private home here in Kandy, involving regualar puja but also a rather intense possession part. The medium, a Tamil lady, stood on knives while she was garlanded with betel leaves, fed burning camphor and grabbed members of the chanting audience by their heads or arms, making them tremble with her divine presence, before pushing them away or having them pass out on her (or him, I suppose). I have seen possession rituals in the upcountry too, but never upclose like this. She even grabbed and roughed up my hair, an act I am not quite sure how to interpret. Am I in Hanuman's good book now? Or does he want me to get a hair cut?
If I had still wanted to write a bitchin' blog entry I could have complained about how the ritual seemed to go on forever after the possession part was over. There was the cleaning, redressing and viewing of and chanting to the god, that just never seemed to end, while lunchtime had long since passed. I am not in the mood to complain any more, though.
When the mosquitobites disappear I'll probably even remember Batti in a much more positive way.
/haakon/
I was going to write about my recent trip to Batticaloa. I would have been bitchin' about the baking sun, ghostly invisible mosquitos, a heat rash, a broken watch and a caput mobile phone. Before I got around to writing the entry, though... tada! it was Vesak.
Vesak, yet another religious holiday, is the celebration of Buddha's birth, enlightenment and death. Well.. maybe they celebrate the first two and commemorate the latter. Anyway, I decided that in stead of writing about Batti, I would bitch about being alone during the holiday. I was alone because all my local friends' numbers are stored on the phone, and only there. The phone not working, I could only hope to meet one of them by coincidence, roaming the streets.
So I made sure to visit the downtown Cargills supermarket every day- sometimes several times a day. Jill and I have a way of stumbling upon eachother in the checkout counter there. It must have happened.. what? ...at least 4 times. I have a difficult time walking past Cargills without going in, anyway. Maybe it is the western consumer in me, taking control. That my sense of persistance is reliant on a neverending supply of commodities. That the beer, biscuits and peanut butter I buy is in fact an umbelical cord reaching back to Europe. Who knows? I know I didn't meet Jill or anyone else in there, though.
But then, Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the Vesak-lanterns by the lakefront, for as long as I could take.... Hm.. Timeout! I should take time to explain for you non-Lankans that a big part of Vesak is the traditional decorating of homes and public spaces with lanterns of various colours, sizes and shapes, some of them with undeniable artistic qualities, others.. ehm.. a bit tacky. I don't know about this, but I suppose the lanterns symbolize enlightenment. Makes sense, doesn't it? On the lake promenade a number of stalls had been erected, each stall for a separate lantern, and here people had unleashed their creative energies, competing in creating the most mind-blowing piece. Some of the lanterns, equipped with electromotors, were rotating, donning flashing lights, reminding me of robots or UFOs from 70s sci-fi movies. Others included figures of buddhist monks and Buddhas, or models of the Dalada Maligawa (Kandy's "Temple of the Tooth" where a tooth relic from Buddha is said to be kept). Some lanterns were huge and bulky - others done with exquisit detail, showing off intricate carvings and fancy shadow play. Some lanterns were just... uhm... tacky.
Alright, back to the story: Monday night, after having elbowed my way through Vesak-crowds, admiring the lanterns by the lake, for as long as I could take, I felt an urge for pizza. Pizza Hut-pizza is by no means a favorite of mine, but in Kandy one can't be picky when it comes to pizzas... or italian food... or foreign food at all. (I have seen a resturant called Milano, although a dingy and deserted interior has prevented me from giving it a go). Standing outside Pizza Hut I pondered wether to take away or to go in. The, for Kandy, uncharacteristic crowds made me take refuge inside. Lucky decission, for who did I meet there but Re(sri)becca and her friend Jeremy! A happy coincidence, in deed. Just the company I needed. And as if that was not enough Gavin and his girlfriend Christine arrived a few minutes afterwards. Vesak was saved, but I would have to find a new approach to writing about it.
Wednesday things were beginning to return to normal for me. The mosquitobites were itching less, though marginally, and I had picked up my mobile after having it repaired, (the display needed to be changed) a job that was quickly and successfully accomplished and easily worth the 7000 Rupees I paid for it. I would now be able to call Stewart, my American fellow-anthropologist (not one of the Fulbrights) who had recently returned from a month in India. Before I got that far though, he found me. We usually go the same place for using the Internet. Considering how much time I have spent here lately, calling that one a coincidence may be stretching it.
Today I've been visiting his field. I went with him to a Hanuman ritual in a private home here in Kandy, involving regualar puja but also a rather intense possession part. The medium, a Tamil lady, stood on knives while she was garlanded with betel leaves, fed burning camphor and grabbed members of the chanting audience by their heads or arms, making them tremble with her divine presence, before pushing them away or having them pass out on her (or him, I suppose). I have seen possession rituals in the upcountry too, but never upclose like this. She even grabbed and roughed up my hair, an act I am not quite sure how to interpret. Am I in Hanuman's good book now? Or does he want me to get a hair cut?
If I had still wanted to write a bitchin' blog entry I could have complained about how the ritual seemed to go on forever after the possession part was over. There was the cleaning, redressing and viewing of and chanting to the god, that just never seemed to end, while lunchtime had long since passed. I am not in the mood to complain any more, though.
When the mosquitobites disappear I'll probably even remember Batti in a much more positive way.
/haakon/
17.5.05
Constitution Day News on Norway
I had completely forgotten until a discoloured Norwegian flag glared at me from the pages of The Island. Today is the 17th of May, Norway's Constitution Day. But the embassy wasn't about to let me forget, was it? 1 page in The Daily News, 1 & 1/2 in The Daily Mirror and 3 & 1/2 in The Island (I guess their going rate is the lowest), make for a total of 6 pages of paid advertisements in Sri Lankas English dailies, focused on Norway. So is this just a shameless publicity stunt aimed at winning over those with a sceptical stance towards Norwegian involvement in Sri Lanka's peace process? Some of the stories undoubtedly give that impression. The piece on Buddhism in Norway is one example. Another article makes sure to mention Norway's contributions to tsunami reconstruction in Sri Lanka. And in a personal piece the ambassador exposes the rationale for the Norwegian involvement. He dvelves on the importance of peace for small countries, but fails to mention how Norwegian governments for decades have been striving to build an international image of Norway as a peace-loving nation in order to gain more influence in international bodies such as the UN.
This is an excercise in brand building. And was it a coincidence that the national shield with an axe-wielding lion was included in the banner? It probably was, but it is a nice link anyway, isn't it?
Other stories give us in debth information about Norway's judicial system, the history of our royal family, statistics on immigrants in Norway, details on the involvement of women in Norwegian politics, the run-down on Norwegian trade and industry and there is even a piece on the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen, famous for "A Doll's House" and a number of other internationally acclaimed plays. All this is interspersed with pictures of nature, architecture and people (is the most recent picture available of King Harold and Queen Sonja really 14 years old?) and congratulatory adds from Norwegian companies and Lankan companies with Norwegian connections.
Oh yes, a well-fostered Norwegian national pride swells further on May 17th.
As I am writing this children all over Norway are walking in parades and waving Norwegian flags while singing songs such as "Yes, we love this land of ours" (our National Anthem), "Norway in red, white and blue" (not red, yellow and blue as The Island seems to think), and "We are a nation, too". The Royal family are standing on the their palace balcony, waving at the children below, although this year, for the first time without the king, who recently received heart surgery and is still recovering. After the parades there are games and competitions for the kids and unwritten laws give the same permission to eat ice cream, hot dogs, candy and cake until they puke. And speaking of puking... the seniors graduating from high school, known as russ, have been wreaking havoc on the nation for weeks now, celebrating the end of 12 years of mandatory school by consuming enormous amounts of alcohol while pestering each other and everyone else. They deserve an entry all to themselves, though.
I may sound sarcastic writing this, but one thing about the Constitution Day celebrations really makes me proud. The celebrations have no military overtones, whatsoever. There never has been - not since the constitution was declared on May 17th, 1814, although Norway the same year was handed from Denmark to a union with Sweden and didn't gain independence until 1905. Parading military equipment on this day would be unthinkable. It would provoke anger and resentment everywhere. This day is for the children to enjoy and for families to celebrate freedom together. I think that is something that deserves mentioning outside of Norway, too.
BTW: You can find all the articles in The Islands online edition, and if you want to read more about the celebrations, check out The Norway Post, where you will also find an English translation of the National Anthem.
I had completely forgotten until a discoloured Norwegian flag glared at me from the pages of The Island. Today is the 17th of May, Norway's Constitution Day. But the embassy wasn't about to let me forget, was it? 1 page in The Daily News, 1 & 1/2 in The Daily Mirror and 3 & 1/2 in The Island (I guess their going rate is the lowest), make for a total of 6 pages of paid advertisements in Sri Lankas English dailies, focused on Norway. So is this just a shameless publicity stunt aimed at winning over those with a sceptical stance towards Norwegian involvement in Sri Lanka's peace process? Some of the stories undoubtedly give that impression. The piece on Buddhism in Norway is one example. Another article makes sure to mention Norway's contributions to tsunami reconstruction in Sri Lanka. And in a personal piece the ambassador exposes the rationale for the Norwegian involvement. He dvelves on the importance of peace for small countries, but fails to mention how Norwegian governments for decades have been striving to build an international image of Norway as a peace-loving nation in order to gain more influence in international bodies such as the UN.
This is an excercise in brand building. And was it a coincidence that the national shield with an axe-wielding lion was included in the banner? It probably was, but it is a nice link anyway, isn't it?
Other stories give us in debth information about Norway's judicial system, the history of our royal family, statistics on immigrants in Norway, details on the involvement of women in Norwegian politics, the run-down on Norwegian trade and industry and there is even a piece on the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen, famous for "A Doll's House" and a number of other internationally acclaimed plays. All this is interspersed with pictures of nature, architecture and people (is the most recent picture available of King Harold and Queen Sonja really 14 years old?) and congratulatory adds from Norwegian companies and Lankan companies with Norwegian connections.
Oh yes, a well-fostered Norwegian national pride swells further on May 17th.
As I am writing this children all over Norway are walking in parades and waving Norwegian flags while singing songs such as "Yes, we love this land of ours" (our National Anthem), "Norway in red, white and blue" (not red, yellow and blue as The Island seems to think), and "We are a nation, too". The Royal family are standing on the their palace balcony, waving at the children below, although this year, for the first time without the king, who recently received heart surgery and is still recovering. After the parades there are games and competitions for the kids and unwritten laws give the same permission to eat ice cream, hot dogs, candy and cake until they puke. And speaking of puking... the seniors graduating from high school, known as russ, have been wreaking havoc on the nation for weeks now, celebrating the end of 12 years of mandatory school by consuming enormous amounts of alcohol while pestering each other and everyone else. They deserve an entry all to themselves, though.
I may sound sarcastic writing this, but one thing about the Constitution Day celebrations really makes me proud. The celebrations have no military overtones, whatsoever. There never has been - not since the constitution was declared on May 17th, 1814, although Norway the same year was handed from Denmark to a union with Sweden and didn't gain independence until 1905. Parading military equipment on this day would be unthinkable. It would provoke anger and resentment everywhere. This day is for the children to enjoy and for families to celebrate freedom together. I think that is something that deserves mentioning outside of Norway, too.
BTW: You can find all the articles in The Islands online edition, and if you want to read more about the celebrations, check out The Norway Post, where you will also find an English translation of the National Anthem.
15.5.05
Chewing along
As I made my way over here today, through Sunday-crowded streets, chewing on a Seeni Saambal Bun from Delight Bakery, it struck me that I've never seen Srilankans eating while walking. Not that I can recall anyway. The exception is possibly with icecream, although I am not sure. Is this some cultural taboo I have overlooked? Or is it just that exhaust fumes and hungry looking beggars have a tendency to kill the appetite? If there is someone out there with an answer I am all ears.
Oh, and I have a little correction to make. In an earlier entry, writing about the Americans I have befriended here in Kandy, I wrote that they were once students with the "Iowa program". *cough* This as it turns out was a big fat lie. They have no connections to the University of Iowa whatsoever, and were, I believe, a bit offended at me writing so. They were, however, students with the "ISLE program" which makes a good bit more sense. Oh well. Honest mistake! :)
/haakon/
As I made my way over here today, through Sunday-crowded streets, chewing on a Seeni Saambal Bun from Delight Bakery, it struck me that I've never seen Srilankans eating while walking. Not that I can recall anyway. The exception is possibly with icecream, although I am not sure. Is this some cultural taboo I have overlooked? Or is it just that exhaust fumes and hungry looking beggars have a tendency to kill the appetite? If there is someone out there with an answer I am all ears.
Oh, and I have a little correction to make. In an earlier entry, writing about the Americans I have befriended here in Kandy, I wrote that they were once students with the "Iowa program". *cough* This as it turns out was a big fat lie. They have no connections to the University of Iowa whatsoever, and were, I believe, a bit offended at me writing so. They were, however, students with the "ISLE program" which makes a good bit more sense. Oh well. Honest mistake! :)
/haakon/
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