I schooled at a so-called Sinhala-Buddhist National school. At that time, like any other obedient, creativity-suppressed and over-disciplined student I was eager to become a part of the system, uphold the law and carry responsibility. So I become a prefect.
Soon enough I was happily shouting away at the younger lads, doing chores for the teachers and lifting heavy weights at every major school event. But by far the favourite thing we had to do was to jump unannounced into classes when teachers were absent and search the bags of students. Most often than not, we would find pornographic magazines that would come in a wide array of categories. Softcore, hardcore, English, Sinhala, black & white, color, local foreign, etc etc.
We would take all the magazines and compile it in a confidential file in the Prefect’s room, notoriously named as “file-13”. Prefects had a very strict hierarchy and there were levels of access granted to the file according to seniority. (Yes, not only were we a bunch of sad wankers, we were also an organized bunch of sad wankers)
One day, a very senior prefect (let’s call him Hasanjith) happened to capture a magazine with incestuous references. It was clear that he was pretty amused by the storyline due to his excessive reference time with file-13 and by his subsequent urges to check the same classroom for similar material.
We didn’t have any suspicion when he called upon the student who brought the magazine to the prefect’s room. Usually a little ragging and a little pep-talk is a part of the procedure.
The poor boy came into the room with his hands and knees shaking. Hasanjith told the boy to sing a song. His voice clearly shaking, the boy managed to utter two or three lines of twinkle twinkle little star. Hasanjith, a little offended, kept his cool obviously wanting to humiliate the boy further. He then asked all the family details of the student.
But the room’s full attention was captured by Hasanjith when he started to read out some of the parts from the incest story. The boy was nearly crying. His eyes filled with tears, and he tried his level best to keep his jaw from trembling. Having achieved his goal, Hasanjith stood up from his seat and came close to the boy. I really wish that the following events didn’t happen, and somehow I had the guts to stand up that day and question Hasanjith’s authority. But I didn’t. Strangely enough, I kind of believed that Hasanjith was doing what was necessary to uphold the discipline in our great school.
Hasanjith was not satisfied. He started to get physical. He slapped the boy twice and then continued to read the story. Then slapped him again. This continued probably until his hand’s were sore.
The poor boy didn’t utter a sound. Maybe he was too scared. Maybe he was too shocked to feel the pain.
Hasnjith then went for the broom. He took it by the root and aimed two hard blows at the boy’s stomach. Before the third strike, one of Hasanjith’s peers decided it was time to stop and let the boy go.
The next few words that the boy murmured to his rescuer, and the way he said it would haunt me for the rest of my days.
“Thank you Aiyya. I am sorry.”
Hasanjith later gave a heroic speech on the wrongness of pornography, saying it was brought by the Westerners as a conspiracy to corrupt the minds of Sri Lankan youth.
This memory was one that I did not ever want to remember. But it was the first thing that came across my mind when reading this article on the Third Wave.
I can attribute this “blind obedience for the greater good” to many fragments of Sri Lankan society including political parties, Institutionalized corruption, and organized crime by people with power. But why should I point out the obvious, when you dear reader, can easily think for yourself.
