A writer is of many sorts, and the craft of writing is a diverse one. We have storytellers, philosophers, creative writers, and poets. There is scientific writing and now even coding. We all write, and we love to write. This desire is one engraved in humanity; it is the need for expression.

All creation, in its various forms, inevitably defines itself as a form of expression. It is an expression of who we are and what we want in life. The colours of a flower define its species and attract the insects around it, much like how we dress to impress a partner with similar tastes. The sun’s expression –  a multitude of fusion and fission-based reactions –  radiates the light that gives life, just as the chemicals and electrical charges in our minds make us smile, radiating happiness.

As all of life has its beauties, the same can be said about its corruption. The sun can beat down too hard and cause fires. We can smile at cruelty, for it gives one a sadistic satisfaction. Flowers can have attractive colours and fragrances only to lure in prey and kill it. A rich suit can be a facade to trick someone into security and love.

Therefore, it is best that we always take precautions. It is clear that even an expression has its own desirable intentions.

The Ceylon Literary Festival, once called the Galle Lit Festival, is one such phenomenon that needs assessing. What is its purpose? Who are these people? How do they pick their favourites? Are they the stamp on the quality of literature? Where do they get their money from? And most importantly, how do they get globalist corporations to sponsor them?

I shall leave most of these questions for you to ponder upon and elaborate on a few myself.

On 8 February of last year (2024), this same group of event organisers visited Kandy. They organised a session at the Trinity College Kandy main hall, where I was a participant. Here, they invited David Rippon Hare from England. Hare read from an article that he wrote about his opinion on the Palestinian conflict. I was impressed by his explanation.

During question time, I called for the microphone, which was given to me.

Me: “Hare, thank you for being here. I have two questions for you, one not the least connected with the other. The first question is as follows: ‘We in this island nation, only five days ago, celebrated our Independence Day (4 February) with a military parade and the works. However, some still fancy the title ‘Ceylon’ when identifying themselves. Now, how does it make you feel, as an Englishman, to see the word ‘Ceylon’ paraded this way?’

Question number two was about the difference between writing for the stage and screen. That I shall not elaborate on.

Host: (the lady on stage, a Gratiaen-award winner): “Are you referring to the festival title?”

Me: “No, just in general. It is a common sight, is it not?”

Hare: “Sorry, I could not catch that. I am somewhat hard of hearing. Could you repeat it?”

(The host explained the question to Hare, and he nodded both up, down, and sideways.)

“Well, I am not fit to answer that question. It’s not my place”.

(His answer is firm and resolute.) 

Me: “Well then, that’s that. What about the next question?”

The end.

I was surprised that a dramatist from England –  a man engaged in artful dialogue –  had no thoughtful response about the word ‘Ceylon’ while he spoke passionately about the Palestinian people, with whom he had much less of a connection.

A writer whose work is celebrated must, above all, liberate the reader by giving them the courage to confront the darkest aspects of their conscience. The true task of literature is to articulate complex ideas with clarity, reasoning, and purpose.

The organisers of this event, who are writers themselves, are oblivious to the fact that a writer must be a self-aware individual. A writer should yearn to be free from all oppression. How else will they have the confidence to face the dark demons of their soul? Is this not the joy of work worthy enough to be titled ‘literature’?

What is the worth of a literary festival whose very title is oppressive to freedom? The creation of this festival, dressed to impress, surely harbours its own intentions –  just as all creations do.

As a dramatist working in English, I have observed that the very language fosters a sense of insecurity among Sri Lankan people. English, which once served as a tool of colonial power, now functions as the language of knowledge and social prestige. Yet, it is important to remember that English was originally the language of betrayal. As a society, we look away from this uncomfortable history, fearing that our very heritage, so intimately tied to our present identity, may be ridiculed.

To evolve as a society, one must confront not only the good –  for this is easy –  but also the bad and the ugly. If we celebrate our inconsistencies, we are sure to fall victim to those who are better than us. The Ceylon Literary Festival is a defeatist event, one not meant to take us to the future but to keep us in our past.

Now, if you are shrewd enough to question this article, you might even scrutinise why this writer –  who also writes in English –  contradicts himself by using a language that he considers treasonous.

Let this be clarified.

The Sri Lankan English playwright, Ernest Thalayasingam MacIntyre who wrote and produced his own work, said that the best way to own this English language is by writing with it.

Lama Hewage Don Martin Wickramasinghe, in his book Sinhala Language and Culture, explains why he wrote about the Sinhala culture in English. He states that if the Sinhala culture is being uprooted by Sri Lankans of influence, they must be spoken to in the language that they understand best, which at that time was English.

To me, the English language in Sri Lanka at present is one of chaos, and language individually is a mere vessel for ideas. We grapple with both every day. English is a part of the island’s administrative history, much like the French language in England after the conquest of William the Conqueror in 1066 Anno Domini. The English have made their mark like the French did in England and there is no reversing this fact but that does not mean that we cannot mould our future. 

The involvement of English in the evaluation of Sri Lanka is an exciting story yet to be seen and it must be told by us on our own terms. 

If we self-reflect in English, we are sure to make it our own. But, if English is used to impress native English speakers in England, then the role that this language will play is one of inferior quality on a global scale.

Who knows –  if we speak it and write with it long enough, appreciate it on our own terms, and do it all with a true sense of integrity, we might even stop calling it English altogether.

(The writer is a dramatist with a list of original English full-length dramas staged in Sri Lanka. He is a drama director, producer, writer, drama teacher and a promoter of original artistic work. He is the creative director of the Sri Theatre Company)

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The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication