Another Sketch of 1971 Events

by ACB Pethiyagoda

Mr. Gamini Gunawardena’s appreciation of the late Inspector General of Police, Stanley Senanayake, in The Sunday Island recently brought to my mind personal ‘Random Sketches of Events in Contemporary History’ (the subtitle of GG’s article).

To start at the very beginning I had the pleasure of meeting the elegant Stanley in the mid 1950s at a mutual friend’s home in Kalutara when he, Stanley, was Director of the Police Training School. The friend and his family migrated; we went our separate ways according to the dictates of our employment; and out of the blues I had, in late 1971, an official note from the Inspector General of Police together with a personal note appended. Its tone and contents spoke volumes for Mr. Stanley Senanayake’s geniality.

Toward the end of 1970 and very early the next year, JVP activity was not that evident in the upcountry plantation areas except for some scribbling on walls of public buildings. However, a general build up of their activity in other parts of the country, except in the North, was reported in the newspapers, making one and all sit up and expect an impending flare up — when, where and in what form was anybody’s guess.

The guesses were as many as the expressions of admiration of Rohana Wijeweera’a ability to hold a crowd captive at his public meetings, whether they agreed with his ideologies or not.

Early in 1971 a real jolt was felt by me when driving back to work very early of a Monday morning after a weekend out; a group of four on the road was discerned in the dim light partly hidden by a roadside tree between Ginigathena and Hatton. They appeared to be khaki clad. While realizing this as strange, I noticed one stepping forward and signaling me to stop.

Without so much as a pause to think, I sped away and stopped only outside the Hatton Police Station. The scary incident was related to the OIC who said there were no police patrols at that time on that stretch of road. After an entry was made, I proceeded to Mayfield Estate where I was Superintendent at the time.

Night travel was given up; serious thought given to contingency plans in the event of possible disturbances and consequent disruption of work on the estate. Safety and food supply to about 1,000 workers with a total population of around 6,000 was the sole responsibility of the superintendent.

Although friends and fellow managers discussed this tense situation there is no recollection of any announcements or advice from government departments or the Planters’ Association. It was on account of this apparent lack of preparedness that when the JVP attacked several police stations on the night of April 5, 1971, the entire country, except the Northern and Eastern Provinces, was jolted and galvanized into action —even to the extent of appealing to India and Pakistan for help.

Action as far as the upcountry plantation sector was concerned for about the first day and a half was a collective wringing of hands faced with the enormity of the anticipated problem. In addition to safety and continued food supply, the scarcity of liquid fuel would result in the cessation of manufacture and extended stoppage of work. These were too frightening to even consider at that early stage of the possible conflagration. Another consideration was the safety of buildings — factory, stores, offices, bungalows, dwellings of workers, vehicles, which were then not covered against riot and civil commotion.

Newspapers and mail ceased to arrive. With no TV and radio and signals from Colombo not being received by those beautiful contraptions known as radiograms (radio and record player of different rpms in one unit), we were starved of news. Telephones which at the best of times functioned only off and on, were permanently off. When calls to Colombo and other outstations were booked, the operators, if any of them had reported for work, declared lines were out of order.

We were thus cut off and left to fend for ourselves. In this situation, about seven of us superintendents of neighbouring estates met to form a mutual help club. The Europeans backed out on the excuse their embassies had advised them to keep their hands off local politics. They could not, or did not want to differentiate between politics and strategy for survival under difficult circumstances by sharing available resources.

Hence, the four Sri Lankan superintendents decided to band together to face the common problem as best as they could. I write entirely from memory, so inaccuracies are possible, though not probable.

Labour union leaders on each estate were summoned by the respective superintendents and made aware of the prevalent situation.

They readily agreed to conserve food stocks in hand and not demand more than the rationed quota of rice and flour for a week issued by government until fresh stocks arrived. When? There was no answer to that question. As for security they agreed to an unofficial curfew- workers nor their family members would be allowed to wander around after dark outside their quarters; and strangers apprehended forthwith.

A day or two after the first attacks on police stations, news seeped through that the Nanu Oya Police Station had been abandoned. The station serving Mayfield and some surrounding estates and villages was at Patana on the Talawakelle-Nawalapitiya road. One of the cooperating superintendents and I rushed there early in the morning to find the sergeant in charge preparing to lock up and decamp with his three constables, without a semblance of authority from his superiors.

Reasons for this intended dereliction of duty which could result in their dismissal from service was that four men could not perform duties day and night with the possibility of attack by the insurgents. The station had only two kerosene lamps and two hurricane lanterns for lighting and there was no fence round the building, leaving the entire premises vulnerable to attack. These shortcomings had been reported to inspecting officers but to no avail.

After some discussion a deal was struck: three of us planters would guard the station in the nights while the policemen could rest after day duty, the ancient bolt action rifles and ammunition being handed over to us. As for lighting, by nightfall that day the station had electric lights with power tapped from Craigie Lee tea factory just across the road.

The fence was completed the next day with barbed wire from the stores of the concerned superintendents. Mention must be made here that superintendents of reputed companies in those times had a great deal of discretionary powers and such powers were hardly ever misused. The day after the gentlemen’s agreement, at least three planters assumed guard duty at the station every night – one in the building and two in a hillock behind.

In spite of our inexperience in this type of work and constant fear that we could be attacked, there was a feeling of bonhomie as we knew we were performing a duty by the people of the area, our families, shareholders and employees. We had no doubt that they would appreciate our sense of responsibility, and they certainly did.

Conditions seemed to be changing for the better for the country in the news that came down the grapevine. Large numbers of insurgents were giving themselves up or had been arrested. Evidence of this was seen at the small Patana Police Station in the backwoods when cells filled with the overflow from the Hatton Police Station were brought in.

The young men were in pitiable condition, physically and mentally due to exposure – hiding in the wildernesses for several days and the trauma of arrest and possibility of being beaten up as well. Conversations (certainly not interrogation – that was for the police) revealed that these men were highly motivated and committed and had undergone tremendous personal hardships for long periods of time for the Movement, and even after capture would not decry the road they had taken to rectify the actual and perceived social injustices prevalent in the country. Such loyalty to an ideology was to be admired and sympathized with, had it not been violent. Sacrifices made by them would not lead to their Utopia.

Giving my name and the estate I was managing to one of them, I asked whether I was on their rumoured hit list. He replied that he knew of me and where I worked as he was a teacher in the Agrapatana area and said that I would have been spared as I was not a hora. Thanks to all the gods above, I intoned!

Asked whether they would uproot all tea and plant bathala, he replied: “Yes.” Such planting would be in areas where tea lands bordered habitations which the British had plundered, leaving the displaced villages landless and in poverty. Food for thought that day and even now forty years later.

During the first few days of April’ 71, our homes were also very tense. With no communication with the outside world, foodstuffs unreplenished, constant fear of attacks, we felt marooned. Some relief was felt when two other superintendents’ young families came over to stay with us, bringing their provisions as well. There was a welcome sense of security in numbers — however small.

By the third week of April conditions were fast returning to normal. One evening returning home from work, I found the ASP Hatton at the entrance with two fully armed policemen. Heavens! Am I being arrested for something untoward at Patana? Such fears were soon dispelled when the officer walked up, thrust his hand to shake mine while thanking me for assisting his men and him.

Some months later, the government’s letter of appreciation for the support given to it during the insurgency, signed by the IGP, was received. It was good to have such a letter — the first of its kind —because letters from government always contain some unwelcome message or call for payment. Better still was the personal note from Stanley Senanayake recalling our meetings a decade and half earlier.