The devolution package means all things to all people in Sri Lanka, while the cynical pursuit of peace continues.
Some weeks ago in Sri Lanka there occurred an event with heavy political overtones that went largely unnoticed by the media. A mock funeral ceremony was staged by an assorted group of Sinhala Buddhist hardliners, including monks, in the southern city of Matara. The 'corpse' in this case was the devolution package, the constitutional reforms proposal that aims, among other things, to introduce maximum devolution amounting to quasi-federalism for the island. All the ritualistic exercises of a traditional funeral ceremony were observed but there was one crucial difference: instead of eulogising the dead person as is customary at funerals, speaker after speaker expressed glee over the death of the devolution package.
For Sinhala hawks, the very idea of devolution or power to the periphery has been anathema. They believe that any form of devolution will weaken the centrist state and strengthen Tamil separatism, ultimately leading to the division of the country. The mock funeral was therefore a jubilant manifestation of Sinhala hardline perception that the envisaged devolution package was not going to materialise as effective legislation. And they have reason enough to exult.
The constitutional reforms scheme, first publicised in August 1995, is more or less ready to be presented in Parliament. There, it has to be passed by a two-third majority, after which it would have to be ratified at a nation-wide referendum before becoming law. Since the ruling People's Alliance (PA) does not command a two-third majority, a bipartisan consensus with the chief opposition, the United National Party (UNP), is necessary. The UNP, however, has been evasive over the issue of lending support, while other minority parties have been expressing reservations over certain provisions of the package.