Columns

Sri Lankans are known for often turning government announcements and political pronouncement into jokes. That some see as a national trait. Humour after all is not essentially bad. It keeps people and nations alive at the worst of times.

Salmon is a kind of fish they had heard from their parents or ancestors and has been carried down generations

There I was isolating myself and contemplating my navel on what best to do next when a Sri Lankan friend of yore contacted me to ask whether I heard or read President Rajapaksa’s address to the nation.

Despite the technological advances, news takes time to reach one thousands of miles away unless some kind soul alerts one or sends it pronto.

He claimed that the government in its generosity had reduced the price of parippu (a favourite lentil in Sri Lankan cuisine) and the price of SALMON had come crashing down to hundred rupees a can.

Not believing what he said and knowing only too well his penchant for humour I brushed it aside, for which country in the world would be selling salmon at that price.

To debunk my scoffing at his joke he played me a recording as proof of what he said. Sure enough the President said salmon had been reduced in price.

One cannot blame the President for having used the word. In these critical times he would not have time to check every word that is put before him by speech writers and assorted officials parading as pundits.

But what about the media? Surely it has a duty to check and even correct when such mistakes occur. Oh no. One news channel that is said to be pro-government in a telecast the next day repeated salmon several times as they were coming swimming in shoals.

So never mind. But then the joke acquired another layer of humour. A couple of days later somebody else contacted me to ask whether I was aware that incoming flights to Colombo had been banned. I had, but it had not been confirmed, I said.

“You know why they were banned”, I was asked. Well to stop coronavirus-carrying persons arriving in the country and adding to a crisis already upon Sri Lanka.

Ha, ha, he hooted. So you don’t know. Well it was to stop nationals of other countries where salmon is expensive or scarce from rushing to Colombo on a buying spree.

Okay turning out occasional jokes is good for body and soul, to keep one occupied and others in paroxysm of laughter. But why turn on this word which Sri Lankans constantly use to describe any kind of canned fish — from mackerel to sardines — because, I suppose, salmon is a kind of fish they had heard from their parents or ancestors and has been carried down generations.

If the presidential slip surely not authored by him but some official/ translator is turned into a joke at this time of national emergency, maybe a real joke that punned on salmon might be more appropriate-certainly more humorous.

In Ceylon’s first parliament, there was provision for six nominated MPs to represent minorities and other groups not represented in the elected house.

One of the nominated — representing I believe British interests — was Robert Singleton-Salmon who was a witty speaker from what was told to me by a couple of MPs of that parliament.

Having listened to a speech by Singleton-Salmon earlier, one of the great orators this country produced, Dr Colvin R de Silva, responding to the British MP, said, “I have heard of salmon swimming in shoals. But I have never heard of a singleton-salmon” which naturally evoked roars of laughter.

What surprises me is that I have not heard a word from those who create these jokes about nomination day and the droves of potential MPs and supporters turning up to hand over their nominations or those of their parties.

Watching some images of these politicians arriving in droves one noticed that only a handful of them were wearing masks though they mingled with officials and the public, even speaking to the media.

Surely these men and women who are seeking to represent the people should have greater regard for the people they want to represent and take basic preventive measures at a time such as this.

It seems that these potential MPs want the public who do not know them to remember their faces. They should not worry. The public will and when the time comes the public will recall these memories.

(Neville de Silva is a veteran Sri Lankan journalist who was Assistant Editor, Diplomatic Editor and Political Columnist of the Hong Kong Standard before moving to London where he worked for Gemini News Service. Later he was Sri Lanka’s Deputy-in-Chief in Bangkok and Deputy High Commissioner in London.)