Release that grip on fake house

By Neville de Silva

If that means dealing with all those PA politicians and their thugs in and out of uniform, who like Mao Zedong, believed that power came out of a barrel of a Chinese T56, so be it.

But in the course of working out its political platform, the UNP would, I hope, at some stage come round to taking a serious look at the functioning of the country's mass media, particularly the so-called state controlled media.

While national radio and, more latterly television, such as the SLBC and Rupavahini have always been in government hands, the Associated Newspapers of Ceylon popularly known as Lake House and ITN were privately owned media institutions that the government acquired.

The more important of these two, of course, is Lake House. It is now almost 30 years since Lake House was taken over by the government in the name of broadbasing its ownership.

Nearly three decades later, little or nothing has happened to pass the ownership on to the public as envisaged in the legislation and each successive government has not only clung to Lake House but also increasingly turned it into a government propaganda machine of Goebbelsian proportions.

Under the law, the Public Trustee was mandated to redistribute the shares of Lake House so that no single individual would own more than two per cent of its total shares.

If the intention was real broadbasing, then this was laudable. But the fact is that the PublicTrustee has not done what he was expected by law to do. But that was not his fault. He could exercise his power under the law only on the written instructions of the relevant minister.

Over the years the relevant minister has been lax. Not that he had forgotten to do so or that he intended to do so at a later date. It was the policy of the government not to let Lake House go, in the mistaken hope that by using Lake House for purposes of political propaganda and government image building, it can win elections and continue in power.

Unfortunately, it is a fact of our political life that Lake House propaganda, under private or state ownership, has not won elections. It might have helped or conspired in bringing down governments by dubious means, but it has not been instrumental in keeping a government in power because its political influence on the public at election time, was exaggerated.

However much Lake House campaigned for the ruling UNP in 1970, it could not stem Sirima Bandaranaike's SLFP-led United Front coalition from coming to power.

Similarly in 1977, despite the best efforts of the then powerful Janavegaya group within Lake House, not all the journalistic pundits of that institution could stop J. R Jayewardene's unprecedented parliamentary majority.

There was, of course, a time when the Lake House newspapers, representing indigenous and nationalistic interests as opposed to The Times, the mouthpiece of British plantation and commercial interests, played a significant role before and after independence.

But in a country where the mass media have not only multiplied but represent varied interests, the political influence of Lake House has waned tremendously and has sapped it of the quality journalism it was known for internationally in earlier years.

Still for all, governments hang on to Lake House as though it was their family heirloom.

The UNP and J.R. Jayewardene fought tooth and nail to prevent the take over of Lake House, going to the Constitutional Court against the draft law. "JR" as he was known, even took to the streets asking the public to boycott Lake House newspapers.

Having promised media freedom at the 1977 election campaign, did the UNP relinquish its hold on the institution? No, and not because JR himself was a minor shareholder and it might have been embarrassing to do.

At the Press Foundation of Asia conference held in Colombo in 1978, President Jayewardene was asked whether the government would de-nationalise Lake House. "What do you want me to do?" he asked rhetorically. "Return it to the Wijewardenes? You tell me and I'll do it." Unfortunately, nobody in that august audience ventured to do so. 

He need not have returned it to the Wijewardene's, if it was that embarrassing. To begin with, he could have asked the relevant minister to instruct the Public Trustee to sell off the shares. There are so many ways in which Lake House could have been released from government stranglehold.

Instead it karate-chopped the institution by planting more political appointees of ministers and MPs, adding to the mess that the SLFP government had done during its seven-year term.

Having worked there for 27 years during the best of times and the worst of times, it is hard for me to imagine that a journalistic institution which was considered among the best in Asia, has deteriorated to what it is today. 

What happened to Lake House was that it became an employment agency. Influence was the most important criterion. 

Some who wanted to cling on to their positions would scrape the bottom of the barrel looking for outside help. Some sought the influence of Buddhist monks, others of politicians and still others some businessmen.

No media institution can work like that unless it has a journalistic death wish.

Two things are needed to restore Lake House journalistically to its pristine status. Firstly the government must relinquish its hold. It can be turned into a public institution, run by an independent and qualified board. It can even be sold to a foreign consortium or financier with editorial control in the hands of Sri Lankans and its top editors.

Secondly it should be a journalistic institution that can be expected to maintain journalistic and ethical standards. This is more so because in many countries, and that includes the UK too, quality and ethical standards are falling as media barons fight to control the marketplace. It is true that the newspaper is a commodity to be sold. But surely, it is much more than a cake of soap.