Memorable anecdotes about Athulathmudali

By W.D. Soysa

A British parliamentarian, Cyril Smith, MBE - famous for his sense of humour - related the following story in an after-dinner speech. "Mrs. Thatcher passed on and knocked on the Gates of Heaven but St. Peter, after asking for her name, sends her down below. Some four days later, there is a knock on the Gates of Heaven. St. Peter finds the Devil standing there. 'What do you want?' asks St. Peter. 'Oh,' says the Devil, 'I have come to seek political asylum’.”

One might wonder what this fictitious story has got to do with Lalith Athulathmudali. I would say "very much". As the story seeks to depict, the ‘Iron Lady’ brooked no opposition and not many said "No" to her and got away unscathed. Mr. Athulathmudali belongs to that few who had the courage to say "No", and win her admiration too.

Lalith Athulathmudali

The occasion was the high-level bilateral talks in Colombo during Mrs. Thatcher's visit to Sri Lanka to declare open the Victoria dam. As usual, Mrs. Thatcher had been fully briefed on the bilateral economic issues, particularly by her loyal supporters in the private sector -- in this case the British shipping lobby. One item on the agenda for discussion was the allocation of a restricted number of containers by the Central Freight Bureau to British lines.

Mr. Athulathmudali, who was generally several steps ahead of his opponents, anticipated the questions and was ready with the defence. Politely but firmly, the British delegation was reminded that just as many developed countries, including the United Kingdom, developed their fleets with substantial government financial assistance, a developing country like Sri Lanka which cannot afford to provide financial assistance, had to provide cargo assistance to develop a national fleet and one which would be sympathetic to our export trade. He also emphasised that the government's economic policy was open but not free just as in any developed country with a market economy. Although no increase in cargo allocation for British lines was promised, Mrs. Thatcher could not help admiring a Sri Lankan Minister who fought for his country's rights just as she did on every national issue during her premiership.

The late Robert Senanayake enjoyed repeating the remarks of a German ship-owner after an encounter with Mr. Athulathmudali in the ministry conference room. A very powerful delegation from the Ceylon, UK and Continental Conferences, led by their veteran chairman, held talks with the minister on a proposal to increase freight rates on our exports, as well as to secure more cargo for their vessels. Mr. Athulathmudali, the brilliant lawyer he was, listened without uttering a word, causing some discomfort and anxiety to the delegation. The chairman of the delegation, however, was emboldened by the minister's silence and made a few leading statements which were factually incorrect. That was all the minister required to demolish the chairman's entire case for the two demands. The delegation left the conference room poorer than when they walked in, because Mr. Athulathmudali proved the case for a reduction in rates, rather than an increase.

While the delegation was trooping out of the ministry building, the leader had asked his German colleague what his perception was of the discussions. "Operation was successful, but the patient is dead,” was his reply, according to Mr. Senanayake.

I witnessed Mr. Athulathmudali's compassion, sense of humour, his remarkable ability to restore order even in the most chaotic situations as quickly as changing scenes on a television screen. One such scenario occurred in Hong Kong at a cocktail party hosted by the millionaire Mr. Cheung, a well-known friend of Sri Lanka. The party was held to promote Sri Lanka's ‘Flag of Opportunity’ ship registry. The guests were the leading shipowners of Hong Kong and their CEOs. A Sri Lankan living in Hong Kong was invited by Mr. Cheung to introduce the minister and make a short speech. Nervously he walked to the microphone and the only words which escaped from his mouth were, "Ladies and gentlemen". The deafening silence which followed lasted a very embarrassing five minutes or so. Mr. Athulathmudali then grabbed the microphone and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, if my friend was asked to introduce a cabaret artist, he would have described even her full anatomy. But when the poor man was asked to introduce a politician, quite understandably he didn't know where to begin".

When normalcy was restored after a hearty laugh by everybody, Mr. Athulathmudali made such a convincing case for our ship registry that, within a few months, more than 80 ships were registered under the 'Flag of Opportunity' scheme, contributing to our invisible earnings, as well as employment, particularly for our seafarers.

I had the pleasure of accompanying the minister on several overseas visits. On each such visit, I returned richer in knowledge gathered from discussions with him, even though poorer financially. One such visit was to Buenos Aires to attend the ‘Group of 77 Preparatory Meeting’ for UNCTAD VI. One afternoon, Mr. Athulathmudali and I went down to the reception desk in the hotel to hand over our room keys before leaving for the conference hall. There was a note for me at the desk, but it was in Spanish. When I tried to give it to the receptionist for a translation, the multilingual minister volunteered and read it. "This is to confirm our meeting at ten, signed Barbara - whoever she may be,” he said, with a mischievous smile on his face.

Rather than thank the minister for his free translation, I sought to dispel any misgivings by stating that Barbara was a freelance reporter for UPI. She wanted to interview me since I was appointed to be the spokesman for the ‘Group of 77’ on shipping at UNCTAD VI to be held in Belgrade in June that year. The minister smiled again and said, "By the way, she has failed to mention whether it is 10 a.m. or 10 p.m. So if it is 10 a.m. give her a good cup of Sri Lankan tea (which we always carried to be given as gifts) but if it is 10 p.m. you will have to settle for Argentinian coffee". At that point I realised that silence was golden.

On yet another occasion, five of us were returning via Zurich and dead tired after attending UNCTAD meetings which usually ended at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. One of my colleagues had several pieces of hand luggage and after checking our baggage, he screamed that two bags were missing. When he started to search for the bags frantically, one of my friends found that Mr. Athulathmudali was carrying my friend's bags. What a contrast it was to some protocol conscious ministers!

Perhaps the most memorable scene was on an aircraft, when the minister, his wife Srimani and their six-month-old baby were travelling back to Colombo from Geneva. Around 1 a.m., a Sri Lankan friend, who was seated by my side, pinched me to show Mr. Athulathmudali feeding his daughter from a bottle of milk. Neither the minister nor his unassuming wife entrusted this to a stewardess who would have gladly obliged.

As an official who had the opportunity of working under Mr. Athulathmudali, I witnessed at first hand his outstanding performance as a speaker at international gatherings, his ability to inspire and win the respect of his officials at all ministerial meetings and his qualities of a sincere friend enjoyed by all his officials.

He had the potential to lead Sri Lanka

Today, November 26, 2006 is the 70th birth anniversary of former minister Lalith Athulathmudali. Thirteen years ago, on April 23, 1993 he was assassinated, denying Serela, his only child – at the tender age of 10 – a loving father, Srimani (who died two years ago) a beloved husband, and our nation an erudite leader. Lalith was a person who never let what he could not do interfere with what he was able to achieve. He spent his life developing a vision for what he hoped Sri Lanka would one day be. In my opinion, he had the potential to lead Sri Lanka. I first met Lalith in the early 1980s when he was a minister. From that time on, our friendship developed rapidly. Our families became close friends. Though we lived in different countries, we always kept in touch. En route to New York with his family -- to seek medical advice and treatment for injuries he sustained in the bomb attack in Parliament - he stopped over in Oman to visit us and it was at this time that our friendship truly grew stronger. Whatever his busy schedule, Lalith always had time for his friends. I will remember him as an extraordinary person who could walk with kings and yet not lose the common touch. While in hospital after the bomb attack in Parliament, he wrote the article, 'Reflection on Life and Death' and this was his final paragraph: "They took me into the theatre. I said to Kenneth, 'I remember the theatre being too cold'. May be this time I was going into the cold. As the general anaesthesia took its effect I was going out - at peace with life and with death but determined beyond anything else, to fight every step of the way. Life is never to be given away - it can only be taken from us." Life was taken away from him in the cruellest way. On Lalith's seventieth birth anniversary, let all who respected, loved and valued his friendship and political vision, cherish the memories of this great human being, who paid the supreme price in the service of his country and her people. By Anselm Perera