'Rights, for us?'
The new laws are meant for children. But how many of them
know about them?
By Kumudini Hettiarachchi
The proposed legisla- tion to strengthen children's
rights has been the focus of many analysts and writers. These are the views
of adults speaking on behalf of children. We thought it would be good to
let the children speak for themselves. Give a voice to this group of voiceless.
So we decided to conduct a random survey among children about the proposed
laws. What we heard and what we saw not only revealed the need for such
laws but also for a concerted effort to "educate" children on
their rights. Make them aware of what they could and should do in case
of violation of their rights.
While carrying out awareness campaigns, priority should be given to
schools, keeping in mind that the child spends a major part of his/her
day at school. The government with the support of non-governmental organisations
should target teachers.
Let us teach the teachers about the rights of the child, as they are
the second mothers and fathers of our children. Then they would pass on
the message to their students, not only during formal lessons, but also
the day-to-day activity of the classroom. Later, community awareness could
be spread by getting the temple, church, kovil and mosque involved, so
that children's rights becomes a subject of discussion.
Here are the views of some of the children we spoke to:
 Gayan
Isuru was selling divul (wood apple) at the Piliyandala street market,
when we took a little bit of his time to ask him whether he knew anything
about the proposed laws. This 12-year-old, along with another more street-wise
boy, who refused to speak to us or be photographed, was working for an
"aiyya". He paid Gayan Rs. 50 a day for selling divul, come rain
or sunshine.
Yes, he did go to school, but they were on holiday, Gayan reminded us.
His father was selling coconuts in a shop in the town. He had collected
about Rs. 200 from the work he did for the "aiyya". All that
money helped to keep the home fires burning.
Had he heard of the proposed laws? No, not really, he acknowledged.
But just yesterday "that uncle" had told them that it was "not
good" for them to be hanging around the market working. The "uncle"
was K Piyasena (55) who ran a tyre "kade" close by. He had explained
to the boys that children could be lured into trouble - drugs, drinking
and other crimes - in places such as the market where all kinds of people
were hanging around. He had also told them about the proposed laws after
reading the newspapers and listening to the radio.
Piyasena said he would not bring his teenage son, attending a leading
school in Colombo, even to his "kade" for a few minutes. He believed
that it was easy for children to be led astray, when the parents were not
around.
For T. Nuwan (13) living in Halpita, "rights" did not mean
very much. He had heard very little about them His mother was in Dubai
and his father worked for a company in Colombo. His father did everything
for them - cooked their meals, cleaned the house and looked after them.
"The proposed laws are good. Yes, I know quite a lot about them.
I also know that children who are in trouble could call 444444," said
11-year-old Nuwan Sananjaya from Miriswatte. How had he got to know? Fro
m the TV, this boy who attends Mahanama said confidently. He was at the
Piliyandala market with his mother to buy vegetables. His father works
in the harbour.
It's a "working" holiday for Chamath Denuwan (13), who wakes
up around 4 a.m. daily, to accompany his mother and father to the market.
This child-hawker sells bananas at the Piliyandala market during the school
holidays. Once the vacation is over, he goes back to his "achchi"
in Sooriyawewa to attend the school there. He has not heard of children's
rights or any new laws to strengthen them.
How could Nayana Dharshini have heard of children's rights, when life
itself was a battle for survival. We spoke to her when she was waiting
for a bus on the Piliyandala-Bandaragama Road. She was on her way to her
aunt's place. It was around 12.30 p.m.
"Amma geval wala weda karanawa. Thaththata rakthaya," (Mother
works in houses, father is ill), she explained. She had just one slice
of bread in the morning and nothing else. What about lunch? Twelve-year-old
Dharshini did not answer, but the tears in her eyes spoke volumes.
She had not heard of any rights. They had no TV or radio. They bought
no newspapers. How could they?
In Aluthgama, we met Dhanushka Perera (13) with her mother in their
neatly swept garden by the roadside. Her father was a dealer in textiles.
Dhanushka was a scholarship winner. Yes, she had heard of children's rights
and knew the importance of education.
But many were the problems in that area, because mothers had gone to
the Middle East and left children in the care of fathers. There were many
garment factories in the area, and most girls quit school soon after their
Ordinary Level examination and found work in those.
The men eked out a living by cultivating the small plots of land they
had and tapping rubber milk.
 Fifteen-year-old
Jayalath, looking like a 10-year-old and covered with "majan"
(grease) does not think much about education. He quit school after Year
9, and accompanied Ajith "aiyya" from their village in Embilipitiya
to a small lean-to cycle repair shop on the Piliyandala-Bandaragama Road.
His mother has sought greener pastures in Lebanon, while his father works
in a co-operative back in the village. Does he get a salary? No. Whenever
he goes home, that too not very often, "aiyya" gives him about
Rs. 2,000.
No one has told him about children's rights, he grins.
It's a different story with Janith Madusanka (13). We spotted him attempting
to drag a black calf into a wayside pool of water in Hindalpitiya. The
scene was rustic. So close to bustling Colombo, yet so tranquil.
Yes, he had been told about the proposed laws, that children should
not be exploited, that they should be sent to school, by his elder sisters.
His father was a farmer. During the school holidays, Janith helped a little
while in the fields. He played too.
On our way back we saw the calf, fresh after a bath. There was no sign
of Janith. Most probably he was at home having his lunch.
 Fourteen-year-old
Chathurika Ruchirani would have to wait a long time for her lunch. Though
it was noon, she was just on her way to the boutique in Makandana, with
a mat bag, to buy a little rice and some "wattakka" for her "achchi"
to prepare for lunch. What about breakfast? They never eat breakfast, she
told us in a matter-of-fact manner.
Her father was a watcher. Her mother had deserted the family. "Achchi
apiwa bala ganne." (Grandmother looks after us)
She had heard of children's rights on the radio.
Pretty Thilini Hasanthika and her tiny "malli" were on the
roadside with their grandfather when we spoke to them. Their father is
a carpenter. Maybe at eight, Thilini was too small to have heard of children's
rights.
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