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Political Geography 31 (2012) 368e378

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Political Geography

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Reading ‘stories’ of corruption: Practices and perceptions of everyday corruptionin post-tsunami Sri Lanka

Kamakshi N. Perera-Mubarak*

University of Oxford, School of Geography and the Environment, South Parks Road, Oxford, Oxfordshire, OX1 3QY, United Kingdom

Keywords:CorruptionEthnographyRural livelihoods2004 TsunamiSri Lanka

* Tel.: þ44 (0)1865 285070.E-mail address: kamatoota@gmail.com.

0962-6298/$ e see front matter � 2012 Elsevier Ltd.doi:10.1016/j.polgeo.2012.05.007

a b s t r a c t

This paper examines the practices and perceptions of corruption in two tsunami-affected villages in theHambantota District, South Sri Lanka. Using an ethnographic approach to low level corruption, the paperfocuses on narratives emerging from the study villages. Practices of corruption are associated withdiscretionary powers and the system of political patronage, which place local office holders, local poli-ticians, and wealthy households on the receiving end of corrupt systems. Perceptions of corruptionencompass ideas of morality and stateesociety relations. The manifestation of corruption in post-tsunami Sri Lanka is shown to coincide with a pre-existing unequal and iniquitous development land-scape, which became enmeshed in circumstances characteristic of the post-tsunami environment. Thepaper highlights a theme neglected in the post-tsunami literature on Sri Lanka and contributes to the fewintensive ethnographic accounts of corruption in South Asia. It emphasizes the broader relevance of thestudy for understanding issues of governance and post-conflict development in Sri Lanka.

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Introduction

Nimal grabbed everything. He’s a personwho has grabbedmorethan enough. I did not beat around the bush, I asked himdirectly, ‘what did you dowith the society fee you collected fromus?’. I asked him why our names were not on the list. I wasa member. Tsunami money was given to societies to bedistributed. Everyone else’s names were there, but not mine. Hehad a relative of his in my place (September 2008).

This was an interview with a fisherman who alleged that post-tsunami aid money due to him had been misappropriated by theoffice bearer of the village Fisheries Cooperative Society (FCS).Villagers were not unfamiliar with acts of corruption by localgovernment officials, officials of non-government organizations(NGOs), politicians, and office bearers of community-based orga-nizations (CBOs). It was something they encountered, exploited, orfell victim to in their day-to-day lives. Yet the widespread allega-tions of corruption were an intriguing aspect that surfaced duringpost-tsunami fieldwork in South Sri Lanka.

Corruption is a key indication of the manipulation of power inorder to maintain social position and economic advantage (Rose-Ackerman, 1997). Sri Lankan scholars offer rich evidence of theways in which corruption manifested itself in post-tsunami Sri

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Lanka. Increased political competition and an incursion of aidmoney contextualized post-tsunami recovery (Hasbullah & Korf,2009; Hyndman, 2007), wherein official bribery and politicalpatronage were commonplace (Brun & Lund, 2008; Caron, 2009;Korf, Habullah, Hollenback, & Klem, 2010; Lyons, 2009; Ruwanpura,2008, 2009). The civil war, ethnic cleavages, and uneven develop-ment processes are an important filter for the emergence andexistence of such socio-political dynamics (Goodhand, Hulme, &Lewer, 2000; Hennayake, 1992; Jazeel & Ruwanpura, 2009;McCourt, 2007; Uyangoda, 1997). Contributions of policy-orientedresearch institutes link corrupt practices to the inefficiency ofgovernment agencies and NGOs to install transparent andaccountable recovery programmes (ADB, 2005; TEC, 2006; TISL,2007). Whilst these offer a context from which to draw upon forunderstanding corruption, they do not use corruption as the lens ofanalysis (Gupta, 1995; Jeffrey, 2002; Parry, 2000). They also fail totake into account the role of political intermediaries (Jeffrey, 2000;Simon, 2009), and significant types of moral legitimacy that areoften embedded in acts of low level corruption (Parry, 1989, 2000;de Sardan, 1999).

In order to better explain the manifestation of low levelcorruption in post-tsunami Sri Lanka, this paper explores thepractices and perceptions of corruption in two tsunami-affectedvillages that capture key regional discrepancies of the Hamban-tota District, South Sri Lanka. The paper uses an ethnographicapproach and draws on narratives emerging from these villages. Itis argued that practices of corruption are tied to discretionary

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powers and the system of political patronage, which place localoffice holders, local politicians, and wealthy households on thereceiving end of corrupt systems. Perceptions of corruption areassociated with constructions of morality and stateesociety rela-tions. In a country where ethnic minorities across geographicalspaces are reified through the process of governance (Jazeel &Ruwanpura, 2009), understanding these socio-political dynamicsthat causes some groups to be included and others to be excluded isshown to be of paramount importance.

The paper is structured in four sections. The first sectionconceptualizes corruption by examining the uneven and iniquitousdevelopment landscape in Sri Lanka and socio-political andanthropological accounts of low level corruption. The nextcontextualizes the case of post-tsunami corruption by describingthe study villages and research methods. This provides the basis forinterpreting the ‘stories’ of corruption, grouped into four keycategories, in the subsequent section. The final section concludes bydrawing upon the wider relevance of the research for under-standing the political geography of Sri Lanka.

Conceptualizing corruption

With natural disaster experiences confined to periodic droughts,floods, landslides, and occasional cyclones, the tsunami was thegreatest natural disaster to hit Sri Lanka (Wickramasinghe, 2005).Around 31,000e35,000 people were killed, 21,000 injured, and500,000 displaced (Oxfam International, 2005: 2; RADA, 2005: 2).Death and destruction however has been inherent to a Sri Lankanpolity beset by violence and civil war. The Northern and EasternProvinces1 witnessed a concentrated ethnic conflict between theLiberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and the government of SriLanka since the 1980s, and the Southern Province experiencedviolence during youth and Sinhala-nationalist insurrections of theJanatha Vimukthi Peramuna (People’s Liberation Front) in the1970s. These events typify underlying ethnic differentiation, socialtensions, economic inequities, and weakened state welfareschemes (Dunham & Jayasuriya, 2000; Goodhand et al., 2000;Hennayake, 1992; Jazeel & Ruwanpura, 2009; McCourt, 2007;Uyangoda, 1997). They form the backdrop for understanding themanifestation of corruption in post-tsunami Sri Lanka.

State officials who abuse their office for private accumulationand powerful individuals who forge ahead through corrupt trans-actions have been exposed by various scholars (Amarasinghe, 1989,2006; Bohle & Fünfgeld, 2007; Caron, 2009; Fünfgeld & Korf, 2006;Goodhand et al., 2000; Lyons, 2009). Whilst war and violencegenerally restricted economic opportunities leading to stagnation,economic depression, and precarious livelihoods for the majority ofthe population, war entrepreneurs and conflict profiteers didextremely well through rent-seeking activities at various levels(Bohle & Fünfgeld, 2007; Goodhand et al., 2000). Government-established FCSs, which channel credit/subsidies, maintainsavings accounts, and supply fishing requisites (e.g. fuel and fishinggear) for fishermen, have served as avenues for powerful players ofsociety to access government funds (Amarasinghe, 1989, 2006;Fünfgeld & Korf, 2006). In post-tsunami Sri Lanka, the lack ofaccountability and subjective nature of housing grants programmeshave created opportunities for state officials to exploit their officialpowers (Caron, 2009; Lyons, 2009).

Corruption has been embedded in customary relationships ofmediation and political representation. Studies describing thesocio-political dynamics that transformed Sri Lankan village life inthe 1980s expose politicians who intervened to channel variousresources at the disposal of the state in directions that reward andbuild the support of their followers and benefit their close kin(Alexander, 1973; Brow, 1996; Moore, 1985; Spencer, 1990).

Ministers and Members of Parliament (MPs) have been shown touse ministerial benefits as a useful payback for political loyalty intheir home regions (Hettige & Bigdon, 2003). In essence, commu-nities have linked to the state through intermediary politicians whosupport an agenda of corruption in the form of bribery, nepotism,and opportunism (Jeffrey, 2000, 2002; Simon, 2009).

This system of patronage that distributes welfare and privilegespermeates through other factions of society. According to de Mel(2007), they filter through the militaries of the Sri Lankangovernment and the LTTE, making women in subordinate positionskeen not to alienate them. It is manifest in the symbiotic relation-ship between politicians and criminals (Uyangoda, 1997), wherethe police are often unable to take measures against criminalsprotected by influential politicians (Fernando, 2005). Thedevelopment-oriented projects of NGOs in Sri Lanka have also gotentangled in and constrained by political patroneclient relations(Hettige, 2000; McCourt, 2007; Wickramasinghe, 2001).

The diverging patterns of aid mobilization and utilization in thepost-tsunami context can be explained with reference to thesedynamic patterns of political patrimonialism. The politicized andunevenly distributed quantity and quality of housing reconstruc-tion aid has been associated with pre-existing uneven powerrelations (Brun & Lund, 2008; Ruwanpura, 2009). Tsunami-affectedcommunities that were connected and networked into local polit-ical patronage relationships are shown to have profited from aidflows, generosity, and goodwill (Korf et al., 2010; Ruwanpura,2008).

Practices of corruption aside, the way in which corruption ispopularly perceived is vital in understanding its manifestation.Rural Sri Lankans have used localized meaning to mobilize againstprojects of national development and thereby challenge stateconstructions of ‘the national interest’ (Caron & Da Costa, 2007).Struggles to speak and to be heard in a polity littered with unevensocial processes thus reveal people’s constructions of legitimatestateesociety relations. There is also a need for greater cross-fertilization between corruption and morality. South Asianperspectives find that corruption is complicated by a distinctionbetween ‘gift’ and ‘bribe’ and the varying degree of moral censureattached to such payments (Parry, 1989, 2000; de Sardan, 1999).

Informed by these discussions, this paper expands on ethno-graphic explorations into low level corruption (Gupta, 1995; Jeffrey,2002; Parry, 2000). It illuminates the mundane and subtle practicesof office holders, politicians, and households in the study villagesregarding the allocation of resources, and ideas of morality and thestate that permit a justification of corruption by those who practiceit. There are politics to ‘doing’ research that energize as well asconstrain the researcher’s ability to implement practices of dataconstruction and interpretation. Third World and post-disastercontexts in particular involve highly uneven power relations andpoliticized environments. Critical consideration of the researchprocess is hence vital. What follows is a reflexive and theoreticallyinformed description of the empirical casedstudy area, researchmethods, and positionality.

Fisher villages in the Hambantota District

Study area

Given time and budget constraints the focus of research wasrestricted to a specific livelihood. In comparison with commercialfishing, small-scale fishing uses less capital and energy, smallerfishing vessels, shorter trips close to the shore, targets a widerrange of fish species, and uses multiple fishing gear and strategiesto suit the seasonality of fish stocks (FAO, 2004). It was selected dueto its extensive importance to livelihood in Sri Lanka in terms of

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employment, food security, and foreign exchange earnings (DFAR,2005), and the severe impact it experienced in the tsunami(RADA, 2005). Although the Northern and Eastern Provinces werethe worst affected by the tsunami, the prevailing security situationprecluded fieldwork in these areas. Hambantota District, a 151-kmbelt of land depicted in Fig. 1, recorded the second highest numberof deaths in the Southern Province. Considering its relatively highpoverty indexd65% of households receive Samurdhi or nationalpoverty alleviation scheme benefits (DCS, 2001)dthe impact onlivelihoods was particularly severe.

Harbour villages were ideal as study sites since fishing is themain livelihood in such communities. Two of the threemain fishingharbours in Hambantota are in Kudawella West and Kirinda,villages located approximately 190 km and 270 km, respectively,from the commercial capital of Sri Lanka, Colombo (Fig. 1). The factthat they represented villages that were severely affected in thetsunami proved instructive for this study. Kudawella West andKirinda recorded the highest destruction to harbour infrastructureand housing compared to other villages around the District’s threemain harbours (DCS, 2005: 4, 7; DFAR, 2005: 7), and a significantnumber of deaths and destruction to fisheries equipment (Table 1).

Compared to Kirinda, Kudawella West is more urbanized anddensely populated with somewhat higher poverty levels. Kuda-wella West is home to a majority Sinhala-Buddhist population andKirinda amixed Sinhala-Buddhist and Sri LankanMalay population,thus representing two predominant ethno-religious groups in theHambantota District. Kudawella West belongs to the TangalleDivisional Secretariat, the very residence of the incumbent Presi-dent of Sri Lanka, and has benefited from both large-scale (harbour)and small-scale (rural roads) infrastructural investments. Tangalleis also the political base of a nationalist political party, JanathaVimukthi Peramuna, and renowned as a highly contested DivisionalSecretariat. The Tissamaharama Divisional Secretariat, to whichKirinda belongs, is considered marginal in comparison. Theselocational and ethnic factors capture significant discrepancies inthe Hambantota District.

In the aftermath of the tsunami, most NGOs signed an agree-ment with the government and provided aid for the construction ofpermanent houses through ‘owner-driven’ and ‘donor-driven’

Fig. 1. Post-Tsunami study area

models (RADA, 2005). Under the owner-driven model NGOsfunnelled aid through direct funding to the government, whichprovided cash grants to beneficiaries outside the ‘no build’ bufferzone2 to rebuild their houses in-situ. Under the donor-drivenmodel NGOs built standardized houses through constructors inrelocation sites for beneficiaries living inside the buffer zone, withlabour input from beneficiaries in some cases. Thus, some house-holds from Kudawella West and Kirinda lived in their pre-tsunamihouses whilst the rest were scattered in relocated housing acrossthe Hambantota District. Those relocated from Kudawella Westresided in housing schemes in the villages of Mahawela, Seeni-modara East/West, Pahajjawa, Nakulugamuwa South, and Nida-hasgama East, whilst those relocated from Kirinda lived in fourhousing schemes in Kirinda itself and one housing scheme in thevillage of Andaragasyaya (Fig. 1).

Ethnographic and narrative techniques

The paper heeds the insistence that ethnographic methodsshould inform analyses of ordinary people’s experiencesdthecomplex connections that people establish with one another andwith the places they inhabit (Crang & Cook, 2007; Tedlock, 2000).Narratives were central to this study, since narrative techniques,according to Miles and Crush (1993), have considerable potentialfor recovering hidden stories, contesting academic androcentrismand eurocentrism, and reinstating the marginalized as makers oftheir own past (i.e. giving them a voice to be heard). Directlyprobing aspects viewed as ‘immoral’ or ‘illegal’ in a highly chargedand politicized environment of post-tsunami recovery was deemedcounterproductive since it threatened betrayal of trust or confi-dence of the informants with whom I had developed a strongrapport. The strategywas therefore to listen to people’s ‘stories’ andpreserve the complexity of narratives.

Focussing on narratives was also crucial to explore the widerange of meanings attributed to the term ‘corruption’ in the contextof fieldwork (Gupta, 1995; Parry, 2000). Corruption was a realpathology that provoked a sense of outrage for most villagers. Thewide range of meanings attributed to the term personifies theselocal perceptions. The Sinhala term dushanaya covers roughly the

in the Hambantota District.

Table 1Kudawella West and Kirinda villages: pre- and post-tsunami background.

Period Category Number Kudawella West Kirinda

Pre-tsunami Populationa Persons 1260 2805Households 272 646Samurdhi recipient householdsd 103 303

Fisheriesb Multiday boats 156 23Day boats 28 1Outboard fibre reinforced plastic boats 48 183Outboard engine motorized boats 101 4Non-motorized boats 99 50Beach seine boats 1 12

Ethnicityc Sinhalese 1260 1918Malay 0 1756Tamil 0 15Muslim (Non-Malay) 0 12

Post-tsunami Populationa Deaths 88 36Housing Fully damaged 78 92

Partly damaged 124 46Fisheriesb Multiday boats 17 7

Day boats 9 12Outboard fibre reinforced plastic boats 24 68Outboard engine motorized boats 55 25Non-motorized boats 77 20Beach seine boats 2 3

Sources: aDCS 2001, 2005; bHambantota District Fisheries Office, Tangalle, 2009; cGrama Niladhari Offices, Kudawella West and Kirinda, 2009.Note: dMonthly income less than 1500 rupees. In 2009, the approximate currency conversion for 100 rupees was 1 United States dollar.

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same semantic field as corruption. It refers to activities that may beillegal, violate societal norms, or meet with moral disapproval. Inother words, actions can be ‘corrupt’ because they fail to meet oneormore standards of legal, social, or moral purity. Similarly, kappamor pagava, naraka charitha, and vanka, occupying much the sameground as ‘bribe’, ‘immoral behaviour’, and ‘dishonest’, respectively,were used to signify corruption. The ability to slip between thesedifferent connotations gave corruption the kind of currency it hasattained in public discourse in Kudawella West and Kirinda.

Data were collected as part of a larger research project(Mubarak, 2011). Two main visits were conducted in May2008eJanuary 2009 and JuneeSeptember 2009, followed by a finalvisit in December 2009 mainly to collect secondary data and localliterature. Familiarization of the study area was acquired througha previous study (Mubarak, 2007) and intermittent work experi-ences in the area in 2007e2008. Continuous residence insideKudawella West and Kirinda was up to two weeks in each village.Participant observation during the remainder of fieldwork wasconducted through daily visits from the outskirts of villages.Although this does not relate to the long term immersion ethnog-raphy practised by anthropologists, it certainly allowed both selfand other to merge within a single narrative that carries a range ofdialoguing voices (Tedlock, 2000: 471).

Being the primary functional unit of society, households3 wereused as the unit of analysis. The sample comprised 80householdsd48 from Kudawella West and 32 fromKirindadwhose primary source of income was fishing or fishing-related activities. It also represented variations in ethno-religiousbackgrounds, post-tsunami housing location, and secondary live-lihoods (e.g. maldive/dried fish-making, local shops, and coir-making). Household responses were examined alongside views of17 government officials, 12 NGO officials, 13 CBO office bearers, 7politicians, 4 village leaders, 19 key informants, and one CBO focusgroup.

Households were often interviewed in their homes, whilst someofficial interviews occurred in respective offices. Interviews lastedapproximately 1e2 h and were conducted mostly in the locallanguage, Sinhala. The researcher’s fluency in Sinhala madeparticipants feel at ease and facilitated effective communicationand richer interpretation of responses. Although the language of

Malays is Bahasa Melayu, most are proficient in Sinhala. In rareinstances where respondents communicated in Bahasa Melayu,a local translator aided discussion. Translation is not a mere tech-nical endeavour and involves reading nuances of respondents,circumstances, and communicative relations. The losses in trans-lating between languages are hence inevitable.

Methodology for showing appreciation to research participantswas developed during fieldwork so that it did not set dangerousprecedents or divide participating communities. Gift-giving can bepolitically difficult where those who participated in the researchbenefit over non-participants in the same community. Thus, effortswere made to interact socially with participants in betweeninterviewsdhaving meals with them, chatting, and spending theevenings together so that they would feel valued and friendshipscould be cemented. To protect the anonymity of respondents allnames used are pseudonyms.

Reading ‘stories’ of corruption

Local office holders: power corrupts

Post-tsunami saw a broad-based mobilization of aid asgovernment agencies and local government bodies, local NGOs,international NGOs (INGOs), and CBOs contributed in terms of reliefitems, aid money, temporary and permanent houses, and livelihoodequipment, amongst others. At the local level of government,Assistant Government Agents (AGAs), who head Divisional Secre-tariats, played a key coordinating role. They were the mostimportant operational point of contact. On the one hand, theyprovided information on government regulations and require-ments to NGOs and, on the other, introduced them to relevantgovernment officials. AGAs also maintained beneficiary lists, iden-tified village needs, assisted in selecting locations for housingschemes, approved building plans, issued various permits, andauthorized aid. Grama Niladharis (GNs), or village officers, con-ducted assessments on housing and livelihood needs in theirvillages and compiled beneficiary lists, which were provided to theAGA. Ground level progress was monitored by AGAs mainlythrough GNs. To be selected as a beneficiary or granted specificcompensation for housing or livelihood, households depended on

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certification by these officials. A system of compensation, regis-tration of fishing vessels and equipment, and entitlement certifi-cates showcased a face of accountability in all this. In reality,however, there existed a back room organization of the systemwherein local officials were able to influence the course of events.

In the Fisheries Sector, Fisheries Inspectors (FIs) head FI Divi-sions, the smallest fisheries administrative unit.4 They are respon-sible for ensuring that fishing activities at sites under their purviewcomply with the various ordinances and acts governing suchactivity. Amongst others, they register fishing boats and gear, renewthese registrations, and issue fishing licences. After the tsunami, theloss or destruction of fishing boats and gear had to be substantiatedby an Entitlement Certificate, detailing the type and amount oflossda methodology introduced by the Ministry of Fisheries andAquatic Resources to help government and non-government aidactors indentify genuine beneficiaries. FIs issued EntitlementCertificates based on pre-tsunami information on registered boatsand gear, collated against post-tsunami losses reported by fish-ermen. For unregistered boats, such as non-motorized or beachseine boats used by casual fishermen, issue of Entitlement Certifi-cates was dependant on the FI’s knowledge that a given boatexisted pre-tsunami. As Piyasiri, a former FI in Kirinda, explains:

I had authority to distribute Entitlement Certificates inwhateverway I thought fit. Certainly, higher authorities have to counter-sign the certificate. But, if 200 certificates went from each FI,about 2000e3000 certificates would have ended up on theirdesks during this period. They had no way of verifying theaccuracy of what was written in all these. So, I could write outcertificates onwhatever I want, towhomever I want (September2009).

Entitlement Certificates had to be countersigned by both theAssistant Director of the District Fisheries Office (DFO) and the AGA,but this was a mere formality. Fishermen seeking redress lodgedcomplaints with the FI, or the local police and the GN, which werealso referred to the FI.

AGAs, GNs, and FIs enjoyed considerable discretionary power inlegitimizing a loss for the purpose of compensation. It was an ‘opensecret’ that a 10,000e50,000-rupee kappam to the AGA or GNwould secure a place on a housing beneficiary list and a 5000-rupeekappam to the FI would guarantee an Entitlement Certificate.Indeed, the recovery effort produced particular opportunities forlocal government officials in exercising power and profit-making(Caron, 2009; Lyons, 2009).

Post-tsunami aid disbursement foresaw the potential for lowlevel corruption as it depended on unrestricted powers of somelocal NGO officials.5 In distributing aid in the villages, many INGOsdeployed local individuals, often from Colombo or Hambantota.Shafeek, an office bearer of the Kirinda (Muslim) FCS, relays hisexperience with a reputed INGO:

The suddha [white man] came here, stood under this very tree,and asked me ‘Did you get these things? Were these thingsdone? Is it being done?’ I can’t explain to the suddha, I don’tknow enough English, so I have to tell the local officials whocame with him. The suddha left satisfied. But, a few days later,those local officials came here and got household lists from me.They askedme, ‘Who is this person?Who is that person? How isit for that person?’ They got the complete rundown from me.Then, they formed a society out of households who could offerkappam. It was just a front. They gave things to those householdsand struck others off the list. [...] At the end of the day, aid hadnot gone to the person who should have got it! They [localofficials] made money. There was nobody whom we couldreport to. The suddhas came, but because we can’t speak English

we explain to the local gentlemenwho comewith him. I tell himone thing and he tells the suddha another (October 2008).

Shafeek’s response underscores the lack of a systematic andparticipatory approach to beneficiary selection, the absence ofa mechanism for accountability and redress, and complete disre-gard of the implications of the language barrier. This enabled localofficials of the INGO to perpetrate corrupt acts with little punitiverisks.

CBO office bearers were accused of similar malpractices. Nimal,a senior office bearer of the Kudawella West FCS, concurrently helda position in the Hambantota District FCS Association, the umbrellaorganization which amalgamates village-level FCSs across theDistrict. Using an INGO donation, acquired via the District FCSAssociation, Nimal launched a credit programme offering interest-free loans to households whose members had died in the tsunami.The general perception was that Nimal manipulated his position ofauthority to secure funds for his personal benefit and for his rela-tives and close associates. The commentary referred to in theintroduction of this paper typified household reactions.

Monthly General Meetings of FCSs are usually attended bya government representative from the DFO who monitors decisionmaking and management in the society. When queried on thisfunction of the Kudawella West FCS, Nimal’s aggressive rejoinderwas:

I have studied up to the Advance Level Examination and held thepost of President in societies since 1993. I have participated inmany workshops and have extensive knowledge of the FisheriesSector. I have held several posts in organizations related to thisfield.With that experience and knowledge I don’t need an officerto sit in on meetings. Besides, it is because of people like us thatthe cooperative movement developed. [.] I know the coopera-tive lawdI knowwhat ismeant by ‘cooperativefisheries’ and therights of the members of a FCS. How a democratic fisheriescooperative should function, the responsibilities of the officers,the rights of the membersdall that I know. Not all, but I knowenough to make decisions. Whatever problem that arises ataGeneralMeeting, I have the capacity to resolve it. I don’t needanofficer. There are no problems that arise which can’t be resolvedby me. If I think it necessary, I will invite them (October 2008).

The statement clearly portrays the authority Nimal wields.Moreover, it reflects substantial discretionary powers that FCSoffice bearers had acquired since before the tsunami (Amarasinghe,1989, 2006), which enabled them to capitalize on institutionalchannels for private accumulation (Fünfgeld & Korf, 2006).

Similar incidents of nepotism were evident in CBOs establishedpost-tsunami. These were set up with little consultation and littleor no verification of the credibility of the people chosen to leadthem (ADB, 2005; TEC, 2006; TISL, 2007). Typically, INGOsapproached a villager, ‘a catcher’ who was influential in the area orknown to them, who in turn gathered a small group of potentialbeneficiaries into a CBO. As Sunil, a fisherman in Kudawella West,explains:

Say I’m the CBO President. I have my son. I don’t give the loan tothe eligible persondI will give it to my son. One of my ownpeople will propose it and another will second it. The eligibleperson has no say! (August 2008).

Catchers became self appointed CBO Presidents. They gainedunrestricted powers in founding committees of their own relativesand close associates, who thereby benefited from the inflow of aid.

Discretionary powers over the allocation of aid are necessary forcorruption to take place. Such powers have been exercised by keylocal government officials, local NGO officials, and CBO office

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bearers. Their strategies involve bribery and nepotism. They drawsimilarities to powerful actors in the war zone who benefit fromcorrupt practices (Bohle & Fünfgeld, 2007; Goodhand et al., 2000),but differ from them in that these office holders were unarmed andacted within a general state of law. In addition, the tsunami creatednovel incentive structures, which enabled or encouraged thesepractices of corruption. The sheer magnitude of aid money(Hasbullah & Korf, 2009) and absence of an accountablemechanismfor distributing, managing, and monitoring this resource (ADB,2005; TEC, 2006; TISL, 2007), allowed local office holders tocreate situations where they could take advantage of households. Insum, local office holders have been on the receiving end in corruptsystems.

Local politicians: agents of corruption

Traditionally, political institutions in Sri Lanka have a limited roleand few resources. Sub-national level political institutions playedaminor role in the tsunami rebuildingprocess in Sri Lanka.However,individual politicians became significant as an informal means ofaccessing aid. The government’s centralized framework in imple-menting post-tsunami recovery meant that the administrativemachinery was virtually inaccessible to the ordinary villager. Thepolitician, with his contacts to all departments, became the idealconduit. Mirroring the flourishing tradition of political patronage inSri Lanka (Alexander,1973; Brow,1996;Moore,1985; Spencer,1990),politicians became instrumental in creating and limiting variouspost-tsunami opportunities for the clients of the state (Brun & Lund,2008; Korf et al., 2010; Ruwanpura, 2008, 2009).

In the allocation of housing, the government stipulated that eachfamily unit in an affected household be given separate housing.Some households secured housing aid for their relatives by claimingthat theywere residing in theonehouse before the tsunami. On suchoccasions, households sought to legitimize their claim by seekingthe intervention of politicians. The fact that the given claim had nogrounds for justification was known not only to the politician, butalso to the local government officials concerned. However, thepower politicians could wield in appointments, transfers, andpromotions of public servants is such that officers generallycomplied with the politician’s orders (Fernando, 2005). Thesubjective nature and personal negotiation involved in securinghousing aid from local government officials also created opportu-nities for local politicians to exploit their powers (Caron, 2009).

Corrupt activities embedded in political patronage were foundin the functioning of FCSs. The Kirinda (Muslim) FCS is a case inpoint. Rumy, an office bearer, reports:

In 2002, our FCS got 2 lakhs6 with instructions from the Fish-eries Minister that it be distributed to people in his politicalparty. We have records. In 2005, 1 lakh came from anotherMinister with similar instructions. In 2008, political interven-tion came in the form of a tsunami loan programme from yetanother Minister. Instructions were, ‘20,000 rupees each to thefollowing, 5000 rupees each to the following, and so on’. Therepayment installment and interest were also specified. Theyare now paying back and we send monthly reports to theMinistry (October 2008).

Rumy’s statement relates to findings on Ministers in Sri Lankawho control development budgets within their respective minis-tries and utilize them to secure local support (Hettige & Bigdon,2003). Control over state machinery and proximity to centralstate authority are certainly powerful entitlements in Sri Lanka(Frerks & Klem, 2005). Since FCSs are run with governmentpatronage they can be manipulated by politicians in the govern-ment to channel state resources to their political supporters.

Political patronage interweaved with NGO interventions at theground level. The general practice amongst NGOs was to selectbeneficiaries based on lists fromAGAs thatwere cross-checkedwithlists prepared by NGOs’ own surveys of household needs. NGOs thatworked through the government bureaucracy to obtain beneficiarylists incessantly complained of slow government systems that weresubject to much red tape. Verification of beneficiary lists was alsotime-consuming, with technical officers having to revisit claimants.Some NGOs, particularly large INGOs, were keen to complete therebuilding process swiftly as they had defined budgets, strict time-lines, and wanted to report progress to their donors (Frerks & Klem,2005). These NGOs often turned to the informal help of politicianswhowere considered tobeknowledgeable about their local area andtherefore able to list tsunami beneficiaries. As Sri Lankan scholarsargue, NGOs will not always have a democratic content, aspire tobeing vehicles of social change, or even gain legitimacy in localcontexts (McCourt, 2007; Wickramasinghe, 2001).

Politicians in turn capitalized on the opportunity to selectbeneficiaries. As Mahinda, who was the former Chairman oftsunami recovery operations of an INGO in Hambantota andsubsequently became involved in politics, discloses:

The INGO tells the politician, ‘We came to build 25 houses canyou help us?’. The politician will give them a list of 25 house-holds and theywill build the 25 houses and leave. Another INGOwill come and make a similar request. They say, ‘We are going tobuild 50 houses’. The politician gives them the names of 50householdsdthosewho already have houses will also come intothe list! (September 2009).

Politicians directed aid to households that would benefit theirown political agendadsupporters from the electorate that hadmade specific requests for assistance or those households whosevote could be ‘bought over’. As Mahinda continues:

TheMPs andMinisters like to say, ‘It was I who sent the NGOs tothe village’ and get credit for themselves.

This is clearly a reflection of the importance that politiciansattach to being recognized through spatial markers, such ashousing. This is more so because of the significance attached toowning a house in Sri Lanka due to its articulation of identity,protection, and rights (Brun & Lund, 2008: 278). Assisting signifi-cant proportions of the community as opposed to a few isolatedhouseholds enabled politicians to project their own image in thearea (Brun & Lund, 2008; Ruwanpura, 2009), reiterating pre-tsunami state-sponsored housing programmes such as GamUdawa (Village Awakening) (Brow, 1996). Local politicians re-appropriated the foreign (humanitarian) gift, making it theirpatrimonial gift to be given to their clients (Korf et al., 2010: S72).

NGOs that carried out meticulous beneficiary selection werealso not free from political mediation. Narada was the formerProject Coordinator of a regional NGO based in Tangalle. In selectingbeneficiaries for their housing aid project, which mostly housedtsunami-affected households from Kudawella West, the NGOverified official lists against records prepared through their ownassessments. As Narada confesses:

Although we adhered to the stipulated government policy andselected only households within the 100 m zone when choosingbeneficiaries, an MP interfered and requested that houses begiven to particular households who were not even within the100 m zone! Madam [NGO Chairperson] has acceded to suchrequests (September 2009).

There are politicians who approached NGOs and prevailed uponthem to accept requests from ‘their people’. According to Narada,the MP was a friend of the NGO Chairperson. Whilst local NGOs,

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such as the above, were subject to influence from politicians due tofamilial bonds, others succumbed merely because of the authoritywielded by the politicians (Fernando, 2005; Uyangoda, 1997). Sincepoliticians had the capability, through their formal position, ofblocking the implementation of certain development projects,some local NGOs preferred to tread a path of least resistance in theinterest of their projects.

In diverting aid resources to undeserving households, localpoliticians drew similarities with political intermediaries in ruralIndia who are complicit in acts of corruption (Jeffrey, 2000; Simon,2009).7 They differ from such brokers in that they facilitated acts ofcorruption, but did not engage in it as means of private accumu-lation. Such practices are not new to the Sri Lankan context. Yet,they have been aggravated under conditions of a post-tsunamienvironmentdan influx of aid (Hasbullah & Korf, 2009),competing political patrons (Hyndman, 2007), and mounting localdemands (Korf et al., 2010). The disparity between politicalpatronage in a violent and non-violent setting is also evident here.The patroneclient relationships and inherent corrupt activities inthese villages were not life-threatening as opposed to contexts ofmilitarization and gangsterism (de Mel, 2007; Uyangoda, 1997). Allin all, local politicians as political intermediaries have profited incorrupt systems.

Rich households: powerful ‘victims’

The system of political patronage in rural Sri Lanka that gavepoliticians access to, and control over, government welfareresources, offered villagers themselves a certain bargaining power.As Moore (1985: 5) writes, the population would ‘use politics toreceive favourable public allocations of resources’. These existingtrends became even more prominent after the tsunami as house-holds, experiencing devastation to their livelihoods, were desperateto obtain aid for housing, fisheries, and other livelihood-relatedneeds. Akin to political processes that are manifest in similarways over time (Brow, 1996), political patroneclient relations wereessentially reproduced post-tsunami, albeit in a modified form.Politicians rendered support to households either in return forelectoral votes and/or political support (e.g. helping in electioncampaigns) extended at previous elections or with the expectationof securing and maintaining votes and support at a future election.Households were very much aware of such political intents andsometimes manipulated them to their own advantage.

Where ties of kinship overlapped with ties of politicalpatroneclient relations, households were in an even strongerposition to demand the support of their politicians. Thilaka, fromNavadivi Purawara (Pahajjawa), is a widowed mother. Her son,a mudalali engaged in the prawn business in Kudawella West, lostthree boats and fishing nets in the tsunami; he received replace-ments for only one boat and the nets. As Thilaka remarks:

He has lodged an appeal with the FI to include the other twoboats on his Entitlement Certificate. If he doesn’t get it, I will tellthe Deputy Minister [Ministry of Fisheries and AquaticResources] and he will speak to the AGA Madam. He’s a relativeof ours. After all, we’re genuine victims! And relatives have tohelp isn’t it? (September 2008).

Kin-based relationships in Sri Lankan society are establishedthrough reciprocal obligations and constitute a significant source ofsupport in an emergency (Gamburd, 2000; Yalman, 1967). Akin topolitical intermediaries in rural India (Jeffrey, 2002; Simon, 2009),local politicians tend to assist relatives in negotiations with ‘higherups’. The Deputy Minister was a cousin thrice removed and that inThilaka’s opinionmade it mandatory for him to help out in her son’ssituation.

Politicians knew that disregarding the request of a supporterhad its consequences. Dakshita, a fishermanwho catches prawns ina non-motorized boat in Kudawella West, lost his boat and prawnnets in the tsunami. The FI had rejected Dakshita’s request for anEntitlement Certificate on the grounds that he had not registeredhis equipment prior to the tsunami. Dakshita appealed to an MP hehad supported in the run up to the last election to help resolve hisproblem, by accompanying Dakshita to the FI’s office andmediatingthe ensuing negotiations. His appeal fell on deaf ears. Dakshitaretorts:

He won’t get our votes. We should put up a notice saying ‘thereare no votes here’. Our household has eight votes. Not a singleone of those will be given to him. Yes. There’s no point is there?He didn’t come to see what was happening to us or even give usa meal (September 2008).

The MP’s inability to support Dakshita’s household meant hewill lose out on their votes at the next election. Dakshita judged theMP in terms of his ability to ‘deliver’ post-tsunami aid. It is throughsuch judgments that those able to deliver rise to positions of poweras politicians and continue to remain thus.

Households also expected the intervention of politicians insecuring NGO aid. Colliers Housing (Kirinda) was funded by anINGO, Colliers International, designed by a renowned Japanesearchitect, and managed by a local project team from Colombo. Theproject had the patronage of the government. As Fawzi, a one dayboatman8 and resident in Colliers Housing, comments:

Look at the lavatorydwhen you go in you can heardas a fatherof three girls I find it hard to bear up. I feel embarrassed. I feelmore ashamed than the children. As parents we must bring upour children in a nice way isn’t it? So, I tell them to go to mysister’s house. But you shouldn’t have to use the toilet in anotherhouse when you have your own isn’t it? We told them [theINGO] to make the toilets outsidedthey did not. We told themto construct the kitchen with a chimneydthey did not. Thehouse gets wet. The doors don’t close. The INGO said they willlook after the houses for five years, but they never came. Theshortcomings are endless. Now look, did a single MP come thisway? A single politician? This is their electorate. They come hereand open this and that and place foundation stones here andthere and go. None of them ever visited this scheme to check outwhat the INGO built. We are not moneyed people. We boughtthe stuff for this house from what we earned. We are livingtoday because of our own efforts. You can be sure none of thesehouseholds here will be voting for these politicians come elec-tions (October 2008).

Several structural and cultural design flaws have contributed todiscontent and resentment amongst the residents. They weredisappointed to be given an unfinished home. Their distress wasaggravated by the fact that the politicians who gave their blessingsto this project never intervened to rectify the shortcomings. Theproject was hailed as a groundbreaking construction and a bench-mark for post-tsunami housing constructions (Daily News, 2007),which further infuriated residents like Fawzi who claimed thatpoliticians were quite ignorant of the ground situation and insen-sitive to their needs (Brun & Lund, 2008; Frerks & Klem, 2005;Ruwanpura, 2009). The advent of NGOs has clearly reinforced deep-rooted expectations amongst ordinary people as receivers of whattheir political patrons deliver (Hettige, 2000: 10f).

The bargaining power of households in relationships of politicalpatronage must not be underestimated. Before the tsunami beingmarginalized as ‘villager’ and ‘voter’ enabled households to pres-surize their political patrons to access ‘illegal’ resources. Throughan added marginality as ‘victims’ in the aftermath of the tsunami,

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households have gained an increased authority to demand aid andthereby engage in corruption transactions. Sri Lankan scholars havereached conclusions on the role of voter clients on the basis ofanalyses of Sinhalese communities (Alexander, 1973; Brow, 1996;Moore, 1985; Spencer, 1990). Yet, the findings of this studydemonstrate that notwithstanding ethno-religious discrepancies,households across both Sinhalese and Malay communities haveengaged in these practices. Wealthy householdsdthose whopossess the finances to pay bribes and/or the ‘right’ familial ties tolocal patronsdhave been at the receiving end of corrupt systems.

Symbolic corruption: questioning morality, challenging the state

As well as being a channel for resources, corruption is a contextin which people articulate their visions of society (Gupta, 1995). Ina post-tsunami context, where discourses on access to resourcesare far more prevalent than in everyday lives of people, exploringpeople’s perceptions of corruption is critical in understanding itsmanifestation. Some households felt ethically uncomfortable withcorrupt transactions. Radika is the widow of a fisheries clerk inKudawella West. Their house was partly damaged in the tsunamiand outside the buffer zone. They were eligible for the relevantgovernment cash grant (100,000 rupees), but as she remarks:

The GN said he would give us an additional 1½ lakhs if we gavehim 10,000 rupees. My [late] husband didn’t like that sort ofthing. I told the GN to give us only what we were entitled to(September 2008).

Radika’s household considered it immoral to bend the rules ofbureaucracy for personal advantage. Sanjana is thewife andmotherof two fishermen who work in multiday boats9 in Kudawella West.Their house was partly destroyed in the tsunami, but they did notqualify for relocated housing as it was located outside the bufferzone. She was advised by her neighbour to pay kappam to the AGAin order to get on the beneficiary list for relocated housing. Shecomments:

My husband would not hear of it. He reprimanded me, ‘Youdon’t need to get involved in that kind of thing! You don’t needto go there!’. He insisted that I should not go paying homage tothe AGA (September 2008).

Sanjana’s household considered it below their dignity to submitto patronizing relations with local government officials. Evident inthe statements of Radika and Sanjana is a conflict between a cultureof corruption and a deeply ingrained sense of what is ‘right’ and‘wrong’. The fact that these households resisted being drawn intoa surrounding culture of corruption, in the face of ethical impera-tives, shows that post-tsunami corruption relates to a socialconception of morality (Parry, 1989).

At the wider village-level, there was consensus amongst inter-viewees that the aftermath of the tsunami had witnessed a declinein fundamental moral values. Azeez, a senior resident in Kirindaand member of the Mosque Society, laments:

After the tsunami people changeddthey became selfish andgreedy. People’s naraka charitha surfaced. ‘I will do whatever ittakes to get what I need’ was the general thinking. Before thetsunami, they were a cooperative lot, but no more (October2008).

Households were seen as being ‘out to grab’ as much as theycould after the tsunami. The set of moral values they werecommitted to before the tsunamidtrust, cooperation, self-control,and integritydhad been subjugated by self-seeking attitudes andbehaviour. The prevailing sense of corruption existed partlybecause corruption had subverted these values. Such ethical

concerns shed further light on how people construe themselves ascitizens of the state. Those who work hard to earn a living are alsothose who are honest, and those who expect others to work forthem are corrupt (Caron & Da Costa, 2007: 433).

Implicit in practices of corruption is the notion of gift-giving.This is a form of patronage practised equally in the direction ofsuperiors, equals, and inferiors. A member of kith or kin whoaccedes to a post of responsibility, such as GN or CBO office bearer,has an obligation to those who befriended him in the past, when hewas unimportant, weak, and in need. As Mohan, a fisherman whoobtained a bicycle he was not entitled to, remarks:

The GN gave it at the village temple. It was from some organi-zation. We knew the GNdhe was related to us. Otherwise, wewouldn’t have got it (September 2008).

The GN was a cousin twice removed and that, for Mohan, wasa qualifier to receiving aid. It is likely that the GN was reciprocatinga past favour and that Mohan will also reciprocate in the future.These are forms of exchange that signify social pressure in thedirection of the accumulation of wealth in view ofredistributiond‘the logics of redistributive accumulation’ (deSardan, 1999: 43).

Similar notions of gift-giving were embedded in politicalpatronage. Piyatissa was a crew member of a multiday boat inKudawella West who also helped his wife with their supplemen-tary business of coir-making. He lost both fishing gear and coirmachines in the tsunami, but was not compensated for his losses.He explains his experience of seeking redress from the formerDeputy Minister of Fisheries:

The Minister is like a brother to me. I was in that party thosedays. [.] I sat with him. In the midst of his bodyguards Ireminded him of how I helped him get to the position he enjoystoday. But, he got angry. He is all right with me now, but wedidn’t get any help from him. I was only asking him for what Ilost (September 2008).

Piyatissa felt that it was obligatory for the Minister to expresswhat he considered fundamental virtues; to repay his support ofhim in the run up to the position he now enjoyed. To refrain fromgiving the ‘gift’when deserved is considered a sign of bad manners.

There is a complex, variable, and indistinct relationship betweensincerity and cheating. Priyan, a former FI in Kudawella West, wasaccused by many other respondents in Kudawella West of issuingfraudulent Entitlement Certificates for kappam. Although Priyandenied irregularities under his authority, his statement drawsattention to his perception of bribe-taking as something that can beinherently human:

If we say there was no bribery at all, these things in the news-papers would have to be lies, wouldn’t it? People are human andofficials are human so there can be situations where they maytry to help in various ways (September 2009).

The role of ‘gifts’ in establishing links and alliances and inbuilding morally binding relationships cannot be overemphasized.As Parry (2000) notes, the distinction between ‘gift’ and ‘bribe’ isa very fine call. Many practices of petty corruption, such as thosereferred to by Mohan, Piyatissa, and Priyan, can enter into thisformer category.

The narrow scope and coverage of aid interventions in thevillages meant there was an inequitable distribution of goods andsubstantial variations in what people received. For households,this was a sign of corruption. As revealed in a discussion with theVice President (Leela) and Secretary (Radika) of a rural women’sCBO, the working unit of a District-wide NGO established in the1980s:

K.N. Perera-Mubarak / Political Geography 31 (2012) 368e378376

[Leela] Aid isn’t given in just one round is it? So, in the nextround of aid distribution, we included those who hadn’t beenin the first. Households were informed of the fact. [Radika] But,we were accused of dushanaya! [Leela] It was a battleground![Radika] They literally came to blows! It’s like this. Everyonewants everything at the same time. But, the practical situationis, we are asked to distribute amongst 300 people aid enoughfor 75! The other problem is we can’t use our own judgment;we have to do as the Sirs [NGO officials] tell. [Leela] ‘So much’to those in the maldive fish business, ‘so much’ to those in thefish business, and so on. That’s how they send aid (September2008).

The lack of a mechanism for coordinating aid amongst the manyproviders is a liable factor in all this (ADB, 2005; TEC, 2006; TISL,2007). Nevertheless, the fact that ‘inequity’ in aid distribution hasbeen identified with corruption reveals the moral connotationsattached to the phenomenon.

People’s complaints of corruption are another interesting anduseful lens through which to probe the meaning of corruption.Households complained of corruption out of displeasure at nothaving received something, as revenge in wanting to degrade anindividual or entity, or in the hope of obtaining aid. Overall, thesecomplaints imply how the fishing community interpreted theirrelationship with the state. Since the country’s independence in1948, the government has expended considerable public resourcesin developing the small-scale Fisheries Sector and the fishingcommunity has become increasingly dependent on governmentsupport (Alexander, 1973; Amarasinghe, 2006). Against this back-drop, households placed tremendous faith and expectation ingovernment aid for post-tsunami recovery. Complaints of corrup-tion during this period can be seen as a way in which theyexpressed their collective identity as citizens betrayed by thesystem. More than the reality of its existence, the portrayal of itswide existence means that complaints of corruption wereintentionaldit was a means by which people made the govern-ment more responsive to their needs. Such attempts to transformeveryday meaning into legitimate meaning are at the heart of theprocess of making of stateesociety relations (Caron & Da Costa,2007).

Reinforcing the literature on everyday constructions of the stateandmorality (Caron & Da Costa, 2007; Parry,1989, 2000; de Sardan,1999), the findings presented here identify with four distinctrepresentations of corruption. Some dealings were regarded ascorrupt as they undermined ethical values. Some exchanges thatappear corrupt were associated with positive attributes of gift-giving. Some transactions that were officially sanctioned weredeemed corrupt because they signified inequity. Complaints ofcorruption were also linked to a means of making the state moreresponsive to household needs. These differentiated reactions tocorruption by various groups suggest that corruption has enabledlocal people to construct the state symbolically as well as raisedcritical challenges to what it means to be a Sri Lankan citizen in anethnically and class-based polity.Overall, corruption has beencharacterized by a new moral urgency post-tsunami.

Conclusion

The paper examines how corrupt practices in post-tsunami SriLanka are tied to discretionary power and the system of politicalpatronage, whilst perceptions of corruption encompass construc-tions of morality and stateesociety relations. Discretionary powersover the allocation of aid have placed key local government offi-cials, local NGO officials, and CBO office bearers at the receiving endof corrupt transactions. Local politicians who operated as

intermediaries gained or consolidated political power by divertingaid resources to undeserving households. Having sufficient moneyto bribe and/or the ‘right’ connections to local patrons gavewealthyhouseholds the upper hand in corrupt systems. Perceptions ofcorruption depict the phenomenon as undermining morality,a means of maintaining social relations, and a way of construingand constructing people’s relationship with the state. Overall, thesepractices and conceptions pre-existed the tsunami, yet becameenmeshed in a set of circumstances characteristic of the post-tsunami environment.

The paper contributes to research that focuses on office holderswho abuse public office for private accumulation and tend to winout in relation to corruption, in everyday contexts (Amarasinghe,1989, 2006; Bohle & Fünfgeld, 2007; Fünfgeld & Korf, 2006;Goodhand et al., 2000) and post-tsunami recovery (Caron, 2009;Lyons, 2009). In revealing how the patrimonial rationale with itsmechanisms of inclusion and exclusion is a driving force ofcorruption, it adds to post-tsunami analyses of power in Sri Lanka(Brun & Lund, 2008; Korf et al., 2010; Ruwanpura, 2008, 2009) andpost-colonial and post-independence explorations (Alexander,1973; Brow, 1996; Hettige, 2000; Hettige & Bigdon, 2003;McCourt, 2007; de Mel, 2007; Moore, 1985; Spencer, 1990;Uyangoda, 1997; Wickramasinghe, 2001). In demonstrating howpeople attempt to transform everyday meanings of corruption intolegitimate meaning, the paper resonates with reflections onstateesociety relations (Caron & Da Costa, 2007). Corruption inpost-tsunami Sri Lanka has coincided with uneven power rela-tionships, lack of access to resources, discrimination in aid distri-bution, and an ineffective aid mechanism. This underscoressocietal inequity as a prime indicator of corruption (Rose-Ackerman, 1997).

Broader conclusions can be drawn with regards to Sri Lanka’spolitical geography. Whilst post-independence Sri Lankan politicalhistory witnessed an intensification of exclusionary Sinhaleseethnonationalism (Hennayake, 1992), the recovery process in post-tsunami Sri Lanka has shown little signs of these distinctionsdissipating. A key distinction in the post-tsunami context, as thispaper shows, is that class distinctions becamemore significant. Thepractices and perceptions of corruption in Kudawella West andKirinda demonstrate that apart from issues of history, identity, andbelonging, class matters in terms of households’ ability to access aidfor recovery. In other words, a homogenous Sinhalese ethno-nationalist identity in Sri Lanka is disrupted when looked atthrough the prism of class (Caron & Da Costa, 2007). Following therecent end to the ethnic conflict, one of the central challengesconfronting Sri Lanka is how to forge a political process that isethnically and geographically plural, and explores sensitively,seriously, and democratically the concerns all Sri Lankans haveregarding governance and post-conflict development (Jazeel &Ruwanpura, 2009). The findings of this paper are significant inthis sense.

The paper also reaffirms the importance of ethnography forunderstanding informal politics and change in South Asia (Gupta,1995; Jeffrey, 2002; Parry, 2000). It is not so much the reality andthe widely held belief of its existence, but the complex narrativesthat enfold it and the new relationships and objects of study thatthose narratives create, that prove critical for discerning corruptionat the local level. This study was designed to deal with narrativesand representations, rather than direct observations. Focus was onhow respondents classify behaviours as appropriate/inappropriate,moral/immoral, or legal/illegal in the context of locally acceptedstandards and practices. This helped to surpass disembodiedtheorizing and distinguish corruption as it was defined by therespondents themselves. Everyday conversations of corruptionmust not be brushed off as mere superficial rhetoric.

K.N. Perera-Mubarak / Political Geography 31 (2012) 368e378 377

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to the benefactors of the Clarendon Scholarship(University of Oxford) and Sloane-Robinson Scholarship (KebleCollege) for funding my doctoral study at the University of Oxford,and the Gordon Smith Award (Keble College) for contributingtowardsfieldwork in Sri Lanka.Mysincere gratitude goes toDr. CraigJeffrey and Dr. Patricia Daley for their incisive feedback at the earlystages of this research. For their helpful observations and editorialadvice on initial versions of this paper and for ensuring a supportiveenvironment, I amgrateful toDr. AzeezMohamedMubarak andMrs.Chitranganie Mubarak. I am appreciative of the three anonymousreviewers and Prof. James Sidaway for their valuable comments. Myheartfelt gratitude goes to all thosewhohelped infieldwork, andmyresearchparticipants in SouthSri Lankawho letme into theirhomes,shared their thoughts with me, and spared me time despite beingburdened with myriad livelihood responsibilities.

Endnotes

1 For administrative purposes, Sri Lanka is divided into 4 layers: 9 Provinces, 26Districts (of which 14 are coastal Districts), 325 Divisional Secretariats, and 14,110Grama Niladhari Divisions or villages, in descending order of hierarchy.2 A 1981 Act which defined the ‘no build’ coastal zone as 300 m, although notstrictly enforced, was reinforced post-tsunami as ‘buffer zones’ of 200 m in theNorth and East and 100 m elsewhere.3Households are a co-resident group of individuals who share most aspects ofconsumption, drawing on and apportioning a common collection of resources,including labour, to ensure material production (Schmink, 1984: 89).4 Kudawella West, together with four other villages, comes under the Kudawella FIDivision, whilst Kirinda, together with 12 other villages, belongs to the Kirinda FIDivision.5 The study does not provide primary evidence of NGOs engaged in corrupt acts andhence does not suggest that all NGOs are complicit in corruption.6 Lakh is a Sri Lankan measure of 100,000 rupees; equivalent to 880 United Statesdollars.7 In engaging in corrupt acts, politicians can also represent agents of equity. Poli-ticians have been shown to bring post-tsunami aid to households who were facedwith various social problems that were rendered invisible to post-tsunami policies(Mubarak, 2011).8 Fixed with inboard engines, day boats operate up to about 15 km from the shoreand engage in fishing trips not exceeding one day.9Multiday boats exploit deep sea fish resources and stay at sea for one to fourweeks at a time.

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