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Kadirgamar: The man who paid the price of courage
A personal tribute by Lindsay Ross, Executive Director, Commonwealth Press Union
Lakshman Kadirgamar, the Sri Lankan Foreign Minister so brutally gunned down in his own home in Colombo in August, was a truly remarkable man and one whom I was proud to call my friend.

It is not often in this life that you have the opportunity of meeting remarkable men, but he was definitely such a one. A charming mixture of politician, diplomat philosopher and humanitarian, he added lustre to any occasion and also his own special touch of humour and wisdom. He was also a man of great courage: a Tamil who opposed Tamil separatism and paid the ultimate price.

Both he and his widow Suganthie, welcomed me into their home and time spent with them was always fascinating, insightful and deeply enjoyable whether we discussed international politics or P.G. Wodehouse. Kadir — as he was universally known in his homeland — made you forget you were in the presence of a notable international figure; rather that you were having a cosy chat with a favoured uncle. At the end of the evening, you looked forward to the next meeting with great anticipation.

At the CPU Conference in Colombo in 2003, not only was he a notable speaker but also a delightful guest at the social events, where he mixed happily and informally with the delegates. Always interested in people and their views, he had a genuine rapport with the press and talked happily with journalists all over the Commonwealth.

And the world has been his stage. Born of a highly-respected Jaffna Tamil family, he went against his family's tradition by attending Trinity College in Kandy, and for the rest of his remarkable life he was never one to take an easy route.

A highly-respected international lawyer, he obtained his post-graduate degree from Oxford University, where he became only the second Sri Lankan to hold the post of President of the Oxford Union. And earlier this year I was present at the happy gathering which celebrated the unveiling of his portrait in that august institution. He was very proud that night and talked — eloquently as ever — of his hopes and plans.

He had been a notable sportsman in his youth and kept abreast of developments in cricket and rugby, nationally and internationally.
Only last year, he was regretting that his position — and the security it entailed — made it impossible for him to attend the annual rugby match between his old school, Trinity College, Kandy, and Royal College, Colombo, which I had attended that afternoon.

It was also through this old school network that we discovered ties — going back 50 years — to my African family, providing further fuel for discussion. Lakshman was a truly rare and delightful man and one whose loss will be felt not only by his family but also by the country he loved so much.

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