Features
1943 and all that : Some reflections on history
By Uditha Devapriya
1943 is important to this county for at least four reasons. It was in that year that C. W. W. Kannangara tabled the findings of the Report of the Special Committee on Education, which led to a free education scheme that continues to benefit every child, regardless of his or her class background, today. It was also in that year that the splinter group of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party, led by the likes of S. A. Wickramasinghe, formed the Communist Party. The CPSL’s manifesto was published in Kesari, the radical magazine founded by Lionel Wendt. It was in 1943 that Wendt died, but not before he founded the 43 Group, the most promising radical and avant-garde cultural movement ever formed in Sri Lanka.
Free education, the Communist Party, Lionel Wendt’s passing, and the 43 Group. Four disparate names and events, connected by the slenderest thread, yet one underlying a pivotal transformation, more pivotal than 1948, the year of our independence. What are we to make of these incidents, and how do they reflect on our present moment? 80 years on, and 75 years on after independence, do we look back with pride or sadness, with the sort of bittersweet nostalgia that our history has warranted? One cannot deny that these events exuded much promise and potential, that they paved the way for the further emancipation and modernisation of our country. Yet did we ever take the initiative?
To answer this is to ask how exactly these projects, disparately linked to each other as they were, strived to modernise our country. To ask that, in turn, is to ask in what way Sri Lanka was modernised, or not modernised, prior to them. Sri Lanka’s transformation into a classic plantation enclave in the 19th century more or less entrenched a colonial bourgeoisie who remained Westernised in outlook, but who associated Westernisation with modernisation to such an extent that while emulating in every possible way the habits and customs of their colonial overlords, they remained staunchly conservative, prejudiced, and bigoted in every other aspect. By the end of the century, the plantation economy and the education system, as well as the civil service, had succeeded in creating a class of Ceylonese who approximated much better to Macaulay’s vision than did their Indian counterparts.
By 1931 three developments had made it impossible for this status quo to continue: the Buddhist Revival, the extension of the franchise, and a series of laws making education more accessible to the masses. Four years after the extension of the suffrage, an event all the more remarkable given that it predated the granting of the vote in the Jewel in the Crown, India, a group of Western educated radicals, lacking a commitment to a specific left-wing ideology but unified in their demand for the overthrow of the colonial order, founded the Lanka Sama Samaja Party. The manifesto of the party, as the LSSP’s chief theoretician Hector Abhayavardhana noted decades later, reflected not so much a commitment to partisan left-wing ideology as a practical attempt to address concerns relevant to the masses of Sri Lanka, such as the use of swabasha – Sinhala and Tamil – in the police and the courts.
The Buddhist Revival’s contribution was no less significant. Until the last quarter of the 19th century Buddhists had been debarred from government service: to enter it they had to convert to Christianity, specifically Anglicanism. There are, of course, debates surrounding the extent to which Anglicanism permeated the British State in Ceylon.
By the tail-end of the 19th century it was clear that Anglican Christianity could survive in Ceylon because its official sponsor happened to be the British government. Even there the relationship was complex: despite its avowed preference for Christianity, the British State, on more than one occasion, had to balance competing Christian missionary interests, and had to take care not to be seen as privileging one group over all others, particularly in education.
Like every other revival movement, the Buddhist Revival had its progressive and regressive sides. There is, however, no way of distinguishing between the two. H. L. Seneviratne has tried to do so in The Work of Kings, but I remain unconvinced by the divisions he highlights for reasons I will delve into in another essay. Without entering anthropological territory too much here, all I will say is that the “modernist” and “ritualist” sides of the Buddhist Revival were often represented and promoted by the same people.
The same figures advocating the de-ritualising and urbanisation of Buddhism, for instance, claimed to present a pristine and traditional interpretation of Buddhism no less cultist than the Buddhism they critiqued and sought to make more relevant to the up-and-coming urban bourgeoisie. I can cite no better example of this than D. S. Senanayake, a patron of the Revival who let himself be projected as a successor to the kings of Anuradhapura, as Minister of Agriculture, by embarking on one ambitious irrigation project after another. The same can be said of that other seminal UNP leader, J. R. Jayewardene, who could in the 1930s promote a “rational” reading of Buddhism and 40 years later conduct a campaign for a Dharmista Samajaya.
Perhaps the only clear difference between the Buddhist Revival and the other two major developments highlighted above – that is, the widening of the franchise and education reforms – is that the latter two provoked ordinary people, and a generation of left-wing radicals, to question the foundation of the country’s ties to the British Empire. Here we are indebted to Professor Seneviratne’s research, because he very astutely notes how the most conservative of Buddhist monks from this period, including the great Kalukondayave Thera, saw no contradiction between their attempts at regenerating the rural economy and their subservience to a British colonial order.
I think the same can be said of almost all nationalist figures from that time: their concern was not so much achieving independence as ensuring a bigger, higher place for their collective. This is how and why the Buddhist Revival could bring together the political elites of the day: because it was conducive to their strategy of wresting political reforms from the colonial order by working with the latter.
By the 1930s and 1940s the Buddhist Revival had been co-opted by the colonial bourgeoisie, or specifically a section within it that had come out into the open in the early 20th century through such experimental initiatives as the Temperance Movement. After this bourgeoisie, which harboured all the ideals and pretensions of a modernising class, took over from the old order, and helped form the Ceylon National Congress, they became as conservative and non-modernising as their forebearers: a process brilliantly charted by Kumari Jayawardena in the last few chapters of Nobodies to Somebodies. There was, of course, a section within the Revival which agitated against this state of affairs, represented by Anagarika Dharmapala. Yet by and large, the rationalist, anti-ritualist reading of Buddhism promoted by the Revival had been adopted by the newly converted Buddhist bourgeoisie as their creed.
Despite the somewhat progressive inclination of the Ceylon National Congress – a group which later admitted the Communist Party – one could not expect a truly emancipatory project from it. The extension of the suffrage and the education reforms from this period made it difficult if not impossible for the CNC to sustain such a project, much less carry it through. Meanwhile the Buddhist Revival generated its share of paradoxes and convulsions, paving the way for a split between a conservative clergy who were content to work with the political establishment and an activist clergy who rebelled against that establishment and shifted to the Left. Against such a backdrop, only the Left could be expected to see through the kind of anti-imperialist project that the new colonial bourgeoisie and petty bourgeoisie, given their conservative roots, and the Buddhist Revival, given the co-option of a section in it by that conservative bourgeoisie and petty bourgeoisie, could not.
It is in light of these developments that one should examine and evaluate the three major events of 1943, a year which, as I mentioned at the beginning, was in many ways more pivotal and transformative than 1948. The institutionalisation of free education, despite the opposition of many high-ranking CNC members, including D. S. Senanayake; the founding of the Communist Party, which was admitted to the CNC, an incident that compelled the arch-conservative Senanayake to leave that body and form the UNP; and the founding of the 43 Group, which housed many radically minded avant-garde artists, not least of whom Lionel Wendt, who published the Communist Party’s manifesto in Kesari, all owed their radical and liberal initiative to the shift to the Left which had been signalled by the granting of universal suffrage and the extension of school facilities. These, more than any other development, had the potential of pushing Sri Lanka towards a more radical, modernist course. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons, this course was one which Sri Lanka would not take. In that sense, 1943 signalled the demise of its own radical potential – with the death of Wendt.
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1
@gmail.com.
At a time when misinformation spreads so easily—especially online—there’s a need for scientists to step in and bring accurate, evidence-based knowledge to the public. This is exactly what Dr. Ruchira Somaweera is doing with RuGoesWild, a YouTube channel that brings the world of field biology to Sri Lankan audiences in Sinhala.
“One of my biggest motivations is to inspire the next generation,” says Dr. Somaweera. “I want young Sri Lankans to not only appreciate the amazing biodiversity we have here, but also to learn about how species are studied, protected, and understood in other parts of the world. By showing what’s happening elsewhere—from research in remote caves to marine conservation projects—I hope to broaden horizons and spark curiosity.”
Unlike many travel and wildlife channels that prioritise entertainment, RuGoesWild focuses on real science. “What sets RuGoesWild apart is its focus on wildlife field research, not tourism or sensationalised adventures,” he explains. “While many travel channels showcase nature in other parts of the world, few dig into the science behind it—and almost none do so in Sinhala. That’s the niche I aim to fill.”
Excerpts of the Interview
Q: Was there a specific moment or discovery in the field that deeply impacted you?
“There have been countless unforgettable moments in my 20-year career—catching my first King cobra, discovering deep-diving sea snakes, and many more,” Dr. Somaweera reflects. “But the most special moment was publishing a scientific paper with my 10-year-old son Rehan, making him one of the youngest authors of an international peer-reviewed paper. We discovered a unique interaction between octopi and some fish called ‘nuclear-forager following’. As both a dad and a scientist, that was an incredibly meaningful achievement.”
Saltwater crocodiles in Sundarbans in Bangladesh, the world’s largest mangrove
Q: Field biology often means long hours in challenging environments. What motivates you to keep going?
“Absolutely—field biology can be physically exhausting, mentally draining, and often dangerous,” he admits. “I’ve spent weeks working in some of the most remote parts of Australia where you can only access through a helicopter, and in the humid jungles of Borneo where insects are insane. But despite all that, what keeps me going is a deep sense of wonder and purpose. Some of the most rewarding moments come when you least expect them—a rare animal sighting, a new behavioural observation, or even just watching the sun rise over a pristine habitat.”
Q: How do you balance scientific rigour with making your work engaging and understandable?
“That balance is something I’m constantly navigating,” he says. “As a scientist, I’m trained to be precise and data-driven. But if we want the public to care about science, we have to make it accessible and relatable. I focus on the ‘why’ and ‘wow’—why something matters, and what makes it fascinating. Whether it’s a snake that glides between trees, a turtle that breathes through its backside, or a sea snake that hunts with a grouper, I try to bring out the quirky, mind-blowing parts that spark curiosity.”
Q: What are the biggest misconceptions about reptiles or field biology in Sri Lanka?
“One of the biggest misconceptions is that most reptiles—especially snakes—are dangerous and aggressive,” Dr. Somaweera explains. “In reality, the vast majority of snakes are non-venomous, and even the venomous ones won’t bite unless they feel threatened. Sadly, fear and myth often lead to unnecessary killing. With RuGoesWild, one of my goals is to change these perceptions—to show that reptiles are not monsters, but marvels of evolution.”
Q: What are the most pressing conservation issues in Sri Lanka today?
“Habitat loss is huge,” he emphasizes. “Natural areas are being cleared for housing, farming, and industry, which displaces wildlife. As people and animals get pushed into the same spaces, clashes happen—especially with elephants and monkeys. Pollution, overfishing, and invasive species also contribute to biodiversity loss.”
Manta Rays
Q: What role do local communities play in conservation, and how can scientists better collaborate with them?
“Local communities are absolutely vital,” he stresses. “They’re often the first to notice changes, and they carry traditional knowledge. Conservation only works when people feel involved and benefit from it. We need to move beyond lectures and surveys to real partnerships—sharing findings, involving locals in fieldwork, and even ensuring conservation makes economic sense to them through things like eco-tourism.”
Q: What’s missing in the way biology is taught in Sri Lanka?
“It’s still very exam-focused,” Dr. Somaweera says. “Students are taught to memorize facts rather than explore how the natural world works. We need to shift to real-world engagement. Imagine a student in Anuradhapura learning about ecosystems by observing a tank or a garden lizard, not just reading a diagram.”
Q: How important is it to communicate science in local languages?
“Hugely important,” he says. “Science in Sri Lanka often happens in English, which leaves many people out. But when I speak in Sinhala—whether in schools, villages, or online—the response is amazing. People connect, ask questions, and share their own observations. That’s why RuGoesWild is in Sinhala—it’s about making science belong to everyone.”
‘Crocodile work’ in northern Australia.
Q: What advice would you give to young Sri Lankans interested in field biology?
“Start now!” he urges. “You don’t need a degree to start observing nature. Volunteer, write, connect with mentors. And once you do pursue science professionally, remember that communication matters—get your work out there, build networks, and stay curious. Passion is what will carry you through the challenges.”
Q: Do you think YouTube and social media can shape public perception—or even influence policy?
“Absolutely,” he says. “These platforms give scientists a direct line to the public. When enough people care—about elephants, snakes, forests—that awareness builds momentum. Policymakers listen when the public demands change. Social media isn’t just outreach—it’s advocacy.”
by Ifham Nizam
Bassist Benjy Ranabahu is overjoyed as his version of having his own band (for the second time) is gradually taking shape.
When asked as to how the name Inner Vision cropped up, Benjy said that they were thinking of various names, and suggestions were made.
“Since we have a kind of a vision for music lovers, we decided to go with Inner Vision, and I guarantee that Inner Vision is going to be a band with a difference,” said Benjy.
In fact, he has already got a lineup, comprising musicians with years of experience in the music scene.
Benjy says he has now only to finalise the keyboardist, continue rehearsing, get their Inner Vision act together, and then boom into action.
“Various names have been suggested, where the keyboard section is concerned, and very soon we will pick the right guy to make our vision a reality.”
Inner Vision will line-up as follows…
Anton Fernando
Benjy Ranabahu:
Ready to give music
lovers a new vision
(Lead guitar/vocals): Having performed with several bands in the past, including The Gypsies, he has many years of experience and has also done the needful in Japan, Singapore, Dubai, the Maldives, Zambia, Korea, New Zealand, and the Middle East.
Lelum Ratnayake
(Drums/vocals): The son of the legendary Victor Ratnayake, Lelum has toured Italy, Norway, Japan, Australia, Zambia, Kuwait and Oman as a drummer and percussionist.
Viraj Cooray
(Guitar/vocals): Another musician with years of experience, having performed with several of our leading outfits. He says he is a musician with a boundless passion for creating unforgettable experiences, through music.
Nish Peiris
Nish Peiris: Extremely talented
(Female vocals): She began taking singing, seriously, nearly five years ago, when her mother, having heard her sing occasionally at home and loved her voice, got her involved in classes with Ayesha Sinhawansa. Her mom also made her join the Angel Chorus. “I had no idea I could sing until I joined Angle Chorus, which was the initial step in my career before I followed my passion.” Nish then joined Soul Sounds Academy, guided by Soundarie David. She is currently doing a degree in fashion marketing.
And … with Benjy Ranabahu at the helm, playing bass, Inner Vision is set to light up the entertainment scene – end May-early June, 2025.
As politicians and economists continue to proclaim that the Sri Lankan economy has achieved ‘stability’ since the 2022 economic crisis, the country’s manufacturing sector seems to have not got the memo.
A few salient points need to be made in this context.
First, Sri Lankan manufacturing output has been experiencing a secular stagnation that predates external shocks, such as the pandemic and the Easter Attacks. According to national accounts data from UNIDO, manufacturing output in dollar terms has basically flatlined since 2012. Without a manufacturing engine at its core, it is no surprise that Sri Lanka has seen some of the lowest rates of economic growth during this period. (See graph)
Second, factory capacity utilisation still remains below pre-pandemic levels. Total capacity utilisation stood at 62% in 2024, compared to 81% in 2019. For wearing apparel, the country’s main manufactured export, capacity utilisation was at a meagre 58% in 2024, compared to 83% in 2019. Given the uncertainty Trump’s tariffs have cast on global trade, combined with the diminished consumer sentiment across the Global North, it is hard to imagine capacity utilisation recovering to pre-pandemic levels in the near future.
Third, new investment in manufacturing has been muted. From 2019 to 2024, only 26% of realised foreign investments in Board of Investment enterprises were in manufacturing. This indicates that foreign capital does not view the country as a desirable location for manufacturing investment. It also reflects a global trend – according to UNCTAD, 81% of new foreign investment projects, between 2020 and 2023, were in services.
Taken together, these features paint an alarming picture of the state of Sri Lankan manufacturing and prospects for longer-term growth.
What makes manufacturing so special?
A critical reader may ask at this point, “So what? Why is manufacturing so special?”
Political economists have long analysed the transformative nature of manufacturing and its unique ability to drive economic growth, generate technical innovation, and provide positive spillovers to other sectors. In the 1960s, Keynesian economist Nicholas Kaldor posited his famous three ‘growth laws, which argued for the ‘special place’ of manufacturing in economic development. More recently, research by UNIDO has found that 64% of growth episodes in the last 50 years were fuelled by the rapid development of the manufacturing sector.
Manufacturing profits provide the basis on which modern services thrive. London and New York could not have emerged as financial centres without the profits generated by industrial firms in Manchester and Detroit, respectively. Complex and high-end services, ranging from banking and insurance to legal advisory to logistics and transport, rely on institutional clients in industrial sectors. Meanwhile, consumer-facing services, such as retail and hospitality, depend on the middle-class wage base that an industrial economy provides.
Similarly, technologies generated in the manufacturing process can have massive impacts on raising the productivity of other sectors, such as agriculture and services. Indeed, in most OECD countries, manufacturing-oriented private firms are the biggest contributors to R&D spending – in the United States, 57% of business enterprise R&D spending is done by manufacturing firms; in China it is 80%.
It has become increasingly clear to both scholars and policymakers that national possession of industrial capacity is needed to retain advantages in higher value-added capabilities, such as design. This is because some of the most critical aspects of innovation are the ‘process innovations’ that are endemic to the production process itself. R&D cannot always be done in the comfort of an isolated lab, and even when it can, there are positive spillovers to having geographic proximity between scientists, skilled workers, and industrialists.
Produce or perish?
Sri Lanka exhibits the telltale signs of ‘premature deindustrialisation’. The term refers to the trend of underdeveloped countries experiencing a decline in manufacturing at levels of income much lower than what was experienced by countries that managed to break into high-income status.
Premature deindustrialisation afflicts a range of middle-income countries, including India, Brazil, and South Africa. It is generally associated with the inability of domestic manufacturing firms to diversify their activities, climb up the value chain, and compete internationally. Major bottlenecks include the lack of patient capital and skilled personnel to technologically upgrade and the difficulties of overcoming the market power of incumbents.
Reversing the trend of premature deindustrialisation requires selective industrial policy. This means direct intervention in the national division of labour in order to divert resources towards strategic sectors with positive spillovers. Good industrial policy requires a carrot-and-stick approach. Strategic manufacturing sectors must be made profitable, but incentives need to be conditional and based on strict performance criteria. Industrial can choose winners, but it has to be willing to let go of losers.
During the era of neoliberal globalisation, the importance of manufacturing was underplayed (or perhaps deliberately hidden). To some extent, knowledge of its importance was lost to policymakers. Karl Marx may have predicted this when, in Volume 2 of Das Kapital, he wrote that “All nations with a capitalist mode of production are, therefore, seized periodically by a feverish attempt to make money without the intervention of the process of production.”
Since the long depression brought about by the 2008 financial crisis, emphasis on manufacturing is making a comeback. This is most evident in the US ruling class’s panic over China’s rapid industrialisation, which has shifted the centre of gravity of the world economy towards Asia and threatened unipolar dominance by the US. In the Sri Lankan context, however, emphasis on manufacturing remains muted, especially among establishment academics and policy advisors who remain fixated on services.
Interestingly, between the Gotabaya Rajapaksa-led SLPP and the Anura Kumara Dissanayake-led NPP, there is continuity in terms of the emphasis on the slogan of a ‘production economy’ (nishpadana arthiakaya in Sinhala). Perhaps more populist than strictly academic, the continued resonance of the slogan reflects a deep-seated societal anxiety about Sri Lanka’s ability to survive as a sovereign entity in a world characterised by rapid technological change and the centralisation of capital.
Nationalist writer Kumaratunga Munidasa once said that “a country that does not innovate will not rise”. Amid the economic crises of the 1970s, former Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranaike popularised a pithier exhortation: “produce or perish”. Aside from their economic benefits, manufacturing capabilities are the pride of a nation, as they demonstrate skill and scientific knowledge, a command over nature, and the ability to mobilise and coordinate people towards the construction of modern wonders. In short, it is hard to speak of real sovereignty without modern industry.
(Shiran Illanperuma is a researcher at Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research and a co-Editor of Wenhua Zongheng: A Journal of Contemporary Chinese Thought. He is also a co-Convenor of the Asia Progress Forum, which can be contacted at asiaprogressforum@gmail.com).
By Shiran Illanperuma
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