Features
Jayantha Sivanathan (1950-2023): A Reminiscent Tribute
by Rajan Philips
Those of us who have not been in contact with Jayantha Sivanathan over the last few years, received the news of his passing in Sydney, Australia, by way of online messaging by his son Shakthidharan. Jayantha graduated in Electrical Engineering at Peradeniya in 1972, worked with IBM in Colombo, Singapore, and finally in Australia for many years before positioning himself in systems analysis with some of the major banks in Sydney.
Lately, he was afflicted by Parkinson’s disease, which may have contributed to his becoming aloof and avoiding redundant social contacts. Even during his younger undergraduate days at Peradeniya, Jayantha was a supremely self-possessed individual, calm and composed in mind and manner, qualities that would have helped him glide through his last years with grace and dignity.
Shakthidharan’s brief message says as much. He is Jayantha’s only son and child and is a renowned figure in the Australian multicultural and migrant universe of art, music and theatre, as a writer, director, and music composer. He writes poignantly that his “Appa’s body was not fair to him, but he handled it gracefully to the end,” and that he would “relish in some unreasonable optimism.” He recalls his father’s “gentle presence and cheeky smile,”the smile that he now sees in his son Siddhartha. Jayantha was grandfather to Siddhartha and Salvatore, the two sons of Shakthidharan and his wife Aimée, herself an accomplished and acknowledged composer, singer and performer.
Shakthidharan also recalls his becoming “his father’s confidante and carer,” spending many Sundays together, “eating curry and ice cream, discussing the politics of the day followed by the philosophies of the ancients.” The discussion of politics and philosophies between the son and the father in Sydney, Australia, provides an apt segue for me to recall some old memories from Jayantha’s student days at Peradeniya and offer this brief tribute for sharing among fellow Peradeniya friends and colleagues who knew Jayantha then and remember him warmly now.
Worthy Scion
Jayantha Sivanathan was born in an exceptionally well connected Ceylon Tamil family and later married in an equally or more well connected Ceylon Tamil family. He was the son of Manicam and Manohari (nee Wallooppiliai) Sivanathan. His father was a nephew of Sir Kanthiah Vaithianathan, Permanent Secretary to the Prime Minister at independence, later a Minister in the Kotelawala government, and in retirement became a passionate revivalist of the celebrated Tiruketheeswaram Temple near Mannar. M. Sivanathan played cricket at Royal College and captained the team in 1937, served in the Army (the Ceylon Defence Force) during World War II, and later joined the Ceylon Civil Service. When Jayantha was a student at Peradeniya, his father was Permanent Secretary to the Ministry of Industries under TB Subasinghe in the United Front government.
Jayantha’s mother was a sister of Dr. N.J. Wallooppillai, Sri Lanka’s pre-eminent Cardiologist, who was also the son-in-law of V.A. Kandiah, well known Colombo advocate in his time and the Federal Party Member of Parliament for Kayts. Jayantha married Anandavalli Satchithanandan, a lauded Bharatanatyam dancer, daughter of K Satchithanandan – principal of a major accounting firm and the first elected President of the Institute of Chartered Accountants, and (maternal) granddaughter of C. Suntheralingam – a man of versatile brilliance and the stormy petrel of Tamil politics. Their wedding was graced by the presence of KPS Menon, the doyen of Indian diplomacy and Oxford contemporary of Suntheralingam as well as SWRD Bandaranaike.
The great uniqueness of Jayantha Sivanathan was that the rich family lore sat very lightly on him. He moved through life on campus and after unassumingly, with no hint of his ancestral weight, and certainly without that not uncommon Sri Lankan trait of ancestral worship. For all that Jayantha was a worthy scion in a long line of positive achievers in learning, professional competence and public service.
He studied at St. Thomas’ College, Mount Lavinia, where he excelled, besides studies, in swimming and tennis. Peradeniya did not provide the scope for training to be competitive in either sport (there were plenty of tennis courts but no swimming pool during our time), but according to his son, Jayantha kept up with recreational tennis in Australia for quite a while and even provided coaching for kids in the community.
Campus Memories
I came to know Jayantha well during the last two years of our campus life, 1971 and 1972, when we lived at the Akbar-Nell Hall in proximity to the Engineering Faculty on the left bank of the Mahaweli. He was studying Electrical Engineering, part of a small group of students with practically the same number as there were Lecturers in the discipline. In what might be called flippant hierarchizing, Electrical Engineering students may have been the elites; I was ‘with the masses’ in Civil (also civil) Engineering; and in between were the lovable grease monkeys of Mechanical Engineering.
Among Jayantha’s Electrical Engineering batchmates were Chandru Mirchandani (who was kind enough send me the online message of Jayantha’s passing) and Mano Devasirvatham, both of whom live in the US; Lakshman (BL) Ramanayake who is in Australia; Emmanuel Pieries who went to Sweden and became a Medical Doctor; and the late I Rabindran, the programming wizard who settled in Canada. Their Lecturers included W Jayasekera, WMG Fernando, JA Gunarwardena, Kumar David, Harsha Sirisena and N Rambukwela, all of whom taught students in the other two disciplines as well during their first two years.
I was in Sri Lanka in April, and I was able to meet with Prof. S. Sivasegaram, who was in Mechanical Engineering, and his wife Premala Sivaprakasapillai – Sri Lanka’s first female Engineer and daughter of the late T. Sivaprakasapillai, one of the founding triumvirate of the Faculty of Engineering with EOE Pereira and RH Paul. Dr. Sivasegaram reminded me that it was during our years at Peradeniya that the Faculty began to have its best complement of teachers, with ageing dons still holding strong and new PhDs returning in numbers during the 1960s.
There was another side to the culture at the faculty, and that was the openness to and inclusion of things and interests other than engineering. A recurrent undertone of this extracurricular proclivity happened to be politics, but it was not the politics of banality and there was no ‘politicization’ of any kind. Nor was everyone interested in politics, for there was and is still far more to life than either engineering or politics. Those who were interested were motivated by political ideas, if not ideology, and not career considerations.
The leading lights of political debate emanated from among the lecturers, primarily Kumar David, Sivasegaram and Vickremabahu Karunaratne. As students, we were fascinated by the debates and differences among them. But they had been exemplary pupils and turned into serious and demanding teachers; so, there was no nonsense of politics infiltrating their classrooms.
The backdrop to campus politics at that time was the overall political situation in the country. There was the on-campus student-army clash in January-February 1969; and the Peradeniya campus became one of the sites of activity in the 1971 JVP insurrection, but not at all deadly like the one 17 years later. Our final year, 1972, was the year the First, albeit short lived, Republic was born. Jayantha and I were on the Engineering Students Union (ESU) Committee, with our mutual friend the late Lakshman Tillakaratne as President. The Committee decided to invite Dr. Colvin R de Silva, the architect of the First Republican Constitution, to deliver the Deans Day address that year.
Jayantha and I approached Kumar David, who took us to a public meeting in Kandy where Colvin was speaking, and the invitation to address the Deans Day gathering was extended and accepted. The event proved to be a resounding success, with the large Engineering auditorium packed with students and lecturers from both sides of the river. Prof. AJ Wilson from the other side led off with an overview of Sri Lanka’s constitutional evolution, and Colvin followed with his peroration on the new constitution – “the exposition of my product,” as he characteristically called it.
We were into the second year of publishing Gauge, the ESU journal, and I was its editor. Jayantha was my critical sounding board on editorial matters and the selection of articles. Remarkably, Gauge continues to this day, albeit in all its electronic effortlessness, worlds apart from the labour of love that we gladly went through – from handwritten and occasionally typed texts, to typesetting by hand, heavy-eyed proof reading, and finally offset printing at an old press in Kandy. There were instances of typesetting howlers and humour, two of which are worth recounting.
Prof. T. Sivaprakasapillai had given us two long and informative articles, one entitled, “The evolution of Engineering in the History of Ceylon;” and the other, “The shapely thinking of the ancient Greeks.” The typesetter, or rather his fingers, had his or their own thoughts. The title of the first article for the galley proof page was creatively transposed: The evolution of History in the University of Ceylon!. The second involved a simple change but was a delight: The shapely things of the ancient Greeks!
The good times we had on campus could not have been better. The early prospects of good times continuing were also pleasing. But within five to ten years of our graduation, the country was turned 180 degrees from parliamentary rule to presidential rule, and from autarkic socialism to open market economy. Long simmering ethnic differences blew open into periodical riots and a prolonged civil war.
Neither Jayantha nor me, nor several others in similar situations, would have thought of leaving Sri Lanka for good before 1983. It was not to be after 1983. Forty years have rolled by and there is now confirmation that there will not be any lasting prosperity, not to mention peace, in Sri Lanka until 2048. As a generation, we have reached our evenings in life and are constrained to say good night to parting friends. Yet, there is room for optimism in the midst of pathos and poignancy. Jayantha Sivanathan apparently relished optimism even if it were unreasonable. He was not alone, and I am as guilty.
Features
Eastern University and the making of a culture of peace
by Jehan Perera
There is an important change in the way peace is being understood in Sri Lanka. The notion that peacebuilding is not simply the responsibility of governments, politicians and peace organisations, but is also a responsibility of educational institutions, appears to be permeating the consciousness of at least a section of the academic community. This was visible on International Peace Day at an event held at Eastern University by the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences. The event was unusual not least because the medical and nursing faculty of the university had decided that peacebuilding was relevant to its academic and professional responsibilities.
Peacebuilding has too often been treated as something undertaken after conflict, when the fighting has stopped and the immediate task is to rebuild relationships between communities. But peace cannot be sustained by governments and peace organisations alone. If it is to become long lasting, the values and practices of peace have to become part of the institutions through which a society educates its younger generations. Universities and other educational institutions are therefore important to peacebuilding. They are among the places where the foundations of a culture of peace can either be built or neglected.
The experience of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University provides a practical example of what this can mean. Led by its Dean, Prof Thillainathan Sathaananthan, the faculty organised an event which went beyond the ordinary academic scope of a medical faculty. University academics are experts in writing project proposals and applying for research grants. On this occasion, the members of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences used those skills to apply for a UNESCO grant that they won to conduct an International Peace Day event. The significance lies less in the Rs 200,000 grant than in the decision to use the university’s institutional capacity and resources to invest in peacebuilding. The event at Eastern University needs to be understood as more than a successful university programme. It represents a possible paradigm shift in peace thinking.
Institutional Commitment
The Peace Day event obtained the support of the university administration, including Vice Chancellor Prof P Peratheepan, and reached out to secondary schools in the vicinity to mobilise their attendance. The event itself was meticulously organised. There were cultural items including traditional and modern dance and song in the three languages, performed by combinations of solo, duet and multiple singers, dancers and actors drawn in part from nearby secondary schools. There was a panel discussion by senior academics on the general theme of peacebuilding and how to prepare for it. A discussion among the students followed, where each student spoke on behalf of a religion that was not theirs. This is significant because peacebuilding cannot remain an idea discussed by specialists at conferences. It has to become part of the way institutions educate and prepare people for life in a plural society.
The Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University has provided a model through its Peace Medicine course modules that were introduced to the curricular as a compulsory core course over 10 years ago. Two senior academics, Dr Kuveriel Eliyas Karunakaran and Dr Thillainathan Sathaananthan, have written a book on “Peace Medicine- A Health Care Concern” that was published five years ago. Its Peace Medicine Module integrates principles of medical ethics, compassion, equity, social justice and community engagement into health education and practice. In his introduction, former Vice Chancellor of Eastern University, Prof T Jayasingam noted “This book is an introduction to a theme which had already been operating in the Faculty of Health Care Sciences as a course.”
Doctors, nurses and health workers know better than anyone the harm that war and violence does. They are the people who treat the wounds and trauma that violence leaves behind. In a hospital, a patient is not asked what their religion or ethnicity is before they are treated. Health care is one of the places where peace is practised every day. The Faculty has therefore found a way of connecting its professional responsibilities with the wider social responsibility of peacebuilding. The question is whether this experience can be replicated throughout the country, at universities and at other educational institutions, so that peacebuilding becomes part of the consciousness of education itself. If that happens on a sufficient scale, it can begin to generate a culture of peace that becomes increasingly difficult to reverse.
Local Action
The Eastern University event corresponded closely to the United Nations theme for this year’s International Day of Peace, “Invest in Peace – For Everyone, Everywhere, Every Day”, which honours the “everyday architects of peace”, people driving local action, laying the groundwork for stability and building lasting peace from the ground up. The emphasis on investment is important. An investment means that something is put in: time, courage and resources. There is no more violent conflict in Sri Lanka today. But the absence of war does not automatically produce a culture of peace. The factors that fed the country’s conflict have not disappeared from the world. Racism, corruption and the violation of laws and human rights are the raw materials of conflict. So too are unresolved grievances, discrimination and the failure to recognise the suffering of others.
A country that does not deal with its past does not escape it. The past can return in the next generation. This is why the experience of Eastern University needs to be replicated countrywide, both at universities and at other educational institutions. The objective should not be to turn every academic discipline into peace studies. Rather, peacebuilding needs to become part of the consciousness of education itself. Eastern University shows that a medical faculty can develop Peace Medicine. A law faculty can examine the relationship between justice, rights and peace. Faculties of education can prepare teachers to work in diverse communities, while the humanities and social sciences can examine the different narratives through which communities understand their histories. Every institution can find its own way of making peacebuilding relevant to what it teaches.
Sri Lanka has had many declarations, pledges and programmes in the past. What matters is whether these produce changes in behaviour and institutional practice. Peacebuilding requires confronting difficult issues rather than avoiding them. It requires respect for different identities, but also engagement across those identities. It requires dealing with grievances in the present while also addressing unresolved issues from the past. It requires truth, accountability, reparations and guarantees of non-recurrence. It requires people to learn that the rights of another community do not diminish their own rights. The International Peace Day event at Eastern University was evidence of a change in the way at least some academics in a part of the country deeply affected by war are thinking about their responsibilities. Peace needs to be invested in and the most important investment will be in the minds of those who will inherit the future.
Features
Quality assured education commodities
by Ahilan Kadirgamar
I have always noticed the little paper tags that are inside the packaging of some products that say quality assured or quality control. I often wonder who might have checked the product and stamped that tag, but I also forget the tag soon enough. Decades later, when I entered academia, I was taken aback by the emphasis placed on quality assurance in our universities. It is not something that could be forgotten and done away with; the entire university system is obsessed with quality assurance.
Beginning with the staff induction programme, quality assurance is drilled into the newly recruited lecturers. It is the norm, not seen as doing any harm and only trying to improve quality. It is accepted as given, and not questioned. Quality Assurance Cells and Committees are omnipresent and hover above the Departments and, at times, even the Faculty Boards. Quality Assurance reviews are feared by the Deans and Vice Chancellors. University life itself seems secondary to the rule of quality assurance. What do we make of this system of quality assurance and what are its implications for our university system?
Corporate speak
Universities globally have been going through major changes with neoliberal education policies. In many countries, universities increasingly became corporatised to be run like businesses in the 1980s. As state support for universities declined, cost cutting became the norm. They started hiring adjunct or part-time staff. Many public non-fee levying universities around the world began to charge fees. Decade by decade, tuition fees became more and more exorbitant, forcing students to take student loans. The total student debt in the United States now stands at close to US$ 2 trillion; which is about 20 times the GDP of Sri Lanka. As the higher education landscape transformed in the West, university administrations began to recruit Presidents, Vice Chancellors and administrative officials with corporate backgrounds and experience.
Such corporatisation of universities in the West has since been imported into countries like Sri Lanka, introducing a new corporate vocabulary, including quality assurance, graduate competencies, programme outcomes, intended learning outcomes, etc. University teaching has become secondary to documenting so-called outcomes. The teacher-student relationship, the environment of the lecture hall and even administering the university have been over-determined by the processes of ensuring quality. How did such major changes come about in such a short time? Indeed, academics of just two generation ago, would never have heard of these terms and processes in the Sri Lankan university system.
World Bank Trojan horse
Since the early 2000s there have been a number of World Bank projects that have drastically changed the character of Sri Lankan universities. Quality assurance as a central agenda within universities, and many other changes to the working of our universities, came through these World Bank initiatives. The Improving Relevance and Quality of Undergraduate Education (IRQUE) project and Higher Education for the 21st Century (HETC) project were two such earlier projects that set up the Quality Assurance and Accreditation Unit (QAAU) under the University Grants Commission (UGC) and established systematic quality assurance reviews for state universities. The public often thinks these are grants from the World Bank to modernise our universities. However, they are not grants but loans.
The most recent such project, Accelerating Higher Education Expansion and Development (AHEAD) is a US$ 100 million loan from the World Bank implemented from 2018 to 2023, which consolidated the quality assurance structures from the earlier projects. Furthermore, these projects are implemented with tremendous arrogance, prioritising their implementation over all other concerns in the universities, when the project over six years for example accounts for just one fourth of our budget allocation for universities this year.
The AHEAD project drastically changed course curricula, sought to increase student enrolment in science, technology, engineering, mathematics (STEM) disciplines, commercialise the university research agenda and create university-business linkages. All of this was pushed to supposedly help us face development challenges. We have heard the ideological attack on our universities and even students claiming they are “unemployable graduates”. These changes to our higher education system were supposedly going to create jobs and increase employment.
The irony of the AHEAD project is that just as it was ending in 2023, apparently after having reached its targets, the Sri Lankan economy was collapsing. The World Bank often gets the direction of causality wrong. It is the economy that creates jobs for graduates, and not the training or kind of graduates that create jobs. It is decades of World Bank policies, and those of its ideological twin the IMF, that have led to such high youth unemployment, not only in Sri Lanka but also in many other countries in the global South.
Sri Lanka entered an IMF agreement in March 2023 and started a new Country Partnership Framework with the World Bank in June 2023. These programmes have little to say about, and actively discourage, government initiatives that aim to create an industrial policy or an employment creation policy. Instead, they push for austerity measures, which not only restrict the allocation for education among other sectors, but also end up contracting the economy to the detriment of increasing employment. Their goal is the commercialisation of higher education, to make universities into businesses and run them like factories.
In this context, the ideology of quality assurance is powerful. The International Organisation for Standardisation (ISO), whose different standards are necessary for marketing, is the institution that came up with the concept of “quality assurance”. It promoted quality assurance as a process of identifying defected products. Therefore, when the World Bank promotes this conceptual framing, our students are, in fact, seen as products on the assembly line, with quality assurance processes aiming to prevent the release of defected products from the university system. For the US$ 100 million we borrowed for the AHEAD project and the many more million dollars in similar World Bank projects, there is no evidence of increased employment of graduates.
Commodity fetishism
Over a century and a half ago, Karl Marx critiqued the economic analysis prevalent at that time that associated some inherent or monetary value for commodities without considering the social relations that underlie the production of those commodities. Marx called this commodity fetishism. Furthermore, he theorised that such commodity fetishism was also a reason for the alienation of human beings from the world. If our labour and what we produce is seen devoid of the social relations that underlie them, we lose our connection with the people and the world. In this process we become alienated from what we produce and the world.
We are now in a world where our students themselves are fetishised as commodities for the market. Universities are no longer communities concerned about knowledge and human growth, but mere factories producing commodities, which have to be produced without defects to be marketed. In this way, quality assurance has become the cause for the alienation of students, academics and our universities themselves, from the larger relationship with our economy and society.
Our university system does need reform. It is grossly underfunded and not providing the financial support and facilities for our students. Universities have become hierarchical spaces without the academic freedom and democratic ethos necessary for producing knowledge. Academics and students need to engage more with their communities to make their learning and research meaningful, not to mention their contribution to and integration with society. However, when it comes to even questions of governance and regulation of the universities, such concerns are merely reduced to improving quality. In our contemporary times, this singular focus on quality assurance, as opposed to addressing the larger structural issues, is crippling our universities. There may be no way out, but to put back quality assurance where it started, those little tags on goods, to perhaps be noticed but quickly forgotten.
Ahilan Kadirgamar is a political economist and Senior Lecturer, University of Jaffna.
(Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies)
Features
Thailand’s biggest new global star …
The entertainment scene, globally, is agog with excitement, and, why not!
Yes, a new global star has emerged … from Thailand, and she hit the headlines by winning America’s Got Talent.
Rattikarn Amloy, known to millions by her stage name Nene Royal, was crowned the winner of America’s Got Talent (AGT) Season 21 at the live finale at Pasadena Civic Auditorium, California, taking home the USD 1 million grand prize.
The 16-year-old rocker, from the holiday island of Phuket (I’ve been to Phuket, courtesy Tourism Authority of Thailand), has struck a power chord around the world, and is the first Thai national ever to win the hit NBC show.
She beat nine other finalists, including runner-up magician Geno Ploeger, after a blistering final performance.
Nene’s story is pure rock and roll fairy-tale. She says she picked up a guitar at age seven, fell in love at the first chord, and taught herself mostly by watching videos online. That dedication earned her a music scholarship to Kajonkiet International School Phuket.
Her audition at America’s Got Talent — a swaggering, shredding rendition of The Cranberries’ classic ‘Zombie’ — exploded online, amassing over 200 million views across AGT’s platforms, more than any act this season.
She kept wowing: ‘Hysteria’ by Muse, then ‘Black Hole Sun’ by Soundgarden which earned her Spice Girl Mel B’s Golden Buzzer, sending her straight to the live shows.
For the final, she unleashed ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Judge Howie Mandel shouted: “You should win. Give her the million, America.” Mel B praised her “mysterious, mystical stage presence”.
And for the grand finale, she lived every teen rocker’s dream — performing on stage, alongside US rock giants Linkin Park.
When host Terry Crews announced her as winner, the teenager collapsed to the stage floor in tears. “I’m very happy and you know I’m emotional right now,” she said.
And Thailand erupted. Her school held watch parties, posting: “You did it, congratulations, champion. We are so proud of you.”
Even Prime Minister Anutin Charnvirakul sent a personal congratulation. He had earlier hosted Nene at Government House in July, where she played guitar while he sang a Thai rock song. His office said her talent “brought pride to Thai people.”
Corporate Thailand also rallied behind her — Charoen Pokphand Foods, owned by billionaire Dhanin Chearavanont, even rented a giant billboard in Times Square, New York, to cheer her on.
With her blistering guitar solos, rock-ballad shrieks and fearless spirit, little Nene Royal has just become Thailand’s biggest new global star.
What’s more, this amazing teenager will be bringing her powerful vocals, guitar skills and signature rock-metal style to the stage, as opening act, before one of the world’s biggest rock bands, America’s Avenged Sevenfold, in Singapore, on 13 October.
Unfortunately, we are still to see a local artiste, grab the spotlight, on a global scale … like Thailand’s Nene.
Yes, they do shine, but mostly on social media, and that, too, with the aid of AI (Artificial Intellegence).
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