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SCHOOL DAYS AT ROYAL COLLEGE (1939-1946)

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Royal College

(Excerpted from Falling Leaves, autobiography of AC Arulpragasam*)

The War Years: Royal College Buildings Taken Over

During World War II (around 1939), the British military took over the buildings of Royal College, including the College Boarding, where I was boarded. The whole of the Race Course was taken over together with the Royal College and University grounds to make an airfield for the British fighter planes. Meanwhile, Royal College was forced to share classrooms with the University. Since we were short of classrooms, some of our classes were actually held under the wings of the ‘Hurricane’ fighter planes and the camouflage nets covering them! After about a year, Royal was able to rent four large houses down Turret Road, where I spent the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Forms. Discipline became lax, with the boys taking the chance “to scoot” (play truant) whenever they changed classes from one building to another.

For me personally, the take-over of the College Boarding meant that I had to move from one private boarding to another, facing many hardships. I had to cycle to and from Wellawatte for rugger practice in the morning at Police Park then. I had to cycle back to my boarding house in Wellawatte to shower and change: and then cycle back in the monsoon rains to Turret Road for classes at Royal College. There I would sit in drenched clothes throughout the day, before having to preside over athletics and boxing practice in the evenings, before returning home completely exhausted after 7.30 p.m. – after which, I was supposed to study for the Senior School Certificate (SSC) exam!

My Studies

In my early days in Forms I to III, I tried to be accepted as a sportsman, but without much success. But two things happened in the Fourth Form which entirely changed my academic career. First, I switched from ‘Science’ to ‘Arts’, despite being brainwashed from birth that I should become a medical doctor like my father and brother. My second lifesaver was that the Japanese dropped a bomb (around 1941) on the outskirts of Colombo. Parents rushed to take their children out of Colombo to the safety of provincial schools. I automatically became first in the class and was anointed the ‘jewel’ by the Form Master, Mr. J.E.V. (Bada) Pieris. I had to sit in the front row and was called upon to answer all the questions, which the others could not. With the best students gone, I found that among the blind, the one-eyed man was king! Although somewhat embarrassed by this turn of events, I found that I enjoyed being considered the fount of all knowledge! I also won the Rajapakse Prize, for the best student at the junior level.

Although I sat and passed the SSC Examination (the equivalent of the GCE ‘O’ Levels) one year earlier than usual, over the objections of the School Principal, who objected to anyone skipping a year in school. Although I passed in the First Division and first in the whole school, the Principal, Mr. Bradby, true to his earlier warning, refused to promote me to the post-SSC Class (the Upper Sixth).

He ultimately did so because he wanted to make me a Prefect (the tradition was that one could be made a Prefect only in the Upper VIth form). But he made this on condition that I would not be allowed to sit for the University Entrance that year. I found out later that this was because he wanted to make me Head Prefect of Royal, which he could not do if I left school one year earlier. Meanwhile, I sat for the examinations for the most prestigious prizes in Royal College and won the Shakespeare Prize, the Stewart Prize (or was it the Turnour Prize?) and later the Dornhorst Prize for the Best All-Rounder. Thus, my name was inscribed four times on the Rolls of Honour in the main Royal College Hall, which was an all-time record for the school at that time.

My Teachers

I wish to honour my teachers at Royal College. There were many dedicated and outstanding teachers among them, but for reasons of space, I shall single out the two from whom I benefited the most. The first was my teacher in the Fourth Form, Mr. J.E.V Pieris, affectionately called ‘Bada Pieris’ on account of his rotund figure. He epitomized the consummate teacher of the old school, giving us such a thorough grounding in English, Latin and History, which provided me a base for the future. Above all, I have to thank him for bringing out the student in me, since up to that time I had been more interested in sports than in my studies. Moreover, at a time of great instability, when our school was physically scattered and our morale low, he gave us the stability, emotional security and core values that we needed most at that time.

If Mr. Pieris built up our academics and core values (in Form IV), Mr. Dickie Attygalle, our English teacher (in Forms V and VI), sought to question or destroy them! Although he was supposed to teach us English Literature, he never really ‘taught’ us in the conventional sense; but he did open our minds to the modern writers and poets, whom we had never heard of before. He was also a Marxist, atheist and cynic – but at least he taught us to think! This he contrived to do by questioning everything we believed in, cynically attacking our values and deriding all the ideals and institutions that we cherished.

He would come to the class with a bored look on his face and, without any greeting, would adopt his classic pose of ennui (he was a great poseur), gazing languidly out of the window. Instead of teaching us English Literature, he would suddenly ask: ‘I suppose you guys believe in God’? This was met with nervous titters from the class: we were only 15 years old at the time and no one had ever really thought about God! On another day he would ask: ‘I suppose you guys believe in marriage?’ He would then go on ridiculing the idea of marriage, once even going to the extent of saying: ‘If your wife does not flush the toilet, I guess you guys will run to flush the bog after her!’ Shocked to the depths of our puritanical souls, we had never given thought to such ‘existential’ questions as flushing the toilet after hypothetical wives!

Since he would get no response from the rest of the class, he would pick on me as their leader, asking me directly whether I believed in God or not, in marriage or not, etc, challenging me always to analyze and defend my assumptions and beliefs. Similarly, he would deride my athletics, which he described ‘as one fool chasing another round the track’! Apart from teaching us English literature, Dickie Attygalle encouraged us to read leftist literature, including Karl Marx. This early start enabled me to outgrow Marxism even before my first year in the University, although my leftist leanings still persist at the age of 95! It is not a coincidence that Royal College produced the top students in English for the next few years, but also the top students in political science, sociology and history. All this happened because of the reading and thinking provoked by Dickie Attygalle: his iconoclastic attacks taught us to question, to analyze – and to think!

Sports

My greatest ambition when I entered Royal College, at the age of eleven, was to be a sportsman. Having failed in every sport, I was left only with boxing. Having won my first two fights against older opponents unexpectedly, I had to meet Tuan Cassim, who was the champion boxer in all schools, in the finals. I survived the first round but with a bad cut over my eye, which bled profusely. In the second round, although I could hardly see because of the blood, I got him into a corner and went on hammering into the corner with all my might. Suddenly I heard the gong sound urgently, while the referee hastened to stop the fight! I thought to myself: ‘have I knocked him out’? To my chagrin, I found that I had been battering the corner post of the ring, while my opponent stood behind me, looking charitably but sheepishly on! Ironically, despite my pathetic performance that day, by dint of seniority in the team (because I had reached the finals), I was made Boxing Captain of Boake House, while still under 16 years, which is probably a record for the school – although completely undeserved!

I also have to record another discomfiting position that I attained without merit! Although I never went for cricket practice (since I considered it an absolute waste of time), I was always selected as the last man (11th man) for the Boake House Cricket Team, just to run around and save boundaries. But when all the good cricketers were promoted to higher-age teams, this left only my close friend, Mahes Rodrigo (a brilliant cricketer) as captain, and me as Vice-Captain – which made me a regular butt for Mahes’ jokes. Whenever I happened to pass by, he would switch to dramatic mode, declaiming for all (especially me) to hear: ‘What can I do? This b…..r Aru has been made Vice-Captain: he can’t even hold a bat, neither can he bowl! But I can’t sack him from the team, because he is the bloody Vice-Captain!’ And so, it went on and on – but only when I passed by, and only if there was an adequate audience!

In athletics, having won the 440 yards and 880 races, I was awarded athletics colours at an early age, and thus became Athletics Captain of Royal College. I turned to rugger (rugby) too. Although unimpressive in my first year, I became an attacking wing-forward in my final year. Unfortunately, I tore my hamstring soon after the first Bradby Shield (Royal-Trinity) match, in which I scored the only try – the first in the Bradby Shield!

School Boy Adventures

During the War years, especially when school started only at 1 p.m., I would go swimming most mornings in the sea, off Kinross Avenue. At the age of 14, counting myself a good swimmer, I was tempted one day to swim out to the reef and beyond. But once I got beyond the reef, I unexpectedly got a severe cramp that paralyzed my entire leg. I doubled up in pain and went down, down, down. I looked wildly around: nobody was close enough to save me. I resigned myself to my own death. Fortunately, someone had spotted me and had shouted for help. A lifeguard who was on a raft at sea, was just able to reach me in time, to bring me safely to the shore. I was too young, busy and blasé to think about this episode at that time; but I realize now, in my old age, how close I came to dying that day, at the age of fourteen!

When we were in the Sixth Form in Royal College, my two best friends, Ana Seneviratne – who later became IGP – Upali Amarasinghe and I, pooled our money together to buy two war-surplus canoes off the pavement in Pettah. After some practice, we decided to go on an adventure. Starting from the Kirillapone Canal and going via the Bolgoda Lake towards the Kalu Ganga, we decided to find a long disused canal that led to the mighty Kalu Ganga. Although we had only 26 cents between us for those four days, we airily agreed that we could survive on the fish that we would catch and the birds that we would shoot. We ended up with no fish caught: we managed to survive the next three days only by eating lotus seeds and cooked lotus stems. Meanwhile, when swimming, we always kept a weather eye open for Sudu Moona, the man-eating crocodile, which had pulled three persons to their death that very year. Having found the entrance to the Kalu Ganga, we were able to return triumphantly home, with three cents to spare!

In the Cadet Corps

I was a Junior Cadet and then a Senior Cadet, rising to the highest rank in Royal College, as Senior Sergeant of the Cadet Corps in charge of two platoons, making up 60 cadets. I will narrate here only a humorous episode from our annual Cadet Camp in the hills of Diyatalawa. In an inter-collegiate competition, each school was asked to put forward its best Section (part of a platoon) in order to capture a so-called “enemy position” within a given time. I led the 12-man Royal College team. Having camouflaged ourselves with mana grass sticking out of our hair and ears, I sent our two scouts ahead to signal whether the coast was clear for us to advance.

Our scouts went over the top of the hill and we waited for their signal. But we waited…. and waited … and waited, but there was no sign of our scouts. So I sent the next three men (the so-called ‘machine-gun group’) over the hill to signal us to advance. But they too vanished! By this time, absolutely desperate because our time was running out, I gave the signal for the rest of our group to advance. Coming over the top of the hill, we found our lost scouts and machine-gunners hiding in the mana grass in their best camouflage kit, avidly watching a British soldier and a Wren (women from the British Navy) making love in the grass! Our boys, all around 17 years old, had never seen such magic in their lives! By this time, since we had already lost the ‘battle’, the whole team from Royal College ‘surrendered’, so as to better watch the show!

Final Exams and Last Days in School

I passed the Higher School Certificate (HSC) with distinctions in all four subjects, and stood first in the whole country in all three subjects at the University Entrance Examination and was offered the University Entrance Scholarship in each of them: English, History and Government (Pol. Sc.). With that, I come to my last days in Royal College, which ended with the Prize Giving, presided over by the Governor-General, Sir Andrew Caldecott. For me, it was a grand farewell. First, as Senior Sergeant of the Cadet Corps, I had to receive the Governor-General at the gates of the School and accompany him in his inspection of the ranks of the Cadet Corps.

I then had to abandon my rifle and run to the school steps in order to welcome the Governor into the main school, as Head Prefect of the school. Then the Prize Giving started and I had to go repeatedly to the podium to receive my prizes. Since it was war-time, and since I was wearing my Cadet uniform and the Governor-General was wearing his uniform as Commander-in-Chief, I had to walk up the steps, spring smartly to attention, give the military salute and then shake hands with the Governor-General before receiving my prizes. The poor Governor was forced to reciprocate, saluting me each time, followed by shaking my hand before giving each prize to me. When I approached for the last prize, the Governor-General wrung his hand repeatedly in mock pain and dismay, saying: ‘Oh not you again! Please not again!’ I was finally awarded the Dornhorst Prize for the Best All-rounder (the most prestigious prize of all), while the rafters rang with the applause of the whole school.

(*The writer, now aged over 95-years, is one of the last surviving members of the coveted former Ceylon Civil Service which he quit prematurely for a long career with the UN Food and Agriculture Organization)



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Features

Forest cover loss threatens rare freshwater fish in Sinharaja streams

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Washbasin

When discussions turn to Sri Lanka’s freshwater fish diversity and the urgent need to conserve it, attention is often focused on rivers, streams, reservoirs and water quality.

Yet scientists are increasingly finding that what happens on the land surrounding these waterways can be just as important as what happens in the water itself.

A recent study led by researcher Janamina Bandara of the Wildlife Conservation Society, Galle, together with researchers Sudath Nanayakkara and Sahan Randeniya, highlights how changes in forest cover caused by human activities can significantly influence freshwater fish populations in the hill streams surrounding the Sinharaja rainforest.

Their research sheds light on a relatively understudied aspect of tropical freshwater ecosystems—how alterations to vegetation cover, particularly through commercial cultivation such as tea and cardamom plantations, affect fish communities inhabiting headwater streams.

Hidden Riches of Tropical Streams

Forest plant saplings

Sri Lanka’s freshwater ecosystems are globally recognised for their remarkable biodiversity and high levels of endemism. However, despite their ecological significance, many ecological processes operating within these habitats remain poorly understood.

“Freshwater ecosystems in the tropics harbour extraordinary biodiversity, but many of the ecological relationships within these systems are still not fully documented,” researcher Janamina Bandara told The Island.

The study focused on sub-montane streams in the Sinharaja landscape, examining how varying levels of forest cover influence freshwater fish assemblages.

Researchers investigated whether fish communities differed between streams flowing through relatively undisturbed forests and those surrounded by modified vegetation resulting from agricultural activities.

Spotlight on a Critically Endangered Species

Leaf litter bay / Restoration activities

Particular attention was given to the critically endangered Rakwana loach (Schistura madhavai), a highly restricted endemic fish species first described from the Suriyakanda-Rakwana region.

Commonly referred to as a hill-stream loach, the species inhabits clear, fast-flowing streams and is considered highly sensitive to environmental disturbances.

According to Bandara, while broad community-level analyses did not reveal dramatic differences across all fish populations, species-specific responses painted a very different picture.

“Our findings show that Schistura madhavai exhibits a clear preference for streams flowing through intact forest habitats,” he explained. “The species becomes less common in areas where surrounding vegetation has been altered by human activities.”

Why Forests Matter to Fish

Forests bordering streams play multiple ecological roles. They regulate water temperature by providing shade, contribute organic matter that supports aquatic food webs, stabilise stream banks and help maintain water quality.

When these forests are removed or replaced with plantation crops, the resulting environmental changes can cascade through freshwater ecosystems.

Bandara noted that altered forest cover can influence water chemistry, microclimatic conditions, stream-bed composition and the availability of food resources.

“As riparian vegetation changes, a series of environmental conditions within the stream also change. Sensitive species such as Schistura madhavai appear particularly vulnerable to these shifts and may gradually disappear from modified habitats,” he said.

The research suggests that even subtle changes in habitat structure can have disproportionate impacts on species with narrow ecological requirements.

The Importance of Looking Beyond Numbers

Schistura madhavai

One of the most intriguing findings of the study is that ecosystem degradation may not always be apparent when scientists assess entire fish communities collectively.

In some instances, environmental variables appeared to have little effect on overall fish abundance or diversity. However, when individual species were examined separately, clear patterns emerged.

For example, variations in the amount of detritus—organic matter that accumulates on stream beds and serves as a vital food resource—did not significantly affect the overall fish assemblage. Yet for certain species, including habitat specialists, such changes proved critically important.

“This highlights a key conservation challenge,” Bandara said. “If we only look at total fish numbers or community-wide patterns, we may overlook serious declines occurring among environmentally sensitive species.”

Indicator Species as Ecological Sentinels

The findings underscore the importance of using so-called “indicator species” in environmental monitoring programmes.

Indicator species are organisms whose presence, absence or abundance reflects the health of an ecosystem. Because they respond rapidly to environmental change, they can provide early warnings of ecological degradation.

The Rakwana loach appears to fit this role exceptionally well.

“Species with narrow habitat requirements often act as ecological sentinels,” Bandara observed. “Monitoring them can provide a much clearer picture of ecosystem health than relying solely on broad biodiversity assessments.”

For conservation practitioners, this means that protecting sensitive endemic species may also help safeguard entire freshwater ecosystems.

Restoring Streamside Forests

Perhaps the study’s most important conservation message concerns the restoration of degraded riparian forests—the vegetation growing alongside streams and rivers.

Researchers argue that restoring these streamside habitats should be a priority in freshwater biodiversity conservation efforts.

Healthy riparian vegetation provides shade, reduces erosion, filters pollutants, enhances habitat complexity and supports the intricate ecological interactions upon which aquatic life depends.

“The restoration of degraded riparian forests is likely to be one of the most effective conservation measures for protecting freshwater biodiversity,” Bandara emphasised.

Such efforts could prove particularly valuable in landscapes where agricultural expansion has fragmented natural habitats.

Awareness sessions

A Broader Lesson for Conservation

The study offers a timely reminder that freshwater conservation cannot be achieved by focusing exclusively on water bodies themselves. The surrounding landscape matters immensely.

From the mist-laden streams flowing down the Sinharaja foothills to the countless rivulets nourishing Sri Lanka’s river systems, the fate of freshwater biodiversity is intimately linked to the health of adjacent forests.

As conservationists grapple with accelerating habitat loss and climate-related pressures, the research demonstrates that protecting and restoring forest cover may be just as important as safeguarding the streams themselves.

In the case of the elusive Rakwana loach, the message is clear: save the forest, and you may save the fish.

For Sri Lanka’s unique freshwater biodiversity, that lesson could not be more important.

By Ifham Nizam

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Features

Turning Promises into Justice

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File photo of lawyers protesting against the Prevention of Terrorism Act in Colombo

Sri Lankans have reason to take satisfaction in their country’s latest international achievement. Sri Lanka has climbed 14 places in the 2026 Global Peace Index to rank 67 in the world out of 163 countries that were assessed. At a time when global peacefulness is reported to be at its lowest level since the inception of the Index, and when more countries are experiencing deterioration than improvement, Sri Lanka’s progress stands out. The ranking reflects the country’s recovery from nearly three decades of war, its efforts to strengthen political stability and public security, and its resilience in overcoming the economic and political crises of recent years. The Global Peace Index assesses the strength of institutions, societal safety and security, and the capacity of societies to manage conflict peacefully.

The challenge is to consolidate the gains that have been made and address those unresolved issues that continue to cast a shadow over the country’s future. It is in this context that two recent announcements by the government assume particular significance. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath has announced that the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), one of the most controversial laws in the country, will be repealed and replaced within two months. A report prepared by a committee appointed to make recommendations has already been handed over to him. According to the minister, the new legislation, to be known as the State Prevention of Terrorism Act, incorporates recommendations from civil society and is intended to comply with international standards on counter terrorism.

At the same time, Justice and National Integration Minister Harshana Nanayakkara has reaffirmed the government’s commitment to uncovering the truth about missing persons. During a visit to the Chemmani mass grave excavation site in Jaffna, he stated that the excavations should be completed expeditiously so that justice can be done and assured that the necessary resources have been allocated for the task. The excavations are taking place under judicial supervision with the participation of forensic experts, archaeologists, lawyers and representatives of the Office on Missing Persons. These commitments made by the government address two of the most contentious issues that have troubled Sri Lanka for decades. They also suggest that the government believes the country is now in a position to deal with difficult questions from its past rather than postpone them indefinitely.

After Breakthroughs

The timing of the pledge to repeal the PTA is particularly noteworthy. For many years successive governments promised to replace the law but failed to do so. Sri Lanka undertook to repeal it in 2017 as part of its commitments linked to retaining GSP Plus trade concessions by the European Union. Yet despite repeated assurances the law remained in force. The question therefore arises as to why the government now appears determined to act. One possible explanation is that the Easter Sunday investigations have reached a decisive stage. The investigation into the bombings that killed more than 260 people in 2019 appears to have made significant breakthroughs. If these investigations continue along their present course, it is possible that accountability will extend beyond those who directly carried out the attacks to those who may have facilitated, enabled or been part of a wider criminal conspiracy.

There is broad agreement within society that those who masterminded the dastardly Easter bombing must be held accountable and that the victims deserve the truth and justice. However, it is important that the process by which responsibility is determined is seen by the public to be fair, lawful and impartial. If those accused are convicted following a transparent judicial process that respects due process and the rule of law, the outcome is far more likely to gain acceptance across society. This is where the repeal of the PTA becomes important. A transition from a law associated with prolonged detention and exceptional powers to one that is more consistent with human rights standards would strengthen rather than weaken the legitimacy of the investigations. Accountability obtained through a process that is visibly fair will be more durable and less vulnerable to allegations of political motivation or selective justice.

The Chemmani excavations may also provide an example of how such credibility can be built. The process is taking place under judicial supervision and in full public view with the participation of independent experts. Whatever conclusions emerge, and follow up action is decided on, the process itself should command respect because it is transparent and accountable. The same principles can be applied to the Easter Sunday investigations. Public confidence is strengthened when investigations are conducted openly, when legal safeguards are respected and when the rights of both victims and accused persons are protected. The significance of these investigations may extend beyond the tragedy itself. There is likely to be an overlap between those who are eventually found responsible for the Easter Sunday conspiracy and elements of the state apparatus that exercised power during the final stages of the war.

Setting Precedent

For many years Sri Lanka has struggled to address allegations of wartime abuses. The issue has remained politically sensitive because it touches upon the conduct of those who were regarded by many as wartime heroes. Yet if the Easter Sunday investigations establish that senior officials can be investigated and held accountable when evidence warrants it, an important precedent will have been set. Once the deck is cleared through the Easter Sunday investigations and the judicial process that follows, it may become less difficult to address allegations relating to wartime abuses, including those connected to sites such as Chemmani where evidence is now being painstakingly uncovered. This would also strengthen Sri Lanka’s position internationally.

Since the end of the war in 2009, the country has remained under varying degrees of scrutiny by the United Nations Human Rights Council. In October 2025, the Council renewed the mandate of the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to continue collecting and preserving evidence relating to past violations. The next review of Sri Lanka is due in September this year. The government now has an opportunity to demonstrate that Sri Lanka is capable of addressing difficult issues through its own institutions and according to its own democratic values. The commitments to repeal the PTA and to pursue investigations into missing persons can be seen in that light. Those who were victimized query as to what happened to their loved ones and to the information they know full well they entrusted to the government authorities and to the commissions of inquiry that were appointed. These are opportunities to show that accountability and national ownership can go hand in hand.

Reconciliation requires the difficult task of remembering truthfully. Too often Sri Lanka has sought stability by postponing difficult questions. Yet unresolved grievances do not disappear. They persist across generations and continue to shape political attitudes and communal relationships. Sri Lanka’s rise in the Global Peace Index is an achievement worth celebrating. But the true measure of peace is not only the absence of conflict. It is the presence of justice, trust and confidence in public institutions. The government’s commitments on PTA repeal, the Easter Sunday investigations and the search for truth regarding the disappeared suggest an awareness that old approaches have run their course. The government has an opportunity to break with the patterns of the past. The test now lies in implementation.

by Jehan Perera

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The burden, and also strength, of the critical scholar in the Humanities

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The biggest part of the challenge of a critical scholar in the humanities is having to engage critically with the very realities that define her existence as a social being. She cannot even begin to comment on the focus of her study without creating shock waves that would hit her own self in some form. One could argue that the scholars in the field of the humanities are part of what is being studied in one way or another. Critical scholarship in those fields entails destabilising the ground beneath their own feet.

An essential part of scholarly inquiry is being able to objectify what is being studied and examine it closely but at a distance, that, too, in a manner that scholar’s personal biases do not affect the judgement. Any failure to comply with this requirement immediately brands the study as unscientific. To try to understand this using an example situation, I would assume that a scientist who experiments with sodium and chlorine as chemical elements have the privilege of entering the experiment without any personal and emotional ties to either of the elements, placing one element in contact with the other without having to raise questions about her own existence, and observing and recording the outcome of the experiment without having to simultaneously examine what sort of implications the outcome has had for her as a person. The findings of the experiment may certainly advance her/him in the domain of science, but it is unlikely that the outcome of the study would result in any transformation within her as a social being.

The same privilege is not available for the (critical) scholars in the humanities. What chemical elements are for the scientist, the different social, political, cultural, gender, ethnic, racial, and religious identities are for those in the humanities. What the controlled, and also largely predictable, laboratory environment is for the scientist, the uncontrolled, even erratic, society is for those in the humanities. What the scientific experiments where the composition and behaviour of the individual chemical elements are explored is for the scientist, a close examination of phenomena and topics that cut across the categories of the social, the political, the cultural, and the religious is for those in the humanities.

The relatively clear differentiation or separation that is there between the scientist’s personal space and the laboratory setting where she conducts her research is not there in the case of her counterpart in the humanities. The latter does not have a separate laboratory setting that she can step into from her personal space, as the social space, which is her site of research, has her personal space already embedded in it. The freedom that the scientist has to cut herself off from what shapes her existence as a social and political being, as she enters her laboratory, is not available for her counterpart in the humanities, for the simple reason that the social and the political, which define her life outside her research, is also at the core of what they engage with in their research. Even in a setting where the latter locks herself up in a room and cuts herself off from the rest of society, the social and the political continue to define both her perspective and the object of study. Even the most effective scientist (but may not be the ideal scientist) has the option of taking her life, defined by the social, the political, the cultural and the religious, for granted, as her success is measured purely on the basis of her scholarly output; however, even the most ineffective scholar in the humanities would have to acknowledge the nexus between her personal life and her scholarly life, explicitly or implicitly, and her engagement with the chosen object of study will entail some sort of an engagement with her existence.

To use an example from the field of language studies which my work is primarily in, New Varieties of English, like what is called Sri Lankan English, is a topic that I try to engage with in both my teaching and research. Approached from a critical point of view, Sri Lankan English as a New Variety of English is more a political category than a linguistic one. The claims that you make may be based on linguistic evidence, but the conceptualisation of a separate form of English as Sri Lankan English even on the basis of objective linguistic evidence is primarily a political claim. The creation of such a category invariably results in a reconfiguration of the linguistic terrain of the country. Every claim that is made in favour of Sri Lankan English as a category results in a certain destablilisation of Sinhala and English, which are my first language and second language respectively, and the tense relations between which two languages have shaped my identity in a fundamental way. It is not only the two languages that get shaken; the broader ethnic identities that are associated with the two languages also undergo transformation, and this transformation certainly has an impact on who/what I am.

Even when I find the case for Sri Lankan English to be convincing, I feel compelled to word the arguments carefully. This feeling of compulsion to word the arguments carefully is certainly in recognition of the need to make academically-sound arguments; however, in addition to that, it has also to do with my position outside the social class which has traditionally been seen as having proprietary rights over the language. In that setting, I am less of an academic with an objective mindset than of a strategist who is enmeshed in the ethnic and class relations that define the topic of Sri Lankan English. At the same time, in a context where one’s knowledge of English is a primary determiner of her success in society and what is predominantly valued is the so-called proper forms of English, I have had to ask myself if any claims, including the most convincing, academically-sound ones, in the direction of legitimising Sri Lankan English should not be with caution.

I have also had to reconcile between two seemingly contradictory positions involved in making a case for Sri Lankan English, especially in the context of an English Honours programme, that, too, at a leading university in the country. On the one hand, making a case for Sri Lankan English entails encouraging deviation from the established norm/s of the language; on the other hand, considering the nature of the programme, the need to require the students to make that case using a normative form of English that would be recognised internationally could not be overlooked. At one level, this seeming contradiction could easily be dismissed as hypocrisy, but a closer and more serious reading of the situation would see in it a certain “maneuvering” and “negotiating” that the scholars in the discipline of English Studies stationed in peripheral contexts like ours are constrained to undertake in their engagement with the topic at hand. Although the arguments that get made have the appearance of truth, a close analysis of those arguments would indicate a certain identity politics that is being played. This identity politics has a direct bearing on the identity of the scholar who engages with the topic.

Accordingly, to make a claim in the humanities from a critical point of view is also to question in some form what defines one’s own identity, and this may not be the most comfortable undertaking for many of us in the field. This explains, at least to a certain extent, why some scholarly engagements with history results in mere glorifications of the mainstream historical narratives; why some scholarly engagements with literature and language results in a mere celebration of the mainstream literary traditions and hegemonic languages; how some scholarly engagements with the idea of culture directly subscribe to the position that culture should always be preserved and celebrated. Such approaches leave the status-quo largely untouched, and therefore the amount of unsettling that the scholars have to deal with is minimal. How much value that they are in a position to add to the existing scholarship, of course, is a question.

Any act of critical scholarship in the field of the humanities entails the scholar having to challenge in some form what defines her personal existence. This may not be the most comfortable move to make, but that is the only way the scholar could try to make a contribution of value to the field. It is important that this dilemma that the critical scholars in the humanities have to go through is recognised for what it is.

(Nandaka Maduranga Kalugampitiya is attached to the Department of English, University of Peradeniya.)

Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

by Nandaka Maduranga
Kalugampitiya

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