Features

MY CAREER IN THE CCS

Published

2 years ago

2024/09/8

Thilina Walpola

Bogambara prison in Kandy

(Excerpted from Falling Leaves, an autobiographical anthology by LC Arulpragasam)

YOUNG CCS OFFFICER IN THE PROVINCES (1950s)

Any young officer in the government service should serve sometime in the provinces. This is necessary to observe the ways in which government services interact with the people. It is also a good preparation for higher posts in the government, where field-level experience is invaluable as a training to work at the national level. Moreover, at the field level, one can be lucky to see the results of one’s work; whereas at the departmental headquarters or ministry level, one’s work may be swept away by policy or other interventions. Hence, I was fortunate to serve in two Kachcheris in my cadetship of two years in the CCS, plus a posting of three years in a district. My stories spring from those years.

On Death Row in Kandy

One of the duties of the Government Agent (Kandy) was to ensure that the death sentences imposed by the Supreme Court were in fact carried out/executed. (I had always wondered how a man could be “executed”; in fact, it is only the sentence of death that is executed). Unfortunately, this too was a function passed on to me by the Government Agent, a very senior Burgher gentleman. He used to pass on many disagreeable functions to his podi putha, who was only a Cadet in training. So at the tender age of 23 years, I had to preside over the hanging of a man who had been sentenced to death by the Supreme Court for killing his wife.

In looking over the case, I found that the man concerned was an Indian estate laborer, who had committed a crime of passion. On entering his own house, he had found his wife sleeping with another man. In his rage, he had killed her – for which he had been sentenced to death by hanging. And it was up to me, as the representative of the government, to execute that sentence of death. According to the protocol, it is the forensic surgeon who has to certify that the victim is clinically dead, whereas I, as the agent of the Government, had to certify that the sentence of death had been carried out. Fortunately for me, I found that the forensic surgeon was Dr. Sourjah, who had been my team-mate in the University rugby team. So I hastily made a deal with him that I would not witness the hanging myself, but would depend on his certification of death to sign off on my duty – that the sentence of death had been carried out.

So early one morning at 5 a.m., with great trepidation, I entered the death row of the Bogambara prison in Kandy. I was taken to the sentenced man’s cell, but he was not there: for he was worshipping his God at the adjoining Hindu shrine. In accordance with tradition, the last night’s meal was to be a grand one, since it was to be his last on earth. But it was still on the table – untouched from previous night. Then the ‘dead man’ was brought in. He wore a white-hooded suit, with his hands and feet in chains. I looked at him – and I can hardly describe what I saw. His face, eyes and countenance were ethereal and luminous. He was glowing with a spirituality that I had never seen in any face before. In my mind, he had asked and had been given forgiveness by his God – and he was ready to go to the next world.

But what followed was even more devastating for me. He came up to me with his face glowing with this ethereal spirituality; he then fell at my feet and worshipped me, asking for my forgiveness. He had rendered his soul to his God: he was now rendering his body to Caesar, to me as the representative of the state. I rushed to raise him to his feet, almost apologizing to him for what I had to do. But he was ready to go and just wanted my blessing.

I did not look as he took his last walk to the gallows. But I could not avoid hearing the sickening drop of the trap-door, nor the jerk of the rope. As agreed with my friend the forensic surgeon, I did not look at the dead body. Based on his two-line report, I quickly signed that the convicted man had been hanged till he was dead, dead, dead – and rushed out of the building.

A sanitation program: But still taking to the bushes

My first appointment was as Cadet in the Kandy Kachcheri, under the Government Agent (GA) of the Central Province. The Government Agent happened to be Mr. N. E. Ernst, who was known to my father. He lived alone and was about to retire at that time. When I turned up at the Kachcheri, he found a ‘podi putha’ to whom he could delegate all his unwanted ceremonial work and disagreeable field inspections.

The Government had started a sanitation program in the 1950s making a grant to families for constructing toilets for their own use, to provided specifications. Payments could be made only after on-site inspections: so I could not pay the beneficiaries unless I inspected their toilets. Sometimes I had to drive 20 miles on winding roads and walk for about four miles over hills to inspect five toilets – so that the cost of my inspection was more than the cost of the toilets! However, I was being paid for the pleasure of walking over the beautiful hills of the Kandy district – although sometimes the going was tough!

Kallady Bridge, Batticaloa

When I finally did reach the few houses concerned, the owners would proudly show me their newly constructed latrines. Some were padlocked, with the owners’ names proudly emblazoned on them, while others were being used to house their goats at night! None of the latrines were in use for the purpose for which they were built. Their owners preferred to take to the bushes, as was their wont! I had to do my duty by certifying that the latrines had been built according to specifications and authorize payment to their proud owners! Needless to say, my back-to-office reports pointing out the futility of this exercise never made any impression on the Ministry of Home Affairs!

A Peeping Tom at Horton Plains

An Australian lady tourist had gone to the Horton Plains Rest House. Horton Plains sports a climate and scenery to be expected in the glens and moors of Scotland rather than in Ceylon, with mists, rain and wind-swept trees. In fact, it was one of my favorite places, even taking my wife there on part of our honeymoon. The Australian lady complained that during her stay in the Horton Plains Rest House, the Rest House Keeper had made a hole in the bathroom wall and was peeping at her through the hole when she was naked!

So she wrote a letter of complaint from Australia that was ultimately referred to the Government Agent, in charge of all Rest Houses in the province. As usual, the Government Agent ordered me to go to the Horton Plains Rest House to hold an inquiry and take action as required. So I set off gleefully, being paid to go my favorite haunt! I found the hole in the partition wall. I confronted the Rest House Keeper and warned him that a future offence would lead to dismissal. I did not dismiss him because I knew (and he knew) that no one could be found to replace him in that deserted, cold and lonely place.

So I fined him appropriately, stopped his annual increment for one year, got him to plug up the hole and proudly returned to station, my duty well done. I have no doubt, however, that as soon as my car left the gate, the Rest House Keeper gleefully reopened the hole, which he had plugged for my benefit – awaiting the next female tourist to arrive!

Taking ‘Bribes’

When I was Assistant Government Agent of the Batticaloa District, I had to go to the Unichchai Colonization Scheme to sort out various problems of land and water use. I had worked hard for the poor colonists – and probably they appreciated this. When concluding one of my visits, I found the colonists loading some fresh vegetables into my car. This may have been a traditional practice for lower-level officials, but in my best CCS tradition and with stiff bureaucratic upper-lip, I was outraged that the colonists were trying to ‘bribe me’! For if I accepted, I would be morally guilty of taking a bribe.

So I first upbraided the Colonization Officer for permitting this. Secondly, in my moral righteousness and bureaucratic ‘virginity’, I ordered that everything should be taken out of my car at once! The poor colonists, dumbfounded, did not know what to make of this, since they had probably been doing this for years, either through respect or appreciation. But I insisted, standing righteous and firm – and they bewildered, meekly and mutely obeyed! None of them had given very much, because they were poor. Each had put in some small thing- a small gourd here, a bunch of bananas there, or a few green chillies. But I insisted that everything should be taken out, with my car completely cleared of their ‘bribes’!

But one colonist said it all. While taking his five green chillies out of the car, he said: ‘Sir, I have put only five green chillies into your car. But in return for my affection and respect, you have in effect slapped me in my face, just for showing my respect!’ I became so ashamed that I had not accepted their ‘bribes’! But since I had already given my implacable bureaucratic order, I could not take it back. In hindsight, I was glad that I had made that order, for it served me in the future, not only here but all over the district – that I would not accept the practices of the past. But it would also help me to avoid the hurt of ordering all the things out of my car, as I had done in the current case. But I left, biting my lip for the bureaucratic prig that I had made of myself – for the hurt that I had caused them in return for their pains!

Communal Discord in a Colonization Scheme

I had to confront communal clashes in the Batticaloa District when the ‘Sri’ troubles broke out in 1956. Since the Sinhalese had killed Tamils in other districts, the word had spread to the Batticaloa District, where the Tamils now wanted to kill the few Sinhalese in the Scheme in retaliation. This was in 1956 when the Gal Oya colonization had just been started, and about 20 years before the Tigers took up arms against the state.

My story is about the colonists of the Unichchai Colonization Scheme in the north of the district. There were five Sinhalese there who, as former land development workers, had been allotted lands under the scheme. They, having married local Tamil women, had settled down there. But when news reached the locals (this was a 100 per cent Tamil area) that their people were being killed by Sinhalese in other districts, they threatened violence against the few harmless Sinhalese colonists.

The Colonization Officer rang urgently to warn me of impending violence. I summoned a meeting of all the colonists and drove immediately there (it was about 22 miles away). After assuring the Sinhala colonists in Sinhala, that I would look after them, I addressed the big meeting of colonists who were entirely Tamil. I told them that whether Sinhalese or Tamil, they shared the same problems of water shortage and poverty. They were hanging their washing on their same common fence and borrowing rice from each other in times of need. But now, just because some fools were killing others somewhere else, how did it affect their hitherto amicable relations with their neighbours who shared the same problems?

Instead, I asked why they hadn’t thought of killing me, who was richer than they, had power over them, etc, instead of trying to kill their poor Sinhala neighbours who had done them no harm? This leftist talk alarmed them – because they had never heard this kind of talk before. I also knew that I was a bit of a fraud, since I knew that they would not harm me. But it was a novel idea to them – and it worked: for it completely defused the tension.

Yet I had to move from the theoretical to the practical, since passions were running high. So I named the four surrounding Tamil neighbours of every Sinhala family, telling them that I would hold them responsible for the safety of their Sinhala neighbor. I warned them that if they allowed anyone to touch even a hair on the head of their Sinhalese brothers, they (the four Tamil neighbours) would be expelled from the Colonization Scheme forthwith. The result was a resounding success: no Sinhala colonist was ever harmed. I was even more richly rewarded when I found within four months that the Sinhalese and Tamil neighbours were again hanging their washing together on their same common fence – a good indicator of communal harmony!

Presiding at an Election

Actually, I did not preside over the Parliamentary elections: the Government Agent did. However, as ‘Returning Officer’, I had definite duties: first, for staffing the polling booths with government staff officers; second, for supervising the actual elections in the polling booths; and third, for the counting of ballots after the voting was done.

On Election Day, I set out to monitor most of the polling booths. On one of these monitoring missions, I went to Kattankudi, a Muslim town just south of Batticaloa, where I was able to witness an act of impersonation at first hand. A pregnant Muslim woman, with a sari pulled over her face with only the eyes showing, was challenged. To my utter surprise, ‘she’ was unveiled to reveal a man with a beard and a pillow around his waist, pretending to be pregnant!

I had to cast my own ballot for the Batticaloa town seat. Fortunately or unfortunately, I knew all the candidates for that seat. When I came to the polling station, each of the candidates bowed, smiled and shook hands with me, each of them expecting me to vote for them. I was an LSSP supporter at that time and since there was no LSSP candidate in the race, I did not know whom to vote for. I went into the polling booth and impulsively drew a caricature/ cartoon of each of the three candidates against their names.

On that night, there was a grand counting of votes. I was dreading that my ballot (with the cartoon of the candidates) would come up for my own ruling. Indeed it did. And I was the first to shout, “Spoilt Ballot”. I heard one of the candidates muttering loudly “bloody fool” – aimed at the person who had cast that ballot! I hastened to agree! I had acted irresponsibly as a presiding officer. On the other hand, it was my own ballot – and if I chose to spoil it, that was my own indisputable right!

Presiding at a Ceremonial Function

I had just begun my term as Assistant Government Agent of the Batticaloa District in 1955, when the Government Agent asked me to carry out a ceremonial function on his behalf. Since the office of the Government Agent was held in peculiarly high esteem in that district, candidates seeking election to Parliament would often try to make out that they were on very good terms with the Government Agent. With this intent, a Muslim Parliamentary candidate for the Kalmunai seat invited the GA to ceremonially open a multipurpose cooperative store.

This was an invitation which the GA could hardly refuse, since the establishment of cooperative societies was a high priority of the government. Seizing this propaganda opportunity, however, the prospective candidate got thousands of his supporters to attend the opening ceremony, making it into a huge political tamasha. He even had songs to be sung at the ceremony, which included the Government Agent’s name (Mr. Pullenayegum) and his many ascribed virtues printed on the ceremonial song-sheets. Unfortunately, the GA had to cancel at the last minute and deputed me to attend this ceremonial function on his behalf. Without batting an eyelid, the wily candidate had Mr. Pullenayagam’s name erased and my name ‘Arulpragasam’ substituted on all the printed sheets, accusing me falsely of all the virtues originally ascribed to Mr. Pullenayegum!

But even I, who had undertaken this venture lightly, was somewhat awed by the event. Crowds lined the streets, which were decorated with bunting and gokkala. Formally attired in coat and tie, I was received amidst fanfare by a big orchestra playing Tamil music and was ceremoniously escorted to preside at a massive meeting. Here, I had to make a ceremonial speech, in which I managed to praise the government’s cooperative program, while artfully and judiciously avoiding any mention of the candidate!

I was then taken in procession to the site of the new cooperative building. But this was no simple procession: it was led by an orchestra playing Tamil music with the blare of the nagasalam and flutes, accompanied by an obsessive beating of drums. The orchestra was followed by a group of dancing girls dressed in flamboyant colours but modestly so, because this was a very conservative Muslim area, while lustily singing my false virtues, as printed in the song-sheets.

Next came I, walking regally on white pavada (white ceremonial cloth) along the main Kalmunai-Batticaloa Road, on which all traffic had been stopped for over two hours. Meanwhile, pavada was being laid continuously at my feet, while Chinese crackers (cheena-patas) were being set off all around me, while layer upon layer of garlands of flowers were being landed on my neck continuously. To add to my problems, my pants were a little loose, so that I had to hold onto them with one hand while marching pompously on the pavada, jumping at the crackers exploding around me, being garlanded with flowers reaching over my nostrils, while keeping a discreet eye open for the dancing girls!

Meanwhile crowds had lined the roads on which all traffic had been halted. Fortunately, my face could not be seen for most of the time, since it was covered with garlands of flowers. But just when we were passing the Karativu junction (where the Amparai Road meets the north-south Batticaloa Road) my garlands were removed to pile on new ones, leaving me unmasked for a moment. As my bad luck would have it, the first two cars held up on the Amparai Road carried some guys whom I knew at the ‘Varsity. They were returning from a hunting trip in the Gal Oya area and had been cursing at this procession that had delayed them for over two hours.

But when the garlands were removed for a moment, they found that I was the cause of all their trouble! So they started hooting: ‘Ado Aru, Hoo! etc’, accompanied by appropriate expletives. Thus holding on to my pants, jumping for the firecrackers while walking ceremoniously on the pavada, trying to breathe through the garlands, I was also hooted by my friends. As soon as I reached the cursed co-operative store, I hastily cut the ceremonial ribbon and fled the scene as fast as I could – with all the roads opening up behind me! Thus ended an embarrassing episode of my short ceremonial life!

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Features

Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

Published

10 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

Features

The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

Published

10 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16^th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, 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.

Features

Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

Published

10 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.