Features

Black July– Pogrom and Survivors

Published

2 years ago

2024/09/8

by Jayantha Perera

It was an ordinary Monday morning. At the Lunawa railway station, I watched the calm blue sea dotted with a few fishing boats. The train to Colombo was 30 minutes late, and it was almost empty. I saw some confusion among railway passengers — some got off the train and got into a train that went to Kalutara. A friend among them warned me that I should not go to Colombo. When I reached the ARTI in Colombo 7, I had the eerie feeling that something was wrong. I saw some employees hurriedly leaving the ARTI. One told me that the Institute had received an anonymous telephone call that the LTTE had plans to attack Colombo before noon. I brushed off the rumour and went to my room.

I saw a Tamil colleague sobbing in her room. She told me that a mob had attacked her house in Wellawatte. The Police had taken her mother to a refugee camp. The director requested that I take my colleague to the refugee camp where her mother was. A driver, who was an ex-soldier, agreed to take us to the camp.

We realised the gravity of the security situation when we left the ARTI for the refugee camp. Hundreds of people, mostly office workers, were stranded on the road. People were walking home. Two soldiers checked our identity cards and my colleague’s handbag at the refugee camp. One asked me in Sinhala, “Why do you accompany a Tamil woman?” He told me politely that I should have sent her by herself without exposing myself to mobs. While we were waiting for the approval to enter the camp, a large crowd appeared from nowhere, shouting, “Kill the Tamils before they kill us! Some carried jerrycans full of petrol, iron clubs, and axes. They were in a frenzy. The soldiers at the camp gate stopped them before they reached the periphery wall of the school.

I introduced my colleague and myself to the Army officer at the registration desk as Deputy Directors of the ARTI. I told him my colleague had heard that her mother was already in the camp. He promised to find her whereabouts. When I left the camp, my colleague waved at me with tears in her eyes. I waited until she disappeared among the new refugees who were agitated and scared. Several women were crying, as they did not know what had happened to their children who went to work in the morning. Chaos, fear, hatred, and confusion reigned in the camp and its vicinity. It occurred to me that I had not offered to bring food or clothes for my colleague and her mother. I felt ashamed of myself.

The driver dropped me off at Bambalapitiya Junction on Galle Road. At the Bambalapitiya junction, I met two colleagues. We started walking towards Dehiwela, where we saw mobs searching for Tamils. A few stopped pedestrians and demanded to prove they were not Tamils. Suddenly, a convoy of cars and motorbicycles drove past us. Motorcycle riders shouted the LTTE had captured Colombo and the LTTE would kill us soon. A few minutes later, another convoy of vehicles passed us with the same message. Pedestrians ran to its side lanes, emptying the main road for about ten minutes.

At Dehiwela, we saw many men in their shorts and folded sarongs shouting the Sinhalese would kill the Tamils. Two men had lists of residents in the area and wanted to know their whereabouts. One mob got petrol by force from a gas station. We watched helplessly while mobs looted and demolished shops. At one shop, they grabbed the owner and assaulted him ruthlessly on the main road. He ran back to his shop with blood dripping from his head. I could not see the Army or Police on the road. Anarchy ruled, and many lost their lives and property in a few minutes.

I reached home exhausted and confused. I felt ashamed of myself because I could not help the people who were crying for help. The three young girls who ran along the Galle Road shouting for help had shaken me to my core. Without lunch, I slept. About an hour later, a jeep stopped in front of my house. The ARTI Director wanted me to go to the Ministry Head Office. I reached Colombo in 20 minutes, as the road was empty. The Army and the Air Force had taken control of the Galle Road. There were no mobs or fleeing people. But I could see the smoke rising from the burned houses, shops, and factories.

The Secretary of the Ministry of Agriculture and Lands presided over the meeting. The Secretary informed the meeting that the ministry would manage two refugee camps for a week or two. He wanted me to be at the refugee camp at St. Thomas’ College in Mount Lavinia. He explained that as many as 1,000 persons might seek refuge at the camp. My responsibilities were to feed them and provide bedding, drinking water, and sanitary facilities. The Secretary also told me that I should get the Army’s assistance and ask the Cooperative Wholesale Establishment (CWE) to get dry food to the camp. He signed several papers that authorised me to order and accept food, bedding, sanitary items, drinking water, blankets, plates, and glasses. He also assigned three Ministry officials to work at the camp.

Hundreds of adults and children were at St. Thomas’ College. Some were crying, others were shouting, and a few had bandaged heads and bloodstained arms. It was a chaotic situation. I told them, using a megaphone, that help would soon come, and the security forces would protect them. One laughed and asked, “Why do you want to help us. Aren’t you a Sinhalese?” I told him to be patient.

An old woman who lost her house told me a squad of goons had arrived at her place brandishing clubs and swords. They told her to get out of the house if she wanted to save her life. Another woman said that goons came with a list of names and checked each house on the lane for Tamil families before setting her home on fire. Families with small children and grown-up daughters had to save their children from mobs. Some parents pushed their daughters and sons over boundary walls to friends’ compounds to protect them from attackers before leaving their homes. Some of them did not know what had happened to their children.

My colleagues set up an office and recorded the refugees’ names and addresses. They also prepared an inventory of food, bedding, blankets, and sanitary facilities that we had received. NGOs, neighbourhood groups, and religious organisations already delivered food, essential medicine, and hygienic supplies. The camp received large quantities of rice, lentils, canned fish, onions, and bread. A benevolent donor sent more than 200 food parcels for dinner.

In the evening, I visited the ARTI Cafeteria Manager in Moratuwa. I asked him to find me six cooks and loan large cooking utensils. I promised to pay his charges within two weeks. His wife accompanied me to a small hamlet by the sea. There, she spoke to three middle-aged women and explained their new assignment. She asked them to collect three more women to go to St. Thomas’ College for a few days. I asked the Manager’s wife to pack basic spices, salt, and oil into one large cooking pot. The women had many years of experience cooking for many people at weddings and funerals.

Using the megaphone, I told the refugees that each family should find a place in a classroom or the large hall to sleep and collect bed sheets and mats from the camp office. A commotion erupted as some women did not want to sleep in rooms with strangers. Others were scared to sleep on the floor. After much discussion, we agreed to organise people into several clusters. ‘Neighbours,’ ‘children attending the same school,’ ‘professionals,’ and ‘government officials’ were some criteria for allocating camp space. Two large posters were hung on a wall showing men and women their toilets.

I rang a bell at 9 pm to indicate the dinner was ready. The food parcels we had received were sufficient to feed those who wanted to eat. Men and women lined up, and four cooks served food. Several young mothers requested milk for their toddlers. Fortunately, the storeroom had a few milk cartons and packets of milk powder. I asked them to prepare milk after dinner. Several older people did not eat rice at night and wanted bread. I checked the storeroom and found steamed bread received from India. I asked a cook to heat 25 small loaves of bread on a flat steel plate. I distributed the bread among those who preferred bread to rice.

It took about eight hours to settle the refugees in the camp and console them. I promised to check on their houses the following day. Many were urban poor who lived in small huts and rented dwellings in Dehiwela and Ratmalana. They had lost everything.

Several beggars who lived on the street had infiltrated the refugee camp after the Army chased them away from the pavements. It was difficult to distinguish them from the refugees. Security guards told me beggars were a security risk because they might steal whatever the refugees had with them, especially gold jewellery, or assault young women at night. The security guards could not check each entrant’s identity card because many had none.

After dinner, I thanked the cooks and allocated a place for them to sleep with bed sheets and mats. I discussed the breakfast with them and agreed to provide bread and pol sambal for adults and bread with eggs for children. Also, we decided to give each person a cup of tea.

I left the camp at 1 am. The road was empty, and the Army stopped me at two places. An army officer explained to me that the killing of 13 soldiers in the North and the delay in handing bodies to their families had triggered the riots. Looting and burning houses continued in lanes and slums. The Army did not have instructions to quell the riots and the mayhem. Instead, the Army controlled the main roads and arrested curfew breakers.

Before lunch, officials from the Commissioner General of Essential Services and the Ministry of Agriculture and Lands Secretary visited the camp with an Army Major. They talked to the refugees and noted their immediate concerns, such as withdrawing money from banks, contacting relatives, and getting medical attention. The Secretary spoke about the logistics and secured me two more vehicles with curfew passes. He told me to encourage refugees with friends or relatives nearby to move to such places as early as possible, as the riots were now under control. After they left, we served lunch of rice, dhal curry, and tempered potatoes. Many refugees told the kitchen crew that the food was good, though simple. More food, medicine, drinking water, and blankets arrived in the evening.

A Tamil colleague at the ARTI had become a refugee overnight. While fleeing, she went through a harrowing experience. Some shops from where she used to buy provisions were in flames. Mobs had attacked some people she knew in such shops after destroying shops and houses. Soon after she left home, a mob gathered in front of her house and checked the electoral list to identify the owners of houses in the lane. Fortunately, the list had the name of her father’s Sinhalese tenant. The mob spared her house.

One morning, I found a young girl at the camp crying. Her mother told me the girl’s 11th birthday was in two days. I asked her what she wanted. She said a birthday cake and her dollies. My colleagues promised to find a doll and to get a cake for her birthday.

We visited several bakeries in the area, but they were closed. We went to the Cafeteria Owner’s house in Moratuwa and begged his wife to bake a cake for the girl’s birthday. She listened to the little girl’s story and baked a large cake for her.

The girl’s mother lit a candle, and her friends sang ‘Happy Birthday’. For the first time, the girl smiled. But soon, she started crying, saying that she wanted her dollies. A colleague gave her a small doll. The girl said she had a similar doll and wanted to go home to play with her toys.

The most challenging request came from a group of older people. They complained they hate to mix with “low castes” and “uncouth” refugees, especially at mealtime. They found it repugnant to eat with them and share bathrooms. I asked them what they wanted me to do. They suggested segregating them from others and providing a separate sleeping area with a toilet. I told them I could not segregate people on a caste or class basis. I explained that the riots had ended and they should consider moving to their relatives and friends. It was the fifth day of the camp. They were unhappy but did not raise this issue again.

Many refugees wanted to leave the camp but were scared and confused. They also wanted to avoid burdening their relatives and friends. Some wanted to rebuild destroyed or damaged houses as fast as they could. They wanted to visit their homes and return to the camp. Several refugees told me that many affected families had already decided to sell their property and go to Jaffna or South India. A few wanted to seek political asylum in Western countries.

Parents with young children were worried about their education. Several girls asked me how to get their textbooks and exercise books from their destroyed houses. One girl told me her father could not buy books for her and her sister, as he had lost all his money. I patiently listened to them and took notes.

On the eighth day after the riots, the refugee camp was closed. Some refugees were overwhelmed by emotions and cried when they met friends and relatives at the school gate. The meetings were heart-rending, but I was happy that they were determined to restart their lives from scratch. My great worry, however, was the fate of the children. Some were traumatised and did not want to leave the camp, where they found some stability and care.

There were about 30 persons who wanted to stay longer at the camp. I told them the camp was no longer providing food. A few confessed that they were beggars who lived on the road or in abandoned buildings. At the refugee camp, they found a safe place with security, food, and basic facilities. A few of them were getting ready to restart, begging. One young man told me that beggars went through the worst form of aggression, torture, and hunger every day, and no one cared about their plight. He knew some refugees did not want to see them at the camp. But he said, “We, too, are human beings and deserve kindness and help.”

A few years later, a refugee family invited me to lunch at their new home. When the riots broke out their children were toddlers. They looked normal and happy. I wanted to know how they had restarted their lives after the riots, but I did not want to broach the subject on that happy occasion.

After lunch, I walked along a lane severely affected by riots. At two places, people recognised me. Some families had rebuilt their houses partially. Later, I met a businessman who told me that Tamils, who had money, left for India, Canada, and Australia. I do not know what happened to the wage workers, low-grade government servants, and, mainly, the garment factory workers I met at the refugee camp. They must have regained their everyday lives. I wish they had, but I do not know.

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Features

Power crept into the Sangha and is now tearing it apart

Published

2 days ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

A file photo of Buddhist monks engaged in a protest

For more than a century, Sri Lankan society has lived with a quiet contradiction at the heart of its religious life. On the one hand, the Buddhist monk is revered as the embodiment of moral discipline, selfrestraint, and renunciation. On the other, the modern monk has become a public figure, political actor, administrator, media personality, and in some cases power broker whose influence extends far beyond the temple. This contradiction has been tolerated, even celebrated, for decades. But recent events, most notably a widely publicised case involving a senior monk accused of grave moral misconduct, have forced the country to confront a painful truth: the institutional conditions that make such scandals possible are not new. They are the predictable outcome of a long historical process that H. L. Seneviratne described with remarkable clarity in The Work of Kings. The moral deterioration visible today is not an aberration. It is the culmination of a centurylong transformation in the identity, function, and authority of the Sangha.

To understand how we arrived at this moment, it is necessary to revisit the argument Seneviratne made nearly three decades ago. His thesis was simple but profound: the modern Sri Lankan monkhood has taken on the ‘work of kings.’ By this he meant that monks, instead of confining themselves to the renunciant life prescribed by the Vinaya, have assumed the secular responsibilities once associated with precolonial kingship, such as protecting the religion, organising society, guiding the nation, and enforcing moral order. This shift, he argued, was not a natural evolution of Buddhist tradition but a modern invention shaped by colonialism, nationalism, and the anxieties of a society struggling to redefine itself in the face of foreign domination. The monk became a symbol of national identity, a guardian of cultural authenticity, and a leader in the struggle for political autonomy. In the process, the boundaries that once separated the monastic from the worldly began to dissolve.

Transformation

The consequences of this transformation were not immediately visible. For decades, the activist monk was celebrated as a patriot, a reformer, and a moral guide. His involvement in education, social welfare, and nationalist mobilisation was seen as a necessary response to colonial pressures and missionary competition. But beneath the surface, the foundations of monastic discipline were slowly eroding. The Vinaya, which had served for centuries as a rigorous framework for regulating monastic life, was increasingly overshadowed by the demands of public engagement. The communal structures that once ensured accountability, senior supervision, collective confession, and the daily rhythms of monastic routine, were weakened by the pressures of modernity. Monks who travelled constantly, managed institutions, or lived independently in urban temples found themselves outside the traditional systems of oversight that had long protected the integrity of the Sangha.

Scandal

It is within this historical context that the recent scandal must be understood. The case shocked the nation not only because of the severity of the allegations but because it shattered the public’s assumption that the monkhood remains a bastion of moral purity. Yet the shock itself reveals a collective denial. For years, Sri Lankan society has been aware, sometimes quietly, sometimes openly—of the growing gap between the ideal of the monk and the realities of modern monastic life. Stories of misconduct, financial irregularities, political manipulation, and abuse of authority have circulated with increasing frequency. But each incident has been treated as an isolated failure, a personal weakness, or an unfortunate exception. What has been missing is recognition that these incidents are symptoms of a deeper structural problem.

Seneviratne’s analysis helps illuminate this problem. When monks take on the work of kings, they inevitably enter domains of power that expose them to temptations the Vinaya was designed to avoid. Handling money, managing institutions, cultivating political patrons, and exercising authority over laypeople create opportunities for ego, ambition, and moral compromise. The monk who becomes a public figure is no longer shielded by the anonymity and humility of the renunciant life. Instead, he becomes a celebrity, a leader, and in some cases an object of uncritical devotion. This elevation brings with it a dangerous form of immunity. Laypeople who revere a monk for his public achievements may hesitate to question his behaviour. Politicians who rely on monastic support may protect him from scrutiny. The media, which often treats monks as moral authorities, may be reluctant to investigate allegations that challenge the sanctity of the robe.

The recent scandal illustrates how these dynamics can converge. The monk at the centre of the case was not an obscure figure. He was a respected preacher, charismatic leader, and head of a prominent institution. His public image was built on years of service, teaching, and community engagement. Yet it was precisely this public stature that allowed him to operate without meaningful oversight. The institutional structures around him, administrators, lay supporters, and junior monks, were either unwilling or unable to challenge his authority. The very qualities that made him a respected figure in the eyes of the public also made him untouchable within his own institution. When allegations finally emerged, they revealed not only personal wrongdoing but a systemic failure of accountability.

Failure that is not unique

This failure is not unique to one temple or one monk. It reflects a broader pattern within the modern Sangha. As monastic institutions have grown in size, wealth, and influence, their internal governance has struggled to keep pace. Many temples operate as semiautonomous entities controlled by a single monk or a small group of monks. Financial transparency is limited, administrative oversight is weak, and the mechanisms for addressing misconduct are often informal or ineffective. The traditional structures of monastic discipline, such as the Sangharama procedures for adjudicating offences, are rarely used in modern contexts, partly because they require collective participation and partly because they are illsuited to the complexities of contemporary institutional life. In practice, this means that monks who wield significant authority can act with little fear of internal sanction.

The politicisation of the Sangha has further complicated matters. Since the midtwentieth century, monks have played an increasingly prominent role in electoral politics, nationalist movements, and public policy debates. This involvement has given them access to political networks that can be mobilised to protect their interests. It has also created a culture in which monks are valued not for their adherence to the Vinaya but for their ability to influence public opinion, mobilise voters, or lend moral legitimacy to political causes. In such an environment, the monk who is politically useful may be shielded from criticism, while the monk who adheres strictly to the renunciant ideal may find himself marginalised or ignored.

The result is a profound distortion of monastic identity. The monk who once sought liberation from worldly attachments is now encouraged to cultivate influence, authority, and public recognition. The monk who once lived under the strict supervision of senior elders now operates in a world where independence is celebrated and oversight is minimal. The monk who once relied on laypeople for basic sustenance now controls vast resources, manages institutions, and commands the loyalty of thousands of followers. This inversion of traditional roles has created a fertile ground for moral deterioration.

Yet it would be a mistake to interpret this deterioration as evidence that the Sangha as a whole is corrupt. Many monks continue to live lives of remarkable discipline, humility, and spiritual dedication. In remote forest monasteries, small village temples, and meditation centres across the country, monks quietly uphold the ancient ideals of the renunciant life. They are not the ones who appear on television, lead political rallies, or manage large institutions. Their work is invisible, their influence subtle, and their commitment unwavering. The crisis facing the Sangha today is not a crisis of individual morality but a crisis of institutional identity. It is the product of a centurylong transformation that has blurred the boundaries between the monastic and the secular, the spiritual and the political, the renunciant and the worldly.

If Sri Lanka is to address this crisis, it must begin by acknowledging the structural nature of the problem. The temptation to treat each scandal as an isolated incident must be resisted. Instead, the country must confront the uncomfortable reality that the modern configuration of monastic life is fundamentally at odds with the principles of the Vinaya. The Sangha cannot simultaneously function as a political force, a social service provider, a media institution, and a spiritual community without compromising its integrity. The more monks are drawn into the world, the more vulnerable they become to the moral dangers that the Buddha warned against.

Reform, therefore, must focus not only on punishing individual offenders but on rethinking the institutional structures that enable misconduct. This includes strengthening internal governance, enhancing financial transparency, restoring the authority of senior elders, and reestablishing the communal practices that once ensured accountability. It also requires a broader cultural shift in how laypeople relate to monks. Blind devotion must give way to informed respect. Reverence must be balanced with responsibility. The robe must be honoured, but it must not be used as a shield against scrutiny.

Seneviratne’s work offers a valuable starting point for this rethinking. His analysis reminds us that the crisis facing the Sangha is not the result of moral decline alone but of historical forces that reshaped the identity of the monkhood. By tracing the evolution of the activist monk, he shows how the Sangha became entangled in the political and social structures of the modern nationstate. This entanglement has brought both benefits and dangers. It has allowed monks to play important roles in education, social welfare, and national development. But it has also exposed them to the corrupting influences of power, wealth, and public acclaim.

The challenge now is to disentangle the Sangha from these influences without undermining its ability to serve society. This will not be easy. The activist monk has become deeply embedded in the cultural and political fabric of the country. Many laypeople expect monks to be leaders, reformers, and guardians of national identity. Politicians rely on monastic support to legitimise their agendas. Media institutions depend on monks for content, commentary, and moral authority. Reversing this trend will require a collective effort from monks, laypeople, and political leaders alike.

Ultimately, the future of the Sangha depends on its ability to reclaim the renunciant ideal that lies at the heart of Buddhist monasticism. This does not mean withdrawing from society entirely, but it does mean reestablishing the boundaries that protect the monk from the dangers of worldly involvement. It means recognising that the true strength of the Sangha lies not in its political influence or institutional power but in its moral authority, its spiritual discipline, and its commitment to the path of liberation. The recent scandal, painful as it is, may serve as a catalyst for this reevaluation. It has exposed the vulnerabilities of the modern monastic system and forced the country to confront the consequences of a centurylong transformation.

To understand how the Vihara Devalegam Act relates to the perceived moral deformation of the clergy, it is necessary to examine how property management, state law, and monastic discipline intersect in the modern era. Historically stemming from the Buddhist Temporalities Ordinance No. 19 of 1931, this act serves as the primary legal framework governing the ‘temporalities’—meaning the secular wealth, extensive landholdings, and material donations belonging to Buddhist temples and shrines. While ancient kings granted these vast tracts of land to support the monkhood’s spiritual pursuits, the modern codification of this law has inadvertently fostered a system where property rights frequently supersede spiritual accountability.

The core of the crisis lies in the commercialisation of the monastic order that this legal framework enables. By treating temple lands as economic assets and vesting absolute administrative power in individual chief monks or lay trustees, the act has contributed to the rise of what critics term a monastic middle class. Access to vast, unregulated financial resources, rent from lands, and corporate donations has fundamentally shifted the focus of certain segments of the clergy away from the traditional path of worldly renunciation and spiritual guidance. Instead, it has driven a preoccupation with business investments, the accumulation of private capital, and luxury lifestyles, which deeply alienates a public looking to the Sangha for moral leadership.

The institutional flaws embedded in the Vihara Devalegam Act find a stark, real-world manifestation in the recent criminal case involving Venerable Pallegama Hemarathana Thero. As the chief priest of Anuradhapura and the custodian of the Atamasthana—the eight highly venerated Buddhist shrines, including the sacred Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi—Hemarathana Thero occupied one of the most powerful and wealthy positions within the Sri Lankan Sangha. His arrest on charges of sexual abuse of a minor girl perfectly illustrates how the structural defects of the Act facilitate not only moral decay but also the systemic obstruction of justice.

The core of this intersection lies in the vast, unaccountable wealth generated by the temporalities of the Anuradhapura shrines. Under the Vihara Devalegam Act, the chief custodian exercises immense, virtually unchecked control over temple revenues, state-backed land management, and millions of rupees in daily donations from millions of global pilgrims. It is precisely this immense financial liquidity that enabled the alleged deployment of vast sums of money to the victim’s family.

Furthermore, the situation underscores the profound policy failures cited regarding the helplessness of the monastic hierarchy and state enforcement. When child protection authorities initially attempted to act, the National Child Protection Authority noted severe delays and institutional resistance, stating they practically had to force the police to execute the arrest. The monk’s immediate retreat to a private hospital in Colombo upon the advancement of the criminal probe, followed by his release on bail, mirrors the exact loop described where wealthy monastics deploy high-priced legal defence teams funded directly or indirectly by their institutional positions. Because the Vihara Devalegam Act does not provide a mechanism for the immediate, unconditional forfeiture of temporal administrative rights upon a criminal indictment, the accused retains his structural power throughout the legal process. The Pallegama Thero scandal stands as definitive proof that without a fundamental overhaul of how temple wealth is legally governed and disciplined, the material benefits guaranteed by ancient temporalities will continue to shield the worst elements of moral deformation from the rule of law.

If Sri Lanka can learn from this moment and if it can recognise the structural roots of the crisis and commit to meaningful reform, then the Sangha may yet emerge stronger, more disciplined, and more faithful to its ancient ideals. But if the country continues to treat each scandal as an isolated failure and if it continues to ignore the deeper institutional problems that Seneviratne identified, then the moral deterioration we see today will only deepen. The work of kings, when performed by monks, carries a heavy price. It is time to decide whether that price is worth paying.

by Professor Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Kondachchi wind farm and battery storage project to boost energy security, says Power Ministry Secretary

Published

2 days ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

The Power and Energy Ministry’s drive towards energy security and renewable energy expansion received a major boost yesterday with the signing of a tripartite cooperation agreement for the development of the 150 MW Kondachchi Wind Power Project and an integrated Battery Energy Storage System (BESS) in Mannar.

The agreement was signed at the Ministry of Power auditorium under the patronage of Power Minister Anura Karunatilaka and Deputy Power Minister Arkam Ilyas.

Speaking at the event, Ministry Secretary G. M. R. D. Aponsu described the project as a transformative investment that would strengthen the country’s electricity network while supporting Sri Lanka’s transition towards cleaner energy sources.

“The Kondachchi Wind Power Project represents a significant milestone in Sri Lanka’s renewable energy journey. By combining large-scale wind generation with advanced battery energy storage technology, we are creating a more resilient and reliable power system capable of meeting future energy demands while reducing dependence on imported fossil fuels,” Aponsu said.

The project will be developed at Silavathurai in the Kondachchi area of Mannar on lands owned by the Sri Lanka Cashew Corporation. It is expected to utilise some 31 modern wind turbines with a total installed capacity of at least 150 MW.

Aponsu said the inclusion of an integrated battery storage facility would help address the variability associated with wind power generation and ensure stable electricity supply to the national grid.

“The battery energy storage component is a key feature of this project. It will enable the efficient integration of renewable energy into the grid and enhance overall system stability, which is essential as Sri Lanka increases the share of renewables in its energy mix,” he said.

According to the Ministry, the wind farm is expected to generate nearly 525 gigawatt-hours of electricity annually, significantly reducing the country’s expenditure on imported fuel and strengthening national energy security.

The project is also expected to contribute to Sri Lanka’s climate commitments by reducing carbon dioxide emissions by an estimated 372,750 tonnes annually.

“This investment delivers both economic and environmental benefits. It will reduce greenhouse gas emissions, support sustainable development objectives and help Sri Lanka move closer to achieving its renewable energy and climate targets,” Aponsu noted.

The project will be implemented under a Public-Private Partnership (PPP) arrangement using the Build, Own and Operate (BOO) model. The Asian Development Bank is providing technical and financial advisory support through its Transaction Advisory Services programme.

The signing ceremony was attended by Pradeep Perera, Chairman of the National System Operator (Pvt) Ltd., and Takeyo Koike, Head of Market Development and Public-Private Partnership Division of the ADB, among other distinguished guests.

The Ministry said comprehensive Environmental Impact Assessments and avifaunal studies have been undertaken to ensure minimal impacts on bird populations, nearby communities and agricultural lands. A dedicated 220-kilovolt transmission system will also be constructed to connect the project to the national grid.

“The Kondachchi Wind Farm is a strategic national project that will help secure Sri Lanka’s energy future while accelerating the country’s transition towards sustainable and affordable electricity generation,” Aponsu said.

Energy sector experts view the project as one of the most important renewable energy initiatives currently being pursued in Sri Lanka, combining utility-scale wind generation with modern energy storage technology to enhance grid reliability and long-term energy sustainability.

By Ifham Nizam

Features

Saudi Arabia sets new benchmark in Hajj management as 1.7 million pilgrims complete sacred journey

Published

2 days ago

2026/06/5

Thilina Walpola

Ambassador Al-Kahtani

Interview with Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka

Saudi Arabia has once again demonstrated its unparalleled capacity to manage one of the world’s largest annual religious gatherings, with this year’s Hajj pilgrimage concluding successfully despite extreme temperatures and the immense logistical challenge of accommodating more than 1.7 million pilgrims from around the world.

In an exclusive interview with The Island, Khalid Hamoud Al-Kahtani, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to Sri Lanka, described the 2026 Hajj season as a resounding success, crediting the achievement to the visionary leadership of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister, and the coordinated efforts of multiple government agencies working around the clock to serve pilgrims.

The Ambassador noted that nearly 3,500 Sri Lankan pilgrims participated in this year’s Hajj under the quota allocated to Sri Lanka, benefiting from enhanced healthcare services, sophisticated crowd-management systems, expanded shaded areas and cutting-edge digital solutions introduced by the Kingdom.

With Saudi Arabia continuing to invest heavily in infrastructure, technology and pilgrim services under Vision 2030, Ambassador Al-Kahtani said the Kingdom remains committed to ensuring that pilgrims from around the world perform their religious duties in safety, comfort and tranquility.

The Saudi envoy also highlighted the growing partnership between Saudi Arabia and Sri Lanka, emphasising expanding cooperation not only in Hajj affairs but also in trade, investment, education, culture and institutional exchanges.

Following are excerpts of the interview:

Q: How do you assess this year’s Hajj season?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: This year’s Hajj season was a resounding success, thanks to the Almighty Allah and the integrated efforts of the government of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, led by the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Prime Minister. This success was reflected in the efficiency of crowd management, the quality of services provided to the Hajj pilgrims and the effective coordination among the various relevant authorities, which enabled pilgrims to perform their rituals in an atmosphere of security, tranquility and ease.

Q: How many Sri Lankan pilgrims performed Hajj this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The number of Hajj pilgrims from the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka reached approximately 3,500, within the quota allocated to Sri Lanka for this season.

Q: Are there any discussions regarding increasing Sri Lanka’s quota in the future?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:Hajj quotas are determined according to approved regulatory mechanisms that take into account a range of considerations. The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continue to study various aspects related to developing Hajj services and accommodating the allocated numbers for all countries, in coordination with the concerned parties.

Q: What were the most prominent special arrangements implemented this year?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The operational plans for this season focused on enhancing the safety and comfort of the Hajj pilgrims, especially given the climatic conditions and high temperatures. Measures included expanding shaded areas, increasing water distribution points and enhancing health and ambulance services, in addition to developing the transportation system and traffic management within the holy sites.

Q: What are the most prominent digital systems and smart services that were provided?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani:The Kingdom continues to implement its digital transformation objectives for the Hajj and Umrah system. The scope of electronic services offered through the Nusuk platform and application has been expanded, along with the development of digital systems for issuing permits, managing crowds, guidance and health services. This contributes to increasing the efficiency of services and improving the pilgrim’s experience at all stages of their journey.

Q: How were the challenges of overcrowding and heat addressed?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities adopted an integrated crowd-management system based on modern technologies and real-time data analysis. This was coupled with intensified health-awareness campaigns, expanded organised movement routes and increased deployment of field, medical and emergency teams. These measures support the safety of the Hajj pilgrims and reduce the risks associated with crowd density and climatic conditions.

Q: Were there special services for the elderly and sick?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Yes. The Kingdom paid special attention to the elderly and people with special health needs by providing specialized medical services, assistive transportation and facilities equipped to meet their needs, in addition to field teams working to provide humanitarian support and necessary healthcare throughout the Hajj period.

Q: How successful was the Kingdom in combating irregular Hajj permits?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The relevant authorities in the Kingdom continued to rigorously implement the regulations and instructions governing Hajj, utilising modern technologies and advanced monitoring procedures to reduce violations related to irregular Hajj. These efforts contributed to enhancing the safety of pilgrims, improving crowd-management efficiency and maintaining the smooth flow of movement within the holy sites.

Q: How would you describe Saudi-Sri Lankan cooperation in organising Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Cooperation between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka is characterised by continuous and constructive coordination in all matters related to Hajj. The relevant authorities in both countries work jointly to ensure the provision of the best services for Sri Lankan pilgrims and enable them to perform their rituals with ease and peace of mind.

Q: How many Hajj pilgrims were there globally, and what were the main challenges?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: According to official statistics, the number of Hajj pilgrims this year reached 1,707,301 from various countries around the world. The main challenges included managing large crowds, ensuring public safety and providing health, transportation and accommodation services within a specific geographical and temporal scope. These challenges were addressed through advanced and integrated operational plans, which contributed to the smooth and successful completion of the Hajj season.

Q: Are there any future expansion projects?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: The Kingdom continues to implement strategic development projects within the framework of Vision 2030, including developing the infrastructure in Makkah and the Holy Sites, and enhancing transportation networks and smart services. This contributes to raising the quality of services provided to pilgrims and Umrah performers and improving their long-term experience.

Q: How are Saudi-Sri Lankan relations strengthened outside the context of Hajj?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: Relations between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Sri Lanka are witnessing continuous development in many areas, including political, economic, trade, cultural and educational cooperation, in addition to developing exchanges between institutions and the private sector. This reflects the two countries’ keenness to strengthen the bilateral partnership and achieve common interests.

Q: What message would you like to convey to Sri Lankan Muslims?

Ambassador Al-Kahtani: We extend our sincere congratulations to the Hajj pilgrims who have completed their Hajj rituals, and we ask Almighty Allah to accept their pilgrimage. We also assure Muslims in Sri Lanka that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia places serving the Two Holy Mosques and the guests of Almighty Allah at the forefront of its priorities and continues to develop the Hajj and Umrah system to achieve the highest standards of quality and safety.

By Ifham Nizam