Connect with us

Features

Legacy in Silence: Enduring Influence of Ainslie Joseph (1949-2025)

Published

on

Some of the Ceylon Journal’s Committee Members: (L to R) : Ainslie Joseph, Janani Wijeyeratne, Avishka Senewiratne, Dr. Kanchanakesi Warnapala, Pradeep Jayatunga (Image Courtesy Thuppahi’s Blog)

A little over a month ago, I received a phone call in the early hours of the morning from Ralston Joseph. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of sorrow. He told me his father had passed away. In that moment, a profound sadness settled over me—because Ainslie Joseph was not just someone I admired, he was a mentor, friend and confidante.

“Uncle Ainslie,” as I fondly called him, was a man carved from gentleness and purpose. He was a man for others—selfless, wise, and unwavering in his quiet pursuit of goodness. He was not born into privilege, and yet when he found himself with the opportunity to pursue personal gain, he turned away from it. His wealth was never material. His mission in life was to build something far greater: social and cultural capital, a legacy of service, wisdom, and human connection.

Unlike many tributes I’ve written before, this one has been difficult to compose. The memories of Uncle Ainslie don’t come in neat paragraphs—they arrive unexpectedly, like waves that are hard to contain. He was that kind of man: unforgettable, understated, and deeply cherished.

He spent his life lifting up the overlooked and unheard. For decades, he worked with Catholic charities such as SEDEC and Seth Sarana, addressing issues most people shied away from—peace-building, interfaith dialogue, ethnic harmony. He was never too loud, but his impact was thunderous in its quiet resolve. He helped people understand the world around them and nudged them, gently, toward compassion.

But the way I came to know him was through a different door—one that led to his love for language and storytelling. Long ago, while a student at St. Joseph’s College, he won the senior English essay prize. The students who placed after him went on to become a prominent lawyer and an international politician. That moment should have propelled him to literary fame. Instead, he chose a quieter path—one of editing, mentoring, and uplifting others. For a time, he served as a sub-editor at The Messenger, quietly shaping other people’s voices while rarely seeking the spotlight for his own.

I met him years later, long after he had retired, during a moment of desperation. I was a student then, struggling to finish my book on the history of St. Joseph’s College. The work was dear to me, but as it wasn’t an official publication, many editors politely declined. I needed someone not just to correct grammar, but to see if the words I had written carried weight—if they made sense, if they mattered. I suppose any reasonable author looks for these in an editor.

My friend Johann Pieris, the musician, connected me with Uncle Ainslie, and I still remember our first conversation. He didn’t question my age or background or the merit of my book. He simply laughed warmly and said, “I’ll do it—on one condition: I won’t take a cent.” That was the kind of man he was—gracious to a stranger, generous without condition, and ever so kind.

In the years since, I have worked with many editors and proofreaders. Some were efficient, others were brilliant. But none—absolutely none—matched the care, depth, and precision of Uncle Ainslie. He may have worked slowly, but every edit was surgical, thoughtful, and insightful. He treated words with reverence, and writers with dignity. If Uncle Ainslie ever disagreed with something I had written, he would never say it harshly, never undermine. Instead, he would gently offer a new way of seeing things—quietly opening doors to deeper insight, without ever raising his voice or wounding my pride. His corrections never felt like criticism; they felt like invitations to think more clearly, to write more truthfully. Hardly any serious criticism emerged—apart from a few who had dismissed it even before reading. The book: Till the Mountains Disappear did well: three prints in one year and now sold out. At the launch of that book, I made it a point to honour Uncle Ainslie. Perhaps he thought our collaboration had come to a close. But for me, that was only the beginning.

More projects followed. I wrote on Little Bike Lost, Sri Lanka’s first schoolboy film, and later co-authored Fruits of Virtue—a deep social analysis of St. Joseph’s College’s early years—with Dr. Srilal Fernando. Each time, I turned to Uncle Ainslie. Each time, he sharpened the edges of my work with his meticulous eye and generous spirit. He never once accepted payment. In time, we became more than collaborators. We became family. His beloved wife, Marina, his children, in-laws, his grandchildren—they welcomed me not as a guest, but as a brother and a son.

His mind was a library. Every day, without fail, he read the papers—daily and weekly. If he came across an article he thought would interest me, he’d flag it and send it on WhatsApp, always thinking of others. His grasp of both local and global affairs was nothing short of masterful. With a sharp memory and a discerning eye, he could separate truth from noise. Knowing I collected rare books on Sri Lanka, he would often send me contacts of those selling valuable volumes through the papers. That was his way.

In time, my focus shifted more seriously toward Sri Lankan studies. That’s when the idea of The Ceylon Journal was born—a platform to honour our heritage and engage in meaningful dialogue. I knew I had to assemble a formidable editorial team, and I reached out to both old friends and new minds from diverse fields. But one name was never in doubt. Uncle Ainslie had to be part of it. His breadth of knowledge, his calm wisdom, his remarkable sensitivity to nuance across literature, politics, history, and theology made him irreplaceable. At first, he declined. But I persisted, and at last, he agreed.

It was then that his health began to falter. There were moments when he wanted to step down, to quietly slip away from the work. But I wouldn’t let him. I told him he had to remain—if not in body, then at least in spirit. He agreed to stay but he did more than that. Even while unwell, he continued to show up, to read, to edit, to contribute. His was a quiet heroism—the kind we only recognize in full once it’s gone. I don’t think I could ever repay what Uncle Ainslie did for me. But there is one thing I did that brought him great joy: I introduced him to a remarkable group of men and women—the editorial team of The Ceylon Journal. From our patron M.D.D. Pieris to every contributor, he formed deep bonds with them all. Surrounded by lawyers, doctors, academics, accountants, and software engineers, Uncle Ainslie thrived. He became a central figure, sharing perspectives and speaking with wisdom and warmth. His son Ralston, also on our team, once told me this was a “renaissance” in his father’s life. The admiration was mutual—nearly every member was present at his funeral.

I still remember our inaugural meeting when the journal’s name was being debated. Many opposed the branding: “The Ceylon Journal.” But Uncle Ainslie stood up—calm, firm, and eloquent—and defended the name, and by extension, my conviction. He did it of his own volition, and for that, I am forever grateful. We spoke often. I visited his home every now and then and followed his work. In his parish, he taught English freely to the needy. He sourced micro-loans from the affluent to uplift the poor. He was a quiet environmentalist, growing fruits and flowers with pride—always eager to show me his garden.

But above all, he was a deeply spiritual man—regular at Mass, committed to causes that mattered, quietly powerful in his compassion. Even in the ICU, when I asked his doctor, Dr. Ruwan Ekanayake, how he was doing, he told me, “He’s reading liberation theology in intensive care.” That was Uncle Ainslie—reading to the very end. He borrowed books from me, particularly on politics. The last one he read was a biography of a controversial politician—a book he said he thoroughly enjoyed, just days before he passed.

Men like Ainslie Joseph are not rare—they are unfindable. His passing has left a quiet, aching void in my life and in the hearts of all who truly knew him. He was not just a great man—he was a quiet force of goodness in a world too often starved of it. May this tribute not merely honour his memory but stir others to walk in his footsteps— with the same quiet grit, generous grace, and steadfast humanity that defined the life of Ainslie Joseph. If we do, the world may just become a little more like him.

By Avishka Mario Senewiratne, ✍️
Editor, The Ceylon Journal



Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Features

Sheer rise of Realpolitik making the world see the brink

Published

on

A combined US-Israel attack on Iran.(BBC)

The recent humanly costly torpedoing of an Iranian naval vessel in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone by a US submarine has raised a number of issues of great importance to international political discourse and law that call for elucidation. It is best that enlightened commentary is brought to bear in such discussions because at present misleading and uninformed speculation on questions arising from the incident are being aired by particularly jingoistic politicians of Sri Lanka’s South which could prove deleterious.

As matters stand, there seems to be no credible evidence that the Indian state was aware of the impending torpedoing of the Iranian vessel but these acerbic-tongued politicians of Sri Lanka’s South would have the local public believe that the tragedy was triggered with India’s connivance. Likewise, India is accused of ‘embroiling’ Sri Lanka in the incident on account of seemingly having prior knowledge of it and not warning Sri Lanka about the impending disaster.

It is plain that a process is once again afoot to raise anti-India hysteria in Sri Lanka. An obligation is cast on the Sri Lankan government to ensure that incendiary speculation of the above kind is defeated and India-Sri Lanka relations are prevented from being in any way harmed. Proactive measures are needed by the Sri Lankan government and well meaning quarters to ensure that public discourse in such matters have a factual and rational basis. ‘Knowledge gaps’ could prove hazardous.

Meanwhile, there could be no doubt that Sri Lanka’s sovereignty was violated by the US because the sinking of the Iranian vessel took place in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone. While there is no international decrying of the incident, and this is to be regretted, Sri Lanka’s helplessness and small player status would enable the US to ‘get away with it’.

Could anything be done by the international community to hold the US to account over the act of lawlessness in question? None is the answer at present. This is because in the current ‘Global Disorder’ major powers could commit the gravest international irregularities with impunity. As the threadbare cliché declares, ‘Might is Right’….. or so it seems.

Unfortunately, the UN could only merely verbally denounce any violations of International Law by the world’s foremost powers. It cannot use countervailing force against violators of the law, for example, on account of the divided nature of the UN Security Council, whose permanent members have shown incapability of seeing eye-to-eye on grave matters relating to International Law and order over the decades.

The foregoing considerations could force the conclusion on uncritical sections that Political Realism or Realpolitik has won out in the end. A basic premise of the school of thought known as Political Realism is that power or force wielded by states and international actors determine the shape, direction and substance of international relations. This school stands in marked contrast to political idealists who essentially proclaim that moral norms and values determine the nature of local and international politics.

While, British political scientist Thomas Hobbes, for instance, was a proponent of Political Realism, political idealism has its roots in the teachings of Socrates, Plato and latterly Friedrich Hegel of Germany, to name just few such notables.

On the face of it, therefore, there is no getting way from the conclusion that coercive force is the deciding factor in international politics. If this were not so, US President Donald Trump in collaboration with Israeli Rightist Premier Benjamin Natanyahu could not have wielded the ‘big stick’, so to speak, on Iran, killed its Supreme Head of State, terrorized the Iranian public and gone ‘scot-free’. That is, currently, the US’ impunity seems to be limitless.

Moreover, the evidence is that the Western bloc is reuniting in the face of Iran’s threats to stymie the flow of oil from West Asia to the rest of the world. The recent G7 summit witnessed a coming together of the foremost powers of the global North to ensure that the West does not suffer grave negative consequences from any future blocking of western oil supplies.

Meanwhile, Israel is having a ‘free run’ of the Middle East, so to speak, picking out perceived adversarial powers, such as Lebanon, and militarily neutralizing them; once again with impunity. On the other hand, Iran has been bringing under assault, with no questions asked, Gulf states that are seen as allying with the US and Israel. West Asia is facing a compounded crisis and International Law seems to be helplessly silent.

Wittingly or unwittingly, matters at the heart of International Law and peace are being obfuscated by some pro-Trump administration commentators meanwhile. For example, retired US Navy Captain Brent Sadler has cited Article 51 of the UN Charter, which provides for the right to self or collective self-defence of UN member states in the face of armed attacks, as justifying the US sinking of the Iranian vessel (See page 2 of The Island of March 10, 2026). But the Article makes it clear that such measures could be resorted to by UN members only ‘ if an armed attack occurs’ against them and under no other circumstances. But no such thing happened in the incident in question and the US acted under a sheer threat perception.

Clearly, the US has violated the Article through its action and has once again demonstrated its tendency to arbitrarily use military might. The general drift of Sadler’s thinking is that in the face of pressing national priorities, obligations of a state under International Law could be side-stepped. This is a sure recipe for international anarchy because in such a policy environment states could pursue their national interests, irrespective of their merits, disregarding in the process their obligations towards the international community.

Moreover, Article 51 repeatedly reiterates the authority of the UN Security Council and the obligation of those states that act in self-defence to report to the Council and be guided by it. Sadler, therefore, could be said to have cited the Article very selectively, whereas, right along member states’ commitments to the UNSC are stressed.

However, it is beyond doubt that international anarchy has strengthened its grip over the world. While the US set destabilizing precedents after the crumbling of the Cold War that paved the way for the current anarchic situation, Russia further aggravated these degenerative trends through its invasion of Ukraine. Stepping back from anarchy has thus emerged as the prime challenge for the world community.

Continue Reading

Features

A Tribute to Professor H. L. Seneviratne – Part II

Published

on

A Living Legend of the Peradeniya Tradition:

(First part of this article appeared yesterday)

H.L. Seneviratne’s tenure at the University of Virginia was marked not only by his ethnographic rigour but also by his profound dedication to the preservation and study of South Asian film culture. Recognising that cinema is often the most vital expression of a society’s aspirations and anxieties, he played a central role in curating what is now one of the most significant Indian film collections in the United States. His approach to curation was never merely archival; it was informed by his anthropological work, treating films as primary texts for understanding the ideological shifts within the subcontinent

The collection he helped build at the UVA Library, particularly within the Clemons Library holdings, serves as a comprehensive survey of the Indian ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement and the works of legendary auteurs. This includes the filmographies of directors such as Satyajit Ray, whose nuanced portrayals of the Indian middle class and rural poverty provided a cinematic counterpart to H.L. Seneviratne’s own academic interests in social change. By prioritising the works of figures such as Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak, H.L. Seneviratne ensured that students and scholars had access to films that wrestled with the complex legacies of colonialism, partition, and the struggle for national identity.

These films represent the ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement of West Bengal rather than the commercial Hindi industry of Mumbai. H.L. Seneviratne’s focus initially cantered on those world-renowned Bengali masters; it eventually broadened to encompass the distinct cinematic languages of the South. These films refer to the specific masterpieces from the Malayalam and Tamil regions—such as the meditative realism of Adoor Gopalakrishnan or the stylistic innovations of Mani Ratnam—which are culturally and linguistically distinct from the Bengali works. Essentially, H.L. Seneviratne is moving from the specific (Bengal) to the panoramic, ensuring that the curatorial work of H.L. Seneviratne was not just a ‘Greatest Hits of Kolkata’ but a truly national representation of Indian artistry. These films were selected for their ability to articulate internal critiques of Indian society, often focusing on issues of caste, gender, and the impact of modernisation on traditional life. Through this collection, H.L. Seneviratne positioned cinema as a tool for exposing the social dynamics that often remain hidden in traditional historical records, much like the hidden political rituals he uncovered in his early research.

Beyond the films themselves, H.L. Seneviratne integrated these visual resources into his curriculum, fostering a generation of scholars who understood the power of the image in South Asian politics. He frequently used these screenings to illustrate the conflation of past and present, showing how modern cinema often reworks ancient myths to serve contemporary political agendas. His legacy at the University of Virginia therefore encompasses both a rigorous body of writing that deconstructed the work of the kings and a vivid archive of films that continues to document the work of culture in a rapidly changing world.

In his lectures on Sri Lankan cinema, H.L. Seneviratne has frequently championed Lester James Peries as the ‘father of authentic Sinhala cinema.’ He views Peries’s 1956 film Rekava (Line of Destiny) as a watershed moment that liberated the local industry from the formulaic influence of South Indian commercial films. For H.L. Seneviratne, Peries was not just a filmmaker but an ethnographer of the screen. He often points to Peries’s ability to capture the subtle rhythms of rural life and the decline of the feudal elite, most notably in his masterpiece Gamperaliya, as a visual parallel to his own research into the transformation of traditional authority. H.L. Seneviratne argues that Peries provided a realistic way of seeing for the nation, one that eschewed nationalist caricature in favour of complex human emotion.

However, H.L. Seneviratne’s praise for Peries is often tempered by a critique of the broader visual nationalism that followed. He has expressed concern that later filmmakers sometimes misappropriated Peries’s indigenous style to promote a narrow, majoritarian view of history. In his view, while Peries opened the door to an authentic Sri Lankan identity, the state and subsequent commercial interests often used that same door to usher in a simplified, heroic past. This critique aligns with his broader academic stance against the rationalization of culture for political ends.

Constitutional Governance:

H.L. Seneviratne’s support for independent commissions is best described as a hopeful pragmatism; he views them as essential, albeit fragile, instruments for diffusing the hyper-concentration of executive power. Writing to Colombo Page and several news tabloids, H.L. Seneviratne addresses the democratic deficit by creating a structural buffer between partisan interests and public institutions, theoretically ensuring that the judiciary, police, and civil service operate on merit rather than political whim. However, he remains deeply aware that these commissions are not a panacea and are indeed inherently susceptible to the ‘politics of patronage.’

In cultures where power is traditionally exercised through personal loyalties, there is a constant risk that these bodies will be subverted through the appointment of hidden partisans or rendered toothless through administrative sabotage. Thus, while H.L. Seneviratne advocates for them as a means to transition a state from a patron-client culture to a rule-of-law framework, his anthropological lens suggests that the success of such commissions depends less on the law itself and more on the sustained pressure of civil society to keep them honest.

Whether discussing the nuances of a film’s narrative or the complexities of a constitutional clause, H.L. Seneviratne’s approach remains consistent in its focus on the spirit behind the institution. He maintains that a healthy democracy requires more than just the right laws or the right symbols; it requires a citizenry and a clergy capable of critical self-reflection. His career at the University of Virginia and his continued engagement with Sri Lankan public life stand as a testament to the idea that the intellectual’s work is never truly finished until the work of the people is fully realized.

In the context of H.L. Seneviratne’s philosophy, as discussed in his work of the kings ‘the work of the people’ is far more than a populist catchphrase; it represents the practical application of critical consciousness within a democracy. Rather than defining ‘work’ as labour or voting, H.L. Seneviratne views it as the transition of a population from passive subjects to an active, self-reflective citizenry. This means that a democracy is only truly ‘realized’ when the public possesses the intellectual autonomy to look beyond the ‘right laws’ or ‘right symbols’ and instead engage with the underlying spirit of their institutions. For H.L. Seneviratne, this work is specifically tied to the ability of the people—including influential groups like the clergy—to perform rigorous self-critique, ensuring that they are not merely following tradition or authority, but are actively sustaining the ethical health of the nation. It is a perpetual process of civic education and moral vigilance that moves a society from the ‘paper’ democracy of a constitution to a lived reality of accountability and insight.

This decline of the ‘intellectual monk’ had a catastrophic impact on the political landscape, particularly surrounding the watershed moment of 1956 and the ‘Sinhala Only’ movement. H.L. Seneviratne posits that when the Sangha exchanged their role as impartial moral advisors for that of political kingmakers, they became the primary obstacle to ethnic reconciliation. He suggests that politicians, fearing the immense grassroots influence of the monks, entered a state of monachophobia, where they felt unable to propose pluralistic or fair policies toward minority communities for fear of being branded as traitors to the faith. In H.L. Seneviratne’s framework, the monk’s transition from a social servant to a political vanguard effectively trapped the state in a cycle of majoritarian nationalism from which it has yet to escape.

H.L. Seneviratne’s work serves as a multifaceted critique of the modern Sri Lankan state and its cultural foundations. Whether he is dissecting what he sees as the betrayal of the monastic ideal or celebrating the humanistic vision of an Indian filmmaker, his goal remains the same: to champion a world where intellect and compassion are not sacrificed on the altar of political power. His legacy at the University of Virginia and his continued voice in Sri Lankan discourse remind us that the work of the intellectual is to provide a moral compass even, indeed especially, when the nation has lost its way.

(Concluded)

by Professor
M. W. Amarasiri de Silva

Continue Reading

Features

Musical journey of Nilanka Anjalee …

Published

on

Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe is, in fact, a reputed doctor, but the plus factor is that she has an awesome singing voice, as well., which stands as a reminder that music and intellect can harmonise beautifully.

Well, our spotlight today is on ‘Nilanka – the Singer,’ and not ‘Nilanka – the Singing Doctor!’

Nilanka’s journey in music began at an early age, nurtured by an ear finely tuned to nuance and a heart that sought expression beyond words.

Under the tutelage of her singing teachers, she went on to achieve the A.T.C.L. Diploma in Piano and the L.T.C.L. Diploma in Vocals from Trinity College, London – qualifications recognised internationally for their rigor and artistry.

These achievements formally certified her as a teacher and performer in both opera singing and piano music, while her Performer’s Certificate for singing attested to her flair on stage.

Nilanka believes that music must move the listener, not merely impress them, emphasising that “technique is a language, but emotion is the message,” and that conviction shines through in her stage presence –serene yet powerful, intimate yet commanding.

Her YouTube channel, Facebook and Instagram pages, “Nilanka Anjalee,” have become a window into her evolving artistry.

Here, audiences find not only her elegant renditions of local and international pieces but also her original songs, which reveal a reflective and modern voice with a timeless sensibility.

Each performance – whether a haunting ballad or a jubilant interpretation of a traditional hymn – carries her signature blend of technical finesse and emotional depth.

Beyond the concert hall and digital stage, Nilanka’s music is driven by a deep commitment to meaning.

Her work often reflects her belief in empathy, inner balance, and the beauty of simplicity—values that give her performances their quiet strength.

She says she continues to collaborate with musicians across genres, composing and performing pieces that reflect both her classical discipline and her contemporary outlook.

Widely acclaimed for her ability to adapt to both formal and modern stages, with equal grace, and with her growing repertoire, Nilanka has become a sought-after soloist at concerts and special events,

For those who seek to experience her artistry, firsthand, Nilanka Anjalee says she can be contacted for live performances and collaborations through her official channels.

Her voice – refined, resonant, and resolutely her own – reminds us that music, at its core, is not about perfection, but truth.

Dr. Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe also indicated that her newest single, an original, titled ‘Koloba Ahasa Yata,’ with lyrics, melody and singing all done by her, is scheduled for release this month (March)

Continue Reading

Trending