Features
Budget 2026: The Emperor’s new clothes
There’s an old saying in politics: it’s easier to criticize from the opposition benches than to govern from the cabinet. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s 2025 & 2026 budget presentations have proven this adage with stunning, almost theatrical precision. What we witnessed was not merely disappointing policy documents, they were masterclass in political amateurism, economic illiteracy, and brazen historical revisionism that should alarm every serious observer of Sri Lankan governance.
Audacious attempt
Let’s begin with the most glaring intellectual fraud: AKD’s audacious attempt to claim credit for economic stabilization he actively sabotaged. As an opposition politician, he was the loudest voice denouncing the IMF program as a “sellout of national sovereignty” and a “neo-colonial agreement.” He mobilized protests, inflamed public anger, and positioned himself as he stood firmly against the very cost-cutting, revenue focused and foreign reserves building policies that later helped save Sri Lanka from complete economic collapse.
Now, as President, he speaks solemnly of guiding “complex negotiations” to completion, as if he were the architect rather than the arsonist. This isn’t political evolution; it’s political amnesia of the most cynical variety. The IMF Extended Fund Facility that stabilized our foreign reserves, the debt standstill that preserved our scant remaining dollars, the painful tax reforms that rebuilt government revenue, every single pillar of our current stability was constructed by the Wickremesinghe administration while AKD threw rhetorical Molotov cocktails from the sidelines.
To now claim stewardship of this recovery is like a man who spent years vandalizing a bridge suddenly demanding applause for finally allowing people to cross it. It reveals something far more troubling than ordinary political opportunism, it suggests a leader fundamentally disconnected from the consequences of his own words and actions.
The highway hypocrite’s
new road map
When the budget speech turned to infrastructure, it delivered one of its most puzzling moments, full of contradictions that left many scratching their heads. Here was a man whose political party built its reputation on obstructing every major development project in recent memory, filing fundamental rights cases against the Central Expressway, leading protests against Port City, framing highways as “corrupt, debt-trapping ventures that served only the elite to transport Embul Thiyal” (of course corruption not only on highways but also on Nelum kuluna, Mattala airport, Mahinda Rajapaksa International Cricket Stadium Weerawila, without matches, etc., in previous governments by SLPP and UNP as well, should be handled separately), now waxing poetic about connectivity and the economic potential of national infrastructure.
This is not merely hypocrisy; it’s historical theft. The JVP’s legacy on infrastructure is one of delay, increased costs, and mindless obstructionism dressed up as environmental concern or anti-corruption zeal. Engineers and project managers spent more time in courtrooms defending legitimate projects than they did on construction sites, thanks to the very party AKD led.
Now he stands before us as a modernizer? A builder? He’s neither. He’s a squatter who moved into a completed house and is pointing at the foundation claiming he mixed the cement. The sheer audacity would be impressive if it weren’t so insulting to the intelligence of anyone with a functional memory.
Amateur hour on fiscal policy
Beyond the historical revisionism, the actual policy content of the budget reveals a disturbing lack of economic sophistication. The government inherited a clear, IMF-mandated path: achieve a primary surplus of 2.3% of GDP, broaden the tax base, control expenditure, and reform loss-making state enterprises. These aren’t suggestions, their contractual obligations with international creditors.
The budget “appears to be betting on increased revenue from economic growth to fill the gap, a risky strategy that presumes growth will be robust and immediate. That’s not a plan, it’s magical thinking, as he claimed it by himself. These kinds of ideas don’t rescue countries from debt; they push them further in. The IMF demanded “better-targeted social safety nets to reduce fiscal drains,” and instead we got expanded, poorly targeted handouts that directly contradict the program’s core philosophy.
AKD wants the credit for stability without enduring the pain of maintaining it. He wants to be seen as generous to the people while locked into tight spending rules. The result is a budget that satisfies neither the IMF’s demands nor the public’s genuine needs, the worst of both worlds.
The ghost of SOE reform
The budget’s treatment of SOE reform? Vague references to “restructuring” and finding “strategic partners” with no concrete timelines, no financial targets, no clear frameworks, and critically, no mention of depoliticizing board appointments. This is the language of someone who knows what he should do but lacks the spine to do it.
The tax complexity trap
The budget’s approach to taxation reveals the same pattern of intellectual incoherence. While making minor adjustments to tax brackets, the government introduced a “complex array of tax holidays and concessions for specific sectors like technology, agriculture, and exports.” This is precisely backwards.
The IMF program, which AKD now claims to champion, requires simplification and broadening of the tax base. Instead, we ended up with a flood of special exemptions that “creates a complex and non-neutral tax system” that “distorts investment decisions, opens avenues for lobbying and corruption, and ultimately narrows the tax base, the exact opposite of what the IMF program requires.”
This isn’t sophisticated economic policy, it’s the work of someone confusing activity with achievement, someone who thinks complexity equals competence. Any first-year economics student understands that tax neutrality and simplicity are foundations of good policy. But AKD’s budget reads like it was designed by a committee trying to please every special interest that lobbied them.
The broken promise parade
And then there’s the immediate retreat from core campaign promises. AKD rode to power partly on the pledge to “remove the oppressive VAT on essential items” like medicines, educational materials, and food imports. This was his answer to the public’s pain, his differentiation from the “neoliberal” policies he condemned.
The reality? “Minor, symbolic VAT exemptions for a very narrow list of specific goods” while the budget speech emphasized the “critical need to preserve government revenue streams to maintain the primary surplus.” In other words, once in power, the constraints of the IMF program, that program he called neo-colonial, became gospel. The promise-maker became the promise-breaker within months.
This isn’t pragmatism; it’s a bait-and-switch. The public was sold one vision and delivered another, with barely an acknowledgment of the pivot. It demonstrates what happens when populist rhetoric meets fiscal reality: rhetoric dies, but the trust also dies with it.
The transparency deficit
For a nation that recently defaulted on its debt, transparency should be the watchword of every budget presentation. International creditors and domestic investors alike need granular detail on debt restructuring progress, contingent liabilities from SOEs, and the government’s medium-term fiscal strategy.
Instead, we got “a high-level overview of debt obligations” that “lacked granular detail on the progress of restructuring negotiations with commercial and bilateral creditors beyond China.” For someone claiming to be steering the ship, AKD seems remarkably uninterested in showing us the map. This opacity “leaves room for speculation and undermines the market confidence the budget seeks to foster.”
In a properly managed economy, budgets are opportunities to build confidence through disclosure. In AKD’s amateur production, the budget raises more questions than it answers, suggesting either incompetence in communication or deliberate obfuscation, neither of which inspires confidence
Double cab controversy
The NPP government’s procurement of 1,775 brand-new double cab pickup trucks isn’t merely fiscal recklessness; it’s a textbook example of Marxist-Leninist party machinery consolidation masquerading as administrative reform. What we’re witnessing is the JVP’s instinctive reversion to authoritarian patterns of control, patronage distribution, and ideological uniformity that defined every failed socialist experiment of the 20th century.
“Any Car You Want, as Long as It’s a Lada”
Remember the old Soviet joke? Citizens could have any car they wanted, as long as it was a Lada! The JVP government has imported this mentality wholesale. By mandating identical, government-issued vehicles for all representatives, they’re imposing uniformity that has nothing to do with efficiency and everything to do with control.
This isn’t about transportation logistics. It’s about establishing a visible, material symbol of party dominance, a fleet of identical vehicles, all bearing government plates, all procured through party-controlled processes, all distributed as rewards for political loyalty. In the socialist playbook, such standardization serves dual purposes: it demonstrates state power over individual choice while creating dependency chains that bind recipients to the regime.
The timing exposes the real motive. With local government bodies now dominated by NPP/JVP cadres following recent electoral victories, this massive procurement functions as the material foundation for party entrenchment. These 1,775 vehicles aren’t transportation solutions, they’re instruments of political consolidation, distributed to party cadres across the country, binding them through material dependence on the central apparatus.
This is classic Leninist democratic centralism adapted for 21st-century Sri Lanka: concentrate resources at party headquarters, distribute them as patronage, demand loyalty in return. The double cabs become party property in all but name, with recipients understanding that continued access depends on continued allegiance.
Tender that wasn’t: Rigging for comrades
The procurement process itself reads like a manual on how to fake competition while ensuring predetermined outcomes. The standard 42-day National Competitive Bidding window compressed to 12 days. Eligibility criteria so specific they could name the beneficiaries outright: 10 years of experience, 1,000 vehicles delivered, 10 service centers, Rs. 10 billion turnover, Rs. 50 million security deposit. This isn’t incompetence, it’s competent corruption. The JVP spent decades in opposition studying how power works. Now, they’re applying those lessons with the efficiency of apparatchiks who know exactly what they’re doing. The tender was designed not to find the best value for taxpayers but to channel public money to connected entities while maintaining plausible deniability.
When confronted, the government deploys classic bureaucratic deflection: the Ministry of Public Security claims ignorance, the Treasury points elsewhere, officials become unreachable. This shell game is straight from the authoritarian playbook, diffuse responsibility so thoroughly that accountability becomes impossible.
Fiscal suicide as ideological statement
The economy is deliberately destructive. Under the permit system, government bore only duty exemption costs, essentially foregone revenue. MPs purchased, maintained, insured, and fueled their vehicles. Personal ownership created natural incentives for care and cost-consciousness.
The new system socializes every cost: purchase, maintenance, insurance, fuel, depreciation, bureaucratic overhead, estimated at Rs. 2-3 billion annually beyond the initial Rs. 12.5 billion. This isn’t just wasteful; it’s ideologically driven waste. JVP’s Marxist DNA recoils from private ownership and individual autonomy. It is better to waste billions on centralized control than allow the “bourgeois” efficiency of personal responsibility.
The government’s claim that MPs “exploited” permits by selling them is intellectually fraudulent. If an MP monetized their permit and used alternative transport, they saved taxpayers maintenance and fuel costs. The permit represented the government’s contribution, what MPs did with it was their choice. That’s called individual autonomy, and to Marxists, it’s a bug, not a feature.
Now, taxpayers fund everything while MPs enjoy government transport. We’ve moved from potential individual benefit to guaranteed collective loss. This is socialism in practice: equal distribution of scarcity, inefficiency, and dependence.
The authoritarian creep
The most chilling aspect isn’t financial, it’s philosophical. Democratic pluralism respects that a representative from mountainous terrain might need different transport than one from Colombo. That an MP might prefer a fuel-efficient hybrid over a diesel guzzler. These choices reflect democratic diversity and individual judgment.
The JVP’s “one vehicle fits all” mandate reveals their authoritarian core. Uniformity. Conformity. Central control. When the state dictates even the vehicle you must drive, it signals a broader tendency toward control extending far beyond logistics into political culture itself. This is the Marxist impulse toward totality, the belief that rational planning from the center produces better outcomes than distributed individual choices. Every socialist regime has started here: standardizing the visible, the material, the daily interactions of life, conditioning citizens to accept state dictation as normal.
The 1,775 question: Building the party state
Why exactly 1,775 vehicles? The government’s vague references to “government institutions” don’t withstand scrutiny. Parliament has 225 members. Provincial councils and local bodies add more, but 1,775?
The number makes sense only as party machinery consolidation. With NPP/JVP now controlling local government, these vehicles flow to party cadres at every level, not just elected officials but party operatives, provincial organizers, local committee members.
This is building a party state where material resources flow through party channels, creating dependency networks that strengthen central control. This is textbook Leninist organization: a vanguard party maintaining discipline through material distribution, ensuring loyalty through access to state resources. The double cabs aren’t transportation; they’re the physical infrastructure of single-party dominance.
The road to ruin
Sri Lanka faces resumed debt repayments in 2028 requiring USD 13 billion in foreign reserves. The rupee crisis persists. Revenue surges from import duties are temporary bubbles. In this context, wasting Rs. 12,500+ million on unnecessary vehicles while committing billions more in recurring costs is fiscal suicide.
But for the JVP, ideology trumps economics. Building party infrastructure, demonstrating state power, imposing uniformity, these matter more than fiscal responsibility. This is the socialist calculation: political consolidation now, regardless of economic consequences later.
The people who voted for change deserve better than a fleet of pickup trucks purchased through rigged tenders, financed by their taxes, distributed as party favors. They deserve a government that respects democratic norms, fiscal responsibility, and the principle that public resources belong to the public, not to party machinery.
If this procurement proceeds, it confirms that Sri Lanka has exchanged one corrupt system for another, this time with Marxist characteristics. The double cabs will roll through our streets as mobile monuments to authoritarian creep, fiscal irresponsibility, and the JVP’s transformation from revolutionary opposition to just another party of power, patronage, and control.
That road leads only to ruin, fiscal, political, and moral. The question is whether Sri Lankans will recognize the danger before the consolidation becomes irreversible.
The Verdict: All Hat, No Cattle
The 2026 budget is not a document of reform, it’s a document of retreat disguised as pragmatism, of opportunism masquerading as statesmanship. It represents the collision between campaign fantasy and governing reality, and in that collision, what’s been destroyed is not just a set of promises but the credibility of a leader who appears to believe his own revisionist history.
Economic policy isn’t performance art. The budget reveals a leader out of his depth, surrounded by the very institutions and agreements he spent years undermining, now desperately trying to claim credit for their success while simultaneously diluting their effectiveness with populist gestures.
The greatest danger isn’t that this budget is bad, though it is. The greatest danger is that it reveals a governing philosophy built entirely on political expedience rather than economic principle. When a leader’s positions are infinitely flexible, when his rhetoric today contradicts his rhetoric yesterday without acknowledgment, when claiming credit matters more than creating value, the nation is left confused/lost.
Sri Lanka deserves better than a chameleon in the Finance Ministry. We deserve leaders who remember their own words, who acknowledge the foundations they inherited, and who have the courage to make unpopular decisions when necessary, rather than wrapping retreat in the language of reform.
The emperor’s new budget, like the Emperor’s new clothes, is a fiction sustained only by our collective willingness to pretend we don’t see the naked truth.
by Dr. Chandana Samarawickreme
Features
Forest cover loss threatens rare freshwater fish in Sinharaja streams
When discussions turn to Sri Lanka’s freshwater fish diversity and the urgent need to conserve it, attention is often focused on rivers, streams, reservoirs and water quality.
Yet scientists are increasingly finding that what happens on the land surrounding these waterways can be just as important as what happens in the water itself.
A recent study led by researcher Janamina Bandara of the Wildlife Conservation Society, Galle, together with researchers Sudath Nanayakkara and Sahan Randeniya, highlights how changes in forest cover caused by human activities can significantly influence freshwater fish populations in the hill streams surrounding the Sinharaja rainforest.
Their research sheds light on a relatively understudied aspect of tropical freshwater ecosystems—how alterations to vegetation cover, particularly through commercial cultivation such as tea and cardamom plantations, affect fish communities inhabiting headwater streams.
Hidden Riches of Tropical Streams

Forest plant saplings
Sri Lanka’s freshwater ecosystems are globally recognised for their remarkable biodiversity and high levels of endemism. However, despite their ecological significance, many ecological processes operating within these habitats remain poorly understood.
“Freshwater ecosystems in the tropics harbour extraordinary biodiversity, but many of the ecological relationships within these systems are still not fully documented,” researcher Janamina Bandara told The Island.
The study focused on sub-montane streams in the Sinharaja landscape, examining how varying levels of forest cover influence freshwater fish assemblages.
Researchers investigated whether fish communities differed between streams flowing through relatively undisturbed forests and those surrounded by modified vegetation resulting from agricultural activities.
Spotlight on a Critically Endangered Species

Leaf litter bay / Restoration activities
Particular attention was given to the critically endangered Rakwana loach (Schistura madhavai), a highly restricted endemic fish species first described from the Suriyakanda-Rakwana region.
Commonly referred to as a hill-stream loach, the species inhabits clear, fast-flowing streams and is considered highly sensitive to environmental disturbances.
According to Bandara, while broad community-level analyses did not reveal dramatic differences across all fish populations, species-specific responses painted a very different picture.
“Our findings show that Schistura madhavai exhibits a clear preference for streams flowing through intact forest habitats,” he explained. “The species becomes less common in areas where surrounding vegetation has been altered by human activities.”
Why Forests Matter to Fish
Forests bordering streams play multiple ecological roles. They regulate water temperature by providing shade, contribute organic matter that supports aquatic food webs, stabilise stream banks and help maintain water quality.
When these forests are removed or replaced with plantation crops, the resulting environmental changes can cascade through freshwater ecosystems.
Bandara noted that altered forest cover can influence water chemistry, microclimatic conditions, stream-bed composition and the availability of food resources.
“As riparian vegetation changes, a series of environmental conditions within the stream also change. Sensitive species such as Schistura madhavai appear particularly vulnerable to these shifts and may gradually disappear from modified habitats,” he said.
The research suggests that even subtle changes in habitat structure can have disproportionate impacts on species with narrow ecological requirements.
The Importance of Looking Beyond Numbers

Schistura madhavai
One of the most intriguing findings of the study is that ecosystem degradation may not always be apparent when scientists assess entire fish communities collectively.
In some instances, environmental variables appeared to have little effect on overall fish abundance or diversity. However, when individual species were examined separately, clear patterns emerged.
For example, variations in the amount of detritus—organic matter that accumulates on stream beds and serves as a vital food resource—did not significantly affect the overall fish assemblage. Yet for certain species, including habitat specialists, such changes proved critically important.
“This highlights a key conservation challenge,” Bandara said. “If we only look at total fish numbers or community-wide patterns, we may overlook serious declines occurring among environmentally sensitive species.”
Indicator Species as Ecological Sentinels
The findings underscore the importance of using so-called “indicator species” in environmental monitoring programmes.
Indicator species are organisms whose presence, absence or abundance reflects the health of an ecosystem. Because they respond rapidly to environmental change, they can provide early warnings of ecological degradation.
The Rakwana loach appears to fit this role exceptionally well.
“Species with narrow habitat requirements often act as ecological sentinels,” Bandara observed. “Monitoring them can provide a much clearer picture of ecosystem health than relying solely on broad biodiversity assessments.”
For conservation practitioners, this means that protecting sensitive endemic species may also help safeguard entire freshwater ecosystems.
Restoring Streamside Forests
Perhaps the study’s most important conservation message concerns the restoration of degraded riparian forests—the vegetation growing alongside streams and rivers.
Researchers argue that restoring these streamside habitats should be a priority in freshwater biodiversity conservation efforts.
Healthy riparian vegetation provides shade, reduces erosion, filters pollutants, enhances habitat complexity and supports the intricate ecological interactions upon which aquatic life depends.
“The restoration of degraded riparian forests is likely to be one of the most effective conservation measures for protecting freshwater biodiversity,” Bandara emphasised.
Such efforts could prove particularly valuable in landscapes where agricultural expansion has fragmented natural habitats.

Awareness sessions
A Broader Lesson for Conservation
The study offers a timely reminder that freshwater conservation cannot be achieved by focusing exclusively on water bodies themselves. The surrounding landscape matters immensely.
From the mist-laden streams flowing down the Sinharaja foothills to the countless rivulets nourishing Sri Lanka’s river systems, the fate of freshwater biodiversity is intimately linked to the health of adjacent forests.
As conservationists grapple with accelerating habitat loss and climate-related pressures, the research demonstrates that protecting and restoring forest cover may be just as important as safeguarding the streams themselves.
In the case of the elusive Rakwana loach, the message is clear: save the forest, and you may save the fish.
For Sri Lanka’s unique freshwater biodiversity, that lesson could not be more important.
By Ifham Nizam
Features
Turning Promises into Justice
Sri Lankans have reason to take satisfaction in their country’s latest international achievement. Sri Lanka has climbed 14 places in the 2026 Global Peace Index to rank 67 in the world out of 163 countries that were assessed. At a time when global peacefulness is reported to be at its lowest level since the inception of the Index, and when more countries are experiencing deterioration than improvement, Sri Lanka’s progress stands out. The ranking reflects the country’s recovery from nearly three decades of war, its efforts to strengthen political stability and public security, and its resilience in overcoming the economic and political crises of recent years. The Global Peace Index assesses the strength of institutions, societal safety and security, and the capacity of societies to manage conflict peacefully.
The challenge is to consolidate the gains that have been made and address those unresolved issues that continue to cast a shadow over the country’s future. It is in this context that two recent announcements by the government assume particular significance. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath has announced that the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), one of the most controversial laws in the country, will be repealed and replaced within two months. A report prepared by a committee appointed to make recommendations has already been handed over to him. According to the minister, the new legislation, to be known as the State Prevention of Terrorism Act, incorporates recommendations from civil society and is intended to comply with international standards on counter terrorism.
At the same time, Justice and National Integration Minister Harshana Nanayakkara has reaffirmed the government’s commitment to uncovering the truth about missing persons. During a visit to the Chemmani mass grave excavation site in Jaffna, he stated that the excavations should be completed expeditiously so that justice can be done and assured that the necessary resources have been allocated for the task. The excavations are taking place under judicial supervision with the participation of forensic experts, archaeologists, lawyers and representatives of the Office on Missing Persons. These commitments made by the government address two of the most contentious issues that have troubled Sri Lanka for decades. They also suggest that the government believes the country is now in a position to deal with difficult questions from its past rather than postpone them indefinitely.
After Breakthroughs
The timing of the pledge to repeal the PTA is particularly noteworthy. For many years successive governments promised to replace the law but failed to do so. Sri Lanka undertook to repeal it in 2017 as part of its commitments linked to retaining GSP Plus trade concessions by the European Union. Yet despite repeated assurances the law remained in force. The question therefore arises as to why the government now appears determined to act. One possible explanation is that the Easter Sunday investigations have reached a decisive stage. The investigation into the bombings that killed more than 260 people in 2019 appears to have made significant breakthroughs. If these investigations continue along their present course, it is possible that accountability will extend beyond those who directly carried out the attacks to those who may have facilitated, enabled or been part of a wider criminal conspiracy.
There is broad agreement within society that those who masterminded the dastardly Easter bombing must be held accountable and that the victims deserve the truth and justice. However, it is important that the process by which responsibility is determined is seen by the public to be fair, lawful and impartial. If those accused are convicted following a transparent judicial process that respects due process and the rule of law, the outcome is far more likely to gain acceptance across society. This is where the repeal of the PTA becomes important. A transition from a law associated with prolonged detention and exceptional powers to one that is more consistent with human rights standards would strengthen rather than weaken the legitimacy of the investigations. Accountability obtained through a process that is visibly fair will be more durable and less vulnerable to allegations of political motivation or selective justice.
The Chemmani excavations may also provide an example of how such credibility can be built. The process is taking place under judicial supervision and in full public view with the participation of independent experts. Whatever conclusions emerge, and follow up action is decided on, the process itself should command respect because it is transparent and accountable. The same principles can be applied to the Easter Sunday investigations. Public confidence is strengthened when investigations are conducted openly, when legal safeguards are respected and when the rights of both victims and accused persons are protected. The significance of these investigations may extend beyond the tragedy itself. There is likely to be an overlap between those who are eventually found responsible for the Easter Sunday conspiracy and elements of the state apparatus that exercised power during the final stages of the war.
Setting Precedent
For many years Sri Lanka has struggled to address allegations of wartime abuses. The issue has remained politically sensitive because it touches upon the conduct of those who were regarded by many as wartime heroes. Yet if the Easter Sunday investigations establish that senior officials can be investigated and held accountable when evidence warrants it, an important precedent will have been set. Once the deck is cleared through the Easter Sunday investigations and the judicial process that follows, it may become less difficult to address allegations relating to wartime abuses, including those connected to sites such as Chemmani where evidence is now being painstakingly uncovered. This would also strengthen Sri Lanka’s position internationally.
Since the end of the war in 2009, the country has remained under varying degrees of scrutiny by the United Nations Human Rights Council. In October 2025, the Council renewed the mandate of the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to continue collecting and preserving evidence relating to past violations. The next review of Sri Lanka is due in September this year. The government now has an opportunity to demonstrate that Sri Lanka is capable of addressing difficult issues through its own institutions and according to its own democratic values. The commitments to repeal the PTA and to pursue investigations into missing persons can be seen in that light. Those who were victimized query as to what happened to their loved ones and to the information they know full well they entrusted to the government authorities and to the commissions of inquiry that were appointed. These are opportunities to show that accountability and national ownership can go hand in hand.
Reconciliation requires the difficult task of remembering truthfully. Too often Sri Lanka has sought stability by postponing difficult questions. Yet unresolved grievances do not disappear. They persist across generations and continue to shape political attitudes and communal relationships. Sri Lanka’s rise in the Global Peace Index is an achievement worth celebrating. But the true measure of peace is not only the absence of conflict. It is the presence of justice, trust and confidence in public institutions. The government’s commitments on PTA repeal, the Easter Sunday investigations and the search for truth regarding the disappeared suggest an awareness that old approaches have run their course. The government has an opportunity to break with the patterns of the past. The test now lies in implementation.
by Jehan Perera
Features
The burden, and also strength, of the critical scholar in the Humanities
The biggest part of the challenge of a critical scholar in the humanities is having to engage critically with the very realities that define her existence as a social being. She cannot even begin to comment on the focus of her study without creating shock waves that would hit her own self in some form. One could argue that the scholars in the field of the humanities are part of what is being studied in one way or another. Critical scholarship in those fields entails destabilising the ground beneath their own feet.
An essential part of scholarly inquiry is being able to objectify what is being studied and examine it closely but at a distance, that, too, in a manner that scholar’s personal biases do not affect the judgement. Any failure to comply with this requirement immediately brands the study as unscientific. To try to understand this using an example situation, I would assume that a scientist who experiments with sodium and chlorine as chemical elements have the privilege of entering the experiment without any personal and emotional ties to either of the elements, placing one element in contact with the other without having to raise questions about her own existence, and observing and recording the outcome of the experiment without having to simultaneously examine what sort of implications the outcome has had for her as a person. The findings of the experiment may certainly advance her/him in the domain of science, but it is unlikely that the outcome of the study would result in any transformation within her as a social being.
The same privilege is not available for the (critical) scholars in the humanities. What chemical elements are for the scientist, the different social, political, cultural, gender, ethnic, racial, and religious identities are for those in the humanities. What the controlled, and also largely predictable, laboratory environment is for the scientist, the uncontrolled, even erratic, society is for those in the humanities. What the scientific experiments where the composition and behaviour of the individual chemical elements are explored is for the scientist, a close examination of phenomena and topics that cut across the categories of the social, the political, the cultural, and the religious is for those in the humanities.
The relatively clear differentiation or separation that is there between the scientist’s personal space and the laboratory setting where she conducts her research is not there in the case of her counterpart in the humanities. The latter does not have a separate laboratory setting that she can step into from her personal space, as the social space, which is her site of research, has her personal space already embedded in it. The freedom that the scientist has to cut herself off from what shapes her existence as a social and political being, as she enters her laboratory, is not available for her counterpart in the humanities, for the simple reason that the social and the political, which define her life outside her research, is also at the core of what they engage with in their research. Even in a setting where the latter locks herself up in a room and cuts herself off from the rest of society, the social and the political continue to define both her perspective and the object of study. Even the most effective scientist (but may not be the ideal scientist) has the option of taking her life, defined by the social, the political, the cultural and the religious, for granted, as her success is measured purely on the basis of her scholarly output; however, even the most ineffective scholar in the humanities would have to acknowledge the nexus between her personal life and her scholarly life, explicitly or implicitly, and her engagement with the chosen object of study will entail some sort of an engagement with her existence.
To use an example from the field of language studies which my work is primarily in, New Varieties of English, like what is called Sri Lankan English, is a topic that I try to engage with in both my teaching and research. Approached from a critical point of view, Sri Lankan English as a New Variety of English is more a political category than a linguistic one. The claims that you make may be based on linguistic evidence, but the conceptualisation of a separate form of English as Sri Lankan English even on the basis of objective linguistic evidence is primarily a political claim. The creation of such a category invariably results in a reconfiguration of the linguistic terrain of the country. Every claim that is made in favour of Sri Lankan English as a category results in a certain destablilisation of Sinhala and English, which are my first language and second language respectively, and the tense relations between which two languages have shaped my identity in a fundamental way. It is not only the two languages that get shaken; the broader ethnic identities that are associated with the two languages also undergo transformation, and this transformation certainly has an impact on who/what I am.
Even when I find the case for Sri Lankan English to be convincing, I feel compelled to word the arguments carefully. This feeling of compulsion to word the arguments carefully is certainly in recognition of the need to make academically-sound arguments; however, in addition to that, it has also to do with my position outside the social class which has traditionally been seen as having proprietary rights over the language. In that setting, I am less of an academic with an objective mindset than of a strategist who is enmeshed in the ethnic and class relations that define the topic of Sri Lankan English. At the same time, in a context where one’s knowledge of English is a primary determiner of her success in society and what is predominantly valued is the so-called proper forms of English, I have had to ask myself if any claims, including the most convincing, academically-sound ones, in the direction of legitimising Sri Lankan English should not be with caution.
I have also had to reconcile between two seemingly contradictory positions involved in making a case for Sri Lankan English, especially in the context of an English Honours programme, that, too, at a leading university in the country. On the one hand, making a case for Sri Lankan English entails encouraging deviation from the established norm/s of the language; on the other hand, considering the nature of the programme, the need to require the students to make that case using a normative form of English that would be recognised internationally could not be overlooked. At one level, this seeming contradiction could easily be dismissed as hypocrisy, but a closer and more serious reading of the situation would see in it a certain “maneuvering” and “negotiating” that the scholars in the discipline of English Studies stationed in peripheral contexts like ours are constrained to undertake in their engagement with the topic at hand. Although the arguments that get made have the appearance of truth, a close analysis of those arguments would indicate a certain identity politics that is being played. This identity politics has a direct bearing on the identity of the scholar who engages with the topic.
Accordingly, to make a claim in the humanities from a critical point of view is also to question in some form what defines one’s own identity, and this may not be the most comfortable undertaking for many of us in the field. This explains, at least to a certain extent, why some scholarly engagements with history results in mere glorifications of the mainstream historical narratives; why some scholarly engagements with literature and language results in a mere celebration of the mainstream literary traditions and hegemonic languages; how some scholarly engagements with the idea of culture directly subscribe to the position that culture should always be preserved and celebrated. Such approaches leave the status-quo largely untouched, and therefore the amount of unsettling that the scholars have to deal with is minimal. How much value that they are in a position to add to the existing scholarship, of course, is a question.
Any act of critical scholarship in the field of the humanities entails the scholar having to challenge in some form what defines her personal existence. This may not be the most comfortable move to make, but that is the only way the scholar could try to make a contribution of value to the field. It is important that this dilemma that the critical scholars in the humanities have to go through is recognised for what it is.
(Nandaka Maduranga Kalugampitiya is attached to the Department of English, University of Peradeniya.)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
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Kalugampitiya
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News3 days agoCreditor not yet paid
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News3 days agoConsumers bearing 22% tax burden despite 18% VAT claim: Dr. Harsha de Silva
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Opinion5 days agoBeyond diagnosis: A strategic design for 7% growth by 2029 (Part I)
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News6 days agoIndia provides military stores worth USD 5.5 mn to SL
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Opinion4 days agoSriLankan Airbus struck by lightning
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Editorial2 days agoFuel crisis: Beyond price debate
