Features

Flood Relief Should Help Victims, Not Bureaucracies

Published

1 month ago

2025/12/21

A bridge damaged by Cyclone Ditwah in the Badulla District on 13 December undergoing repairs. (Photo by Ajith Perera/Xinhua)

Sri Lanka has the capacity to respond to disaster. Donors should let it.

When floods swept through Sri Lanka in late November and early December, the need for swift assistance was undeniable. Lives were disrupted, livelihoods destroyed, and communities left exposed. In moments like these, speed matters. Judgment does too.

That is why the announcement on December 11 by Marc-André Franche, the United Nations resident coordinator in Sri Lanka, deserves closer attention. Mr. Franche said the U.N. was seeking to mobilize $35 million from donors, to be channeled through U.N. agencies for flood relief. About $9.5 million, he noted, had already been pledged, including by the European Union, Switzerland, Britain and the United States.

No one disputes that Sri Lanka needs help. The question is why the United Nations is setting up a parallel funding channel at all, when the Sri Lankan government has already activated its Disaster Management Fund, administered through national disaster authorities, and is actively seeking donor contributions for it.

U.N. appeals typically follow disasters when national institutions lack the capacity to deliver aid, when markets have collapsed, when donors distrust state systems, or when conflict makes neutrality essential. That logic held after the 2004 tsunami when large stretches of Sri Lanka’s coastline were under the control of the LTTE and again during the 2022 economic crisis when the government had reached an all-time low in terms of public distrust. It is much less obvious that any of those conditions apply today.

The United Nations, of course, has an argument of its own. Its agencies can move quickly in the first days of a crisis, drawing on pre-positioned stocks, standing contracts and surge staff. Many Western donors prefer routing funds through the U.N., pointing to fiduciary safeguards, standardized procurement rules and the political insulation that multilateral channels provide. In fragile or conflict-affected settings, neutrality can be indispensable.

In Sri Lanka’s current context, however, those arguments carry less weight. The government retains full territorial control. Markets are functioning. Public financial-management systems have undergone internationally validated reforms. Speed matters most in the first days of a disaster, precisely the window for which the U.N.’s global emergency fund, CERF, is designed. Beyond that initial phase, the rationale for diverting large sums into parallel bureaucratic systems weakens considerably. The prime minister announced this week that Sri Lanka has now moved into the next phase of recovery following the initial rescue and relief operations, making it all the more important that a parallel system not be entrenched. Coordination does not require financial control, and fiduciary risk alone cannot justify structural inefficiency where capable national systems already exist.

This debate is not confined to humanitarian aid. Earlier this year, Sri Lanka’s foreign minister rejected calls for expanded investigations by the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, arguing that externally driven accountability mechanisms risk undermining domestic processes and deepening political polarization. The government has maintained that questions of accountability and reconciliation should be addressed through Sri Lanka’s own legal and institutional frameworks. Whether one agrees or disagrees, the position reflects a consistent assertion by the state: parallel international mechanisms are not a substitute for functioning national systems. That logic applies as much to disaster response as it does to human rights oversight.

The government also maintains, credibly, that it has the administrative capacity, market access and logistical reach to manage emergency relief. After years of painful reform following the economic crisis, transparency in public finance has become a point of national pride. That assessment is not based on government assertion alone. In the wake of Sri Lanka’s economic crisis, both the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank have publicly acknowledged improvements in the country’s public financial management, transparency and fiscal oversight.

As part of the IMF-supported reform program, Sri Lanka has strengthened budget reporting, procurement controls and audit functions, while the World Bank has expanded technical assistance aimed at modernizing treasury systems, improving cash management and increasing the transparency of public expenditure. These reforms are incomplete and fragile, but they represent a material shift from the post-tsunami and post-economic crises period and are precisely the kinds of national systems donors say they want to support rather than bypass.

Moreover, there is no shortage of food or basic goods. What cannot be sourced locally can be procured quickly from neighboring countries. Logistically, too, U.N. agencies rely heavily on government departments, local NGOs and the private sector to deliver assistance. They no longer maintain the extensive field operations they once did during the civil war and the tsunami, which further weakens the argument that international organizations are best placed to manage large-scale delivery.

At its core, this debate is not really about the United Nations at all. It is about how donors and international organizations can best help countries like Sri Lanka recover from crises such as Ditwah. Notably, it is almost exclusively Western donors, as announced by the United Nations, that have chosen to channel assistance through this parallel mechanism, alongside a contribution announced by Japan a few days later. By contrast, countries from the Global South and other non-Western states — including India, China, Pakistan, Nepal, the Maldives, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Russia and Myanmar — have provided support largely through state-led mechanisms. The contrast is striking. It raises legitimate questions about why donor approaches diverge so sharply, and whether such differences risk blurring the lines between humanitarian assistance and broader geopolitical considerations, including perceptions of neutrality.

So why route scarce donor dollars through the U.N. and other large international organizations?

One explanation lies in the U.N.’s own financial distress. Its global budget is under unprecedented strain, weakened by chronic nonpayment from major contributors. In that environment, disasters also become opportunities to mobilize resources for the U.N. system itself, some of which eventually reach victims after passing through multiple institutional layers. Those layers come at a cost.

Donors, too, face incentives that discourage questioning the status quo. Aid ministries operate within rigid annual budget cycles and are under pressure to commit and disburse funds within a given fiscal year. Channeling money through large multilateral agencies offers a convenient solution: funds move quickly off national balance sheets, fiduciary responsibility is formally transferred, and donor governments can report internationally that they are supporting recognized humanitarian institutions. This dynamic helps explain why donor behavior often clusters around multilateral channels, particularly among Western governments operating within similar fiscal and political constraints, even when alternative models may offer greater value for money.

A major sector-wide analysis by Humanitarian Outcomes, linked to ALNAP, found that humanitarian financing dominated by large multilateral agencies is often slow and administratively heavy, particularly in the early days of a crisis. High transaction costs, including reporting requirements, compliance procedures and repeated donor processes, reduce the share of funds that reach people when they need them most.

Officially, U.N. agencies recover between seven and 13 percent of funds as “programme support costs,” money retained at headquarters for back-office functions. These funds never reach country offices. Beyond this, agencies charge the full cost of what they define as direct project expenses to donor-funded budgets. These include international and national staff salaries, consultants, vehicles, security, office rent, information technology, monitoring and evaluation, and donor-specific reporting.

Independent research by Development Initiatives and repeated observations by the U.N. Board of Auditors show that once these administrative and management costs are included, non-beneficiary expenditures can consume more than 40 percent of project budgets. In practical terms, a dollar routed through multilateral humanitarian channels may deliver less than fifty cents of tangible assistance on the ground.

(By contrast, providing direct cash assistance to victims of natural disasters typically costs less than five percent in administrative overhead and has been shown globally to be among the most effective and dignified forms of aid when local markets are functioning.)

Sri Lanka has seen this before.

After the 2004 tsunami, the U.N. system raised an unprecedented $120–140 million for Sri Lanka across agencies including UNICEF, the World Food Program, UNDP, UNHCR, WHO and FAO. Yet independent evaluations found that a year later, less than half of these funds had been disbursed — and “disbursed” often meant transferred to another intermediary rather than translated into houses, boats or livelihoods.

A senior U.N. official remarked at the time that “we have built many houses in our financial systems, but not a single one on the ground.”

In one telling episode, staff were encouraged to boost “delivery” figures by purchasing vehicles deemed necessary for field operations. Each U.N.-specification Land Cruiser cost roughly $40,000. At the government’s post-tsunami grant rate in 2005, that sum could have rebuilt more than 16 fully destroyed houses, housing roughly 80 people.

And it is not just a legacy of the tsunami years.

Recent experience offers a cautionary example. In June 2022, the United Nations launched a Humanitarian Needs and Priorities Plan for Sri Lanka, appealing for $149.7 million to assist 3.4 million vulnerable people across sectors including food, health and protection. The U.N.’s own Financial Tracking Service records that $182.4 million in humanitarian assistance flowed to Sri Lanka that year. Yet there is not a single publicly available document that consolidates how this money was actually spent, let alone one that distinguishes administrative and program costs from aid delivered on the ground.

The U.N.’s Sri Lanka Annual Results Reports for 2022 and 2023 avoid financial reporting altogether, focusing instead on broad, self-reported “results” that are difficult to verify. As of December 2025, the Annual Results Report for 2024 has still not been made public, an omission that would be unacceptable in most other institutional settings.

To be fair, the distrust that followed the tsunami and resurfaced during the 2022 economic crisis did not emerge in a vacuum. Weak governance, corruption scandals and the politicization of aid eroded donor confidence and justified heightened scrutiny at the time. But the lesson should not be that parallel systems are a permanent substitute for national ones. It should be that rebuilding trust requires transparency, independent oversight and accountability anchored in domestic institutions, not bypassing them indefinitely.

Sri Lanka’s experience is not unique. Evaluations from Indonesia after the Sulawesi earthquake, the Philippines after Typhoon Haiyan and India following the Kerala floods point to a similar conclusion: where capable state systems exist, parallel humanitarian financing often delays the transition from response to recovery rather than accelerating it.

The international humanitarian system, including U.N. agencies, also suffers from predictable incentive problems. Success is measured by money raised and money spent, not by recovery speed, resilience built or local capacity strengthened. Under annual appropriations and performance metrics focused on throughput, institutions optimize for what they are measured on. The result is a system that excels at mobilization and spending but struggles with efficiency and long-term impact.

There is one partial exception. The U.N. Central Emergency Response Fund, or CERF, is designed to provide rapid liquidity in the earliest days of a crisis. In early December, Sri Lanka received $4.5 million from CERF. Even here, transparency matters. Much of this funding replenishes pre-positioned stocks already drawn down, reimbursing existing expenditures rather than creating net new capacity. Public visibility into how those stocks are valued and how CERF disbursements align with national recovery plans remains limited.

None of this is an argument for excluding the U.N. altogether. Its technical expertise in water and sanitation, logistics, disease surveillance, and the protection of women and children can be invaluable. But that expertise is most effective when embedded within government systems, supporting ministries and local administrations, and focused on building durable national capacity rather than running parallel delivery structures.

Sri Lanka has learned hard lessons from past experiments. After the tsunami, $10 million in donor funds administered through UNDP were used to establish a Donor Assistance Database intended to track aid flows. It never delivered on its promise. Housed in an ad hoc agency that no longer exists, it disappeared along with the institution and the money.

A more constructive model is within reach. Donors could capitalize the Disaster Management Fund directly, subject to independent audits, real-time public dashboards and agreed performance benchmarks. The U.N. could provide embedded technical advisers and act as a third-party monitor, stepping in operationally only if clearly defined capacity thresholds fail.

Such a model would also clarify institutional roles. The Ministry of Finance would retain responsibility for budget execution, procurement and financial reporting. The Central Bank could support real-time monitoring of fund flows, liquidity management and payment systems, ensuring both speed and traceability. Parliamentary oversight, exercised through existing committees, would provide an additional layer of accountability, reviewing expenditures, audit findings and performance against agreed benchmarks. Together, these institutions offer a framework for transparency and control that donors routinely demand, without outsourcing financial authority to parallel external structures.

This is not to suggest that the government can or should act alone. Effective disaster response depends on a wide ecosystem that includes local NGOs, community-based organizations, the Sri Lankan private sector and international partners. Each brings capabilities the state does not always possess, from last-mile delivery and social trust to logistics, technology and specialized expertise. But direct intervention by international actors should be grounded in a clear, justifiable and verifiable comparative advantage, and accompanied by accountability mechanisms that are transparent, measurable and aligned with national systems. Absent that test, parallel intervention risks weakening, rather than strengthening, the very capacities disasters expose.

If the goal is genuine national ownership, stronger domestic institutions and cost-effective, sustainable results that reach those most affected, then the current model for delivering and accounting for aid deserves closer scrutiny. Rethinking that model is not optional; it is essential. The choice is not between national systems and international expertise. It is between financing delivery and financing bureaucracy.

The U.N. works in Sri Lanka at the government’s invitation. The country pays assessed contributions, provides prime land in Colombo rent-free, and covers utilities and services. That gives Sri Lankans not just the right, but the obligation, to ask hard questions.

If the U.N. secretary-general has pledged “all possible assistance,” as reported, the most constructive step now would be a simple one: support the Disaster Management Fund rather than compete with it.

As José Ramos-Horta, the Nobel Peace Prize–winning president of Timor-Leste, once observed of the vast U.N. administration that governed his country after independence, billions were spent “on Timor-Leste, but not in Timor-Leste.”

Sri Lanka, having learned once at great cost, should not have to learn that lesson again.

by a special correspondent

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Features

Ethnic-related problems need solutions now

Published

10 hours ago

2026/01/20

Sahan Weerasooriya

President Dissanayake in Jaffna

In the space of 15 months, President Anura Kumara Dissanayake has visited the North of the country more than any other president or prime minister. These were not flying visits either. The president most recent visit to Jaffna last week was on the occasion of Thai Pongal to celebrate the harvest and the dawning of a new season. During the two days he spent in Jaffna, the president launched the national housing project, announced plans to renovate Palaly Airport, to expedite operations at the Kankesanthurai Port, and pledged once again that racism would have no place in the country.

There is no doubt that the president’s consistent presence in the north has had a reassuring effect. His public rejection of racism and his willingness to engage openly with ethnic and religious minorities have helped secure his acceptance as a national leader rather than a communal one. In the fifteen months since he won the presidential election, there have been no inter community clashes of any significance. In a country with a long history of communal tension, this relative calm is not accidental. It reflects a conscious political choice to lower the racial temperature rather than inflame it.

But preventing new problems is only part of the task of governing. While the government under President Dissanayake has taken responsibility for ensuring that anti-minority actions are not permitted on its watch, it has yet to take comparable responsibility for resolving long standing ethnic and political problems inherited from previous governments. These problems may appear manageable because they have existed for years, even decades. Yet their persistence does not make them innocuous. Beneath the surface, they continue to weaken trust in the state and erode confidence in its ability to deliver justice.

Core Principle

A core principle of governance is responsibility for outcomes, not just intentions. Governments do not begin with a clean slate. Governments do not get to choose only the problems they like. They inherit the state in full, with all its unresolved disputes, injustices and problemmatic legacies. To argue that these are someone else’s past mistakes is politically convenient but institutionally dangerous. Unresolved problems have a habit of resurfacing at the most inconvenient moments, often when a government is trying to push through reforms or stabilise the economy.

This reality was underlined in Geneva last week when concerns were raised once again about allegations of sexual abuse that occurred during the war, affecting both men and women who were taken into government custody. Any sense that this issue had faded from international attention was dispelled by the release of a report by the Office of the Human Rights High Commissioner titled “Sri Lanka: Report on conflict related sexual violence”, dated 13.01.26. Such reports do not emerge in a vacuum. They are shaped by the absence of credible domestic processes that investigate allegations, establish accountability and offer redress. They also shape international perceptions, influence diplomatic relationships and affect access to cooperation and support.

Other unresolved problems from the past continue to fester. These include the continued detention of Tamil prisoners under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, in some cases for many years without conclusion, the failure to return civilian owned land taken over by the military during the war, and the fate of thousands of missing persons whose families still seek answers. These are not marginal issues even when they are not at the centre stage. They affect real lives and entire communities. Their cumulative effect is corrosive, undermining efforts to restore normalcy and rebuild confidence in public institutions.

Equal Rights

Another area where delay will prove costly is the resettlement of Malaiyaha Tamil communities affected by the recent cyclone in the central hills, which was the worst affected region in the country. Even as President Dissanayake celebrated Thai Pongal in Jaffna to the appreciation of the people there, Malaiyaha Tamils engaged in peaceful campaigns to bring attention to their unresolved problems. In Colombo at the Liberty Roundabout, a number of them gathered to symbolically celebrate Thai Pongal while also bringing national attention to the issues of their community, in particular the problem of displacement after the cyclone.

The impact of the cyclone, and the likelihood of future ones under conditions of climate change, make it necessary for the displaced Malaiyaha Tamils to be found new places of residence. This is also an opportunity to tackle the problem of their landlessness in a comprehensive manner and make up for decades if not two centuries of inequity.

Planning for relocation and secure housing is good governance. This needs to be done soon. Climate related disasters do not respect political timetables. They punish delay and indecision. A government that prides itself on system change cannot respond to such challenges with temporary fixes.

The government appears concerned that finding new places for the Malaiyaha Tamil people to be resettled will lead to land being taken away from plantation companies which are said to be already struggling for survival. Due to the economic crisis the country has faced since it went bankrupt in 2022, the government has been deferential to the needs of company owners who are receiving most favoured treatment. As a result, the government is contemplating solutions such as high rise apartments and townhouse style housing to minimise the use of land.

Such solutions cannot substitute for a comprehensive strategy that includes consultations with the affected population and addresses their safety, livelihoods and community stability.

Lose Trust

Most of those who voted for the government at the last elections did so in the hope that it would bring about system change. They did not vote for the government to reinforce the same patterns that the old system represented. At its core, system change means rebalancing priorities. It means recognising that economic efficiency without social justice is a short-term gain with long-term costs. It means understanding that unresolved ethnic grievances, unaddressed wartime abuses and unequal responses to disaster will eventually undermine any development programme, no matter how well designed. Governance that postpones difficult decisions may buy time, but lose trust.

The coming year will therefore be decisive. The government must show that its commitment to non racism and inclusion extends beyond conflict prevention to conflict resolution. Addressing conflict related abuses, concluding long standing detentions, returning land, accounting for the missing and securing dignified resettlement for displaced communities are not distractions from the government programme. They are central to it. A government committed to genuine change must address the problems it inherited, or run the risk of being overwhelmed when those problems finally demand settlement.

by Jehan Perera

Features

Education. Reform. Disaster: A Critical Pedagogical Approach

Published

10 hours ago

2026/01/20

Sahan Weerasooriya

PM Amarasuriya

This Kuppi writing aims to engage critically with the current discussion on the reform initiative “Transforming General Education in Sri Lanka 2025,” focusing on institutional and structural changes, including the integration of a digitally driven model alongside curriculum development, teacher training, and assessment reforms. By engaging with these proposed institutional and structural changes through the parameters of the division and recognition of labour, welfare and distribution systems, and lived ground realities, the article develops a critical perspective on the current reform discourse. By examining both the historical context and the present moment, the article argues that these institutional and structural changes attempt to align education with a neoliberal agenda aimed at enhancing the global corporate sector by producing “skilled” labour. This agenda is further evaluated through the pedagogical approach of socialist feminist scholarship. While the reforms aim to produce a ‘skilled workforce with financial literacy,’ this writing raises a critical question: whose labour will be exploited to achieve this goal? Why and What Reform to Education

In exploring why, the government of Sri Lanka seeks to introduce reforms to the current education system, the Prime Minister and Minister of Education, Higher Education, and Vocational Education, Dr. Harini Amarasuriya, revealed in a recent interview on 15 January 2026 on News First Sri Lanka that such reforms are a pressing necessity. According to the philosophical tradition of education reform, curriculum revision and prevailing learning and teaching structures are expected every eight years; however, Sri Lanka has not undertaken such revisions for the past ten years. The renewal of education is therefore necessary, as the current system produces structural issues, including inequality in access to quality education and the need to create labour suited to the modern world. Citing her words, the reforms aim to create “intelligent, civil-minded citizens” in order to build a country where people live in a civilised manner, work happily, uphold democratic principles, and live dignified lives.

Interpreting her narrative, I claim that the reform is intended to produce, shape, and develop a workforce for the neoliberal economy, now centralised around artificial intelligence and machine learning. My socialist feminist perspective explains this further, referring to Rosa Luxemburg’s reading on reforms for social transformation. As Luxemburg notes, although the final goal of reform is to transform the existing order into a better and more advanced system: The question remains: does this new order truly serve the working class? In the case of education, the reform aims to transform children into “intelligent, civil-minded citizens.” Yet, will the neoliberal economy they enter, and the advanced technological industries that shape it, truly provide them a better life, when these industries primarily seek surplus profit?

History suggests otherwise. Sri Lanka has repeatedly remained at the primary manufacturing level within neoliberal industries. The ready-made garment industry, part of the global corporate fashion system, provides evidence: it exploited both manufacturing labourers and brand representatives during structural economic changes in the 1980s. The same pattern now threatens to repeat in the artificial intelligence sector, raising concerns about who truly benefits from these education reforms

That historical material supports the claim that the primary manufacturing labour for the artificial intelligence industry will similarly come from these workers, who are now being trained as skilled employees who follow the system rather than question it. This context can be theorised through Luxemburg’s claim that critical thinking training becomes a privileged instrument, alienating the working class from such training, an approach that neoliberalism prefers to adopt in the global South.

Institutional and Structural Gaps

Though the government aims to address the institutional and structural gaps, I claim that these gaps will instead widen due to the deeply rooted system of uneven distribution in the country. While agreeing to establish smart classrooms, the critical query is the absence of a wide technological welfare system across the country. From electricity to smart equipment, resources remain inadequate, and the government lags behind in taking prompt initiative to meet these requirements.

This issue is not only about the unavailability of human and material infrastructure, but also about the absence of a plan to restore smart normalcy after natural disasters, particularly the resumption of smart network connections. Access to smart learning platforms, such as the internet, for schoolchildren is a high-risk factor that requires not only the monitoring of classroom teachers but also the involvement of the state. The state needs to be vigilant of abuses and disinformation present in the smart-learning space, an area in which Sri Lanka is still lagging. This concern is not only about the safety of children but also about the safety of women. For example, the recent case of abusive image production via Elon Musk’s AI chatbox, X, highlights the urgent need for a legal framework in Sri Lanka.

Considering its geographical location, Sri Lanka is highly vulnerable to natural disasters, the frequency in which they occur, increasing, owing to climate change. Ditwah is a recent example, where villages were buried alive by landslides, rivers overflowed, and families were displaced, losing homes that they had built over their lifetimes. The critical question, then, is: despite the government’s promise to integrate climate change into the curriculum, how can something still ‘in the air ‘with climate adaptation plans yet to be fully established, be effectively incorporated into schools?

Looking at the demographic map of the country, the expansion of the elderly population, the dependent category, requires attention. Considering the physical and psychological conditions of this group, fostering “intelligent, civic-minded” citizens necessitates understanding the elderly not as a charity case but as a human group deserving dignity. This reflects a critical reading of the reform content: what, indeed, is to be taught? This critical aspect further links with the next section of reflective of ground reality.

Reflective Narrative of Ground Reality

Despite the government asserting that the “teacher” is central to this reform, critical engagement requires examining how their labour is recognised. In Sri Lanka, teachers’ work has long been tied to social recognition, both utilised and exploited, Teachers receive low salaries while handling multiple roles: teaching, class management, sectional duties, and disciplinary responsibilities.

At present, a total teaching load is around 35 periods a week, with 28 periods spent in classroom teaching. The reform adds continuous assessments, portfolio work, projects, curriculum preparation, peer coordination, and e-knowledge, to the teacher’s responsibilities. These are undeclared forms of labour, meaning that the government assigns no economic value to them; yet teachers perform these tasks as part of a long-standing culture. When this culture is unpacked, the gendered nature of this undeclared labour becomes clear. It is gendered because the majority of schoolteachers are women, and their unpaid roles remain unrecognised. It is worth citing some empirical narratives to illustrate this point:

“When there was an extra-school event, like walks, prize-giving, or new openings, I stayed after school to design some dancing and practice with the students. I would never get paid for that extra time,” a female dance teacher in the Western Province shared.

I cite this single empirical account, and I am certain that many teachers have similar stories to share.

Where the curriculum is concerned, schoolteachers struggle to complete each lesson as planned due to time constraints and poor infrastructure. As explained by a teacher in the Central Province:

“It is difficult to have a reliable internet connection. Therefore, I use the hotspot on my phone so the children can access the learning material.”

Using their own phones and data for classroom activities is not part of a teacher’s official duties, but a culture has developed around the teaching role that makes such decisions necessary. Such activities related to labour risks further exploitation under the reform if the state remains silent in providing the necessary infrastructure.

Considering that women form the majority of the teaching profession, none of the reforms so far have taken women’s health issues seriously. These issues could be exacerbated by the extra stress arising from multiple job roles. Many female teachers particularly those with young children, those in peri- or post-menopause stages of their life, or those with conditions like endometriosis may experience aggravated health problems due to work-related stress intensified by the reform. This raises a critical question: what role does the state play in addressing these issues?

In Conclusion

The following suggestions are put forward:

First and foremost, the government should clearly declare the fundamental plan of the reform, highlighting why, what, when, and how it will be implemented. This plan should be grounded in the realities of the classroom, focusing on being child-centred and teacher-focused.

Technological welfare interventions are necessary, alongside a legal framework to ensure the safety and security of accessing the smart, information-centred world. Furthermore, teachers’ labour should be formally recognised and assigned economic value. Currently, under neoliberal logic, teachers are often left to navigate these challenges on their own, as if the choice is between survival or collapse.

Aruni Samarakoon teaches at the Department of Public Policy, University of Ruhuna

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

By Aruni Samarakoon

Features

Smartphones and lyrics stands…

Published

10 hours ago

2026/01/20

Sahan Weerasooriya

Diliup Gabadamudalige: Artistes can stay at home and hire their avatar for concerts, movies, etc.

Diliup Gabadamudalige is, indeed, a maestro where music is concerned, and this is what he had to say, referring to our Seen ‘N’ Heard in The Island of 6th January, 2026, and I totally agree with his comments.

Diliup: “AI avatars will take over these concerts. It will take some time, but it surely will happen in the near future. Artistes can stay at home and hire their avatar for concerts, movies, etc. Lyrics and dance moves, even gymnastics can be pre-trained”.

Yes, and that would certainly be unsettling as those without talent will make use of AI to deceive the public.

Right now at most events you get the stage crowded with lyrics stands and, to make matters even worse, some of the artistes depend on the smartphone to put over a song – checking out the lyrics, on the smartphone, every few seconds!

In the good ole days, artistes relied on their talent, stage presence, and memorisation skills to dominate the stage.

They would rehearse till they knew the lyrics by heart and focus on connecting with the audience.

Smartphones and lyrics stands: A common sight these days

The ability of the artiste to keep the audience entertained, from start to finish, makes a live performance unforgettable That’s the magic of a great show!

When an artiste’s energy is contagious, and they’re clearly having a blast, the audience feeds off it and gets taken on an exciting ride. It’s like the whole crowd is vibing on the same frequency.

Singing with feeling, on stage, creates this electric connection with the audience, but it can’t be done with a smartphone in one hand and lyrics stands lined up on the stage.

AI’s gonna shake things up in the music scene, for sure – might replace some roles, like session musicians or sound designers – but human talent will still shine!

AI can assist, but it’s tough to replicate human emotion, experience, and soul in music.

In the modern world, I guess artistes will need to blend old-school vibes with new tech but certainly not with smartphones and lyrics stands!