Features
The Shadow Chile Chose
“Dictatorships are one-way streets. Democracy boasts two-way traffic,” wrote Alberto Moravia, the Italian novelist and journalist who knew fascism not as theory but as lived suffocation. Winston Churchill, less subtle but equally alert to human frailty, reminded us that democracy is the worst form of government except for all the others that have been tried. Here we confront a brutal truth: democracy is noisy, reversible, and humiliatingly slow, while authoritarianism offers speed, clarity, and silence. When societies tire of argument, they often mistake silence for order. Chile has just done so again.
Chile’s welcome of José Antonio Kast into La Moneda in Santiago is not a sudden lapse of judgment nor a collective bout of historical amnesia. It is something far more unsettling: a recognition, half-conscious and deeply conditioned, of an old arrangement that never quite went away. Kast, who won the 2025 Chilean presidential election with about 58 per cent of the vote in the runoff against Jeannette Jara on December 14, 2025, embodies the return of a ruler who praises Augusto Pinochet’s “order” and treats the dictatorship as a regrettable necessity rather than a criminal rupture. This is not a break with Chile’s post-1990 story but a continuation of it. The past was never buried; it was merely repainted.
Kast is often described as an aberration, an imported virus from the global far right. This is both comforting and false. He is native to Chile’s modern order. Born in 1966, he belongs to the generation raised during military rule, trained politically in parties that served the junta faithfully, and rewarded by an economy shaped through force. His father’s biography is no footnote. Michael Kast was a member of the Nazi Party and served in the Wehrmacht before leaving Europe through Catholic escape routes that ferried defeated collaborators into Latin America.
Chile was not alone in receiving such men, but it is distinctive in how smoothly they were absorbed into its business and political elite. The Kast family fortune, built through food processing and property, was made possible by a country open to authoritarian migrants and closed to serious moral reckoning. That continuity matters not because sons inherit guilt, but because they inherit social position, networks, and habits of thought.
Chile has never held a trial of its economic system. It prosecuted some torturers, slowly and partially, but left untouched the legal and commercial scaffolding erected under Pinochet. The 1980 constitution, written under bayonets, survived for decades with only cosmetic edits. It protected private wealth with zeal while treating social rights as optional. When people voted in 1988 to end the dictatorship, they did not vote to dismantle its machinery. They were told stability required restraint, memory must not become vengeance, and markets knew best. That bargain produced growth and humiliation in equal measure.
The social uprising of 2019 shattered the politeness of that arrangement. Millions demanded dignity, not charity. Yet when the moment arrived to convert revolt into law, the system proved resilient. Two constitutional drafts failed, each in different ways, and the political centre retreated into fear. Gabriel Boric, the youngest president in Chile’s history, who came to power at the age of 36, was elected on the energy of the streets but governed as if the streets no longer existed. Reform stalled, prices rose, crime became the daily anxiety of ordinary life, and patience evaporated. Into that exhaustion stepped Kast, promising discipline without ambiguity.
It is tempting to blame voters for choosing harshness over hope. That would be lazy. People do not vote for authoritarians because they crave cruelty; they do so because democratic institutions have taught them that protest changes little, while order, however ugly, at least acts. This is the generational loop that Chile has never escaped. Those who lived through the dictatorship remember fear and silence but also recall predictable wages and cheap credit. Their children inherited debt, privatized pensions, and lectures about fiscal virtue. When democracy delivers neither security nor fairness, it loses its claim to loyalty.
External interference deepens this cycle. Chile’s tragedy cannot be told honestly without naming Washington. Declassified documents leave no room for doubt: the United States worked systematically to block Salvador Allende’s election and then to make his presidency ungovernable. Richard Nixon ordered the CIA to “make the economy scream”. Henry Kissinger warned that Chile’s democracy was too important to be left to Chileans. The Church Committee hearings of the 1970s revealed bribery, media manipulation, and the deliberate encouragement of a coup climate. No apology followed. No compensation was offered. The price was paid entirely by Chileans, through prisons, disappearances, and a market order imposed at gunpoint.
This matters today because the moral authority of Chilean democracy was weakened at birth. When people are told for generations that their votes can be overridden by generals and foreign powers, faith corrodes. Germany faced a similar reckoning after 1945 and chose a different path. It criminalized denial, dismantled fascist networks, rewrote its basic law, and embedded memory into education. Its institutions were rebuilt with suspicion of concentrated power. Chile did none of this thoroughly. It opted for reconciliation without exposure, continuity without accountability. As a result, authoritarian language remained socially usable.
Other countries show the same pattern. The Philippines overthrew Marcos, only to elect his son decades later, his crimes blurred by time and disinformation. Argentina periodically flirts with strongman nostalgia, though its trials of junta leaders have provided some resistance. Where reckoning is shallow, repetition becomes likely. Where institutions teach citizens that history is settled when it is merely suppressed, the dead past returns asking for applause.
Kast’s rhetoric fits this script precisely. He does not deny abuses outright; he relativises them. He frames torture as excess, repression as context, protest as threat. He speaks fluently the language of legality while preparing the tools of coercion. His voters are not all reactionaries. Many are exhausted workers, small business owners, and parents anxious about crime and migration. They are responding to lived insecurity, not ideological manifestos. That is precisely why this turn is dangerous. It is ordinary.
There is a cruel irony here. Chile is wealthier, more educated, and more connected than ever, yet its politics has narrowed. The choice presented was not between radical change and careful reform, but between stalled reform and restored hierarchy. Democracy’s two-way traffic, as Moravia put it, was gridlocked. People chose the one-way street because at least it moves.
Why do some societies refuse this return? Because they break the chain early and publicly. Because they accept that memory is not a luxury but a civic duty. Because they redesign institutions to make regression costly. Germany’s federal courts, its ban on extremist parties, and its public rituals of shame have served this function for decades. They are not guarantees, but they raise the price of nostalgia. Chile lowered that price by treating its dictatorship as an awkward family secret rather than a crime scene.
The deeper problem is not Kast himself but the social agreement that made him plausible. An economy that privatizes risk and socializes discipline breeds resentment without direction. When progressive governments promise transformation and deliver management, they teach cynicism. When elites wait out reformers and then present order as salvation, they are not surprised by the outcome. They planned for it.
Chile has not embraced fascism, but it has welcomed familiarity. It has chosen a ruler who reassures property, flatters memory, and threatens dissent. That choice did not emerge from nowhere. It was cultivated across decades of unresolved history, foreign meddling, institutional timidity, and political fear. Democracies can survive disappointment, but not repeated proof that disappointment is permanent.
This is precisely what is unfolding across many democratic societies, and what is likely to deepen in the years ahead. We are knocking to wake the dead in the hope that they will solve the very problems they created after we once rejected them. What irony: we, the voters, are willing participants in the disaster we not only perpetuate but also glorify as the path to emancipation.
by Nilantha Ilangamuwa ✍️
Features
Relief without recovery
The escalating conflict in the Middle East is of such magnitude, with loss of life, destruction of cities, and global energy shortages, that it is diverting attention worldwide and in Sri Lanka, from other serious problems. Barely four months ago Sri Lanka experienced a cyclone of epic proportions that caused torrential rains, accompanied by floods and landslides. The immediate displacement exceeded one million people, though the number of deaths was about 640, with around 200 others reported missing. The visual images of entire towns and villages being inundated, with some swept away by floodwaters, evoked an overwhelming humanitarian response from the general population.
When the crisis of displacement was at its height there was a concerted public response. People set up emergency kitchens and volunteer clean up teams fanned out to make flooded homes inhabitable again. Religious institutions, civil society organisations and local communities worked together to assist the displaced. For a brief period the country witnessed a powerful demonstration of social solidarity. The scale of the devastation prompted the government to offer generous aid packages. These included assistance for the rebuilding of damaged houses, support for building new houses, grants for clean up operations and rent payments to displaced families. Welfare centres were also set up for those unable to find temporary housing.
The government also appointed a Presidential Task Force to lead post-cyclone rebuilding efforts. The mandate of the Task Force is to coordinate post-disaster response mechanisms, streamline institutional efforts and ensure the effective implementation of rebuilding programmes in the aftermath of the cyclone. The body comprises a high-level team, led by the Prime Minister, and including cabinet ministers, deputy ministers, provincial-level officials, senior public servants, representing key state institutions, and civil society representatives. It was envisaged that the Task Force would function as the central coordinating authority, working with government agencies and other stakeholders to accelerate recovery initiatives and restore essential services in affected regions.
Demotivated Service
However, four months later a visit to one of the worst of the cyclone affected areas to meet with affected families from five villages revealed that they remained stranded and in a state of limbo. Most of these people had suffered terribly from the cyclone. Some had lost their homes. A few had lost family members. Many had been informed that the land on which they lived had become unsafe and that they would need to relocate. Most of them had received the promised money for clean up and some had received rent payments for two months. However, little had happened beyond this. The longer term process of rebuilding houses, securing land and restoring livelihoods has barely begun. As a result, families who had already endured the trauma of disaster, now face prolonged uncertainty about their future. It seems that once again the promises made by the political leadership has not reached the ground.
A government officer explained that the public service was highly demotivated. According to him, many officials felt that they had too much work piled upon them with too little resources to do much about it. They also believed that they were underpaid for the work they were expected to carry out. In fact, there had even been a call by public officials specially assigned to cyclone relief work to go on strike due to complaints about their conditions of work. This government official appreciated the government leadership’s commitment to non corruption. But he noted the irony that this had also contributed to a demotivation of the public service. This was on the unjustifiable basis that approving and implementing projects more quickly requires an incentive system.
Whether or not this explanation fully captures the situation, it points to an issue that the government needs to address. Disaster recovery requires a proactive public administration. Officials need to reach out to affected communities, provide clear information and help them navigate the complex procedures required to access assistance. At the consultation with cyclone victims this was precisely the concern that people raised. They said that government officers were not proactive in reaching out to them. Many felt they had little engagement with the state and that the government officers did not come to them. This suggests that the government system at the community level could be supported by non-governmental organisations that have the capacity and experience of working with communities at the grassroots.
In situations such as this the government needs to think about ways of motivating public officials to do more rather than less. It needs to identify legitimate incentives that reward initiative and performance. These could include special allowances for those working in disaster affected areas, recognition and promotion for officers who successfully complete relief and reconstruction work, and the provision of additional staff and logistical support so that the workload is manageable. Clear targets and deadlines, with support from the non-governmental sector, can also encourage officials to act more proactively. When government officers feel supported and recognised for the extra effort required, they are more likely to engage actively with affected communities and ensure that assistance reaches those who need it most.
Political Solutions
Under the prevailing circumstances, however, the cyclone victims do not know what to do. The government needs to act on this without further delay. Government policy states that families can receive financial assistance of up to Rs 5 million to build new houses if they have identified the land on which they wish to build. But there is little freehold land available in many of the affected areas. As a result, people cannot show government officials the land they plan to buy and, therefore, cannot access the government’s promised funds. The government needs to address this issue by providing a list of available places for resettlement, both within and outside the area they live in. However, another finding at the meeting was that many cyclone victims whose lands have been declared unsafe do not wish to leave them. Even those who have been told that their land is unstable feel more comfortable remaining where they have lived for many years. Relocating to an unfamiliar area is not an easy decision.
Another problem the victims face is the difficulty of obtaining the documents necessary to receive compensation. Families with missing members cannot prove that their loved ones are no longer alive. Without official confirmation they cannot access property rights or benefits that would normally pass to surviving family members. These are problems that Sri Lanka has faced before in the context of the three decade long internal war. It has set up new legal mechanisms such as the provision of certificates of absence validated by the Office on Missing Persons (OMP) in place of death certificates when individuals remain missing for long periods. The government also needs to be sensitive to the fact that people who are farmers cannot be settled anywhere. Farming is not possible in every location. Access to suitable land and water is essential if farmers are to rebuild their livelihoods. Relocation programmes that fail to take these realities into account risk creating new psychological and economic hardships.
The message from the consultation with cyclone victims is that the government needs to talk more and engage more directly with affected communities. At the same time the political leadership at the highest levels need to resolve the problems that government officers on the ground cannot solve. Issues relating to land availability, legal documentation and livelihood restoration require policy decisions at higher levels. The challenge to the government to address these issues in the context of the Iran war and possible global catastrophe will require a special commitment. Demonstrating that Sri Lanka is a society that considers the wellbeing of all its citizens to be a priority will require not only financial assistance but also a motivated public service and proactive political leadership that reaches out to those still waiting to rebuild their lives.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Supporting Victims: The missing link in combating ragging
A recent panel discussion at the University of Peradeniya examined the implications of the Supreme Court’s judgement on ragging, in which the Court recognised that preventing ragging requires not only criminal penalties imposed after an incident occurs but also systems and processes within universities that enable victims to speak up and receive support. Bringing together perspectives from law, university administration, psychology and students, the discussion sought to understand why ragging continues to persist in Sri Lankan universities despite the existence of legal prohibitions. While the discussion covered legal and institutional dimensions, one theme emerged clearly: addressing ragging requires more than laws and disciplinary rules. It requires institutions that are capable of supporting victims.
Sri Lanka enacted the Prohibition of Ragging and Other Forms of Violence in Educational Institutions Act No. 20 of 1998 following several tragic incidents in universities, during the 1990s. Among the most widely remembered is the death of engineering student S. Varapragash at the University of Peradeniya in 1997. Incidents such as this shocked the country and revealed the consequences of allowing violent forms of student hierarchy to persist. The 1998 Act marked an important legal intervention by recognising ragging as a criminal offence. The law introduced severe penalties for individuals found guilty of engaging in ragging or other forms of violence in educational institutions, including fines and imprisonment.
Despite the existence of this law for nearly three decades, prosecutions under the Act have been extremely rare. Incidents continue to surface across universities although most are not reported. The incidents that do reach university administrations are dealt with internally through disciplinary procedures rather than through the criminal justice system. This suggests that the problem does not lie solely in the absence of legal provisions but also in the ability of victims to come forward and pursue complaints.
The tragic reminders; the cases of Varapragash and Pasindu Hirushan
Varapragash, a first-year engineering student at the University of Peradeniya, was forced by senior students to perform extreme physical exercises as part of ragging, resulting in severe internal injuries and acute renal failure that ultimately led to his death. In 2022, the courts upheld the conviction of one of the perpetrators for abduction and murder. The case illustrates not only the brutality of ragging but also how long and difficult the path to justice can be for victims and their families. Even when victims speak about their experiences, they may not always disclose the full extent of what they have endured. In the case of Varapragash, the judgement records that the victim told his father that he was asked to do dips and sit-ups. Varapragash’s father had testified that it appeared his son was not revealing the exact details of what he had to endure due to shame.
More than two decades after the death of Varapragash, the tragedy of ragging continues. The 2025 Supreme Court judgement arose from the case of Pasindu Hirushan, a 21-year-old student of the University of Sri Jayewardenepura, who sustained devastating head injuries at a fresher’s party, in March 2020, after a tyre sent down the stairs by senior students struck him. He became immobile, was placed on life support, and returned home only months later. If the Varapragash case exposed the deadly consequences of ragging in the 1990s, the Pasindu Hirushan case demonstrates that universities are still failing to prevent serious violence, decades after the enactment of the 1998 Act. It was against this background of continuing institutional failure that the Supreme Court issued its Orders of Court in 2025. Among the key mechanisms emphasised by the judgement is the establishment of Victim Support Committees within universities.
Why do victims need support?
Ragging in universities can take many forms, including verbal humiliation, physical abuse, emotional intimidation and, in some instances, sexual harassment. While all forms of ragging can have serious consequences, incidents involving sexual harassment often present additional barriers for victims who wish to come forward. Victims may hesitate to complain due to weak institutional mechanisms, fear of retaliation, or uncertainty about whether their experiences will be taken seriously. In many cases, those who speak out are confronted with questions that shift attention away from the alleged misconduct and onto their own behaviour: why did s/he continue the conversation?; why did s/he not simply disengage, if the harassment occurred as claimed?; why did s/he remain in the environment?; or did his/her actions somehow encourage the accused’s behaviour? Such responses illustrate how easily victims can be subjected to a second layer of scrutiny when they attempt to report incidents. When individuals anticipate disbelief, minimisation or blame, silence may appear safer than disclosure. In such circumstances, the presence of a trusted institutional body, capable of providing guidance, protection and support, become critically important, highlighting the need for effective Victim Support Committees within universities.
What Victim Support Committees must do
As expected by the Supreme Court, an effective Victim Support Committee should function as a trusted institutional mechanism that places the safety and dignity of victims at the centre of its work. The committee must provide a safe and confidential point of contact through which victims can report incidents of ragging without fear of intimidation or retaliation. It should assist victims in understanding and pursuing available complaint procedures, while also ensuring their immediate protection where there is a risk of continued harassment. Recognising the psychological harm ragging may cause, the committee should facilitate access to counselling and emotional support services. At a practical level, it should also help victims document incidents, record statements, and preserve evidence that may be necessary for disciplinary or legal proceedings. The committee must coordinate with university authorities to ensure that complaints are addressed promptly and responsibly, while maintaining strict confidentiality to protect the identity and well-being of those who come forward. Beyond responding to individual cases, Victim Support Committees should also contribute to broader awareness and prevention efforts, within universities, helping to create an environment where ragging is actively discouraged and students feel safe to report incidents. Without such support, the process of pursuing justice can become overwhelming for individuals who are already dealing with the emotional impact of abuse.
Making Victim Support Committees work
According to the Orders of Court, these committees should include representatives from the academic and non-academic staff, a qualified counsellor and/or clinical psychologist, an independent person, from outside the institution, with experience in law enforcement, health, or social services, and not more than three final-year students, with unblemished academic and disciplinary records, appointed for fixed terms. Further, universities must ensure that committees consist of individuals who possess both expertise and genuine commitment in areas such as student welfare, psychology, gender studies, human rights and law enforcement, in line with the spirit of the Supreme Court’s directions, rather than consisting largely of ex officio positions. If treated as routine administrative positions, rather than responsibilities requiring specialised knowledge, sensitivity and empathy, these committees risk becoming symbolic rather than functional.
Greater transparency in the appointment process could strengthen the credibility of these committees. Universities could invite expressions of interest from individuals with relevant expertise and demonstrated commitment to supporting victims. Such an approach would help ensure that the committees benefit from the knowledge and dedication of those best equipped to fulfil this role.
The Supreme Court judgement also introduces an important safeguard by giving the University Grants Commission (UGC) the authority to appoint members to university-level Victim Support Committees. If exercised with integrity, this provision could help ensure that these committees operate with greater independence. It may also help address a challenge that sometimes arises within institutions, where individuals, with relevant expertise, or strong commitment to addressing issues, such as violence, harassment or student welfare, may not always be included in institutional mechanisms due to internal administrative preferences. External oversight by the UGC could, therefore, create opportunities for such individuals to contribute meaningfully to Victim Support Committees and strengthen their effectiveness.
Ultimately, the success of the recent judgement will depend not only on the directives it issued, the number of committees universities establish, or the number of meetings they convene, or other box-checking exercises, but on how sincerely those directives are implemented and the trust these committees inspire among students and staff. Laws can prohibit ragging, but they cannot by themselves create environments in which victims feel safe to speak. That responsibility lies with institutions. When universities create systems that listen to victims, support them and treat their experiences with seriousness, universities will become places where dignity and learning can coexist.
(Udari Abeyasinghe is attached to the Department of Oral Pathology at the 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.
by Udari Abeyasinghe
Features
Big scene … in the Seychelles
Several of our artistes do venture out on foreign assignments but, I’m told, most of their performances are mainly for the Sri Lankans based abroad.
However, the group Mirage is doing it differently and they are now in great demand in the Seychelles.
Guests patronising the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, in the Seychelles, is made up of a wide variety of nationalities, including Russians, Chinese, French and Germans, and they all enjoy the music dished out by Mirage, and that is precisely why they are off to the Seychelles … for the fifth time!
The band is scheduled to leave this month and will be back after three weeks, but their journey to the Seychelles will continue, with two more assignments lined up for 2026.
In August it’s a four-week contract, and in December another four-week contract that will take in the festive celebrations … Christmas and the New Year.

Donald’s birthday
celebrations
According to reports coming my way, it is a happening scene at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, whenever Mirage is featured, and the band has even adjusted its repertoire to include local and African songs.
They work three hours per day and six days per week at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant.

Donald Pieries:
Leader, vocalist,
drummer
Led by vocalist and drummer Donald Pieries, many say it is his
musical talents and leadership that have contributed to the band’s success.
Donald, who celebrated his birthday on 07 March, at the Irish Pub, has been with the group through various lineup changes and is known for his strong vocals.
He leads a very talented and versatile line up, with Sudham (bass/vocals), Gayan (lead guitar/vocals), Danu (female vocalist) and Toosha (keyboards/vocals).
Mirage performs regularly at venues like the Irish Pub in Colombo and also at Food Harbour, Port City.
-
Business7 days agoBOI launches ‘Invest in Sri Lanka’ forum
-
News6 days agoHistoric address by BASL President at the Supreme Court of India
-
Sports6 days agoThe 147th Royal–Thomian and 175 Years of the School by the Sea
-
Sports7 days agoRoyal start favourites in historic Battle of the Blues
-
News7 days agoCEBEU warns of operational disruptions amid uncertainty over CEB restructuring
-
Features7 days agoIndian Ocean zone of peace torpedoed!
-
News6 days agoPower sector reforms jolted by 40% pay hike demand
-
News4 days agoCrypto loopholes funnel Lankan funds abroad
