Connect with us

Features

Forever Hero Herath: Remembering a JVP Sahodaraya on the 55th Anniversary

Published

on

Students protest led by H. B. Herath while he negotiating with a police officer (right)

Krakow, POLAND – This year, Easter Sunday on April 5 was a deeply meaningful and reflective day for me. As I contemplated the solemn stillness of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and the hope of His resurrection, my thoughts travelled far beyond the Catholic churches and quiet streets of Poland—back to the rice fields, dusty roads, and restless dreams of my childhood in the medieval capital of Polonnaruwa, Sri Lanka.

One memory, in particular, remains vivid. It was exactly 55 years ago—April 5, 1971. On that Monday morning, as sunlight filtered through the coconut trees, my geography teacher, Tudor Luzon, and I set out on our usual walk to Palugasdamana Maha Vidyalaya. I was just two days shy of my twelfth birthday—a sixth-grade student unaware that history had already erupted before sunrise.

Coordinated attacks on police stations across the island had begun, marking the start of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) insurrection. A passing police patrol stopped us abruptly and instructed us to put our hands up and return home. An island-wide curfew had been imposed under the government of Sirimavo Bandaranaike.

This year, the JVP-led government under President Anura Kumara Dissanayake commemorated both the 1971 uprising and the 1988–89 insurrection—honoring the fallen youth as “forever heroes.” Among them, one face remains indelibly etched in my memory: my friend and dear sahodaraya—H. B. Herath of Anuradhapura.

We called each other sahodaraya—brother, comrade. It was more than a political label; it reflected a shared struggle and a shared sense of purpose.

From Anuradhapura to Polonnaruwa

As a child growing up in a rice-farming community with water buffaloes in Polonnaruwa, I could not fully grasp the scale of what was unfolding under the Bandaranaike government. In time, I came to understand that more than 40,000 young lives were lost in the 1971 insurrection—many of them rural youth like Herath and me, hopeful and searching for dignity in a system that often seemed indifferent to our existence.

Herath came from the dry plains of Anuradhapura—the island’s first capital for over 1,200 years—while Polonnaruwa, my home, was the later rice-exporting capital. Today, both stand as UNESCO World Heritage Sites. We were sons of the soil, shaped by agriculture, monsoon uncertainty, and the quiet resilience of rural life grounded in Buddhist culture—though I was born to a Buddhist mother and a Catholic father.

We understood what it meant to grow up far from the privileges of Colombo elites—to study under difficult conditions, to aspire against the odds, and to believe that education was the only bridge between hardship and hope.

Years later, in 1979, I entered the University of Sri Jayewardenepura (USJ) after completing my academic year 1978-79 in the United States through an American Field Service (AFS) scholarship at Perham High School in Minnesota. After I returned to Sri Lanka, my path crossed with Herath on the Sri Jayewardenepura University sports ground. The campus was alive with sports enthusiasm, political energy, intellectual ferment, and youthful idealism.

While I pursued student leadership—as founding president of the World University Service chapter and secretary of the University Sports Council—Herath emerged as a prominent figure among JVP-affiliated student leaders.

H. B. Herath (right) and Amarasiri Samaranayake (middle) at a protest against the White Paper on Education

Despite our different academic paths—he in the Faculty of Arts and I in the Faculty of Management—we shared something deeper than discipline or ideology. We were shaped by the same cultural heritage rooted in two ancient capitals, largely untouched by the colonial mindset that influenced elite urban structures tied to the export-led plantation economy. That divide, in many ways, still lingers today as part of an ongoing class struggle and colonial legacy. It has been central to the JVP’s political narrative of national unity beyond ethnic and religious divisions.

The Fight Against the White Paper

On campus, Herath had a commanding presence—physically imposing yet gentle in spirit. He reminded me of Mahasona, one of the ten legendary warriors of King Dutugemunu. On the volleyball court, Herath was disciplined and composed; on the badminton court, I was far less graceful. But in conversation, he was thoughtful, warm, and driven by conviction.

In 1981, when Education Minister Ranil Wickremesinghe of the governing United National Party (UNP) introduced the controversial White Paper on Education, Herath and the Inter-University Students Federation (IUSF) played a central role in mobilizing opposition. Drawing on strong connections with the JVP and the broader student movement, they organized mass protests around the country.

In January, thousands of students, monks, and trade unionists gathered near Parliament in Colombo. Their slogan—”Kolambata Kiri, Apata Kekiri” or “Milk for Colombo, melon for us”—captured the deep inequality between urban elites and rural students. This was more than a policy dispute; it was a struggle over fairness, access, and the future of students like Herath and me.

In February 1982, Herath invited me to a JVP rally at Hyde Park in support of Rohana Wijeweera, the leader of the movement. That day, I witnessed Wijeweera’s powerful oratory for the first time—magnetic and uncompromising. I glanced at Herath during the speech; his eyes reflected both intensity and hope, as if he truly believed a just Sri Lanka was within reach.

H. B. Herath, a 1980 graduate of the University of Sri Jayewardenepura (photo was taken 1975)

The sustained protests eventually forced the UNP government to withdraw the White Paper.

A Movement Silenced

After the JVP became a formal political party, Wijeweera ran in the 1982 presidential election, finishing third. Following the ethnic riots in July 1983, the government banned the JVP, accusing it of subversion. In August, I left for graduate studies on a Hubert H. Humphrey Fellowship at the University of Minnesota.

Years later, during my doctoral research in Sri Lanka between 1988 and 1989, I found myself once again amid turmoil—the second JVP insurrection, known as Beeshanaya. It was a period of fear marked by targeted killings, attacks on infrastructure, and brutal counterinsurgency. An estimated 70,000 young people were killed or disappeared.

Despite the tense atmosphere, I continued my field research in tea estates in the Nuwara Eliya and Ratnapura districts, where the violence felt somewhat distant. Still, the weight of that period stayed with me long after I returned to Minnesota.

It was later—through BBC News, The New York Times, and other local media outlets—that I learned of Herath’s fate. He had been captured and mercilessly tortured by government forces in the dead of night. Nearly killed by prolonged torture, Herath—still alive—was incinerated along with the wounded Rohana Wijeweera. Each was executed a few minutes apart in the early hours of November 13, 1989. Like so many others, the 35-year-old Herath and the 46-year-old Wijeweera were extinguished prematurely in the shadows of a conflict that consumed an entire generation.

Forever Heroes Among Us

As I reflect on Easter—on sacrifice, resurrection, and the enduring power of belief—I think of Herath not only as a victim of political violence, but as a symbol of something larger that happened in 2024: the democratic elections through which the JVP leadership—under President Anura Kumara Dissanayake and General Secretary Tilvin Silva—captured power for the first time in the presidential and parliamentary elections.

In all this, Herath’s dream of a young generation of rural youth who dared to aspire beyond their circumstances has finally become a reality. He surely believed that justice, dignity, and opportunity should not be reserved for the privileged few. In his own way, he carried forward the legacy of our ancient civilizations, where governance, however imperfect, aspired to serve the many.

My own path led me into academia, public service, and diplomacy. Yet it has been guided by the same ideals we once discussed under the shade of campus trees and across sports courts. If I have spoken for Sri Lanka on international platforms, it is also in memory of voices like Herath. His story is not just one of loss—it is a call to remember and to act.

As Sri Lanka continues its search for reconciliation, justice, and equitable development, we must ask: how do we honor those who believed in a better future? Not through violence or division, but through service, integrity, and a renewed commitment to inclusive governance. That, perhaps, is the truest way to remember a sahodaraya.

On this 55th anniversary, I remember Herath not only as a fallen comrade, but as a forever hero—whose dream of a just Sri Lanka lives on in those of us who continue the journey with humility and hope for a Renaissance Nation.

By Prof. Patrick Mendis



Continue Reading
Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

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

Features

Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

Published

on

Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

Continue Reading

Features

The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

Published

on

by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, 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.

Continue Reading

Features

Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

Published

on

Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.

Continue Reading

Trending