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So, who is going to tell the rest of the world?

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Series: The greatest digital rethink, Part V of V – Series conclusion

Five instalments. Five levels of education. One recurring pattern: the countries that ran the experiment are retreating, the countries that watched them are still paying the entry price. This final column asks the question the international education community has been carefully avoiding: does anyone actually learn from anyone else, or do we just take turns making the same expensive mistakes?

What five parts told us

Let us briefly take stock. In Part I of this series, we traced the arc of three decades of digital enthusiasm in education, from the early computer labs of the 1990s through the tablet explosion of the 2010s, to the pandemic acceleration and the emerging backlash that defines the present moment. In Part II, we watched Sweden take tablets away from preschoolers who should never have been given them in the first place, and Finland legislate to return the pencil to its rightful place in the primary classroom. In Part III, we confronted the paradox at the heart of secondary school de-digitalisation: governments triumphantly banning the phone in the student’s pocket while quietly expanding the data systems that monitor their every digital interaction. In Part IV, we sat in the university exam hall, a room that had been pronounced redundant 20 years ago, and watched it fill up again with students writing with pens, because the large language models (LLM) like Chat GPT, had made every other form of assessment untrustworthy.

The inconvenient asymmetry

There is a concept in international education research, ‘asymmetric correction’, that describes this phenomenon with academic precision. It means, in plain language, that the systems with enough money, data and institutional capacity to discover that an experiment has gone wrong can afford to correct it. The systems without those resources cannot, and often do not even know the correction is needed until the damage is visible in their own classrooms and their own assessment results.

This is not merely an abstract inequity. It has a specific mechanism. The countries now de-digitalising, Finland, Sweden, Australia, France, the UK, have had 20 or 30 years of experience with school digitalisation. They have run multiple cycles of national assessments. They have PISA data going back decades. They have teacher unions vocal enough to flag classroom deterioration before it becomes a crisis. They have the research infrastructure to connect a policy change to an outcome measure and draw a conclusion. When their scores drop, they investigate. When the investigation points at screens, they act.

The evidence that was always there

One of the more unsettling conclusions of this series is that much of the evidence driving the current de-digitalisation wave was available considerably earlier than the policies it has inspired. The finding that handwritten notes produce better conceptual understanding than typed ones was published in 2014. The OECD’s analysis showing that more computers do not produce better learning outcomes appeared in 2015. UNESCO’s concerns about platform power and datafication in education have been articulated consistently for years. The distraction research, documenting that students with open laptops in lecture halls perform worse, and drag their neighbours down with them, has been accumulating for well over a decade.

None of this stopped the rollout. The tablets arrived in the Swedish preschools. The 1:1 device programmes expanded. The learning management systems embedded themselves. The AI proctoring tools were procured and deployed. Evidence that gave pause was routinely absorbed into a narrative about implementation, the problem was not the technology, it was how it was being used; give us better training, better platforms, better connectivity, and the results will follow. The results, in many cases, did not follow. But by the time that was clear, the infrastructure was in place, the contracts were running, and the political cost of admitting the bet had been wrong was prohibitive.

What changed was not the evidence, it was the political permission to act on it. PISA 2022 delivered declines dramatic enough to be impossible to attribute to anything other than something systemic. UNESCO issued what amounted to an institutional mea culpa. And a sufficient number of teachers, in a sufficient number of countries, were by then willing to say publicly what they had been saying in staffrooms for years: that the screens were not helping, and in many cases were actively in the way.

What a responsible global policy would look like

This series is not a manifesto against technology in education. It has never argued that. Screens are indispensable tools, for accessing information, for enabling collaboration across distance, for serving students whose accessibility needs require digital solutions, for supporting the administrative and logistical complexity of modern educational institutions. The argument is not against technology. It is against the thoughtless, evidence-free, vendor-driven acceleration of technology in contexts where it undermines the very foundations it is supposed to strengthen.

A responsible global education policy would, at minimum, do several things that the current system conspicuously fails to do. It would require that the evidence base for large-scale digital procurement be genuinely independent of the vendors supplying the technology. It would insist that the learning from early-adopter systems, including the learning about what went wrong, be actively communicated to late-adopter systems before, not after, they make the same investments. It would treat the question of appropriate technology use at different ages and in different pedagogical contexts as a matter of ongoing empirical inquiry, not a settled ideological commitment to ‘more is better.’ And it would hold to account the international organisations and development banks that have promoted digital solutions to educational problems without adequate attention to long-term cognitive and social outcomes.

None of this is technically difficult. The knowledge exists. The research is available. The lesson is sitting there in the PISA data, in the Swedish preschool curriculum reversal, in the UK university exam halls filling up with students holding pens. The question is purely one of political will, and of whether the global education community considers it acceptable to keep selling a model it is quietly dismantling at home.

Who decides what technology is for?

Beneath all the policy detail in this series lies a question that is fundamentally political rather than technical: who gets to decide what role technology plays in education, and in whose interest do those decisions get made? The answer, across the period this series has covered, has too often been: vendors, with governments following at a respectful distance and parents and teachers arriving to the conversation after the contract is signed.

De-digitalisation, for all its imperfections, its occasional moral panic, its selective use of evidence and its tendency to become a political signalling exercise, represents something important: a reassertion that educational technology is a means, not an end, and that the people who should determine how much of it to use are educators, researchers and communities, not quarterly earnings reports. The fact that Finland chose to legislate, that Sweden chose to buy books instead of tablets, that Queensland schools now require phones to be away for the day, often collected, or switched off, from the moment students arrive and found their playgrounds transformed, these are acts of pedagogical agency. They are an insistence that schools are for children, not for platforms.

A final word

There is nothing wrong with technology in education. There is something very wrong with the assumption that more technology is always better, and something worse with the global system that allows wealthy nations to learn that lesson expensively, correct it quietly, and then export the uncorrected version to everyone else.

The pencil did not disappear because it failed. It was sidelined because screens arrived with better marketing. It is coming back, in Finnish classrooms, in Swedish preschools, in Australian playgrounds, in university exam halls, not out of nostalgia, but because 30 years of evidence have converged on an uncomfortable truth: some things, it turns out, require your full attention, your physical hand, and the irreplaceable cognitive effort of a human being working without a shortcut.

That is not a retreat. That is a reckoning. And the only question left worth asking is whether the rest of the world will get to benefit from it before they have to discover it for themselves.

SERIES COMPLETE

Part I: From Ed-Tech Enthusiasm to De-Digitalisation | Part II: Phones, Pens & Early Literacy | Part III: Attention, Algorithms & Adolescents | Part IV: Universities, AI & the Handwritten Exam | Part V: Who Is Going to Tell the Rest of the World?



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Coercive laws recipe for future misrule

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by Jehan Perera

The NPP government is going after powerful figures from the past and present who have engaged in corruption, fraud and criminal activity in a way that no previous government in Sri Lanka has done. Former ministers, politicians and senior state officials are among those facing investigations and legal proceedings. The government has placed before Parliament a document listing 50 cases involving corruption, fraud and other crimes. These include not only financial offences but also cases relating to the Easter Sunday attacks, the killings of Lasantha Wickrematunge and Wasim Thajudeen, the disappearance of Prageeth Ekneligoda and attacks on journalists Keith Noyahr and Upali Tennakoon.

The significance of this effort is that it can demonstrate that nobody is above the law, regardless of political connections or social standing, which will help restore public confidence in institutions that have long been distrusted. It could also recover public resources, improve the investment climate and strengthen the foundations for a more prosperous and just Sri Lanka. When criticised for focusing on the past and not the present, the government position is that these investigations were initiated under earlier governments, particularly between 2015 and 2019, and that it is now allowing investigators to proceed to deal with the backlog without political interference.

But there is an aspect of the government’s approach that is less justifiable. While pursuing past wrongdoing by powerful individuals, it is also advancing a triumvirate of draft laws that could give the state sweeping powers over citizens, organisations and dissent in the present and future. The draft Prevention of Terrorism legislation, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill raise serious questions about the over-centralisation of power. Each of these laws strengthens the powers of the state while weakening the rights and safeguards that protect people from their misuse and thus questions the basic rights of people in democracy where ‘the power of the people is vested in the government’. This is a recipe for future misrule rather than the rule of law. As the well-known saying goes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Proposed Laws

The real test of system change, for which the government obtained an overwhelming mandate, requires not only a government willing to hold others accountable, but one prepared to subject itself to the same principles of legality, transparency and restraint. The three proposed laws that are particularly important in this regard are the Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill. Each of these draft laws has been presented as serving a legitimate purpose. Preventing terrorism, combating organised crime and ensuring that NGOs do not facilitate money laundering or terrorist financing are proper responsibilities of the state. Sri Lanka has international obligations in these areas, and no responsible government can disregard them. However, the existence of a legitimate objective does not justify every means adopted to achieve it.

The proposed Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill illustrates the problem. Although its definition of terrorism draws on a model developed by a former United Nations Special Rapporteur, the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka has warned that the definition of terrorism extends beyond the model and could bring legitimate political protest, trade union action and civil disobedience within the scope of counter-terrorism legislation. Its concerns also include prolonged detention, inadequate judicial oversight and restrictions on access to legal counsel. These are objections that go to the heart of the relationship between the citizen and the state. The government cannot credibly promise to protect democratic freedoms while creating powers that could be used to restrict them. It is necessary for the government to reassess the draft through transparent consultation and revise provisions that could criminalise legitimate dissent.

The Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill raises similar concerns. It is presented as giving effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006. The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) has argued that the convention does not require many of the bill’s provisions. The proposed law extends to a broad range of offences, permits detention orders lasting up to a year, makes confessions to police admissible for purposes of legal evidence, and introduces extensive surveillance powers. A law intended to dismantle criminal networks should not create a parallel system of exceptional powers that could be applied far beyond organised crime. Nor should safeguards developed through years of experience with abuses under the Prevention of Terrorism Act be weakened through legislation bearing a different name. The government should review whether or not existing laws could be used effectively to control these crimes or whether each exceptional power is necessary.

Civil Society

The proposed NGO Registration and Supervision Bill presents another test of the government’s intentions. The government may reasonably seek transparency in the finances of organisations receiving public or foreign funds, including measures to prevent money laundering and terrorist financing. It seeks to justify its overreach on the grounds of meeting the internationally mandated requirements of the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for the Asia-Pacific region. But these objectives do not justify placing civil society and NGOs under excessive administrative control when even the FATF ranks them as low to medium risks. The draft bill would require registration and renewal, impose extensive obligations on organisations and empower authorities to suspend or deregister them on broadly framed grounds. It is important to redraft provisions that confer excessive discretion over registration, renewal, suspension and deregistration of NGOs.

Among the concerns raised by United Nations human rights special rapporteurs with regard to the draft NGO law are provisions requiring organisations to align with government policies and restrictions that could affect advocacy, dissent and freedom of association. The implications extend well beyond organisations that engage directly with the government. Community groups, human rights organisations, independent researchers and organisations working on reconciliation or accountability could find their activities constrained by uncertainty over how these provisions might be interpreted. Organisations that criticise government policies are not thereby working against the country. Their freedom to do so is part of what distinguishes a democracy from a system in which the government determines which opinions and activities are acceptable.

The government has generated considerable public goodwill through its pursuit of corruption and criminality. It should not assume that this goodwill gives it an unlimited mandate to strengthen the coercive powers of the state. The NPP knows from its own history that governments can treat dissent as a threat and use the machinery of the state against their opponents. There is still time to correct the drafts through transparent public consultation, narrow definitions of offences, meaningful judicial control over detention and surveillance, and effective remedies against arbitrary decisions. A government that pursues corruption while weakening safeguards against state abuse risks undermining its own achievements. Besides bringing to light the abuse of power by previous governments, the NPP government needs to build a system in which no future government can abuse power in the belief they can get away with it.

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Quality assurance without quality enhancement: The irony of university QA

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By Ramya Kumar

According to the Quality Assurance Council (QAC) of the University Grants Commission (UGC), quality assurance (QA) refers to “the means (i.e. the policies, attitudes, actions, procedures, etc.), by which an institution can guarantee with confidence and certainty, that the standards and quality of its educational provision are being maintained and enhanced”.

An expansive structure has been in place since 2005 to govern and implement QA processes within the state university system. The QAC is the focal point at the UGC that implements external reviews of state universities and institutes. Each university has its own Centre for Quality Assurance (CQA) tasked with performing QA in line with QAC directives. Faculties, in turn, have Internal Quality Assurance Cells (IQAC) performing their own QA; they are answerable to the CQA.

The big question is whether this all-encompassing top-down QA system, that in many ways undermines the internal dynamics of university governance, actually supports universities to enhance the quality of education. This article highlights some concerns.

Top-down check-box activities

The QAC conducts external reviews of universities and degree programmes. A review team appointed by the UGC (who may or may not have experience in the institution/programme in question) examines the self-evaluation report submitted by the said institution/programme. The team then conducts a site visit to verify the claims made in the university’s self-evaluation report, clarify issues identified during the desk review, and examine how QA procedures operate in practice. The team holds meetings with the university administration, members of the Council and Senate, Deans, Heads of Departments, academic and non-academic staff, students, and others. Following the visit, a draft report is submitted to the relevant institution/programme for comment before final publication. The reviewed institution/programme then prepares and publishes an action plan addressing the recommendations, with subsequent monitoring of progress.

There are some worthy QA initiatives under implementation, such as improving facilities for students with disabilities and strengthening mechanisms to address sexual- and gender-based violence. However, for the most part, QA activities have little to do with improving the quality of education. They are mostly preoccupied with monitoring faculty and department websites, digital transformation, student feedback, subject evaluation, course evaluation, peer evaluation, and, more recently, staff appraisal. These activities, which consume an inordinate amount of time—so precious at understaffed universities—have become check-box activities completed to generate evidence for the next review. Below is an excerpt of a conversation between two academics (1 and 2) that conveys how QA plays out at universities (reproduced with permission).

1: … .it’s like social media you know, like posting things on Facebook or twitter or Instagram. When people do a lot of social media, everything they do, they do thinking, “okay I’m going to post it in this way… this I have to put on my Instagram.” QA is a little like that… everything is considered in light of, “ah we can use this for the review, as evidence… for example very recently we were encouraged to have all the things that we do in our department in the faculty newsletter so then they can put in the review. Every little thing has to be noted down….

2: And with pictures and all…

1: At the very least it has to be written so that you have written evidence .. you can’t be doing something for the sake of doing something or because it is good for the department … and sometimes people tell me “oh yea that’s a good idea we can fit that under this x, y section of the review..”

2: Yea, and nobody really thinks about the actual outcome… whether it’s actually helping anyone..

1: I also find that a lot of the words that we used in different ways have now been co-opted to the QA discourse ..including quality.. I can’t actually say what I want as an “outcome”, for example, that the outcome of this workshop is that my students “think about” … then I am told “ah but no that’s not one of the Bloom’s taxonomy words, “think about”.…

2: And the worst part is these medical and agriculture people, these types of people go around spreading it like some kind of gospel!

1: Yea, this cookie cutter way of doing things, they think is the height of innovativeness or creativity, when actually it is so mundane … for me the most awful thing about it is like some fungus of mundanity has taken over through QA reviews.

2: yea, when you say QA, my mind closes off immediately and I stop listening…

Auditing everything but power

QA leaves out crucial aspects of university governance. For instance, there is no review or assessment of the “quality” of university administrations under Criterion 1 or the integrity of procedures governing the promotion of academic staff under Criterion 6 of the institutional reviews.

The majority in the Council—the university’s executive and governing body, which is responsible for selecting the Vice-Chancellor (VC)—are appointed in ad hoc fashion. Apart from the Ex-Officio members in the Council (VC, Deans, etc.), and the two members elected by the Senate, the remainder are appointed by the UGC with no formal consultation or vetting procedure. The VC appointment process described in UGC Circular No. 03/2023 exemplifies how an ostensibly technical process can become entangled in political sycophancy. The Registrar invites applications for the position of VC through advertisement. Applicants must submit a curriculum vitae, a statement of vision for the university and supporting documents. The University Council appoints a three-member Search Committee of senior academics to encourage “eminent persons” to apply, while the UGC appoints a former VC from another university to “observe” the selection process.

A Special Meeting of the University Council is convened. Candidates are interviewed and must make a presentation to the Council Members, followed by questions. Each Council member “gives marks” for seven prescribed criteria: strategic focus (20%), effective leadership (20%), holistic thinking/conceptual skills (10%), academic and research excellence (15%), personal integrity (10%), professional communication (10%) and managerial competence (15%). Marks are averaged, and the Council recommends three candidates to the UGC in rank order. The UGC-appointed observer separately submits a confidential report on the selection process.

This procedure is expected to guarantee quality, but does it? Applications are submitted to the Council Members, who have been appointed on questionable bases, and who are expected to review the applications and give scores, based on objective assessments. But, in reality, most Council Members are manipulated by VC candidates, who often have personal ties with them. The UGC-appointed observer usually has no genuine interest in the outcome. And there is no way for anyone to actually question the Council’s decision once it is made. Although the highest-ranked candidate may ultimately be appointed, the selection remains a political decision made by the President, who retains the discretion to appoint any one of the three.

External reviews also do not look into the promotions of academic staff, except to scrutinise whether there are policies and procedures in place to govern promotion. Academic staff may apply for promotion to Professor once they satisfy the prescribed eligibility requirements, which typically include the period of service, academic qualifications, research and publication achievements, teaching experience, and contributions to the university and wider community. Applications are evaluated against specified criteria, with research output and academic contributions assessed through documentary evidence and expert evaluation. Under the UGC’s scheme for Professors, two experts from outside the applicant’s institution assess specified aspects of research and knowledge dissemination. Again, beneath this technical process, which is externally evaluated, lies a problematic points-based scheme that can be manipulated and abused with impunity.

Rethinking university QA

Like the VC election process and the schemes of promotion for academic staff, QA reviews are open to manipulation. Before a review, there is a chaotic rush to complete evidence gathering and reporting. Academics leave all other work aside, including at times their teaching, to focus on completing documentation and preparing reports. The standardised criteria in the review manuals and scoring sheets often do not reflect differences in disciplines and institutional contexts. But this does not really matter because any serious problems experienced by institutions or programmes are hastily brushed under the carpet to conceal any evidence that could taint the review. The goal is to obtain an A or at least a B grade at whatever cost.

QA may result in positive change if it moves beyond top-down check-box activities towards internally designed and owned processes encompassing all aspects of university governance, led by departments and faculties, and supported by adequate resources. The current QA system needs to be dismantled and replaced by procedures that are accountable, not to the UGC, but to our students and the communities we serve.

(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna)

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

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Down Memory Lane — the Grand 20th Edition!

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Down Memory Lane: Ready to sing again

Yes, Down Memory Lane, the beloved Sing-Along concert series that first struck a chord, way back in 1997, returns for its landmark 20th edition this Saturday, 17th October, at the beautiful Bolgoda Grand Resort, Moratuwa town centre.

Having celebrated its glorious 25th anniversary with the show in 2023, this milestone 20th concert promises to be even more special.

The organisers, the ever-popular Moratuwa Arts Forum, are pulling out all the stops to present yet another unforgettable evening, brimming with camaraderie, fellowship, and pure nostalgia.

Get ready for two-and-a-half hours of non-stop singing as veteran vocalists, from the Moratuwa Arts Forum, will take the stage to lead and inspire the happy audience to sing, sing and sing to their hearts’ content.

The repertoire? Absolutely magical, according to the organisers.

Veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike: Will handle the evening’s proceedings / Priya Peiris: Event Conceptor

Around 40 golden oldies — from timeless English vintage evergreens and hits from the 50s to the 90s, to toe-tapping calypsos, soulful American plantation melodies, rousing cowboy and Dixieland favourites, aa well as cherished Sinhala standards. All to be sung with much gusto!

This year’s dedicated organising committee comprises Brian Coorey (Chairman), Priya Peiris (Event Conceptor), Hiran Fernando, Suranga Fernando, Viranjan Perera, Hemka Fernando and Neelesh Silva. Guidance and support comes from Moratuwa Arts Forum President Sarana Guneratne and Secretary Chandani Silva.

Adding his signature charm to the evening, as Master of Ceremonies, will be the veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike.

Don’t miss this landmark celebration of music and memories!

For further details, contact Hiran Fernando on 0772636446 or WhatsApp 0783636446.

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