Features
Padma Rao Sunderji in Sri Lanka
By Uditha Devapriya
Review of Padma Rao Sunderji’s Sri Lanka:
The New Country
HarperCollins India, 2015, INR 499, 322 pages
What does it mean to be Sri Lankan? Am I Sri Lankan? I’d like to think and say that I am. Yet, to be Sri Lankan is to be many things, often at the same time. In my case, it can also mean being Sinhalese and Buddhist. Similarly, another person can claim another identity. Though helpful in one sense, however, such terms tend to divide. We can debate endlessly about the meaning of these words, but do they add up to an all-embracing identity? Sri Lanka is a land of much potential and promise, a distinct geographic entity that has claimed for itself a place under the sun. How can we all be a part of this entity?
Being Sri Lankan is obviously a matter for thought and speculation. We can debate and discuss. The arguments will probably never end. Yet, deep down inside, there’s no doubt that we are, at the end of the day, one family. Dayan Jayatilleka called it “smart patriotism”: an all-encompassing national identity that could account for exigencies of race and religion. Mervyn de Silva spoke of an “age of identity” in which “ethnicity walks on water.” He could have been writing of any country, from any part of the world. But here he was talking about the land of his birth. Whatever it may be, and however you describe it, it’s inescapable that this country is full of complex identities, and complex people.
Some books are hard to put down. This one certainly is. Published in 2015, a pivotal year if ever there was one for Sri Lanka’s post-independence and post-war history, Sri Lanka: The New Country reflects on the country and its people. It’s not slim, but it’s lucid, and it dwells at considerable length on what Sri Lankans think about being Sri Lankan. Packed with sharp insights and observations, it’s at once travelogue and political narrative. Sunderji does her best to cut to the chase, getting to the heart of the matter wherever she is. That reflects her deeply sincere love for the country, a love she underscores frequently before explaining her connection to an island that seems like her surrogate motherland.
I felt intrigued by the title of the book. For many foreign commentators, post-2009 was an era of much transformation in Sri Lanka, politically and economically. Yet, in the minds of those among them who had dismissed Sri Lanka as a failed state, a nation arising from the ashes of war but incapable of making peace with itself, this new era did not merit a definite article: for them, Sri Lanka after 2009 was just another new country, no different to others that had won wars but lost the peace. Sunderji, however, inserts a definite article: Sri Lanka, for her, is THE new country: unique, hopeful, free of the burdens of the past.
In her preface, Suderji admits that she aims “at affording readers interested in Sri Lanka an opportunity to hear the other side.” What is this other side? “Sri Lanka’s army generals, its president, its new chief minister of the Northern Province, and more importantly, ordinary Sinhalese and Tamil citizens rebuilding their lives.” A not so modest goal, though she herself downplays the scope of her work by calling it “a collection of stories.” The conviction comes through no matter who she’s interviewing and talking to. Not surprisingly perhaps, the best parts of the book are those where she engages with ordinary people and soldiers, instead of the usually motley crew of politicians, governors, and bureaucrats.
The importance of Sunderji’s contribution cannot be understated. Until the publication of this book, most narratives about Sri Lanka and its post-war phase revolved around its failure to clinch peace, its obsession with infrastructural growth, and its consolidation of an ethno- nationalist political consciousness. Sunderji does not, to her credit, downplay or deny these realities. Yet, she points out that Sri Lanka after the war is much, much more than what most commentators prefer to see. Along the way, she criticises foreign correspondents, especially those who report from the confines of a hotel or another country, for propounding false and mischievously erroneous stereotypes about what’s happening in Sri Lanka.
“I knew from previous experiences that many Western journalists – and NGOs – had repeatedly arrived in Sri Lanka as ‘tourists’ and then proceeded to write damning, unsubstantiated reports on the country. Most did so from the veranda of the Galle Face Hotel in balmy Colombo, of course, for setting foot in the north and north-east would have been too conspicuous, given the widespread presence of the army.”
It’s because of these transgressions that Sunderji does everything she can to ensure her independence as an observer in Sri Lanka. Though cautioned against visiting the island, she finds her transit and her travels here a relatively peaceful affair, barring an altercation at a military checkpoint. Elsewhere, be it an interview with the President, a conversation with a Tamil Buddhist evangelist figure in the north, or a Skype chat with someone calling himself the heir to an ancient Jaffna dynasty, the Aryacakravartis, she blends into the world around her. These embolden her to reflect anecdotally on otherwise trivial matters, like the quality of service at military run hotels in the north and north-east.
“The Sandy Bay hotel confirms my reserve about hotels run by the armed forces yet again. Of course, it is peacetime. The armed forces now have time and surplus funds in their pockets. And as long as there are rumbles of separatism, as long as the whereabouts of escaped LTTE cadres are not known, the armed forces will have to stay on in certain vulnerable regions of Sri Lanka. Yet, I find myself wishing again that they would employ the services of professionals from Sri Lanka’s flawless hospitality industry to design these places, run them and lend them a softer, warmer touch.”
Even here, the critique is fair: Sunderji does not vilifying an otherwise heavily vilified outfit, the Sri Lankan army, the way it has been and continues to be by other commentators. It is for this reason that her interviews with soldiers and majors resonate so well: she does not judge or editorialise their replies, but lets them have their say. Offering them the benefit of the doubt, she draws a more complex picture of the relationship between the military, the political system, and the people on the ground in the north and north-east.
Consequently, the conclusions she draws are not only fresh but also unbiased. For instance, she points out clearly that the Channel 4 documentary, Sri Lanka’s Killing Fields, despite how its narrative was accepted everywhere, never substantiated its claim of 40,000 civilians killed by the military towards the end of the war: “it surprised me that the allegations by a solitary television channel were unquestioningly picked up and reproduced.”
The Sri Lanka that emerges from such reports, naturally, are both colourful and colourless: they reduce the island to a bloody teardrop (the teardrop association, not surprisingly, exasperates her: it simplifies an otherwise complicated country and terrain) with the same old, overused, hackneyed, much hyped dichotomies: Sinhala versus Tamil, Buddhist versus Hindu. As Janaka Perera put it in a response to an article by Robert Kaplan in The Atlantic (“Buddha’s Savage Peace”), violence in Sri Lanka was never linked to a religious crisis, since there was much syncretism between Buddhism and Hinduism.
Given the prevalence of such barely concealed simplifications and falsifications, then, is it any wonder that we still come across lies propagated by media reports in globally renowned publications? Such falsifications are not the preserve of foreigners only, since publications have local correspondents based in “balmy Colombo”, who still cave in to the exigencies of Western editors. That is why Sunderji, who willingly describes herself as an “outsider” at several points in her book, attempts to keep up a narrative that neither plays to the gallery nor subsumes the Sri Lankan experience within her own narrow encounters.
What keeps her book alive is her interest in reconciling, rather than differentiating between, the many polarities which have magnified and telescoped in Sri Lanka. Given the country’s size, it comes to little or no surprise that an ethnic crisis should turn into an ethnic conflict within the space of a few years. But perhaps the biggest factor which helped turn that crisis into a conflict were the many mis-comparisons made by foreign observers.
Not even John Pilger, that most prolific of commentators, who has frequently exposed the underside of Western media, can desist from comparing the Sri Lankan separatist conflict to Israel’s occupation of Palestine, forgetting that while Israel and Palestine have significant and sizeable populations in the region and elsewhere, in Sri Lanka the ethnic majority, the Sinhalese, happen to be a global minority, while the “occupied” minority, the Tamil, make up a global majority: a point Dayan Jayatilleka has made in Long War, Cold Peace.
At present, then, what we need is a book that brings together, not keeps apart, differences. As of now, Padma Rao Sunderji’s book fulfils that task beautifully. It is richly detailed, lucid, and not a little evocative: written from the head, as well as the heart.
The writer can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Features
Coercive laws recipe for future misrule
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.
Features
Quality assurance without quality enhancement: The irony of university QA
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.
Features
Down Memory Lane — the Grand 20th Edition!
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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