Features

Healing the nation – A question of leadership

Published

4 years ago

2023/01/1

Thilina Walpola

Deshamanya Dr P.R. Anthonis Memorial Oration

by Dr Nihal Jayawickrama

I am deeply honoured by the invitation of the Lanka-Japan Friendship Society to deliver the Deshamanya Dr P.R. Anthonis Memorial Lecture this evening. I was intrigued by the subject that was assigned to me, since a surgeon’s approach to healing a patient is usually to cut and remove a part of his or her anatomy. I wondered whether I was expected to advocate the same approach to healing the nation.

Coming, as I do, from a family of lawyers, with only one doctor of medicine produced in several generations, it was my brother who knew and worked with Dr Anthonis over many years. Dr Anthonis was one of a small group of brilliant surgeons of the 20th century that included Dr Noel Bartholomeusz and Dr M.V.P. Peries. I have had the good fortune never to have been subjected to Dr Anthonis’s scalpel, but I have had the privilege of meeting him socially, and he always treated me with the utmost kindness. To the memory of that remarkable surgeon, I dedicate my own thoughts on the subject I propose to address, with respect and affection.

‘Healing the Nation – A question of leadership’ immediately raises the question: what is expected of a political leader in a democratic society? Should the leader reflect the views, the fears and the prejudices of the electorate to which he has to return for re-election; or should he determine a path according to his own vision, his own values and his own judgment, and endeavour to lead his electorate along that path? President Jayewardene ruminated on this issue some years after he had left office and wondered how long one could go along with the wishes of the electorate.

A military leader does not have to worry about that, but a democratic leader must because the electors are his main and only support. It was difficult to be re-elected unless the leader continued to enjoy the support of those who had placed him in that position. However, he was willing to make an exception in regard to economic matters where external factors often determined what could or could not be done, however much that might displease the electorate. Incidentally, he had some sound advice for those aspiring to be leaders. Politics, he said, was a “stayers’ race”; a race where a man or woman who does not try to kick his neighbour or jump over him, but stays on till all the others disappear, wins the race. Therefore, he advised aspirants for political leadership that good health was vital: “look after your kidney, nurse your heart, eat little, don’t exercise too much, and in the end, you win the stayer’s race and you become the leader”.

Not being a politician, and not intending to be one at this stage of my life, I am free to disagree with President Jayewardene. I believe that a leader must possess a vision that he pursues with wisdom and integrity, and it is his responsibility to convince his electorate that he is on the right path. At the height of the American civil war, when things were not going well for the North, Abraham Lincoln was advised that he might need to compromise on slavery. Lincoln held firm on the issue of abolition. More recently, Nelson Mandela’s decision to be magnanimous in victory must have enraged tens of thousands of black Africans who had been subjected to oppression and brutality at the hands of the previous white apartheid regime. Yet, both Lincoln and Mandela achieved peace in their respective countries. That, in my view, was the result of leadership.

To establish the parameters for my presentation, I need to define the expression “healing the nation”. To heal is to mend, to reconcile, to rectify, or to restore. It presupposes that the nation is wounded, hurt, or broken. In this context, “the nation” must mean Ceylon or Sri Lanka. However, about a 100 years ago, Anagarika Dharmapala began writing aggressively of the “Sinhala nation”, and in course of time “Sinhala” became the equivalent of “jathiya” or “Lankika”. In 1944, the Communist Party made the first reference to the “Tamil nation”, a term that was finally affirmed in the Vaddukoddai Resolution of 1976.

In the contemporary world, this is not a matter for any real concern. For over several centuries “English” was synonymous with “British”, but today, the nation known as “Great Britain” comprises at least three nations: the English nation, the Scottish nation, and the Welsh nation. Each has a distinct language, religion and a proud culture. Scotland and Wales have their own legislative assemblies and are represented in Westminster in both the Parliament and the Cabinet. Together with Northern Ireland, these three nations constitute the United Kingdom. Similarly, the nation of Sri Lanka includes the Sinhala nation and the Tamil nation and several other communities, and it is to the break-up of that nation that I now turn.

THE BREAK-UP OF THE NATION

When did the break-up of the Sri Lankan nation occur? I would submit that it was not a single event, but a series of events that led to the nation being wounded, hurt or broken. In the first quarter of the 20th century, all the different ethnic communities stood together as Ceylonese in agitating for constitutional reform. However, with the introduction in 1931 of universal adult franchise, and with impending self-government, it was natural that minority communities would become apprehensive of majority rule. There was cause for this. The Sinhala Maha Sabha, established by S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike in 1937, was already engaged in creating a national consciousness among the Sinhalese. Meanwhile, following the election of the second State Council in 1936, the Sinhalese members, together with the European members, succeeded in electing a Board of Ministers that was exclusively Sinhalese – the so-called “Pan-Sinhalese Board of Ministers”.

The 1946 Constitution

The fears of the minority communities were set at rest by the Soulbury Commission which recommended the inclusion in the constitution of a package of safeguards. These were:Multi-member constituencies in those areas in which a substantial racial or religious minority lived.Six nominated members of the House of Representatives to represent any inadequately represented interests.

The Senate, which would serve the minorities as an instrument for impeding precipitate legislation, as well as a forum for handling inflammatory issues in a cooler atmosphere.An independent Public Service Commission which would guarantee strict impartiality in public appointments.A prohibition on Parliament from enacting any law which seeks to make persons of any community or religion liable to disabilities or restrictions to which persons of other communities or religions were not made liable, or to confer on persons of any community or religion any privilege or advantage which was not conferred on persons of other communities or religions.

The Privy Council observed that these safeguards in the 1946 Constitution represented “the solemn balance of rights between the citizens of Sri Lanka, the fundamental conditions on which they accepted the Constitution; and these are therefore unalterable”.

At the conclusion of the first general election of October 1947, D.S. Senanayake, the leader of the newly formed United National Party which secured 42 of the 95 seats, formed a 14-member Cabinet in which he included two independent Tamils elected from the northern province: C. Sittampalam from Mannar, and C. Suntheralingam from Vavuniya, and one Malay, T.B. Jayah, from Colombo. Was the formation of this multi-ethnic Cabinet an act of leadership on the part of D.S. Senanayake, designed to consolidate the multi-ethnic, multi-religious and multi-linguistic nation of Ceylon? Or was it an act of political expediency to convince the British Government that the fear that the minorities entertained of majority rule no longer existed, and that Ceylon was ready and equipped for independence? I am inclined to the view that Senanayake, during whose tenure our national flag was designed and adopted, and who steered clear of language and religious issues, truly desired to maintain the equilibrium of a multi-ethnic state.

On February 10, 1948, Sir Oliver Goonetilleke, presenting an Address of Thanks on behalf of the Senate to the Duke of Gloucester who had opened the first Parliament of Independent Ceylon, exclaimed:

“We are of many races – Europeans, Indians, Burghers, Malays, Moors, Tamils, and Sinhalese. We are of different religions – Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists. We have majorities and minorities. We have, however, been in the past, and we shall be in the future, one nation”.

As a 10-year-old Royal College scout “on duty” outside the specially constructed Assembly Hall, and where the Independence Hall now stands, I was present and saw and heard Sir Oliver express that optimistic hope, although I may not have understood much of what he said.

However, on that February day, I returned home and did two things. I made a replica of the Assembly Hall using cardboard strips and colourful chocolate paper as a substitute for the ralipallan. I also began maintaining scrap books in which I pasted the newspaper reports of that event, and thereafter of all the significant events in the country, including the regular Miss Ceylon contests.

Unfortunately, in that “one nation”, the critical events that followed Independence were often determined by political expediency. This was in sharp contrast to the policies of Lee Kuan Yew who created one of Asia’s most peaceful and prosperous nations out of what he described as “a polyglot collection of migrants from China, India, Malaysia, Indonesia and several other parts of Asia”. In barely 30 years, Sri Lanka’s political leaders caused the disintegration of a nation which at Independence had solid foundations of freedom, perhaps more than any other British colony.

Citizenship and Franchise

The new nation’s first target was 211,915 registered Indian Tamil voters. As British subjects who had been continuously resident in Ceylon for at least five years, they were eligible to vote. At the 1947 general election, apart from electing seven candidates of the Ceylon Indian Congress, they had helped to secure the victory of 15 1eft-wing opposition candidates as well. It became a matter of priority for the Government to disenfranchise the Indian Tamil population. Accordingly, Parliament enacted a package of laws which had a profoundly debilitating effect on that community.

The Citizenship Act 1948 established the principle of citizenship by descent, and not by birth, by requiring proof of birth in Ceylon of one’s father, or paternal grandfather and great-grandfather. It thereby deprived the plantation Tamils, 12 per cent or an eighth of the country’s population, of their citizenship. The Indian and Pakistani Residents (Citizenship) Act 1949 made it virtually impossible for them to obtain citizenship by registration since it required proof of uninterrupted residence in Ceylon in the previous 13 years. The Ceylon Parliamentary Elections (Amendment) Act 1949 deprived those who were not citizens of their right to vote, thereby ensuring that by the time of the next general election of 1952, the number of Indian Tamil voters in the seven plantation area constituencies was reduced from 162,212 to a mere 3,191. It became impossible for that community to secure even a single seat in Parliament.

Did the Citizenship Act discriminate against the Indian Tamil community? In my view it did. However, when section 29 of the Constitution was invoked, both the Supreme Court and the Privy Council retreated. In what bore the stamp of classic political judgments they upheld the Act on the ground that it was “a perfectly natural and legitimate function of the legislature to determine the composition of its nationals.” While that may well be so, our Constitution provided that in performing that function, Parliament must not discriminate against a particular community already resident in the country. A million people were thereby rendered stateless.

The problems created by the presence of the Indian Tamils were, of course, sensitive and emotional. Even almost 30 years later, Hector Kobbekaduwa would exclaim, with reference to the 1947 general election:

With universal franchise, the constitution makers thought that the inarticulate peasantry should have their own representatives. But unfortunately, in the hill country, the change was from clay to fire. The Peri Sunderams, the Vythialingams, Natesa Iyers and Fellows-Gordons, and later the Thondamans and Jesudasans and other political adventurers, were swept into power in our areas through the Indian votes. It was a hopeless situation for us. We screamed for justice.

Marginalizing the Tamil community

The substantial disintegration of the nation, however, occurred with a series of politically expedient measures taken by successive governments which were directed at, or had the effect of, marginalizing the Tamil community. These were political decisions that were thought to appeal to the majority of the Sinhalese electorate who believed, as the Mahawamsa claims, that the passing away of the Buddha synchronized with the founding of the Sinhala race; that Sri Lanka was a “Dhamma-dweepa”, a nation brought into being for the specific purpose of keeping alive the message of the Buddha; and had for centuries harboured a historical, yet often dormant, grievance against the Tamils for having settled in a part of this “Dhamma-dweepa”.

One of the earliest of such measures were the government initiated and funded colonization schemes, which at the time appeared to be both timely and desirable. However, they resulted in Sinhalese families from the south being settled in the sparsely populated dry zone in the eastern, north-central and northern provinces. This was viewed by the Tamil community as a diabolical attempt to dilute the Tamil presence and seriously alter the ethnic composition in those provinces. It was argued by Tamil politicians that the government should have first invited the people of the provinces where lands were being distributed to come forward as recipients. Thereafter, people from the other areas would have had their share if there was sufficient land to distribute. This policy, which altered the demographical pattern that existed at the time of Independence, was to lead to violent ethnic conflicts in the colonized areas in later years.

The division of the Sinhalese from the Tamils, commencing at a very young age, began with the implementation of the policy to replace English with Sinhala and Tamil as the medium of instruction in schools. I was fortunate to have entered the primary school before this policy was introduced, and to have had the opportunity to go through school life in the company of fellow students from all the communities and to understand and appreciate their cultures, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their idiosyncrasies. To segregate children from a very young age based on their language was to ensure a permanent division between the two communities through life, with little or no opportunity to interact and understand each other.

That division was compounded when the SLFP and the UNP changed their language policies to that of Sinhala Only as the official language, repudiating one important element of the 1946 constitutional settlement on the basis of which the minorities had agreed to subject themselves to majority rule. For generations, the government clerical service had been a popular outlet for the educated Tamil youth who did not aspire to a university education but sought a habitation and a source of income away from the arid soil of his northern home. He or she was now required to qualify in Sinhala to enter, and thereafter to progress in, the public service.

Between 1977 and 1981, Tamils secured only 4.9 per cent of the vacancies in the government clerical service as against 93.6 per cent for the Sinhalese. The plight they now faced became evident from the case of Kodeeswaran, a Tamil who had been appointed to the General Clerical Service in 1952. He had successfully moved up the salary scale from Rs.1600 to Rs.3780 per annum by regularly passing proficiency tests in Tamil. In 1962, he was denied his increment because he did not present himself for the proficiency test which was now conducted in Sinhala. Many hundreds of Tamil public servants almost certainly found themselves in the same predicament as Kodeeswaran.Kodeeswaran challenged the Official Language Act in the District Court of Colombo. Mr O.L.de Kretser, District Judge, in a carefully considered judgment observed that:

If the members of each community were able to speak, read and write the language of each of the other communities, then it is obvious that the selection of the language of one community as the Official Language could not cause any handicap to the members of the communities whose language was not chosen, however much they resented the fact that their own language was not given pride of place. But every community in Ceylon is not literate in the language of the other communities, and the selection of the language of one community must cause at least inconvenience, if not disability, to the communities who are not literate in that language.

While observing that it was a legitimate function for Parliament to decide in what language official business should be carried on, he concluded that the Act nevertheless gave advantage to one community which the other did not have. Accordingly, he held the Official Language Act to be an infringement of section 29 of the Constitution, and therefore void. Once more, the Supreme Court retreated. Chief Justice H.N.G. Fernando avoided the substantive issue and held instead that a public servant in Ceylon had no right to sue the Crown for the recovery of his wages. On appeal to the Privy Council, the Chief Justice’s judgment was declared to be wrong, and the case was returned to the Supreme Court to address the substantive issue. For some inexplicable reason, the appeal was not listed for hearing until the Official Language Act was incorporated in the 1972 Constitution.

The 1972 Constitution marked the crucial decisive stage in the disintegration of the nation. The 1946 constitutional settlement was unilaterally abrogated. The Senate, the nominated members in the House of Representatives, the Public Service Commission, and the section 29 prohibition of discriminatory legislation were all omitted in the new Constitution, along with the judicial review of legislation. Sinhala was granted constitutional status, and Tamil was described as the language of translation. The issue of federalism was not even allowed to be raised. The Federal Party withdrew from the Constituent Assembly because they believed that they were unable to influence in any effective manner the course of its proceedings.

The most untimely introduction in the 1970s of a policy of standardization in respect of university admission was perhaps the final straw. Intended to secure a more equitable distribution, language and district-wise, of the limited number of places available in universities, it resulted in a large number of Tamil students being denied admission to the universities. The effect of this policy, and the enormity of the injustice it caused to the Tamil community, raised this issue to the level of a major human rights problem.

For instance, in 1975, the admissions on a district basis into the medical faculty were 29 from Galle and 29 from Jaffna, whereas on the basis of merit only 18 had qualified from Galle as against 61 from Jaffna. Similarly, on a district basis, Galle and Jaffna each secured 20 places in the science and engineering faculties, while on the basis of merit, 24 should have entered from Galle and 56 from Jaffna. Nothing could have been more frustrating to the educated Tamil youth than his inability to enter the stream of higher education owing to standardization and be diverted away from the mainstream of life in the country. This feeling of despair and non-fulfilment contributed immensely to the emergence of a militant youth movement. The drift to separation was now both rapid and intense, and accompanied by increasing violence. On 27 July 1975, masked gunmen shot and killed 48-year-old Alfred Duraiyappah, the SLFP Mayor of Jaffna.

The Vaddukkodai Declaration

One year later, at Vaddukkodai, on 14th May 1976, the Tamil United Front, together with the Muslim United Front, declared that:

The Tamils of Ceylon, by virtue of their great language, their religion, their separate culture and heritage, their history of independent existence as a separate state over a distinct territory for several centuries until they were conquered by the armed might of the European invaders, and above all, by their will to exist as a separate entity ruling themselves in their own territory, are a nation distinct and apart from the Sinhalese.

It was indeed ironic that Dr Colvin R. de Silva, the architect of the Constitution that abrogated the 1947 constitutional settlement, should have anticipated that this would happen. Addressing Parliament twenty years earlier this is what he predicted:

Do we, does this House, do our people want two nations? Do we want a single State, or do we want two? Do we want one Ceylon, or do we want two? And above all, do we want an independent Ceylon which must necessarily be a united and single Ceylon, or two bleeding halves of Ceylon which can be gobbled up by every ravaging imperialist monster that may happen to range the Indian Ocean? If we come to the stage where, instead of parity, we, through needless insularity, get into the position of suppressing the Tamil people from the federal demand which seems to be popular amongst them at present – if we are to judge by electoral results – there may emerge separatism.

(To be continued next week)
(This is a slightly condensed version of a speech delivered in Colombo in May 2016)

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Features

Will new UGC Circular 06/2026 strengthen or weaken open and distance learning in Sri Lanka?

Published

19 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Balancing Quality Assurance with Educational Access

Sri Lanka’s higher education system has long sought to balance two equally important national objectives: maintaining academic quality while expanding access to university education. Open and Distance Learning (ODL) has been one of the country’s most successful mechanisms for achieving this balance, particularly for working adults, teachers, government officers, rural communities, and thousands of students who were unable to enter conventional degree programmes. In addition to undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, sub-degree qualifications such as Certificate, Diploma, and Higher Diploma programmes have gained remarkable momentum over the past two decades. These programmes have become increasingly popular by providing flexible, affordable, and employment-oriented learning opportunities for school leavers, working professionals, and aspiring entrepreneurs.

With the introduction of the new UGC regulatory framework, these sub-degree programmes also come under a more comprehensive system of oversight. Strengthening quality assurance and protecting academic standards are legitimate policy objectives that can enhance the credibility and recognition of university qualifications. However, the expansion of centralised regulation also raises important questions regarding institutional autonomy, flexibility, and the future growth of Open and Distance Learning.

Globally, higher education is increasingly moving towards greater institutional autonomy, decentralised decision-making, flexible programme delivery, and innovation supported by robust quality assurance mechanisms. Sri Lanka, however, appears to be adopting a more centralised regulatory approach. While greater oversight may improve accountability and consistency, excessive centralization risks reducing institutional flexibility, slowing innovation, increasing administrative burdens, and limiting the ability of universities to respond quickly to emerging educational and labour market needs. The challenge, therefore, is not whether regulation is necessary, but whether it achieves an appropriate balance between ensuring quality and preserving the autonomy and adaptability that have been central to the success of Open and Distance Learning.

Greatest Concern

The greatest concern is whether the new regulatory framework may unintentionally reduce access to higher education, particularly in regional universities that have historically served disadvantaged communities. Universities such as Sabaragamuwa, Uva Wellassa, Rajarata, Wayamba, South Eastern, Eastern and several others were established not only to decentralize higher education but also to stimulate regional development. Their external degree and distance learning programmes have become an important bridge connecting universities with rural populations.

These programmes have enabled thousands of school teachers, public servants, private-sector employees, farmers, entrepreneurs, and young adults from economically disadvantaged families to obtain university qualifications without relocating to major cities. For many families, Open and Distance Learning is not simply another educational option, but also it is the only realistic pathway to higher education.

The sustainability of many Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes has faced challenges for several years. Some programmes have struggled to demonstrate strong labour market outcomes, particularly where curricula have not evolved in line with changing industry needs. However, this is only part of the picture. In many disciplines, especially agriculture, agribusiness, community development, media and vocationally oriented fields, diploma and certificate holders have become successful entrepreneurs, agricultural extension workers, and local development leaders. Therefore, the value of external education should not be assessed solely by graduate employment statistics but also by its contribution to entrepreneurship, lifelong learning, rural development, and community empowerment.

Less Discussed Challenge

Another, less discussed challenge is the institutional attitude towards external education. Over the years, Open and Distance Learning programmes have sometimes faced resistance from sections of the university community, including internal student groups, some academics, administrators, and policymakers. Concerns over resource allocation, workload, infrastructure, and institutional priorities have occasionally created tensions between internal and external programmes. Rather than viewing these programmes as complementary components of a university’s mission, they have sometimes been perceived as competing for limited resources. Such perspectives can discourage collaboration and prevent universities from making the most effective use of shared academic expertise, facilities, and infrastructure. As publicly funded institutions, universities have a responsibility to maximise the use of their academic resources for the benefit of society. The challenge is not to choose between internal and external education, but to develop policies that promote equitable resource sharing, mutual respect, and efficient utilization of facilities while maintaining high academic standards for all learners.

Academic staff engaged in Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes frequently receive relatively modest remuneration considering the substantial additional responsibilities involved, including course design, online and face-to-face teaching, travel, student mentoring, assessment, and quality assurance activities. In recent years, higher personal income tax rates on additional earnings have further reduced the financial attractiveness of external teaching for many academics. Consequently, some experienced lecturers are becoming increasingly reluctant to participate in ODL programmes, creating a growing challenge for universities in recruiting and retaining qualified teaching staff. If this trend continues without appropriate policy interventions, it may adversely affect the long-term sustainability, quality, and expansion of external education.

There are also concerns that the implementation of the new UGC circular with its additional regulatory requirements and financial ceilings on programme operations and staff remuneration, where applicable may further reduce institutional flexibility and academic participation. If these concerns are not carefully addressed through consultation and periodic policy review, the combined effects of increasing regulatory constraints, financial disincentives, and declining academic participation could undermine the future growth and sustainability of Sri Lanka’s Open and Distance Learning sector. At the same time, programme operating costs have increased substantially due to inflation, technology investments, administrative expenses, and taxation. Consequently, tuition fees have risen, making university education increasingly difficult for lower-income students.

If additional regulatory requirements significantly increase administrative complexity or operating costs without corresponding institutional support, there is a legitimate concern that some programmes may become financially unsustainable. The result could be a gradual reduction in course offerings, fewer academic staff willing to participate, declining student enrolments, and ultimately the closure of programmes that have served rural Sri Lanka for decades. Such an outcome would conflict with one of the fundamental purposes of public universities that to expand educational opportunities beyond urban centres. Quality assurance should never be compromised. Students deserve programmes with qualified academic staff, robust assessment systems, modern learning technologies, and effective student support services. Public confidence in university qualifications depends upon maintaining high academic standards. Nevertheless, quality assurance should function as an enabling framework rather than becoming an administrative barrier. Policies should encourage innovation, flexibility, and accessibility while ensuring accountability. The challenge is therefore not whether regulation is necessary, it certainly is, but whether regulation has been designed with sufficient consideration of institutional diversity. Regional universities operate under financial and human resource constraints that differ considerably from those of larger metropolitan institutions. A uniform regulatory framework may therefore produce unequal consequences across the university system.

Broader socioeconomic impact

Another important consideration is the broader socioeconomic impact. Open and Distance Learning contributes not only to education but also to local economies. Regional study centres create employment opportunities, stimulate local businesses, generate demand for accommodation and transport, and support digital infrastructure development. More importantly, they allow educated professionals to remain within their communities while upgrading their qualifications. In an era where governments emphasize lifelong learning, digital education, workforce reskilling, and inclusive development, policies should strengthen but not unintentionally weaken the national Open and Distance Learning ecosystem.

The University Grants Commission should therefore consider establishing a comprehensive consultative review involving universities, academic staff, students, employers, quality assurance experts, and regional stakeholders before full implementation of major regulatory reforms. Such a review could identify practical adjustments that preserve academic quality while ensuring that regulations remain realistic, affordable, and supportive of institutional sustainability.

Higher education policy should not only regulate universities; it should also empower them to fulfil their national mission. Sri Lanka cannot afford to reduce educational opportunities for those who have the fewest alternatives. For thousands of working adults and rural students, Open and Distance Learning represents hope, opportunity, and social mobility. Any reform affecting that opportunity deserves careful consultation, thoughtful implementation, and continuous evaluation.

The ultimate objective should be clear: to improve quality without sacrificing accessibility, to strengthen accountability without reducing opportunity, and to ensure that Sri Lanka’s universities remain engines of inclusive national development rather than becoming institutions accessible only to those who can afford conventional education.

Disclaimer:

The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author, presented to encourage constructive discussion on higher education policy reforms, and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any institution or organization with which the author is affiliated.

About the Writer:

Prof. M. P. S. Magamage is a senior academic at the Sabaragamuwa University of Sri Lanka and a distinguished scholar with extensive international experience. He is a Fulbright Scholar, Indian Science Research Fellow, and Australian Endeavour Fellow, and has served as a Visiting Professor at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln, USA. Beyond his academic achievements, Prof. Magamage has played significant roles in national policy and disaster-related governance, higher education policy development. He can be contacted at magamage@agri.sab.ac.lk.

by Prof. M. P. S. Magamage

Features

Appleby Plays Chicken

Published

19 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Tales of Mystery and Suspense 11

After the horrors of modernity and the absurdity of murder in the midst of the preposterous Ballet Stroganoff, I turn to more orthodox crime fiction. It fits into the tradition of the golden age of crime fiction, though it was not published between the wars, but rather in the fifties.

It was a quintessential Oxford book, written by Michael Innes, the pseudonym of the Christ Church English don J I M Stewart. I read it in a quintessentially Oxford setting, the Chalet in the French Alps where in the seventies I had been to several reading parties.

I was not really a Chalet type, for most of the others from the College were from British public schools, blond and athletic, though the patron as we called the Senior Tutor who ran our parties did ask exceptions to add to the mix, such as my fellow classicist Reggie Oliver now well known for collections of horror stories. But they too walked, whereas after my first effort, up the hill to the restaurant hotel which supplied our wine, I said firmly I would not walk again.

So, I would sit in the chalet and read, for it had a wonderful collection of books, dating from the previous century when it had been founded by a famous Balliol don. And last year, when I was asked if I would like to join a party for former Chaletites, I found after I had staggered down to the place from the hotel – now only a restaurant – that it would be best not even to try that short walk until the time came to leave.

Stewart

I had five days of tranquil bliss, marvelling at the two other older men who did walk, but quite content with my books. And having reread a book I had loved half a century earlier, I turned to thrillers of which there was a great collection.

I had enjoyed the few Innes books I had read previously, but this one was new, and apt for it began with a reading party. Appleby Plays Chicken (also known as Death on a Quiet Day) features his favourite detective, Police Commissioner Sir John Appleby. The party was not in the Alps but in a quiet English village, and begins with a game of chicken involving fast driving, which leads the thoughtful undergraduate who sensibly chickened out going for a long walk the following day. During the walk, he comes across a dead body, and realizes that the murderer must be the man he sees walking away on the other side. But he comes up and seems to be helping the boy with the investigation, when he suddenly pulls a gun.

That leads to a long chase over the moors, with other sinister figures popping up, though the last one turns out to be Appleby, who had noticed blood on the shoe of the boy who had been put into an ambulance. Finding himself in a police station, the boy relates what happened, and the two of them go back to the tor, only to find another dead body there. But this belongs to someone else, in fact the man who had appeared on top and pulled out a pistol. And his murderer is on another hill nearby and nearly knocks off Appleby.

He gets away, despite the police cordon Appleby had summoned, and the story moves to the hotel and two strange people there, a man who the students think is a clergyman, and a military man whom Appleby says is a blackmailer. Then a message comes to the don in charge of the party, that his brother, a landowner in the neighbourhood, was missing, presumed drowned.

Meanwhile the supposed clergyman is waiting for his daughter, who it seems was the young lady in a car which seemed to offer refuge to the fugitive boy, but when he next came across it his pursuers had taken it over. A telegram comes from her to say she was staying over with her friends, but the boys realize that it had come from nearby, and they hare off in pursuit.

Appleby and the don and the clergyman and the military man go to the house of the drowned brother and then follow the youngsters to a tower where they believe the girl is being kept. Appleby tells the original young man to go first, and then the others follow, to find the girl and the clergyman and the military man all together there, which leads to a dramatic conclusion, in which the villain falls to his death and the don follows in trying to save him.

It turns out that this is a spy story too, the brother having been blackmailed by the man who killed him when he burnt on the tor the papers that were wanted. Then the mastermind killed the blackmailer, and the don, coming across the bodies, decided that his brother had to disappear, in a bog, to avoid disgrace. He then took his clothes to the shore by his house so that he could be presumed drowned.

And the girl was an accomplice, while the clergyman was the mastermind, which became clear when he fell into the trap of writing a blackmailing letter on the military man’s typewriter. But this was after Appleby had damaged it slightly so the fact that it was typed in the latter’s absence could be identified.

All very complex, and eccentric as Innes is wont to be, but wonderfully exciting, if quite different from the reading parties I was familiar with.

Features

The Dark Side of Meritocracy

Published

19 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

During the colonial era, Sri Lanka had a stronger economy than Singapore. Over the past seven decades, however, the two countries have followed sharply different paths. Singapore’s rise as a global economic hub is often attributed to three core principles: meritocracy, pragmatism, and honesty.

Critics argue that Sri Lanka’s problems reflect a failure to uphold these principles, a point that needs little proof, as we have seen it all firsthand. Today, there is renewed interest in restoring these values to governance, especially pragmatism and honesty, both of which Sri Lanka urgently needs. Meritocracy, however, is not that simple: the ways merit is assessed and acquired can undermine the very purpose meritocracy is meant to serve. While Sri Lanka must embrace meritocracy, we must take measures to prevent it from drifting into the dark side.

Meritocracy is commonly defined as a social, political, or economic system in which people are chosen for positions based on ability, talent, and effort, collectively called merits, rather than wealth, class, or inherited privilege.

Sri Lanka has a deep-rooted culture that not only tolerates but often venerates inherited privileges such as nepotism—advancement based on family ties or close personal connections; patronage—rewards and positions given in exchange for loyalty or political support; cronyism—favours given to friends or allies, especially in business or politics; aristocracy—power based on inherited status, class, or birth; and oligarchy—power held by a small, privileged group. These are legacies of a long history of monarchy, colonialism, and feudalism. Furthermore, social divisions based on religion, ethnicity, and caste add to the complexity. Our culture has a way of resigning itself to these social injustices by attributing them to fate or bad karma.

These deep-rooted practices have all but replaced meritocracy, causing immense damage to the country’s economy and social fabric. Therefore, adhering to meritocracy seems the obvious thing to do, but there are two unseen problems lurking beneath. First, an individual’s ability to earn merits depends on many factors, and the opportunities for earning merits are not equally available to all, a legacy of our past unjust practices. For those who have less or no opportunities to earn merits, the competition is over even before it begins.

Merit not a single universal quality

Second, “merit” is not a single universal quality. It varies with the job or position. A pilot, teacher, farmer, judge, engineer, and political leader each require different forms of ability, judgment, discipline, and responsibility. Therefore, merit must be assessed according to the demands of the role, not merely by the results of a standard test or formal qualifications, as practiced today. If we practice meritocracy under the present conditions, we will not get the expected outcome: meritocracy. Ironically, a cyclical process.

Therefore, adhering to meritocracy while ignoring the conditions that rob the opportunities to gain merits will only perpetuate unjust and outdated systems under the pretext of fair and progressive reform. Merit is a wonderful way to choose a pilot, but a terrible way to decide who deserves a dignified life.

This is a complex issue, and Sri Lanka has tried to address it in many ways in the past, with questionable, if not disastrous, results. The key point of this analysis is that our definition of merit is narrow and misleading. “Merit” is rarely an objective, universal metric. What one organisation values as merit may differ drastically from another. Our system equates merits or skills with the ability to perform on tests, starting from Grade five through final examinations at university. That is a problem as it does not measure the ability to do a job successfully.

Standard tests measure convergent thinking, that is, finding the single correct answer to a problem, but they completely miss identifying divergent thinking, which involves generating novel, creative solutions where no single answer exists. In other words, it is the ability to be “street smart” when confronted with real life problems that counts. Not the ability to cross the box in a test paper. Convergent thinking can be quantified; that is what test scores provide, and that has become the standard currency of merit in our society. On the other hand, there is no test to quantify the divergent thinking ability needed to solve complex problems on the ground. It is that skill we need to identify and nurture if we are to succeed economically and socially as a country.

The sunset example

A few terms used in relation to this subject need clarification: in the first scenario presented in the illustration, only the person standing on the highest ground can enjoy the sunset. The fence, which may have been erected for safety or as a boundary, blocks the view of the two people on lower ground. This is inequality. If the height of the fence were lowered enough for all three people to see the sunset, as in the second scenario, that would represent formal equality: treating everyone the same, regardless of where they stand. It seems fair, but it has drawbacks.

First, when the fence is lowered, the original purpose of the fence may be compromised or lost. If the fence were built for safety, someone on higher ground could trip and fall over the cliff on the other side. Second, the person on higher ground could still see the sunset for longer than the others. For example, if one person’s position is one foot higher than another’s, he or she could see the sunset about 4.2 seconds longer; if the difference is 1,000 feet, the sunset lasts about 2 minutes and 13 seconds longer. In other words, the person on higher ground still has an inbuilt advantage. This is true in real life as well. In the third scenario, the fence is lowered proportionally. There is an appearance of equality, but the longer sunset enjoyed from higher ground has not been addressed. In the fourth scenario, conditions have been equalized in a more justifiable way.

That is the theory. British sociologist Michael Young is credited with coining the term meritocracy in his 1958 satirical book The Rise of the Meritocracy. He warned that a pure meritocracy could create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite whose members believed they owed all their success solely to their own efforts, while making the lower classes feel entirely responsible for their poverty. Scholars across the developed world are raising concerns about the outcome of true meritocracies, including in our model country, Singapore (Ong Ye Kung, 2018).

Permanent arrogant ruling elite?

Create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite? That is a dire warning we cannot ignore. Such a condition can create new divisions, disrupt national unity, and damage economic development. Sri Lanka has experienced enough of it: two youth uprisings, a civil war, ongoing social tensions, and a failed economy. Let us be clear, deep down, the root cause of these conflicts is the lack of equal opportunities to participate in the country’s economy and earn a decent living. Those with ulterior motives may give different meaning, but that is the reality. We cannot afford repetitions.

Tests that measure convergent thinking ability by asking how quickly one can find the single correct answer to a carefully structured problem. The test taker’s ability to answer such questions does not depend on education alone, but it also depends on family status and support, social background, nutrition, safety, and access to networking. In some cases, geography, disability, caste, ethnicity, religion, and political influence also come into play. Unequal opportunities create unequal merit. Therefore, a purely meritocratic system can appear fair while still rewarding advantages accumulated long before competition begins. When there are so many factors in play, equalising all of them, creating a just environment, let alone the most crucial factor, education, can be a herculean task.

The better alternative is to use a measure of divergent thinking ability, but that presents several problems. Divergent thinking is the thought process used to generate creative ideas by exploring many workable solutions. Instead of looking for a single, correct answer, which is convergent thinking, divergent thinking expands outward in multiple, non-linear directions. It is often spontaneous, free-flowing, and associated with “thinking outside the box.” Convergent thinking ability peaks during early adulthood and diminishes with age, whereas divergent thinking ability increases throughout life. Experience counts. Therefore, to assess divergent thinking ability, it is necessary to observe an individual’s performance while he or she is facing real-life problems over a longer period than what it takes to do a standard test.

Reasons for reassessing the push

Sri Lanka has other reasons for reassessing the push to establish a conventional meritocracy. According to available data, one-fifth of Sri Lanka’s labour force is employed in the public sector, while the rest is divided between the private sector and informal employment in a two-to-three ratio. This means that more than 60% of the labour force consists of small-scale, unregistered family units, subsistence farmers, street vendors, three-wheel drivers, daily-wage laborers, and independent tradespeople such as plumbers, carpenters, and masons. In addition, it is estimated that about 8.6 to 9.2 million Sri Lankans who can work are not actively looking for employment; more than 71% of them are female.

Promised Justice

The promised “justice” of meritocracy does not reach them. For example, the country had been self-sufficient in rice on many occasions, but rice farmers remain trapped in a cycle of enduring poverty with little hope of escape. Sri Lanka’s Inequality Index increased from 37.7 in 2019 to 39.8, reflecting the disproportionate burden on the informal labour force, even though Sri Lanka was declared an Upper-Middle-Income country by the same monitoring organization. Our system does not provide the opportunity for all citizens to participate in the economy, and that is a major hindrance to economic development.

Success and justice require assessing both the convergent and divergent thinking abilities of an individual as an entry requirement as well as during their performance in the position. The private sector practices this, but the current public sector system fails on both counts. The perils of selecting or electing people who are not qualified to do the job do not need explanation. Sadly, that has been Sri Lanka’s legacy. In addition, the current system fails to assess the job performance of elected or selected people and hold them accountable. Public sector jobs are for life. Pay increases and promotions are predetermined and, unlike in the private sector, are not based on performance or productivity.

This is the fundamental reason for needing education reforms. Our education system was first designed to provide clerical support to colonial administrators. Conditions have changed, but the system remains stubbornly unchanged. The education system is not designed to meet the country’s needs. On one hand, it has created a shortage of qualified people to provide essential services. On the other hand, brain drain fulfills the needs of affluent countries at the expense of hard-earned taxpayer money.

University graudates

In this system, higher education has been enlisted in defining merit and conferring the credentials that a market meritocracy rewards, while distorting the mission of higher education. Many university graduates end up in teaching positions when they have no teaching experience. The same applies to university teachers as well. This writer has seen his share of university teachers who would not have tenure if their students were allowed to grade their performance, as happens in most Western countries.

The lack of a system to evaluate employee performance, particularly in the public sector, is a serious error. In the current system, this is the only opportunity to assess divergent thinking ability, or the so-called soft skills and mindset, which, along with hard skills, are crucial in delivering the intended service and achieving personal growth: actual merit. Instead, public sector employees’ promotions and pay increases follow a fixed timetable, irrespective of their performance. This guaranteed-for-life employment system not only eliminates accountability but also kills motivation to do the job well and discourages innovation. Both individuals and the country suffer as a result.

The other drawback is the social devaluation of vocational skills in favour of professional skills—another residue of our feudal past that refuses to go away. This prestige hierarchy places undue emphasis on university education at the expense of vocational training. Both students and parents are under severe pressure to do well at exams, and this creates a wholesale drive to send children to elite schools in the capital and feed a massive tuition industry. This fixation on a few professions fails to recognise the significance of the other vocational professions to the economy.

Professionals may claim that they have invested more in achieving their skills and deserve preferential treatment, but they should not forget that farmers, plantation workers, and domestic workers abroad, to name a few, contribute to maintaining the infrastructure that allows professionals to earn their merit: the ‘moral desert.’ Society must have the decency to recognise their contribution, not in slogans, but by providing them with the means to lead a decent life.

Even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has become another form of hereditary system, much as aristocracy was. Affluent, privileged parents have figured out how to pass their privilege on to their children, not by bequeathing them land or estates, as in aristocratic societies, but by equipping them to compete successfully and get well-paid jobs, particularly in the private sector, and amass wealth. Meritocracy fails because it turns success into a moral claim, breeds arrogance among winners, creates shame among losers, reproduces privilege, and undermines democratic solidarity. Critics see it as a way to whitewash elitism (Sandel 2021, Markovits 2019, Littler 2017, Frank 2016, Guinier 2015).

Shortcomings

On the surface, meritocracy is the right practice. Indeed, meritocracy must be practiced; one cannot hire a mechanic to pilot a plane just because he is well connected. Yet, even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has shortcomings; and efforts to provide justice in earning merit, as shown in the fourth scenario in the illustration, not only unachievable, but it can create new social problems, as we have seen in our own past. Besides, such measures are only temporary, like medication given for an acute illness. They should not remain in place indefinitely. Lasting solutions must honor the dignity of work rather than credential achievement alone. That will also solve the rampant shortage of qualified workers while addressing the issue of brain drain. Most Nordic countries and some Eastern European countries have found their own solutions to this problem.

Nordic approaches may not transfer directly to Sri Lanka, but one conclusion is clear: our education system must be reformed to address these conditions. Sri Lankans spend more on the thriving shadow education system than the education department’s budget, while other pressing issues get neglected, for example, childhood malnutrition. Education should not merely grant credentials of limited value at home while serving affluent countries at taxpayers’ expense. In Singapore, our model country, meritocracy is not a “moral desert” driven solely by exam competition; it is grounded in “national duty.” We have recognised our past mistakes, but solving such a complex problem needs long-term strategic planning. Therefore, now is the right moment to begin a serious dialogue and include the right strategy in our plan for a happy and prosperous nation.

by Geewananda Gunawardana, Ph.D.