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A new life in Saudi Arabia and Romance en route in Sri Lanka

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In Saudi Arabia

A telegram brought the news that I’d been hoping for: Dr. Reda Al-Thiga, Dean of the Graduate School at Dhahran University, would be in Boston and wished to interview me. All my travel and accommodation costs for the interview would be reimbursed. On the scheduled day, I left Pittsburgh and checked into a luxurious five-star hotel which was also the interview venue. The meeting was set for six in the evening so I took a shower, got ready and went to the room I was summoned to.

When I entered the room, Dean Al-Thiga was watching the English news (CNN) on television. He kindly offered me a seat for me and asked me to wait until the newscast was over. So, I sat beside him, watching the news.

A week later after, another telegram arrived—I had been selected for the position of Associate Professor of Mechanical Engineering at the university in Saudi Arabia. The message included details of my salary and benefits. I was asked to come to Dhahran that August to assume duties. In response, I sent a telegram expressing my gratitude but also saying that the offered salary was not sufficient.

After some discussion on the telephone, I was told that higher salaries were paid to American citizens and I did not qualify. I responded that I was a green card holder (permanent resident of the US) when I applied for the job and had since become a naturalized citizen of the United States. On hearing this, they offered me a much higher salary and the matter was resolved to my satisfaction.

My plan was set: attend a technical conference in San Francisco in July, where I had to present a paper, then travel to Sri Lanka via Tokyo for a month before continuing on to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. When I informed Carnegie Mellon University that I was considering a visiting appointment for one year in Saudi Arabia, the Department Head of the university told me that it was an unwise decision. However, after explaining my reasoning, CMU granted me leave, requesting that I return at the end of my leave period.

Romance on the way to Arabia

As planned, after the conference in San Francisco I flew to Sri Lanka for a holiday before going on to Saudi Arabia to take my faculty position there. Unexpected romance started during that visit. Was it a rebound, because I had left Audrey—with whom I shared a loving relationship in Pittsburgh? I couldn’t say.

In Sri Lanka, my two brothers came to meet me in Colombo. After dinner, my brothers suggested we go to the home of the sister of their friend Hema. He was a science graduate from University of Ceylon, Colombo, and was a teacher in a government school in the capital. When we arrived there, we were told that Hema had gone to the home of a friend (also a friend of my oldest brother), to tutor the children in that household. So we headed for that house.

Hema was not there but the house-owner, who was a widow, had just returned from England where her husband who was ill with a liver disease had passed away. Her mother greeted us and insisted we had a cup of tea before leaving. The mother went inside the house and I heard her telling the daughter about us and the lady came out to greet us. My oldest brother had known her. I remember her wearing a black skirt and a cream color blouse and looking depressed.

After listening to her at length, I advised her to go for physiotherapy—a term she later admitted she didn’t know. I felt sorry for her because she had three young children (a girl and two boys) and seemed helpless. Even though she appeared older than I, she was pretty, pleasant and kind.

She told us that they had a business of sending workers to the Middle East and earning a commission from the agents there. That was their only income. Since I was bound for Saudi Arabia, I told her that I could help and she was very grateful. In Saudi Arabia, I placed advertisements in English language newspapers describing the business and calling for local agents. I received several responses mostly from Indians or Pakistanis. They wanted to know how much I would pay them per worker they placed in a job.

I was confused, and called the lady in Sri Lanka. She explained that the actual business process was for her to collect money from each worker applying for overseas employment, send half of that to the overseas agent and have the workers pay their own airfare. I told her that I did not like that scheme and advised her to stop that business. But she needed an income until she found some other line of work. She was a university graduate. I agreed to help her—I was single, had plenty of money and also held a high-paying job. Gradually, our relationship turned into a romance.

While working in Saudi Arabia, I would visit Sri Lanka most weekends. Also, I had bought a nice house in a pleasant neighborhood where I could stay when I visited. One morning, while in Sri Lanka, a Sub-inspector (SI) of Police visited my house looking for my friend. I discussed the reason for his visit and was told there were complaints of fraud against my friend from some prospective workers who had paid her money but did not get overseas employment. I took the SI for lunch and asked him to settle the cases with the workers saying I would meet the necessary cost.

I thought that the problem had ended there. I was wrong. Months later I visited Singapore with my friend for a holiday. There, she had contacted a South Indian acquaintance who invited us for dinner. He did not take us to his apartment in a working class high-rise but seated us at a table in a food court attached to his building and ordered several bottles of beer—large and warm, and food. I warned my friend not to drink as I suspected the intentions of the man.

He told us about his lucrative business of bringing workers to Singapore from Sri Lanka and other Asian countries. After that trip we headed back to Sri Lanka, and I warned my friend not to have any business dealings with him as he was a suspicious character. As usual, I returned to Saudi Arabia for my work. Months later I found out that my friend had given that guy £5,000 from the money that I had left with her.

She had arranged with a travel agent friend to send workers to Singapore. The agent in Singapore who took the money, had not met the workers at Singapore airport and the airline sent them back to Sri Lanka. The travel agent had sued my friend for the money for the air tickets. That case was settled later out of court, and our romance blossomed.

In a desert

After my holiday in Sri Lanka, I flew from Colombo to Karachi and from there arrived at Dhahran Airport on a flight of Pakistan International Airlines (PIA). The head of the Department of Mechanical Engineering of the Saudi University had come to the airport to meet me. First, he took me to the house that had been assigned to me, where I left my belongings, and from there, he took me to the university.

The university land was vast, just as I had read in the manual. There were trees newly planted in fresh soil, tall date palms, and massive concrete buildings. There were also neatly arranged and modern staff quarters and a well-planned road network. On one side, I could see the Arabian Sea, part of the mighty Indian Ocean. The scorching heat could not be eased even by the sight of water. The buildings and vehicles were air-conditioned, which was a blessing. Whenever a slight breeze passed, fine sand would rise and enter my nostrils, mouth, ears, and eyes.

The vast desert, punctuated by oil wells, even within the campus itself, weighed heavily on me. As I stood there, I felt an almost irresistible urge, which I controlled with difficulty, to board the next available flight and either go back to Sri Lanka or to the United States.

A new life

The house provided to me was spacious—large enough for a family—and fully air-conditioned. It had everything that a home would need—furniture, refrigerator, electric stove, pots, pans, wooden cupboards, crockery, cutlery, storage boxes, mats, and even linen (bed sheets, pillowcases, towels). All I needed to buy was a vehicle, a television set, and a music system.

There were a few small shops near the university where I could buy groceries. A bus service was available to travel to the city. In the bustling marketplace known as the souq or souk in Dhahran, one could buy vehicles, electronic appliances, clothes, and other essentials. Since there were no taxes, and because Asian workers were paid low wages, along with the abundance of cheap fuel, goods were remarkably inexpensive. There were similar marketplaces in other cities including the nearby Al-Khobar.

The university had workers from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka. Many of them were Muslims, and they preferred traditional Arab attire—robes and head coverings—in place of the pants and shirts they wore at home. This they did, I was told, in order to curry favour with the Saudis.

In the school of engineering, I was the only Sri Lankan professor. Office workers and staff were men. Due to the strict religious police, women had to follow Arab cultural norms—they had to cover their heads with a hijab, and were not allowed to wear sleeveless or short dresses, drive vehicles or work in public jobs. Alcohol consumption and possessing inappropriate books were also forbidden. If anyone was caught bringing such items into the country, they would face severe punishment. The same applied to theft and other crimes. Even the mention of non-Islamic religious figures was not allowed. For example, when playing the song Fire and Rain by the US singer James Taylor, the radio station would blot out the word Jesus!

As a routine, I would have my breakfast at home before leaving for work and would usually have lunch at the university cafeteria, where the food was very affordable. After finishing work, I would return home in the evening and later go back to the university cafeteria for dinner. On the days I went to the city, I got used to eating at Indian or Pakistani restaurants. Parents of some of my students owned restaurants in the city. Whenever I ate there, they would refuse to accept payment for the food.

A Pakistani worker from my office had a young daughter who attended a school near my house. Every morning, his wife would drop the child at school and then come to my house to clean it and do the laundry. I paid her a monthly stipend for her services. Since my workload was light and I didn’t have to focus on research as I had done in the US, I found myself with much free time. However, there were no entertainment activities to indulge in. So, I decided to restart something I had put aside for a long time: writing technical books.

New friendships

During my time in Saudi Arabia, I was able to visit Sri Lanka at least once a month, and often once a week. The related administrative process was time consuming because the university did not allow non-Arabs to leave the country without getting approval from them. I had to hand over my travel documents to the university office soon after I returned to Dhahran after a trip outside the country. Then, whenever I wanted to leave the country, I had to fill out a detailed application form and get approval from several officials, including the Head of the Department. Only then would I receive my travel documents from the university.

At that time, there were no direct flights from Dhahran to Colombo. So, I had to first travel to an airport in Bahrain, Bombay (Mumbai), Karachi, or Dubai and then board another flight to Colombo. Dhahran airport itself was chaotic—check-in counters mobbed by desperate passengers hoisting luggage high, pressing forward, and pleading with Indian or Pakistani airline staff for seats on the next flight. In this manner, typically, after about an hour of waiting and pleading, I would finally receive my boarding pass, even though I had a reserved seat on the flight. If a fellow Lankan worker or someone I knew was working at the counter, which happened sometimes, I could get the boarding pass quickly and without much trouble.

David Da Cunha was an associate professor in our department in Dhahran. He was from the Goa in India and was a Catholic. He often mentioned that his ancestors came from Portugal and asked me whether mine did too. I said no, my ancestors had to change their names for the convenience of the rulers. David liked his smokes and drinks much like the Russians. On many a weekend he would fly to nearby island country of Bahrain, where liquor is legal for foreigners. Also, whenever there was a university vacation, he would visit places like Bangkok and Bombay to enjoy himself.

By Clarence de Silva



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Eastern University and the making of a culture of peace

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by Jehan Perera

There is an important change in the way peace is being understood in Sri Lanka. The notion that peacebuilding is not simply the responsibility of governments, politicians and peace organisations, but is also a responsibility of educational institutions, appears to be permeating the consciousness of at least a section of the academic community. This was visible on International Peace Day at an event held at Eastern University by the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences. The event was unusual not least because the medical and nursing faculty of the university had decided that peacebuilding was relevant to its academic and professional responsibilities.

Peacebuilding has too often been treated as something undertaken after conflict, when the fighting has stopped and the immediate task is to rebuild relationships between communities. But peace cannot be sustained by governments and peace organisations alone. If it is to become long lasting, the values and practices of peace have to become part of the institutions through which a society educates its younger generations. Universities and other educational institutions are therefore important to peacebuilding. They are among the places where the foundations of a culture of peace can either be built or neglected.

The experience of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University provides a practical example of what this can mean. Led by its Dean, Prof Thillainathan Sathaananthan, the faculty organised an event which went beyond the ordinary academic scope of a medical faculty. University academics are experts in writing project proposals and applying for research grants. On this occasion, the members of the Faculty of Health-Care Sciences used those skills to apply for a UNESCO grant that they won to conduct an International Peace Day event. The significance lies less in the Rs 200,000 grant than in the decision to use the university’s institutional capacity and resources to invest in peacebuilding. The event at Eastern University needs to be understood as more than a successful university programme. It represents a possible paradigm shift in peace thinking.

Institutional Commitment

The Peace Day event obtained the support of the university administration, including Vice Chancellor Prof P Peratheepan, and reached out to secondary schools in the vicinity to mobilise their attendance. The event itself was meticulously organised. There were cultural items including traditional and modern dance and song in the three languages, performed by combinations of solo, duet and multiple singers, dancers and actors drawn in part from nearby secondary schools. There was a panel discussion by senior academics on the general theme of peacebuilding and how to prepare for it. A discussion among the students followed, where each student spoke on behalf of a religion that was not theirs. This is significant because peacebuilding cannot remain an idea discussed by specialists at conferences. It has to become part of the way institutions educate and prepare people for life in a plural society.

The Faculty of Health-Care Sciences at Eastern University has provided a model through its Peace Medicine course modules that were introduced to the curricular as a compulsory core course over 10 years ago. Two senior academics, Dr Kuveriel Eliyas Karunakaran and Dr Thillainathan Sathaananthan, have written a book on “Peace Medicine- A Health Care Concern” that was published five years ago. Its Peace Medicine Module integrates principles of medical ethics, compassion, equity, social justice and community engagement into health education and practice. In his introduction, former Vice Chancellor of Eastern University, Prof T Jayasingam noted “This book is an introduction to a theme which had already been operating in the Faculty of Health Care Sciences as a course.”

Doctors, nurses and health workers know better than anyone the harm that war and violence does. They are the people who treat the wounds and trauma that violence leaves behind. In a hospital, a patient is not asked what their religion or ethnicity is before they are treated. Health care is one of the places where peace is practised every day. The Faculty has therefore found a way of connecting its professional responsibilities with the wider social responsibility of peacebuilding. The question is whether this experience can be replicated throughout the country, at universities and at other educational institutions, so that peacebuilding becomes part of the consciousness of education itself. If that happens on a sufficient scale, it can begin to generate a culture of peace that becomes increasingly difficult to reverse.

Local Action

The Eastern University event corresponded closely to the United Nations theme for this year’s International Day of Peace, “Invest in Peace – For Everyone, Everywhere, Every Day”, which honours the “everyday architects of peace”, people driving local action, laying the groundwork for stability and building lasting peace from the ground up. The emphasis on investment is important. An investment means that something is put in: time, courage and resources. There is no more violent conflict in Sri Lanka today. But the absence of war does not automatically produce a culture of peace. The factors that fed the country’s conflict have not disappeared from the world. Racism, corruption and the violation of laws and human rights are the raw materials of conflict. So too are unresolved grievances, discrimination and the failure to recognise the suffering of others.

A country that does not deal with its past does not escape it. The past can return in the next generation. This is why the experience of Eastern University needs to be replicated countrywide, both at universities and at other educational institutions. The objective should not be to turn every academic discipline into peace studies. Rather, peacebuilding needs to become part of the consciousness of education itself. Eastern University shows that a medical faculty can develop Peace Medicine. A law faculty can examine the relationship between justice, rights and peace. Faculties of education can prepare teachers to work in diverse communities, while the humanities and social sciences can examine the different narratives through which communities understand their histories. Every institution can find its own way of making peacebuilding relevant to what it teaches.

Sri Lanka has had many declarations, pledges and programmes in the past. What matters is whether these produce changes in behaviour and institutional practice. Peacebuilding requires confronting difficult issues rather than avoiding them. It requires respect for different identities, but also engagement across those identities. It requires dealing with grievances in the present while also addressing unresolved issues from the past. It requires truth, accountability, reparations and guarantees of non-recurrence. It requires people to learn that the rights of another community do not diminish their own rights. The International Peace Day event at Eastern University was evidence of a change in the way at least some academics in a part of the country deeply affected by war are thinking about their responsibilities. Peace needs to be invested in and the most important investment will be in the minds of those who will inherit the future.

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Quality assured education commodities

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by Ahilan Kadirgamar

I have always noticed the little paper tags that are inside the packaging of some products that say quality assured or quality control. I often wonder who might have checked the product and stamped that tag, but I also forget the tag soon enough. Decades later, when I entered academia, I was taken aback by the emphasis placed on quality assurance in our universities. It is not something that could be forgotten and done away with; the entire university system is obsessed with quality assurance.

Beginning with the staff induction programme, quality assurance is drilled into the newly recruited lecturers. It is the norm, not seen as doing any harm and only trying to improve quality. It is accepted as given, and not questioned. Quality Assurance Cells and Committees are omnipresent and hover above the Departments and, at times, even the Faculty Boards. Quality Assurance reviews are feared by the Deans and Vice Chancellors. University life itself seems secondary to the rule of quality assurance. What do we make of this system of quality assurance and what are its implications for our university system?

Corporate speak

Universities globally have been going through major changes with neoliberal education policies. In many countries, universities increasingly became corporatised to be run like businesses in the 1980s. As state support for universities declined, cost cutting became the norm. They started hiring adjunct or part-time staff. Many public non-fee levying universities around the world began to charge fees. Decade by decade, tuition fees became more and more exorbitant, forcing students to take student loans. The total student debt in the United States now stands at close to US$ 2 trillion; which is about 20 times the GDP of Sri Lanka. As the higher education landscape transformed in the West, university administrations began to recruit Presidents, Vice Chancellors and administrative officials with corporate backgrounds and experience.

Such corporatisation of universities in the West has since been imported into countries like Sri Lanka, introducing a new corporate vocabulary, including quality assurance, graduate competencies, programme outcomes, intended learning outcomes, etc. University teaching has become secondary to documenting so-called outcomes. The teacher-student relationship, the environment of the lecture hall and even administering the university have been over-determined by the processes of ensuring quality. How did such major changes come about in such a short time? Indeed, academics of just two generation ago, would never have heard of these terms and processes in the Sri Lankan university system.

World Bank Trojan horse

Since the early 2000s there have been a number of World Bank projects that have drastically changed the character of Sri Lankan universities. Quality assurance as a central agenda within universities, and many other changes to the working of our universities, came through these World Bank initiatives. The Improving Relevance and Quality of Undergraduate Education (IRQUE) project and Higher Education for the 21st Century (HETC) project were two such earlier projects that set up the Quality Assurance and Accreditation Unit (QAAU) under the University Grants Commission (UGC) and established systematic quality assurance reviews for state universities. The public often thinks these are grants from the World Bank to modernise our universities. However, they are not grants but loans.

The most recent such project, Accelerating Higher Education Expansion and Development (AHEAD) is a US$ 100 million loan from the World Bank implemented from 2018 to 2023, which consolidated the quality assurance structures from the earlier projects. Furthermore, these projects are implemented with tremendous arrogance, prioritising their implementation over all other concerns in the universities, when the project over six years for example accounts for just one fourth of our budget allocation for universities this year.

The AHEAD project drastically changed course curricula, sought to increase student enrolment in science, technology, engineering, mathematics (STEM) disciplines, commercialise the university research agenda and create university-business linkages. All of this was pushed to supposedly help us face development challenges. We have heard the ideological attack on our universities and even students claiming they are “unemployable graduates”. These changes to our higher education system were supposedly going to create jobs and increase employment.

The irony of the AHEAD project is that just as it was ending in 2023, apparently after having reached its targets, the Sri Lankan economy was collapsing. The World Bank often gets the direction of causality wrong. It is the economy that creates jobs for graduates, and not the training or kind of graduates that create jobs. It is decades of World Bank policies, and those of its ideological twin the IMF, that have led to such high youth unemployment, not only in Sri Lanka but also in many other countries in the global South.

Sri Lanka entered an IMF agreement in March 2023 and started a new Country Partnership Framework with the World Bank in June 2023. These programmes have little to say about, and actively discourage, government initiatives that aim to create an industrial policy or an employment creation policy. Instead, they push for austerity measures, which not only restrict the allocation for education among other sectors, but also end up contracting the economy to the detriment of increasing employment. Their goal is the commercialisation of higher education, to make universities into businesses and run them like factories.

In this context, the ideology of quality assurance is powerful. The International Organisation for Standardisation (ISO), whose different standards are necessary for marketing, is the institution that came up with the concept of “quality assurance”. It promoted quality assurance as a process of identifying defected products. Therefore, when the World Bank promotes this conceptual framing, our students are, in fact, seen as products on the assembly line, with quality assurance processes aiming to prevent the release of defected products from the university system. For the US$ 100 million we borrowed for the AHEAD project and the many more million dollars in similar World Bank projects, there is no evidence of increased employment of graduates.

Commodity fetishism

Over a century and a half ago, Karl Marx critiqued the economic analysis prevalent at that time that associated some inherent or monetary value for commodities without considering the social relations that underlie the production of those commodities. Marx called this commodity fetishism. Furthermore, he theorised that such commodity fetishism was also a reason for the alienation of human beings from the world. If our labour and what we produce is seen devoid of the social relations that underlie them, we lose our connection with the people and the world. In this process we become alienated from what we produce and the world.

We are now in a world where our students themselves are fetishised as commodities for the market. Universities are no longer communities concerned about knowledge and human growth, but mere factories producing commodities, which have to be produced without defects to be marketed. In this way, quality assurance has become the cause for the alienation of students, academics and our universities themselves, from the larger relationship with our economy and society.

Our university system does need reform. It is grossly underfunded and not providing the financial support and facilities for our students. Universities have become hierarchical spaces without the academic freedom and democratic ethos necessary for producing knowledge. Academics and students need to engage more with their communities to make their learning and research meaningful, not to mention their contribution to and integration with society. However, when it comes to even questions of governance and regulation of the universities, such concerns are merely reduced to improving quality. In our contemporary times, this singular focus on quality assurance, as opposed to addressing the larger structural issues, is crippling our universities. There may be no way out, but to put back quality assurance where it started, those little tags on goods, to perhaps be noticed but quickly forgotten.

Ahilan Kadirgamar is a political economist and Senior Lecturer, 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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Thailand’s biggest new global star …

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The entertainment scene, globally, is agog with excitement, and, why not!

Yes, a new global star has emerged … from Thailand, and she hit the headlines by winning America’s Got Talent.

Rattikarn Amloy, known to millions by her stage name Nene Royal, was crowned the winner of America’s Got Talent (AGT) Season 21 at the live finale at Pasadena Civic Auditorium, California, taking home the USD 1 million grand prize.

The 16-year-old rocker, from the holiday island of Phuket (I’ve been to Phuket, courtesy Tourism Authority of Thailand), has struck a power chord around the world, and is the first Thai national ever to win the hit NBC show.

She beat nine other finalists, including runner-up magician Geno Ploeger, after a blistering final performance.

Nene’s story is pure rock and roll fairy-tale. She says she picked up a guitar at age seven, fell in love at the first chord, and taught herself mostly by watching videos online. That dedication earned her a music scholarship to Kajonkiet International School Phuket.

Her audition at America’s Got Talent — a swaggering, shredding rendition of The Cranberries’ classic ‘Zombie’ — exploded online, amassing over 200 million views across AGT’s platforms, more than any act this season.

She kept wowing: ‘Hysteria’ by Muse, then ‘Black Hole Sun’ by Soundgarden which earned her Spice Girl Mel B’s Golden Buzzer, sending her straight to the live shows.

For the final, she unleashed ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Judge Howie Mandel shouted: “You should win. Give her the million, America.” Mel B praised her “mysterious, mystical stage presence”.

And for the grand finale, she lived every teen rocker’s dream — performing on stage, alongside US rock giants Linkin Park.

When host Terry Crews announced her as winner, the teenager collapsed to the stage floor in tears. “I’m very happy and you know I’m emotional right now,” she said.

And Thailand erupted. Her school held watch parties, posting: “You did it, congratulations, champion. We are so proud of you.”

Even Prime Minister Anutin Charnvirakul sent a personal congratulation. He had earlier hosted Nene at Government House in July, where she played guitar while he sang a Thai rock song. His office said her talent “brought pride to Thai people.”

Corporate Thailand also rallied behind her — Charoen Pokphand Foods, owned by billionaire Dhanin Chearavanont, even rented a giant billboard in Times Square, New York, to cheer her on.

With her blistering guitar solos, rock-ballad shrieks and fearless spirit, little Nene Royal has just become Thailand’s biggest new global star.

What’s more, this amazing teenager will be bringing her powerful vocals, guitar skills and signature rock-metal style to the stage, as opening act, before one of the world’s biggest rock bands, America’s Avenged Sevenfold, in Singapore, on 13 October.

Unfortunately, we are still to see a local artiste, grab the spotlight, on a global scale … like Thailand’s Nene.

Yes, they do shine, but mostly on social media, and that, too, with the aid of AI (Artificial Intellegence).

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