Features
A trip to Italy and my father’s death in Australia
by Nimal Wikramanayake
(Excerpted from A Life in the Law)
Anna Maria’s father died on her birthday on 8 October 1970. Due to economic constraints and exchange control regulations in Ceylon, we were unable to attend the old man’s funeral. Anna Maria had not seen her mother, who was getting on, for nearly 12 years. Anna Maria was coming up for her first five-year long service leave at Cabrini Hospital. We decided to go to Italy on a holiday and spend some time with her mother.
It was July 1977 when we arrived in Rome on a hot, steamy morning. We wandered around in the Fiumicino Airport before we took a plane to Venice that afternoon. We were booked on an Alitalia flight and such flights in Italy were an exhilarating experience. Alitalia normally overbooked its flights so it was a simple question of first come first served – not who bought his or her ticket first, but who got onto the plane first.
At the terminal we got on to the bus, which was to take us to the plane. When we got off the bus a 100 feet from the plane, the Italians charged towards the plane with Anna Maria leading the way. She was an expert in dealing with this type of travel, and used her elbows with great ferocity. I sheepishly lagged at the back of the crowd. When I got onto the plane I found that Anna Maria had managed to reserve a seat for me.
It was then that the comedy unfolded. As usual, there were about 10 people standing in the aisle without any seats. There followed the typical Italian pandemonium, with the standing passengers screaming and yelling at the stewards and stewardesses. As usual, the Carabinieri were called and after the standing passengers were escorted off the plane, we took off for Venice.
We arrived there an hour later and drove up to Asolo. I will not bore you with details of our visit to Italy. (I hate it when I am invited by my friends for dinner and after dinner they produce photographs of their holidays, which should only be of interest to them.) But we spent one memorable day in Venice on July 16 – on the Feast of the Redeemer. We met Tony Lopes and Jack Keenan of the Victorian Bar, and his wife Elspeth Keenan under the bell-tower in St Mark’s Square. We watched an exhilarating fireworks display and then Tony suggested we have dinner.
We wandered around and found an expensive restaurant. This was before the days of credit cards and my heart sank. The holiday had severely depleted my finances and I shuddered when I saw the prices on the menu, even though it was 1,000 lira to the Australian dollar. Fortunately, Tony rose to the occasion and insisted on paying for the meal.
The holiday was uneventful save for two things. I read Voumard (second edition) from cover to cover on the plane going over to Italy and again on the way back. When we were nearing Melbourne, and the pilot announced that we would be landing at Tullamarine in half an hour, all the passengers got up and cheered. It was good to be back home. Sadly this does not happen when one is arriving at Melbourne today.
My father
By 1978 I had settled into my daily grind, with a rare foray into the Supreme Court. By this stage, I had ceased to do any criminal or family law work.In July I brought out the third edition of Voumard relating to the sale of land in Victoria, with the consulting editor, Sir Alistair Adam, being responsible for inserting the relevant authorities in the appropriate places.
Early on in my practice, I had ceased doing work in the personal injuries field as I was only receiving briefs from plaintiffs’ solicitors. In this area of the law, a barrister does not get paid until the successful completion of the plaintiff’s case. If the plaintiff is unsuccessful, then there is no possibility of being paid for one’s efforts.
As I was confined mainly to the commercial area of the law, I could see no future for myself other than being a County Court hack.I used to have lunch once a month with my friend Jacob Okno, a solicitor, and he reassured me regularly that I would make a name for myself one day as a result of my association with Voumard: The Sale of Land in Victoria.
Towards the end of the year, Anna Maria and I drove up to Sydney to spend time with my parents. An interesting feature of this visit was that a brief had been delivered to me to advise on a complicated trusts matter. I took it to Sydney and showed the brief to my father. He thought for a moment, and despite the fact that he had had a couple of heart attacks and was suffering from acute heart failure, he gave me the answer in five minutes. The drive to and from Sydney was very uncomfortable as the temperature was in the high 30s and our car did not have air-conditioning.
The following year 1979 was soon upon me and the months plodded on mechanically and monotonously. But in August of that year I received a telephone call from my brother who told me that Dad, having gone out to celebrate my mother’s birthday on August 7, had suffered a massive heart attack and was dying. I had looked up to him all my life, for unlike most boys who stop appreciating their fathers when they grow up, he was my hero and I could not contemplate life without him.
I was sobbing in my room when my friend Tony Lopes walked in and asked me what had happened. I told him that my father was dying and Tony left abruptly. Half an hour later, his wife Marilyn came in to console me. I thought this gesture of Tony’s was really heart-warming.
Dad survived this heart attack but then had a series of further heart attacks. I decided to go to Sydney with Anna Maria and celebrate his 77th birthday on December 7, at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Life was extremely hard financially and we were always without money. I could not afford the plane fare for both of us to go to Sydney so my elder brother paid for our tickets.
I was then briefed to appear in a case in the Supreme Court of Victoria on December 6, 1979. The case, I thought, was a relatively simple one. If my recollection serves me right, it was an action brought by a partner, a woman, against her de facto. She had paid a deposit on a property but both parties were registered as proprietors of the property. They had both taken out a mortgage for 80 per cent of the value of the property.
I raised an argument that since the de facto was a party to the mortgage, he had an equity in the property commensurate with the mortgage and therefore a division of the proceeds had to be in accordance with that principle. The Supreme Court judge hearing the case, Justice Sam Gray, kept sniggering throughout my submissions, saying that there was no basis for such a submission. Ultimately I could not stand his sniggering anymore and I told him, “Your Honour, my submissions are not a matter for levity.”
I had been only seven years at the Bar in Victoria but I had had 13 years’ practice in Ceylon. The judge glared at me and said, “Would you mind repeating yourself?” I was aware of my father’s advice that I was entitled to be treated with respect by any judge I was appearing before. The judge obviously thought that I would withdraw my statement, but I said, “Your Honour, it is fairly obvious that you are not possessed of my arguments. I reiterate that my submissions are not a matter for levity.”
The case went on to the morning of December 7 and I told the judge that my father was dying in Sydney and I had to catch a flight at 2.30 pm. He delivered judgment that day, entering judgment for the wife. A short while later the High Court delivered judgment in the case of Calverley v. Green and restated the proposition I had put to the Supreme Court judge to the effect that a registered proprietor of property who was a party to a mortgage had an equity in the property commensurate with half the registered mortgage to which he was a party. My client, however, was disgusted with me and decided not have anything to do with me.
This story does not end here, for I appeared several times before that judge and lost every single case, including the unlosable case in December 1989. In that month I was appearing in a Supreme Court case and when the lists came out and I saw that this judge, Justice Sam Gray, was hearing the case, my heart sank. I went in to see my friend, Ross Howie, now retired Judge Howie of the County Court, and said to him, “Ross, I have an unlosable case tomorrow in the Supreme Court but I have drawn Judge Sam Gray and I am going to lose it”.
Sure enough, I lost the case.
Some years later, I was vindicated when two judges of the Supreme Court, Mr Justice Hayne and Mr Justice Smith – and later the Court of Appeal – held that Judge Gray’s decision was completely and utterly wrong. But by then everyone in the legal profession knew that I, the author of Voumard: The Sale of Land, had lost a significant case on land law.
I suffered a severe setback and it took me several years to recover. This, unfortunately, often happens to barristers who fall foul of judges. Judges often exact their vengeance on barristers in this most unprofessional way. We have no one to turn to for assistance.
My heart was in pieces when we got on the plane to go to Sydney that afternoon. Not only had I lost a good case, I had lost a solicitor who would never brief me again. I was also going to see my poor father who had a very short time left on this earth.
My brother picked us up at the airport and we drove to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Dad was seated on his bed, his head drooping. He looked completely lost and bewildered. My mother said, “Guy, here is your son Nimal. Why don’t you sing him that song you used to sing him when he was a little baby?”
Dad looked up at me with a puzzled expression on his face. My mother said, “You remember, Waltzing Matilda”
That was the first song my father ever sang to me when I was a baby. My father looked up and in a high-pitched squeaky voice said, “Walthing Tilamy, Walthing Tilamy …” and repeated this over and over again. It was heart-wrenching. Here was a man who had once been a lion of the Ceylon Bar, a brilliant advocate and a remarkable cross-examiner, now in this pitiful condition. Old Father Time certainly is ruthless and merciless. I thought to myself, Father Time will come to all of us, ultimately, and will be the only winner in the game of life. I took my emaciated, weak father in my arms and embraced him. There was nothing else I could do; I felt completely and utterly helpless.
That night, we went back to my mother’s little flat. We were woken at 2.30 am by ghastly loud shrieks. It was my mother screaming and yelling. My brother had telephoned to say that my father was going through another heart attack and was dying. He came over, picked us up and we rushed to the hospital. There was Dad, in bed with an oxygen mask over his face, throwing his arms about and shouting, “Porter, porter!”
We stood there helpless, wondering what we were to do. Mum, my brother and I were dumbfounded. Anna Maria rushed up to Daddy, cradled his head in her arms and started stroking his head saying, “Daddy, we will get the porter, we will get the porter, relax. He is having his dinner at the moment and will be here shortly.” Ultimately, she was able to calm him down.
Dad’s condition raised a number of questions in regard to euthanasia. His cardiologist wanted to turn the respirator off and let him die, as he was in a pitiful, hopeless condition. I would not have a bar of it. I did not want my father to die although he may have been suffering. Dad was suffering from severe heart failure and his end was very near. He died two and a half months later on February 23, 1980.
I remember one occasion in 1974 in Equity Chambers when Christopher Dane walked into my room one afternoon and said that his father had just died. He told the other barristers in chambers too. It was as if a bomb had fallen on Hiroshima. All the barristers packed up their things and left. They did not want to face the death of Christopher Dane’s father. I walked into his room later on that evening and asked him whether he was doing anything for dinner. He said no, so I invited him home. Grief is something that needs to be expressed and shared with others.
Death was approached in a completely different way in Australia in those days. The dead were left in cold, lifeless funeral parlours to await an equally morbid church service, and then they were either buried or cremated.
In Ceylon, the dead body used to lie at home for several days until all the family, friends and relatives had paid their respects. This process enabled those left behind to grieve adequately. I believe this pattern of behaviour is still carried on in Ireland. Today, however, the practice in Sri Lanka has reverted to the English practice where the dead are now left in funeral parlours.
During Dad’s funeral I tried to keep my emotions in check but when they played the hymn “Nearer My God To Thee” I broke down and started sobbing. I told Anna Maria, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She put her arms around me and said, “Look, there is nothing to be ashamed of – just let yourself go’
I continued to sob throughout the service while my two brothers and my sister sat stoically throughout the ceremony.Anyway, when I returned to Owen Dixon Chambers on the Tuesday following my father’s death, no one came up to me to offer their condolences, even though the barristers were aware that my father had died.
In a village in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh, a woman receives a small but steady sum each month – not wages, for she has no formal job, but an unconditional cash transfer from the government.
Premila Bhalavi says the money covers medicines, vegetables and her son’s school fees. The sum, 1,500 rupees ($16: £12), may be small, but its effect – predictable income, a sense of control and a taste of independence – is anything but.
Her story is increasingly common. Across India, 118 million adult women in 12 states now receive unconditional cash transfers from their governments, making India the site of one of the world’s largest and least-studied social-policy experiments.
Long accustomed to subsidising grain, fuel and rural jobs, India has stumbled into something more radical: paying adult women simply because they keep households running, bear the burden of unpaid care and form an electorate too large to ignore.
Eligibility filters vary – age thresholds, income caps and exclusions for families with government employees, taxpayers or owners of cars or large plots of land.
“The unconditional cash transfers signal a significant expansion of Indian states’ welfare regimes in favour of women,” Prabha Kotiswaran, a professor of law and social justice at King’s College London, told the BBC.
The transfers range from 1,000-2,500 rupees ($12-$30) a month – meagre sums, worth roughly 5-12% of household income, but regular. With 300 million women now holding bank accounts, transfers have become administratively simple.
Women typically spend the money on household and family needs – children’s education, groceries, cooking gas, medical and emergency expenses, retiring small debts and occasional personal items like gold or small comforts.
What sets India apart from Mexico, Brazil or Indonesia – countries with large conditional cash-transfer schemes – is the absence of conditions: the money arrives whether or not a child attends school or a household falls below the poverty line.
Goa was the first state to launch an unconditional cash transfer scheme to women in 2013. The phenomenon picked up just before the pandemic in 2020, when north-eastern Assam rolled out a scheme for vulnerable women. Since then these transfers have turned into a political juggernaut.
The recent wave of unconditional cash transfers targets adult women, with some states acknowledging their unpaid domestic and care work. Tamil Nadu frames its payments as a “rights grant” while West Bengal’s scheme similarly recognises women’s unpaid contributions.
In other states, the recognition is implicit: policymakers expect women to use the transfers for household and family welfare, say experts.
This focus on women’s economic role has also shaped politics: in 2021, Tamil actor-turned-politician Kamal Haasan promised “salaries for housewives”. (His fledgling party lost.) By 2024, pledges of women-focused cash transfers helped deliver victories to political parties in Maharashtra, Jharkhand, Odisha, Haryana and Andhra Pradesh.
In the recent elections in Bihar, the political power of cash transfers was on stark display. In the weeks before polling in the country’s poorest state, the government transferred 10,000 rupees ($112; £85) to 7.5 million female bank accounts under a livelihood-generation scheme. Women voted in larger numbers than men, decisively shaping the outcome.
Critics called it blatant vote-buying, but the result was clear: women helped the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)-led coalition secure a landslide victory. Many believe this cash infusion was a reminder of how financial support can be used as political leverage.
Yet Bihar is only one piece of a much larger picture. Across India, unconditional cash transfers are reaching tens of millions of women on a regular basis.
Maharashtra alone promises benefits for 25 million women; Odisha’s scheme reaches 71% of its female voters.
In some policy circles, the schemes are derided as vote-buying freebies. They also put pressure on state finances: 12 states are set to spend around $18bn on such payouts this fiscal year. A report by think-tank PRS Legislative Research notes that half of these states face revenue deficits – this happens when a state borrows to pay regular expenses without creating assets.
But many argue they also reflect a slow recognition of something India’s feminists have argued for decades: the economic value of unpaid domestic and care work.
Women in India spent nearly five hours a day on such work in 2024 – more than three times the time spent by men, according to the latest Time Use Survey. This lopsided burden helps explain India’s stubbornly low female labour-force participation. The cash transfers, at least, acknowledge the imbalance, experts say.
Do they work?
Evidence is still thin but instructive. A 2025 study in Maharashtra found that 30% of eligible women did not register – sometimes because of documentation problems, sometimes out of a sense of self-sufficiency. But among those who did, nearly all controlled their own bank accounts.
A 2023 survey in West Bengal found that 90% operated their accounts themselves and 86% decided how to spend the money. Most used it for food, education and medical costs; hardly transformative, but the regularity offered security and a sense of agency.
More detailed work by Prof Kotiswaran and colleagues shows mixed outcomes.
In Assam, most women spent the money on essentials; many appreciated the dignity it afforded, but few linked it to recognition of unpaid work, and most would still prefer paid jobs.
In Tamil Nadu, women getting the money spoke of peace of mind, reduced marital conflict and newfound confidence – a rare social dividend. In Karnataka, beneficiaries reported eating better, gaining more say in household decisions and wanting higher payments.
Yet only a sliver understood the scheme as compensation for unpaid care work; messaging had not travelled. Even so, women said the money allowed them to question politicians and manage emergencies. Across studies, the majority of women had full control of the cash.
“The evidence shows that the cash transfers are tremendously useful for women to meet their own immediate needs and those of their households. They also restore dignity to women who are otherwise financially dependent on their husbands for every minor expense,” Prof Kotiswaran says.
Importantly, none of the surveys finds evidence that the money discourages women from seeking paid work or entrench gender roles – the two big feminist fears, according to a report by Prof Kotiswaran along with Gale Andrew and Madhusree Jana.
Nor have they reduced women’s unpaid workload, the researchers find. They do, however, strengthen financial autonomy and modestly strengthen bargaining power. They are neither panacea nor poison: they are useful but limited tools, operating in a patriarchal society where cash alone cannot undo structural inequities.
What next?
The emerging research offers clear hints.
Eligibility rules should be simplified, especially for women doing heavy unpaid care work. Transfers should remain unconditional and independent of marital status.
But messaging should emphasise women’s rights and the value of unpaid work, and financial-literacy efforts must deepen, researchers say. And cash transfers cannot substitute for employment opportunities; many women say what they really want is work that pays and respect that endures.
“If the transfers are coupled with messaging on the recognition of women’s unpaid work, they could potentially disrupt the gendered division of labour when paid employment opportunities become available,” says Prof Kotiswaran.
India’s quiet cash transfers revolution is still in its early chapters. But it already shows that small, regular sums – paid directly to women – can shift power in subtle, significant ways.
Whether this becomes a path to empowerment or merely a new form of political patronage will depend on what India chooses to build around the money.
[BBC]
Some opposition political parties have striven hard to turn the disaster of Cyclone Ditwah to their advantage. A calamity of such unanticipated proportions ought to have enabled all political parties to come together to deal with this tragedy. Failure to do so would indicate both political and moral bankruptcy. The main issue they have forcefully brought up is the government’s failure to take early action on the Meteorological Department’s warnings. The Opposition even convened a meeting of their own with former President Ranil Wickremesinghe and other senior politicians who shared their experience of dealing with natural and man-made disasters of the past, and the present government’s failures to match them.
The difficulty to anticipate the havoc caused by the cyclone was compounded by the neglect of the disaster management system, which includes previous governments that failed to utilise the allocated funds in an open, transparent and corruption free manner. Land designated as “Red Zones” by the National Building Research Organisation (NBRO), a government research and development institute, were built upon by people and ignored by successive governments, civil society and the media alike. NBRO was established in 1984. According to NBRO records, the decision to launch a formal “Landslide Hazard Zonation Mapping Project (LHMP)” dates from 1986. The institutional process of identifying landslide-prone slopes, classifying zones (including what we today call “Red Zones”), and producing hazard maps, started roughly 35 to 40 years ago.
Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines which were lashed by cyclones at around the same time as Sri Lanka experienced Cyclone Ditwah were also unprepared and also suffered enormously. The devastation caused by cyclones in the larger southeast Asian region is due to global climate change. During Cyclone Ditwah some parts of the central highlands received more than 500 mm of rainfall. Official climatological data cite the average annual rainfall for Sri Lanka as roughly 1850 mm though this varies widely by region: from around 900 mm in the dry zones up to 5,000 mm in wet zones. The torrential rains triggered by Ditwah were so heavy that for some communities they represented a rainfall surge comparable to a major part of their typical annual rainfall.
Inclusive Approach
Climate change now joins the pantheon of Sri Lanka’s challenges that are beyond the ability of a single political party or government to resolve. It is like the economic bankruptcy, ethnic conflict and corruption in governance that requires an inclusive approach in which the Opposition, civil society, religious society and the business community need to join rather than merely criticise the government. It will be in their self-interest to do so. A younger generation (Gen Z), with more energy and familiarity with digital technologies filled, the gaps that the government was unable to fill and, in a sense, made both the Opposition and traditional civil society redundant.
Within hours of news coming in that floods and landslides were causing havoc to hundreds of thousands of people, a people’s movement for relief measures was underway. There was no one organiser or leader. There were hundreds who catalysed volunteers to mobilise to collect resources and to cook meals for the victims in community kitchens they set up. These community kitchens sprang up in schools, temples, mosques, garages and even roadside stalls. Volunteers used social media to crowdsource supplies, match donors with delivery vehicles, and coordinate routes that had become impassable due to fallen trees or mudslides. It was a level of commitment and coordination rarely achieved by formal institutions.
The spontaneous outpouring of support was not only a youth phenomenon. The larger population, too, contributed to the relief effort. The Galle District Secretariat sent 23 tons of rice to the cyclone affected areas from donations brought by the people. The Matara District Secretariat made arrangements to send teams of volunteers to the worst affected areas. Just as in the Aragalaya protest movement of 2022, those who joined the relief effort were from all ethnic and religious communities. They gave their assistance to anyone in need, regardless of community. This showed that in times of crisis, Sri Lankans treat others without discrimination as human beings, not as members of specific communities.
Turning Point
The challenge to the government will be to ensure that the unity among the people that the cyclone disaster has brought will outlive the immediate relief phase and continue into the longer term task of national reconstruction. There will be a need to rethink the course of economic development to ensure human security. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake has spoken about the need to resettle all people who live above 5000 feet and to reforest those areas. This will require finding land for resettlement elsewhere. The resettlement of people in the hill country will require that the government address the issue of land rights for the Malaiyaha Tamils.
Since independence the Malaiyaha Tamils have been collectively denied ownership to land due first to citizenship issues and now due to poverty and unwillingness of plantation managements to deal with these issues in a just and humanitarian manner beneficial to the workers. Their resettlement raises complex social, economic and political questions. It demands careful planning to avoid repeating past mistakes where displaced communities were moved to areas lacking water, infrastructure or livelihoods. It also requires political consensus, as land is one of the most contentious issues in Sri Lanka, tied closely to identity, ethnicity and historical grievances. Any sustainable solution must go beyond temporary relocation and confront the historical exclusion of the Malaiyaha Tamil community, whose labour sustains the plantation economy but who remain among the poorest groups in the country.
Cyclone Ditwah has thus become a turning point. It has highlighted the need to strengthen governance and disaster preparedness, but it has also revealed a different possibility for Sri Lanka, one in which the people lead with humanity and aspire for the wellbeing of all, and the political leadership emulates their example. The people have shown through their collective response to Cyclone Ditwah that unity and compassion remain strong, which a sincere, moral and hardworking government can tap into. The challenge to the government will be to ensure that the unity among the people that the cyclone disaster has brought will outlive the immediate relief phase and continue into the longer term task of national reconstruction with political reconciliation.
by Jehan Perera
In the short span of two or three days, Cyclone Ditwah, has caused a disaster of unprecedented proportions in our midst. Lashing away at almost the entirety of the country, it has broken through the ramparts of centuries old structures and eroded into areas, once considered safe and secure.
The rains may have passed us by. The waters will recede, shops will reopen, water will be in our taps, and we can resume the daily grind of life. But it will not be the same anymore; it should not be. It should not be business as usual for any of us, nor for the government. Within the past few years, Sri Lankan communities have found themselves in the middle of a crisis after crisis, both natural and man-made, but always made acute by the myopic policies of successive governments, and fuelled by the deeply hierarchical, gendered and ethnicised divides that exist within our societies. The need of the hour for the government today is to reassess its policies and rethink the directions the country, as a whole, has been pushed into.
Neoliberal disaster
In the aftermath of the devastation caused by the natural disaster, fundamental questions have been raised about our existence. Our disaster is, in whole or in part, the result of a badly and cruelly managed environment of the planet. Questions have been raised about the nature of our economy. We need to rethink the way land is used. Livelihoods may have to be built anew, promoting people’s welfare, and by deveoloping a policy on climate change. Mega construction projects is a major culprit as commentators have noted. Landslides in the upcountry are not merely a result of Ditwah lashing at our shores and hills, but are far more structural and points to centuries of mismanagement of land. (https://island.lk/weather-disasters-sri-lanka-flooded-by-policy-blunders-weak-enforcement-and-environmental-crime-climate-expert/). It is also about the way people have been shunted into lands, voluntarily or involuntarily, that are precarious, in their pursuit of a viable livelihood, within the limited opportunities available to them.
Neo liberal policies that demand unfettered land appropriation and built on the premise of economic growth at any expense, leading to growing rural-urban divides, need to be scrutinised for their short and long term consequences. And it is not that any of these economic drives have brought any measure of relief and rejuvenation of the economy. We have been under the tyrannical hold of the IMF, camouflaged as aid and recovery, but sinking us deeper into the debt trap. In October 2025, Ahilan Kadirgamar writes, that the IMF programme by the end of 2027, “will set up Sri Lanka for the next crisis.” He also lambasts the Central Bank and the government’s fiscal policy for their punishing interest rates in the context of disinflation and rising poverty levels. We have had to devalue the rupee last month, and continue to rely on the workforce of domestic workers in West Asia as the major source of foreign exchange. The government’s negotiations with the IMF have focused largely on relief and infrastructure rebuilding, despite calls from civil society, demanding debt justice.
The government has unabashedly repledged its support for the big business class. The cruelest cut of them all is the appointment of a set of high level corporate personalities to the post-disaster recovery committee, with the grand name, “Rebuilding Sri Lanka.” The message is loud and clear, and is clearly a slap in the face of the working people of the country, whose needs run counter to the excessive greed of extractive corporate freeloaders. Economic growth has to be understood in terms that are radically different from what we have been forced to think of it as, till now. For instance, instead of investment for high profits, and the business of buy and sell in the market, rechannel investment and labour into overall welfare. Even catch phrases like sustainable development have missed their mark. We need to think of the economy more holistically and see it as the sustainability of life, livelihood and the wellbeing of the planet.
The disaster has brought on an urgency for rethinking our policies. One of the areas where this is critical is education. There are two fundamental challenges facing education: Budget allocation and priorities. In an address at a gathering of the Chamber of Commerce, on 02 December, speaking on rebuilding efforts, the Prime Minister and Minister of Education Dr. Harini Amarasuriya restated her commitment to the budget that has been passed, a budget that has a meagre 2.4% of the GDP allocated for education. This allocation for education comes in a year that educational reforms are being rolled out, when heavy expenses will likely be incurred. In the aftermath of the disaster, this has become more urgent than ever.
Reforms in Education
The Government has announced a set of amendments to educational policy and implementation, with little warning and almost no consultation with the public, found in the document, Transforming General Education in Sri Lanka 2025 published by the Ministry of Education. Though hailed as transformative by the Prime Minister (https://www.news.lk/current-affairs/in-the-prevailing-situation-it-is-necessary-to-act-strategically-while-creating-the-proper-investments-ensuring-that-actions-are-discharged-on-proper-policies-pm), the policy is no more than a regurgitation of what is already there, made worse. There are a few welcome moves, like the importance placed on vocational training. Here, I want to raise three points relating to vital areas of the curriculum that are of concern: 1) streamlining at an early age; relatedly 2) prioritising and privileging what is seen as STEM education; and 3) introducing a credit-based modular education.
1. A study of the policy document will demonstrate very clearly that streamlining begins with Junior Secondary Education via a career interest test, that encourages students to pursue a particular stream in higher studies. Further Learning Modules at both “Junior Secondary Education” and “Senior Secondary Education Phase I,” entrench this tendency. Psychometric testing, that furthers this goal, as already written about in our column (https://kuppicollective.lk/psychometrics-and-the-curriculum-for-general-education/) points to the bizarre.
2. The kernel of the curriculum of the qualifying examination of Senior Secondary Education Phase I, has five mandatory subjects, including First Language, Math, and Science. There is no mandatory social science or humanities related subject. One can choose two subjects from a set of electives that has history and geography as separate subjects, but a Humanities/Social Science subject is not in the list of mandatory subjects. .
3. A credit-based, modular education: Even in universities, at the level of an advanced study of a discipline, many of us are struggling with module-based education. The credit system promotes a fragmented learning process, where, depth is sacrificed for quick learning, evaluated numerically, in credit values.
Units of learning, assessed, piece meal, are emphasised over fundamentals and the detailing of fundamentals. Introducing a module based curriculum in secondary education can have an adverse impact on developing the capacity of a student to learn a subject in a sustained manner at deeper levels.
Education wise, and pedagogically, we need to be concerned about rigidly compartmentalising science oriented, including technological subjects, separately from Humanities and Social Studies. This cleavage is what has led to the idea of calling science related subjects, STEM, automatically devaluing humanities and social sciences. Ironically, universities, today, have attempted, in some instances, to mix both streams in their curriculums, but with little success; for the overall paradigm of education has been less about educational goals and pedagogical imperatives, than about technocratic priorities, namely, compartmentalisation, fragmentation, and piecemeal consumerism. A holistic response to development needs to rethink such priorities, categorisations and specialisations. A social and sociological approach has to be built into all our educational and development programmes.
National Disasters and Rebuilding Community
In the aftermath of the disaster, the role of education has to be rethought radically. We need a curriculum that is not trapped in the dichotomy of STEM and Humanities, and be overly streamlined and fragmented. The introduction of climate change as a discipline, or attention to environmental destruction cannot be a STEM subject, a Social Science/Humanities subject or even a blend of the two. It is about the vision of an economic-cum-educational policy that sees the environment and the economy as a function of the welfare of the people. Educational reforms must be built on those fundamentals and not on real or imagined short term goals, promoted at the economic end by neo liberal policies and the profiteering capitalist class.
As I write this, the sky brightens with its first streaks of light, after days of incessant rain and gloom, bringing hope into our hearts, and some cheer into the hearts of those hundreds of thousands of massively affected people, anxiously waiting for a change in the weather every second of their lives. The sense of hope that allows us to forge ahead is collective and social. The response by Lankan communities, to the disaster, has been tremendously heartwarming, infusing hope into what still is a situation without hope for many. This spirit of collective endeavour holds the promise for what should be the foundation for recovery. People’s demands and needs should shape the re-envisioning of policy, particularly in the vital areas of education and economy.
(Sivamohan Sumathy was formerly attached to the Department of English, University of Peradeniya)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
By Sivamohan Sumathy
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