Connect with us

Features

A trip to Italy and my father’s death in Australia

Published

3 years ago

on

Supreme Court Victoria

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.


Related Topics:
Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Features

We banned phone; we kept surveillance; teenagers noticed

Published

6 hours ago

on

2026/04/1

By

THE GREAT DIGITAL RETHINK : PART III OF V

The Teenage Battleground

Secondary school has always been a battlefield of sorts, competing loyalties, volatile friendships, the daily theatre of adolescent identity. But in the past decade it acquired a new and uniquely modern dimension: the smartphone in the pocket, the social media feed refreshing every few minutes, the group chat that never sleeps.

The numbers, when they arrived, were not subtle. PISA 2022 data, drawn from students in over 80 countries, found that around 65 percent of students reported being distracted by their own digital devices in mathematics lessons, and 59 percent said a classmate’s device had pulled their attention away. Students who reported being distracted by peers’ phones scored, on average, 15 points lower in mathematics than those who said it never happened. Fifteen points is not a rounding error. It is a meaningful, measurable, recurring gap that appears consistently across countries with very different education systems.

Governments took notice of the situation. In a pattern that will be familiar to readers of this series, a number of them reached for the most visible, most politically satisfying tool available – the ban in Finland, Sweden, Australia, and France. The UK, in a characteristically chaotic way, involving years of guidance, and pilots, eventually legalised. One by one, secondary schools across the wealthy world have begun confiscating phones at the gate, storing them in pouches, locking them up in boxes, and discovering, somewhat to their own surprise, that this works.

When the Ban Actually Works

A 2025 survey of nearly a thousand principals in New South Wales found that 87 percent reported students were less distracted after the ban was introduced, and 81 percent said learning had improved. South Australia recorded a 63 percent decline in critical incidents involving social media and a 54 percent reduction in behavioural issues. These are striking figures, and they align with what common sense would predict: if you remove the distraction, concentration improves.

What is also emerging from Australian, Finnish and Swedish schools is something less expected and more interesting: the character of break times has changed. Teachers and principals report that when phones disappear from pockets, something older reappears in their place. Students talk to each other. They play. They argue, resolve disputes, make and lose friendships in the ancient, messy, face-to-face way that adolescence has always demanded but that the smartphone had been quietly crowding out. The playground, it turns out, was not broken. It was just occupied.

Sweden’s nationwide policy, coming into effect in autumn 2026, will require schools to collect phones for the full day, not just during lessons. This is the more ambitious intervention, and the one that addresses what the Australian experience has already demonstrated: that the damage done by constant connectivity is not confined to the classroom. It happens at lunch. It happens between periods. It happens in the 10 minutes before the bell when a group of 14-year-olds are supposedly in the building but are actually, in every meaningful sense, somewhere else entirely.

87% of Australian principals said students were less distracted after the ban. The other 13% presumably hadn’t tried it yet.

But Here Is What Nobody Wants to Talk About

Here is the part that the ministers’ press releases do not mention. While the smartphone, the device the student owns, controls and carries, has been banned from the secondary classroom, the institution’s own digital apparatus has been expanding at an impressive pace throughout the same period. Learning management systems now mediate most of secondary school life in high-income countries. Assignments are distributed digitally. Work is submitted digitally. Attendance is recorded digitally. Grades are published on portals that students, parents and administrators can access in real time. The school that bans your personal phone may simultaneously be recording precisely how long you spent on each page of the online reading assignment last Tuesday.

Learning analytics, the practice of harvesting data from student interactions with digital platforms to inform teaching and school management, has moved from a niche research curiosity to a mainstream tool. PISA 2022 data show that virtually all 15-year-olds in OECD countries attend schools with some form of digital infrastructure. Behind that infrastructure sits a layer of data collection that most students and many parents are only dimly aware of: log-in times, click patterns, quiz scores, time-on-task measures, platform engagement metrics. These are assembled into dashboards, fed into algorithms, and used, with genuinely good intentions, in most cases, to identify struggling students early.

The genuinely good intentions do not resolve the underlying problem. Research on learning analytics raises serious concerns about privacy, about the opacity of algorithmic decision-making, and about what happens when a teenager is quietly flagged as ‘at risk’ by a system they never knew was watching. The irony of secondary de-digitalisation is not lost on those paying attention: we have removed the device the student controls, while expanding the systems that observe and score them.

The AI Proctor in the Room

During the pandemic, when exams moved online, a number of education authorities adopted software that monitored students through their webcams, flagging unusual eye movements, background sounds, or the presence of other people in the room as potential signs of cheating. The systems were sold as efficient, scalable and objective. They were, in practice, frequently absurd.

The software flagged students who looked away from the screen to think. It penalised students whose rooms were small, shared or noisy, disproportionately those from less privileged backgrounds. It struggled with students of colour, whose features were less well-represented in the training data. It was contested, appealed, gamed, and eventually abandoned by a significant number of institutions that had initially adopted it with enthusiasm. By 2024 and 2025, the rollback was visible. Universities and some school systems were returning, with minimal fanfare, to supervised in-person examinations, handwritten, on paper, in a room with a human invigilator, partly to solve the AI cheating problem, partly to solve the AI proctoring problem. The wheel had, somewhat dizzingly, turned full circle.

We banned the student’s phone. We kept the webcam that monitors their eye movements during exams. Progress.

The Equity Problem That Bans Cannot Solve

Beneath the headline politics of phone bans lies a more uncomfortable question about who, exactly, benefits from secondary school de-digitalisation, and who pays a cost that is rarely acknowledged. The argument for phone bans on equity grounds is real: unrestricted phone use in schools amplifies social hierarchies. The student with the latest device, the most followers, the most compelling social media presence occupies a different social universe from the student without. Removing phones during the school day levels that particular playing field.

But the equity argument runs the other way, too, once you look beyond school hours. Secondary schools in high-income systems have steadily increased their dependence on digital platforms for homework, assessment preparation and communication. If a school bans phones during the day and then sends students home to complete digitally-mediated assignments, the burden of that homework falls unequally.

There is also the growing phenomenon of what researchers are beginning to call ‘shadow digital education’: the private online tutoring platforms, AI-powered study tools and exam preparation services that affluent families use to supplement and extend what school provides. While secondary schools debate whether students should be allowed to use AI for essay drafts, some of those students’ wealthier peers are already using it, skillfully, privately and with considerable academic advantage. The phone ban, whatever its merits in the classroom, does not touch this market. It may even quietly accelerate it.

Two Worlds, Still Diverging

In Finland, Sweden and Australia, the policy conversation is about how to manage the excesses of a generation that grew up digitally saturated, how to restore concentration, how to protect wellbeing, how to ensure that institutional platforms serve learning rather than merely monitor it.

Elsewhere, across much of Southeast Asia, Sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America and parts of the Middle East, the secondary school conversation remains anchored to a different set of concerns: how to get enough devices into enough classrooms, how to train enough teachers to use them, how to ensure that the smartboard contract does not expire before the teachers learn to turn it on. Vendors are present, helpful and commercially motivated. Development banks are funding rollouts. Government ministers are visiting showrooms. The playbook being followed is the one that Finland and Sweden wrote in 2010 and are now revising.

SERIES ROADMAP:

Part I: From Ed-Tech Enthusiasm to De-Digitalisation | Part II: Phones, Pens & Early Literacy | Part III: Attention, Algorithms & Adolescents (this article) | Part IV: Universities, AI & the Handwritten Exam | Part V: A Critical Theory of Educational De-Digitalisation

Continue Reading

Features

A Buddhist perspective on ageing and decay

Published

6 hours ago

on

2026/04/1

By

Buddhism is renowned for its profound insights into ageing and decay, known as jara in Pali. Through its teachings and practices, Buddhism cultivates the wisdom and mental clarity necessary to accept and prepare for the inevitability of ageing. The formula jati paccayaā jaraāmaranaṃ translates to “dependent on birth arise ageing and death,” clearly illustrating that birth inevitably leads to ageing and death, accompanied by sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair. Without birth, there would be no ageing and death. Therefore, ageing is a fundamental aspect of suffering as outlined in the Four Noble Truths.

Buddhism encourages us to confront the realities of ageing, illness, and mortality head-on. Old age is recognised as an unavoidable aspect of dukkha (suffering). Old age is fundamentally and inextricably entwined with the concept of impermanence(annicca), serving as the most visible, undeniable evidence that all conditioned things are in a state of flux and decay. Ageing, illness and death create in us an awareness not only of dukkha but also impermanence. The Buddha taught, “I teach suffering and the way out of suffering.” Here, “suffering” encompasses not only physical pain but also the profound discomfort that arises when our attempts to escape or remedy pain stemming from old age are thwarted. Instead of fearing old age, Buddhists are encouraged to embrace it, release attachments to youth, and cultivate wisdom, gratitude, and inner peace.

Ageing is a complex process shaped by both genetic and environmental factors. From a Buddhist viewpoint, we should perceive the body realistically. Fundamentally, the human body can be seen as a vessel of impurities, subject to old age, disease, decay, and death. The natural process of ageing is gradual, irreversible, and inevitable. Every individual must ultimately come to terms with the reality of growing old, as change is an essential fact of life.

In Buddhism, impermanence (anicca) holds a central position. Everything that exists is unstable and transient; nothing endures forever—including our bodies and all conditioned phenomena. Thus, anicca, dukkha, and anattaā (non-self or selflessness) are the three characteristics common to all conditioned existence. The reality of impermanence can often evoke pain, yet a wise Buddhist fully understands and appreciates this simple yet profound truth.

The Greek philosopher Heraclitus encapsulated this notion when he stated, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.” Old age was one of the four sights that prompted Prince Siddhartha Gautama to seek enlightenment, alongside sickness, death, and the wandering ascetic. Coming to terms with these aspects of existence was pivotal in his transformation into the Buddha.

At Sāvatthi, King Pasenadi of Kosala once asked the Buddha, “Venerable sir, is there anyone who is born who is free from old age and death?” The Buddha replied, “Great King, no one who is born is free from ageing and death. Even those affluent khattiyas—rich in wealth and property, with abundant gold and silver—are not exempt from ageing and death simply because they have been born.” This interaction underscores the universal challenge of ageing, transcending societal divisions of wealth or status.

Ageing presents one of the greatest challenges in human experience. Physically, the body begins to deteriorate; socially, we may find ourselves marginalised or discounted, sometimes subtly and sometimes explicitly. Some may encounter dismissal or condescension. Ageism remains one of the most persistent forms of discrimination. The physical and social difficulties associated with ageism can undermine our self-image and sense of self-worth. Common perceptions often portray old age as a stage where the best years are behind us, reducing the remaining years to a form of “bonus years” frequently presented in sentimental or patronising ways.

The suffering associated with ageing can serve as a powerful motivation to engage in practices that directly address this suffering, allowing us to gradually transform it or, at the very least, make it more bearable and manageable. We must recognise that this principle applies equally to our own bodies. The human body undergoes countless subtle changes every moment from the time you are born, never remaining the same even for two consecutive moments, as it is subject to the universal law of impermanence.

Whatever your age. However young-looking you try to remain through external means, the truth is that you are getting older every minute. Every minute, every second, our lives are getting shorter and closer to death. Since you were conceived in your mother’s womb, your life is getting shorter. We see external things going by rapidly, but never reflect on our own lives. No matter what we do, we cannot fully control what happens in our lives or to our bodies. With time, we all develop lines and wrinkles. We become frail, and our skin becomes thinner and drier. We lose teeth. Our physical strength and sometimes our mental faculties decline. In old age, we are subject to multiple diseases.

Many people live under the illusion that the body remains constant and is inherently attractive and desirable. Modern society, in particular, has become increasingly obsessed with the quest for eternal youth and the reversal of the ageing process. Many women feel inadequate about their physical appearance and constantly think about how to look younger and more attractive. Enormous sums of money are spent on cosmetic procedures, skincare, and grooming products to remain presentable and desirable. The global beauty and cosmetics industries thrive on this ideal, often promoting unrealistic standards of beauty and youthfulness. But no amount of products available in the world can truly restore lost youth, as time inevitably leaves its mark.

Therefore, in Buddhism, mindful reflection on ageing and the human body is considered essential for overall well-being. This contemplation provides insight into impermanence as we navigate life. Reflecting on the nature of the body—its true condition and its delicate, changing state—is a fundamental aspect of the Buddha’s teachings. By understanding the body accurately, we support both wisdom and peace of mind.

Buddhism recognises forty subjects of meditation which can differ according to the temperaments of persons. Contemplation of the human body is one of them. Of all the subjects of meditation, reflection on the human body as a subject is not popular among certain people particularly in the western world as they think such contemplation would lead to a melancholic morbid and pessimistic outlook on life. They regard it as a subject that may be somewhat unpleasant and not conducive to human wellbeing. Normally, people who are infatuated and intoxicated with sensual pleasures develop an aversion towards this subject of meditation. In Buddhism this mode of contemplation is called asuba bhavana or mindfulness of the impurities of the body. It is all about our physiology and individual body parts and organs internal as well as external. This subject of meditation is unique to the Buddhist teachings.

To appreciate the body as it truly is, we must set aside preconceived notions and engage in a calm and honest inquiry: Is this body genuinely attractive or not? What is it composed of? Is it lasting or subject to decay?

In embracing the teachings of Buddhism, we find the wisdom to navigate the journey of ageing with grace, transforming our understanding of this natural process into an opportunity for growth and acceptance.

When our fears centre on ageing, decay, and disease, we cannot overcome them by pretending they do not exist. True relief comes only from facing these realities directly.

Reflecting on the body’s unattractive and impermanent nature can help us gain a realistic perspective. In an age when the mass media constantly bombards people with sensual images, stimulating lust, greed, and attachment, contemplation of the body’s true nature can bring calm and clarity.

All beings that are born must eventually die. Every creature on earth, regardless of status, shares this common fate. After death, the body undergoes a series of biological changes and decomposes, returning to the earth as organic matter. It is part of the earth and ultimately dissolves back into it.

Understanding this, we can meet ageing, decay, and death with greater wisdom, less fear, and a deeper sense of peace.

by Dr. Justice Chandradasa Nanayakkara

Continue Reading

Features

Partnering India without dependence

Published

1 day ago

on

2026/03/31

By

President Dissanayake with Indian PM Modi

Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi once again signaled the priority India places on Sri Lanka by swiftly dispatching a shipload of petrol following a telephone conversation with President Anura Kumara Dissanayake. The Indian Prime Minister’s gesture came at a cost to India, where there have been periodic supply constraints and regional imbalances in fuel distribution, even if not a countrywide shortage. Under Prime Minister Modi, India has demonstrated to Sri Lanka an abundance of goodwill, whether it be the USD 4 billion it extended in assistance to Sri Lanka when it faced international bankruptcy in 2022 or its support in the aftermath of the Ditwah cyclone disaster that affected large parts of the country four months ago. India’s assistance in 2022 was widely acknowledged as critical in stabilising Sri Lanka at a moment of acute crisis.

This record of assistance suggests that India sees Sri Lanka not merely as a neighbour but as a partner whose stability is in its own interest. In contrast to Sri Lanka’s roughly USD 90 billion economy, India’s USD 4,500 billion economy, growing at over 6 percent, underlines the vast asymmetry in economic scale and the importance of Sri Lanka engaging India. A study by the Germany-based Kiel Institute for the World Economy identifies Sri Lanka as the second most vulnerable country in the world to severe food price surges due to its heavy reliance on imported energy and fertilisers. Income per capita remains around the 2018 level after the economic collapse of 2022. The poverty level has risen sharply and includes a quarter of the population. These indicators underline the urgency of sustained economic recovery and the importance of external partnerships, including with India.

It is, however, important for Sri Lanka not to abdicate its own responsibilities for improving the lives of its people or become dependent and take this Indian assistance for granted. A long unresolved issue that Sri Lanka has been content to leave the burden to India concerns the approximately 90,000 Sri Lankan refugees who continue to live in India, many of them for over three decades. Only recently has a government leader, Minister Bimal Rathnayake, publicly acknowledged their existence and called on them to return. This is a reminder that even as Sri Lanka receives support, it must also take ownership of its own unfinished responsibilities.

Missing Investment

A missing factor in Sri Lanka’s economic development has long been the paucity of foreign investment. In the past this was due to political instability caused by internal conflict, weaknesses in the rule of law, and high levels of corruption. There are now significant improvements in this regard. There is now a window to attract investment from development partners, including India. In his discussions with President Dissanayake, Prime Minister Modi is reported to have referred to the British era oil storage tanks in Trincomalee. These were originally constructed to service the British naval fleet in the Indian Ocean. In 1987, under the Indo Lanka Peace Accord, Sri Lanka agreed to develop these tanks in partnership with India. A further agreement was signed in 2022 involving the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation and the Lanka Indian Oil Corporation to jointly develop the facility.

However, progress has been slow and the project remains only partially implemented. The value of these oil storage tanks has become clearer in the context of global energy uncertainty and tensions in the Middle East. Energy analysts have pointed out that strategic storage facilities can provide countries with greater resilience in times of supply disruption. The Trincomalee tanks could become a significant strategic asset not only for Sri Lanka but also for regional energy security. However, historical baggage continues to stand in the way of Sri Lanka’s deeper economic linkage with India. Both ancient and modern history shape perceptions on both sides.

The asymmetry in size and power between the two countries is a persistent concern within Sri Lanka. India is a regional power, while Sri Lanka is a small country. This imbalance creates both opportunities for partnership and anxieties about overdependence. The present government too has entered into economic and infrastructure agreements with India, but many of these have yet to move beyond initial stages. This has caused frustration to the Indian government, which sees its efforts to support Sri Lanka’s development as not being sufficiently appreciated or effectively utilised. From India’s perspective, delays and hesitation can appear as a lack of commitment. From Sri Lanka’s perspective, caution is often driven by domestic political sensitivities and concerns about sovereignty.

Power Imbalance

At the same time, global developments offer a cautionary lesson. The behaviour of major powers in the contemporary international system shows that states often act in their own interests, sometimes at the expense of smaller partners. What is being seen in the world today is that past friendships and commitments can be abandoned if a bigger and more powerful country can see an opportunity for itself. The plight of Denmark (Greenland) and Canada (51st state) give disturbing messages. Analysts in the field of International Relations frequently point out that power asymmetries shape outcomes in bilateral relations. As one widely cited observation by Lord Parlmeston, a 19th century prime minister of Great Britain is that “nations have no permanent friends or allies, they only have permanent interests.” While this may be an overly stark formulation, it captures an underlying reality that small states must navigate carefully.

For Sri Lanka, this means maintaining a balance. It needs to clearly acknowledge the partnership that India is offering in the area of economic development, as well as in education, connectivity, and technological advancement. India has extended scholarships, supported digital infrastructure, and promoted cross border links that can contribute to Sri Lanka’s long term growth. These are tangible benefits that should not be undervalued. At the same time, Sri Lanka needs to ensure that it does not become overly dependent on Indian largesse or drift into a position where it functions as an appendage of its much larger neighbour. Economic dependence can translate into political vulnerability if not carefully managed. The appropriate response is not to distance itself from India, but to broaden its partnerships. Engaging with a diverse range of countries and institutions can provide Sri Lanka with greater autonomy and resilience.

A hard headed assessment would recognise that India’s support is both genuine and interest driven. India has a clear stake in ensuring that Sri Lanka remains stable, prosperous, and aligned with its broader regional outlook. Sri Lanka needs to move forward with agreed projects such as the Trincomalee oil tanks, improve implementation capacity, and demonstrate reliability as a partner. This does not preclude it from actively seeking investment and cooperation from other partners in Asia and beyond. The path ahead is therefore one of balanced engagement. Sri Lanka can and should welcome India’s partnership while strengthening its own institutions, fulfilling its domestic responsibilities, and diversifying its external relations. This approach can transform a relationship shaped by asymmetry into one defined by mutual benefit and confidence.

by Jehan Perera

Continue Reading

Trending