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Abrogation of the B-C Pact and what followed

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(Excerpted from Render Unto Caesar by Bradman Weerakoon, Secretary to the Prime Minister)


Yet, as was to happen over and over again in the country’s politics, the vocal minority, in this case the hardliners finally won the day (in getting SWRD to abrogate the B-C Pact). In October 1957 the UNP under the leadership of J R Jayewardene set out on a march from Colombo to Kandy to protest against the pact. On the first day they covered 11 miles amidst some obstruction and skirmishes with government sponsored elements.

On the second day after going three miles they were met at Imbulgoda by a blockade of the road led by the local MP for Gampaha, S D Bandaranayake. The MP, a distant relative of the prime minister, was well-known as an eccentric and was referred to as an ‘unguided missile’. Many of us did not believe that Mr Bandaranaike had any responsibility for this. It was regarded as a purely local endeavour in showing opposition to the pact and the police behaved impartially in keeping the marchers and the obstructors apart.

Altogether it was somewhat of an embarrassment to the prime minister who felt that the march would have lost steam on its own as it proceeded up country. J R Jayewardene had no hesitation in calling off the march but went on four days later to the Dalada Maligawa in Kandy to worship the Sacred Tooth relic of the Buddha and offer puja to the gods of the four devales “to stop the pact.”

The attempt of the UNP to undermine the prime minister by mobilizing people with the march to Kandy, palpably failed and the tension over the BC Pact subsided; but not for long. By February 1958, the FP put pressure on the prime minister to move the agreement into legislation which would guarantee regional councils and their powers.

Mr Bandaranaike, whose authority in the Cabinet was being challenged by minister Philip Gunewardene over his proposed reform of the Paddy Lands legislation, now found himself increasingly besieged. Those who were against concessions to the Tamils began to assert themselves and asked not only for details of the regional councils draft legislation but the abrogation of the pact itself. Foremost among Mr Bandaranaike’s critics were the self-same bhikkus who had helped to ensure his victory in 1956.

In March of 1958, the ministry of transport made a decision – in hindsight a major blunder given the fragile situation – to send some nationalized buses to the North with the Sinhala letter `Sri’ on the licence plates. The northern militants began to deface the licence plates and the southern extremists retaliated with a widespread campaign of smearing tar over Tamil name boards wherever they occurred.

I recall that the Tamil lettering of the name board in the prime minister’s office in Senate Square itself and even the Tamil lettering on the prime minister’s official gold-coloured Cadillac, which read ‘left hand drive’, were not spared in this virulent tar-brush campaign. There was much confusion in the city at the time but after police shooting, things were brought under control in a few days.

The Tamil leaders, especially Chelvanayakam, who was always for non-violent protest to win rights, did what they could to restrain the militants but the die had been cast. At the Cabinet meeting held on April 9, 1958, some ministers urged that the pact be scrapped but the prime minister managed to hold them off. What finally undid Mr Bandaranaike’s genuine bid for accommodating with the Tamils was the action of around 150 bhikkus who attempted to march to 65, Rosmead Place and compel the prime minister to withdraw from the pact.

The police had stopped the procession about 100 yards away on McCarthy Road but the group refused to move until they had won their demand. Mr Bandaranaike went down to meet them and tried to explain, but the monks would have none of it. Finally, at noon that day he drove to Radio Ceylon and announced that given the militant behaviour of the Tamils and the popular opposition this had caused, he was unilaterally abrogating the pact. Some political commentators have called this the most ‘grievous blunder of his career’.

The Tamil leaders responded immediately by calling for a civil disobedience mass campaign and planned for a conference on May 23 in Vavuniya to organize the protest. While this was going on serious violence was breaking out between groups of Sinhalese and Tamils in several parts of the country. Reports began to come in to the PM’s office first from Polonnaruwa where G A Derek Aluvihare had to give orders to the police to fire and stop lorry loads of Land Development Department labour from raiding Tamil settlements.

On the 24 May, a former mayor of Nuwara Eliya, Seneviratne, and two friends were waylaid and killed in Eravur. As news of this spread, vehicles and trains were halted and Tamils were searched for, in Polonnaruwa and other towns in the North Central Province. The violence quickly spread to Colombo and the larger towns were fanned by the most fantastic rumours. In Mount Lavinia on Hotel Road, where my mother lived, a Tamil man had petrol thrown on him and was being burnt to death. He was saved only by the most courageous exertions of the Warden of St. Thomas’ College who fought off the miscreants. This, some of my family members personally witnessed.

It became clear that the only way to quell the widespread rioting was to bring in the Emergency and after some consultation with the Governor-General Sir Oliver Goonetilleke Emergency was declared at mid day on May 27, 1958. This meant that the press was censored, night and day curfews imposed; and public meetings, processions and strikes in essential services prohibited.
However, as the news was taken to the north and east by persons fleeing from the violence in the capital, rioting against the small temporary settlements of migrant Sinhalese fishermen from Dondra and Negombo and business establishments in the towns followed. One of the worst incidents was the attack on the Buddhist Naga vihare in Jaffna town sparked by the news of the burning alive of the pusaries in the Panadura kovil.

On May 30 news came in to the small coordinating unit set-up in the prime minister’s office of the destruction of the temple on the island of Nagadipa. This piece of information of the sacking of an important place of Budddhist pilgrimage — by tradition believed to be a site hallowed by a visit of the Buddha to settle a conflict between the Nagas and the original inhabitants of the land — could have led to a massacre of Tamils in the south. The news was deliberately withheld from the public.

Emergency ’58 was undoubtedly the most serious communal outbreak the country had suffered in modern times. I was at the centre of things conveying information to the prime minister as the news came in from the police desk. Having served for a year in Jaffna four years earlier, I was particularly stricken by the turn of the events took. I recalled how on Independence Day in 1955, as the Civil Service Cadet in office, I was chosen by the government agent, the pious and gentle M Sri Kantha, to represent the government and hoist the national flag at the ceremonies on the island of Delft.

It was a small but impressive function with the school children in their starched white uniforms singing the national anthem with great gusto, of course in Tamil. It was a two-hour journey by Navy boat to the island, which boasts a population of 8,000 people and hundreds of wild ponies, introduced by a Dutch governor in the 17th century when the protectorate of Jaffna was under Dutch rule. In British times a Lieutenant Nolan and his men were rumoured to have sown some ‘wild oats’ as well. This was still evident in the fair complexion, blonde hair and blue eyes of some of the village lasses.

It was a full day of pony races, singing and dancing and a tearful farewell procession back to the jetty late in the evening. The journey back to Kayts remains etched in my memory; of the luminescence of the spray as the boat cut through the water, the soft moonlight that bathed the serene night and the quiet chatter of the seamen seated on the gunwale.

Sir Oliver, who was a very able and persuasive administrator with a long track record of crisis management, was given the job of handling the emergency by the prime minister and soon brought things under control.

Tarzie Vittachi who described Emergency ‘58 with minute attention to detail and great perspicacity relates a story of the bluff and bluster with which Sir Oliver managed his difficult role. Sir Oliver apparently invited the press to meet him soon after taking charge. As the pressmen moved into his room at Queens House, now converted into some kind of Command Headquarters, they saw Sir Oliver seated before a battery of telephones.

The phones would ring very often during the press briefing and lifting one phone after the other and without a moment of hesitation Sir Oliver would intone – he always had a slight stammer – “shoot, shoot” and replace the instrument. It was dramatic and very telling and there was no doubt after that as to who was in charge.
There was much for us to do and to think about in the prime minister’s office those days. It was difficult to discern any specific pattern in what had taken place. There were elements of both ethnic rivalry and hate and plain criminality. Most of the looting was indiscriminate with the looters plundering whatever they could lay their hands on. Boutiques and little food outlets – those selling plantains and the Jaffna cigars, seemed to be especially attractive to local thugs who made merry while `law and order’ was busy elsewhere.

In great measure, the police and the army when called out later, acted promptly and equitably. The police in the main did not take sides, as has unfortunately happened in later communal clashes, and sometimes to the great surprise of some militant organizations, shot at Sinhalese looters as well. Perhaps Sir Oliver’s command helped and the more multi-racial make-up of the law enforcers, especially at the higher levels, would have made a difference.

It was different in 1983 when I was directly concerned as commissioner-general of essential services. In 1958, the police and armed forces generally won the respect of the people for their broadly impartial behaviour and there were virtually no attacks on service personnel directly. An unfortunate trend was the incursions into the estate line-rooms, where the Indian Tamil population on estates close to the up-country towns were subject to pillage and harassment. Things on the estates had got particularly bad around the towns of Matale and Badulla.
While Sir Oliver appeared to be the man in charge of the Emergency – a role he was glad to take on at the prime minister’s bidding – there was no doubt that Mr Bandaranaike was always very much in the picture. The Emergency continued to be in force for several months and the Federal Party members were detained, albeit in some comfort, at the Galle Face Hotel. Mr Bandaranaike took a firm stand against the Sinhalese rioters and kept them in jail for as long as possible. This caused resentment among some government supporters.

As the tension subsided, Bandaranaike thought it time to present to the Parliament the legislation which provided for the `reasonable use of Tamil’. This was passed but neither the FP nor the UNP participated in the debate. However, the Act which was intended to permit a wide official use of Tamil in the Northern and Eastern provinces was not implementable without the regulations which the Act provided for being brought into law. It took almost 10 more years before the operative regulations were brought into effect. By this time the FP had become, for the first time, a part of the national government.

Towards the third quarter of 1958, things began to become very difficult for Mr Bandaranaike and there were frequent convulsions in the Cabinet. In addition there erupted a series of strikes especially in the nationalized port and transport sectors, including the post and telecommunication services and the plantations. Organized labour, very much controlled by the LSSP and CP, and on the estates by the CWC and DWC, had been brought into powerful federations.

The Unions were restive, not having yet received the fruits of the ‘socialist’ peoples’ revolution, which they, the workers had brought into being in 1956. Some of the trade union leaders like D A Piyadasa of the All Ceylon Harbour and Dock workers union, D G William of the State Employees Federation and Bala Tampoe were then important and powerful people. Tension between the unions, flexing their muscles, and the bureaucracy were not uncommon.

One morning, Vernon Peiries, a civil service colleague, a few years senior to me who was deputy port commissioner, came rushing into my room holding his jaw and asking for a hot-water compress. Apparently he had been having a heated discussion with D A Piyadasa, whose union was on strike on why a salary increase could not be given. Piyadasa had suddenly jumped up and slapped him across the face. Vernon whose office was also in Senate Square had come to me for treatment, solace and recompense for the indignity, more than to complain of the pain, he had suffered.

The civil service bush telephones began to hum and Shirley Amerasinghe, then a rising star as director of establishments called a confab for the afternoon and the CCS association decided that it was time to take a stand. They would take-up the issue with the prime minister on a non-negotiable condition, that Piyadasa must be both, criminally charged in the courts and suspended from entering the Port. The problem was a complex one for the prime minister since the higher echelons of the bureaucracy had now decided to dig their heels in while the political union leadership including Philip Gunawardene, his minister of agriculture and food, who had connections with Piyadasa, were for settling the matter with an apology or similar face-saving device.

I will never forget a particular high-level meeting called by the prime minister in his Senate Square office when he pleaded and tried to cajole the permanent secretary to the ministry of transport and works, the diminutive and implacable M F de S Jayaratne, under whom the Port then functioned, to step down from the high position that he was taking and agree to some compromise so that the deadlock could be broken.

To emphasize his point Bandaranaike got up and walked round the table, to Jayaratne but the permanent secretary who remained sitting throughout, would not budge. `Not on my life’ was all he did not say. Bandaranaike’s pleas were of no avail and the case against Piyadasa was filed. In this particular contest the prime minister had lost.

Actually, the prime minister and M F de S Jayaratne were good friends and often played billiards against each other at the Orient Club in Colombo 7 where they were both members, but this relationship had nothing to do with the performance of duty. Jayaratne was one of the best officials I have ever seen in that respect.

There were other points of contention developing in the coalition, which Mr Bandaranaike had, with ingenuity and persuasive skill, put together. The fundamental contradictions between right and left, which he had managed with such resourcefulness, were emerging and they burst out into the open with Mr Philip Gunawardene’s Paddy Lands draft legislation.



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Features

Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

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Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

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The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

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by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, 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.

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Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

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Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.

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