Connect with us

Features

As I remember, from 50 years ago: the 75-80 Katubedda Engineering Batch

Published

on

University of Moratuwa

On a wonderful morning in May in the year 1975, a group of around 140 young men and women entered the engineering faculty at the Katubedda Campus of the University of Sri Lanka. Only around 12% of them were women, a statistic that has improved slightly to around 20% over the past 50 years! There appeared little to differentiate us from previous entrants to this campus. However, Dr L.H. Sumanadasa, who had previously been instrumental in setting up both the Institute of Practical Technology and the Ceylon College of Technology at Katubedda, had become the Vice-Chancellor of the (entire) University of Sri Lanka in 1974. Whether through his personal offices or through government policy or both, it had been deemed that all engineering entrants in 1975 from the Colombo District be sent to Katubedda.

I myself had wanted to go to Peradeniya, at that time undisputedly the more established faculty; not least because Professor E.O.E. Pereira, the former Engineering Dean and Vice-Chancellor at Peradeniya, had told me in no unmistakable terms that I should head to the Hanthane hills, when I was sent to meet him by the head of my school. Only three physical science entrants in our year had obtained four A grades at the A-level examinations. Getting an A grade was a significant achievement in those days – recently some 1300 had obtained 3 (out of 3) As for the same stream!! Anyway, all three with 4 As in our year were at Katubedda. One of them went, as I recall, to the University Grants Commission (UGC) to effect for himself a transfer to Peradeniya, but had been told not to be a fool. This may have been prophetic, because from our batch onwards, the intake quality to Katubedda increased significantly, or so I like to think.

The engineering faculty in those days had seven departments – civil, mechanical, electrical, electronics, chemical, materials and mining. The latter three disciplines were termed ‘applied sciences’ but are now all engineering programmes at Moratuwa. In addition, the faculty now has computer science, earth resources (a rebranding of mining), textile technology and transport management departments. We did experience our share of ragging at the hands of seniors, perhaps the most vociferous of whom went by the intimidating nickname of ‘Boo Bamba’ – rumour has it that he was later a professor of artificial intelligence at some U.S. University.

One of our batch nearly fainted at a rather physically demanding phase of the rag, and had to be escorted home by a few seniors – inadvertently creating history by being probably the first fresher to rag the seniors! Tales of exponential curves (‘e to the power x’) being drawn on cement floors using bare bums at the ‘Aachchi Palace’ also circulated during this rag period.

In spite of being in an institution that taught only professionally oriented programmes (engineering, architecture and technology) with almost guaranteed employment for its products, our university life was not devoid of the student activism that is such a major feature of state universities in Sri Lanka. The country had just seen the quelling of the first JVP uprising in 1971, surprisingly during an essentially socialist SLFP regime; which itself was toppled unceremoniously in 1977 by the avowedly market oriented UNP. Student activism was not viewed benevolently by the powers that be, whatever government was in office.

In our second year, a confrontation between students and the police at the Peradeniya campus had resulted in a student being shot dead. In our final year, an internal confrontation between the student union and the administration led to a hunger strike at Katubedda, causing our final examinations to be postponed from 1979 to 1980. There was no graduating batch in 1979, but two in 1980 – one in February (ourselves) and the other in November (for our junior batch, as scheduled). Political violence became much worse in the late 1980s, with the then vice-chancellor and a security guard being shot dead while in campus; and the entire Sri Lankan university system shut down for around two years.

Another issue in the background of our university life was the government policy on university admission. In 1971, the government introduced language-wise standardization, seen as a corrective against the perceived disproportionate numbers of Tamil students entering university, mainly to medical and engineering faculties. This ‘corrective’ was clearly repugnant to Tamil citizens, and may have been a factor in the formation of the LTTE in 1976. Such standardization was done away with in 1977, but a district quota system, also introduced in 1972, continues albeit with some modifications to this day. The district quota system is widely considered to deliver compensatory justice in our under-resourced education system, but also seen as a mechanism that continues to reduce university entrants from large population centres, including the Jaffna District. At any rate, the 1970s probably sowed the seeds of the two most disruptive social upheavals in our country, namely the LTTE uprising and second JVP one, both in the 1980s.

Just before we entered our specialization streams in the second year, the student union held a meeting to discuss the student response to the proposed introduction of calculators. Calculations in the first year were tackled using logarithmic tables, but we were about to graduate to (and invest in) slide rules in the next. The need to substitute slide rules with scientific calculators may appear to be a ‘no brainer’ today, but in the very real context of students from deprived backgrounds, the outcome of the discussion was by no means one sided. Anyway, we ended up using calculators from our second year onwards, and may in fact have been deprived for not having a ‘slide rule experience’ – slide rules were considered to be almost synonymous with an engineering outlook, if nothing else because they required users to keep track of orders of magnitude in their minds; the discipline of which is perhaps less developed in users of calculators!

The university administration too tried to provide cheap food and drink to cater to student poverty in these deprived 1970s. As I recall, a kahata (only tea) was just 3 cents but if one wanted a small piece of hakuru (jaggery) with it, it was a cent more. A ‘plain tea’ (i.e. tea with sugar added) was 5 cents, while a kiri kahata (tea with milk only) was 6 cents; a kiri kahata with hakuru was a cent more, while the priciest brew, i.e. ‘milk tea’ (tea, milk and sugar) was 8 cents. So the kahata was as cheap as it could get, but additions relatively pricey!! Imagine my surprise when I was studying in London in the early 1980s that one could add any amount of milk and sugar to one’s heart’s content after paying (of course around two orders of magnitude more than the above rates) for the basic cup of what we would have called kahata!!

The nature of the student union also changed during our student days. When we entered, the students were represented by the Engineering Students Scientific and Cultural Organization (ESSCO in short). All proceedings were conducted in English, and any contributions in other languages required translation. When an irate student once referred to the administration as “Waathayo”, the then President of ESSCO himself had to translate it as “Air guys”. By the time we graduated, ESSCO was no more, and had been replaced by a student union as in all state universities, with election outcomes based on proportional representation of competing groups; and Sinhala being the predominant language of discourse.

English vis-à-vis the vernacular languages is a struggle that continues to date. All programmes at Moratuwa were and are taught in English, with complete endorsement by students, who continue to see it as a passport to the world. However, everyday conversations were conducted largely in Sinhala or Tamil; especially in Sinhala, which was seen as part of the student ‘culture’, at least at campuses in the south like Moratuwa. This meant that even students with greater English language proficiency tended to hide that fact and converse in the lingua franca of the campus.

As I recall, only a few students tried deliberately to improve their English language skills by practising it with others more competent than they. Tamil students had the additional challenge that vendors and traders in the vicinity of the campus spoke largely in Sinhala; however, many such students ended up being trilingual after their campus experience! Language, in my opinion, continues to be a vexation in various ways in Sri Lanka. We need a way to find the best way forward that preserves our culture while being open to the world at large, and does not leave anyone behind.

Another significant change in our time, brought about by the Universities Act No. 16 of 1978, was the splitting up of the single University of Sri Lanka into six separate universities at the time (Sri Lanka now has seventeen state universities). In addition, our name changed from Katubedda to Moratuwa – i.e. from being the Katudebba Campus of the University of Sri Lanka we became the University of Moratuwa. There were mixed feelings regarding this, as I recall.

Some felt that we would lose the identity we had been trying to create (for the engineering faculty, one that was distinct from Peradeniya), an identity linked to the name Katubedda; someone even opined that ‘Katubedda’ had a more pleasing or aesthetic ‘ring’ to it compared to ‘Moratuwa’. Others however felt that the new ‘Moratuwa’ name would help the fledgling institution to break away from its lowlier ‘practical technology’ beginnings associated with the ‘Katubedda’ name. At any rate, the university community at Katubedda in Moratuwa had little say in the change, since it was the prerogative of the Minister in charge, in consultation with the University Grants Commission (UGC); and it was from the University of Moratuwa that we graduated.

In our final year, it was mostly our batchmates who were in the Sports Council as captains of the various sports, and a musical evening was arranged by them featuring a very well-known musical band. The unfortunate band leader was unable to comprehend the campus culture, because whatever he sang, whether Sinhala or English, slow or fast, every song was greeted with loud hooting. Although the organizers tried to explain that this was the student way of expressing appreciation, and in spite of trying to mollify the man with cups that cheer, he stalked off in disgust, leaving the rest of the band to entertain us!

One of the most colourful personalities in our batch was an old Anandian, who had acquired a reputation for teaching A-level physics tuition classes even before he entered. He maintained this avocation right through his university career, juggling examination timetables with his class schedules – other students have done such multi-tasking as well, but very few if any actually taught the classes they attended outside of university.

The fact that he was able to commute in a white Volkswagen car, purchased from the proceeds of his enterprise, no doubt helped in the balancing act. At any rate, it is his business and entrepreneurial skills in education that he made a career of – no doubt based on sound (mechanical) engineering instincts; and he ended up by establishing an enviable network of ‘international’ schools (named after the one set up by Aristotle himself) that were eminently affordable to middle class parents. Not content with being limited to such endeavours, he ventured into politics as well, serving for a while as the State Minister of University Education.

These reminiscences would not be complete without mentioning a few charismatic teachers as well. Most of us would remember the one who at times devoted 10% of his lecture time to thermodynamics, and the rest to politics; this same teacher had returned to Sri Lanka after his PhD in London, driving a Morris Oxford all the way. We may recall too, a mathematics professor who asked us “How much is one plus one?”; and proceeded to gaze out of the window in deep thought, counting on his fingers and saying “Let me think”, as if to search for an answer – I think he was trying to teach us the notion of correspondence; or have I got it wrong? Let me think… Then there was a Dean whom all of us quaked to meet one-on-one. One of our batchmates who had to so do, had reportedly persuaded another to exchange shirts and footwear, so that he would appear more presentable to the irascible administrator.

We should not forget the Department Head who managed to get a new car with 10 Sri 1 as its registration plate; and then proceeded to convert it (probably in our Auto Lab) to run on LP gas – soon after we graduated he was named one of Ten Outstanding Young Persons by the Sri Lanka Jaycees. Finally, there was this teacher in charge of a somewhat snake-infested survey camp (for our junior batch), who when interrogated by a student representative as to who would be responsible if a student was bitten by a reptile, replied without batting an eyelid that “the snake will be responsible”. Jokes apart however, we are who we are because of the dedication and sacrifice of especially our academic staff. They had to teach in a relatively unknown institution at the time, and consistently put the institution and its students first; that is, ahead of developing their own academic careers. We were the beneficiaries of their labours, which by no means were in vain.

And so we graduated in early 1980, with around 15 first class holders among us. Almost as a symbol that the university was having a new beginning with our batch, we were the first to have a convocation (probably of course because we were the first to graduate after the 1978 Act under a University of Moratuwa banner) – and that too at the impressive new BMICH, under the chancellorship of Arthur C. Clarke, the eminent science fiction writer. We later produced over 20 doctoral degree holders, maybe 10 full professors, a few engineering deans and authors of scholarly books, and even some researchers in the so-called Stanford-Elsevier database of top 2% scientists (based on citation impact).

Others have become organizational leaders, and hence ‘movers and shakers’. Apart from the gentleman mentioned earlier, we have another who has been CEO of both a bank and a manufacturing company; and at least two entrepreneurs – one in furniture and the other in high tech start-ups (based in the U.S. but back-ending his operation with Moratuwa students and graduates); also a lady CEO of a large state-owned utility provider. Some are working in high tech environments in developed countries, pushing the boundaries of disciplines such as aerospace and nuclear and biomechanical engineering. Others have put Sri Lanka on the map through their involvement in signature projects; or coordinating multi-nation initiatives, for example in disaster mitigation. There is one of us still playing representative cricket! I am doubtless unaware of other significant contributions – our batch, while not large, is not small either.

More importantly, we have all, in different ways and contexts, been helping to “direct the great sources of power in nature for the use and convenience of humans” – and nowadays safeguarding the environment while doing so as well. Our degrees from Moratuwa have brought us socio-economic mobility, and I suppose all of us have been trying to ‘give back’ to family, community or country (motherland or adopted) in various ways and degrees, whether through technical or humanitarian ventures.

Most if not all of us contributed to a Moratuwa University scholarship scheme in the memory of a batchmate who tragically perished in the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. Some of us have already gone the way of all the world, while the rest are awaiting our calls; probably trying to become better human beings, whether in the interests of the hereafter, or just to make life easier for those who will care for us in the bard’s seventh act of life!

But what of the university itself? If I may be permitted a personal reflection, I was one of five batchmates who returned to the university to serve on its academic staff. As a young staff member, I used to envy Peradeniya’s stature – many of its engineering faculty staff had Cambridge PhDs (for example) and their graduates seemed to have an open door to that ancient seat of learning. However, by the time I retired, some 40 years after joining the academic staff, our own graduates had been regularly accepted for PhDs not only at Cambridge but also at Oxford, Imperial, Caltech, MIT, Princeton and ETH Zurich. In addition, it goes without saying that Moratuwa is undisputedly the first choice now (from among seven engineering faculties) of the majority of those 1300 university aspirants with 3 As at their A-levels. I like to think that 1975-80 (our batch, in fact!!) was the turning point for Moratuwa University’s fortunes.

Written by a member of the 75-80 Katubedda Engineering batch who was later a Moratuwa University teacher for 40 years (with apologies for any inadvertent errors or omissions).



Continue Reading
Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

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

Features

Federalism and paths to constitutional reform

Published

on

Chelvanayakam (R) and S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike shaking hands.

S. J. V. Chelvanayakam: Visionary and Statesman

S. J. V. Chelvanayakam KC Memorial Lecture Delivered at Jaffna Central Collage on Sunday, 26 April, by Professor G. L. Peiris – D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D. (Sri Lanka); Rhodes Scholar, Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London; Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo.

I. Life and Career

Had Mr. Chelvanayakam been with us today, he would no doubt be profoundly unhappy with the state of our country and the world.

Samuel James Velupillai Chelvanayakam was born on 31 March, 1898, in the town of Ipoh, in Malaya. When he was four years of age, he was sent by his father, along with his mother, for the purpose of his education to Tellippalai, a traditional village at the northern tip of Sri Lanka, or Ceylon as the country was then called, in close proximity to the port of Kankesanturai. He attended three schools, Union College in Tellippalai, St John’s College Jaffna and S. Thomas’ College Mount Lavinia, where he was a contemporary of S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, with whom he was later destined to sign the Bandaranaike-Chelvanayakam Pact.

He graduated in Science as an external student of the University of London, in 1918. In 1927, he married Emily Grace Barr-Kumarakulasinghe, daughter of the Maniyagar, or administrative chief for the area, appointed by the colonial government. He had four sons and a daughter. His son, S. C. Chandrahasan, worked closely with me during my time as Foreign Minister on the subject of repatriation of refugees from India. Chandrahasan’s wife, Nirmala, daughter of Dr. E. M. V. Naganathan, was a colleague of mine on the academic staff of the University of Colombo.

Mr. Chelvanayakam first contested the Kankesanturai constituency at the parliamentary election of 1947. His was a long parliamentary career. He resigned from his parliamentary seat in opposition to the first Republican Constitution of 1972, but was re-elected overwhelmingly at a by-election in 1975. He died on 26 April, 1977.

There are many strong attributes which shine through his life and career.

He consistently showed courage and capacity for endurance. He had no hesitation in resigning from employment, which gave him comfort and security, to look after a younger brother who was seriously ill. As his son-in-law, Professor A.J. Wilson remarked, he learned to move in two worlds: a product of missionary schools, he was a devout Christian who never changed his religion for political gain. He was, quite definitely, a Hindu by culture, and never wished to own a house in Colombo for fear that his children would be alienated from their roots.

Gentle and self-effacing by disposition, he manifested the steel in his character by not flinching from tough decisions. Never giving in to expediency, differences of principle with Mr. G. G. Ponnambalam, the leader of the All Ceylon Tamil Congress, of which Mr. Chelvanayakam was a principal organiser, led him to break away from the Congress and to form a new party, the Ilankai Tamil Arasu Kachchi, or the Federal Party.

During the disturbances in March and April, 1958, he was charged in the Magistrate’s Court in Batticaloa and sentenced to a week’s imprisonment. He was also subject to house arrest, but he never resorted to violence and used satyagraha to make his voice heard. When, in 1961, he was medically advised to travel to the United Kingdom for surgical treatment, he had to be escorted to the airport by the police because he was still under detention. Although physically frail and ailing in health during his final years, he lost none of the indomitable spirit which typified his entire life.

II. Advocacy of Federalism: Origins and Context

At the core of political convictions he held sacrosanct was his unremitting commitment to federalism. A moment of fruition in his life was the formation of the Federal Party, Ilankai Tamil Arasu Kachchi, on 18 December, 1949.

Contrary to popular belief, however, federalism in our country had its origin in issues which were not connected with ethnicity. At its inception, this had to do with the aspirations, not of the Tamils, but of the Kandyan Sinhalese. The Kandyan National Assembly, in its representations to the Donoughmore Commission, in November, 1927, declared: “Ours is not a communal claim or a claim for the aggrandizement of a few. It is the claim of a nation to live its own life and realise its own destiny”.

Mr. S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, soon after his return from Oxford, as a prominent member of the Ceylon National Congress, was an ardent advocate of federalism. He went so far as to characterise federalism as “the only solution to our political problems”. With Thomas Hobbes in his famous work, The Leviathan, he conceived of liberty as “political power broken into fragments”. Bandaranaike went on to state in a letter published in The Morning Leader on 19 May, 1926: “The two clashing forces of cooperation and individualism, like that thread of golden light which Walter Pater observed in the works of the painters of the Italian Renaissance, run through the fabric of civilisation, sometimes one predominating, sometimes the other. To try and harmonise the two has been the problem of the modern world. The only satisfactory solution yet discovered is the federal system”.

Federalism had a strong ideological appeal, from a Marxist-Leninist perspective. The constitutional proposals, addressed by the Communist Party of Ceylon to the Ceylon National Congress on 18 October, 1944, go very far indeed. They envisioned the Sinhalese and the Tamils as two distinct “nations” or “historically evolved nationalities”. The high watermark of the proposals was the assertion that “Both nationalities have their right to self-determination, including the right, if they so desire, to form their own separate independent state”.

These proposals received further elaboration in a memorandum submitted to the Working Committee of the Ceylon National Congress by two leading members of the Communist Party, Mr. Pieter Keuneman and Mr. A. Vaidialingam. Their premise was set out pithily as follows: “We regard a nation as a historical, as opposed to an ethnographical, concept. It is a historically evolved, stable community of people living in a contiguous territory as their traditional homeland”.

The Soulbury Commission, which arrived in the country in December, 1944, had no hesitation in recognising that “The relations of the minorities – the Ceylon Tamils, the Indian Tamils, Muslims, Burghers and Europeans, with the Sinhalese majority – present the most difficult of the many problems involved in the reform of the Constitution of Ceylon”.

They took fully into account the apprehension expressed by the All Ceylon Tamil Congress that “The near approach of the complete transfer of power and authority from neutral British hands to the people of this country is causing, in the minds of the Tamil people, in common with other minorities, much misgiving and fear”.

III. Constitutional Provisions at Independence

The Souldbury Commission, like the Donoughmore Commission before it, was not friendly to the idea of federalism, principally because of their commitment to the unity of the body politic. Opting for a solution, falling short of federalism, they adopted the approach that, if the underlying fear related to encroachment on seminal rights by capricious legislative action, this anxiety could be convincingly assuaged by enshrining in the Constitution a nucleus of rights placed beyond the reach of the legislature.

The essence of the solution, which commended itself to the Soulbury Commission, was a carefully crafted constitutional limitation on the legislative competence of Parliament, encapsulated in Article 29(2) of the Independence Constitution. The gist of this was incorporation of the principle of non-discrimination against racial or religious communities by explicit acknowledgement of equal protection under the law.

The assumption fortifying this expectation was the attribution of an imaginative role to the judiciary in respect of interpretation. It was lack of fulfillment in this regard that precipitated a setback which time could not heal. Judicial attitudes, including those of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, which constituted at the time the highest tier of the judicial hierarchy, were timid and diffident.

When the Citizenship Act of 1948, by means of a new definition, sought to deprive Tamils of Indian origin of the suffrage, no protection was forthcoming from the courts on the ground of impermissible discrimination. This refusal of intervention was premised on an implausibly narrow construction of the word “community”, in that, according to the Courts’ reasoning, in the landmark case of Kodakkan Pillai v. Madanayake, Indian Tamils were not identifiable as a community distinct from the larger community of the Tamils of Ceylon. It is hard to disguise the reality that this was, at bottom, a refusal to deal with the substantive issues candidly and frontally.

The resulting vulnerability of minority rights, which judicial evasion laid bare, was a major contributory cause of the erosion of confidence on the part of minority groups. This mood of suspicion and despair, arising from an ostensibly weak method of protection of human rights, presaged ensuing developments.

IV. Further Quest for a Constitutional Solution

Chelvanayakam

The central theme of this lecture, in honour of a statesman who was an epitome of restraint and moderation, is that the deterioration of ethnic relations, which culminated in a war of unrivalled savagery over a span of three decades, was progressive and incremental. There was no inevitability about the denouement. It was gradual and potentially reversible. At several crucial points, there was opportunity to arrest a disastrous trend. These windows of opportunity, however, were not utilised: extremist attitudes asserted themselves, and polarisation became the outcome. This trajectory was, no doubt, met with dismay by far-sighted leaders of the calibre of Mr. Chelvanayakam.

The formation of the Federal Party was a turning point. With Mr. S.J.V. Chelvanayakam, King’s Counsel, as founder-president, and Dr. E.M.V. Naganathan and Mr. V. Navaratnam as joint secretaries, the party embarked on a journey which marked a radical departure from the conventional thinking of the past. This was plain from the text of seven resolutions adopted at the national convention of the party held in Trincomalee in April, 1951. The foundation of these resolutions was the call to establish a Tamil state within the Union of Ceylon, and the uncompromising assertion that no other solution was feasible.

The path was now becoming manifest. The demand up to now had been for substantial power sharing within a unitary state. This was now giving way to a strident demand for the emergence of a federal structure, destined to be expanded in the fullness of time to advocacy of secession.

Although standing out boldly as a landmark in constitutional evolution, the Federal Party resolutions did not carry on their face the hallmark of finality or immutability. The call of the Tamil leadership for secession yet being some years away, the ensuing decades saw further attempts by different governments to resolve the vexed issues around power sharing.

The first of these was the Bandaranaike-Chelvanayakam pact, signed by the Prime Minister and the leader of the Federal Party on 26 July, 1957. There was an air of uneasy compromise surrounding the entire transaction. This was evident from the structure of the pact, which, as one of its integral parts, contained a section not reduced to writing in any form, but consisting of a series of informal understandings.

The essence of the pact was the proposed system of regional councils which were envisaged as an intermediary tier between the central government and local government institutions. This did break new ground. Not only did the pact confer on the people of the North and East a substantial measure of self-governance through these innovative councils, including in such inherently controversial areas as colonisation, irrigation and local management, but territorial units were conceived of as the recipients of devolved powers. Of particular significance, the regional councils were to be invested with some measure of financial autonomy. The blowback, however, was so intense as to compel the government to abrogate the pact.

The next attempt, eight years later, was by the United National Party, which had vehemently opposed the Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam Pact. This was the Dudley Senanayake–Chelvanayakam Pact, signed between the leader of the United National Party, at the time Leader of the Opposition, and the leader of the Federal Party. It differed from the Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam Pact, both contextually and substantively.

As to context, it was signed on 24 March, 1965, on the eve of a parliamentary election, to ensure for the United National Party the support of the Federal Party. A disheartening feature was the plainly evident element of duplicity. Once in government, the Prime Minister’s party showed little interest in implementing the pact. Within three years, the Federal Party left the government, and its representative in the cabinet, Mr M. Tiruchelvam QC, Minister of Local Government, relinquished his portfolio.

Substantively, the lynchpin of the pact was a system of district councils, but there was entrenched control of these bodies by the central government, even in regard to action within their vires. This was almost universally seen as a sleight of hand.

Despite the collapse of these efforts, room for resilience and accommodation had by no means disappeared. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the events which led up to the drafting and adoption of the “autochthonous” Constitution of 1972. This involved the historic task of severing the centuries-old bond with the British Crown and bringing into being the Republic of Sri Lanka.

One of the Basic Resolutions, which eventually found expression as Article 2 of the new Constitution, characterised Sri Lanka as a unitary state. The Federal Party proposed an amendment that the word “federal” should be substituted for “unitary”. Mr. V. Dharmalingam, the spokesman for the party on this subject, in his address to the Constituent Assembly, on 16 March, 1971, showed flexibility by declaring that the powers of the federating units and their relationship to the centre were negotiable, once the principle of federalism was accepted. Indivisibility of the Republic was emphatically articulated, self-determination in its external aspect being firmly ruled out.

There was no reciprocity, however. Mr. Sarath Muttettuwegama, administering a sharp rebuke, declared: “Federalism has become something of a dirty word in the southern parts of this country”. The last opportunity to halt the inexorable march of events was spurned.

The pushback came briskly, and with singular ferocity. This was in the form of the Vaddukoddai Resolution adopted by the Tamil United Liberation Front at its first national convention held on 14 May, 1976. The historic significance of this document is that it set out, for the first time, in the most unambiguous terms, the blueprint for an independent state for the Tamil nation, embracing the merged Northern and Eastern Provinces. The second part of the Resolution contained the nucleus of Tamil Eelam, its scope extending beyond the shores of the Island. The state of Tamil Eelam was to be home not only to the people of the Northern and Eastern Provinces, but to “all Tamil-speaking people living in any part of Ceylon and to Tamils of Eelam origin living in any part of the world who may opt for citizenship of Tamil Eelam”.

The most discouraging element of this sequence of events was the timid and evasive approach adopted by prominent actors at crucial moments. The District Development Councils Act of 1980 presented a unique opportunity. Disappointingly, however, the Presidential Commission, presided over by Mr. Victor Tennekoon QC, a former Chief Justice and Attorney General, lacked the courage even to interpret the terms of reference as permitting allusion to the ethnic conflict. Despite the persevering efforts of Professor A.J. Wilson, son-in-law of Mr. Chelvanayakam, and a confidant of President J.R. Jayewardene, and Dr. Neelan Tiruchelvam, the majority of the members were inclined to adopt a narrow, technical interpretation of the terms of reference. The setting of the legislation was one in which Tamil formations, such as the Tamil United Liberation Front, were struggling to maintain their moderate postures in an increasingly polarised environment, with pressure from radical elements proving almost irresistible.

The whole initiative paled into insignificance in comparison with a series of tragic events, including the burning of the Jaffna library during the run-up to the District Development Council elections in the North and the calamitous events of Black July 1983. Policymakers, at a critical juncture, had, once again, let a limited opportunity slip through their fingers.

The next intervention occurred in the sunset years of the United National Party administration. This was the Parliamentary Select Committee on the ethnic conflict, known after its Chairman as the Mangala Moonesinghe Committee, appointed in August, 1991.

The Majority Report made a detailed proposal which was intended to serve as the basis of a compromise between two schools of thought—one stoutly resisting any idea of merger of the Northern and Eastern Provinces, and the other demanding such merger as the indispensable basis of a viable solution. An imaginative via media was the concept of the Apex Council, which formed the centrepiece of the Majority Report. It adopted as a point of departure two separate Provincial Councils for the North and the East. This dichotomy would characterise the provincial executive as well: each Provincial Council would have an Executive Minister as the head of the Board of Ministers. However, over and above these, the two Provincial Councils together would constitute a Regional Council for the entire North-East region. Although presenting several features of interest, as a pragmatic mediating mechanism, the proposal did not enjoy a sufficiently broad support base for implementation. (To be concluded)

Continue Reading

Features

Procurement cuts, rising burn rates and shipment delays deepen energy threat

Published

on

Norochcholai power plant

Coal crisis far worse than first feared

Sri Lanka’s coal supply crisis is significantly deeper than previously understood, with senior engineers and energy analysts warning that a dangerous combination of reduced procurement volumes, rising coal consumption and shipment delays could place national power generation at serious risk.

Information reviewed by The Island shows that Lanka Coal Company (LCC) had originally planned to secure 2.32 million metric tons of coal for the relevant supply period to meet generation requirements at the Lakvijaya coal power complex.

Following procurement discussions, the final arrangement was to obtain 840,000 metric tons from Potencia, including a 10 percent optional quantity, and 1.5 million metric tons from Trident, equivalent to 25 vessels.

However, subsequent decisions resulted in the cancellation of four Potencia shipments, reducing that supplier’s volume to 627,000 metric tons. This brought the total expected procurement down to 2.16 million metric tons, creating an immediate 160,000 metric ton deficit, even before operational demand is considered.

“This is a major shortfall in any generation planning model,” a senior engineer familiar with coal operations said. “When stocks are planned to the margin, a reduction of this scale can have serious consequences.”

Power sector sources said the deficit becomes more critical because coal consumption rates have increased by more than 10 percent, meaning larger volumes are now required to generate the same electricity output.

“In simple terms, the system is burning more coal for less efficiency,” an energy analyst told The Island. “That means the real shortage may be substantially larger than the paper shortage.”

Experts attributed the higher burn rate to ageing equipment, maintenance constraints and operating inefficiencies at the Norochcholai plant.

A third concern has now emerged in the form of shipment delays and possible unloading constraints, raising fears that even contracted supplies may not arrive in time to maintain safe reserve levels.

“If vessel schedules slip or unloading is disrupted, stocks can fall very quickly,” another senior engineer warned. “At that point, the country has little choice but to shift to costly thermal oil generation.”

Such a move would sharply increase electricity generation costs and place additional pressure on public finances.

Analysts said the convergence of three separate risks — procurement reductions, higher-than-expected consumption and delivery uncertainty — had created a serious energy planning challenge.

“This is no longer a routine procurement issue,” one industry observer said. “It has become a national power security issue.”

Calls are growing for authorities to disclose current coal inventories, incoming vessel schedules and contingency measures to reassure the public and industry.

With electricity demand expected to remain high and hydro resources dependent on rainfall, engineers caution that delays in addressing the coal gap could expose the country to avoidable supply disruptions in the months ahead.

By Ifham Nizam

Continue Reading

Features

Lake Gregory boat accidents: Need to regulate water adventure tourism

Published

on

Gregory’s Lake

LETTER

The capsizing of two boats in Lake Gregory on 19 April was merely an isolated incident. It has come as a stark and urgent warning that a far more serious tragedy is imminent unless decisive action is taken without delay.

Mayor of Nuwara Eliya, Upali Wanigasekera has publicly stated that stringent measures have been introduced to prevent similar occurrences. However, it must be noted that such measures are unlikely to yield meaningful results in the absence of a comprehensive regulatory framework governing Inland Water Adventure Tourism (IWAT) in Sri Lanka.

For decades, this sector has operated without any regulation. Despite repeated calls for reform, there remains no structured legal mechanism to oversee operational standards, safety compliance, or accountability. Consequently, there is chaos particularly in critical operational aspects of this otherwise vital tourism segment.

The situation in Lake Gregory is not unique. Other prominent inland tourism destinations, such as Kitulgala and Madu Ganga, face similar risks. Without urgent intervention, it is only a matter of time before a major calamity occurs, placing both local and foreign tourists in grave danger.

At present, there appear to be no enforceable legal requirements governing:

*  The fitness for navigation of vessels

*  Mandatory safety standards and equipment

*  Certification and competency of boat operators

The display of permits issued by local authorities is often misleading. These permits function merely as revenue licences and should not be misconstrued as certification of compliance with safety or technical standards.

Furthermore, local authorities themselves appear constrained. The Nuwara Eliya Mayor is reportedly limited in his ability to enforce meaningful improvements due to the absence of legal backing. Compounding this issue is the proliferation of unauthorised operators at Lake Gregory, functioning with minimal oversight.

Disturbingly, there are credible concerns that some boat operators function under the influence of intoxicants, while enforcement authorities appear to maintain a lackadaisical stance. The parallels with the unregulated private transport sector are both evident and alarming.

In the absence of a proper legal framework, any victims of such incidents are left with no recourse but to pursue lengthy and uncertain claims under common law against individual operators.

The Minister of Tourism, this situation demands your immediate and personal intervention.

A robust regulatory framework for Inland Water Adventure Tourism must be urgently introduced and enforced. This should include licensing standards, safety regulations, operator certification, regular inspections, and strict penalties for non-compliance.

Failure to act now will not only endanger lives but also severely damage Sri Lanka’s reputation as a safe and responsible tourist destination.

The time for incremental measures has passed. What is required is decisive policy action.

Athula Ranasinghe
Public-Spirited Citizen

Continue Reading

Trending