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Being in the circle

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Hostel. Photo by Uditha Devapriya

By Uthpala Wijesuriya

It was a quiet evening. I was alone at home, lying on the couch and watching TV.
Suddenly the phone rang. I ran and picked it up.
“Is this Uthpala?” the voice on the other side asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Congratulations son, you got 190 marks for your exam!”

I had lived the first 10 years of my life in Mataluwawa, a small village in the Kurunegala district in the North-Western Province of Sri Lanka. I had spent my childhood here, and it had been my world for as long as I could remember.

I had studied at a local school, Polpithigama National School, where I made my very first friends. Though I had spent a rather ordinary childhood there, I had managed to get myself involved in a number of activities.

The exam to which the voice on the other side of the phone referred was the Grade Five Scholarship, an annual all-island assessment that gives students who have completed their primary education an opportunity to obtain their secondary education in schools with better facilities. Out of 200 marks, I had obtained 190.

My family were quite happy, and immediately got busy selecting a school for me. They had different ideas about where I should go. My father had studied at a school in Kurunegala, Maliyadeva Boys’ School, and wanted to send me there. But some relatives insisted to my parents that they should send me to Colombo. Given my results, they asked my parents to send me to Royal College, a magnet for scholarship wallahs in the country.

Ultimately, they decided to send me to Royal. I entered there in January 2014. Having spent the better part of a decade in a close-knit village and community, I felt nervous leaving the world I had grown up in.

I still remember my first day at Royal. It was a Thursday. We had taken an early morning train to Colombo and had breakfast in the city, reaching school at around 9 am.

Royal College had been founded at the heyday of British colonial rule in Sri Lanka, and as a result was strewn with Victorian architecture. Though I knew nothing about Victorian architectural styles, I remember feeling out of place when I saw the red-bricked buildings for the first time. It was like being transported to another time.

After an orientation program, we were promptly directed to our classrooms. Before coming to Colombo I had been told by various people that these would be top-notch classrooms. As it turned out, they were no different to ordinary classrooms. This was a relief to me, since it helped me familiarize myself with my new setting better.

There remained the issue of where I would be boarded. The obvious solution was the school hostel. Following an orientation, my parents boarded me there. Having finalized everything, we returned home. We would return to school the following week.

We spent that weekend preparing everything for my stay at the hostel: bedsheets, towels, uniforms, one for each day of the week. The plan was that I would spend all five days at the hostel, then return home with my father for the weekend.

I looked forward to exploring my new surroundings. This time around, we went to the hostel in our vehicle. My parents had talked to the parents of another boarder from Kurunegala. They had come early that day to reserve a bed for me next to their son’s bed in the dormitory, one of two dormitories reserved for Grade Six students.

The room contained four bunk beds. There were two others in my room. One was from Ambalangoda and the other from Matara from the country’s Southern Province. Though Sri Lanka is a small island, it is home to an extraordinary array of cultures. Through my new friends at the hostel, I found myself absorbing these cultures.

Author at Royal College Hostel Day, 2022. Courtesy Royal College Hostel

We got to know each other. Suddenly, we heard a bell ringing. It was time for lunch. We were all taken to the dining hall. Once lunch was done, we resumed our conversations, forging friendships that would last for the rest of our school lives.

Over the next few days, I explored my new school. The following month, the Senior Prefects at Royal took us on a tour around Colombo. This was the first time I saw a film in 3D. We were then taken to the National Museum and the Zoo. The Senior Prefects ended the day with a series of activities. From dusk to dawn, they made us all feel part of a group. Slowly but surely, my feelings of unease left me.

From the beginning, I realized that Royal hosted different kinds of people and communities. Unlike my earlier school, which had been located in a predominantly Sinhala and Buddhist village, at Royal everyone seemed to have a place. As time went by, I appreciated this secular character. For me, it seemed to make everything more inclusive.

In those early days, however, I faced a problem. Around half the students I knew spoke and, it seemed, thought in English. Since I had come from a background where everyone spoke in and thought and breathed Sinhala, this somewhat intimidated me.

I came from an environment in which no one spoke, still less thought, in English. In our village English was regarded as a sword, a weapon which could and often was wielded against those who could not speak it properly. Those of us who were not fluent in it saw it as a challenge to be overcome. As I went along with my studies, I realized that, at my school and everywhere else, those who spoke it well held or were elevated to positions of power. To wield English, put simply, was a privilege open to a few.

Living away from my parents complicated these matters further. Many of my friends cried. They could not adjust to their new homes and wanted to be with their mothers and fathers. Some of them had never heard an English song until they heard and had to sing the school anthem. Many found it hard to adjust. A few returned to their homes.

I could not really blame them. Colombo, the capital of the country, stood a world away from our homes and communities. As we went along, we confronted one new experience after another. In our villages, for instance, life had always been slow and quiet. But in Colombo things seem fast, sped up, full of sound and noise. We felt intimidated by it all, and though we eventually adjusted, it took time.

Unlike many of my friends, I did not cry for my parents. But I still missed home. I thus spent whatever free time I had pursuing as many activities as I could. Since English was my biggest concern, I decided to focus on becoming more fluent in it.

I realized, however, that forcing myself to be fluent in English, in the long run, could make me forget my own language and culture. I did not want to do this. Although my school was seen as an elite enclave, I did not want to be a part of an elite. I certainly did not want to join such a crowd while forgetting or laying aside who I was.

Some of my friends faced this challenge in other ways. Many of them hailed from regions where different Sinhala dialects were spoken. Over time, I discovered this made them the butt-end of one joke after another at school, mostly among those who had grown up in Colombo. In response, many friends forced themselves to speak in a more “refined” dialect or accent. I sensed they were eager not to be seen as village bumpkins.

I understood their dilemma and sympathized with them. But seeing them made me realize how futile it was to suppress my own identity. It was not a shame to say you came from a village. Besides, I had been told that Royal was reputed for its atmosphere of inclusivity, its diversity. What purpose would it serve if I forgot who I was?

My response to all this was to involve myself in as many sports and co-curricular activities as I could. These included basketball, football, boxing, and cadeting. I taught myself to read and speak in English, while also keeping in touch with my language, my culture.

At the end of the year my efforts paid off when I won the Grade Six English Language Prize.

To me, this was something of a surprise. The English Prize was seen as the preserve of those who spoke and thought in English at Royal College. I had competed not just with my classmates, but with those who spoke and wrote in English. That I prevailed over them and had won shocked me. I suspected it shocked them too.

It was then that I learnt the biggest lesson I could ever pick up at Royal: that you did not have to force yourself to be like others to stand out or fit in.

As my first year at my new school ended, I looked back with some consolation. I had set out to prove myself to others, and had done so while being true to myself. It was challenging to assert my identity in a new surrounding. In my own way, I had met that challenge, and learnt how to be part of a new world without forgetting where I came from.

Uthpala Wijesuriya is a history and political researcher and aspiring archivist. He is interested in fields like art, culture, and anthropology, and in how human beings interact with each other. He is one of the two leads in U & U, an informal art and culture research collective. He can be reached at .



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Coercive laws recipe for future misrule

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by Jehan Perera

The NPP government is going after powerful figures from the past and present who have engaged in corruption, fraud and criminal activity in a way that no previous government in Sri Lanka has done. Former ministers, politicians and senior state officials are among those facing investigations and legal proceedings. The government has placed before Parliament a document listing 50 cases involving corruption, fraud and other crimes. These include not only financial offences but also cases relating to the Easter Sunday attacks, the killings of Lasantha Wickrematunge and Wasim Thajudeen, the disappearance of Prageeth Ekneligoda and attacks on journalists Keith Noyahr and Upali Tennakoon.

The significance of this effort is that it can demonstrate that nobody is above the law, regardless of political connections or social standing, which will help restore public confidence in institutions that have long been distrusted. It could also recover public resources, improve the investment climate and strengthen the foundations for a more prosperous and just Sri Lanka. When criticised for focusing on the past and not the present, the government position is that these investigations were initiated under earlier governments, particularly between 2015 and 2019, and that it is now allowing investigators to proceed to deal with the backlog without political interference.

But there is an aspect of the government’s approach that is less justifiable. While pursuing past wrongdoing by powerful individuals, it is also advancing a triumvirate of draft laws that could give the state sweeping powers over citizens, organisations and dissent in the present and future. The draft Prevention of Terrorism legislation, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill raise serious questions about the over-centralisation of power. Each of these laws strengthens the powers of the state while weakening the rights and safeguards that protect people from their misuse and thus questions the basic rights of people in democracy where ‘the power of the people is vested in the government’. This is a recipe for future misrule rather than the rule of law. As the well-known saying goes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Proposed Laws

The real test of system change, for which the government obtained an overwhelming mandate, requires not only a government willing to hold others accountable, but one prepared to subject itself to the same principles of legality, transparency and restraint. The three proposed laws that are particularly important in this regard are the Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill. Each of these draft laws has been presented as serving a legitimate purpose. Preventing terrorism, combating organised crime and ensuring that NGOs do not facilitate money laundering or terrorist financing are proper responsibilities of the state. Sri Lanka has international obligations in these areas, and no responsible government can disregard them. However, the existence of a legitimate objective does not justify every means adopted to achieve it.

The proposed Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill illustrates the problem. Although its definition of terrorism draws on a model developed by a former United Nations Special Rapporteur, the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka has warned that the definition of terrorism extends beyond the model and could bring legitimate political protest, trade union action and civil disobedience within the scope of counter-terrorism legislation. Its concerns also include prolonged detention, inadequate judicial oversight and restrictions on access to legal counsel. These are objections that go to the heart of the relationship between the citizen and the state. The government cannot credibly promise to protect democratic freedoms while creating powers that could be used to restrict them. It is necessary for the government to reassess the draft through transparent consultation and revise provisions that could criminalise legitimate dissent.

The Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill raises similar concerns. It is presented as giving effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006. The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) has argued that the convention does not require many of the bill’s provisions. The proposed law extends to a broad range of offences, permits detention orders lasting up to a year, makes confessions to police admissible for purposes of legal evidence, and introduces extensive surveillance powers. A law intended to dismantle criminal networks should not create a parallel system of exceptional powers that could be applied far beyond organised crime. Nor should safeguards developed through years of experience with abuses under the Prevention of Terrorism Act be weakened through legislation bearing a different name. The government should review whether or not existing laws could be used effectively to control these crimes or whether each exceptional power is necessary.

Civil Society

The proposed NGO Registration and Supervision Bill presents another test of the government’s intentions. The government may reasonably seek transparency in the finances of organisations receiving public or foreign funds, including measures to prevent money laundering and terrorist financing. It seeks to justify its overreach on the grounds of meeting the internationally mandated requirements of the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for the Asia-Pacific region. But these objectives do not justify placing civil society and NGOs under excessive administrative control when even the FATF ranks them as low to medium risks. The draft bill would require registration and renewal, impose extensive obligations on organisations and empower authorities to suspend or deregister them on broadly framed grounds. It is important to redraft provisions that confer excessive discretion over registration, renewal, suspension and deregistration of NGOs.

Among the concerns raised by United Nations human rights special rapporteurs with regard to the draft NGO law are provisions requiring organisations to align with government policies and restrictions that could affect advocacy, dissent and freedom of association. The implications extend well beyond organisations that engage directly with the government. Community groups, human rights organisations, independent researchers and organisations working on reconciliation or accountability could find their activities constrained by uncertainty over how these provisions might be interpreted. Organisations that criticise government policies are not thereby working against the country. Their freedom to do so is part of what distinguishes a democracy from a system in which the government determines which opinions and activities are acceptable.

The government has generated considerable public goodwill through its pursuit of corruption and criminality. It should not assume that this goodwill gives it an unlimited mandate to strengthen the coercive powers of the state. The NPP knows from its own history that governments can treat dissent as a threat and use the machinery of the state against their opponents. There is still time to correct the drafts through transparent public consultation, narrow definitions of offences, meaningful judicial control over detention and surveillance, and effective remedies against arbitrary decisions. A government that pursues corruption while weakening safeguards against state abuse risks undermining its own achievements. Besides bringing to light the abuse of power by previous governments, the NPP government needs to build a system in which no future government can abuse power in the belief they can get away with it.

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Quality assurance without quality enhancement: The irony of university QA

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By Ramya Kumar

According to the Quality Assurance Council (QAC) of the University Grants Commission (UGC), quality assurance (QA) refers to “the means (i.e. the policies, attitudes, actions, procedures, etc.), by which an institution can guarantee with confidence and certainty, that the standards and quality of its educational provision are being maintained and enhanced”.

An expansive structure has been in place since 2005 to govern and implement QA processes within the state university system. The QAC is the focal point at the UGC that implements external reviews of state universities and institutes. Each university has its own Centre for Quality Assurance (CQA) tasked with performing QA in line with QAC directives. Faculties, in turn, have Internal Quality Assurance Cells (IQAC) performing their own QA; they are answerable to the CQA.

The big question is whether this all-encompassing top-down QA system, that in many ways undermines the internal dynamics of university governance, actually supports universities to enhance the quality of education. This article highlights some concerns.

Top-down check-box activities

The QAC conducts external reviews of universities and degree programmes. A review team appointed by the UGC (who may or may not have experience in the institution/programme in question) examines the self-evaluation report submitted by the said institution/programme. The team then conducts a site visit to verify the claims made in the university’s self-evaluation report, clarify issues identified during the desk review, and examine how QA procedures operate in practice. The team holds meetings with the university administration, members of the Council and Senate, Deans, Heads of Departments, academic and non-academic staff, students, and others. Following the visit, a draft report is submitted to the relevant institution/programme for comment before final publication. The reviewed institution/programme then prepares and publishes an action plan addressing the recommendations, with subsequent monitoring of progress.

There are some worthy QA initiatives under implementation, such as improving facilities for students with disabilities and strengthening mechanisms to address sexual- and gender-based violence. However, for the most part, QA activities have little to do with improving the quality of education. They are mostly preoccupied with monitoring faculty and department websites, digital transformation, student feedback, subject evaluation, course evaluation, peer evaluation, and, more recently, staff appraisal. These activities, which consume an inordinate amount of time—so precious at understaffed universities—have become check-box activities completed to generate evidence for the next review. Below is an excerpt of a conversation between two academics (1 and 2) that conveys how QA plays out at universities (reproduced with permission).

1: … .it’s like social media you know, like posting things on Facebook or twitter or Instagram. When people do a lot of social media, everything they do, they do thinking, “okay I’m going to post it in this way… this I have to put on my Instagram.” QA is a little like that… everything is considered in light of, “ah we can use this for the review, as evidence… for example very recently we were encouraged to have all the things that we do in our department in the faculty newsletter so then they can put in the review. Every little thing has to be noted down….

2: And with pictures and all…

1: At the very least it has to be written so that you have written evidence .. you can’t be doing something for the sake of doing something or because it is good for the department … and sometimes people tell me “oh yea that’s a good idea we can fit that under this x, y section of the review..”

2: Yea, and nobody really thinks about the actual outcome… whether it’s actually helping anyone..

1: I also find that a lot of the words that we used in different ways have now been co-opted to the QA discourse ..including quality.. I can’t actually say what I want as an “outcome”, for example, that the outcome of this workshop is that my students “think about” … then I am told “ah but no that’s not one of the Bloom’s taxonomy words, “think about”.…

2: And the worst part is these medical and agriculture people, these types of people go around spreading it like some kind of gospel!

1: Yea, this cookie cutter way of doing things, they think is the height of innovativeness or creativity, when actually it is so mundane … for me the most awful thing about it is like some fungus of mundanity has taken over through QA reviews.

2: yea, when you say QA, my mind closes off immediately and I stop listening…

Auditing everything but power

QA leaves out crucial aspects of university governance. For instance, there is no review or assessment of the “quality” of university administrations under Criterion 1 or the integrity of procedures governing the promotion of academic staff under Criterion 6 of the institutional reviews.

The majority in the Council—the university’s executive and governing body, which is responsible for selecting the Vice-Chancellor (VC)—are appointed in ad hoc fashion. Apart from the Ex-Officio members in the Council (VC, Deans, etc.), and the two members elected by the Senate, the remainder are appointed by the UGC with no formal consultation or vetting procedure. The VC appointment process described in UGC Circular No. 03/2023 exemplifies how an ostensibly technical process can become entangled in political sycophancy. The Registrar invites applications for the position of VC through advertisement. Applicants must submit a curriculum vitae, a statement of vision for the university and supporting documents. The University Council appoints a three-member Search Committee of senior academics to encourage “eminent persons” to apply, while the UGC appoints a former VC from another university to “observe” the selection process.

A Special Meeting of the University Council is convened. Candidates are interviewed and must make a presentation to the Council Members, followed by questions. Each Council member “gives marks” for seven prescribed criteria: strategic focus (20%), effective leadership (20%), holistic thinking/conceptual skills (10%), academic and research excellence (15%), personal integrity (10%), professional communication (10%) and managerial competence (15%). Marks are averaged, and the Council recommends three candidates to the UGC in rank order. The UGC-appointed observer separately submits a confidential report on the selection process.

This procedure is expected to guarantee quality, but does it? Applications are submitted to the Council Members, who have been appointed on questionable bases, and who are expected to review the applications and give scores, based on objective assessments. But, in reality, most Council Members are manipulated by VC candidates, who often have personal ties with them. The UGC-appointed observer usually has no genuine interest in the outcome. And there is no way for anyone to actually question the Council’s decision once it is made. Although the highest-ranked candidate may ultimately be appointed, the selection remains a political decision made by the President, who retains the discretion to appoint any one of the three.

External reviews also do not look into the promotions of academic staff, except to scrutinise whether there are policies and procedures in place to govern promotion. Academic staff may apply for promotion to Professor once they satisfy the prescribed eligibility requirements, which typically include the period of service, academic qualifications, research and publication achievements, teaching experience, and contributions to the university and wider community. Applications are evaluated against specified criteria, with research output and academic contributions assessed through documentary evidence and expert evaluation. Under the UGC’s scheme for Professors, two experts from outside the applicant’s institution assess specified aspects of research and knowledge dissemination. Again, beneath this technical process, which is externally evaluated, lies a problematic points-based scheme that can be manipulated and abused with impunity.

Rethinking university QA

Like the VC election process and the schemes of promotion for academic staff, QA reviews are open to manipulation. Before a review, there is a chaotic rush to complete evidence gathering and reporting. Academics leave all other work aside, including at times their teaching, to focus on completing documentation and preparing reports. The standardised criteria in the review manuals and scoring sheets often do not reflect differences in disciplines and institutional contexts. But this does not really matter because any serious problems experienced by institutions or programmes are hastily brushed under the carpet to conceal any evidence that could taint the review. The goal is to obtain an A or at least a B grade at whatever cost.

QA may result in positive change if it moves beyond top-down check-box activities towards internally designed and owned processes encompassing all aspects of university governance, led by departments and faculties, and supported by adequate resources. The current QA system needs to be dismantled and replaced by procedures that are accountable, not to the UGC, but to our students and the communities we serve.

(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna)

. Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

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Down Memory Lane — the Grand 20th Edition!

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Down Memory Lane: Ready to sing again

Yes, Down Memory Lane, the beloved Sing-Along concert series that first struck a chord, way back in 1997, returns for its landmark 20th edition this Saturday, 17th October, at the beautiful Bolgoda Grand Resort, Moratuwa town centre.

Having celebrated its glorious 25th anniversary with the show in 2023, this milestone 20th concert promises to be even more special.

The organisers, the ever-popular Moratuwa Arts Forum, are pulling out all the stops to present yet another unforgettable evening, brimming with camaraderie, fellowship, and pure nostalgia.

Get ready for two-and-a-half hours of non-stop singing as veteran vocalists, from the Moratuwa Arts Forum, will take the stage to lead and inspire the happy audience to sing, sing and sing to their hearts’ content.

The repertoire? Absolutely magical, according to the organisers.

Veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike: Will handle the evening’s proceedings / Priya Peiris: Event Conceptor

Around 40 golden oldies — from timeless English vintage evergreens and hits from the 50s to the 90s, to toe-tapping calypsos, soulful American plantation melodies, rousing cowboy and Dixieland favourites, aa well as cherished Sinhala standards. All to be sung with much gusto!

This year’s dedicated organising committee comprises Brian Coorey (Chairman), Priya Peiris (Event Conceptor), Hiran Fernando, Suranga Fernando, Viranjan Perera, Hemka Fernando and Neelesh Silva. Guidance and support comes from Moratuwa Arts Forum President Sarana Guneratne and Secretary Chandani Silva.

Adding his signature charm to the evening, as Master of Ceremonies, will be the veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike.

Don’t miss this landmark celebration of music and memories!

For further details, contact Hiran Fernando on 0772636446 or WhatsApp 0783636446.

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