Features

CEYLON SINCE INDEPENDENCE – ITS ADVENT

Published

9 months ago

2025/05/4

During the course of the Second World War, while defending her extensive empire in Asia, the British government sought to come to terms with nationalist forces in her dependencies of South Asia. Attempts were made in both India and Ceylon to negotiate a settlement of the constitutional problem with nationalist leaders and to give stability to the administration and strengthen the war effort. In India these protracted negotiations were a failure, because there was little common ground between the demands of the nationalists and the concessions proposed by the British. Disagreement between the two sections of the nationalist movement – the National Congress and the Muslim League – complicated matters further.

Similar efforts in Ceylon fared better, for the demands and attitudes of the nationalist leaders were more moderate, and the proposals of the British government were accepted without much ado. Both parties were agreed in principle as to the next step; the Ceylonese leaders, who were holding ministerial office, drafted a constitution along lines which were known to be agreeable to the colonial government. The process of reform was set in motion even while the war was on, and in July 1944 a commission was appointed, with Lord Soulbury as chairman, to examine the draft of the Ceylonese ministers, to receive other representations, and to recommend a constitution for Ceylon. The Soulbury Commission drafted a constitution that gave the island self-government in all matters of internal jurisdiction, retaining some safeguards to the British government in defense and the conduct of external affairs.

By the time the commission reported, the war had ended, and there was opportunity for a more concentrated attack on the problem. The Labour government, which was in power in Britain, decided to initiate a process of liberating those dependencies that were politically in a relatively advanced stage of development. India was to be given independence at whatever price. Political advance in Ceylon had been so closely connected with that of India that the decision to free India meant it was but a question of time before a similar decision would be applied to Ceylon.

At this moment the Ceylonese leaders urged politely but firmly that the last few restrictions to independence imposed by the Soulbury Constitution be done away with. The British government was receptive to these requests. It was convinced that the leaders with whom it negotiated and who were likely to hold power in Ceylon for some time to come would be friendly to British interests. A decision was taken to confer dominion status on Ceylon. The few powers reserved in the Soulbury Constitution for the imperial government were also transferred to the Ceylonese legislature. These changes were incorporated in the Ceylon Independence Act of 1947.

The constitution of independent Ceylon was modelled largely on the British constitution. It introduced the system of parliamentary government as evolved in Britain and extended to the other self-governing dominions. It was rather different from the experimental system of government by executive committees introduced by the Donoughmore Constitution of 1931. By that constitution executive and legislative functions had been vested in a single body. In the British system executive power rests in the hands of a body chosen from and responsible to the legislature, the two functions are kept separate.

The legislature of independent Ceylon was bicameral and comprised the House of Representatives and the Senate. The House of Representatives was directly elected by popular vote, and the Senate was in part elected by members of the popular House and in part nominated by the governor-general. The only restrictions to the power of lawmaking were the safeguards written into the constitution against discriminatory laws against particular religious or communal groups. The governor-general occupied a position akin to that of the British monarch and exercised similar constitutional functions. He was appointed by the British sovereign on the advice of the prime minister of Ceylon. His chief constitutional function was the appointment of the prime minister, who was called upon to form a government on the basis of the electoral results as reflected in the House of Representatives.

The governor-general summoned, prorogued, and dissolved Parliament. All executive acts performed by the ministers were done in his name. In a country where the party system had not been defined with the clarity and precision it had in Britain, the governor-general had some measure of influence in the appointment of the prime minister and in the general conduct of affairs. After the prime minister was appointed from the largest political grouping in the lower house, he selected his ministers, who were then officially appointed to their positions by the governor-general. These ministers together formed the Cabinet, which was collectively responsible for the government of the country. Their power was sustained by a majority in Parliament; if they lost that majority, they would have to resign their offices.

The conventions observed in the conduct of affairs within the Cabinet and in the relation between Cabinet and Parliament were those of the United Kingdom. Proposals put forward by a minister were scrutinized and passed by the Cabinet and became the collective decision of the government. Legislation to give effect to these proposals was drafted by officials and presented to Parliament, where the government majority ensured its passage. On assent by the governor-general, it was enacted as law.

As in the United Kingdom, both by convention and by law, the attempt was made to separate the political section of the government from the administrative. The appointment, promotion, and dismissal of government officers of a higher grade was under a Public Service Commission which was directly responsible to the governor general. It was thus theoretically impossible for the ministers to interfere with appointments to the public service. A similar Judicial Services Commission functioned in relation to officers in the country’s judiciary.

The constitutional structure set up was thus a ready-made and comprehensive one and provided the machinery for a smooth transition from colonial rule to independence, It was a structure with which the Ceylonese leadership was familiar, if only through the pages of textbooks on the British constitution. Though the previous constitution operating in Ceylon had not been quite so closely modelled on these principles, some of the elements of the parliamentary system were already there. Most of the politicians who were preening themselves to take power in the new dispensation had already acquired considerable experience in political affairs.

The political institutions being Western, and the conduct of affairs mainly through the medium of English, it was the English-educated intelligentsia that produced the political leaders from the time that these representative institutions were introduced. Electoral results show that even the most remote rural districts chose members of this class to represent them in the legislature. The largely illiterate or semi-literate peasantry that formed the bulk of the population were not in a position to put up leaders of their own class and therefore had necessarily to choose members of the urban middle class who came forward and offered themselves as leaders.

Some of these men had the added advantage of having previously functioned as ministers under the old constitution and thus had already grappled with problems of government. A few of the leaders at the top had handled the delicate negotiations with the imperial government and had so impressed the latter by their qualities of statesmanship that even without popular clamour for independence the British government was persuaded that the Ceylonese could now manage their own destiny. All this experience was to be a great asset in the process of working out the new constitution and the fully self-governing status it conferred.

These new leaders had a common background of English education, though they came from widely different walks of life. Some of them belonged to the old landowning aristocracy and still held considerable land in their constituencies. They thus enjoyed the influence that went with their traditional family connections and had equipped themselves for leadership in the new age by imbibing the new ideas that the Westerner had brought. A totally different group was the “new rich,” those who had benefited from the economic opportunities opened by the British and had emerged as a native entrepreneur class with varying degrees of success. The rest belonged to the different professions, all of which had involved study of the English language. Predominant among these were the lawyers, who, as in contemporary India, provided more than their share of recruits for political leadership.

The common educational background and the values and ideals they shared gave homogeneity to this new leadership. Fundamentally, Ceylonese society was divided into a plurality of communal and religious units. These units were certainly not, at this stage, hostile to each other, nor did they have very much in common with each other. One could talk fruitfully of a Ceylonese nation only in terms of the English-educated intelligentsia. At this level, both socially and intellectually, took place the mixing of communal groups and the merging of communal differences. This westernized elite rose above the divisive factors in society and indeed gradually presented themselves as yet another of its many component groups. The one advantage was that its members were drawn from all parts of the island, all language groups, and all religions. They ran the administrative services of the country, taught in its schools, and strongly supported the political leadership of their English-speaking compatriots. Together they would ensure the smooth working of the new political institutions and the pursuit of certain ideals which they would seek to impart to the mass of the people.

In the process of making the constitution, a separate organization was formed to represent the interests of the Tamils. This demanded a formula of balanced representation to safeguard minority communities against domination by the Sinhalese majority. This organization, the Tamil Congress, was popular in North Ceylon, where the Tamils were concentrated. But many members of the English-educated section of the Tamils dissociated themselves from the Tamil Congress and grasped the hand of friendship offered by the Sinhalese. Furthermore, leaders of other minority communities willingly offered their cooperation to the Sinhalese. In the first Cabinet of in dependent Ceylon, all the major communities were represented.

Compared to the other countries that secured release from British tutelage at about the same time – India, Pakistan, and Burma – Ceylon’s economic situation may be described as sound. The average income of about 300 rupees per person per annum at this period compared favourably with that of most other Asian countries except Japan. The plantation sector of the country’s agriculture was doing well ell and fetching good prices in world markets. Tea, rubber, and coconut – all in good demand in world markets at that time – were the major exports and provided about 90 per cent of the country’s earnings of foreign exchange. No doubt, during the war much of the rubber had been slaughter-tapped to meet immediate needs, but there were great possibilities for future development. Tea estates were being managed excellently by British firms and by those few Ceylonese capitalists who had of late been investing in tea. During the war Ceylon had earned a lot of sterling – over a thousand million rupees – which, if managed carefully, could be utilized for the country’s economic development. There would be no lack of foreign exchange to undertake and finance long-term developmental projects.

The war had also been a disguised blessing in the matter of the production of food grains in the country. Earlier, the emphasis had been decidedly on cash crops; over 50 per cent of the rice consumed in the country had to be imported. Because of the interruption of the usual sources of supply and the difficulties of overseas trade, a great effort was made during the war to produce rice and other subsidiary crops. The increase in food prices gave added incentive to such activity, which was enthusiastically undertaken in the villages. The new government could make use of this enthusiasm and lend its strong support to this neglected aspect of the country’s economy.

There had also been a great improvement in the country’s health services during wartime. When Ceylon became the seat of the South East Asia Command, a large number of troops were stationed in all parts of the country. Thus, remote and inaccessible villages received attention they had not had before, and diverse modern amenities were made available to them. Among the most valuable of these was the concentrated fight against malaria, which had been the scourge of the Ceylonese peasant. The success of this campaign was seen in a significant drop in the incidence of this disease by 1947.

Nor was the educational level of the people at the time of independence discouraging. Roughly 60 per cent of the people were literate, if literacy in given its broadest definition. The school system was well organized, and, by an act of 1944, the state undertook the full cost of education in the country. Tuition fees were waived for all students from the kindergarten to the university. Though this was only a part of the costs incurred by a student for his education, it was no doubt a great blessing in a country of low incomes and large families. Teachers in all schools, government and private, were paid by the state.

It thus seemed that the outlook was bright when Ceylon was launched as an independent state in February 1948. There was every prospect that the democratic tradition would take root and that the country would progress toward material prosperity and contentment. Ceylon seemed to represent the ideal of advance from colonial status to a free nation. A closer look at the scene, however, showed some ominous portents.

It is an important feature of the political scene in Ceylon that its independence was achieved by negotiation and amicable discussions. The conference room and the council chamber were the scenes of activity, in contrast to the public demonstrations and civil disturbances of India. There was no occasion to associate and involve the masses in the struggle and to infuse in them the nationalistic emotion that would encourage them to make sacrifices in the cause of independence. The nationalist parties that were in existence toward the end of British rule spent more of their time fighting each other than fighting the colonial government and therefore did not see the need to enlist the active support of the masses on nationalist issues. Electoral battles of these years were mainly personal affairs fought on parochial lines. None of the parties had grass roots organizations on the village level. One has only to compare the two National Congresses, the Indian and the Ceylonese, to see the way in which the former towered over Indian politics from the date of its formation and the latter competed weakly with numerous other parties and died a natural death when independence was declared.

The manner in which the political negotiations for independence were carried out has given the impression that what happened in February 1948, was a private transfer of control from colonial rule into the hands of an oligarchy. The power elite at this time consisted of a few families from the dominant sectors of society. No doubt this oligarchy was confirmed in power by popular vote in 1947, but it was still an oligarchy in the sense that no outsiders could get into it. People who held the highest offices were connected by family ties, and the structure of politics resembled somewhat the politics of England under George III.

An even more important drawback arose from the fact that, by the very nature of politics and the political institutions, only the English-educated could aspire to power. Parliamentary government, freedom of the individual, and the whole structure of new ideas were comprehensible to them and them alone. With universal adult suffrage, every individual of the country had been emancipated and brought within the ambit of political power. Yet 95 per cent of the population could not aspire to positions of power because they were not equipped to acquire power and use it. They had been content since 1931, when adult franchise was introduced, to select their leaders from a class which was alien to them. How long they would remain so was another matter. When they comprehended the democratic process and saw to what use they might put it, they would no longer want to rely on the English-educated elite to represent them and manage their affairs.

The westernized elite was not different from the masses only in that they read, wrote, and spoke English. What was more disturbing was the cultural cleavage that separated them from the majority of the people. They had become a separate caste with some of the characteristics that separated traditional castes from each other. Their way of life, their dress, their speech, their cultural interests were different from those of the rest of the country. Most members of this clan had uprooted themselves from their traditional milieu and suffered the little that remained to tie them to traditional society like millstones stound their necks. Some of them had adopted Western culture and found satisfaction and happiness in it. Others were cultural “mongrels” or, at best, cosmopolitans indecisively trying to fuse aspects of diverse and often conflicting cultures.

Society was thus deeply divided in two: the English-educated and the others. Those not educated in English were condemned to subordinate roles in society. This was satisfactory so long as the mass of the people selected as their leaders members of the westernized oligarchy who were, after all, better equipped to administer the country’s affairs. This is what happened for a decade after independence, and it was found to work well. But it is useful here to recognize the malaise of Ceylon’s democracy at the time it was launched and to understand this source of discontent in the subsequent developments of the island’s history.

The westernized power elite that took over the leadership of the country was naturally oriented toward the West and looked to Britain for its lead in many matters. Its leaders could describe the island as a “little bit of England” and take pride in this description. British interests continued to dominate the country’s economy. A large part of the plantation sector was owned and managed by British companies, as was also a major share of the country’s trade and industry. The presence of British armed forces was insured by a defense agreement between the governments of the United Kingdom and Ceylon permitting the British to maintain their forces in Ceylon for its defense. This meant, among other things, that the large airfield at Katunayake and the beautiful natural harbour of Trincomalee continued to be under British control.

If the new leadership felt that it could ignore these factors, it was making a serious miscalculation. It was true that anti-British nationalism had never been born as a mass phenomenon in Ceylon. The absence of mass involvement in nationalist policies was both a cause and a symptom of this factor. Yet the continued physical presence of the British could become a source of irritation to nationalist sentiment. Unless the new government concentrated pressure for the gradual removal of the British, the latter’s presence was likely to be used by nationalist politicians as a weapon of attack against the whole new structure.

Indeed, there was already a point of view being voiced that the independence granted in 1948 was “fake”, that “real” independence could only be won with the removal of the Commonwealth links, as Burma had chosen to do. All British troops should quit the country, and no bases and other facilities should be granted to them. No doubt this was as yet a minority viewpoint and was limited in its circulation. The masses were neither overenthusiastic nor terribly disappointed at the tum of events.

For the successful working of the new constitution, a healthy party system had to develop. This was just beginning, all too shakily. The splinter groups that gathered around influential personalities in the Donoughmore era would not do now. Strong, vigorous political parties with firm and identifiable policies and leadership were required. No doubt the elite, as seen earlier, was familiar with the functioning of the parliamentary system in Britain. But in the actual task of making this system work there were found other difficulties inherent in Ceylonese society. In this respect, the effect of the whole Donoughmore structure had been against the growth of strong parties. Under the executive committee system, it had been unnecessary to attach oneself to a political party – in fact it might have been a handicap to do so. The spirit of compromise so essential to the formation of a party had not developed. It was impossible to produce this overnight.

A significant step was taken when the legatees of political power organised themselves into the United National Party (UNP) under the leadership of Mr. D. S. Senanayake. Into this party came members of many groups, communal and otherwise, of the Donoughmore era. Its major constituent units were the Ceylon National Congress, the Sinhala Maha Sabha, and the Muslim League. Most of the other non-party politicians from all sectors of society decided to join this party also. Being assured of a tenure of political power, it assumed the aspect of a bandwagon; drawing to it people of diverse political origin, some of whom had no idea that politics had anything to do with principles, this coalition still had to be shaped into a meaningful political grouping. Being the governing party, it had to acquire a political philosophy, a policy, and a sense of disciplined behaviour.

Outside the UNP were a number of smaller parties unrelated to each other. On the far left were three Marxist parties – the Lanka Sama Samajist Party (LSSP), the Bolshevik Leninist Party, and the Communist Party – divided among themselves on both ideological and personal grounds. Quite different from these parties of the left were two communal organizations representing two of the island’s minority communities. The Tamil Congress sought to represent those Tamils who had been domiciled in Ceylon for centuries. This party was dissatisfied with the weight given to minorities under the new constitution. Its aim was to unite the Tamils under one flag so that they could put pressure on the Sinhalese and resist any encroachment on their rights. The Ceylon Indian Congress represented the interests of the Tamils who had immigrated to Ceylon within the last hundred years. The bulk of them were plantation workers, from whom the main strength of this party was drawn.

Thus, on the eve of independence there was available a political party to take up the reins of office. But for the efficient working of parliamentary government it is not sufficient that there be a party in office; there should also be a strong party in opposition. The idea of an alternative government is crucial to the British type of representative rule that was being introduced into Ceylon. The distressing factor on the Ceylonese political scene was the absence of such an alternate party wedded to the idea of a democratic alternative to the government in power.

The communal parties were all too restricted in their scope and aims to have any effect on a national level. The leftist parties were committed to revolutionary action in diverse forms and would not take the parliamentary scene very seriously. There were a large number of independent politicians not attached to any party, but they were only waiting to make up their minds after they knew which party would form the government. The absence of a national democratic alternative in the first post-war elections of 1947 was a serious drawback in the democratic process. The resultant absence of constructive criticism of government policy was bound to produce an attitude of smugness among governing circles.

The Marxist left, both communist and non-communist, is an interesting phenomenon of this period. It was a by-product of the study and understanding of Western political thought and institutions that had been introduced under British rule. Its leadership was drawn from the very same English-educated class that produced the ruling oligarchy. Some of these intellectuals had come under the influence of Marxian socialist ideas while studying in British universities. When they returned home they collected a following of young men with left-wing political views. They formed the LSSP in 1935 as a socialist party professing the Marxist approach. When Leon Trotsky was expelled from the Soviet Union after his differences with the Soviet Communists, the Ceylon socialists of the LSSP chose to follow his interpretation of Marxism and become Trotskyite in their orientation.

This divided the party into two factions, and with the Nazi Soviet Pact of 1939 this split was brought to a head. The faction which followed the official Soviet line faithfully through every change and turn broke away to become the Communist Party associated with the Comintern. The LSSP continued as an independent socialist party and developed connections with the Trotskyite Fourth International formed, with its headquarters in Paris, as a rival to the Comintern. In 1945 it divided again when a faction left to form the Bolshevik-Leninist Party. Thus, the brief history of the left movement has been dogged by disunity on both theoretical and personal issues. None of these parties was individually of such strength as to challenge the ruling party. Their influence was restricted to urban areas of the western coast and working-class concentrations. They lacked the organization and the appeal to expand their activities on a nation-wide basis.

The leftist parties, if they could not provide a constructive alternative to the ruling party, could always be of nuisance value. Their strength and energies were concentrated among the urban working classes. Though these were still a small minority of the total population, their role in the country’s economy was an important one. From its inception, the Marxist movement worked among these people and sought to win them over. Workers in industry, commerce, and transport were organised into labour unions under the aegis of one of the three leftist parties. Thus, trade unionism in Ceylon became politically oriented, and this remained an important factor in the development of independent Ceylon.

It also meant the introduction of rival unions in the same trade affiliated to different parties of the left. It paved the way for the use of trade union strength for political purposes. The strike of government clerks for full trade union rights in 1947 was an indication of an awareness of this strength. The support of the working classes, including the “white collar” workers, was alienated from the new government and distributed among parties that were wedded to a program of revolutionary action and denial of the constitutional structure. It was an ill omen for the young demoсrасу.

The elections of 1947 resulted in the formation of a government led by Senanayake. Though the party he headed won only 42 seats in a house of 101, with the support of some of the 21 “independent” members elected and the six nominated by the Governor, he was able to secure a working majority. On the 4th of February 4, 1948, the independent constitution was inaugurated by the Duke of Gloucester acting on behalf of the Queen of Great Britain, and Ceylon became a dominion. Thus began a 10-year period of rule by the United National Party. These years are a distinct phase of the island’s history and must be discussed separately.

by S. Arasaratnam

(to be continued next week)

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Features

The hollow recovery: A stagnant industry – Part I

Published

17 hours ago

2026/02/4

Sahan Weerasooriya

The headlines are seductive: 2.36 million tourists in 2025, a new “record.” Ministers queue for photo opportunities. SLTDA releases triumphant press statements. The narrative is simple: tourism is “back.”

But scratch beneath the surface and what emerges is not a success story but a cautionary tale of an industry that has mistaken survival for transformation, volume for value, and resilience for strategy.

Problem Diagnosis: The Mirage of Recovery

Yes, Sri Lanka welcomed 2.36 million tourists in 2025, marginally above the 2.33 million recorded in 2018. This marks a full recovery from the consecutive disasters of the Easter attacks (2019), COVID-19 (2020-21), and the economic collapse (2022). The year-on-year growth looks impressive: 15.1% above 2024’s 2.05 million arrivals.

But context matters. Between 2018 and 2023, arrivals collapsed by 36.3%, bottoming out at 1.49 million. The subsequent “rebound” is simply a return to where we were seven years ago, before COVID, before the economic crisis, even before the Easter attacks. We have spent six years clawing back to 2018 levels while competitors have leaped ahead.

Consider the monthly data. In 2023, January arrivals were just 102,545, down 57% from January 2018’s 238,924. By January 2025, arrivals reached 252,761, a dramatic 103% jump over 2023, but only 5.8% above the 2018 baseline. This is not growth; it is recovery from an artificially depressed base. Every month in 2025 shows the same pattern: strong percentage gains over the crisis years, but marginal or negative movement compared to 2018.

The problem is not just the numbers, but the narrative wrapped around them. SLTDA’s “Year in Review 2025” celebrates the 15.6% first-half increase without once acknowledging that this merely restores pre-crisis levels. The “Growth Scenarios 2025” report projects arrivals between 2.4 and 3.0 million but offers no analysis of what kind of tourism is being targeted, what yield is expected, or how market composition will shift. This is volume-chasing for its own sake, dressed up as strategic planning.

Comparative Analysis: Three Decades of Standing Still

The stagnation becomes stark when placed against Sri Lanka’s closest island competitors. In the mid-1990s, Sri Lanka, the Maldives, started from roughly the same base, around 300,000 annual arrivals each. Three decades later:

Sri Lanka: From 302,000 arrivals (1996) to 2.36 million (2025), with $3.2 billion

Maldives: From 315,000 arrivals (1995) to 2.25 million (2025), with $5.6 billion

The raw numbers obscure the qualitative difference. The Maldives deliberately crafted a luxury, high-yield model: one-island-one-resort zoning, strict environmental controls, integrated resorts layered with sustainability credentials. Today, Maldivian tourism generates approximately $5.6 billion from 2 million tourists, an average of $2,800 per visitor. The sector represents 21% of GDP and generates nearly half of government revenue.

Sri Lanka, by contrast, has oscillated between slogans, “Wonder of Asia,” “So Sri Lanka”, without embedding them in coherent policy. We have no settled model, no consensus on what kind of tourism we want, and no institutional memory because personnel and priorities change with every government. So, we match or slightly exceed competitors in arrivals, but dramatically underperform in revenue, yield, and structural resilience.

Root Causes: Governance Deficit and Policy Failure

The stagnation is not accidental; it is manufactured by systemic governance failures that successive governments have refused to confront.

1. Policy Inconsistency as Institutional Culture

Sri Lanka has rewritten its Tourism Act and produced multiple master plans since 2005. The problem is not the absence of strategy documents but their systematic non-implementation. The National Tourism Policy approved in February 2024 acknowledges that “policies and directions have not addressed several critical issues in the sector” and that there was “no commonly agreed and accepted tourism policy direction among diverse stakeholders.”

This is remarkable candor, and a damning indictment. After 58 years of organised tourism development, we still lack policy consensus. Why? Because tourism policy is treated as political property, not national infrastructure. Changes in government trigger wholesale personnel changes at SLTDA, Tourism Ministry, and SLTPB. Institutional knowledge evaporates. Priorities shift with ministerial whims. Therefore, operators cannot plan, investors cannot commit, and the industry lurches from crisis response to crisis response without building structural resilience.

2. Fragmented Institutional Architecture

Tourism responsibilities are scattered across the Ministry of Tourism, Sri Lanka Tourism Development Authority (SLTDA), Sri Lanka Tourism Promotion Bureau (SLTPB), provincial authorities, and an ever-expanding roster of ad hoc committees. The ADB’s 2024 Tourism Sector Diagnostics bluntly notes that “governance and public infrastructure development of tourism in Sri Lanka is fragmented and hampered.”

No single institution owns yield. No one is accountable for net foreign exchange contribution after leakages. Quality standards are unenforced. The tourism development fund, 1% of the tourism levy plus embarkation taxes, is theoretically allocated 70% to SLTPB for global promotion, but “lengthy procurement and approval processes” render it ineffective.

Critically, the current government has reportedly scrapped sophisticated data analytics programmes that were finally giving SLTDA visibility into spending patterns, high-yield segments, and tourist movement. According to industry reports in late 2025, partnerships with entities like Mastercard and telecom data analytics have been halted, forcing the sector to fly blind precisely when data-driven decision-making is essential.

3. Infrastructure Deficit and Resource Misallocation

The Bandaranaike International Airport Development Project, essential for handling projected tourist volumes, has been repeatedly delayed. Originally scheduled for completion years ago, it is now re-tendered for 2027 delivery after debt restructuring. Meanwhile, tourists in late 2025 faced severe congestion at BIA, with reports of near-miss flights due to immigration and check-in bottlenecks.

At cultural sites, basic facilities are inadequate. Sigiriya, which generates approximately 25% of cultural tourist traffic and charges $36 per visitor, lacks adequate lighting, safety measures, and emergency infrastructure. Tourism associations report instances of tourists being attacked by wild elephants with no effective safety protocols.

SLTDA Chairman statements acknowledge “many restrictions placed on incurring capital expenditure” and “embargoes placed not only on tourism but all Government institutions.” The frank admission: we lack funds to maintain the assets that generate revenue. This is governance failure in its purest form, allowing revenue-generating infrastructure to decay while chasing arrival targets.

The Stop-Go Trap: Volatility as Business Model

What truly differentiates Sri Lanka from competitors is not arrival levels but the pattern: extreme stop-go volatility driven by crisis and short-term stimulus rather than steady, strategic growth.

After each shock, the industry is told to “bounce back” without being given the tools to build resilience. The rebound mechanism is consistent: currency depreciation makes Sri Lanka “affordable,” operators discount aggressively to fill rooms, and visa concessions attract price-sensitive segments. Arrivals recover, until the next shock.

This is not how a strategic export industry operates. It is how a shock-absorber behaves, used to plug forex and fiscal holes after each policy failure, then left exposed again.

The monthly 2023-2025 data illustrate the cycle perfectly. Between January 2018 and January 2023, arrivals fell 57%. The “recovery” to January 2025 shows a 103% jump over 2023, but this is bounce-back from an artificially depressed base, not structural transformation. By September 2025, growth rates normalize into the teens and twenties, catch-up to a benchmark set six years earlier.

Why the Boom Feels Like Stagnation

Industry operators report a disconnect between headline numbers and ground reality. Occupancy rates have improved to the high-60% range, but margins remain below 2018 levels. Why?

Because input costs, energy, food, debt servicing, have risen faster than room rates. The rupee’s collapse makes Sri Lanka look “affordable” to foreigners, but it quietly transfers value from domestic suppliers and workers to foreign visitors and lenders. Hotels fill rooms at prices that barely cover costs once translated into hard currency and adjusted for inflation.

Growth is fragile and concentrated. Europe and Asia-Pacific account for over 92% of arrivals. India alone provides 20.7% of visitors in H1 2025, and as later articles in this series will show, this is a low-yield, short-stay segment. We have built recovery on market concentration and price competition, not on product differentiation or yield optimization.

There is no credible long-term roadmap. SLTDA’s projections focus almost entirely on volumes. There is no public discussion of receipts-per-visitor targets, market composition strategies, or institutional reforms required to shift from volume to value.

The Way Forward: From Arrivals Theater to Strategic Transformation

The path out of stagnation requires uncomfortable honesty and political courage that has been systematically absent.

First, abandon arrivals as the primary success metric. Tourism contribution to economic recovery should be measured by net foreign exchange contribution after leakages, employment quality (wages, stability), and yield per visitor, not by how many planes land.

Second, establish institutional continuity. Depoliticize relevant leaderships. Implement fixed terms for key personnel insulated from political cycles. Tourism is a 30-year investment horizon; it cannot be managed on five-year electoral cycles.

Third, restore data infrastructure. Reinstate the analytics programs that track spending patterns and identify high-yield segments. Without data, we are flying blind, and no amount of ministerial optimism changes that.

Fourth, allocate resources to infrastructure. The tourism development fund exists, use it. Online promotions, BIA expansion, cultural site upgrades, last-mile connectivity cannot wait for “better fiscal conditions.” These assets generate the revenue that funds their own maintenance.

Resilience without strategy is stagnation with momentum. And stagnation, however energetically celebrated, remains stagnation.

If policymakers continue to mistake arrivals for achievement, Sri Lanka will remain trapped in a cycle: crash, discount, recover, repeat. Meanwhile, competitors will consolidate high-yield models, and we will wonder why our tourism “boom” generates less cash, less jobs, and less development than it should.

(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT, Malabe. The views and opinions expressed in this article are personal.)

Features

The call for review of reforms in education: discussion continues …

Published

2 days ago

2026/02/3

Sahan Weerasooriya

PM Harini Amarasuriya

The hype around educational reforms has abated slightly, but the scandal of the reforms persists. And in saying scandal, I don’t mean the error of judgement surrounding a misprinted link of an online dating site in a Grade 6 English language text book. While that fiasco took on a nasty, undeserved attack on the Minister of Education and Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya, fundamental concerns with the reforms have surfaced since then and need urgent discussion and a mechanism for further analysis and action. Members of Kuppi have been writing on the reforms the past few months, drawing attention to the deeply troubling aspects of the reforms. Just last week, a statement, initiated by Kuppi, and signed by 94 state university teachers, was released to the public, drawing attention to the fundamental problems underlining the reforms https://island.lk/general-educational-reforms-to-what-purpose-a-statement-by-state-university-teachers/. While the furore over the misspelled and misplaced reference and online link raged in the public domain, there were also many who welcomed the reforms, seeing in the package, a way out of the bottle neck that exists today in our educational system, as regards how achievement is measured and the way the highly competitive system has not helped to serve a population divided by social class, gendered functions and diversities in talent and inclinations. However, the reforms need to be scrutinised as to whether they truly address these concerns or move education in a progressive direction aimed at access and equity, as claimed by the state machinery and the Minister… And the answer is a resounding No.

The statement by 94 university teachers deplores the high handed manner in which the reforms were hastily formulated, and without public consultation. It underlines the problems with the substance of the reforms, particularly in the areas of the structure of education, and the content of the text books. The problem lies at the very outset of the reforms, with the conceptual framework. While the stated conceptualisation sounds fancifully democratic, inclusive, grounded and, simultaneously, sensitive, the detail of the reforms-structure itself shows up a scandalous disconnect between the concept and the structural features of the reforms. This disconnect is most glaring in the way the secondary school programme, in the main, the junior and senior secondary school Phase I, is structured; secondly, the disconnect is also apparent in the pedagogic areas, particularly in the content of the text books. The key players of the “Reforms” have weaponised certain seemingly progressive catch phrases like learner- or student-centred education, digital learning systems, and ideas like moving away from exams and text-heavy education, in popularising it in a bid to win the consent of the public. Launching the reforms at a school recently, Dr. Amarasuriya says, and I cite the state-owned broadside Daily News here, “The reforms focus on a student-centered, practical learning approach to replace the current heavily exam-oriented system, beginning with Grade One in 2026 (https://www.facebook.com/reel/1866339250940490). In an address to the public on September 29, 2025, Dr. Amarasuriya sings the praises of digital transformation and the use of AI-platforms in facilitating education (https://www.facebook.com/share/v/14UvTrkbkwW/), and more recently in a slightly modified tone (https://www.dailymirror.lk/breaking-news/PM-pledges-safe-tech-driven-digital-education-for-Sri-Lankan-children/108-331699).

The idea of learner- or student-centric education has been there for long. It comes from the thinking of Paulo Freire, Ivan Illyich and many other educational reformers, globally. Freire, in particular, talks of learner-centred education (he does not use the term), as transformative, transformative of the learner’s and teacher’s thinking: an active and situated learning process that transforms the relations inhering in the situation itself. Lev Vygotsky, the well-known linguist and educator, is a fore runner in promoting collaborative work. But in his thought, collaborative work, which he termed the Zone of Proximal Development (ZPD) is processual and not goal-oriented, the way teamwork is understood in our pedagogical frameworks; marks, assignments and projects. In his pedagogy, a well-trained teacher, who has substantial knowledge of the subject, is a must. Good text books are important. But I have seen Vygotsky’s idea of ZPD being appropriated to mean teamwork where students sit around and carry out a task already determined for them in quantifying terms. For Vygotsky, the classroom is a transformative, collaborative place.

But in our neo liberal times, learner-centredness has become quick fix to address the ills of a (still existing) hierarchical classroom. What it has actually achieved is reduce teachers to the status of being mere cogs in a machine designed elsewhere: imitative, non-thinking followers of some empty words and guide lines. Over the years, this learner-centred approach has served to destroy teachers’ independence and agency in designing and trying out different pedagogical methods for themselves and their classrooms, make input in the formulation of the curriculum, and create a space for critical thinking in the classroom.

Thus, when Dr. Amarasuriya says that our system should not be over reliant on text books, I have to disagree with her (https://www.newsfirst.lk/2026/01/29/education-reform-to-end-textbook-tyranny ). The issue is not with over reliance, but with the inability to produce well formulated text books. And we are now privy to what this easy dismissal of text books has led us into – the rabbit hole of badly formulated, misinformed content. I quote from the statement of the 94 university teachers to illustrate my point.

“The textbooks for the Grade 6 modules . . . . contain rampant typographical errors and include (some undeclared) AI-generated content, including images that seem distant from the student experience. Some textbooks contain incorrect or misleading information. The Global Studies textbook associates specific facial features, hair colour, and skin colour, with particular countries and regions, and refers to Indigenous peoples in offensive terms long rejected by these communities (e.g. “Pygmies”, “Eskimos”). Nigerians are portrayed as poor/agricultural and with no electricity. The Entrepreneurship and Financial Literacy textbook introduces students to “world famous entrepreneurs”, mostly men, and equates success with business acumen. Such content contradicts the policy’s stated commitment to “values of equity, inclusivity and social justice” (p. 9). Is this the kind of content we want in our textbooks?”

Where structure is concerned, it is astounding to note that the number of subjects has increased from the previous number, while the duration of a single period has considerably reduced. This is markedly noticeable in the fact that only 30 hours are allocated for mathematics and first language at the junior secondary level, per term. The reduced emphasis on social sciences and humanities is another matter of grave concern. We have seen how TV channels and YouTube videos are churning out questionable and unsubstantiated material on the humanities. In my experience, when humanities and social sciences are not properly taught, and not taught by trained teachers, students, who will have no other recourse for related knowledge, will rely on material from controversial and substandard outlets. These will be their only source. So, instruction in history will be increasingly turned over to questionable YouTube channels and other internet sites. Popular media have an enormous influence on the public and shapes thinking, but a well formulated policy in humanities and social science teaching could counter that with researched material and critical thought. Another deplorable feature of the reforms lies in provisions encouraging students to move toward a career path too early in their student life.

The National Institute of Education has received quite a lot of flak in the fall out of the uproar over the controversial Grade 6 module. This is highlighted in a statement, different from the one already mentioned, released by influential members of the academic and activist public, which delivered a sharp critique of the NIE, even while welcoming the reforms (https://ceylontoday.lk/2026/01/16/academics-urge-govt-safeguard-integrity-of-education-reforms). The government itself suspended key players of the NIE in the reform process, following the mishap. The critique of NIE has been more or less uniform in our own discussions with interested members of the university community. It is interesting to note that both statements mentioned here have called for a review of the NIE and the setting up of a mechanism that will guide it in its activities at least in the interim period. The NIE is an educational arm of the state, and it is, ultimately, the responsibility of the government to oversee its function. It has to be equipped with qualified staff, provided with the capacity to initiate consultative mechanisms and involve panels of educators from various different fields and disciplines in policy and curriculum making.

In conclusion, I call upon the government to have courage and patience and to rethink some of the fundamental features of the reform. I reiterate the call for postponing the implementation of the reforms and, in the words of the statement of the 94 university teachers, “holistically review the new curriculum, including at primary level.”

(Sivamohan Sumathy was formerly attached to the University of Peradeniya)

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

By Sivamohan Sumathy

Features

Constitutional Council and the President’s Mandate

Published

2 days ago

2026/02/3

Sahan Weerasooriya

A file photo of a Constitutional Council meeting

The Constitutional Council stands out as one of Sri Lanka’s most important governance mechanisms particularly at a time when even long‑established democracies are struggling with the dangers of executive overreach. Sri Lanka’s attempt to balance democratic mandate with independent oversight places it within a small but important group of constitutional arrangements that seek to protect the integrity of key state institutions without paralysing elected governments. Democratic power must be exercised, but it must also be restrained by institutions that command broad confidence. In each case, performance has been uneven, but the underlying principle is shared.

Comparable mechanisms exist in a number of democracies. In the United Kingdom, independent appointments commissions for the judiciary and civil service operate alongside ministerial authority, constraining but not eliminating political discretion. In Canada, parliamentary committees scrutinise appointments to oversight institutions such as the Auditor General, whose independence is regarded as essential to democratic accountability. In India, the collegium system for judicial appointments, in which senior judges of the Supreme Court play the decisive role in recommending appointments, emerged from a similar concern to insulate the judiciary from excessive political influence.

The Constitutional Council in Sri Lanka was developed to ensure that the highest level appointments to the most important institutions of the state would be the best possible under the circumstances. The objective was not to deny the executive its authority, but to ensure that those appointed would be independent, suitably qualified and not politically partisan. The Council is entrusted with oversight of appointments in seven critical areas of governance. These include the judiciary, through appointments to the Supreme Court and Court of Appeal, the independent commissions overseeing elections, public service, police, human rights, bribery and corruption, and the office of the Auditor General.

JVP Advocacy

The most outstanding feature of the Constitutional Council is its composition. Its ten members are drawn from the ranks of the government, the main opposition party, smaller parties and civil society. This plural composition was designed to reflect the diversity of political opinion in Parliament while also bringing in voices that are not directly tied to electoral competition. It reflects a belief that legitimacy in sensitive appointments comes not only from legal authority but also from inclusion and balance.

The idea of the Constitutional Council was strongly promoted around the year 2000, during a period of intense debate about the concentration of power in the executive presidency. Civil society organisations, professional bodies and sections of the legal community championed the position that unchecked executive authority had led to abuse of power and declining public trust. The JVP, which is today the core part of the NPP government, was among the political advocates in making the argument and joined the government of President Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga on this platform.

The first version of the Constitutional Council came into being in 2001 with the 17th Amendment to the Constitution during the presidency of Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga. The Constitutional Council functioned with varying degrees of effectiveness. There were moments of cooperation and also moments of tension. On several occasions President Kumaratunga disagreed with the views of the Constitutional Council, leading to deadlock and delays in appointments. These experiences revealed both the strengths and weaknesses of the model.

Since its inception in 2001, the Constitutional Council has had its ups and downs. Successive constitutional amendments have alternately weakened and strengthened it. The 18th Amendment significantly reduced its authority, restoring much of the appointment power to the executive. The 19th Amendment reversed this trend and re-established the Council with enhanced powers. The 20th Amendment again curtailed its role, while the 21st Amendment restored a measure of balance. At present, the Constitutional Council operates under the framework of the 21st Amendment, which reflects a renewed commitment to shared decision making in key appointments.

Undermining Confidence

The particular issue that has now come to the fore concerns the appointment of the Auditor General. This is a constitutionally protected position, reflecting the central role played by the Auditor General’s Department in monitoring public spending and safeguarding public resources. Without a credible and fearless audit institution, parliamentary oversight can become superficial and corruption flourishes unchecked. The role of the Auditor General’s Department is especially important in the present circumstances, when rooting out corruption is a stated priority of the government and a central element of the mandate it received from the electorate at the presidential and parliamentary elections held in 2024.

So far, the government has taken hitherto unprecedented actions to investigate past corruption involving former government leaders. These actions have caused considerable discomfort among politicians now in the opposition and out of power. However, a serious lacuna in the government’s anti-corruption arsenal is that the post of Auditor General has been vacant for over six months. No agreement has been reached between the government and the Constitutional Council on the nominations made by the President. On each of the four previous occasions, the nominees of the President have failed to obtain its concurrence.

The President has once again nominated a senior officer of the Auditor General’s Department whose appointment was earlier declined by the Constitutional Council. The key difference on this occasion is that the composition of the Constitutional Council has changed. The three representatives from civil society are new appointees and may take a different view from their predecessors. The person appointed needs to be someone who is not compromised by long years of association with entrenched interests in the public service and politics. The task ahead for the new Auditor General is formidable. What is required is professional competence combined with moral courage and institutional independence.

New Opportunity

By submitting the same nominee to the Constitutional Council, the President is signaling a clear preference and calling it to reconsider its earlier decision in the light of changed circumstances. If the President’s nominee possesses the required professional qualifications, relevant experience, and no substantiated allegations against her, the presumption should lean toward approving the appointment. The Constitutional Council is intended to moderate the President’s authority and not nullify it.

A consensual, collegial decision would be the best outcome. Confrontational postures may yield temporary political advantage, but they harm public institutions and erode trust. The President and the government carry the democratic mandate of the people; this mandate brings both authority and responsibility. The Constitutional Council plays a vital oversight role, but it does not possess an independent democratic mandate of its own and its legitimacy lies in balanced, principled decision making.

Sri Lanka’s experience, like that of many democracies, shows that institutions function best when guided by restraint, mutual respect, and a shared commitment to the public good. The erosion of these values elsewhere in the world demonstrates their importance. At this critical moment, reaching a consensus that respects both the President’s mandate and the Constitutional Council’s oversight role would send a powerful message that constitutional governance in Sri Lanka can work as intended.

by Jehan Perera