Features

CEYLON SINCE INDEPENDENCE – ITS ADVENT

Published

1 year 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

Will new UGC Circular 06/2026 strengthen or weaken open and distance learning in Sri Lanka?

Published

1 day ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Balancing Quality Assurance with Educational Access

Sri Lanka’s higher education system has long sought to balance two equally important national objectives: maintaining academic quality while expanding access to university education. Open and Distance Learning (ODL) has been one of the country’s most successful mechanisms for achieving this balance, particularly for working adults, teachers, government officers, rural communities, and thousands of students who were unable to enter conventional degree programmes. In addition to undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, sub-degree qualifications such as Certificate, Diploma, and Higher Diploma programmes have gained remarkable momentum over the past two decades. These programmes have become increasingly popular by providing flexible, affordable, and employment-oriented learning opportunities for school leavers, working professionals, and aspiring entrepreneurs.

With the introduction of the new UGC regulatory framework, these sub-degree programmes also come under a more comprehensive system of oversight. Strengthening quality assurance and protecting academic standards are legitimate policy objectives that can enhance the credibility and recognition of university qualifications. However, the expansion of centralised regulation also raises important questions regarding institutional autonomy, flexibility, and the future growth of Open and Distance Learning.

Globally, higher education is increasingly moving towards greater institutional autonomy, decentralised decision-making, flexible programme delivery, and innovation supported by robust quality assurance mechanisms. Sri Lanka, however, appears to be adopting a more centralised regulatory approach. While greater oversight may improve accountability and consistency, excessive centralization risks reducing institutional flexibility, slowing innovation, increasing administrative burdens, and limiting the ability of universities to respond quickly to emerging educational and labour market needs. The challenge, therefore, is not whether regulation is necessary, but whether it achieves an appropriate balance between ensuring quality and preserving the autonomy and adaptability that have been central to the success of Open and Distance Learning.

Greatest Concern

The greatest concern is whether the new regulatory framework may unintentionally reduce access to higher education, particularly in regional universities that have historically served disadvantaged communities. Universities such as Sabaragamuwa, Uva Wellassa, Rajarata, Wayamba, South Eastern, Eastern and several others were established not only to decentralize higher education but also to stimulate regional development. Their external degree and distance learning programmes have become an important bridge connecting universities with rural populations.

These programmes have enabled thousands of school teachers, public servants, private-sector employees, farmers, entrepreneurs, and young adults from economically disadvantaged families to obtain university qualifications without relocating to major cities. For many families, Open and Distance Learning is not simply another educational option, but also it is the only realistic pathway to higher education.

The sustainability of many Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes has faced challenges for several years. Some programmes have struggled to demonstrate strong labour market outcomes, particularly where curricula have not evolved in line with changing industry needs. However, this is only part of the picture. In many disciplines, especially agriculture, agribusiness, community development, media and vocationally oriented fields, diploma and certificate holders have become successful entrepreneurs, agricultural extension workers, and local development leaders. Therefore, the value of external education should not be assessed solely by graduate employment statistics but also by its contribution to entrepreneurship, lifelong learning, rural development, and community empowerment.

Less Discussed Challenge

Another, less discussed challenge is the institutional attitude towards external education. Over the years, Open and Distance Learning programmes have sometimes faced resistance from sections of the university community, including internal student groups, some academics, administrators, and policymakers. Concerns over resource allocation, workload, infrastructure, and institutional priorities have occasionally created tensions between internal and external programmes. Rather than viewing these programmes as complementary components of a university’s mission, they have sometimes been perceived as competing for limited resources. Such perspectives can discourage collaboration and prevent universities from making the most effective use of shared academic expertise, facilities, and infrastructure. As publicly funded institutions, universities have a responsibility to maximise the use of their academic resources for the benefit of society. The challenge is not to choose between internal and external education, but to develop policies that promote equitable resource sharing, mutual respect, and efficient utilization of facilities while maintaining high academic standards for all learners.

Academic staff engaged in Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes frequently receive relatively modest remuneration considering the substantial additional responsibilities involved, including course design, online and face-to-face teaching, travel, student mentoring, assessment, and quality assurance activities. In recent years, higher personal income tax rates on additional earnings have further reduced the financial attractiveness of external teaching for many academics. Consequently, some experienced lecturers are becoming increasingly reluctant to participate in ODL programmes, creating a growing challenge for universities in recruiting and retaining qualified teaching staff. If this trend continues without appropriate policy interventions, it may adversely affect the long-term sustainability, quality, and expansion of external education.

There are also concerns that the implementation of the new UGC circular with its additional regulatory requirements and financial ceilings on programme operations and staff remuneration, where applicable may further reduce institutional flexibility and academic participation. If these concerns are not carefully addressed through consultation and periodic policy review, the combined effects of increasing regulatory constraints, financial disincentives, and declining academic participation could undermine the future growth and sustainability of Sri Lanka’s Open and Distance Learning sector. At the same time, programme operating costs have increased substantially due to inflation, technology investments, administrative expenses, and taxation. Consequently, tuition fees have risen, making university education increasingly difficult for lower-income students.

If additional regulatory requirements significantly increase administrative complexity or operating costs without corresponding institutional support, there is a legitimate concern that some programmes may become financially unsustainable. The result could be a gradual reduction in course offerings, fewer academic staff willing to participate, declining student enrolments, and ultimately the closure of programmes that have served rural Sri Lanka for decades. Such an outcome would conflict with one of the fundamental purposes of public universities that to expand educational opportunities beyond urban centres. Quality assurance should never be compromised. Students deserve programmes with qualified academic staff, robust assessment systems, modern learning technologies, and effective student support services. Public confidence in university qualifications depends upon maintaining high academic standards. Nevertheless, quality assurance should function as an enabling framework rather than becoming an administrative barrier. Policies should encourage innovation, flexibility, and accessibility while ensuring accountability. The challenge is therefore not whether regulation is necessary, it certainly is, but whether regulation has been designed with sufficient consideration of institutional diversity. Regional universities operate under financial and human resource constraints that differ considerably from those of larger metropolitan institutions. A uniform regulatory framework may therefore produce unequal consequences across the university system.

Broader socioeconomic impact

Another important consideration is the broader socioeconomic impact. Open and Distance Learning contributes not only to education but also to local economies. Regional study centres create employment opportunities, stimulate local businesses, generate demand for accommodation and transport, and support digital infrastructure development. More importantly, they allow educated professionals to remain within their communities while upgrading their qualifications. In an era where governments emphasize lifelong learning, digital education, workforce reskilling, and inclusive development, policies should strengthen but not unintentionally weaken the national Open and Distance Learning ecosystem.

The University Grants Commission should therefore consider establishing a comprehensive consultative review involving universities, academic staff, students, employers, quality assurance experts, and regional stakeholders before full implementation of major regulatory reforms. Such a review could identify practical adjustments that preserve academic quality while ensuring that regulations remain realistic, affordable, and supportive of institutional sustainability.

Higher education policy should not only regulate universities; it should also empower them to fulfil their national mission. Sri Lanka cannot afford to reduce educational opportunities for those who have the fewest alternatives. For thousands of working adults and rural students, Open and Distance Learning represents hope, opportunity, and social mobility. Any reform affecting that opportunity deserves careful consultation, thoughtful implementation, and continuous evaluation.

The ultimate objective should be clear: to improve quality without sacrificing accessibility, to strengthen accountability without reducing opportunity, and to ensure that Sri Lanka’s universities remain engines of inclusive national development rather than becoming institutions accessible only to those who can afford conventional education.

Disclaimer:

The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author, presented to encourage constructive discussion on higher education policy reforms, and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any institution or organization with which the author is affiliated.

About the Writer:

Prof. M. P. S. Magamage is a senior academic at the Sabaragamuwa University of Sri Lanka and a distinguished scholar with extensive international experience. He is a Fulbright Scholar, Indian Science Research Fellow, and Australian Endeavour Fellow, and has served as a Visiting Professor at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln, USA. Beyond his academic achievements, Prof. Magamage has played significant roles in national policy and disaster-related governance, higher education policy development. He can be contacted at magamage@agri.sab.ac.lk.

by Prof. M. P. S. Magamage

Features

Appleby Plays Chicken

Published

1 day ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Tales of Mystery and Suspense 11

After the horrors of modernity and the absurdity of murder in the midst of the preposterous Ballet Stroganoff, I turn to more orthodox crime fiction. It fits into the tradition of the golden age of crime fiction, though it was not published between the wars, but rather in the fifties.

It was a quintessential Oxford book, written by Michael Innes, the pseudonym of the Christ Church English don J I M Stewart. I read it in a quintessentially Oxford setting, the Chalet in the French Alps where in the seventies I had been to several reading parties.

I was not really a Chalet type, for most of the others from the College were from British public schools, blond and athletic, though the patron as we called the Senior Tutor who ran our parties did ask exceptions to add to the mix, such as my fellow classicist Reggie Oliver now well known for collections of horror stories. But they too walked, whereas after my first effort, up the hill to the restaurant hotel which supplied our wine, I said firmly I would not walk again.

So, I would sit in the chalet and read, for it had a wonderful collection of books, dating from the previous century when it had been founded by a famous Balliol don. And last year, when I was asked if I would like to join a party for former Chaletites, I found after I had staggered down to the place from the hotel – now only a restaurant – that it would be best not even to try that short walk until the time came to leave.

Stewart

I had five days of tranquil bliss, marvelling at the two other older men who did walk, but quite content with my books. And having reread a book I had loved half a century earlier, I turned to thrillers of which there was a great collection.

I had enjoyed the few Innes books I had read previously, but this one was new, and apt for it began with a reading party. Appleby Plays Chicken (also known as Death on a Quiet Day) features his favourite detective, Police Commissioner Sir John Appleby. The party was not in the Alps but in a quiet English village, and begins with a game of chicken involving fast driving, which leads the thoughtful undergraduate who sensibly chickened out going for a long walk the following day. During the walk, he comes across a dead body, and realizes that the murderer must be the man he sees walking away on the other side. But he comes up and seems to be helping the boy with the investigation, when he suddenly pulls a gun.

That leads to a long chase over the moors, with other sinister figures popping up, though the last one turns out to be Appleby, who had noticed blood on the shoe of the boy who had been put into an ambulance. Finding himself in a police station, the boy relates what happened, and the two of them go back to the tor, only to find another dead body there. But this belongs to someone else, in fact the man who had appeared on top and pulled out a pistol. And his murderer is on another hill nearby and nearly knocks off Appleby.

He gets away, despite the police cordon Appleby had summoned, and the story moves to the hotel and two strange people there, a man who the students think is a clergyman, and a military man whom Appleby says is a blackmailer. Then a message comes to the don in charge of the party, that his brother, a landowner in the neighbourhood, was missing, presumed drowned.

Meanwhile the supposed clergyman is waiting for his daughter, who it seems was the young lady in a car which seemed to offer refuge to the fugitive boy, but when he next came across it his pursuers had taken it over. A telegram comes from her to say she was staying over with her friends, but the boys realize that it had come from nearby, and they hare off in pursuit.

Appleby and the don and the clergyman and the military man go to the house of the drowned brother and then follow the youngsters to a tower where they believe the girl is being kept. Appleby tells the original young man to go first, and then the others follow, to find the girl and the clergyman and the military man all together there, which leads to a dramatic conclusion, in which the villain falls to his death and the don follows in trying to save him.

It turns out that this is a spy story too, the brother having been blackmailed by the man who killed him when he burnt on the tor the papers that were wanted. Then the mastermind killed the blackmailer, and the don, coming across the bodies, decided that his brother had to disappear, in a bog, to avoid disgrace. He then took his clothes to the shore by his house so that he could be presumed drowned.

And the girl was an accomplice, while the clergyman was the mastermind, which became clear when he fell into the trap of writing a blackmailing letter on the military man’s typewriter. But this was after Appleby had damaged it slightly so the fact that it was typed in the latter’s absence could be identified.

All very complex, and eccentric as Innes is wont to be, but wonderfully exciting, if quite different from the reading parties I was familiar with.

Features

The Dark Side of Meritocracy

Published

1 day ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

During the colonial era, Sri Lanka had a stronger economy than Singapore. Over the past seven decades, however, the two countries have followed sharply different paths. Singapore’s rise as a global economic hub is often attributed to three core principles: meritocracy, pragmatism, and honesty.

Critics argue that Sri Lanka’s problems reflect a failure to uphold these principles, a point that needs little proof, as we have seen it all firsthand. Today, there is renewed interest in restoring these values to governance, especially pragmatism and honesty, both of which Sri Lanka urgently needs. Meritocracy, however, is not that simple: the ways merit is assessed and acquired can undermine the very purpose meritocracy is meant to serve. While Sri Lanka must embrace meritocracy, we must take measures to prevent it from drifting into the dark side.

Meritocracy is commonly defined as a social, political, or economic system in which people are chosen for positions based on ability, talent, and effort, collectively called merits, rather than wealth, class, or inherited privilege.

Sri Lanka has a deep-rooted culture that not only tolerates but often venerates inherited privileges such as nepotism—advancement based on family ties or close personal connections; patronage—rewards and positions given in exchange for loyalty or political support; cronyism—favours given to friends or allies, especially in business or politics; aristocracy—power based on inherited status, class, or birth; and oligarchy—power held by a small, privileged group. These are legacies of a long history of monarchy, colonialism, and feudalism. Furthermore, social divisions based on religion, ethnicity, and caste add to the complexity. Our culture has a way of resigning itself to these social injustices by attributing them to fate or bad karma.

These deep-rooted practices have all but replaced meritocracy, causing immense damage to the country’s economy and social fabric. Therefore, adhering to meritocracy seems the obvious thing to do, but there are two unseen problems lurking beneath. First, an individual’s ability to earn merits depends on many factors, and the opportunities for earning merits are not equally available to all, a legacy of our past unjust practices. For those who have less or no opportunities to earn merits, the competition is over even before it begins.

Merit not a single universal quality

Second, “merit” is not a single universal quality. It varies with the job or position. A pilot, teacher, farmer, judge, engineer, and political leader each require different forms of ability, judgment, discipline, and responsibility. Therefore, merit must be assessed according to the demands of the role, not merely by the results of a standard test or formal qualifications, as practiced today. If we practice meritocracy under the present conditions, we will not get the expected outcome: meritocracy. Ironically, a cyclical process.

Therefore, adhering to meritocracy while ignoring the conditions that rob the opportunities to gain merits will only perpetuate unjust and outdated systems under the pretext of fair and progressive reform. Merit is a wonderful way to choose a pilot, but a terrible way to decide who deserves a dignified life.

This is a complex issue, and Sri Lanka has tried to address it in many ways in the past, with questionable, if not disastrous, results. The key point of this analysis is that our definition of merit is narrow and misleading. “Merit” is rarely an objective, universal metric. What one organisation values as merit may differ drastically from another. Our system equates merits or skills with the ability to perform on tests, starting from Grade five through final examinations at university. That is a problem as it does not measure the ability to do a job successfully.

Standard tests measure convergent thinking, that is, finding the single correct answer to a problem, but they completely miss identifying divergent thinking, which involves generating novel, creative solutions where no single answer exists. In other words, it is the ability to be “street smart” when confronted with real life problems that counts. Not the ability to cross the box in a test paper. Convergent thinking can be quantified; that is what test scores provide, and that has become the standard currency of merit in our society. On the other hand, there is no test to quantify the divergent thinking ability needed to solve complex problems on the ground. It is that skill we need to identify and nurture if we are to succeed economically and socially as a country.

The sunset example

A few terms used in relation to this subject need clarification: in the first scenario presented in the illustration, only the person standing on the highest ground can enjoy the sunset. The fence, which may have been erected for safety or as a boundary, blocks the view of the two people on lower ground. This is inequality. If the height of the fence were lowered enough for all three people to see the sunset, as in the second scenario, that would represent formal equality: treating everyone the same, regardless of where they stand. It seems fair, but it has drawbacks.

First, when the fence is lowered, the original purpose of the fence may be compromised or lost. If the fence were built for safety, someone on higher ground could trip and fall over the cliff on the other side. Second, the person on higher ground could still see the sunset for longer than the others. For example, if one person’s position is one foot higher than another’s, he or she could see the sunset about 4.2 seconds longer; if the difference is 1,000 feet, the sunset lasts about 2 minutes and 13 seconds longer. In other words, the person on higher ground still has an inbuilt advantage. This is true in real life as well. In the third scenario, the fence is lowered proportionally. There is an appearance of equality, but the longer sunset enjoyed from higher ground has not been addressed. In the fourth scenario, conditions have been equalized in a more justifiable way.

That is the theory. British sociologist Michael Young is credited with coining the term meritocracy in his 1958 satirical book The Rise of the Meritocracy. He warned that a pure meritocracy could create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite whose members believed they owed all their success solely to their own efforts, while making the lower classes feel entirely responsible for their poverty. Scholars across the developed world are raising concerns about the outcome of true meritocracies, including in our model country, Singapore (Ong Ye Kung, 2018).

Permanent arrogant ruling elite?

Create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite? That is a dire warning we cannot ignore. Such a condition can create new divisions, disrupt national unity, and damage economic development. Sri Lanka has experienced enough of it: two youth uprisings, a civil war, ongoing social tensions, and a failed economy. Let us be clear, deep down, the root cause of these conflicts is the lack of equal opportunities to participate in the country’s economy and earn a decent living. Those with ulterior motives may give different meaning, but that is the reality. We cannot afford repetitions.

Tests that measure convergent thinking ability by asking how quickly one can find the single correct answer to a carefully structured problem. The test taker’s ability to answer such questions does not depend on education alone, but it also depends on family status and support, social background, nutrition, safety, and access to networking. In some cases, geography, disability, caste, ethnicity, religion, and political influence also come into play. Unequal opportunities create unequal merit. Therefore, a purely meritocratic system can appear fair while still rewarding advantages accumulated long before competition begins. When there are so many factors in play, equalising all of them, creating a just environment, let alone the most crucial factor, education, can be a herculean task.

The better alternative is to use a measure of divergent thinking ability, but that presents several problems. Divergent thinking is the thought process used to generate creative ideas by exploring many workable solutions. Instead of looking for a single, correct answer, which is convergent thinking, divergent thinking expands outward in multiple, non-linear directions. It is often spontaneous, free-flowing, and associated with “thinking outside the box.” Convergent thinking ability peaks during early adulthood and diminishes with age, whereas divergent thinking ability increases throughout life. Experience counts. Therefore, to assess divergent thinking ability, it is necessary to observe an individual’s performance while he or she is facing real-life problems over a longer period than what it takes to do a standard test.

Reasons for reassessing the push

Sri Lanka has other reasons for reassessing the push to establish a conventional meritocracy. According to available data, one-fifth of Sri Lanka’s labour force is employed in the public sector, while the rest is divided between the private sector and informal employment in a two-to-three ratio. This means that more than 60% of the labour force consists of small-scale, unregistered family units, subsistence farmers, street vendors, three-wheel drivers, daily-wage laborers, and independent tradespeople such as plumbers, carpenters, and masons. In addition, it is estimated that about 8.6 to 9.2 million Sri Lankans who can work are not actively looking for employment; more than 71% of them are female.

Promised Justice

The promised “justice” of meritocracy does not reach them. For example, the country had been self-sufficient in rice on many occasions, but rice farmers remain trapped in a cycle of enduring poverty with little hope of escape. Sri Lanka’s Inequality Index increased from 37.7 in 2019 to 39.8, reflecting the disproportionate burden on the informal labour force, even though Sri Lanka was declared an Upper-Middle-Income country by the same monitoring organization. Our system does not provide the opportunity for all citizens to participate in the economy, and that is a major hindrance to economic development.

Success and justice require assessing both the convergent and divergent thinking abilities of an individual as an entry requirement as well as during their performance in the position. The private sector practices this, but the current public sector system fails on both counts. The perils of selecting or electing people who are not qualified to do the job do not need explanation. Sadly, that has been Sri Lanka’s legacy. In addition, the current system fails to assess the job performance of elected or selected people and hold them accountable. Public sector jobs are for life. Pay increases and promotions are predetermined and, unlike in the private sector, are not based on performance or productivity.

This is the fundamental reason for needing education reforms. Our education system was first designed to provide clerical support to colonial administrators. Conditions have changed, but the system remains stubbornly unchanged. The education system is not designed to meet the country’s needs. On one hand, it has created a shortage of qualified people to provide essential services. On the other hand, brain drain fulfills the needs of affluent countries at the expense of hard-earned taxpayer money.

University graudates

In this system, higher education has been enlisted in defining merit and conferring the credentials that a market meritocracy rewards, while distorting the mission of higher education. Many university graduates end up in teaching positions when they have no teaching experience. The same applies to university teachers as well. This writer has seen his share of university teachers who would not have tenure if their students were allowed to grade their performance, as happens in most Western countries.

The lack of a system to evaluate employee performance, particularly in the public sector, is a serious error. In the current system, this is the only opportunity to assess divergent thinking ability, or the so-called soft skills and mindset, which, along with hard skills, are crucial in delivering the intended service and achieving personal growth: actual merit. Instead, public sector employees’ promotions and pay increases follow a fixed timetable, irrespective of their performance. This guaranteed-for-life employment system not only eliminates accountability but also kills motivation to do the job well and discourages innovation. Both individuals and the country suffer as a result.

The other drawback is the social devaluation of vocational skills in favour of professional skills—another residue of our feudal past that refuses to go away. This prestige hierarchy places undue emphasis on university education at the expense of vocational training. Both students and parents are under severe pressure to do well at exams, and this creates a wholesale drive to send children to elite schools in the capital and feed a massive tuition industry. This fixation on a few professions fails to recognise the significance of the other vocational professions to the economy.

Professionals may claim that they have invested more in achieving their skills and deserve preferential treatment, but they should not forget that farmers, plantation workers, and domestic workers abroad, to name a few, contribute to maintaining the infrastructure that allows professionals to earn their merit: the ‘moral desert.’ Society must have the decency to recognise their contribution, not in slogans, but by providing them with the means to lead a decent life.

Even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has become another form of hereditary system, much as aristocracy was. Affluent, privileged parents have figured out how to pass their privilege on to their children, not by bequeathing them land or estates, as in aristocratic societies, but by equipping them to compete successfully and get well-paid jobs, particularly in the private sector, and amass wealth. Meritocracy fails because it turns success into a moral claim, breeds arrogance among winners, creates shame among losers, reproduces privilege, and undermines democratic solidarity. Critics see it as a way to whitewash elitism (Sandel 2021, Markovits 2019, Littler 2017, Frank 2016, Guinier 2015).

Shortcomings

On the surface, meritocracy is the right practice. Indeed, meritocracy must be practiced; one cannot hire a mechanic to pilot a plane just because he is well connected. Yet, even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has shortcomings; and efforts to provide justice in earning merit, as shown in the fourth scenario in the illustration, not only unachievable, but it can create new social problems, as we have seen in our own past. Besides, such measures are only temporary, like medication given for an acute illness. They should not remain in place indefinitely. Lasting solutions must honor the dignity of work rather than credential achievement alone. That will also solve the rampant shortage of qualified workers while addressing the issue of brain drain. Most Nordic countries and some Eastern European countries have found their own solutions to this problem.

Nordic approaches may not transfer directly to Sri Lanka, but one conclusion is clear: our education system must be reformed to address these conditions. Sri Lankans spend more on the thriving shadow education system than the education department’s budget, while other pressing issues get neglected, for example, childhood malnutrition. Education should not merely grant credentials of limited value at home while serving affluent countries at taxpayers’ expense. In Singapore, our model country, meritocracy is not a “moral desert” driven solely by exam competition; it is grounded in “national duty.” We have recognised our past mistakes, but solving such a complex problem needs long-term strategic planning. Therefore, now is the right moment to begin a serious dialogue and include the right strategy in our plan for a happy and prosperous nation.

by Geewananda Gunawardana, Ph.D.