Connect with us

Features

EMANCIPATION THROUGH EDUCATION

Published

on

Mulkirigala Temple: wall painting depicting a troupe of women musicians, including female drummer

CHAPTER III

I remember my first day in school when I was five years old… There were about 30 students. Our classroom was a long, single room with a low wall from where we could see the playground, and the paddy fields further away.

(NU, interview with Carol Aloysius, 2000)

The Colonial School System

In Sri Lanka there had been a virtual revolution in education in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, reflected in the rise of literacy and educational levels. Primary schools expanded in urban and rural areas, and literacy rates increased rapidly. In leading towns, wellstaffed and equipped high schools in the English medium (some with boarding facilities), drew in boys and girls from all parts of the island. Parents from rural areas or small towns would try to somehow raise the necessary funds to send their children to schools in provincial capitals (and if possible, to Colombo) for their secondary studies, in order to broaden their horizons and prospects. While those living in villages were often caste-conscious, the schools in the towns had a universalism, which discouraged parochial feeling. Students sent to urban centres for their studies became more aware

of social and political issues affecting Sri Lanka and the rest of the world. NU was part of this process. His family, in the quest for upliftment through education, chose to move him from a small school in Hambantota (St. Mary’s), where he had his primary education, to a secondary school in the larger town of Matara (St. Servatius’), and then to a prestigious school (St. Aloysius’) in the provincial capital of Galle – all of which were run by Jesuits.

A pansala (temple) school

The country had a network of non-fee-levying government schools teaching in Sinhala and Tamil, and one – Royal College – teaching in English. There were also English-medium non-government schools, which received government grants and levied fees. The latte were run by Christian missionaries and Buddhist organizations in Colombo and the provincial capitals. The first Englishmedium schools, during early British rule, were attended by the sons of Muhandirams, Mudaliyars and the local new-rich. A few children

from less-affluent families also attended. These schools, based on the British school system, implanted modernizing ideologies among the children. Similarly, there was also an expansion of English-medium Buddhist schools in urban areas, which modelled their curricula on the former, imparting a western-oriented, modern education, but with an emphasis on Sri Lankan and Indian history and on Buddhism. English-medium schools were a training ground for the professions, producing lawyers and doctors as well as teachers, planters, businessmen, clerks, bookkeepers and secretaries. The demand for a

modern English education increased with the growth of the colonial economy, the creation of mercantile establishments, and the consequent expansion of the job market.

Early Education at St. Mary’s

The reverence for education in Sri Lankan culture is reflected in the traditional ceremony of ‘first letters,’ in which a child is initiated into the process of writing by a respected or learned person. NU’s education started at the age of three with this ritual, which was conducted by his maternal grandfather, Gajawira. This was preceded by a visit to the temple by the whole family (de Zoysa manuscript, p.48). A few years later, registered as Ubesinghe Jayawardenage Nonis, he began his formal education in 1913 at St. Mary’s School, a typical, one-room village school for children under the age of 10. The school, located barely a mile away from the Hambantota Resthouse, was founded in 1900 by a Belgian Jesuit, Father Paul Cooreman (1863-1919), even though there were only about a dozen Catholics in the town (Perniola, 2004, p.28). Father Paul Cooreman, born in Ghent, Belgium, in 1863, came to Sri Lanka in 1899 after joining the Jesuit Order. His elder brother, Father Joseph Cooreman, was already teaching in the Southern Province. The former was allocated to Hambantota, which was referred to as “a sterile station… a locality burnt by the sun and inhabited only by Muslim merchants of salt of whom… nobody is ever converted.” Since it was difficult to recruit teachers “to come and re- side under the burning heat of this place,” Cooreman himself taught at St. Mary’s (Report of Father Feron, 1913, quoted in Perniola, pp.510-11).

NU’s sister Wimala, dressed up as Queen Victoria for a school play, Christ Church School, Tangalle

Father Cooreman was described as a “man full of duty, full of zeal,” who gave himself “body and soul to the hard work.” Cooreman worked for 20 years in Hambantota, until his death of cholera in 1919. As Perniola writes: “in his humble bullock cart he crossed the jungle or vast burning desert… paying no attention to distances or to fatigue” (ibid, p.574). St. Mary’s in NU’s time was headed by Father Wickremasinghe.

Two and a half years later, NU changed his school when his father left his job as Hambantota Resthouse keeper. The circumstances of his leaving reveal the latter’s temperament. Diyonis had declined to carry out his duties in the way the Government Agent (GA) of the Southern Province wanted, and eventually told him to ‘do the job himself.’ The GA appears to have been a difficult person to work for; as Leonard Woolf wrote many years later, he himself had been “rapped on the knuckles” by the Governor for including in his diary “some sarcastic and not unjustified criticism” of his superior, the

GA (Woolf, 1969, p.200). NU’s cousin, a clerk in the Kachcheri Mudaliyar’s office, tried to persuade Diyonis not to jeopardize his job by challenging officialdom. Disregarding his advice, Diyonis left the job and went home to Tangalle with his family (de Zoysa manuscript, p.49). NU’s maternal grandfather, Gajawira was ambitious for his grandson and felt he should be sent to a good school. In 1916 the change was made to St. Servatius’ College, Matara, which, like St. Mary’s, was run by Belgian Jesuits. NU moved to Devundara, where his maternal grandparents lived, since this was closer to Matara.

Meanwhile, Diyonis turned to cultivating his paddy land at Angunakolapelessa, a drought-stricken and depressed area frequented by elephants, 15 miles from Tangalle. NU commented: “As a child I would often help my father who had a small paddy field in a jungle area. It was a source of our income and I, being the eldest boy, was useful to my father in his work.” NU also in an interview referred to the “unproductive paddy land” his father farmed (Roshan Pieris, 1987). These childhood experiences may have resulted in NU’s realization that small landownership was neither a source of income or status, and, in later life, in his particularly critical view of those engaged in absentee-landlordism.

Some miles away from where his father farmed was an imposing dagoba on the summit of a rock known as Mulkirigala, 300 feet high. Its historic temple, carved out of rock, is famous for a wall painting depicting a troupe of female musicians, including a woman drummer. The summit presents a panoramic view of the province. Bordering Diyonis’ paddy land on all sides was forest. The backwoods in which this land lay could be viewed from the treehouse, or platform, which it was customary to have in such areas. It served as a watch-post for the cultivator to protect his crops from elephants. Made of two gnarled tamarind trees, the structure was 12 feet high, and one climbed on to it with the help of a ladder (de Zoysa manuscript, p.52).

The Tangalle Connection

Tangalle, where Diyonis and his family had their home, lay roughly midway between Matara and Hambantota. Unlike Hambantota, which was the administrative and commercial centre of the district, Tangalle was a quiet town situated on a bay. Diyonis’ house was on the Medaketiya Road – a loop road branching off from the main Tangalle-Hambantota Road, which skirts the sea front and joins the Hambantota Road at Ranna. The house was nearly two miles beyond the bridge over the Kirama Oya. A tiny lake nearby, called Rekava Kohalankala, added to the attractive setting.

NU’s parents’ home in Tangalle

A one-room school

NU’s daughter Neiliya has vivid recollections of her grandparents’ home, which she used to visit as a child:

My grandparent’s home was in Tangalle, which they sold subsequently when they moved to Colombo. I still visit this house on occasion, though the surroundings have changed. The house is still in its original condition – a U-shaped building with a central courtyard, covered with sea sand of sparkling gold. ( The house remained in its original condition up until the tsunami of December 2004, when it was completely destroyed.) The base of the ‘U’ is the living and dining rooms, and the right side has the kitchen storeroom and servant’s room, and the left side the bedrooms. During my childhood, the house had one boundary at the rear and the other was the river. It was a beautiful location, an ideal hunting ground and playing field for us children – 8 brothers’ and sisters’ children – 27 grandchildren in all. There were no other houses within sight.

Near the Jayawardena house and land at Medaketiya was the house of the Amarasinghe family, where Kusuma Gunawardena née Amarasinghe – later Member of Parliament and wife of leftist leader Philip Gunawardena – was born in 1905. Lakmali Gunawardena has

written of her mother’s birthplace and the string of towns and ports that dotted the southern coastline between Galle and Kirinde. She refers to the “thin ribbon of road [along which were] these towns, Matara, Devundara, Tangalle, Ambalantota, and smaller ones of local importance… Ranna, Hungama, Netolpitiya, and Nonagama… up to and beyond Tissamaharama” (Gunawardena, 2004, p.1).

Tangalle was a natural site for a small harbour, where the British built a resthouse on a promontory overlooking the Indian Ocean… In the early 1900s it had schools, a post office, a police station and other establishments that had elevated it from a sleepy fishing town. (ibid)

The Amarasinghes and U.J. Diyonis’ family knew each other. The second Amarasinghe son, Dayananda was a contemporary of NU’s and they kept in touch with each other throughout their lives. The houses of both families were situated on coconut land that adjoined the sea, and their lifestyles were similar. Both families were Buddhist; the Amarasinghe father, Don Davith was a building contractor who was active in the Tangalle branch of the Buddhist Theosophical Society and was the leading patron of the town’s Buddhist school – Sri Rahula Vidyalaya, which Kusuma attended. Amarasinghe, being independently employed, could afford to sponsor Buddhist education and be involved in the agitation carried out by the Buddhist movement. In contrast, Diyonis had to be cautious – if he held any ‘controversial’ views – while he served the government as a resthouse keeper.

Devundara and Matara

NU’s first break with his home was when he was sent to live with his grandfather. NU’s maternal relatives – the Gajawiras of Devundara – constituted the more-learned side of his family, and NU always acknowledged the role of his mother’s father, who took a great interest in NU’s education. By all accounts, his grandfather Gajawira was well versed in Sinhala grammar and poetry, as he had been educated at a pirivena (temple school). Gajawira had four daughters and a son. NU’s mother Podi Nona was the eldest; the youngest, Arlis Perera Gajawira (1901-82) was seven years older than NU. Like NU, his uncle Arlis also attended St. Servatius’ and joined the clerical service. He and NU became close and kept in touch in later life. Arlis even named one of his sons Neville, after NU. (Interview with Dr. Bandula Gajawira, Arlis Gajawira’s son. The family link continued when Arlis’ granddaughter married Dr. Mahilal Ratnapala, NU’s sister Wimala’s son.)

Devundara is the southernmost point of Sri Lanka, with a lighthouse, marketplace and a historic Vishnu devale. NU’s grandfather’s small house was on Lighthouse Road, which leads to the famous lighthouse. St. Servatius’ was three miles away in the town of Matara

with its Dutch fort, low ramparts, government offices and courthouse. This English-medium school, founded in 1897, was off the main road and close to a promontory called Brown’s Hill. NU studied at St. Servatius’ for four years.

On his first day in school, NU, who was accompanied by his grandfather and his uncle Arlis, was introduced to the principal. The 3-mile trek to school along the road, and probably along the beautiful Wellamadama beach, was not unusual at the time. In 1911 in Sri Lanka, the average distance on foot to the nearest school was 3 miles, with provincial averages ranging from 5 miles in the North Central Province to three-quarters of a mile in the Western Province (Denham, 1912, p.405).

NU seemed to have enjoyed his long walk to school and back, noting its beneficial effects:

My grandfather decided to have me educated at St. Servatius’ College in Matara. To reach school we had to walk three miles and this I did at the age of eight in 1916. I did not feel that walking to school was some kind of drudgery. I enjoyed school. I would get up as early as five o’clock, and by six in the morning I left with my uncle and walked to school. Looking back now perhaps it appears tedious, but I enjoyed the walk. School was over at about three in the afternoon, and I would reach home by six in the evening. The walk did have its impact, for, I think, it made me hardy and strong, especially since roads at that time were not tarred and finished as they are now and I would walk barefoot to and from school. In fact, my determination to study, to gain knowledge as it were, made me make this daily trip without finding any excuses to stay away from school. (interview by Manel Abhayaratne)

Lucien de Zoysa notes that, NU “preferred to walk barefoot, carrying his shoes in one hand… shoes were compulsory at school, but NU found it more comfortable to walk barefoot, and put on socks and shoes only as he entered the school premises” (de Zoysa manuscript, p.53). As NU recalled: “I don’t remember wearing shoes until I went to St. Servatius” (Roshan Pieris, 1992). According to Pat Williams (who was at St. Aloysius’), inexpensive Japanese tennis shoes became readily available in Sri Lanka around that time, and thus, the use of shoes became more widespread (personal communication, 2006). The walk to school, however, did appear to have put a strain on the young NU, with a negative impact on his studies. The grandfather, noting the boy’s weariness, placed NU at the home of the school catechist who lived in a house situated within the Matara

fort, one mile from St. Servatius’ College.

This change did not seem to make much of a difference to his progress in school – and perhaps made him feel more isolated and lonely. Lucien de Zoysa writes that NU’s grandfather knew, by the way that “NU got on with his Sinhalese grammar and poetry, that he was no dullard, but how to get him interested in his books was the problem.” In retrospect, de Zoysa speculated that NU’s poor performance may have been caused by separation from his doting mother and sisters. To his grandfather, he seemed to be in a world of his own. Perhaps it was due to this loneliness and homesickness that NU played truant from time to time – sometimes bathing in the Nilvala Ganga, which flowed under the bridge at Matara – perhaps recalling happier times at the river and beach back home in Tangalle (de Zoysa manuscript, p.53).

Given this separation from his parents and siblings, NU looked forward to returning to Tangalle during school holidays. We have evidence of this from NU’s niece, Chandrani, who says:

My mother [Rosalind] related to us that she looked forward to my uncle [NU’s] school vacation so that they could give him the best of food to make him plump and healthy. She said that she measured his arm on the

first day he came home to check how much weight he had put on by the end of the vacation. The food they had was thala guli [sesame sweet] and banana on waking; then a plate of rice with bala maalu [tuna] and kiri hodhi [coconut gravy]. After lunch, they had mi kiri [buffalo curd] and

honey [palm treacle].

NU also soon had two younger brothers: David born in 1910, and the ‘baby’ Peter born in 1915. David was outgoing and boisterous, whereas NU tended to be introverted. In 1920, after 4 years at St. Servatius’, NU at the age of 12 was sent to St. Aloysius’ College in Galle. The move to St. Aloysius’ was to be a crucial milestone in his life.

Ironically, in his early days NU did not do well in arithmetic or mathematics. He himself often stated that he was a late developer, and his childhood schooling, though it opened to him a new world of books, did not really give him any impetus to further his knowledge in any particular subject. When he reached the 5th standard in school, family circumstances favoured him once again, when his eldest sister Charlotte was married in 1919 to Thevis Nanayakkara. This was a fortuitous event that solved the dilemma facing his maternal grandfather, who had been worried about his grandson’s progress. They decided that NU should go to St. Aloysius’ College in Galle, since Charlotte’s house was half a mile away from the Talpe railway station, 6 miles from Galle. NU was later joined at the Nanayakkara residence by his younger brothers, David and Peter.

The Importance of Railways Indrani Munasinghe’s book, The Colonial Economy on Track (2001) documents the story of transport expansion and the way the network of roads and railways built in the 19th century changed the lives of many who lived in areas remote from Colombo. Before the coming of the railways, towns such as Kandy, Jaffna and Galle had been linked by new roads to Colombo, but travel was by cart, horsedrawn coach, or on horseback. Norah Roberts writes that, the Colombo- Kandy coach was started in 1832, and by 1838 there was a two-horse Galle Royal Mail Coach leaving Galle at 6 o’clock in the morning to arrive in Colombo at 4.30 in the afternoon, as well as a Galle-Matara coach. These coaches, which charged differential amounts from various categories of persons – Europeans, Burghers, lawyers and Mudaliyars – were, however, beyond the reach of the mass of people, who used bullock carts, and hackeries (light carriages)

or walked to their destinations (Norah Roberts, 1993, p.9).

After the Colombo-Kandy rail connection was opened in 1867, railways were extended to other towns in the Central and Uva provinces, to cater to the needs of the plantation sector. Railway expansion, which benefited the inhabitants of other provinces, occurred subsequently. This accessibility between provincial towns and Colombo enabled many to commute to work and even to school from outlying areas. The coastal line from Colombo to Matara via Galle, a distance of 100 miles, was completed by 1895. The expansion of railways was certainly a most welcome innovation for southerners. A schoolteacher described the arrival of the first train in Galle in 1894, “with decorated engine,” adding that “the band played and people danced on the platform” (quoted in Roberts, 1993, p.9).

NU benefited from the coming of railways to the South. He had once used to walk many miles from Devundara to school in Matara and back, as the railway line did not go beyond Matara. But when he was transferred to school in Galle, he travelled in the trains that operated between Matara and Galle. The railways changed NU’s life, as did his new school, St. Aloysius’ College. (N.U. JAYAWARDENA The First Five Decades Chapter 2 can read online on https://island.lk/nus-social-milieu/))

(Excerpted from N. U. JAYAWARDENA The first five decades)
By Kumari Jayawardena and Jennifer Moragoda



Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

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

Features

Rebuilding Sri Lanka Through Inclusive Governance

Published

on

Management Committee of the 'Rebuilding Sri Lanka' Fund Appointed with Representatives from the Public and Private Sectors - PMD

In the immediate aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah, the government has moved swiftly to establish a Presidential Task Force for Rebuilding Sri Lanka with a core committee to assess requirements, set priorities, allocate resources and raise and disburse funds. Public reaction, however, has focused on the committee’s problematic composition. All eleven committee members are men, and all non-government seats are held by business personalities with no known expertise in complex national development projects, disaster management and addressing the needs of vulnerable populations. They belong to the top echelon of Sri Lanka’s private sector which has been making extraordinary profits. The government has been urged by civil society groups to reconsider the role and purpose of this task force and reconstitute it to be more representative of the country and its multiple  needs.

 The group of high-powered businessmen initially appointed might greatly help mobilise funds from corporates and international donors, but this group may be ill equipped to determine priorities and oversee disbursement and spending. It would be necessary to separate fundraising, fund oversight and spending prioritisation, given the different capabilities and considerations required for each. International experience in post disaster recovery shows that inclusive and representative structures are more likely to produce outcomes that are equitable, efficient and publicly accepted. Civil society, for instance, brings knowledge rooted in communities, experience in working with vulnerable groups and a capacity to question assumptions that may otherwise go unchallenged.

 A positive and important development is that the government has been responsive to these criticisms and has invited at least one civil society representative to join the Rebuilding Sri Lanka committee. This decision deserves to be taken seriously and responded to positively by civil society which needs to call for more representation rather than a single representative.  Such a demand would reflect an understanding that rebuilding after a national disaster cannot be undertaken by the state and the business community alone. The inclusion of civil society will strengthen transparency and public confidence, particularly at a moment when trust in institutions remains fragile. While one appointment does not in itself ensure inclusive governance, it opens the door to a more participatory approach that needs to be expanded and institutionalised.

Costly Exclusions

 Going  down the road of history, the absence of inclusion in government policymaking has cost the country dearly. The exclusion of others, not of one’s own community or political party, started at the very dawn of Independence in 1948. The Father of the Nation, D S Senanayake, led his government to exclude the Malaiyaha Tamil community by depriving them of their citizenship rights. Eight years later, in 1956, the Oxford educated S W R D Bandaranaike effectively excluded the Tamil speaking people from the government by making Sinhala the sole official language. These early decisions normalised exclusion as a tool of governance rather than accommodation and paved the way for seven decades of political conflict and three decades of internal war.

Exclusion has also taken place virulently on a political party basis. Both of Sri Lanka’s post Independence constitutions were decided on by the government alone. The opposition political parties voted against the new constitutions of 1972 and 1977 because they had been excluded from participating in their design. The proposals they had made were not accepted. The basic law of the country was never forged by consensus. This legacy continues to shape adversarial politics and institutional fragility. The exclusion of other communities and political parties from decision making has led to frequent reversals of government policy. Whether in education or economic regulation or foreign policy, what one government has done the successor government has undone.

 Sri Lanka’s poor performance in securing the foreign investment necessary for rapid economic growth can be attributed to this factor in the main. Policy instability is not simply an economic problem but a political one rooted in narrow ownership of power. In 2022, when the people went on to the streets to protest against the government and caused it to fall, they demanded system change in which their primary focus was corruption, which had reached very high levels both literally and figuratively. The focus on corruption, as being done by the government at present, has two beneficial impacts for the government. The first is that it ensures that a minimum of resources will be wasted so that the maximum may be used for the people’s welfare.

Second Benefit

 The second benefit is that by focusing on the crime of corruption, the government can disable many leaders in the opposition. The more opposition leaders who are behind bars on charges of corruption, the less competition the government faces. Yet these gains do not substitute for the deeper requirement of inclusive governance. The present government seems to have identified corruption as the problem it will emphasise. However, reducing or eliminating corruption by itself is not going to lead to rapid economic development. Corruption is not the sole reason for the absence of economic growth. The most important factor in rapid economic growth is to have government policies that are not reversed every time a new government comes to power.

 For Sri Lanka to make the transition to self-sustaining and rapid economic development, it is necessary that the economic policies followed today are not reversed tomorrow. The best way to ensure continuity of policy is to be inclusive in governance. Instead of excluding those in the opposition, the mainstream opposition in particular needs to be included. In terms of system change, the government has scored high with regard to corruption. There is a general feeling that corruption in the country is much reduced compared to the past. However, with regard to inclusion the government needs to demonstrate more commitment. This was evident in the initial choice of cabinet ministers, who were nearly all men from the majority ethnic community. Important committees it formed, including the Presidential Task Force for a Clean Sri Lanka and the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force, also failed at first to reflect the diversity of the country.

 In a multi ethnic and multi religious society like Sri Lanka, inclusivity is not merely symbolic. It is essential for addressing diverse perspectives and fostering mutual understanding. It is important to have members of the Tamil, Muslim and other minority communities, and women who are 52 percent of the population, appointed to important decision making bodies, especially those tasked with national recovery. Without such representation, the risk is that the very communities most affected by the crisis will remain unheard, and old grievances will be reproduced in new forms. The invitation extended to civil society to participate in the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force is an important beginning. Whether it becomes a turning point will depend on whether the government chooses to make inclusion a principle of governance rather than treat it as a show of concession made under pressure.

by Jehan Perera

Continue Reading

Features

Reservoir operation and flooding

Published

on

Floods caused by Cyclone Ditwah

Former Director General of Irrigation, G.T. Dharmasena, in an article, titled “Revival of Innovative systems for reservoir operation and flood forecasting” in The Island of 17 December, 2025, starts out by stating:

“Most reservoirs in Sri Lanka are agriculture and hydropower dominated. Reservoir operators are often unwilling to acknowledge the flood detention capability of major reservoirs during the onset of monsoons. Deviating from the traditional priority for food production and hydropower development, it is time to reorient the operational approach of major reservoirs operators under extreme events, where flood control becomes a vital function. While admitting that total elimination of flood impacts is not technically feasible, the impacts can be reduced by efficient operation of reservoirs and effective early warning systems”.

Addressing the question often raised by the public as to “Why is flooding more prominent downstream of reservoirs compared to the period before they were built,” Mr. Dharmasena cites the following instances: “For instance, why do (sic) Magama in Tissamaharama face floods threats after the construction of the massive Kirindi Oya reservoir? Similarly, why does Ambalantota flood after the construction of Udawalawe Reservoir? Furthermore, why is Molkawa, in the Kalutara District area, getting flooded so often after the construction of Kukule reservoir”?

“These situations exist in several other river basins, too. Engineers must, therefore, be mindful of the need to strictly control the operation of the reservoir gates by their field staff. (Since) “The actual field situation can sometimes deviate significantly from the theoretical technology… it is necessary to examine whether gate operators are strictly adhering to the operational guidelines, as gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”.

COMMENT

For Mr. Dharmasena to bring to the attention of the public that “gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”, is being disingenuous, after accepting flooding as a way of life for ALL major reservoirs for decades and not doing much about it. As far as the public is concerned, their expectation is that the Institution responsible for Reservoir Management should, not only develop the necessary guidelines to address flooding but also ensure that they are strictly administered by those responsible, without leaving it to the arbitrary discretion of field staff. This exercise should be reviewed annually after each monsoon, if lives are to be saved and livelihoods are to be sustained.

IMPACT of GATE OPERATION on FLOODING

According to Mr. Dhamasena, “Major reservoir spillways are designed for very high return periods… If the spillway gates are opened fully when reservoir is at full capacity, this can produce an artificial flood of a very large magnitude… Therefore, reservoir operators must be mindful in this regard to avoid any artificial flood creation” (Ibid). Continuing, he states: “In reality reservoir spillways are often designed for the sole safety of the reservoir structure, often compromising the safety of the downstream population. This design concept was promoted by foreign agencies in recent times to safeguard their investment for dams. Consequently, the discharge capacities of these spill gates significantly exceed the natural carrying capacity of river(s) downstream” (Ibid).

COMMENT

The design concept where priority is given to the “sole safety of the structure” that causes the discharge capacity of spill gates to “significantly exceed” the carrying capacity of the river is not limited to foreign agencies. Such concepts are also adopted by local designers as well, judging from the fact that flooding is accepted as an inevitable feature of reservoirs. Since design concepts in their current form lack concern for serious destructive consequences downstream and, therefore, unacceptable, it is imperative that the Government mandates that current design criteria are revisited as a critical part of the restoration programme.

CONNECTIVITY BETWEEN GATE OPENINGS and SAFETY MEASURES

It is only after the devastation of historic proportions left behind by Cyclone Ditwah that the Public is aware that major reservoirs are designed with spill gate openings to protect the safety of the structure without factoring in the consequences downstream, such as the safety of the population is an unacceptable proposition. The Institution or Institutions associated with the design have a responsibility not only to inform but also work together with Institutions such as Disaster Management and any others responsible for the consequences downstream, so that they could prepare for what is to follow.

Without working in isolation and without limiting it only to, informing related Institutions, the need is for Institutions that design reservoirs to work as a team with Forecasting and Disaster Management and develop operational frameworks that should be institutionalised and approved by the Cabinet of Ministers. The need is to recognize that without connectivity between spill gate openings and safety measures downstream, catastrophes downstream are bound to recur.

Therefore, the mandate for dam designers and those responsible for disaster management and forecasting should be for them to jointly establish guidelines relating to what safety measures are to be adopted for varying degrees of spill gate openings. For instance, the carrying capacity of the river should relate with a specific openinig of the spill gate. Another specific opening is required when the population should be compelled to move to high ground. The process should continue until the spill gate opening is such that it warrants the population to be evacuated. This relationship could also be established by relating the spill gate openings to the width of the river downstream.

The measures recommended above should be backed up by the judicious use of the land within the flood plain of reservoirs for “DRY DAMS” with sufficient capacity to intercept part of the spill gate discharge from which excess water could be released within the carrying capacity of the river. By relating the capacity of the DRY DAM to the spill gate opening, a degree of safety could be established. However, since the practice of demarcating flood plains is not taken seriously by the Institution concerned, the Government should introduce a Bill that such demarcations are made mandatory as part of State Land in the design and operation of reservoirs. Adopting such a practice would not only contribute significantly to control flooding, but also save lives by not permitting settlement but permitting agricultural activities only within these zones. Furthermore, the creation of an intermediate zone to contain excess flood waters would not tax the safety measures to the extent it would in the absence of such a safety net.

CONCLUSION

Perhaps, the towns of Kotmale and Gampola suffered severe flooding and loss of life because the opening of spill gates to release the unprecedented volumes of water from Cyclone Ditwah, was warranted by the need to ensure the safety of Kotmale and Upper Kotmale Dams.

This and other similar disasters bring into focus the connectivity that exists between forecasting, operation of spill gates, flooding and disaster management. Therefore, it is imperative that the government introduce the much-needed legislative and executive measures to ensure that the agencies associated with these disciplines develop a common operational framework to mitigate flooding and its destructive consequences. A critical feature of such a framework should be the demarcation of the flood plain, and decree that land within the flood plain is a zone set aside for DRY DAMS, planted with trees and free of human settlements, other than for agricultural purposes. In addition, the mandate of such a framework should establish for each river basin the relationship between the degree to which spill gates are opened with levels of flooding and appropriate safety measures.

The government should insist that associated Agencies identify and conduct a pilot project to ascertain the efficacy of the recommendations cited above and if need be, modify it accordingly, so that downstream physical features that are unique to each river basin are taken into account and made an integral feature of reservoir design. Even if such restrictions downstream limit the capacities to store spill gate discharges, it has to be appreciated that providing such facilities within the flood plain to any degree would mitigate the destructive consequences of the flooding.

By Neville Ladduwahetty

Continue Reading

Features

Listening to the Language of Shells

Published

on

The ocean rarely raises its voice. Instead, it leaves behind signs — subtle, intricate and enduring — for those willing to observe closely. Along Sri Lanka’s shores, these signs often appear in the form of seashells: spiralled, ridged, polished by waves, carrying within them the quiet history of marine life. For Marine Naturalist Dr. Malik Fernando, these shells are not souvenirs of the sea but storytellers, bearing witness to ecological change, resilience and loss.

“Seashells are among the most eloquent narrators of the ocean’s condition,” Dr. Fernando told The Island. “They are biological archives. If you know how to read them, they reveal the story of our seas, past and present.”

A long-standing marine conservationist and a member of the Marine Subcommittee of the Wildlife & Nature Protection Society (WNPS), Dr. Fernando has dedicated much of his life to understanding and protecting Sri Lanka’s marine ecosystems. While charismatic megafauna often dominate conservation discourse, he has consistently drawn attention to less celebrated but equally vital marine organisms — particularly molluscs, whose shells are integral to coastal and reef ecosystems.

“Shells are often admired for their beauty, but rarely for their function,” he said. “They are homes, shields and structural components of marine habitats. When shell-bearing organisms decline, it destabilises entire food webs.”

Sri Lanka’s geographical identity as an island nation, Dr. Fernando says, is paradoxically underrepresented in national conservation priorities. “We speak passionately about forests and wildlife on land, but our relationship with the ocean remains largely extractive,” he noted. “We fish, mine sand, build along the coast and pollute, yet fail to pause and ask how much the sea can endure.”

Through his work with the WNPS Marine Subcommittee, Dr. Fernando has been at the forefront of advocating for science-led marine policy and integrated coastal management. He stressed that fragmented governance and weak enforcement continue to undermine marine protection efforts. “The ocean does not recognise administrative boundaries,” he said. “But unfortunately, our policies often do.”

He believes that one of the greatest challenges facing marine conservation in Sri Lanka is invisibility. “What happens underwater is out of sight, and therefore out of mind,” he said. “Coral bleaching, mollusc depletion, habitat destruction — these crises unfold silently. By the time the impacts reach the shore, it is often too late.”

Seashells, in this context, become messengers. Changes in shell thickness, size and abundance, Dr. Fernando explained, can signal shifts in ocean chemistry, rising temperatures and increasing acidity — all linked to climate change. “Ocean acidification weakens shells,” he said. “It is a chemical reality with biological consequences. When shells grow thinner, organisms become more vulnerable, and ecosystems less stable.”

Climate change, he warned, is no longer a distant threat but an active force reshaping Sri Lanka’s marine environment. “We are already witnessing altered breeding cycles, migration patterns and species distribution,” he said. “Marine life is responding rapidly. The question is whether humans will respond wisely.”

Despite the gravity of these challenges, Dr. Fernando remains an advocate of hope rooted in knowledge. He believes public awareness and education are essential to reversing marine degradation. “You cannot expect people to protect what they do not understand,” he said. “Marine literacy must begin early — in schools, communities and through public storytelling.”

It is this belief that has driven his involvement in initiatives that use visual narratives to communicate marine science to broader audiences. According to Dr. Fernando, imagery, art and heritage-based storytelling can evoke emotional connections that data alone cannot. “A well-composed image of a shell can inspire curiosity,” he said. “Curiosity leads to respect, and respect to protection.”

Shells, he added, also hold cultural and historical significance in Sri Lanka, having been used for ornamentation, ritual objects and trade for centuries. “They connect nature and culture,” he said. “By celebrating shells, we are also honouring coastal communities whose lives have long been intertwined with the sea.”

However, Dr. Fernando cautioned against romanticising the ocean without acknowledging responsibility. “Celebration must go hand in hand with conservation,” he said. “Otherwise, we risk turning heritage into exploitation.”

He was particularly critical of unregulated shell collection and commercialisation. “What seems harmless — picking up shells — can have cumulative impacts,” he said. “When multiplied across thousands of visitors, it becomes extraction.”

As Sri Lanka continues to promote coastal tourism, Dr. Fernando emphasised the need for sustainability frameworks that prioritise ecosystem health. “Tourism must not come at the cost of the very environments it depends on,” he said. “Marine conservation is not anti-development; it is pro-future.”

Dr. Malik Fernando

Reflecting on his decades-long engagement with the sea, Dr. Fernando described marine conservation as both a scientific pursuit and a moral obligation. “The ocean has given us food, livelihoods, climate regulation and beauty,” he said. “Protecting it is not an act of charity; it is an act of responsibility.”

He called for stronger collaboration between scientists, policymakers, civil society and the private sector. “No single entity can safeguard the ocean alone,” he said. “Conservation requires collective stewardship.”

Yet, amid concern, Dr. Fernando expressed cautious optimism. “Sri Lanka still has immense marine wealth,” he said. “Our reefs, seagrass beds and coastal waters are resilient, if given a chance.”

Standing at the edge of the sea, shells scattered along the sand, one is reminded that the ocean does not shout its warnings. It leaves behind clues — delicate, enduring, easily overlooked. For Dr. Malik Fernando, those clues demand attention.

“The sea is constantly communicating,” he said. “In shells, in currents, in changing patterns of life. The real question is whether we, as a society, are finally prepared to listen — and to act before silence replaces the story.”

 

By Ifham Nizam

Continue Reading

Trending